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tttabii · 24 days ago

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──심재윤 BREWED TENSION ; JAKE SIM

pairing.ᐟ ceo! jake x coffee shop owner! reader word count: 10.2k ; mentions of vaping for reader), choi soobin from txt, sunoo, and winter from aespa

YOU AND JAKE SIM HAD KNOWN EACH OTHER since high school—unfortunately. He was the guy everyone wanted: born into wealth, already set to inherit his father's conglomerate, effortlessly charming, and untouchably arrogant.

You were... not that.

Middle-class, sure, but happy. You had parents who loved you, supported you through every ambition—even the bold one of opening your own coffee shop in Seoul.

The two of you wound up studying business at the same university. For Jake it was a stepping stone, another silky tile, in his future diamond-studded life. For you, it was everything. You needed the knowledge, the experience. You wanted to carve out a life for yourself and you did.

But while you were at school, Jake never liked you. He never gave you a proper reason—but you could feel it every side-eye he shot at you when you passed in the hall. Whenever you made the effort to say hello, or offer him a sample of the new coffee blend you'd been working on in baking club, he acted like you simply didn't exist.

So you gave up.

But that didn't stop you from working. With help from your parents along with a lot of passion, you'd opened your very own café in Seoul, right in the middle of downtown.

It was a little pocket of coziness, with clean wooden styling, relaxing jazz music, and the smell of coffee drifting out from the café out every morning.

Winter, your high school best friend, worked part-time there too. Plus, so did Sunoo, your own personal ray of sunshine who always made you laugh even when you were stressing out. You had all grown up together, and now you were creating something that was real. Something that was yours.

The café had quickly gained a good reputation. Word had spread through recommendation and many unique blends of coffee and buttery pastries were helped along by a few Instagram stories by both Winter and Sunoo who were both becoming social media stars themselves.

Then one morning, your life changed. Jake Sim, wearing a sharp black suit and pressed coat, was striding down the sidewalk with a phone in his hand. He sounded cold, clipped, and lethal. "If you can't handle the Tokyo merger, then I'm getting rid of you. I can't have incompetence like you slowing us down."

A pause. Silence. Then:

"You're fired."

With a sigh, he ended the phone call and ran a hand through his hair. That's when his eyes went across the street. There, tucked away between two boutiques, sat a new café. It looked rustic and charming, with ample light coming from within, with sections of wooden framed windows that had nicely crafted signs, possibly some kind of reclaimed wood or beautiful quality wood, was hard to tell from this distance.

He needed caffeine. Bad.

He walked in without thinking, and the little song from a ringing bell above the door rang soft behind him. He stood staring down at his phone until he looked up and mumbled, "black coffee. no sugar."

Sunoo's eyes widened the second he registered who had walked in. A smirk appeared on his lips, and he turned to you; you were standing behind the counter talking to him.

"Y/n," he said in a sing-song voice. "Look who stupidly crawled in for a cup."

You blinked. "What? "

Then you saw him. Jake Sim. Still as infuriatingly smug and impeccably dressed.He froze the second he realized who was standing there, his mouth opened as if he had just been punched, shocked, and he needed a minute to catch his thoughts.

Sunoo giggled and lightly nudged you closer to the register. "Go on. He's your customer."

Your heart jumped a little, but not from excitement. From the irony. The man who once scoffed at your coffee was now standing in your shop, asking for a cup. You cleared your throat and walked up to the counter.

"Black coffee, no sugar?" you asked, trying not to smirk.

Jake raised an eyebrow at you, finally giving you a full look. For a moment, he said nothing. His eyes flicked over the place—the décor, the long line forming behind him, the glass display filled with pastries. Then, back to you.

"You really opened a coffee shop."

You smiled, cool and calm. "I really did."

Jake had no clever response. How rare of him...

As you gave Jake his drink, your fingers teasingly brushed against his. He flinched not from physical discomfort, but the disorienting warmth that sent a jolt through him. You smiled politely, and wiped your hands on your apron as you tilted your head to finally study him properly.

He was every ounce the CEO—tailored suit, a Rolex creeping out of his cuff, the familiar air of authority that surrounded him like tacky cologne. And you could see Winter and Sunoo had picked up on it too, whispering to each other and trying (and failing) to be subtle about it from the side.

"So," you said tapping the countertop, "I hope you enjoyed my coffee."

Jake glanced down at the cup, the scent curling up beautifully and then flicked his gaze up to yours. "It's nice."

You smirked with a small laugh escaping. "I know. People always end up coming crawling back."

His brows flickered. "Cocky much?"

You giggled quietly. "You really should have tasted my baking and coffee back in the day but I guess you were busy... being a CEO?"

Jake made a light scoff while letting his gaze linger on you longer than he intended. "Yeah..."

He came to an abrupt stop, pulled from his thoughts about the warm, inviting café surrounding him. The glow from the glass display showed golden brown pastries—flaky croissants, chocolate chip scones, and cinnamon rolls that looked sinful.

The digital menu board flickered behind you while it cycled through the specials, featuring names he never would have thought to see next to the word "famous," in his wildest dreams.

It wasn't just a café. It was your café. And he was surprised at how, annoyed, but impressed he felt about this fact.

The bell above the door rang once more. A tall guy walked inside, determined and almost confident. You perked up as soon as he walked through the door, "Dark mocha with whipped cream and a cookie again?" you asked playfully.

The guy laughed as he combed his hand through his hair, "Cancel the cookie and switch that to a sandwich. I'm pretending to be healthy this week."

Jake's eyes were locked on the new guy. He recognized him right away. Choi Soobin. CEO of TXT Corporations.

He was one of the only other guys he had verbally challenged as many as so many times during shareholder meetings.Soobin stood casually by the counter, scrolled through his phone, while he talked to you like old friends. His body language told Jake he was at ease. Jake didn't like that.

He took a long sip of his black coffee.

Sunoo, who was replenishing napkins nearby, had witnessed everything. He turned to Jake and smirked knowingly before resuming "work."When Jake and Soobin's eyes finally met, both men grimaced and produced a smile.

"Didn't expect to see you here," Soobin said smoothly, eyebrow raised, "I thought you were more into those fancy cafes with gold-leaf lattes."

Jake chuckled, slow and dry. "And I didn't think you'd know what real coffee was."

You slid Soobin's sandwich over the counter just as he snorted. "I guess we both like surprises."

As the tension grew thicker, you rolled your eyes. Men."Boys, play nice. I'm not a babysitter today," you said brightly, handing Soobin his mocha.

Jake couldn't help but to watch as you gave Soobin a grin he knew well—a face you'd give him in university that he pretended not to see then.Something tweaked in his gut.You were no longer the girl trying to get him to try a caramel macchiato in the hallway, you were the woman everyone—powerful men were drawn to.

The woman who built something up from nothing. And to add insult to injury. You were glowing.

Without him.

The next day came around, near the lunch rush, and you were elbow-deep in flour, kneading dough for a fresh batch of scones when the unmistakable ding of the bell above the café door chimed again. You looked up from the counter, brushing flour off your hands on your apron. ||

And there he was—Jake Sim, business mogul, CEO of Sim Corp, and apparently, a secret admirer of cinnamon rolls. You quickly washed your hands, grinned, and called back over your shoulder, "Back for more, huh?"

Jake didn't answer at first, just strolled over to the counter, sharp in another perfectly pressed suit, removing his sunglasses with one hand and looking at the entire pastry display. "Cinnamon roll," he said flatly. "And some black coffee."

You raised an eyebrow, teasing, "You like cinnamon rolls?"

Jake merely rolled his eyes at you. Another no answer. You sighed with amusement before taking one of the warm cinnamon rolls from the tray and inserting it into the pastel blue box you designed with your logo on top.

You quickly wrote in cursive "Jake" on the box, and, like with all the orders for your favorite regulars, you slid in a tiny mint candy, then sealed the bag.

He noticed. He didn't say anything about it.

As you delivered the bag on the counter, your hands brushed against each other again. "Don't work too hard," you said softly; the same light hearted cheerfulness you exhibited whenever Soobin would stop by in between long workdays.

Jake blinked at you several times, something clearly behind the tone registered, and perhaps—perhaps—made something in his core tighten, but he didn't show it. He grabbed the bag, murmuring a quick, "Thanks," before he turned.

The bell rang once more. "Y/n!" Soobin called out with warmth you could hear all the way in the back, waltzing in, tousled hair from the wind, looking casual in a pale grey coat and denim. You smiled the biggest, "Hey! Sandwich and iced americano?"

"You know me too well." He laughed, walking towards you just when Jake had been ready to leave in which they barely brushed shoulders. Instant tension ignited. Jake stopped again briefly glaring into Soobin's eyes.

And Soobin just smiles—so smugly charming. "Didn't expect to see you again." He said cooly. "You thinking of investing in cupcake stocks or something?"

Jake scanned Soobin from head-to-toe. "Just getting coffee. Not that it matters to you," he said sharply.

Soobin's smile grew as he looked at you. "You know, Jake's not even that scary. He acts all tough and scary, but... he's just a high school kid with a grudge."

Jake's jaw tightened. You blinked at Soobin. "Stop."

Winter and Sunoo must have come up from the kitchen while all of this was going on. They had their heads together looking out from the side of the doorway, eyes wide, clearly sensing the impending doom.

"Oh, we smell tea," Winter whispered to Sunoo, who nodded his head, shuttering with excitement. As you finished packing Soobin's sandwich, you could still feel Jake looking at you. He began to back away with his pastry bag in hand, and while his face was unreadable, his jaw was still clenched.

You happily slipped Soobin his order, but before the door closed behind Jake, you briefly relived the sharp look he shot you. You had no idea what it all meant. You just knew one thing—he would be back.

The week faded into an easy rhythm. Jake was coming by more frequently—sometimes before the café even opened, leaning against the door frame in those crisp suits, coat slung over one arm, just watching you quietly water the front flowers or sip your tea while preparing pastries for the day.

At some point, you just unlocked the door for him and said nothing. You would catch his eye and smile, "The tea's on the counter."

You don't think he ever said thank you. But you do know he always drank it all. You would switch up the speaker playlist every morning, play soft indie, maybe an old jazz record—Jake never requested songs, but one time he hummed along to a song that made you feel like your heart stopped for a full second.

He still barely spoke, but you had noticed him looking at you when you thought he wasn't looking—when you were writing menu specials in chalk, fixing your messy apron bow, or trying out new cookie decorations with Sunoo and Winter.

But then there was Soobin.

Every lunch, he'd drop by with that annoyingly perfect timing, that perfect smile, and say something stupidly charming that made you giggle. Jake never said anything, but the way he flipped the pages of his book harder than necessary? Yeah—you noticed.

Then came the rare afternoon you actually sat across from him at his table, sandwich in the middle, eyeing the new book stacked on his table. "Still working? Don't you ever get a day off?"

Jake closed the book slowly. His eyes connected with yours—cold, unreadable, and sharp—as if they pierced through you.

You shivered.

"Don't you ever mind your own business?" he said, deadpan.

You gasped, making clear sounds of distress, while chewing. "Rude much! I literally give you free tea, every day!"

He shook his head, and before he knew it, a low laugh escaped from him.

You blinked. "Did the Jake Sim just laugh? In front of me?"

His expression snapped back. "No."

"Oh, come on!" you whined with a mouthful of bread, pointing your sandwich at him.

The next day was a weekend.

You had no idea whether he was going to show up—he had been there every morning and sometimes came back at lunchtime—evening was different; the place was now quiet and warm lights illuminated the pastries and plants with a golden glow. You were wiping down the counter top when the bell jangled-but it wasn't your regulars.

A guy walked in, hoodie up, grey sweatpants hanging low on his hips, and messy bed hair like he had just woken up. Trailing beside him on a leash was a golden retriever, tail wagging excitedly as it yanked him inside.

It was someone... different.

Well—kind of.

You eyes widened.

Jake.

Or, at least, what looked like a softer version of him—no suit, no sharp lines, just... sleepy hoodie Jake being dragged inside by a happy dog.

You tried not to laugh, but failed completely.

"Sunoo, cover the register," you giggled, tossing your rag aside and hurrying out the front. The dog was already sniffing around your flowers, nose buried in lavender pots as you squatted down to pet it.

"You have a dog," you grinned as you scratched behind its ears. "Seems relevant. Kind of figured you were a dog person. You definitely give off golden retriever vibes, just underneath that professional hot CEO vibe."

Jake looked down at you, blinking. You were now in a cardigan, with your hair thrown up quickly, and your cheeks still flushed from the sunset. You didn't even know what you just said.

"I'm hot?" He asked incredulously as his lips turned upwards, his hoodie hang loosely from his body as he pulled on the leash.

You froze.Your brain stuttered like a car stuck in traffic. You stared up at him, still crouched beside the flower pot. "W-What— I—"

He cocked his head like he was the king of the world, smug now. You could feel your face heat up. "I meant—hot like you're probably sweating under all those suits," you spluttered as you quickly stood up. "Like overheated. You know, because you wear suits."

The dog barked. Jake smirked.

Sunoo poked his head out of the french door to the café and whispered to Winter, "Did she just call him hot—?"

"She did." Winter whispered back, eyes wide.

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎

Monday morning.

The world was still dark, the streets a pale blue chill as even the sun was barely above the rooftops. The café wasn't open yet—but he was there.You didn't even blink when you saw Jake through the window, standing in his usual clean-cut outfit, expensive blazer over a cream dress shirt.

His hands were deep in his pockets. You just unlocked the door and slid him a sleepy smile."You could have knocked," you said.

"You would have let me in," he said flatly.

You rolled your eyes. But you smiled anyway.

He followed you silently inside, walking toward his usual corner—but then he stopped because you were crouched behind the counter still tying your apron over the soft knit sweater you had pulled on, hair still a little tousled. You were working on your pastry dough for a new batch.

The smell of vanilla and cherry tea was wafting.Jake found himself standing just at the edge of the baking station, staring too closely. You hadn't noticed him at first, the flour streaked on your cheekbone while you made shapes in the dough.

He said nothing—he just stared, completely captivated.

You finally looked up. "...Are you seriously watching me bake?"

"You said no coffee this early," he muttered, eyes trailing over your hands.

"Are you saying you've come for a flour facial instead?" you joked, smirking at him playfully.

But just as you went to grab the bowl, your elbow gently bumped the counter edge—and flour poofed in an explosion of mist right onto his expensive shirt and jacket.

Your eyes went wide. "Oh my god—!"

His expression didn't change. You hurried forward smearing flour all over your fingers, and tried to wipe it off but that just made it worse. "I'm so sorry, I forgot to close the—your shirt was so expensive and your—"

"It's fine," he said quietly.

That shut you up.

You slowly looked up at him . You were kind of confused. You remembered it well—back in school someone had tripped, and dumped coffee all over his crisp, white polo and denim jacket. He was livid—cold glare and the silent treatment and was ruthlessly it.

But now? Jake Sim was standing here with flour on his jacket, and shirt and hair, and he looked... calm. Then suddenly you felt his fingers brush your cheek softly.

Your breath hitched.

He wiped the flour smudge away with his thumb, his eyes resting softly on the spot—then slowly drifting to meet yours. You just stared up at him, speechless. His eyes were gentle, deep brown, as they traced the lines of your face like he was memorizing every detail. The gentle curve of his lips.

The trace of cherry tea wafting from your body.

You blinked, but he was already stepping back, his usual cold persona coming back together around him as he exited the station. He sat back down with his book, flour still covering the back of his collar.

Later that day, Jake walked into the office a few hours late. His blazer still had some faint, white stain on the shoulder. His dark hair had some flour in it as well. "...Boss, what happened to your shirt?"

"Did you have a baking war?"

"Wait—do you smell that? Is that cherry perfume?" Jake ignored all of them. He casually brushed the flour off his sleeve.

He simply replied, "Mind your work," and headed to his office, a small smirk creeping up.

Back at the café. Lunch time.

You were more tired than usual. With Sunoo off, you were doing everything yourself, and your energy was running low. Even Soobin noticed.

"Are you okay?" he asked lightly, fingertips grazing yours as he took the drink from you.

You nodded, a gentle smile gracing your lips. "Mhm, just a long day."

He cocked his head, eyes narrowing. "You sure? You seem... off. Or could it be boy trouble? Or, maybe..." he grinned, "you're just flustered because of me?"

You snorted softly, half-hearted. "None of the above."

"Then what is it?"

You looked up at him, sleepy smile on your face. "I'm just... tired, Soobin. That's all."

He took the receipt from your hand, looking at you thoughtfully. Maybe he still thought there was something more to it; maybe he thought he was figuring out how you felt.

But then—

The bell above the door jingled.

You looked up and everything about you seemed to change. Your whole face brightened like someone flipped a switch flipping on your inner light.

"Jake!!"

He was halfway through faking looking at his phone when your voice sliced through it like a magnet. He looked up, immediately connecting eyes with yours, pulse racing unexpectedly.

Soobin's gaze flicked to you, then to Jake, and back to you.

Oh.

Jake went to sit at his usual table, still wearing the blazer that was now starting to wrinkle a little and a few bright specks of flour scattered in his hair. You chuckled a little as you walked towards him with a wet cloth.

"Ohhh, you're still a mess," you playfully chided. "Come here, I'll wipe off the flour or your hair is going to be foamed a baked good."

He looked up just in time to catch your amused grin before you reached out and gently ran your fingers through his hair, ruffling the strands to shake off the flour. His bangs fell slightly over his forehead, softening his usually sharp appearance.

You were about ready to pull your hand back when Jake caught your wrist in his, though not harsh, just firm enough to stop you.

"You're making a mess," Jake said with playful teasing in his low voice, looking at your hand and then your face.

"Oops," you muttered, a clearly disingenuous apology. You took a step back, wiped your hand on your apron, and walked behind the counter and started preparing his tea order.

Jake was still watching you—it was subtle, but not subtle enough for Soobin not to notice. The moment Jake glanced down at his phone again, Soobin walked over to him with a forced casualness, though his jaw was noticeably tense.

"So... you and her?" Soobin asked, arms crossed.

Jake slowly raised his eyes, the brow furrowed. "What about it?"

Soobin leaned in a little more and spoke softly. "She lit up like a light bulb the minute she saw you. Don't you see that?"

Jake blinked once. "Are you jealous?"

Before Soobin could answer you came near with Jake's tea, chopping up the air with your deadpan voice. "You two can you not?"

You placed the cup in front of Jake. "What is this? A K-drama or something?"

You turned to go back to the counter, completely unbothered with the odd standoff.

Soobin scoffed under his breath, so quiet it was just loud enough for Jake to hear. "You wish."

Jake sipped his tea, leaned back in his chair and said just loud enough, "She likes dramas... but always chooses the bad boy."

It started innocently—Jake had given you his number after that flour-dusted morning in the café, claiming it was "just in case he had another craving for your muffins." But since then, it became a nightly thing.

You would text him after the shop closed, about anything and everything. Sometimes it was a rant about a customer. Sometimes it was pictures of your terrible latte art.

And then there was that one night. It was past midnight when you called. Jake had been plucking his guitar on the couch in his dimly lit penthouse, and when your name came up on the screen he smiled gently."You bored?" he asked after answering.

"Mmhm," you mumbled. "Whatcha doin?"

"Nothing," he offered feigning. He picked the guitar up again. "Want me to play you something?"

You yawned, now hunkered into your blanket. "Yeah...."

He began to play softly, finger-gliding over the frets, voice low and mellow. You swayed and began to drift off to sleep, breathing quiet and even, he stopped playing. "Night, sleepyhead," he said softly into the phone before hanging up gently.

A few days later, he texted you asking if you could bake for his company's private brunch event. "You're the only one I trust for this," he texted.

You had said yes before even thinking twice

The café was closed that day, and your staff helped with the preparation and delivery that day. You had on a simple black dress, soft hair, a pink charm bracelet dangling from your wrist. Not ostentatious—just you.

By the time you arrived at his company building, your arms were full of sweets and drinks, but a tall and broad shouldered bodyguard stood in your way. "I'm his friend," you exclaimed, startled. "I'm delivering the—"

Jake's voice interrupted you from across the lobby. "Let her in."

He strode quickly over to you, breezed past the guard, and before you could reach out, you flicked his sleeve, pulling him towards the display table being prepped nearby.

"I hope they like them..." you murmured, nervously looking at the line of mini tarts and mini cakes, and coffee canisters.

Without saying a word, Jake reached into his wallet, pulled out a thick stack of cash—over 500,000 won. "H-Hey! This is way too much—!"

"No. It's not." He pushed the money into your hand and walked away to direct the decorators with a weird sense of authority about him.

You felt frozen in place, flustered, holding the cash like it was radioactive. Moments later, he turned back and walked toward you again. "Stay for the brunch, yeah? I want everyone to know who made all this."

You blinked. "M-Me?"

"Yes, you."

In the lavish women's bathroom, you stood by the mirror reapplying your lip gloss, the tube clicking softly as voices echoed from the stalls.

"Ugh, he's so fine. Like, can you believe Jake still isn't married?" one girl said dramatically,

"I know, right?! But don't forget about Soobin... he's a total gentleman."

"Jake is totally my type. Dark hair, cold vibes, CEO... He probably likes it when girls are bold."

"Hah, as if.. he needs someone that matches his vibes. Probably needs someone cold and a little sharp like him."

"Ugh, I would sell my soul if either of them looked at me for more than two seconds."

You really had to fight back a laugh and finished smoothing your lip gloss on quietly, the girls finally noticing you. They were all staring at you from behind the stalls, their chatter paused.

They looked you up and down... you were unfamiliar and dressed like you belonged, but they noticed the softness you wore that none of them carried themselves with. They also probably thought you were some heiress for some family name they never heard of.

You gave them a tight-lipped smile and walked out.

The moment you stepped out, you bumped into someone. "Sorry—" you muttered, eyes widening when you saw Soobin.

He stared at you, clearly surprised. "Wait—"

But you'd already moved past him, too nervous to linger. He followed your path with narrowed eyes, noticing the pastry table... your pastries. And suddenly, it all clicked.

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎

As the gentle clink of plates and soft talking settled into the large brunch hall, Jake stepped onto the little stage with effortless grace. At once, there was silence—he commanded attention without even trying.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he spoke, a calm and steady yet confident voice, "Thank you all for joining us today. It means a lot to see so many familiar faces here together. But before we continue to enjoy the rest of the brunch, there is someone I want to introduce you to."

The spotlight fell on you; or at least that's what it felt like, even without a light. You froze in mid-sip of coffee, almost choking when he said your name. "She's the owner of a little café that I love. She works hard and is highly talented... she is someone I trust implicitly in moments like these."

A few gasps fluttered through the crowd, and that's when they saw you—the girls from the bathroom. Recognition dawned with horror on their faces. Her? The girl reapplying lip gloss? The one they brushed off as an unfamiliar socialite? A middle-class café girl?

You took slow steps in the direction of the stage and felt your heart pounding, heat rising in your cheeks, and running you hands up and down the sides of your dress, hoping it didn't look cold against your shoes.

When you reached the center, Jake stepped down. A smile melting on his face. He came closer to you, looked into your eyes, reached for your back, and lead you up. His hand was unter your dress; warm and possessive but it wasn't too much. Just that alone made your heart skip.

When you left the stage, the rich clientele stopped the hushed gossiping and started to show admiration.

"These pastries are divine."

"Where is your shop located?"

"I've never tasted coffee like this before—"

You nodded and thanked them quietly, smiling sheepishly. But the whole time, Jake's hand lingered behind you.

Just hovering. Anchoring.

You were trying so hard not to stutter through shy thank-yous.

Then Soobin watched from a few steps away. He hadn't moved from the spot where you left him. A polite smile rigid on his lips but his eyes—all on you. Even as a few women tried to strike up a conversation, he could feign a nod before bearing little to no anything for the conversations happening in the background.

His eyes followed the way Jake slunk closer to you. "You didn't try this one yet," Jake said suddenly, jolting you from your thoughts as he reached towards the dessert cart and emerged with a tiny strawberry chocolate tart.

"H-huh?"

He held it to your lips and didn't seem worried. "Open."

You felt heat rising to your cheeks as you looked between him and the little tart, then slowly opened your mouth to let him feed it to you. Jake merely smirked, brushing a crumb from your lip with his thumb before he stepped back and pridefully watched you chew.

And in the corner of the room the girls from the bathroom stood frozen. "Wait. Is that... the same girl" one of the girls whispered, voice acute with disbelief.

"Jake... and Soobin?" the other replied, tone more devastated than surprised.

They looked on as Jake, the stoic CEO with a reputation for keeping things professional, was now smiling like a golden retriever, standing too close to the girl they'd assumed was no one.But then their eyes drifted—past Jake's soft stare—to Soobin.

He was still talking politely with the women around him, ever the gentleman, ever composed. But the slight clench of his jaw, the way his gaze kept flickering to where you stood with Jake—it was unmistakable.

Jealousy.

Undisguised, unvoiced, simmering just below the surface.

He wasn't even hiding it any more.

Shit, had they really jinxed it?

Because somehow—you were the girl who'd unknowingly caught the attention of the two most unattainable men in the room. And now, the most perilous aspect of you... was the fact that you were completely oblivious to it.

────୨ৎ────

Finally, some time to yourself.

Jake had gotten lost in a flock of executives, and you had been left behind next to the fancy pastry cart. Standing there, without Jake smoothly steering the flow of conversation, made you feel fidgety—what were you supposed to do?

You shifted your weight, testing out a vanilla cream tart you'd made earlier. It was light, sweet—almost airy—but a bit of the cream clung to the corner of your lip. It was light, sweet—almost air-like—but some of the cream remained on the corner of your lip.

You didn't notice. But Jake did.

From across the room, in mid-conversation, his eyes narrowed just slightly before his feet instinctively moved toward you. You didn't even see him coming—until his thumb brushed your lower lip with casual precision, wiping the cream gently and popping it into his mouth.

"Messy," he said nonchalantly, his voice low and warm, tongue grazing the inside of his cheek as he tasted the cream.

Your breath hitched, body stiffening. "W-what was that for?"

He didn't answer, only smiled before stepping aside to grab a napkin like nothing happened.

Across the room, Soobin's jaw clenched.

Hard.

His knuckles around his glass went white as he watched the exchange—Jake, bold and unbothered, touching you without hesitation. It wasn't even flirtation. It was instinct. He realized then: Jake didn't hesitate when he wanted something. Even if Jake himself didn't know what he wanted yet... his body always acted first.

Soobin stared as you fidgeted, fingers grazing your lips. Jake hadn't even looked back at you, and still, your ears turned pink.

Jake's own thoughts flickered darkly.

There's no way I like her. No. Definitely not..

But the way you glowed in a room full of harsh lights and sharp eyes? The way your gaze always sought his first when you felt lost?

And those girls—giving you dirty looks like they owned the air around you. Jake didn't like that.

Only I get to be cold to her, he thought.

Because you still gave him your attention even when he didn't deserve it. And somehow, deep down, he knew you understood him better than most.

The following week, Soobin had tried.He really tried.Every chance he got, he found ways to stay near you, hoping you'd choose him this time. He lingered by the counter, walked beside you when you stepped outside, offered to help carry deliveries.

"I can't today," you said, watering the flowers with such concentration. "I have to make sure the roses don't droop."

And then you'd look up, smile lit up when Jake walked out with his cup of tea, as if Soobin didn't even exist.For a while, Jake had taken to sitting outside the café with you, one hand resting lazily on the cup, while you stood beside him lightly dragging your finger around the petals of a blooming pot.

The sunlight framed your figure softly as you turned toward Jake, laughing at something he mumbled under his breath.

Sunoo had been watching it all happen with exasperation, from inside the café, half-heartedly folding his arms as he let out a defeated sigh. "There's no use," he complained.

Winter agreed with a nod beside him, her lips squeezed together tight. "She won't even glance over at Soobin anymore even. We've known her longer than he has. It's over."

Soobin stood just outside earshot, his shoulders rigid, trying to keep a straight face."Oh, watch me," he grumbled, voice tight with frustration. "I'll get her. Just wait."

Winter rolled her eyes. "Keep dreaming. Can't you see the way they look at each other? Even customers ask about them now."

Sunoo hummed in agreement. "It's the tension. It's always there. Like they're one move away from crashing into each other."

And as Jake took another sip of tea, his eyes never left yours—content, but unreadable—while you smiled back, oblivious to how everything around you was starting to burn with envy.

────୨ৎ────

It started when Soobin tried to corner you again—his voice a little too casual, but his words bitter like over-brewed coffee. "You know Jake left with that girl after the banquet, right? The one in the red dress?" he said, eyes flicking to yours with fake sympathy. You tilted your head slightly, processing the claim.

You never said anything out loud, never admitted that you liked Jake. But something tight settled in your chest, a subtle pang of jealousy curling deep in your stomach.

The bell above the door jingled softly, interrupting your thoughts. Jake entered in casual wear—it was the weekend, after all—his hair tousled like he'd run his hands through it a few times too many. Beside him trotted his dog, Layla, her tail wagging as she pulled slightly on her leash. He was chatting with Sunoo outside, hesitant and awkward, until Sunoo's eyes lit up, and he rushed inside.

"Take the day off," Sunoo announced, waving his arms dramatically. "Boss or not, you're done for the day. Jake wants to hang out. Or actually—he's too shy to ask. Layla kind of insisted on coming here again. She really likes you." His grin was playful but knowing.

Behind him, Jake avoided eye contact, rubbing the back of his neck as Layla happily sniffed around the café entrance.

Soobin clenched his jaw at the news, his fingers curling around the counter. "You sure he's not just messing with you?" he muttered under his breath.

Winter rolled her eyes from where she was wiping down a table. "Jake Sim? The guy who does nothing but take business courses? The kid who talks about physics formulas like they're love poetry? If anything, he's being messed with—he's practically soft for her."

Your cheeks were on fire at her words, the heat creeping across your skin.

If Jake had left with another girl that night, why was he here now? And why was he so flustered even asking if you'd spend time with him?

Silently, you took off your apron and grabbed your bag. You waved goodbye to everyone—everyone except Soobin—and walked outside into the city breeze. Jake looked up as you joined him, arms crossed trying to act casual but failing miserable as he tugged gingerly on Layla's leash.

"You, um... wanna walk with us?" he asked, avoiding your gaze while pretending to be interested in his dog. "She's been dragging me out here all week, so I figured may as well let her have her way."

You nodded, and the two of you strolled through the city, Layla leading the way. You didn't wear anything fancy—just a soft top and jeans—but somehow, Jake kept stealing glances like you were glowing. You didn't think you were anything special. You'd always felt... average. But Jake didn't see you that way.

He liked the quiet confidence, the little things. Your bare face, your laugh. Your eyes, definitely your eyes. And your lips, though he didn't let himself think about that too long.

Eventually, you both settled onto a bench underneath a shady tree. Layla fell asleep beside you, the leash still wrapped around Jake's wrist while he held two cups of smoothies, handing you one with a slight grin.

You took it, breaking the silence. "So....you know..Soobin said you left with a girl after the banquet."

Jake blinked at you, confused. "I didn't," he said plainly, his eyebrows furrowing.

You let out a soft exhale, relief washing over your chest. The corners of your mouth lifted slightly. "Were you...jealous?" he asked, intently observing you.

You paused for a beat too long. "No..." you replied hurriedly, taking the smoothie from his hand and feigning that the weather suddenly turned so hot you couldn't stand to sit still.

You stood, cheeks burning, and began to walk again, Layla perked up to follow. Jake chuckled under his breath, quickly catching up. "You know, I was thinking about this physics theory dilemma earlier..."

And like that, he regained his comfort giving you his all, as he always did when he was calm and safe, he rambled on and on about numbers and theories you could hardly follow with his hands flinging about in amusement.

You listened quietly before mumbling, "You know I don't understand a single thing you're saying, right?" Your tone was dry but fond.

He grinned, eyes crinkling. "I know," he replied, nudging you lightly. "But you still listen. That's kinda why I like talking to you."

Your heart skipped a beat, but you said nothing. Just sipped your smoothie as the three of you walked—Jake, you, and Layla, who somehow seemed to know she had just played cupid.

It was supposed to be just a fun night out with Winter, Sunoo and a couple of your close friends, gathered under flashing lights and loud music. It had been a minute since you'd had alcohol and you'd forgotten how much you liked the way it burned down your throat, sharp and numbing. With every drink nothing seemed so serious; life was a little blurrier, a little lighter, a little more easily forgotten.

At some point someone handed you a vape, and none of them even knew you had it. But there it was in your fingers again, muscle memory, and you were exhaling soft clouds of iced peach into the fogged club air between drinks. It was messy, an unholy mix, but at that point you didn't give a damn.

You just wanted to feel nothing for once, lose yourself until your mind couldn't catch up with your body anymore. That was your worst tendency—and sadly, your friends have seen this side of you before. Jake hadn't. Not yet.

"She's gone," Winter said, shaking her head as you slumped into the booth seat, giggling uncontrollably at something Sunoo didn't even remember saying.

You were slurring, cheeks flushed, and whining Jake's name like a prayer, breathy and broken between puffs of vapor and sips of some neon-colored cocktail.

Sunoo sighed and pulled out his phone. He walked a few steps away from the table and hit Jake's number, rubbing his temple as the line rang.

Jake picked up fast. "Yo?"

"You might need to come get a certain someone," Sunoo mumbled, already knowing how Jake would react.

Jake blinked. "Is that Y/n in the background?" he asked, voice tightening at the familiar sound of your name being moaned like a confession.

"Yeah. And seriously... you may not enjoy what you see," Sunoo added earnestly. "So I'd suggest you hurry and come get her, and take her back to your penthouse or whatever, before you both do something stupid. Or before someone else does."

Jake was silent for a second, and all Sunoo could hear was silence and the vibrating tension of the line.

Then he said, "Send me the address."

By the time Jake walked into the club, the neon lights beamed off his skin, and his face was an illustration of worry and confusion.

He didn't have to look long to find you. You were still in the booth with crossed legs, head on Winter's shoulder, laughing uncontrollably at something you couldn't even remember. A vape in one hand, a drink in the other, and your eyes half closed. Jake stopped at the all-too-familiar sight.

The sweet peach vapor rising into the air as you inhaled and then your lips forming a dopey smile murmuring his name again.

"Jake..."

He didn't know whether to be angry, frightened or heartbroken. All he knew was he had never seen you like this before, and it shook the something deep inside of him.

You hardly seemed bothered.

No shred of guilt or regret for how you were holding on to him, smiling a soft smile, eyes slightly hazy, urging him to take another sip. He huffed through his nose, defeated, reached out, took the vape from your fingers, and set it on the glass table with a slight clink.

"Okay that's enough," he muttered.

You pouted slightly, but before you could stammer again, he reached his arm around your waist; you didn't even waist-it would be instinct if he had spent more time with you. The clack of your heels didn't quite match his as he glanced down at the floor. They had to be hurting you.

With every third step you winced. "Shouldn't be wearing such cheap heels," he said lowly with his brow knit. "They're going to bruise your pretty legs."

God. Pretty? What was he thinking?

He glanced down again and clenched his jaw once he saw your dress had hiked up far too high. He reached down and adjust it, then mumbled, "You are unbelievable."

But he was always careful. Always considerate. As if he was afraid if he touched you too sharply, he would break something worth holding.

He brought you down to his car—his expensive, sleek, spotless car that smelled just like him. Woodsy, clean, faintly sweet. You practically melted against him, arms slipping around his as you mumbled sleepily, "Jakey... you smell so sweet."

He coughed, ears flushing. "Y-Yeah?"

He ran a hand through his already messy hair and helped you into the passenger seat, buckling you in before starting the car. The drive to his penthouse was quiet, your head resting against the window, eyes slipping shut within minutes.

You were completely out. By the time he parked and opened the door to his place, you were dead to the world—face relaxed, breathing steady. He looked at you for a beat, then sighed and gently picked you up. You were lighter than he thought you would be. He set you down slowly on his bed, then stepped back and put his hands on his hips as he peered at your sleeping frame.

What was he supposed to do now? Your dress looked uncomfortable. Tight. You'd probably hate waking up in that. And your makeup—he grimaced. You'd hate waking up in that.

But changing you? That felt...wrong. What if you woke up and hated him for that?

He stood still for a moment, pacing a couple steps back and forth, before he sighed loudly and dug through all of his cabinets in the bathroom. He found, surprisingly, micellar water and some cotton pads, probably leftover from his stylist. He walked back to the bedroom and sat down on the edge of the bed, tucking your hair back in place as his fingers brushed the side of your face.

He wiped away your makeup with the cotton pad guided by the micellar water in gentle swipes. Your face was soft without and looked younger. The real you.

He cleared his throat and closed his eyes for a second before unzipping your dress carefully, only glancing once to make sure you were still out cold. Trying to look anywhere but at you, he slipped the fabric off your shoulders and grabbed one of his oversized tees and sweats—slipping them onto you like you were made of glass.

He swallowed hard and flung the dress from you and grabbed a blanket and threw it over you. But as soon as he leaned over and adjusted the pillow under your at-the-moment sleeping head, you moved. You pulled him in. A small "don't go," escaped your lips as you yanked him down to you, surprising him with a strength he didn't think your fragile little body had in those moments, especially being drunk.

"Oof—hey—!"

You held onto him like your life depended on it, arms wrapped around his neck, cheek pressed to his shoulder, and legs tangled with his. He froze. You were already asleep again. Heart racing, he released a shaky, unsteady breath as he gently slid down next to you, still dressed in his black top and sweats and unsure of what to do with his hands.

Everything felt so hot, so close, so... intimate. He couldn't help but let his hand explore and find his way to your hair as he mindlessly brushed it back. And maybe he did toss your cheap heels in the trash after he addressed your bruised, swollen ankles before he made the emergency delivery to bring you home, maybe he already contacted a brand contact to deliver a couple nice pairs of heels (in your size of course) that were worthy of being called worthy of you and totally legit.

But for now he closed his eyes. Your breath on his neck. Your body curled into his like it was meant to be there.

When you awoke the following day, you were greeted by the smell of breakfast food and the warm weight of something furry shoved against your side.

Groggy and dazed, your hand moved of its own volition and brushed against thick furry fluff. You cracked open your eyes to see a golden blur stretched out beside you, tail wagging slowly from side to side occasionally becoming far too close to your face, tongue slightly poking out of her mouth.

Layla.

When she noticed you awake, her head perked up from sleepy rest to that unspeakable unsettling excitement only a golden retriever possesses, even at this time of the hour. She let out a little huff, rolled on her back, and scooted towards you, shoving her fuzzy little nose against your arm just before settling back down into her sleep.

That's when it struck you—this was most definitely not your bed.

You blinked again, sat up a little, and inspected your surroundings. The unbelievably soft bedding. The minimalistic room plan. The leftover hint of cologne still lingering on the pillows. You looked down at yourself and realized you were sporting a huge long sleeved shirt and baggy sweats that did not belong to you.

Jake's.

"Fuck..." you muttered and flopped back down into the bed, your hangover returning with increasing intensity.

You were still lying there, playing gently with Layla'S soft ears, trying not to think too hard, when the door creaked open.

Jake stepped in, looking like a movie scene you weren't ready for. White shirt, grey sweats, tousled morning hair. He froze for a second at the sight: you, curled up in his clothes, tangled up in his sheets, golden Layla sprawled across your side like it was the most natural thing in the world.

His heart stuttered.

Why does this look so... domestic? Like some kind of fantasy?

He quickly cleared his throat, eyes darting anywhere but directly at you.

You slowly sat up, squinting at him, a small smirk tugging at your lips despite the dull pounding in your head. "What happened?" you asked, voice rough from sleep.

Jake rubbed the back of his neck, debating how much to say.

"Um..." he started, looking down at Layla, who was now wagging her tail and trotting over to him like she didn't just betray you, and switch sides. "You kind of.... drank a little too much last night. And vaped, too."

You raised an eyebrow, unable to hide your amusement. "I figured," you chuckled, coughing a little into your elbow. "My head feels like it got stomped on."

Jake squatted down again and scratched behind Layla's ears. "You were kind of a mess," he teased, looking up at you for only a moment. "You tried to make me vape with you, you stumbled around in those trash heels, and you clung to me like a drunken koala."

You blinked, completely deadpan. "Sounds about right."

He shook his head, trying not to laugh. "Come downstairs. I made breakfast. You probably need it."

You raised your eyebrow again. "You... cook?"

Jake straightened up and tried to keep his own cool. "I don't burn things. That's good enough."

You slid off the bed, slowly but surely, still adjusting to the pounding in your skull—and the warmth blossoming in your chest at how he was treating you.

"Okay, chef Sim. Lead the way."

As you followed Jake out of the room, Layla trotting beside you like your personal guard dog, you couldn't help but smile a little.

The smell of eggs, toast, and something warm and savory filled your nose as you sat at Jake's sleek, black marble kitchen island. The plate in front of you looked like it came straight out of a cozy brunch café, and you were happily scarfing it down—nursing your hangover one bite at a time.

Jake was across the room, squatting down next to Layla, refilling her food, and exchanging her water with a kind of tenderness you weren't expecting from someone like him. His shirt had wrinkles all over, his hair was messy probably from repeatedly running his hands through it, and he had that same faint smell of cologne that was going to be permanently hardwired into your brain.

You caught him looking. Not in the staring way that you might be thinking, but subtly from the corner of his eye—like he didn't want to raise any suspicion of being caught checking you out while you were curled up in his oversized clothes that now hung off of you like a dress, sleeves falling past your fingers, still a little messy from sleeping, eyes still a little puffy. He turned, leaning against the counter, arms folded.

His expression turned soft. "You look tiny," he said nonchalantly, with an expression that looked as though the underlying sentiment was warmer, "My clothes are eating you alive."

You threw him a tired grin, still chewing, "That's kind of the point."

He chuckled, and bit his lip, shaking his head. He turned and busied himself with cleaning any dirty dishes, so that no one could see him smile.

Later that day, when you finally got home, you found something on your doorstep—a sleek, matte-black box with a ribbon and a gold-embossed card tied to it.

You opened it slowly, your mouth hanging open.

Inside was a pair of beautiful heels—nice dark color with dark red detailing, elegant, high quality. And folded inside at the top of the box was a small note card with one letter in gold foil:

J.S

You blinked, processing. So that's why your busted heels were missing...

You glanced down at your feet. His slippers were still on you. You hadn't even realized you hadn't taken them off yet.

A week later.

You had just stepped out the shower, hair wet, skin glistening, when Jake's name popped up on your screen. You grabbed the closest top—it was an old lace tank top—and threw on some sweats before answering the FaceTime and propping it to your vanity.

"Yo?" you said, towel drying your hair whilst screen loaded.

Jake popped up looking like he was trying to act cool. "Hey," he rubbed the back of his neck. "Uh... I'm going to this event. It's for my company. Pretty lame actually, but I'm still going. I already asked Sunoo and Winter so I thought-"

"You want me to come too?" you finished as you quickly dabbed moisturizer on your cheeks taking quick glances at the screen.

He nodded. "Yeah. I mean, yeah. I think it would be cool if you went."

You hummed, "Sounds fancy."

Jake raised one of his eyebrows pretending he wasn't watching as you rubbed the product down your jawline. "You'd look good."

You looked back at the screen just as his eyes flicked away. "Were you staring at me?"

"No."

"Jake."

"...Maybe."

You smirked. "I'll go."

The night of the event, the Sim Corp hall was draped in gold light, humming with glamour, money, and practiced small talk. You walked in with Sunoo and Winter by your side, all dressed to the nines, effortlessly flexing the luxury heels Jake had gifted you the night before.

The moment you walked in, people turned their heads.

But you found him. Standing a little bit to the left of the middle of the ballroom, Jake looked like he had walked straight out of a Vogue spread—suit crisp, tie just loose enough that he already looked as though he hated wearing it. But he wasn't all by himself. There were women surrounding him—young, pretty girls, heads angled down, obviously enchanted by his name, his face, his family.

You felt a tight knot in your chest. But then Jake turned—like he felt your arrival. He pushed right through the crowd, eyes locked right on yours. His expression changed. He pushed right through the circle of women without thinking twice and made a beeline straight for you.

Some of the girls exchanged annoyed looks behind him and began whispering, but he didn't care. Not tonight. Because tonight he had a plan. And it started right now.

Jake stopped right in front of you, eyes burning into yours, voice low, a half-smile forming on his lips. "You came."

You tilted your head, trying to play it cool. "You did invited me, didn't you?"

He laughed, his eyes roaming over your dress, your shoes—his shoes, actually—then back to your face. "You look..." he paused for a second, leaned in a bit closer, "unreal."

You blinked. His tone shifted threw you off. "You're trying to get me to blush, Sim?"

"Not trying. Just being honest." His stare didn't waver. "Mind if I take you for a second?"

You arched an eyebrow. "From what? Your harem of fanclub girls?"

He chuckled under his breath, leaning in slightly closer. "I don't care about any of them."

You held his gaze, a sense of something passing between you unspoken and intangible. "Then who do you care about?" you asked, barely above a whisper.

Jake's voice dipped low. "You."

You didn't expect him to be that direct.

Sure, the signs had been there all along—the way he stayed slightly too long at your coffee shop's counter, the fact that he stayed on FaceTime until you fell asleep, the way he mindlessly sent you those heels. Jake Sim made it painfully obvious that he had a crush on you. But a public, "I've had the biggest crush on you, wants my lips on yours" type confession? A public kiss? At this type of event?!

You were stunned, caught completely off guard, when he gently cupped your cheeks and pressed his lips to yours.

And just like that, time seemed to stop.

You felt a collective gasp throughout the great hall. You could faintly hear it through the fever pitch of ringing in your ears—the scandalized murmurs of the wealthy daughters nearby, the startled rustle of skirts, the clink of someone's champagne flute being dropped. Even Soobin, who was constantly scanning Jake like a hawk the entire time both of you were there, froze.

Jake's dad. The girls. Jay, smirking in the distance. Sunoo and Winter, mouths agape in shock.

But Jake didn't care. He didn't care one bit. Because that kiss—it was his answer.

To every single person in that room. To the girls who tried to catch his eye. To the expectations set by his father. To the future they tried to write for him.

His hands slid down to your waist, firm, grounding you like he was saying—you aren't making a mistake. Your hands... they found their way behind his neck, pulling him closer instinctively.

You kissed him back. Right there in front of all of them. Softly at first, then deeper—as if something had snapped between you two. The slow-burn tension finally combusted, and you stopped denying that you had both been flirting for the past few months.

And that is when you were consumed with the spotlight. A warm, blaring white beam lit the two of you up, and you pulled away startled, only to see Jay across the room by the tech booth, giving Jake a discreet thumbs up.

Your eyes widened, "You planned that?" you whispered against his lips.

Jake only smiled, breathless, his forehead resting on yours, "Had to make a statement."

Before you could say anything else, a booming voice broke through the thick silence. "Sim Jaeyun!"

You both turned.

There he was—his furious father, face red as he broke through the crowd like a tank, with each step he took was heavy with rage. He looked at you, then looked at Jake, then looked back at the still-glimmering spotlight above. Jake didn't budge. You felt his hand still at your waist as he pulled you closer, ready to shield you from whatever this coming storm was going to bring.

"She does not belong here," his father spat, venom thick in his voice, "this is not what we agreed to. These guests-"

"I don't care about your guests," Jake cut in, tone sharp, protective. "Or your list. Or whatever arrangement you've made behind my back. I've made my choice."

He gripped your waist a little tighter when he added, and only looking at you now, "And she belongs wherever I am."

His father's face twisted, but barely registered. Because, in that moment, Jake turned to you again, gentler, her fingers brushed the hair behind your ear. "I told you I'm not interested in anyone else," he said softly, "and I meant it."

Then Jake turned back to his father, jaw clenched, voice steady yet icy cold. "Whatever."

He didn't wait for another word, not for his father, nor for the aghast guests. With your hand in his and his other tucked in the pocket of his fitted blazer, he walked out of that claustrophobic ballroom with you beside him, uncaring of the storm behind him. There was a ripple of noise behind you. Some of the voices hissed, some were disgusted.

"She's not even one of us."

"Middle-class? Come on!"

"The nerve—"

But not all reactions were bitter. A few guests exchanged soft smiles and hushed admiration.

"That's real love."

"He found someone who finally makes him happy."

"She makes him feel free."

Because for the first time ever, Jake Sim—the man who was always the family name, the tailored suits, the shaken down company—chose for himself. And he chose you.

Sunoo and Winter followed behind you two, their eyes sparkling with pride like they were just watching the main couple finish in a rom-com. Sunoo was clutching his phone as if he was just dying to edit together a whole video montage of him and his friends leaving this moment.

Jake opened the car door for you, ushering you in gently before sliding into the driver's seat. The interior was dark and quiet, the street lamps casting soft golden glows on his face. He glanced over at you, guilt flickering in his eyes.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I didn't mean to drag you into... all that."

You looked at him and then chuckled lightly and shook your head. "Jake... I enjoyed it."

His brows lifted slightly. You leaned your head against the window, smiling up at him. "It was chaotic and completely unexpected, but you kissed me like it meant everything."

Jake stared for a moment, stunned in silence—before his lips turned up in that soft, rare smile he only ever gave to you.

"Does this mean I can call you my girlfriend?" he asked almost shyly.

You looked over at him, mischievous. "Well considering you kissed me in front of the entire elite of the city and started a family scandal...yeah, boyfriend. You're stuck with me now."

Jake let out a breathy laugh as he reached over and took your hand, interlocking your fingers. "Good. Because I wouldn't want that any other way."

And just like that, boom—boyfriend and girlfriend. No contracts. No pretending. No expectations. Just you, and him.

(...and somewhere, Layla was probably waiting with her tail wagging ready to jump all over you when you got home.)

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laceyfaeryy · 2 months ago

Text

FORGET ME NOTS

butcher! simon riley x florist! reader

౨ৎ⠀ׄ⠀. ━ retired! simon riley who is a butcher in a small town suddenly finds himself infatuated with the florist across the road who gave him flowers on national flower day.

note: context warnings apply to all parts, ones in bold apply to the current part - it will be updated consistently

cw: fem! reader . stalking . dom! simon riley x sub! reader . masturbation .

i. part 1 ii. part 2

⊹₊ ⋆ after retirement simon found tranquility tucked away in the shabby butcher shop located in the corner of the street. the sound of a loud thwack filled the room as he hacked through the bones of the meat, his apron splattered with blood.

solitude suited him the most, being in the military meant that he had little to no tolerance for incompetency, his co-workers too scared to even speak to him. his looming figure of 6’5 and 250 lbs, arms inked with intricate design and scars, with his black skull balaclava didn’t make him any more approachable.

though his experience in the military was visible from the way he precisely made each cut, his rough calloused hands manoeuvring the knife with both experience and skilled precision. his muscles would flex ever so slightly with each move, his knife skills were deadly.

he wasn’t the best with customer service, his bluntness and impatience would’ve scared all his customers away if he wasn’t the only butcher who provided high quality meats.

“wot yer want now?��

his eyes sharp as he towered over the wimpy boy who stood on the other side of the counter, his knuckles gripping the edge as the boy stuttered out a response.

“j-just that one.” the boy pointed to the loin, simon letting out a low huff before grabbing it.

within seconds the boy dumped cash on the counter without waiting for change, almost tripping over his own legs as he walked away.

“fuckin’ hell,” simon grumbled, shaking his head in annoyance.

if there was one thing he got from spending his time at the military, it was efficiency. it seemed quite clear that none of his customers had it.

incompetent fools.

simon was strict with following routines, open shop at 9 and close at 7. never a minute early, or a minute late. that was until today.

the red sign on the door clearly displaying the word ‘close’ did not stop the knocking on the door. at first he didn’t even bother on looking, his gaze fixed towards washing the knives and wiping down the counter, until he heard a sweet voice.

“please let me in sir!”

he stopped mid way through wiping the counter, his gaze drifting up to the glass door to see a pretty little thing outside with a small frown. oh, and holding a giant bouquet of flowers in your hands with another stuffed inside your tote.

you just seemed so different.

you gave him a genuine smile, where he could see the sparkle in your eyes, a small bounce on your feet as you waved to him enthusiastically. “i’ll be quick i promise,” your voice slightly muffled due to the door, but he swore it was the most melodic voice he’s ever heard.

without even thinking his legs brought him to the front door, unlocking it without a second thought. he stood there like an idiot, watching you walk in with the same smile. it was like flowers blossomed wherever you walked, birds singing as they followed you and a ray of sunshine focused on you.

the moment he got a whiff of your sickly sweet perfume he was gone. his mind went hazy, turning into a mindless man instead of an ex military retiree from years of training.

“uh, wot can i get yer birdie?”

the sudden term slipped out of his mouth without hesitation, it was fitting though. a small beaming girl who had the voice of a song bird.

“nothing, i just wanted to give you this!” the bouquet of flowers in your hands now shoved against his large chest, the sudden movement making him blush slightly, grateful that you couldn’t see it. “ it’s national flower day, so i’d thought i’d spread the love running a flower shop and all.”

oh so his birdie was a florist.

the juxtaposition between his imposing figure in all black, in an apron covered in blood whilst wearing a skull balaclava and the delicate colourful arrangement could not be any more striking.

“even a rough man like you deserves some flowers,” your voice soft as you smiled at him. he clenched his fists to hide the sudden urge to run his calloused thumb over your soft plush lips.

“what are these ones?” his grey eyes examining the flowers, tracing each delicate and intricate detail. never in his life had he paid attention to flowers, the only thing he knew about was bloodshed and loss from the military, he didn’t feel deserving of something so… delicate. he was man of death, killing hundreds during his missions and yet he was holding an arrangement of blue delicate flowers that blossomed.

“forget me nots.”

“it’s a sign of true love,” you motioned to the flowers, “and a bunch of other things, but i’m a hopeless romantic so i’d like to focus on that.”

of course you were.

everything about you represented love, that beaming smile and how you just seemed to glow despite the disgustingly horrid white lights that made the store look like a hospital. simon on the other hand was convinced the flowers were going to wilt within seconds simply because he was holding them.

“wait here,” his voice low as he walked to the back of the counter, grabbing something wrapped up in kraft paper, it looking comically small in simon’s hands and yet huge when he placed it on your palms.

“an exchange,” without even knowing he fidgeted with his fingers, as if he was a nervous teenage boy rather than a man who was built like a guard dog.

you gently ran your thumb over the paper, a soft blush forming on your cheeks that made simon want to pinch them. god, you were adorable.

“jus’ cook it properly, season it thoroughly and then sear it on a pan or grill if yer into that.” he spoke when he saw the uncertainty in your face. “it’s cold tonight, so it’ll keep yer warm.”

he watched as you thanked him, almost getting into a fight because you insisted on paying. cute and stubborn.

he didn’t leave the windows until he saw your figure fully disappear into the night.

suddenly, the room didn’t feel so cold and smelt oddly sweet.

tag list: @happysmappy @mydickishuge560 @dolli333 @madebyyicarus @l-otti @butlerslut @vampwifee @i-wanabe-yours @bluebarrybubblez @cinnamongrl2006 @akkahelenaa @yanfeiiiiii @actualpoppy @lilyalone @other-fandoms-reblogs @goonette6969 @doubledizzy22 @lucienofthelakes @arabellatreaty

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mayaree-darling · 2 months ago

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In the End, It's Still You // Sung Jinwoo and Liu Zhigang

Pairing: AshbornVessel!Sung Jinwoo x ReincarnatedLover!Reader x Monarch(?)Liu Zhigang

Synopsis: It’s him, you would just have to see him and you would know it’s him. You would know his soul. In whatever world, whatever body. You would know your lover and he would know you - and you would have the eternity you swore to one another. Jinwoo disagrees.

From Mayaree: Can you guys tell I miss writing for Vessel!Characters? (Hi, Sukuna!) Anyways, if you didn’t see the post, I kept getting notifs for the small Jinwoo fic I wrote (understandably, season 2 is out and he’s hot af) but I think I’ve let you guys have too much fun. Also, if there are too many plot holes: lmao. I just needed to get this out because it’s been living in my head and it said it can pay rent

Content: Angst (some fluff sprinkled in but definitely angst (for Jinwoo and Ashborn)); Feminine Reader; Jinwoo’s POV but also second person; No one really knows Ashborn exists but some “exceptions”; Obsessed Jinwoo if you squint; Pretty sure all of them are OOC but hey that’s the best part of fanfics; If it gets confusing: yes.

Fic Length: 32k~ (semi-proofread) (LORD HELP ME IT'S A NOVELLA)

For some important context: This takes place in a world where Jinwoo uses the Cup of Reincarnation, however the new world still has hunters and gates and monarchs are still a thing. There is simply no urgency for the same war to take place so quickly like in the original timeline, Ashborn is a sort of spirit that stays with the Black Heart inside Jinwoo (like a remnant of his consciousness). Jinwoo and Hae-in are still friends here. Jinwoo knows Hae-in’s feelings already.

You may begin.

There’s someone staring at him.

He would have quietly sent out his shadows after them, but he could tell they didn’t have any malicious intent. However, it did feel very intense. And… familiar? As if he could tell that it was someone he knew. Something inside Jinwoo’s chest felt warm, the black heart he carried around with him seemed to beat faster. Now that was rather concerning. Ashborn only seemed to wake up when he was in a gate or he could detect a monarch (rarely although it did happen, he would sometimes strike up a conversation). Jinwoo looks around in alarm.

When Jinwoo finally finds your glimmering eyes staring at him, he watches as they switch from curiosity to familiarity. You grin at him, bright and ever so blinding. Jinwoo feels Ashborn’s heart thump so hard in his chest that he grabs at the front of his shirt in a failed effort to calm it. He blinks and his vision blurs. He suddenly sees something else. He’s suddenly somewhere else. The place is familiar (that word seems to come so naturally right now). Jinwoo knows it’s memories that don’t belong to him.

He is on a small hill surrounded by a sea of flowers. He leans on a large tree that shields him from the sun overhead; it’s so peaceful that the owner of the eyes Jinwoo is watching from aren’t concerned in the slightest. Jinwoo wanted to be on high alert, but the viewer felt differently, almost right at home.

Ashborn’s memories.

He hears rustling and a soft giggle and when Jinwoo – Ashborn? – looks to his side, he breathes out a sigh of disbelief. Jinwoo has seen a lot of things inside and outside gates, and yet-

Lovely.

Your clothes are of royalty, detailed and even decorated with gems (were those magic crystals?) and what seemed to be high-quality fabric. Jinwoo suddenly felt that the title “monarch” fit you better than him or even Ashborn. But the accessories you wore paled in comparison to your own natural features.

From the way the air tousled at your hair and the way your skin soaked in the sun from the soft rays that slipped past the foliage, the both of them thought you were lovely in all accounts. You join Jinwoo beneath the tree and lean against it. You grin – something familiar, and yet not at all – and he looks to your lips as you grin. “Did I make you wait long? To be quite honest, I did not think you’d actually come to visit me again. But I am very happy you’re here!”

He wants to say that he doesn’t know you (that he missed the sight of you), and that he shouldn’t be here (that there was no other place he would have rather been). But no words leave him.

The grin slowly leaves your lips and you tilt your head in confusion at the lack of a reply. Jinwoo watches as your lips move to say Ashborn?, but instead, he hears his name instead.

He blinks and suddenly he finds himself staring at Cha Hae-in’s grey eyes, watching him curiously, the loving undertone beneath them isn’t lost on him.

Love…ly?

Jinwoo smiles softly at Hae-in. Right, right. He was supposed to hang out with Hae-in today. As friends, anyway. Although he can’t quite match her feelings for him yet, he respected her all the same.

Feelings… He remembers a beautiful smile and a hill of flowers.

He forces himself not to, but eventually, Ashborn – of course it was Ashborn, who else? – makes him give in and looks back at you. His heart thumps – it’s Ashborn’s, how many times does he have to tell him that? – pathetically in his chest.

Your eyes are on him still and Jinwoo knows you never looked away, not when he saw the memory, not when Hae-in came up beside him. Your eyes are on him and a part of him-

ASHBORN. A part of Ashborn-

-hurts. It hurts. Jinwoo sees a flash of hurt in yours too. Deep rooted. A betrayal, one he prays he will never know. He doesn’t have to think too much into whatever your relationship with Ashborn is just by the way his chest continues to get impossibly tighter and by the way your eyes stay solely on him across the busy street.

Jinwoo knows what it probably looks like to you. He hears his name again and feels a tug on his sleeve. Hae-in, remaining ever so blissfully unaware of what was going on in Jinwoo’s head, smiles again when their eyes meet. She knows that sometimes he just gets like that – a little lost in his thoughts, thinking deep (listening, really) – and it helps to bring him back to reality with a small reminder.

Like right now. She tugs again.

Right, Jinwoo breathes in and out to focus. He forces the voice in his head to be quiet (it tells him to at least come closer, to make sure that you have been well all this time) and he ignores the way his heart thumps pathetically in his chest (Jinwoo reminds it that he owns the body and a small voice in the back of his mind replies: Not completely.)

Something about your presence unnerved him. Like your very existence didn’t bode well for him. The black heart in his chest constricts painfully the more he thought about it.

His mother is awake, his sister is happy, his father is home, and he has friends like Hae-in. Jinwoo is content (he will not know the betrayal he saw in your eyes. Maybe before Ashborn, but not anymore.) He will protect what he has.

Jinwoo is happy in the present. And he will be as well, in the future, with his family that he has reclaimed.

But he watches the hurt in your glimmering eyes (is he imagining that? They really seem to glitter) for a beat longer and Ashborn’s heart gives one more painful beat – did Jinwoo imagine that it was louder? – and something changes. Your eyebrows raise and you watch Jinwoo curiously before you let out a small smile that makes your eyes crinkle at the sides. Something has changed. It’s small, but Jinwoo knows that look.

Hope. He’s stayed long enough.

Hae-in is surprised when Jinwoo suddenly turns and pulls her along towards the building. Jinwoo doesn’t need to know anything about you – that stolen memory was more than enough. You aren’t his concern any longer. The other heart in his chest may say otherwise but he doesn’t care.

Sung Jinwoo is happy where he is. He has no need for you and the danger he feels with your very existence to be in his life.

Ashborn disagrees.

=O=O=O=

Jinwoo should have known his peace wouldn’t last long. That eventually knowing you existed would lead to one challenge to another.

Such as now.

Chairman Go introduces you with a kind smile, but it does nothing to calm the chill that goes up and down Jinwoo’s spine. He can’t bring himself to look at you, but his efforts may as well be in vain with how your eyes kept going back to him. Jinwoo was by no means vain, but he could understand that most people could feel the mana that escaped him as effortlessly as he could fight, and that surge of energy coming from him had people turning their heads to look. But he and his hearts knew that wasn’t the case in this instance.

It was the eyes he saw in Ashborn’s memories. He didn’t want to put a name to it, as it felt like crossing a line he wouldn’t be able to come back from. But it was undeniable: it was the same look Hae-in gave him. And it was all wrong. He didn’t know who you were, and yet you looked at him like he could give you the whole world.

It shouldn’t be that way. He wasn’t who you thought he was. He didn’t know who you were.

You say your name with a polite bow and greet the room of other S-Rank hunters. Jinwoo is stiff as a board, looking past you in a daze, but Ashborn’s heart may as well sing at the very sound of your voice.

It could be a different person, you know, Jinwoo reasons. He prays, really. This was a mistake. And if it wasn’t, it would lead to more mistakes. You could have simply looked similar, a version of a person or being Ashborn had known in his original time.

When Ashborn laughs, it’s more scathing than anything he could have said. Jinwoo felt pissed and embarrassed and defeated all at the same time.

Had you known them as I have, a different name or another body would not matter. Your soul would not have to look for them: it would find itself back home without fail.

Jinwoo hated that answer. It was bad. This felt worse than whatever dungeon he was thrown in or walked into (even the Double Dungeon). It was going to be very, very bad for him and the future he was trying to protect.

And he knew it the very moment he tried to teleport out of that room. Before his body could even leave, your hand encloses around the wrist of his suit, and that was enough to keep him in place.

The other hunters around are surprised – you had moved quickly and silently, almost reminiscent of Hunter Sung’s speed (maybe even faster if you were able to catch up to him) – but because of your actions, Jinwoo has his guard up almost instantly. Not only because of the danger you brought into his life, but just for a split second, he saw it: the hand holding on to him had glowed and that light alone was strong enough to stop him.

To an extent, you were stronger than him. And he knew it was because of the heart running a mile a minute inside his chest. Ashborn was letting you have strength over him and Jinwoo was unnerved that it could overpower even him.

You tug at his wrist, eyes on him again. He doesn’t want to look. He prays to a higher being, hell, he was desperate enough to pray to Ashborn – but right now Ashborn was the most untrustworthy higher being to pray to when it’s concerning you.

“Can we talk?”

Your voice is soft, vulnerable. Very much unlike the confident voice he heard from earlier introducing themselves to the room of powerful beings. Jinwoo raises his head and looks around the room and the other hunters seemingly scatter almost immediately. However, Hae-in stays.

“Jinwoo?”

He’s at a loss for what to say. He could say you were an acquaintance, but the lie felt so foreign on his lips that he can’t make it out. Before he can think of a possible answer, you let go of him and turn to Hae-in with a small smile and greet her with a bow. There’s a shift in your eyes, like a sort of clarity that overcomes you.

“Hello. I am… an old friend of Jinwoo’s. Would it be alright if I talk to him? It won’t take long, I swear it. I would just like to… catch up.”

An old friend. It was no lie, but definitely not the truth. Jinwoo could feel his chest constrict once more. It was hurting Ashborn that you had to make up such a lie.

Jinwoo hated this.

To his surprise (and horror), Hae-in gives him one final look before smiling at you and bowing. She tells him she’ll wait for him in the lobby for their sparring session. She leaves without another words and Jinwoo turns back to you. He makes the mistake of looking at your face.

Lovely.

It’s that word again. The one that Ashborn’s heart whispers, and the one Jinwoo thinks as he sees your eyes, glimmer to them back in full force. In your eyes he sees the same amount of devotion he saw in Ashborn’s memories, but now there was a sense of longing. And it hurts. He could tell Ashborn was in pain, and the more Jinwoo looked at you, the more he felt it, too. He wanted to look away.

This was a mistake.

“How have you been?” Your voice is soft and sweet and feels so… familiar. (But Jinwoo does not know you.)

This was one giant mistake. He tells himself over and over. He does not know you. You are a stranger who believes you love him.

He looks down to the ground, but even that is a temporary solution. He feels something warm against his cheek. Your fingertips barely graze at them and he looks up at you again only to feel his heart dropping (was that his? Or Ashborn’s? He couldn’t tell.)

Warm tears carefully fall down your cheeks as you stare at him. Your fingers remain ghosting at his cheek.

“I’m sorry for hurting you,” you manage a strangled laugh and Jinwoo can only clench his fists to keep Ashborn from trying to go to you. An arm’s distance – that was more than enough for the two of you. “I’m sorry for making you wait.”

You smile a little more and your eyes crinkle at the sides like last time, and finally Jinwoo realizes what he sees in your expression this whole time.

It was the look of someone who finally found home.

He feels the heat in his cheeks grow as you move to cup them completely.

This was all wrong.

In the last second, he grabs at your wrist – a little too forcefully (if he was to be honest as well), and Ashborn’s heart is lit aflame with anger in his chest, but he doesn’t care.

“I don’t know you, so please stop.” He tightens his grip a little more to make sure you’re listening.

The smile on your face drops, and he knows that the tears that fall from your face are no longer ones of joy. He can’t breathe right, and he knows that the way his chest tightens is no longer Ashborn’s fondness for your presence but anger aimed at him.

“But you do, right?” You cling to the hand holding your wrist, eyes desperate, and Jinwoo hated it – hated how it made him guilty and how Ashborn’s anger kept rising to greater heights. He could feel his shadows scattering underneath him, claiming the room in darkness. But you don’t show a shred of fear, eyes solely on him. Begging. Glittering. “I know you.”

Had you known them as I have, a different name or another body would not matter. Your soul would not have to look for them: it would find itself back home without fail.

“I would know you more than any-“

“STOP.” He roughly lets go of your wrist and takes a step back. He’s more than an arm’s distance away from you. “I don’t know you. And you don’t know me. So please stop.”

The tears continue to fall as you stare at him – your eyes are dull and Jinwoo chalks it up to the dim room covered with his shadows (it had to be because of his shadows. Nothing more). He turns and leaves without another word. You don’t try to follow him.

He hears Ashborn tell him that had he known Jinwoo would treat you as such, he would have thought twice about picking him as a successor.

Jinwoo agrees, he really should have picked better if this is what it takes to be one.

=O=O=O=O=

You’re across the street again, the next time you see him. It already had him on edge, knowing the ensuing problem, but what made things worse is that he was with his family and Hae-in at the moment – the latter joining them after his mother and father insisted that she come along. He was ready to teleport everyone to a different location and tell them he felt mana in the air that signaled a gate was about to open and he didn’t want them there in case of danger (if he was honest, your very presence sometimes made him feel like he was about to face an S Rank gate).

But you don’t come closer. You just watch him, and for once, Jinwoo doesn’t feel the need to hide you. No, if anything, he felt like he needed to hide them – his family – from you. But not out of shame. No, that won’t be the right word. The betrayal he saw the first time would be close.

What must they look like to you right now? What must he look like?

His father and mother walk ahead of the group, holding hands and chatting amongst themselves. Jinah makes a joke that makes Hae-in laugh softly, their shoulders brushing for a moment as they walk. For once, your eyes aren’t solely on him. You meet his eyes, but they also soak in the scene around him and you take a step back.

You’re hurt, that much he can tell. You bite your bottom lip and try to make yourself look away, but you can’t seem to. You gape at the scene as they enter the park and finally with one last glance at you, Jinwoo can tell what’s on your face.

Envy. But not the kind that he thinks is greedy or dirty.

Just a yearning. Knowing it’s something you don’t have, hoping that you can have it.

But right now it’s his. The very thought makes him happy and proud, but the sight of your shattered face makes him want to hide them away, and tell you that you don’t have to be jealous. That you-

No. Jinwoo turns away, going back to the happy bubble of his family. Ashborn may have given him the power, but he isn’t there to meddle with his past life, especially not with someone so closely ingrained like you. Not with the things you were expecting.

You are a part of this world, so he will protect you, but that’s as far as it goes. Ashborn disagrees.

=O=O=O=O=

He finds Hae-in talking next to you on a park bench.

Jinwoo’s family called the picnic quits after the sun started to set and the wind picked up, so they started to pack their things. Jinah only noticed that Hae-in failed to come back from the restroom when everything was good. Given her status as an S Rank hunter, Jinwoo’s family figured she got held up by some fans, but Jinwoo knew better.

Ashborn knew better.

Quickly excusing himself, Jinwoo exchanges with the shadow assigned to Hae-in and in an instant, he’s standing behind a bench.

Your backs are facing him and when the grass rustles with his footsteps, only Hae-in turns to look at him. You continue to stare at the sunset. Not knowing how your eyes looked after seeing them over and over again had him paranoid.

To his surprise and caution, Hae-in calls him over happily. He stands next to her, and looks to you, and even still, you don’t spare a glance at him. There’s a soft smile on your face, most likely the one you wore during your conversation with Hae-in, but she might not have noticed how they don’t reach your eyes.

“I saw her sitting here alone so I thought she’d like some company.” Hae-in quietly says. Jinwoo manages a curt nod before tugging at her sleeve. He’s about to tell her it was time to go when she speaks again. “Why don’t you guys catch up? I’ll help the others pack up. Be right back!”

Before he knows it, Hae-in is gone and it’s just you two. Jinwoo’s hands are clammy with cold sweat. He spares a glance at you and your blank face looking at the horizon and with a strangling heartbeat from Ashborn, he relents. He sits down across from you.

It's silent. You don’t say anything and neither does he. But he has to. He knows that. He has to make things clear with you now or he’s bound to get into more trouble in the future. He just has to break it to you softly that he was-

“Ash-“

Jinwoo broke.

“That’s not my name.” He says it through gritted teeth, he doesn’t know if it’s the anger he suddenly feels spike up because of your insistence, or the adrenaline Ashborn just shot up through his veins. “My name is Sung Jinwoo. I am an S Rank Hunter from Korea.”

“But-“ You finally face him and try to reach out slowly, but Jinwoo moves to the very edge of the bench. The space is narrow as it is, but it felt impossibly large enough.

“I am not Ashborn.” He knows it’s true, because it is. So why does it hurt to say? Is it the way the glimmer in your eyes continues to slowly fade? “I don’t know how to prove it to you, but he’s gone.”

“But I can feel-“ He can see in your eyes that you want to move closer to him, but your fear that he’ll leave again is holding you back.

“No. You can feel his heart. He gave it to me, to be his successor. But he’s not here anymore. So I need you to stop. I am not Ashborn. I am Sung Jinwoo, so please stop acting like I’m-”

“That, that can't be right, no-“ For once, you’re looking at everything but him, and normally he’d be glad, but it felt more like if you couldn’t see him, then what he was saying was just as intangible.

“Please listen to me,” Jinwoo holds on to your shoulders, forcing your eyes back on him. He needed you to focus. He needed you to listen or you would never understand. “He’s not here. I am not him. Please stop trying to find him in me.”

You keep shaking your head, and in a last ditch effort, Jinwoo swallows hard. “I do not love you. I have someone I already love.”

There’s a pause, where you just look at him and he looks at you. For a split second, Jinwoo is aware of how close he is. He feels your warmth, the way your clothes rustle against his fingers, how your body breathes heavy with the gravity of your conversation. He blinks and for a second, he sees you in a hill of flowers looking happier than ever. And quietly, he hears Ashborn’s voice.

You’re here.

He lets go of you, almost as forcefully as when he did your wrist the first time you met, and the spell is immediately broken. You blink and with a pause, scoot away from him, almost crumpling into yourself as your shoulders sag. You hug yourself, suddenly cold with realization. Jinwoo knows he was too harsh, but he assures himself that he needed to be. He almost stands up to leave.

“Do you… remember? You promised me forever when I died.” Jinwoo wanted to correct you, that you still understood and listened to nothing, but that wasn’t quite it. It felt like you weren’t talking to him, your eyes were glazed over, like you’re reliving a memory. “I held on to your promise of forever. But now I… we can’t have that. Is it wrong that I find it so unfair?”

You raise your eyes to him and for what felt like the hundredth time, Jinwoo couldn’t look at you. He didn’t want to put a name to the expression on your face. “I truly believed I would never find that again if it wasn’t with him. Ashborn… Jinwoo… will I find someone I can say I love again, too? Don’t I deserve that, too?”

Jinwoo pauses. He hated giving false hope. He tells himself that it’s what you needed. He knows it’s what you deserve. Can the monarchs pray? He hears Ashborn mutter things that are holier than anything he knows.

“I’m sure you will,” Jinwoo means it, but it truly tasted like poison. He couldn’t breathe. He wonders what Ashborn prayed for. “I wish you the best.”

There’s a pause between the both of you. Jinwoo hears his name called in the distance. He slowly stands up and he watches as you carefully lean back into the park bench, your face completely void of emotion, despite the tears softly slipping from your eyes. Your voice is small when you talk again.

“Can… he hear you? Even a little bit? I know you said that he’s gone, but I know a soul can sometimes cling to a heart.”

He hated that you were right about that, but you didn’t have to know how far that truth stretched. “Sometimes… I think.”

“Can you tell him that I lo- no… Tell him thank you. He was the only one who mourned for me. I remember that. And I’ll always remember. That’s all. Stay safe, Ash- no, Hunter Sung.”

Jinwoo gapes as you brush away the remnants of your tears and suddenly stand on shaky legs, slowly walking away. You stop for a short bit and turn to the sunset. “Guess I won’t be able to watch it again this time,” you quietly whisper. And then you go on your way.

He watches quietly as you pass by his family, coming to pick him up.

His parents greet you with waves, Jinah smiles brightly and bows and Jinwoo stares as Hae-in smiles and gives you a small pat on the shoulder. You gave them each small bows, your back to him. He already misses the lovely look in your glimmering eyes, if only to spare him the sight of you like this – he can’t bear to think what you look like right now. To them you may have been fine, but he knew it would have been different to him.

Jinwoo’s family comes closer but he couldn’t help but watch as you walked and walked until you were a small speck in the distance.

With all the people and monsters he killed, somehow, Jinwoo has never felt more like a horrible human being.

Ashborn agrees.

=O=O=O=O=O=O=

The next time he meets you, he almost couldn’t recognize you, and he thinks maybe this is how it would have been from the very start.

He would have met you first in that meeting with Chairman Go and the other hunters, maybe see you in passing a couple of times around the city or in the Hunter’s Association building, and then finally have a chance to work with you after weeks in this sudden appearance of an S Rank gate.

You’re different now, or was this how you really were? (A voice in his head tells him that they both know that this was not how you really were).

Your eyes have lost the glimmer he has been so accustomed to, and even still they’re duller than when you first introduced yourself to the room of hunters. You sit on a closed crate holding extra weapons for the other hunters, legs up to your chest, hugging your weapon close to you. You seemed lost in thought, or lost in a dream. The other hunters could tell you weren’t in the mood for any conversation, no one daring to come towards you and left you alone, despite casting glances your way.

Jinwoo should know better – he burned that bridge in that park bench by the sunset, but the voice inside of him said otherwise.

She’s not gonna want me anywhere near her, you know.

Ashborn doesn’t answer, but Jinwoo already knows: he’s asking him to come forward for his own peace of mind. But Jinwoo doubted himself, too. It didn’t sit well with him. He may not have known you long all but for your obsession that he was Ashborn, but he was still human enough to feel guilty for making you feel so horrible. Maybe a small apology would suffice.

Jinwoo takes one step forward, but before he can walk towards you, he sees someone come towards you in the corner of his eye.

Jinwoo is speechless as he watches Hae-in hesitate for a split second, gauging your reaction to her presence – but you don’t make a move to acknowledge her; not that you were ignoring her, but more so you were so lost in your head that you didn’t realize she was right there. She takes a seat in the crate beside you and from Jinwoo’s place a bit of a ways from you, she gives a small greeting that snaps you out of your trance. You blink, and then you offer a small smile and a nod of your head. The smile is empty and his chest hurts.

He had half a mind to leave you to your conversation - Hae-in might be better with comforting you than he could. But Ashborn urges otherwise.

I’ve already hurt her enough, haven’t I?

Then you cannot go any lower. Speak to her. Before you enter the gate. I do not doubt she has lessened in skill, but her focus at the moment - I worry for her.

You think she’s gonna focus better if I talk to her?

Please. She is hurt, yes, and to be quite frank I doubt she wishes to see us- you, again, after what transpired if not for this gate. But I believe seeing something familiar will ground her, if only for the time being.

Jinwoo lets out a sigh. Again, he is reminded of how hard it is to have two hearts, two souls, and two different lives living in a single body - but he forces himself to push through. He’s survived through worse, hasn’t he? This should be simple enough.

You do not have to pretend to be me.

Right. No need to pretend. Just… well, he’ll figure it out somehow. Somehow.

He walks towards you and Hae-in and again, Hae-in catches sight of him first. She smiles softly at him and nods, but you keep your eyes on her expression until he’s close enough, and then your stare falls to the ground. The three of you wait for someone to speak first but no one ends up talking. Jinwoo stares at you, and Hae-in’s eyes go from him to you interchangeably, wondering about the sudden silence. Finally, you speak.

“I… seem to have made a mistake,” you start, and the statement may have made Hae-in confused, but it startled Jinwoo the most. It was a mistake for him to think he had control in any conversation he had with you, and he was already losing ground so early. “I… seem to have confused you with someone else, Hunter Sung.”

Finally, you look up at Hae-in, who was almost as confused as Jinwoo was at this point, with a small smile. “Hae-in, I’m really sorry, but can I ask for another favor? I promise this is the last time - but can I talk to Jin- Hunter Sung alone, again? I swear to explain things to you later, if you’d like?”

Hae-in pauses before shaking her head and smiling. “Don’t worry about it. I can tell this is a very personal matter between the two of you. No need for favors. Talk to you later.”

She leaves quietly with a bow to the both of you. Finally, it’s just you and Jinwoo again, your eyes falling back to the ground as you dug your foot into the soil. Jinwoo only lets a beat pass between the both of you before he speaks before you can get a chance to.

“Are… you okay?” it was a bit of a stupid question, if he was honest. But it was a start, wasn’t it? Surely, Ashborn would agree. Jinwoo waits for a reaction, but there’s nothing from Ashborn and it’s silent on your end.

“Sorry. For… badgering you so much,” you say, foot digging harder. “When I saw you on that street, I thought you were the same as me.”

Jinwoo frowns. “The same?”

You sigh softly. “I died, and I was born again into this world. I didn’t remember much back then, only small things, but when I saw you, I-”

You suck in a breath, like it physically hurts you to relive your memories. “I remembered so many memories, so many moments with y- Ashborn. And when I saw your eyes and the way you looked at me like you recognized me, I thought it was- I thought you were him. I thought I found him again. I thought I could be with him again, and I just needed to help jog your memories.”

Jinwoo clenches his fist and it felt like Ashborn was doing the same to his chest. A part of him - he prays that it’s Ashborn - wants to tell you the truth, that not all of him is him, but there is enough of your lover left. He holds himself back in time, just before Ashborn can take control of his sudden hesitation and speak for him.

“I’m… sorry to disappoint you. Again, he gave me his heart as a successor to his powers, but that’s mostly it,” his throat is strangled, but you don’t seem to catch the difference. “As for why I seemed to know you - well, I saw a sort of memory of you two in a hill of flowers, but nothing else.”

At the mention of that, your eyes snap to him and Jinwoo is caught speechless. This is the second time you’ve been so close to him and all he can see is your eyes, shining. Now that he’s so close, he finally recognizes the ethereal look to them - it’s the same flash of divinity he saw in the eyes of Ashborn and the monarchs, and in essence, him as well. They were still as lovely as ever. They glow at him with recognition and he flinches involuntarily.

Noticing his reaction immediately, you lean and scoot farther back on the crate, putting as much distance between the both of you. The moment your eyes left his, the shine was gone, and all that’s left is mortality - and dejection.

“Ah. I see. I’m… happy that even in his heart, there is a memory of me that remains,” you laugh bitterly, but Jinwoo takes no offense. It was sad and heartbroken, but as Ashborn had said - it sounded like it had grounded you.

It sounded like confirmation - like a goodbye.

“Thank you for talking to me, Hunter Sung. I��m aware it must have been very uncomfortable for you, and yet you’re still here,” you finally get off the crate, keeping a firm distance between the two of you before bowing deeply. “I know I don’t have to worry, but I wish you and Hunter Cha all the best. Please stay safe and healthy inside and outside the gates.”

It was cruel and the misunderstanding might come to bite him in the ass later on, but he doesn’t bother correcting you. It was better not to give you any hope.

“Stay safe as well.”

Please be safe, Beloved.

The name caught Jinwoo off guard. Ashborn was a being that, although righteous, was still stained in blood from the battles he had been on. But his voice had been so soft and heartfelt that it was almost impossible to think he was such a creature. One that cared so much for a single being so passionately. He wonders if that was where his fondness for mortals stemmed from?

“Jinwoo?”

Jinwoo blinks at the sound of his name once more. He looks to his side and finds Hae-in looking at him curiously and he feels like he was hit by deja-vu; there’s a difference this time, however. He looks up and around him and finally finds you quite a bit off, talking to other hunters, most likely for the ensuing raid.

Hae-in follows his gaze and lets out a small hum. “She’s really nice.”

Jinwoo gives her a sideway glance to see Hae-in looking at you with a small smile. “You guys seem to get along well.”

“Yes, I suppose so. I knew she was a good person the moment I met her.” Hae-in replies with a small laugh.

Jinwoo blinks at the answer. “How can you be so sure?”

“She smells like you, but different.” Jinwoo feels his stomach drop, but Hae-in mistakes the look on his face as bewilderment. “Wait, wait! I know that sounds weird, but let me explain. It’s subtle, but you smell pleasant. For her, strangely enough: it’s faint, but she smells nice all the time. It almost smells like-”

“Flowers?” It was just a guess, but Jinwoo already felt like he was going to throw up.

“Yes! How did you know?” Hae-in smiles at him brightly, her eyes shining. Jinwoo can’t help but think how they paled in comparison to yours and he feels impossibly twice as sick.

He tries not to think of the memory again, but Ashborn yearns for a hill surrounded by flowers. “Ah, well, I guess you can’t smell it like that, but she smells like flowers all the time because of a perfume she wears. I just guessed that’s what you can smell, too, just a bit different.”

“Oh I see! It’s really nice.”

Jinwoo nods numbly. Ashborn agrees.

=O=O=O=O=

How did he let it get down to this? There’s so much blood. There was so much blood that he couldn’t even tell that there was a body underneath it. Was that even possible? Was there even a body to save?

“Hunter Sung, we have to find the boss or-”

“Igris!”

His trustworthy shadow leaps into action immediately, cutting down as many of the army as possible, and yet it never seems to end. But Jinwoo couldn’t care less at the moment. The body in his arms looks up at him, and he hated how dull they looked. They weren’t supposed to look like that. He has seen so many in his short time together - happiness and sadness and all rolled in one. It was all wrong.

Iron deflects at an attack coming their way and Choi and Baek follow up with their own hits at the enemy, but Jinwoo doesn’t move. He takes out healing potion after healing potion, Beru at his side doing his best to heal the body in his arms.

The sky was all red, not helping Jinwoo’s anxiety - it looked like the body he was holding had drenched the whole world in blood. Why did the S Rank gate have to suddenly be a red gate? He’s never even heard of that - so why did it have to happen now?

The eyes are growing duller. Lovely, lovely. They were always lovely, even when he had made them anything but happy. Even when he stole so much. They’re not supposed to be like this.

Hae-in can’t stop crying. She does her best to support Jinwoo and the body in his arms as much as possible, shifting from attacking incoming enemies with so much ferocity to looking back at the duo behind her in insurmountable worry.

How can she stop crying when the body took the hit for her? She swings again. Jinwoo gives you another bottle of healing potion. He hates that it looks like your blood.

Ashborn hasn’t said a single thing.

=O=O=O=O=O=O=

Jinwoo all but speeds down the hospital corridors. He’s spent almost every waking minute of the past two weeks either trying to get a hold of your condition or wasting himself away in a dungeon, trying to distract himself until the next time he hears from you.

Beru had successfully stabilized your condition until the gate was closed. He left you in Hae-in’s arms and hunted down the boss so quickly it terrified all the other hunters, but he was too desperate. If he had been just a little late, if he had just been a second off, well…

Since the incident, Ashborn had gone completely quiet. He failed to share any of his thoughts or feelings, and the beat of his heart was synchronized with Jinwoo’s - but Jinwoo could understand the latter as his own was beating with anxiety for every waking minute.

But eventually, as he left another dungeon he pulverized, his phone rang.

“She’s awake.”

He would have shadow exchanged to her room right then and there if the hospital wasn’t surrounded by a barrier to keep out mana from leaking in respect to those stuck in eternal slumber. Jinwoo rushes to your room and spots a couple of gossiping nurses on the way. He didn’t quite mean to listen to their conversation, but without Ashborn to fill the silence, it had made itself in quite easily.

“Yeah, it was really odd. Or maybe it’s a common thing with hunters?”

“Not that I’ve heard of? Or maybe they get hit there a lot, since it takes up a lot of space and it’s a blind spot?”

Jinwoo passes by them and catches on to their conversation and he feels his hearts drop.

“You think? The scar was pretty huge, even bigger than the one we had to treat. What are the chances you get hit in the same spot again? It’s a miracle she survived.”

Jinwoo’s walking slows and slows until he goes into a full stop. The nurses leave and he’s alone in the corridor. A wound to the back that was almost impossible to live from.

Surely… not…?

“The same… spot…”

That can’t be right. No. Please, no.

Jinwoo’s chest felt like it was on fire. He clutches it again, trying to calm a panicked heart and an angered one. His breathing grows ragged and he chokes out a sob. His sight blackens and suddenly he sees another red sky.

The sky is lit aglow with flames and a red sun setting. Dragons and shadow soldiers fight as far as the eye can see. And yet, for all the carnage Jinwoo could see, he couldn’t hear any of the battle cries.

Ashborn?

Jinwoo looks down and his heart jumps to his throat almost immediately. There’s so much blood again, even with his hands enclosed in dark armor they were sticky with golden blood. In his arms rest you, in all your royal glory. He holds you closer to him, body leaning on him, and even with the armor he can feel how the flesh of your back gives way. Your eyes are dull.

He hates it so.

Are you… still there?

Before Ashborn could respond, Jinwoo’s vision clears and he’s back in the hospital corridor. He finds himself kneeling at the ground. His senses have mostly cleared, but something is ever so slightly wrong. He steadies himself on the wall and pushes himself up. And when he meets his eyes on the window glass, they glow a terrifying purple. He hears Ashborn’s voice, as thunderous as when he commands his army.

Again. I almost lost her again.

Jinwoo all but sprints to reach your bedroom. Choi and Baek are outside your room, conversing among themselves. Even in a hospital that blocked out mana, they stop short when they feel Jinwoo’s presence as he draws closer. They’re more than aware that he had been waiting for you to awaken, but something didn’t sit right with them seeing the Hunter look so angry.

“Hunter Sung, what are you-”

“Move.”

The guild masters feel a chill go down their spine, almost reminiscent of their time in the Jeju Island raid, even if they knew that Jinwoo had no reason to hurt them. They look at each other, having a silent agreement that surely Jinwoo - the man who had done everything he could to ensure your survival - would not do anything to harm you. They stand aside, and with a clear path to your room, he enters.

Jinwoo- Ashborn- The two powerful beings tied to your existence immediately breathe out a sigh of relief at the very sight of you, most of their anger dissipating but not completely. You’re sitting up, not leaning on the head board, looking out the window. Jinwoo is about to call out your name when he notices the loose way you wear your hospital gown. Peeking out from your thin clothing are bandages lightly soaked in pink.

The same spot.

Ashborn’s anger returns, more controlled but nonetheless fearsome. Jinwoo calls out to you.

At the sound of his voice, you immediately turn to him and offer a small smile. For once, Jinwoo is not uncomfortable at the glimmer of your eyes. But then he remembers a body bathed in red and he takes in Ashborn’s anger for his own. Your smile drops when he fails to respond and Jinwoo remains passive. The silence seems to eat at you.

“Is Hae-in alri-”

“What were you thinking?” Jinwoo’s voice is eerily calm, but it’s only because his own voice has already failed him. Ashborn had taken control the moment Jinwoo hesitated.

“What are you-” you flinch at the tone of voice, but despite how their hearts are strangled by guilt, Jinwoo and Ashborn push through. However, your eyebrows suddenly raise and your eyes seem to glimmer ever so softly. “Wait. Why do you sound like-”

“Stop.” Jinwoo cursed. He needed to take control before you realized Ashborn was there with him. “Don’t change the subject.”

You flinch again and tug at your blankets. You try to move away from him, but your wounds seem to act up. Jinwoo stops himself from coming to aid you - he just needed to get this out his chest and then he’ll help. A voice inside him warns him: Not too much.

“Didn’t you think of the consequences of what you did? What could have happened?”

Jinwoo watches as you carefully tug at the sheets, head lowered. “…Hae-in is a lovely person to me. Everyone, actually. She has people who love her a lot, too, but-”

Tell him I say thank you.

When you finally raise your eyes to meet his’, Jinwoo couldn’t breathe, strangled by your stare alone. A small frozen smile and the dullest eyes Jinwoo had ever seen on you, even more than when you were covered in so much red. “-I don’t want you to lose someone like that.”

Jinwoo doesn’t say anything, but it wouldn’t have mattered. You looked like you were seeing something beyond him. Your smile drops and you lower yourself back into the bed, turning your back to him.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to make y- anyone worry. But… if it’s okay with you, can you tell him I’m sorry, too? Thank you. I’d… like to get some rest.”

He was the only one who mourned for me.

Jinwoo turns around, his head so loud it was painful. It had been a while since he had voices in his head that were solely his. He didn’t know what to think - which to focus on, which to start and end and which to push away.

He is beyond grateful that Hae-in is alive, but the rest of him is being rotten by guilt. He couldn’t even find an outlet through anger because Ashborn had gone quiet. Jinwoo calls out to him, if only to hear a different voice in his head. When he finally speaks, his voice is soft, almost mortal. Not the same softness as when he called you his lover, almost the opposite of it.

Those eyes. I only saw them the last I held her. They are the same, and yet – why do they not feel the same? I cannot explain why, but I do not like seeing them on her almost more than the ones I have seen before.

Jinwoo couldn’t tell him the answer, but he would hear his thoughts regardless.

Of course Ashborn had not seen that look on you. It was the look of someone who had nothing left to lose, of someone ready to die. Did you have that look as you took the hit for Hae-in? Did you see the enemy coming for her and didn’t think twice?

That look. That was his fault.

The door softly clicked behind him. The other guild masters stood a ways off from the room, watching him curiously and cautiously just in case he was still on edge. He says nothing, only bowing his head to them and walking away.

He quietly asks for Ashborn’s help. Of wanting to make amends. You deserve that and much more.

Of course, Jinwoo starts. I can’t exactly pull off what you and her are expecting, okay? Let’s get that out of the way. I… I’m not ready… I can’t love her the way you do. I don’t even know her at all.

A friend, then. Ashborn replies softly. May you be a friend?

Jinwoo pauses, and Ashborn takes his silence as a sign to keep going. I am aware that you do not hold the same feelings for her as I do, as you do not know her and your own heart is in turmoil if it belongs to that other woman. It was wrong of me to push my emotions on to you, and I’m sure the same is true for her. I assure you that we both regret it so. It seems that in death, we have found ourselves stuck in time and have yet to accept that the world has moved on without us. With that being said-

Jinwoo braces himself for what Ashborn was about to say. It felt like whatever he was going to ask of him, the weight of it could crush him. I would like to ask you to be a friend to her, at the very least. I can see that this world has not treated her as kindly as I would have liked or as she deserves. So if it’s the slightest bit acceptable to you, I would urge you to be kinder. However if this goes against your wishes once more, then I will not push the matter. You have already done what you could do to save her life, and I am endlessly grateful. This is simply one more selfish request.

A friend, huh? It sounded like something small and easy, but as he thought, the responsibility it posed would be rather big. Ashborn admitted himself that you and the heart inside him weren’t simple things to underestimate, but he thinks of dull eyes that have lost all shine and his own heart is set in stone.

And if she says no?

Then it is no, Ashborn replies quickly, and then his voice goes softer. You had told me what those eyes meant. I simply do not want her to lose all hope in a universe that gave her a second chance at a new beginning. I do not want her to carry on living thinking life is so empty.

Ashborn waits with something akin to bated breath and almost sighs in relief when Jinwoo agrees.

=O=O=O=O=

“I want to start over,” Jinwoo bites at the inside of his cheek and rubs the back of his neck.

You stare at the edge of your bed, but you were clearly listening to him, as you fiddled again with the sheets of your bed. “What?”

Jinwoo braces himself and breathes in to steady himself. “I want to start over… if that’s okay with you.”

There’s a pause between the two of you before you manage a strangled laugh. “What do you mean by start… over? Surely you don’t mean like-”

“Oh, uh, not like… that.” He heard how your voice picked up and immediately he coughed. Jinwoo sees you breathe out - and he’s unsure whether out of dejection or to steady yourself as well (he hopes it’s the latter so as not to make things too awkward after what he’s about to do). He can’t see your eyes quite yet - you were making sure not to look at him. He finally grumbles out a sigh “Wait, let me start from the beginning.”

“I’m sorry for what I said before, from that time you still thought I was Ashborn to me getting angry at you for putting your life on the line. I could have said things better, but I let my anger get the best of me both times. So, I’m sorry.” Jinwoo bows his head low and he sees you move on the bed to try and get him to stand up straight, however the wound on your back kicks in.

He straightens up and tries to help you, but you flinch and hold up a hand to stop him from coming any closer - and Jinwoo is unsure if you wanted to be strong and handle it yourself or you didn’t want him anywhere closer to you. You’re both at a stand still, and finally Jinwoo moves away. He breathes out a sigh before trying to push through once more - he made Ashborn a promise, but above all else he really wanted to want this to happen.

“A-anyway, going back to what I was saying. I never got the chance to know you as, you know, you. And I suppose you never got to know me, either. So I thought, I would like to start over. I want to get to know you, too.”

There’s another pause as Jinwoo waits for your reply. You seem to be lost in thought as you catered to your wound. Eventually, you speak softly. “Why?”

“What?” You weren’t even that close yet and Jinwoo already knew he was gonna have to work harder to keep up with you and the way you took hold of a conversation so easily.

“We both know I haven’t been the best person to you - the first time we talked to each other I cried in front of you because I thought you were my lover reincarnated.” You laugh bitterly again, maybe at the memory or maybe because of the idea of Ashborn. “I’m not sure about this… I don’t… I don’t want to hurt you again….”

Jinwoo doesn’t say anything and waits, but Ashborn stays quiet. He supposes his second heart was keeping true to his word - he was leaving this conversation up to him and you. But Jinwoo already knew what he was getting himself into when he entered your room. He knew it wasn’t going to be easy, but he wasn’t going to be a push over either.

“Why don’t we give it a try, then? You said that you see me differently whenever you look at me, right? Because you remember Ashborn rather than seeing me.”

“Yes…?”

“Try focusing then. You already know I’m not him.” Jinwoo’s voice is soft, almost like he was trying to make sure the rest of the world doesn’t hear. And that’s what he wanted right now. His shadows overtake the whole room until it’s just you two. He tests the waters by sitting at the foot of your bed and you flinch. “Focus. Breathe. The way he moves, the way he speaks. It’s not me. His voice, the way he looks. It is not mine.”

Sung Jinwoo wasn’t one to give up easily. Ashborn had given him his heart, it was his job to see things through. And if it didn’t work out - then he can say he did his best to the very end.

He holds out his hand and you stare at it hard. Your eyes are a whirlpool, shifting with a sort of shine and turmoil - Jinwoo was watching the two sides of you fight to take control in real time. He wonders if that’s how he looks whenever Ashborn takes control from other people’s perspective. He waits for a second more before he breaks the silence.

“It’s nice to meet you. My name is Sung Jinwoo.”

At the sound of his voice, your eyes snap up to him and he falters. It’s a whirlpool of glitter that is all encompassing. It’s lovely, yes, but it’s almost swallowing the darkness that surrounds you both. He should leave, this didn’t bode well for him, this was a mistake, he-

But he wanted to believe in you. You were a good person. You wouldn’t let this take over you, right?

He steadies himself and holds out his hand to you again. “You must not have heard me. My name is Sung Jinwoo. I am an S Rank Hunter from South Korea and the Guild Master of the Ahjin Guild. I heard that the Hunter’s Association had recruited an S Rank healer. That must be you, correct? May I have your name?”

You blink at his words, something overcoming in your head and Jinwoo watches as the realization hits you. Ashborn had said that the two of you had simply had a hard time understanding that you were no longer living in your past, so shouldn’t Jinwoo remind you of the present?

Jinwoo watches as you squeeze your eyes shut, and when that isn’t enough you press the heels of your palms to your closed eyes and crumple into yourself. His hand falls.

Did I fail? He hears nothing.

His shadows return underneath him and he stands up to leave, but before he can completely go, he hears you mutter something softly.

“Come again?”

When you raise your head, they continue to glimmer and Jinwoo has half a mind to leave you right then and there, but he realizes that they only shine with small tears as you smile. Your eyes shine with mortality.

You say your name louder as you clumsily hold out your hand to him. He laughs, shaking his head and takes your hand in his and gives it a firm squeeze and a shake.

Jinwoo likes the sound of your name and the way he can hear the smile in it. And although Ashborn can’t remember what it was in the past, he agrees. The present is beautiful.

=O=O=O=O=O=

Although he knew you and Hae-in were close, he had underestimated how close you two had gotten in such a short amount of time.

“Hae-in? What… are you doing here?” Jinwoo blinks. Hae-in blushes in response, as shy as she always was, but you give off a small smile in response to both of them. She all but clings to your arm at the sudden attention on her by her new friend and the object of her affections.

“I told Hae-in that I wanted to make amends with you, as she knew we weren’t in the best of… situations right now, despite knowing each other before,” you clear your throat, trying to come up with something believable for Hae-in. “And I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable too much during our outing, so Hae-in offered to hang out with the both of us.

Jinwoo wasn’t one to be uncomfortable, but there may be some truth to your words. He was just hoping to have a walk with you around the city (he thought about the park but maybe you weren’t ready for those kinds of memories), maybe get some food on the way, and have small talk. It was Ashborn’s ideas, of course.

What should we even do?

I wish to say that as a monarch, I have no concept of “friends”, but if you wish to know more about her that I have observed in our short time here in the present, then I can suggest some things.

Let’s hear it then.

Spending time with another is a given, yes?

Yeah, that’s pretty much understood, Jinwoo almost rolled his eyes, instead he settled for a groan. He should’ve known Ashborn had no idea of things like this, but he’ll bite. What else?

Sweets. I have noticed while she spent her time healing that she enjoyed those treats you call sweets. They seem to make mortals happy, and it seems to be the same for her.

Okay, treats. That’s a good start. What else you got?

To his surprise, Ashborn hesitates. Jinwoo almost calls out to him when he suddenly speaks again.

Stories. Tell her stories.

Stories? What kind?

Yes, stories. Of how you spent your day, no matter how mundane. Of your battles with the other monarchs, if you so choose, as she will understand more than anyone. And then Ashborn hesitates. Of your family. Of things that make you happy.

Jinwoo nods slowly before he exhales softly. That sounds like things meant for a date than things you do with friends, though.

What is a “date”?

Okay, so maybe having Hae-in along would lessen the date aspect of this hang out, especially now that you two weren’t alone.

He’s snapped out of his thoughts when you suddenly pull on his arm. He freezes when you intertwine his and your arm on one side and slightly relaxes when he sees you have Hae-in on the other.

“Alright then,” you grin brightly and Jinwoo could have sworn the whole world had just lit up around him. By the look on Hae-in’s face, she was thinking the same thing. Jinwoo is reminded of a woman in royal attire in a field of flowers and he hears Ashborn laugh once before he pushes the thought away. He is in the present. You are in the present. There was no need for that right now. However he can’t help but think - so this is what Ashborn has always seen? If it was, then it was lovely. “So, where are we headed off to?”

“Huh? Weren’t you the one who planned this trip?” Hae-in looks at you puzzled.

“Nah,” you wave her comment off. “He just told me we should start by trying to hang out.”

Hae-in’s blush returns at full force. “Wait! So that means I shouldn’t even be here!”

“Hmm? Why not?” Now you turn to Jinwoo, puzzled as well. “I thought it would be fine with Hunter Sung since you guys are-”

“Close, right.” Jinwoo knew what you were going to say and cut in.

He didn’t want to lie to you like this. Gods, how was he going to explain this to Hae-in when the time came? How was he going to explain this to you when the time came? He planned on telling you later on - that he had only started considering courting her when you had arrived - but he wanted to do that when you had adjusted better to your new life, but for now he had to let you believe that they were together. It wasn’t that hard, really. Hae-in sometimes acted too comfortably around him.

Hae-in blushes again at his words. You smile softly at her expression and then your eyes slowly gloss over. Jinwoo clears his throat.

“Anyways, I’m the one who planned this whole excursion, so let’s get to it then.” You break out of your thoughts at his words. He nods to you, letting you know that he was right there beside you to help you, and you smile warmly at him. The very very sight of it makes him look away.

Ashborn’s heart beats ever so slightly faster. But a small voice at the back of his head whispers to him that if it really were Ashborn, then it wouldn’t settle for beating so softly.

“What’s on our agenda, then?” You smile and pull them forward, walking without a direction at the moment, just so you were moving.

“I was hoping we could go to a cafe? Somewhere with good sweets.” Your head turns to him at record speed and Jinwoo was worried for a second that he’d see glittering eyes, but instead he finds normal but nonetheless lovely human eyes glimmering with childlike wonder at the prospect of treats. He huffs out a laugh, feeling heat crawl up his face. What the hell was getting to him?

“Oh! If it’s a cafe we’re looking for, I know a really good place! They sell the best cheesecakes around, I know you’ll love it. Just let me check how far away it is from here.” Hae-in untangles your arms and excitedly heads over to a street map.

Jinwoo turns to you. “Are… you feeling alright?”

You breathe in deeply before nodding. “Yeah, yeah. I’m… I’m doing fine, I think.”

Squeezing your eyes shut, you breathe in again and straighten your posture. When you turn to him, you give him that same grin that almost forces Jinwoo to look away, and yet he can’t. He can’t seem to stop staring. Only one word comes to mind. “Thank you for looking out for me, Hunter Sung.”

“No problem.” Jinwoo didn’t really know what possessed him to do it. Maybe it was habit from having Jinah around him all the time and it was reflex at that point, but he raises his free hand and pats your head. “And you can just call me Jinwoo.”

You stare at him for a beat and then untangle your arms before raising your hand up to his face. For just a split second, he sees the monarch version of you, smiling so lovingly at him (at Ashborn) as you cup his cheek, and then he blinks and he’s back at the meeting room in the Hunter’s Association as you cry when you meet for the first time, ready to hold his face in your hand.

He’s about to move back and put as much distance again between the two of you, maybe even call the whole day off, but he makes the mistake(?) of glancing at Hae-in’s direction. It didn’t mean anything to him, truly, it was mostly concern that things would all go to hell right this very moment if she saw this scene.

He thinks you saw his eyes move over to her, because in the next instance, your hand goes up to his forehead and you tap on it multiple times ever so lightly.

“You don’t have to force yourself to be so… affectionate towards me if you don’t want to,” you smile at him warmly.

He blinks and steps back, almost just a hair’s breadth away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You tilt your head to the side, still the same smile, but for a flash Jinwoo saw your eyes glitter. “Your hand was shaking. He used to be nervous around me because he felt like he could crush me like an ant at a touch. But I can understand why you’d be nervous with me. So don’t push yourself too hard. I already appreciate so much of what you’re doing for me. That’s more than enough.”

He waits for you to do something else, for your past self to take hold, but instead you just leave him be and join Hae-in by the map. You guys chat for a bit as she tells you about the cafe. Jinwoo breathes in, getting his thoughts in order.

So far, for him, he thought it was mostly going nicely. Although it was still too early to say, he liked having you as a friend, your presence soothing, especially now that he could converse with you without having to fear for his future most of the time. He found you rather refreshing in a sense, like-

My light. She was my light.

Jinwoo blinks in surprise again. It always caught him off guard whenever Ashborn spoke of you.

The light is dangerous for the darkness, isn’t it? Jinwoo jokes to ease his nerves, huffing out a laugh.

For the darkness, yes. However, you and I do not deal in the dark, we deal with shadows - and shadows are always strengthened by the light.

“Jinwoo.”

When he looks up, Jinwoo expects deja-vu to kick in again and find Hae-in calling for him. Instead, you stand alone by the map, motioning for him to come closer. He walks over without a moment of hesitation.

“Where’s Hae-in?” he cringes, realizing a little too late what that might have sounded like - a man looking for their significant other - but it was too late to take back now. He hopes that it didn’t come off that way, but by the way your smile has a hard time reaching your eyes, it absolutely came off that way.

“She saw you were thinking really deeply about something so she said she’d go ahead and make sure we had a spot for ourselves,” you cough lightly before turning to the map. “I don’t blame her for being excited to go to that cafe, though.”

Were the sweets that good? “What do you mean?”

“Oh, it’s that cafe you guys entered when I first saw you, remember? I’m surprised Hae-in picked it. It must be special for the both of you. I hope I'm not intruding on a place that means so much to you guys,” you walk away from the map with a pep in your step in the direction of the cafe. Jinwoo doesn’t know if you’re just trying to look okay or you’ve truly accepted it and Jinwoo wasn’t sure which was worse.

One thing’s for sure though: he should pick a different cafe.

=O=O=O=O=O=

He should’ve told you sooner. That was his mistake. He should have told you sooner.

Chairman Go had noticed the sudden closeness of your little friend group, how you all seemed to "get along so well”; his words, definitely not Jinwoo’s. In Jinwoo’s opinion, you all just seemed to work well in the sense that each one was familiar with one another to an extent: he was already friends with Hae-in, you and Hae-in had hit it off rather quickly, and you and Jinwoo were, well, acquainted in more ways than one. Jinwoo’s surprised that most of his time outside dungeons, his guild and his family is now spent on the two of you. It was hard to catch one without at least another.

Even for other hunters who have seen you work together in the rare chances of a sudden dungeon break while you’re hanging out, they remark how precise and coordinated you seemed to be, like a well-practiced performance - Jinwoo leading the attack, Hae-in with back up and you for support and healing for the both of them. So, for Chairman Go, wasn’t it only right for him to ask the three of you to work as a strike squad in case of emergencies? You all could reach each other in record time, Jinwoo using Shadow Exchange to get to you quickly and lending Kaisel to Hae-in for travel (he tells himself that he merely prefers reaching you first since you can’t protect yourself as well as Hae-in could; Ashborn says it is to make sure another disaster does not happen).

And this is where he found all three of you now - just taking a short break before confronting the boss. You and Hae-in had thought of taking a survey around the dungeon just in case, but Jinwoo offered to use his soldiers to do it instead so you guys could wait for the mining team to finish cleaning up. He decided to take a short nap, but really he just closed his eyes and wanted to leave you both to your own devices for a while.

He should have realized it was a mistake. Your random conversations slowed to a stop and when it didn’t pick up again for a second too long, it suddenly took a more serious turn. Maybe you had been on edge to start this conversation from the beginning, because it sounded like you were careful about the words you were going to use, choosing which to say.

“Hae-in, whatever happens, please take care. And take care of Jinwoo for me, too, okay?” you take a short stuttering breath that goes unnoticed by your new friend and Jinwoo hears the smile in your voice. It’s soft but also sad and he wonders if you see a grassy hill again. “Although me and Jinwoo's relationship wasn’t… quite good, I still wish you and him all the best.”

“I don't know what’s going on, but of course. Please take care as well. I will forever be thankful for what you did for me, but please - no more of what happened. And of course I'll take care of Jinwoo, too. I take care of my friends.”

Jinwoo inhales sharply. Fu-

Your voice lowers to a whisper. “Friends…?”

“Is there something wrong?”

“You’re… not dating yet?” Jinwoo hears it. There's an unmistakable flash of hope in your voice - he doesn’t have to see to know that a familiar glimmer in your eyes comes back at full force and it sends his hearts thumping. He opens his eyes ever so slightly, peeking over his bangs to see you and watches as you squeeze your eyes shut and softly shake your head from side to side. When you open them again, the glimmer is mostly gone, and all that's left is a sad sort of acceptance and resignation that grips at his chest. “He's an idiot for not asking you out, then. He’s wasting time.”

“Huh? What do you mean by wasting time?” Hae-in blinks at you, but there's a soft blush on her face, Jinwoo is unsure if it’s because she found a kindred spirit in you or it’s the direction your conversation had gone.

“Oh, I just think that the longer someone hesitates, you could have spent all that time together…” there’s a far-away look in your eyes. Lost in a lonely dream. You smile sadly, picking up pebbles and rocks absentmindedly. Jinwoo wonders if you’re tugging at flowers in your imagination.

“Woah, I thought you said you’ve never been in a relationship before,” Hae-in laughs, leaning into you and you bump shoulders. “But you sound so mature about these things!”

“Ah, did I say that? Well, I was sort of in one a long time ago,” you answer softly. “If I could have talked to myself before, I would have said - take care of what you have right now.”

But you did, Ashborn whispers. You cared for it so much it clung to you and I in death. You have done more than care for it-

“-Your love is so strong it seeps into other people.” Jinwoo freezes, suddenly realizing that he had said his thoughts out loud.

Even though he had only mumbled it, the sudden silence is more than enough to let him know that both of you heard. The silence is deafening as he looks up to see you and Hae-in staring at him. While Hae-in gapes at him, your face remains passive, reading him.

“H-how much did you hear…?” Hae-in tentatively asks.

Jinwoo tries to hide the embarrassment and panic he was feeling behind a tired exterior, pretending he had been unceremoniously woken up from his nap because of your conversation. “Just the last part, I guess?”

Hae-in is frozen stiff anyway, a smile stuck on her face. She suddenly gets up. “I- I think I’ll go take a look around the area after all, haha, right, yes, be right back everyone!”

Before you or Jinwoo could say anything, she walked away as quickly as possible. You don’t make a move to stop her or say anything to reassure her, eyes remaining solely on Jinwoo. He squirms under your gaze and when he goes to meet them, they glitter ever so slightly.

But you and Jinwoo have passed the point where he felt like running away. This conversation was a long time coming, and it was his fault for not initiating it in the first place.

“I was planning on telling you, I swear it,” he starts softly. He straightens his posture and meets you head on. “I wanted you to just-“

“I’m not mad.” Jinwoo blinks, and you give him a closed eye smile. When you open them again, the glitter is all gone. You huff out a laugh when you see his expression. “I don’t blame you for having to act like that, considering how I badgered you the first time we met. It must have been really confusing and annoying.”

Jinwoo was about to sigh in relief but then you softly frown. “I don’t agree with the way you’ve been treating Hae-in, however. I hope you’re not leading her on.”

He didn’t know what to say to that. “I’m… I’m still thinking.”

You raise an eyebrow and tilt your head to the side. “About?”

“If I should court her.” He breathes out deeply.

It was true that he was thinking about it. Hae-in was beautiful and strong willed, but also shy and kind hearted to whoever was around her, both acquaintances and strangers, as you have said in the hospital. She was a wonderful friend and someone you could trust to have your back in a dungeon. Truly, she was an ideal partner to have.

And yet… and yet… something kept holding him back. And to his discomfort and confusion, it wasn’t Ashborn’s will.

“I haven’t sorted out my feelings for her yet. I don’t want to break her heart if I can’t meet her feelings halfway. She doesn’t deserve that kind of treatment,” Jinwoo says instead.

He waits for you to hound him for an acceptable answer, but instead you just nod your head slowly. “Okay, then.”

Jinwoo nods. One responsibility after another. What he said wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the full truth either. He didn’t like lying to you like this, not after you just forgave him for lying that he and Hae-in were a couple, but this was a harder one to explain.

He didn’t want to admit it, but a voice deep inside him knew. How can he explain that things had changed and was taking a nosedive really quickly?

“By the way,” Jinwoo turns to you and his eyebrows raise to find you bashful. There’s no glitter in your eyes, which only makes him feel warmer at the thought, but he tries to brush the thought away. “About what you said earlier…What did you mean by “Your love is so strong it seeps into other people”?”

The color almost drains from Jinwoo’s face completely – he hoped you had already forgotten about that. He wants to say those were Ashborn’s thoughts, but he couldn’t lie to himself either when it came to this.

There was nothing wrong with what he said, there was nothing for him to take back. After all, your love truly did come out of you in waves. It was in the way you tried to care for people as much as you could, even when sometimes you hesitated from anxiety. It was in the way you laughed and joked with others to ease the tension even if sometimes it made you feel awkward to be the center of attention. It was in the way you tried to remind others that life was enjoyable with a little kindness along the way.

I do not want her to carry on living thinking life is so empty, that’s what Ashborn said, and Jinwoo understood why. Someone who wanted others to see the world in such a beautiful way shouldn’t have to think of it so lonely.

“Because,” Jinwoo starts. He watches the soft look on your face and all he can think about is it’s only you and him. There is no you from the past and no Ashborn. Just him and you.

He hears footsteps coming and the spell is broken. He swallows as Hae-in comes into view from the corner of his eye. Jinwoo doesn’t look away. “It’s the way you heal people. I simply mean that I can tell you love others by the way you heal people.”

Your eyebrows raise, waiting for him to crack a smile and tell you it was just a joke. But when he doesn’t, you smile, looking away. Your eyes don’t gloss over. They don’t shimmer with divinity. You rub the back of your neck, bashful to hear his compliment. Hae-in apparently heard his comment and excitedly agreed, clinging to you once more.

Jinwoo didn’t need a voice to tell him anything as he watched you laugh. He thinks of a woman in a hill of flowers wearing a simple dress that seems to make her even lovelier and beside her, Jinwoo sees himself. He can’t hear their conversation, and yet they smile like the world could never hurt them.

It’s a blissful feeling, is it not?

Jinwoo knew exactly why he couldn’t make a decision. Glittering eyes and a soft smile have made sure of that.

You wanted this from the very beginning, didn’t you? Jinwoo asks bitterly, but there’s no real bite to his words.

I will not say that I did not hope for it, the monarch replies. But this is a development that I find more than desirable. For me, you are seeing her the way I do, and that pleases me so.

He thinks of glittering eyes and almost lost himself in a dream of his own but then he thinks of your soft frown, and the subtle hurt behind them.

“I just hope that when you finally get your feelings in order, you haven’t made her wait too long.”

Why did this have to be so difficult? Ashborn laughs bitterly, but he agrees.

=O=O=O=O=O=

The end comes to him in the form of a message from your strike squad group chat.

“Jinwoo, can you spare some time?” Jinwoo felt a shiver go down his spine. Why did he suddenly feel so nervous over a small message from you? It felt like such a drastic change from the previous days. He found himself looking forward to you messaging him to hang out or to hire the Ahjin Guild to handle a dungeon with you.

But this felt different.

“Where are you right now?” Jinwoo’s already trying to look through his shadows to find you. He finds one bathed in a familiar warmth and he grabs hold of it.

“Café. Hae-in is here with me.”

Within the next second, he’s beside your usual table in the café. He finds you sitting in your usual corner by the window, nursing a drink that has obviously been there for a while now. For once, Hae-in sits across from you, on Jinwoo's bench. She usually sat beside you to give Jinwoo some space and to just be close to you, but now there was no chatter shared between the two of you. Jinwoo found it unnervingly quiet. He watches your far away expression as he sits next to you and from his peripheral he sees Hae-in flinch.

“What’s wrong? What happened?” You’re knocked out of your thoughts, but you don’t answer fast enough, still in a bit of a daze. Jinwoo puts a hand over your head, trying to get your attention and finally Hae-in speaks.

“She’s leaving,” she says, a bit too bitterly for Ashborn and Jinwoo’s taste. However, when he turns to her with a frown, his anger subsides ever so slightly when he sees the unshed tears at the corner of her eyes. Ah, yes, of course she won’t be taking this lightly, but for now the most important thing is-

“Wait, what do you mean you’re leaving?” Jinwoo felt impossibly numb. He didn’t even have time to process what he was feeling and you were-?

“The Hunter’s Association of each country is holding a collaboration – a sort of exchange program for a year. Each one sends a few of their hunters to other countries to work as a representative, and our country receives reps from the neighboring countries as well. It’s to strengthen bonds in the case of another S Rank dungeon break, among other things,” your voice is monotone as you explain to Jinwoo slowly, as if you’re repeating the message verbatim, like you’ve memorized it a hundred times. “They thought I should-”

“Don’t agree, then.” Jinwoo’s voice is cold and it snaps you and Hae-in out of your separate thoughts, shaking you both to your core at his tone alone. He’d normally try to be soft with you but he keeps going, anger rising. “They can’t exactly force you to do something like that if you don’t want-“

“I’m going,” you don’t meet his eyes, you don’t want to, from what he can tell. Jinwoo was tempted to grab your face and force you to look at him. If months of progress went down the drain and he’d see those glimmering eyes the both of you had worked so hard to keep at bay, then so be it.

He couldn’t understand – what was going on? He thought everything was going well. You weren’t confusing him as Ashborn anymore. You saw him for who he was, and he saw you for who you really were. You were friends, yes, but he also wanted to-

“What the hell are you saying?” he grabs your shoulder, trying to force your eyes on him. He knew he just needed to see your eyes on him and things would fix itself. “Why would you want to go? I don’t get it, I don’t understand.”

Why…? Where did we go wrong?

Hae-in abruptly stands up and leaves, a hand over her face, but it does nothing to hide the tears falling from her face. You almost try to get up and comfort her, but you remember that Jinwoo is quite literally blocking your way as he sits next to you and he’s still trying to get you to look at him. You cast your gaze past him. Your eyes are glossing over, a hint of a glimmer. Jinwoo is scared he’s imagining that it’s there at all.

“Please, help me understand.” He successfully gets you to face him, hands carefully guiding your head towards him, but you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to block him out of your senses.

Look at me. Jinwoo doesn’t have to see to know that his eyes have taken a more purple hue. I need you to look and see that I remain here with you. I have gone nowhere since. Please.

“Jinwoo, I-“ your voice saying his name is something he would have relished in any other given circumstance, something as familiar as his abilities, as normal now as Ashborn’s presence. But at this moment it was strained, like you didn’t know him, like it was a mistake that you did. And yet he insisted so – that you had a future that you would be present in one another’s lives.

“What happened that-“

“Jinwoo, I need you to let me go.”

He quickly removes his hands from your face. Every part of him right now hurts, but if it meant that small little orders from you at this moment would have you letting go of a humongous decision, then he was willing to do it. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be so rough, I-”

“That’s not what I meant,” when you open your eyes to him, he sees a whole galaxy in them. You smile sadly, and it’s then that he realizes some of that galaxy is tears pooling at your eyes. “I need you to let me go now.”

…What? The thought that comes to mind is an echo between Ashborn and Jinwoo.

You choke out a sob, a wobbly smile still on your lips, and try to push yourself away from him, shrinking further back into your little café corner. “I… to be honest, a part of me… still hopes… of… you already know. And I am tired of it. You and Hae-in have shown me nothing but kindness. So, I wish to put an end to these stubborn thoughts. Please let me go.”

No. Wait for just a moment.

You clear your throat and put on a strained grin, the one he knows you wear when you’re having a hard time keeping the past you at bay. “I’ll continue to send updates, if you and Hae-in want! The three of us can have calls, too. But…”

Tell her.

“Jinwoo, please don’t assign a shadow soldier to me.”

He still had to tell you.

“I know you’ll try assigning a shadow for me. And I appreciate it. But for my own peace of mind, please don’t.”

NOW. “I swear I won’t be impulsive as before, after all, I have all of you waiting for me, so please – rest assured I don’t need one.” You swallow hard. “I simply… wish to be the friend you deserved from the very beginning. The one that doesn’t cling to you in the hopes of reliving the past.”

He wanted to cry, he couldn’t say anything. Ashborn prays to wake up in a hill of flowers.

“Will you let me have this?” you smile, eyes crinkling at the side. Tears slowly cascade down your face and even still he thinks you’re lovely, no matter how it tears him up inside.

Jinwoo clenches his fists until his knuckles bruise white. He stays across the same bench from you, but it’s different this time. You’re the one keeping distance as you press your back to the café glass, putting as much distance between the two of you. He doesn’t make a move to come closer.

With all the mental strength he had left, he agrees.

=O=O=O=O=O=O=

Despite Hae-in taking off in the middle of your initial announcement, all three of you had decided on trying to spend your remaining time in Korea together. You try not to talk about your departure as much as possible, and Hae-in doesn’t bring up how you and Jinwoo had talked as minimally as possible the following days.

When the day came, your departure from Korea was met with heartbreak and tears all around. Tears from Hae-in as she was losing a close friend, heartbreak from mostly Jinwoo (definitely Ashborn) that he kept hidden behind a solemn expression.

You go and give Hae-in a hug as you both cry and laugh, promising to keep in touch. When you let go and notice Jinwoo staring at you, you hesitantly pull away from Hae-in.

He wonders which one you see in his eyes at this very moment – blue or purple?

The being that has loved you from the very beginning or the one that has come to? Both now losing you.

You had chosen to wear sunglasses on your departure – you tell Hae-in so it can go with your outfit and it was embarrassing for the other hunters to see your swollen eyes, but Jinwoo knows otherwise. He can’t tell who he’s looking at right now, but whoever she was, she hesitates to come closer.

You hold out your hand to shake his and Hae-in is surprised at the gesture. Jinwoo stares at it blankly. Hae-in’s sad face has suddenly turned worried as it shifts between you and Jinwoo, wondering if the bad blood has suddenly come back and was rearing its ugly head at this climactic moment.

But in the next second, Jinwoo grabs your wrist and pulls you to his chest in a hug you would have said was more crushing than Hae-in’s. He cradles the back of your head in his hand, pushing you as close to him as possible – hoping that maybe if he holds you tight enough maybe you’ll be a part of him, that you won’t be able to go. He knows how this might look like to Hae-in, but it didn’t matter. He was beginning to crack at the seams and his desperation was leaking through.

He wanted to say so many things.

Don’t go. I made a mistake. I shouldn’t have pushed you away like that.

Do you know what you’ve done to me? I thought I knew what I wanted, but now I know what was holding me back all this time.

You were right. We should have spent more time together. Can we have that now? If I beg right now, will you let me have that?

“Please come back,” he whispers instead.

-to us. Please. And when you do, may you stay forevermore.

You pull away first, and it hurts. Ashborn’s heart hurt. Jinwoo’s heart did, too. Especially when you refuse to look at him again. You clear your throat and manage a strangled laugh.

“Stay safe, guys,” you smile, but the sun hits your glasses at just the right spot and he sees eyes glittering. They seemed to glow fainter and fainter until there was nothing but dullness. Not even a mortal shine to them. “And I hope you guys stay happy.”

The soldier Jinwoo assigned to you goes back to his shadow. It cries out sadly as you board the plane.

Jinwoo walks Hae-in home. Despite her best efforts, he doesn’t crack a smile or say anything past a hum or a single word when she initiates a conversation to break the sad atmosphere of the day. He waits for her to get in safely to her apartment - not even noticing her dejected form feeling she did not have both of her friends for comfort at the same day - before he walks away.

Jinwoo finds himself in a park bench facing the setting sun. When he sits down and closes his eyes, he sees teary glittering eyes absolutely heartbroken.

“Ashborn… Jinwoo… will I find someone I can say I love again, too? Don’t I deserve that, too?”

I love you.

And they weep.

=O=O=O=O=O=O=

Something was off, that much was certain. Jinwoo couldn’t put his finger on what it was, and it was making him slowly lose his mind.

It didn’t start immediately, of course. As you promised, you kept in touch with them as much as possible. He was pretty sure that he could be living under the same roof as you at the amount of updates he and Hae-in received. To an extent, it warmed him at the thought that you had stayed true to your word of letting him know what was happening with your life and it reassured Ashborn of your safety. It did feel like you were still there with him, but he would have preferred being able to actually see you right there beside him (Touch you as well, if you’d let him, Ashborn whispers)

He and Hae-in would usually meet up at the café to give you a video call to make things more convenient by being in the same place. But by the way your eyes glossed over at times seeing them together, he knew what you were thinking. He wanted to reassure you, tell you that whatever feelings or thoughts you think he had for her aren’t there, but you weren’t here either.

And he couldn’t do that to you, not when you had asked to get some space so you could move on.

But he wanted to wait, the same way Ashborn did, the same way you did. And if you and Ashborn had found yourselves in another world, in a new time, and still clung to each other so fiercely, then surely the universe would give him a chance as well.

You were most likely just having a hard time reigning in your past self, as you had said. You needed time to adjust, and maybe some time apart would help with that.

All in due time, Igris whispers, comforting the monarchs.

Right, Jinwoo agrees, and so does Ashborn. But Ashborn should’ve known the universe was a fickle thing.

A few months in and you were having a video call with him and Hae-in again at the café. You were in a hospital bed, hit with a strange spell that was able to incapacitate an S-Rank healer such as yourself, enough to make you go down with something like a fever.

It had knocked you out for a full day, and your sudden absence concerned your friends, but they had both received messages during your treatment when they kept asking for updates that left Jinwoo with a bad taste in his mouth.

hey. i’m her friend. she’s asleep right now. should be awake by tomorrow. i’ll tell her to call when she gets up.

The odd typing was one thing, but the lack of introductions or any other info didn’t sit well with him. Hae-in was concerned as well, but chalked it up to a hunter that was with you who only used your phone for a second to answer their incessant messaging.

Jinwoo would’ve accepted that, that is if he wasn’t paying attention to most things about you. If there was anything he knew, it was that you never gave away your phone password to just anyone. It was a rather hard to remember pattern that you would swipe quickly so no one would remember, and you’d only slow down to teach it to a close friend.

But he still kept his calm. Yes, despite getting used to your arrangement here in Korea, maybe you had gotten yourself a couple of friends in China. He was happy for you, truly. You were beginning to live a little on your own.

Jinwoo kept calm, breathing deeply. You were alright. Things were going to be alright with you, and right now they were.

“Are you feeling better now?” Hae-in asks worriedly, but then she looks thoughtful, “Your friend didn’t really give us any details past that you were resting and we’d hear from you today or something.”

“…Friend?” You blink, and then you clear your throat. “Oh, yeah, my friend. Did they call you?”

Something wasn’t sitting right with Jinwoo, but he was unsure if it was dangerous for your wellbeing when you were so calm about it.

“No, they just sent a message,” Hae-in smiles softly. “Look at you! Finally making friends. Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

Jinwoo flinches. He saw something. Just there. At the corner of the screen.

Something moved.

“Introduce, yes, um,” you laugh bashfully. “Maybe next time, yeah? They’re a little… shy.”

You say that, and then it happens. For just a split second, you look to the side, right at the side where the movement came from, and then your focus is back on the screen and them. You smile softly, in complete peace. It reassures Jinwoo, but still something nags at the back of his mind.

Would you like me to go check, my king? Beru, ever so dutiful, asks. He was ready to travel through shadows or up in the air with just a word from his master. Our queen’s safety should be top priority, yes?

There’s truth in that, however, Jinwoo wasn’t used to Ashborn hesitating like this, not when it came to you. We have sworn a promise to her, have we not?

Jinwoo wanted to reason that they had promised not to put a shadow soldier on you, but not that they wouldn’t check up on you with a shadow every now and then. Or maybe Jinwoo could go and visit you himself? You’d appreciate having a friend visit, right? Especially in your current state.

But Jinwoo knew it inside – he was just making up excuses. And he knew Ashborn was right – he was breaking your trust. You were trying to be a good person moving on from the past and an even better friend, and here he was asking you for more.

You were fine.

He pretends not to see you cast another glance at your peripheral and the corners of your mouth tick up in a smile.

Thanks for the offer, Beru, he says finally. But we’re all good.

Right. They were good.

=O=O=O=O=O=

It was the little things that were slowly leading up to something that Jinwoo couldn’t ignore anymore.

Your updates lessened quite considerably, but that was understandable. A few months or so after that talk you had during your time at the hospital, things had taken an upturn for you and your career.

Your name had garnered international levels of recognition as people started hearing about an S Rank Healer from Korea aiding the best hunters of China in a nearly catastrophic raid. Again, Hae-in and Jinwoo were nearly worried to death, but at this point they were becoming slightly used to it. However, it didn’t completely stop Jinwoo from wishing you’d come home soon.

Especially when something was starting to seem… off.

He wanted to say something, even Ashborn was unnerved by this turn of events. They could sense that things had changed, they just couldn’t put their name on what it was.

Yes, your updates had been significantly cut ever since China had asked you to be more active in their Hunter’s Association guild activities, but it wasn’t just that.

Whenever you had calls at night with Jinwoo – he says he just wanted to check up on you after he got out late from a dungeon and he wasn’t able to meet up with Hae-in – they were sometimes unceremoniously cut short. Sometimes it would be a knock on your bedroom door or your phone ringing by your bedside if you were using your laptop for the call. You’d apologize profusely and with a heavy heart he’d have to let you go with an understanding smile. At first, he had thought it was just work calling you late into the night and cursed at the Hunter’s Association for working you to the bone.

And then, it was during video calls while you were having a walk outside. Hae-in had ran up to Jinwoo while he was having his daily quests for the day to show that you were on the other end. He decided right then and there that the daily quest could wait, punishment zone be damned, your appearance would come first. You were having a morning walk as well in a park near where you were staying. Jinwoo thought he was imagining it at first, but then it happens a second time. Something dark flashes into the corner of the screen for a second and then it was gone again. When he waits for it for a third time, it doesn’t come back out, and Jinwoo is left feeling like he was slowly losing his mind.

But he couldn’t keep lying to himself anymore. He loves you, but that didn’t mean he’d keep making up excuses to himself for you. Something was up.

It all comes to him not from you, but from the news. Once more, you’re under the media’s focus as they celebrate another successful raid with your help. This time, they announce your tremendous support for China’s best. Jinwoo watches with bated breath as he stares at the hunters leaving the gate, one in particular.

And then they realized what was going on.

You had been hiding something.

Not something, Ashborn whispers. Someone.

Jinwoo agrees, but the more he watches, the more he wishes for glittering eyes to look at him once more.

The best type of partner really was someone you went to dungeons with, huh? Especially when they looked at you like that.

Gold eyes almost shining as bright as yours whenever they looked at you.

They look familiar, Ashborn says. Jinwoo agrees, unnerved. They pray they are wrong.

=O=O=O=O=O=

Far too long. It’s been far too long since you saw each other face to face. A year flew by so quickly; you weren’t around, only seeing and hearing each other through calls and getting updates through messages, and then suddenly you were meeting again in the flesh.

But it wasn’t quick enough. Not for Jinwoo. Not for Ashborn.

Jinwoo fixes his tie one more time, unsure whether to tighten it to keep his nerves steady or loosen it slightly again so he’d be able to breathe better despite already trying to suppress his hyperventilating.

“Jinwoo, are you okay?” a familiar voice asks. “You’re looking pale and you’re breaking into sweats.”

He turns around to face the blonde woman. Hae-in smiles at him serenely. She wore a modest dress for the formal event that only served to accentuate how lovely she looked.

Without thinking twice how it might appear, she reaches up and fixes his collar and tie for him. In Jinwoo’s periphery, other hunters cast glances their way.

He knows what they’re all thinking, especially with how close they were. He’s heard it more times than he can count.

“You look great together.”

Is that what you still want? Ashborn asks tentatively, voice quiet in the back of his mind. My words remain true, you know, even to this very moment. If you wish to pick a future for yourself, I will no longer hold you back. I will love her still, but you…

Jinwoo had invited Hae-in to the International Hunter’s Guild Conference After Party as his plus one. He had heard from someone that surely the Hunter’s Association representatives - that accursed event that made you think to leave in the first place - would be invited as well, so he immediately asked Chairman Go to be Korea’s rep for this conference (not mentioning he merely wanted to see you again). Maybe he knew from the very beginning, or maybe he just remembered their little strike squad, but the chairman (bless his heart) thought it would be wise to invite Hae-in as his partner. Although a little hesitant, Jinwoo agreed just to be sure the chairman didn’t suddenly think to change his decision. Besides, Jinwoo thought, he figured you would have definitely missed her and looked for her (and if Jinwoo went alone, you might have scolded him for not bothering to bring her along if he was able to in the first place). So to be quite blunt, he had invited Hae-in to be in your good graces.

He was starting to realize this mistake, however. Ever since you had left and he had fully accepted his feelings for you, his thoughts were more so filled with you. But now, lost in his reverie and at the idea of seeing you again, he had guiltily forgotten Hae-in’s feelings for him. They still hung out but it’s mostly when they were meeting to have a joint video call with you. He found himself not spending as much time as her outside of that. She got busy when your strike squad got put on hold so maybe she didn’t notice as well. But now, Jinwoo realizes he has to keep his word to you, he won’t lead her on - he’d let her know he wasn’t interested in her.

And then maybe he can tell you how he truly feels now. The idea is blissful, just as Ashborn had said before. Maybe twice as much because it was him that was feeling it all now, and not only a side effect from Ashborn’s feelings. But there’s a chill that runs up his spine - what if you don’t accept his feelings?

What if there’s already some-

Wait. Jinwoo shook his head. One at a time. He had to see you first. Made sure you were alright, despite your words during your calls. He breathes in deeply, thinking of glittering eyes looking at him and a hill of flowers but beyond that, he remembers a sweet smile and beautiful laughter from someone who made him warm and at home. He had an answer to Ashborn’s question the moment he said goodbye to you at that airport, and he swore it would never change.

We’re way past that question, aren’t we?

Ashborn laughs in agreement, but Jinwoo can still hear the relief in it.

Jinwoo raises his hand and holds onto Hae-in’s wrists before lowering them. He gives a small tilt of his head towards the crowds of party goers to let her know to look around and she realizes his intentions. Almost immediately, she removes herself from his grasp and takes a good few steps back, her whole face red. Jinwoo side glances at the people who remain watching and stares them down until they’re nervously forced to look away. He sighs in annoyance.

Where were you? We’ve all waited long enough, haven’t we?

Almost on cue, he feels it. One of his soldiers is lit with a familiar warmth and he immediately knows which one it is. After all, it had watched over you for months before you departed and you were put in separate ways, he can tell it had missed you, too, as well as all his shadows. He looks around in a rush and finally he sees a familiar head poking from the crowd.

Beru gleefully trills. Our queen is h-!

Jinwoo gapes. You make your way past the crowd and into their line of vision, but that’s not all Jinwoo notices. Even Hae-in and, from what Jinwoo could tell, other hunters have noticed as well. Or maybe they couldn’t see it, but feel it is definitely a better term.

You looked otherworldly – almost even more than your past self, if Ashborn was honest. Your very presence is all consuming and Jinwoo is reminded of the hospital room where the both of you had started anew. Except this time, he knew that no matter how dark his shadows tried to take over, you might as well overcome it and more. Your eyes don’t just glitter anymore. Your whole body was practically glowing.

My light, Ashborn had said. And although Jinwoo said he understood later on, he didn’t think he would completely see it like this.

Light. Yes, you were definitely as blinding yet comforting as light, Jinwoo thought so. Especially when you run towards him and Hae-in. You throw your arms open and rush them into a hug. If all three of you had been normal people, you might have crashed into the floor right then and there, but Jinwoo and Hae-in stand their ground, returning your hug with just as much fervor. When you've had your fill of touch, you step back to look at them fully and admire their presence.

You go to hug Hae-in again and she grins like you were never separated. Jinwoo supposes he failed to control his expression - he blames it all on Ashborn - but when Hae-in sees his face, she pulls away first. You pout, but then she turns to Jinwoo.

“Don’t act like a stranger now!” she laughs, grabbing him by the hand and pulling him closer to your little group.

He gapes at her, unsure what to do for a moment, before he turns to you. You’re staring hard at Hae-in, gaping just as much as he was moments before, most likely, before your eyes travel to his hand enclosed in Hae-in’s. In a split second, he pulls away from her and clears his throat to ease his nerves. The sound seems to knock you out of your thoughts and you finally look at him. Jinwoo can’t breathe.

“Heya. It’s been a while,” you smile at him softly. Your voice sounds like heaven to him, now without the barrier of static that came of hearing you behind a phone. It was you.

Your eyes do not glitter, but they shine with so much joy and your whole being glows with so much life that your time apart felt like no time away from each other at all. Like Ashborn had said - his soul had found itself home.

It was all you, and all Jinwoo and Ashborn could feel was pure elation.

Jinwoo gives you a lazy grin, lost in the happiness of it all. “Hey.”

There’s a pause and he sees your hesitation - you go to raise both arms for a hug but stop a quarter of the way, eyes looking at him with a flash of uncertainty, doubting yourself - before Jinwoo closes the distance. He’s waited long enough. They’ve waited long enough.

He holds you just as tightly as he did in that airport all those months back - an arm around your waist and a hand cradling the back of your head, pulling you as close as he could.

“Welcome back,” he whispers the words into your ear and he feels you shiver. A small laugh rings out in response, echoing beautifully in his ears at your proximity.

Welcome home, beloved.

“...Oh, about that…”

To Jinwoo’s displeasure, you pull away first again. However, his hearts continue to beat fast and elated as you take his hand in yours (he tries not to think about how you hold Hae-in’s in the other). You grin at your friends, positively seemingly a source of light for the whole room.

“It’s been so long. We’ve got so much catching up to do,” you laugh again, and Jinwoo felt like he died and was reborn all over again. He was clinging to every word that came out of your lips. “Before anything else, I need to tell you guys something.”

“Wait, wait! Before you say anything more, this calls for a toast.” Hae-in grins. “Let me get some drinks for us! Be right back, I’ll be super quick.”

Hae-in breaks free from your grasp and disappears into the crowd before you can tell her to stop. Only you and Jinwoo are left and you sigh in resignation with a small laugh. You catch him staring at you from the corner of your eye and give him a small smile.

Jinwoo’s hearts were pumping a mile a minute - he was scared you’d let go, and then it would feel like you weren’t here again. He knew it was a silly thought - because you were right here with him, in the present - but the fear still crept up to him. Especially with how you were suddenly acting.

You look up to where Hae-in disappeared off to, before turning back to Jinwoo. A chill runs up his spine as your eyes meet, but this time he knows it’s not because of the overload of happiness he was feeling from reuniting with you. There was something behind your eyes as you looked at him.

“I would’ve liked to tell you both at the same time, but I also think you deserve to know first before anyone else,” you smile, and Jinwoo wonders if he imagined he saw something bittersweet in it for a split second – your glow flickering for just a moment – before everything is seemingly back in place. You swing your hands together once. Jinwoo almost forgot you were still holding his; it felt too natural to have you so close. “Come with me for a sec?”

He smiles serenely at you and swings your hands together again. “Of course.”

Jinwoo lets you lead him to a corner of the gala hall, close to a window and far away from the crowd. He relishes the way the moonlight shines down on you, but the sudden happiness suddenly cuts short when you let go of his hand and he’s thrown back into the present. The warmth of your body is gone and he felt like the cold of the night air was seeping in even when the window was sealed close.

Something was wrong. You felt so far away all of a sudden.

You grin at him and something inside him – Jinwoo, Ashborn – sighs at the very sight. He's reminded of a hill of flowers, and yet why does he see a red sky?

“Jinwoo, you were right.” Your smile brightens even more, but finally Jinwoo realizes a little too late why he was so bothered. That look in your eyes. He knows it. “I have found the mortal heart that will stay with me.”

It’s the same smile you gave him when you first saw each other in that street, separated only by a crosswalk and a red light. But this time, that smile is not for him, and that red light is reminiscent of a red sky that keeps you from him.

Please… tell me it’s a lie…

Jinwoo goes quiet. Smiles at you. Pats your head like he always does. But he doesn’t say anything.

Back then, you would have noticed so many things. His smile is fixed. Hands shaky.

But not this time. He hopes at least that you pretend not to notice. Surely you still know him. More than anyone else, you said so yourself, right?

Surely, I am still there with you…?

“You don’t have to worry about me anymore.” Bright. Light. You shone so brightly. And yet that light was for…

It was his mistake.

He already knew you were lovely, the word or anything like it wouldn’t be enough to describe you.

So what made him think that any other heart wouldn’t have seen that as well?

The silence is deafening. He can’t hear the other hunters conversing around him or the music playing in the air. Only a ringing in his ears, not even a thought from the black heart that throbs painfully in his chest. Slowly your smile slips and confusion is in your face, but all Jinwoo can see is the way your eyes glitter. Now that he was seeing it so close, they seemed to shine a different color.

“Jinwoo…? Are you okay?” you tilt your head in concern. “You look… pale…”

He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. What does he even say? He’s saved – or cursed – when Hae-in comes back with a tray of drinks.

“It took me a while to find you guys. Sorry for making you wait!” Hae-in excitedly greets, handing you one of the drinks. She looks at you but all you can do is smile at her awkwardly as you look away from Jinwoo. Hae-in looks confused and turns to Jinwoo, who continues to stare, eyes dull and far away. When Jinwoo still fails to say anything more, Hae-in tries to strike up the conversation once more. “So, what were you going to s-?”

“Oh? Rìluò, did you finally find those friends of yours?”

Jinwoo felt all the blood in his body go cold, almost stopping short in their circulation. A name unfamiliar to him, but the way it’s spoken so fond, so soft, by a voice seemingly so used to harsh words comes from behind the three of you. Jinwoo prays for it to be wrong, for the person to make a mistake, but when you turn around first, he can almost hear his hearts shatter into a million pieces. He watches the smile on your face stretch and your eyes shine so bright they could look like small suns.

Golden…?

“Zhigang! Took you long enough,” you laugh heartily, but at this moment Jinwoo can’t help but think they sound screeching to his ears.

The black haired male huffs a sigh, but there’s a smile on his lips – fond, soft, and all meant for you. Jinwoo can feel himself grinding his teeth together, trying to keep it together. “You took off so quickly it almost felt like you were trying to get away from me as fast as possible. Don’t tell me you still think I’m trying to tie you down to China?”

Jinwoo watches you playfully roll your eyes before walking closer to the male and before he or Ashborn can stop himself, they find Jinwoo’s hand enclosed around your wrist. Jinwoo blinks in surprise at his own actions, and looks around to find you and Hae-in staring at him, just as surprised. From the corner of his eye, he can see the stranger staring at him, too, golden eyes hard and face impassive, waiting for his next move.

“Jin…woo?” your voice is soft as you blink at him and Jinwoo looks at you, expression conflicted.

He eventually gives you a sheepish laugh, but he doesn’t let go. His hands feel clammy with cold sweat, and he’s forced to let go. He clears his throat. “Sorry about that. Just… a force of habit, or something. So, who’s your friend?”

Jinwoo didn’t mean to put so much bite into the last word, but a bit of Ashborn had slipped past him without meaning to. They don’t try to take it back, though. Especially when they watch the other male tilt his head to the side, staring at him blankly for a second before there’s a sort of mirth in his eyes, his mouth ticking up at the corners – challenging. Jinwoo could feel his shadows stirring beneath him, his anger rising.

Jinwoo hears Beru screeching. This man dares to mock his highness! My king, let me-

Stop. It does not bode well to do anything now. She watches. Ashborn cuts in, but Jinwoo doesn’t miss how his voice sounded dull, like it was coming from far away.

The man holds out a hand to you and Jinwoo feels something get stuck in his throat as you take it without thinking twice and stand by the man’s side, hand still enclosed in his. Jinwoo watches as you intertwine your fingers together and lean into him.

“Jinwoo, Hae-in, this is Liu Zhigang. He’s a hunter from China who happens to be my partner,” you smile shyly as you rub the back of your neck and Jinwoo can only think how bittersweet it felt to stand here at this very moment. “Well, my partner inside and outside gates, if you get what I mean.”

Hae-in gasps and Jinwoo can only watch. You grin at them both, and when your eyes land on Jinwoo, he manages a stiff smile.

"Well someone's been busy while they were abroad," Hae-in huffs out a short laugh. Jinwoo manages a single laugh to contribute to the conversation, Liu Zhigang has been watching him from his peripheral this whole time and it was getting on his nerves more than earlier.

Something... something isn't right.

But Jinwoo can't seem to hear Ashborn clearly. His blood is rushing in his veins.

"Sorry for hiding it from you guys for so long," you smile apologetically, and yet your eyes glitter so brightly it dampens your sad expression. "It's not that I don't trust you, but Zhigang thought it would be for the best if no one knew for the moment considering his title as a National Level Hunter."

"It's very annoying, but unfortunately despite my title, it hasn't stopped my so-called "hunter followers" to not being so welcoming to a possible love life. Something about only deserving someone who could stand toe to toe with a National Level hunter, which is their way of saying no one can stand by my side," Liu scoffs, the disgust on his face clear as day. But with a small laugh from you, his face immediately morphs into something calmer and Jinwoo doesn't miss how he gives your hand a single squeeze. Jinwoo wanted to punch a wall and he vaguely feels Ashborn retreating into the recesses of his consciousness to calm down lest they do something they'll regret. "Why the hell should I listen to any of them, though? Rìluò is more than worthy than any of their sorry asses. But even though I won't hesitate to send any of them to an early grave, I would prefer not to put her in any possible danger."

He smiles pleasantly and holds out a hand to Hae-in first. "Enough of that, however. It's a pleasure to meet the infamous Cha Hae-in. My dear partner can't seem to shut up about her companions whenever she's given the opportunity to talk about them."

You let go of him for a second to punch his shoulder before looping your arms together; Jinwoo is reminded of your first outing as new friends. Hae-in gives his hand a firm shake and returns his warm smile. "Thank you for taking care of my best friend!"

Liu nods and turns to Jinwoo. "And the infamous Sung Jinwoo. Although I have heard of your name before in the news, I have to admit I know you and Miss Cha more from Rìluò's stories and the calls you had whenever she was free. Or refused to talk to me."

"I'll always prefer to talk to them than you, though," you grin mischievously. Jinwoo felt like a statue you had brought to a conversation he wasn't welcome to. "Although you are useful sometimes. Thanks to you, I was able to attend this event and come to Korea. So I guess I have to thank you, Mr. National Level."

Jinwoo snaps into the present for a second. "What do you mean you were able to come to this event because of him? Weren't you automatically invited as a representative?"

"They changed the rules at the last minute," to Jinwoo's displeasure, it was Liu who replied for you. He fights to keep his face as impassive as ever. "The representatives are supposed to be included, but when they dropped the invitation, thankfully I could still come here with her as a plus one."

"I doubt they would have denied a National Level hunter's request though," Hae-in jokes. Jinwoo truly felt like he should have walked out of this conversation a long time ago, however your light was too addicting, even to this very moment.

"True. But still!" you laugh merrily, and Jinwoo was doing his best to pretend that Liu wasn't there watching his reactions. "Now we can go on a double date later!"

Jinwoo's unable to hide the way he flinches, but no one notices him still. Hell, you still thought they were an item. Thankfully, Liu had turned from him at the right time to give you a smile. From the corner of his eye, Jinwoo sees Hae-in blush in response, but she's at a loss for words and she's unable to properly deny your proposal.

"That's-! I, um, we're not really-" Hae-in slowly loses her voice as her face goes completely red. Jinwoo could only feel his head throb.

"Maybe... next time. I'm not feeling too good for tonight," he finally says. It was no lie. He felt faint. All the negative emotions rushing through him in a rush were taking its toll, and elevated by the other heart struggling to survive in him at this very moment, he was feeling the breakdown of a lifetime.

You look at him with concern. "Are you alright? I can heal you if you want-"

"That's alright," Jinwoo does his best to give you a reassuring happy smile. He can't lose his composure completely in front of you. He won't. He refuses. Even though the familiar warmth of your healing was so tempting. If he feels it, he might just spill everything he was feeling right then and there. "Thanks for the offer, though. I appreciate it."

"Maybe it's best to sleep it off," Liu cuts in, and again Jinwoo feels his blood thumping in his ears. He meets golden eyes straight on, but this feels to be a mistake, because something in the back of his head throbs worse. He thought it was because of his hearts breaking in record time, but something was trying to push through.

Something is... very wrong. I feel like... I've met this man before.

Jinwoo swallows hard, trying to put Ashborn's voice on the back burner for just a few seconds. "Yeah, maybe."

"In that case, we should head home, Jinwoo," Hae-in says and she steps closer to try and help him somehow. Jinwoo groans - this wasn't doing well for your idea of him and Hae-in. But his head kept on hurting impossibly worse, it was almost a struggle to stand.

"Get some rest, Jinwoo." You pull away from Liu to give him a hug. He returns it readily, but he doesn't hold you like before, he settles for wrapping an arm around your waist. Your scent was comforting, and yet... something kept bugging him. You pull away far too soon and give him a warm smile. "Don't worry! Zhigang was able to ask the Chinese Hunter's Association to let us stay here in Korea for a little longer."

""Let you"?" Jinwoo squinted at you. Maybe if he let himself faint now, he'd wake up and this would be all a dream. "I thought you were coming back home?"

"Ah. About that..." you and Liu share a look and Jinwoo already knows he'll hate the next few words. "I'm... thinking of moving to China. D-don't worry, though! I'm still thinking about it. I just thought it would be nice to be close to Zhigang."

You say don’t worry, but the last time you said that, you left them for China and came back with a boyfriend. Jinwoo couldn’t even summon the energy to be surprised at the moment. He knows it’ll sink in later on, but he just felt numb and in pain at the same time.

I… am forgetting something, Ashborn sounded so far away. Something very important.

“I’d say I’m surprised, but after you just introduced us to your boyfriend, I can’t say anything would be more surprising.” Hae-in sighs and you manage another sheepish grin. Something catches Liu’s eye and he turns to something in the crowd of hunters before turning back to your group.

“Rìluò, I’m sorry to ask this, but can you come with me? I want to introduce you to some of my associates for a second.” Liu nods to his men who stand several feet away from your group and they immediately head to the direction of where he was looking just moments before.

You glance at Hae-in and Jinwoo for a second before throwing your arms around them again. When you pull away, you grin at them before turning to Liu. “That’s fine with me. Jinwoo needs to rest up anyway.”

No, Jinwoo wanted to say. I don’t need rest. But his head was pounding. Where the hell did this migraine come from?

“Let’s go then.” Liu holds out his arm to you and you grasp it. You throw your friends one more wave before Liu leads you back to the party.

Jinwoo watches you walk away through half lidded eyes. They were slowly closing, but then they opened in alarm. He watches as you reach to your back – to your scar – and rub it. His face morphs to concern and almost automatically he takes steps closer towards you. He needed to make sure you were okay, but then he stopped.

Without missing a beat, Liu untangles his arm from your hold to rub your back in soothing circles. Jinwoo sees it: his hand glows gold.

And then his vision fades to black.

Again he sees a hill of flowers. But he also sees the red sky. The hill is sprayed with golden blood. Ashborn… Jinwoo holds you in his arms once more, and he feels like crying. But as he raises his head, the dragons and his soldiers are not there.

A monarch stands before him and you, laughing maniacally.

After he had dealt the deathly blow to your back, his hands now dripped with golden blood.

The same gold as his eyes.

Jinwoo’s eyes fade back to the gala, eyes momentarily blinded by the lights of the event hall. His stare is focused once more into you and Liu, conversing animatedly with hunters and officials Jinwoo couldn’t care to know about.

It’s him. Ashborn’s voice echoes in his head. That man is him.

The migraine that had taken hold of Jinwoo earlier was now completely gone and was replaced with a primal anger that had him gritting his teeth until his mouth hurt, but he could care less.

And now he holds her like he did not take her away.

Jinwoo takes a step forward, his shadows ready at a moment’s notice. Screw a National Level hunter, he’d go down if he had to. What’s important is that you weren’t anywhere near h-

He hears laughter, and he watches as you grin. You’re glowing again, and the shadows underneath Jinwoo seem to steady themselves. Even the anger he felt earlier dissipates ever so slightly. He tries to take one more step, but he falters. He can see the glitter in your eyes, aimed at Liu. The hunter returns your grin as you shared another joke between you both, and Jinwoo felt like the world was swallowing him whole.

You were happy.

“Jinwoo?” Hae-in appears beside him, holding on to his arm. He felt a little unsteady on his feet and it must have been obvious to her, “You alright?” All he could manage was a small nod as he continued to stare at you.

Hae-in follows his gaze and after a small pause, she speaks. “Oh. I think I figured it out.”

Jinwoo swallows thickly. There’s that feeling of deja-vu again. A conversation that did not bode well for him. “What is it?” he finally answers.

“Something was bugging me when she first arrived. I couldn’t smell her scent. But that’s not quite right. It’s not that I can’t smell her. It’s that she smells different.”

“Like what?”

“Like him. He smells like a hunter, but I can actually tolerate it. Somehow, her smell compliments his. How can I put it? It’s sort of like when people layer their perfumes - it’s like their scents go well together. They smell different separately, but together they smell completely new.”

There’s a beat where Jinwoo prays that she stays quiet for the rest of the evening, but he should have known better. He should have known that whatever higher beings are there looking over him have hated him from the very beginning.

Hae-in smiles, “They look great together.”

Jinwoo and Ashborn could only stare, silently grinding their teeth. Not only did they disagree, but they hated that whole sentence altogether.

They had to hate it. For what it meant for you otherwise. And what it meant for the future you could have had together.

=O=O=O=O=O=

He takes Hae-in home shortly after. The ride back was silent. Hae-in figured he felt more off than he wanted to show, so she let him be.

Jinwoo feels funny. He asks Ashborn for his thoughts. Maybe how to feel better.

It’s quiet. Jinwoo feels like he has a single heart in his chest. It had never been this silent.

But he knows Ashborn is still there because it hurts. His chest hurts so much. Too full. His chest feels too full. He hasn’t felt pain this bad since he was still a player.

“Thank you for taking me home,” Hae-in smiles brightly at him as they stand outside her door. Brightly. There’s that word again. Her eyes are grey, but Jinwoo blinks and sees divine eyes full of devotion for him, sees dull mortal eyes in a hospital, and then he sees eyes so happy in Hae-in’s and he feels like he’s going to throw up.

Jinwoo nods numbly. Hae-in, concerned that he was sweating so much, tries to reach out to him but he reassures her that he's fine (it's fine, it's fine, it’s fine). And Jinwoo heads home alone, his mind a mess.

Jinwoo immediately beelines for the bathroom, stumbling in and locking the door.

He looks at himself in the mirror.

His eyes are the ones you had when you were in the hospital.

“Ash… born?”

There’s a beat before he hears Ashborn.

I always wondered… I had easily thought it was simply something only felt by mortal beings.

Why had you asked them for the cup of reincarnation?

Just once more. That’s what you said.

Just once more.

And then it's silent again. And Jinwoo hates it.

He closes his eyes, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes, hoping he can erase the image of you and Liu and also erase the look in his eyes.

Instead, he’s back at that hill where he first saw you. You’re no longer there. The flowers continue to bloom. But you are not there. The sun remains overhead, the tree shielding him. But you are not there. It’s so empty and his chest feels ready to burst.

He opens his mouth, ready to call for Igris and Beru, anyone to help him or bring him to a hospital.

But instead he hears Ashborn’s voice, calling your name – your real name (it’s the same name, you are the same one, you always have been) – on that lone hill.

Jinwoo hears himself whisper your name to the bathroom walls.

But you're not there. He looks at the mirror and the only eyes that stare back at him is his.

The world has never felt this cruel.

=O=O=O=O=O=

Jinwoo didn’t really know what he was expecting, but this was definitely not it. This was definitely not the way things were supposed to go, and in all honesty he wants to blame you, just without the anger or hatred attached to the word. Just that everything was falling apart around him and he couldn’t do anything but watch it happen and try not to break from all that was transpiring in these last few days.

In record time, he had found himself back with you, but you seem to have grown farther away from him, impossibly more so than when you were miles away from him. He thought it couldn't get worse.

But of course, he was wrong again.

Liu Zhigang sat in front of Jinwoo, quietly drinking tea, and the shadow monarch heir was doing everything he could to keep Ashborn from calling out one of the soldiers to attack him. If he was going to be honest, trying to suppress Ashborn was helping distract Jinwoo from wanting to do the same. Golden eyes watched him carefully as Liu took another sip, almost as if he knew what was going on in Jinwoo's head.

Hae-in sits beside Jinwoo, waiting for the two men to start the conversation, but they continue to stare at each other silently. Feeling the tension rise between them, Hae-in finally clears her throat to catch both of their attentions, but they don't seem to hear her. She clears her throat once more, louder, a frown on her face now, and finally Jinwoo looks away and Liu closes his eyes, seemingly enjoying his drink all this time.

"Well, thank you for inviting us over, Hunter Liu," Hae-in smiles warmly. Jinwoo continues to look around everywhere in the cafe except for the golden eyed man. He breathes in deeply, feeling his shadows stir underneath him.

Ashborn, calm down. Jinwoo internally sighs. The black heart in his chest beats erratically.

Knowing who this man is makes it hard to. How can you tell me that knowing what I know?

"Of course, but I don't think those words are quite right," Liu smiles lazily, setting his cup down. He leans back into his seat and gives the cafe a once over. "I’m honored to be welcomed into someplace special to Rìluò and her friends."

Jinwoo felt more bitter than ever. Welcomed, right. Sure. If you asked Jinwoo, it felt more like he was desecrating the holy ground shared by your group. It didn’t help that Hae-in had insisted on him sitting on your spot by the window.

Liu Zhigang had secretly contacted Jinwoo and Hae-in, saying it was something important that concerned you, but under no circumstance were they to inform you what the meeting was about. Jinwoo hated the thought of going anywhere with Liu Zhigang without you around - truthfully, he was worried that he might lose control of his body to Ashborn and his soldiers. Normally he wouldn't mind letting lose- especially if it was for you - but he wouldn't know how to justify the murder of a National Level hunter. And above all else, you would never forgive him once you'd find out. But Jinwoo was more than worried. What if you were sick? What if there was a problem you couldn't solve even with one of the strongest hunters in the world that stands beside you? He was still one of your closest friends. So with a bitter heart (and an enraged one) he agreed to meet up with Liu and Hae-in in the cafe you always went to.

"I'm really sorry for cutting to the chase, but about what you said over the phone," Hae-in immediately jumps into the topic at hand and Jinwoo thanks her in his head for initiating the conversation. He could feel the venomous words in his mouth, trying to slip past and bite at Liu. "Is everything alright with our friend? She's not hurt or anything is she?"

Hae-in says the last part in a rush and Jinwoo can almost feel his blood stop circulating at her words. Thankfully - but annoyingly - Liu shakes his head with a small laugh. Jinwoo knew he was simply amused at the idea, but it still felt so mocking.

"No, of course not. I’m sorry if I worried you, I didn't mean to. Had anything happened to Rìluò, you would be the first for me to contact, just like before. She actually ordered me to inform you of anything that happens to her if she's unable to give you any updates, so I assure you it's nothing serious," he laughs once more, before his face takes on a slightly more serious look. He runs a hand through his hair before he turns back to the duo. “I… wanted to ask how to make her happy.”

Jinwoo almost feels the world stop. Ashborn’s silence could even be deafening. There’s a pause before the same thought runs through them.

Why… would your murderer want you to be happy?

Jinwoo watches the look on Liu’s face closely, looking for something amiss – hoping for one, if he was a little more honest – but there’s only a small smile as he stares out the window, he looks lost in thought. But the more Jinwoo looks, he sees a familiar glimmer in golden eyes and he forces himself to look away.

He was serious, but that just made Jinwoo and Ashborn more confused and angry. Was he leading you on? Planning on making you happy before he killed you once more? Did he think that since Ashborn was no more in flesh, he had the perfect opportunity to hurt you once more? But that just made things more confusing – Ashborn was essentially gone, so there was no need to kill you, right?

Or was this monarch simply so bloodthirsty that it did not matter as long as you bled once more? Jinwoo was spiraling and yet he couldn’t stop it, not with Ashborn’s anger backing up how he was feeling.

“Happy?” Jinwoo’s voice is harsh, and he knows that being so openly antagonizing would have made you hate him. And yet… and yet… he couldn’t seem to help all the bubbling emotions he was feeling. “Are you telling us that she’s not happy with you in the first place?”

Liu turns to Jinwoo, the smile on his face not faltering even for a second. If anything, it seemed to grow ever so slightly, and it was pushing Jinwoo to the very edge.

Hae-in turns to him in a panic, glancing at Liu – very much remembering that he was still a National Level hunter – and speaks hurriedly. “Jinwoo, I’m sure that’s not what Hunter Liu is asking from us.”

Jinwoo and Liu continue to stare each other down, each one refusing to back down. “... Is that so…?”

After what feels like forever, Liu leans back into his seat, throwing an arm over the back of the seat. He smiles pleasantly and Jinwoo’s tempted to jump over the table. “I apologize if I failed to explain better. My Rìluò is happy, of course. I make sure that everything she wishes for is granted and more, however…”

Something flashes over his face for a second, something Hae-in missed, and something Jinwoo couldn’t pinpoint correctly. Almost like… anger? Liu was looking out the window again, something unseen. “As of late, I feel as if she… hasn’t been in the best of moods. And I don’t want that. Not for her. Never for her.”

“As such, under the guise that I wanted her to spend more time here in Korea, I came up with the idea to meet both of you,” he turns to them, golden eyes determined. And again, Jinwoo and Ashborn are unsure if it bodes well truly, and yet it riles them up all the same. “Who better to ask for help than her closest companions?”

Hae-in smiles, reassured, but she throws a nervous look at Jinwoo for a split second – the male completely quiet the whole time. “I see! It’s great that you care so much for her. We’d love t-”

“I’ll think about it.” Jinwoo cuts in. Hae-in turns to him, eyes wide at his answer.

“Jin…woo?” Hae-in stutters out.

The table is silent. Liu doesn’t say anything for a second, until finally, the smile on his face completely drops and his expression is cold. “Now why would that be? I’m sure my request is reasonable?”

Jinwoo shrugs, and he doesn’t have to look at a mirror to know his eyes blaze with purple. “Just a little confused why someone who claims to love my friend even needs tips to make her happy. She’s someone who finds joy in the smallest of things. So I wonder why-”

“Stop.” Liu’s voice leaves no room for question. There’s a pause, before he manages out a single laugh, but there’s no real humor in it. It sounded empty. “I have no idea why you’re so hostile towards me, Hunter Sung. But I will respect your wishes.”

Liu stands up and Hae-in nervously turns to Jinwoo and Liu, unsure what to say to solve the issue. Jinwoo was staring hard at the table.

Before Liu leaves completely, however, he stops right beside where Jinwoo sat. The lazy smile on his face is back. “Had you not been her friend, things would not have ended this easily, Hunter Sung.”

Hae-in felt like she held her breath until Liu was out the door completely before turning to Jinwoo in a rush. “What was that all about?”

Jinwoo could feel his hands shaking as he held them underneath the table, he knew his knuckles were bruised white as he held them in fists. If he squeezed them any stronger he might actually break a finger or two, and yet it wouldn’t be able to dampen his thoughts.

“I don’t like him. Simple as that,” he replies. He slowly releases his hands, trying to calm their shaking.

Hae-in stares at him incredulously before frowning. “Jinwoo. That’s not the truth and you know it. Tell me. Why are you so angry at Hunter Liu?”

Jinwoo doesn’t answer. How was he going to say it to her anyway? How does he tell her that he knew her first as the reincarnated lover of a monarch that lives inside him? That despite pushing her away at first, he had fallen for her? And now that she had moved on, he couldn’t seem to be the one to let go? How does he-

“Is it her?”

Jinwoo blinks. Did… he hear her right? He slowly turns to Hae-in. Her face is blank as she watches him carefully.

“...What?” It was a dumb response, but it was all Jinwoo could manage at the moment.

“I’m… I wish you wouldn’t treat me like a fool,” she says quietly, her head lowered with a sad smile.

“No, of course not, I just…” Jinwoo swallows thickly. He supposed this was it. “I’m sorry. I… wasn’t quite sure how to tell you.”

“It’s… okay,” she says, but Jinwoo doesn’t miss the way her eyes water as she looks away with a laugh. “I would be lying if I said I didn’t know. When you look at her… when you touch her… it always feels more like a friend. I suppose I just hoped that maybe… I could have been mistaken.”

Jinwoo breathes in deeply. He already screwed up enough times. He needed to do this properly. “Forgive me, Hae-in. I… couldn’t return your feelings.”

Hae-in smiles sadly, her face crumpling. For a second, she refuses to cry, but eventually she turns around. Jinwoo looks away, if only to give her grace. After a few minutes, she turns back around. Her eyes are slightly swollen, but she clears her throat and pushes on.

“Don’t worry. I won’t lie that it hurts… but you don’t owe me that,” she smiles bravely with a nod.

Jinwoo manages a small smile. At this moment, it was all he could offer her. “Thank you.”

Hae-in looks away, nodding slowly, but when she turns back to him, her eyes are determined. “If… it’s not too awkward for you, can we still be friends?”

Jinwoo manages a laugh. “Of course.” He holds out a hand. “Friends.”

Hae-in smiles and laughs, holding on to his hand and shaking it once. “Friends.”

But Hae-in’s expression turns grave. “What… do you plan to do now? With Hunter Liu…”

“I… don’t know.” Jinwoo admits.

“I can’t bring myself to hate her or anything, despite our… current circumstances. So I promise I will say this as her friend,” Hae-in purses her lips. “She’s really happy… you know?”

Jinwoo pauses. When he closes his eyes, he sees a hill of flowers.

They agree.

=O=O=O=O=O=

Jinwoo walks a ways behind your group – with you and Liu in the front and Hae-in in the middle. Jinwoo had a feeling she purposefully put herself there to make sure he didn’t try to do anything.

Which was a funny thought for Jinwoo. For all the hatred and anger coursing through his body – both his and Ashborn’s – he wasn’t stupid enough to pull off anything right in front of you.

But the moment your line of vision wasn’t on him and the other hunter – well, it was up for debate whether he would act on anything and the chances of not were fairly low and getting lower the longer he watched the both of you laugh and tease one another.

Because of this, he was both thankful and annoyed that you were here together.

Just say the word, My King, Beru starts, voice just as venomous as he and Ashborn felt. Jinwoo wonders if it’s because his shadows reflected emotions or Beru really did just enjoy your company from what he sees with your time with Jinwoo and now felt robbed by it. Sometimes they really did feel like his children. He smiles at the idea of how his companions treasured you so, before he hears his dutiful shadow continue. I’ll rip his head off by his hair.

Jinwoo is unable to keep himself from snorting at the thought, but when the group turns around at the sound, he expertly covers it with a coughing fit. Although not all are convinced.

“Jinwoo? Are you doing alright? Are you still feeling sick?” In record time, you leave Liu’s side (and to Jinwoo’s great satisfaction, he sees the other male’s eye twitch ever so slightly) to come closer to him. You enter healer and friend mode as your hand goes to his forehead, trying to feel for the familiar warmth of a fever. Jinwoo relishes the feel of your skin on his. Even when the last time they touched you was just the gala a week or so ago, it felt so long ago. Your touch was welcomed and it would be no exaggeration to say it was something they’d craved. He's tempted to lean into your touch.

But when you don’t sense any difference to his normal body temperature, you pull your hand back, and Jinwoo is left with the passing cold breeze that brushes through him and into his very soul. The lack of your presence is all the more apparent. “Maybe we shouldn’t have gone out today. Are you sure you’re not sick? A hunter’s quick healing should have kicked in by now.”

You look at him, trying to read his face, and all Jinwoo could focus on was the worry on your face, the light in your eyes. He had seen that same look before, the first time he had met the first you in that hill of flowers. You had looked at him with concern when you called out for Ashborn and he failed to respond. He had walked away back then.

Oh, how time flew. He wished he could go back, to start again. The Cup of Reincarnation felt like a wasted opportunity now. Why did he have to meet you now after using it? This felt like a hell of his own making. Is this what he got for trying to get rid of the monarchs? He met and loved the reincarnated lover of the monarch he housed, only to lose her to the reincarnated monarch of the one who killed her.

It felt like one big comedy skit for everyone to laugh at while he’s left the butt of the joke.

“A cold, is it?” The deep voice is grating to Jinwoo’s ears, but he pretends not to notice it. You turn your head slightly to the side, listening, but your eyes remain with Jinwoo. He hoped they’d stay on him longer, if only for this moment. “That’s not quite what I heard. It was an interesting sound…”

The spell is broken and finally you look away from him, severing your short connection, Jinwoo swallows hard. He was feeling worse by the second. He looked away or else he was going to openly glare at Liu even when he knew you would catch him doing it.

Control yourself.

Jinwoo breathes deeply. You’re one to talk. Don’t think I forgot you’re more blood thirsty than me.

“Eh? What do you mean by that?” You naively tilt your head, confused at Liu’s words, while the male stares at Jinwoo seemingly serenely. Jinwoo glares at empty air, all the while Hae-in’s eyes shift worriedly around everyone.

“Hmm. Don’t worry about it, Rìluò, maybe I heard wrong,” Jinwoo can almost see the smirk in his voice and the mirth in his glowing eyes. “But I do agree that Hunter Sung seems like he isn’t doing too well. I wonder why? Maybe you should head home early. There will be other chances to meet up.”

“Thanks for your concern,” Jinwoo looks up, managing a smile through gritted teeth as he fights being more sarcastic by the minute. “But I’m not missing out on any time I could have spent with my friend when she just got back from abroad.”

You turn to Jinwoo, touched by his declaration, and Jinwoo would be lying if he said he didn’t feel warm and proud that he made you happy. But Liu just had to cut into the moment with a hum. “If you say so. Just let us know if you change your mind.”

Jinwoo frowns, lips pulled tight. “… Right. Thanks.”

“You guys are… acting pretty odd…” you frown at them, eyes shifting from him and Liu suspiciously. Jinwoo breathes in deeply before he meets your eyes, trying his best to give you a smile that could convey everything he was feeling; you always knew how he did before, he hoped it didn’t stop now. You turn to look at Liu, who raises his eyebrows at you almost innocently with a lazy smile, but no one misses the softness of his gaze whenever it was aimed at you. “Are you guys-?”

“OKAY!” Hae-in claps her hands together, unable to take the tension. You jump at the sound, turning to her with complete surprise. Hae-in blushes at the sudden attention, but she successfully cuts through the tension from earlier. “Let’s start and go over our plans for today.”

She looks around the group, trying to hype everyone up. Jinwoo manages a small smile, but they don’t quite reach his eyes before they go back to you, and Hae-in doesn’t have to guess why. Liu’s eyes betray nothing as they watch Jinwoo closely, before he feels Hae-in’s stare on him and he gives her a small nod. You – bless your soul – smile brightly at her in support, seemingly oblivious to your other guests. Hae-in could tell from the strained way you were trying to ignore them that you were struggling just as much if not more than her.

“What’s on the agenda?” you grin in excitement. Hae-in mirrors your expression – if only to forget about the two men as well – before it falters for a second.

“Oh, uh, well…” Hae-in looks to Jinwoo for help, rather unsure as well where they were heading off first. After all, he knew you best, right? He’s taken back to your first outing. Back then, he wanted nothing more than to guide you into forgetting who you thought he was. Now…

This could be a chance. Ashborn’s voice suddenly rings in his ears, urgent and desperate as he felt.

For what…?

Ashborn sounded so mortal, and that was what scared Jinwoo the most.

To make things right. If anything, a final attempt to.

“We can look for a cafe to stay at again,” Jinwoo tries to smile brighter, eyes burning slightly purple. Jinwoo almost missed it, but for a split second, he saw your eyes flash with a glimmer as you stared at him. It only fueled him to continue. “Let’s not go to our usual spot. Maybe something new? Hunter Liu can pick one out. Hae-in can tell him which cafes have good desserts. Of course, Hunter Liu knows her favorite desserts, right? After all, he knows her best.”

Hae-in sucks in a breath, closing her eyes for a second like everything she was hearing was physically painful. But before the others could notice her reaction, she turns to Liu with a small – albeit wobbly – smile. “There’s a small map over there that details the best food and cafe stalls surrounding the park. Would you like to check it out?”

Liu gives Jinwoo one last once over before he gives you a small smile and nods to Hae-in. They move forward, expecting everyone to head over to the same direction.

“Wait,” Jinwoo grabs your wrist and almost immediately, his head and hearts are filled with warmth as they come into contact with you. He clears his throat and forces himself to focus. “Can we chat for a bit?”

You gape at him and for a second he’s dejected when you turn to where Liu and Hae-in slowly head off to, getting farther and farther away. But then you look back at him and he sees the familiar swirl of divinity in them. You blink, and they settle amongst the regular color of your mortal eyes. You give him a small smile before nodding.

He gently leads you to the closest open area he could find on a park map. However, when the both of you arrive, his hearts drop. The last time he was here, he had teleported to get there, so there was no time to figure out the route. But now he felt himself getting sick at the memory. And with a side glance from you, it was clear you were thinking of the same thing.

You’re back at the park bench. Hell.

“Well, this is certainly… a place. I promise I didn’t mean to bring you here.” Jinwoo laughs and almost immediately, you share it with him. Your voice sounds like a choir to him, not a note of it out of place for his ears. It felt just right, perfect even, as everything when it came to you. He sighs out one more laugh before he raises his head and meets your eyes. You’re glowing again. “How have you been?”

“You pulled me aside to ask me that?” You laugh and all Jinwoo could think was how this is how things should have been from the very beginning. “I should be the one asking you that since you’ve been feeling off since we last met at the gala. I was really worried, you know! And you even started coughing earlier. Make sure to tell me if you feel off, okay? I’ll give you a discount when I heal you.”

“Ah, well, don’t worry about it,” he grins again. He felt like he was his old self again – young and an optimism that never seemed to go away. A voice at the back of his head was telling him that this wasn’t right, but just as Ashborn said, it felt so natural, so lovely, that he found himself lost in the ecstasy of it. “I… just realized we haven’t had a proper conversation ever since you got back and I thought we could have one right now, if it’s cool with you.”

You clap your hands together in apology and bow deeply. “I’m really, really sorry, Jinwoo! I didn’t mean to make you guys feel like I ghosted you. I promise we’ll hang out more in the following days! I’ve just been busy showing Zhigang around and introducing him to some acquaintances, so…”

Maybe the look on his face was too telling, but your voice carries on and drifts away, smile fading to something softer. You don’t continue what you were about to say and let the silence wash over the both of you. You look around and Jinwoo takes a moment to admire your features. The setting sun illuminates you, giving you an otherworldly glow. It was close to the divine glow that sometimes overtakes you, but this feels warmer. More welcome. For what feels like the first time, you are not the one from the past world, but just yourself. And it made Jinwoo’s face and chest feel so, so warm. Your eyes are aglow with the setting sun.

The hill of flowers has never looked so beautiful.

“We missed you.”

The words that he thought were just at the tip of his tongue come out softly. He flinches, not meaning to blurt out how he was really feeling. Hell, what did he do?

“I mean,” he lets out a sheepish laugh, trying to cover his horror. “Me and Hae-in. We really missed you, you know?”

You blink before letting out a small grin. “Yeah, yeah…I missed you guys a lot, too. So much…”

A silence passes over the both of you once more. He looks around and his eyes land on the park bench beside you both and he feels a shiver run down his spine. It was probably wrong that he brought you here, seeing that bench felt like a harbinger.

Finally he clears his throat. “Hey, so, about what I needed to tell you… Something really important.”

He knows he’s not imagining it when he sees it again – there’s a soft glimmer in your eyes, but you squeeze your eyes shut and look away. Almost on instinct. He pauses. Why was he hesitating now?

He wanted to tell you – that man was the one who killed you in a past life.

I have no idea how he found you, beloved, but don’t be fooled by him. Do not trust him. He does not have your best intentions at heart. He will hurt you once more. As a monarch that craves chaos, he will certainly do it aga-

You purse your lips before taking a deep breath. “Jinwoo… I think I already know.”

“What do you mean by… you already know?” Was he that horrible at keeping secrets?

You let out a sad – bittersweet – laugh that it almost felt scathing. But not for him. “I told you before, right? You may not be him, but I would still know you, even a little bit. I come back and you and Hae-in still aren’t… and I noticed how she’s been acting recently. And there’s the way you and Zhigang talk… Can you tell me if I’m imagining it? Do you…?”

Oh. Oh gods. That was one of the things he didn’t want you to figure out, but somehow it was the most obvious one? He felt like he was sinking into the ground and he really did hope the earth would swallow him whole. He should have known that if it was obvious to Hae-in then it wouldn’t be too far off for you. Hell, now what?

Jinwoo can feel Ashborn squeeze his heart. He already knows what the other wants to say, but he breathes deep and holds him down.

Well, if he was honest… Didn’t he want the same thing? They were two different beings, but sometimes they shared similarities in thoughts and ideas. His voice comes out in a whisper. “...Which answer will you want?”

The passing breeze felt so cold, but your reaction felt colder. You squeezed your eyes shut, and Jinwoo felt like both his hearts stopped, the expression on your face so familiar he could almost see it lit up by a red sky. Pained. He doesn’t know who that word applied to more between the two of you at this very moment. You manage a strangled smile as you raise your eyes back to him again, eyes glittering with unshed tears and “You’re being really unfair right now, you know?”

Monarchs and Sovereigns above, of course he knew that. How could he not when you’re right in front of him and after all that’s changed between you both over the time, he still finds himself here – making you cry.

“Why now?” you laugh, pressing the heels of your palms to your eyes. Although he wanted to believe otherwise, were you trying to erase him from in front of you? Did you ever think of a hill of flowers before you went back to Korea and saw him again?

“I know. I know that it’s wrong. And I’m so sorry.” he swallows and tries to push through. This was going to hurt. But he needed to get this off his chest – the two hearts inside him were praying for the best. “I just– This isn’t about Ashborn anymore, I swear it. The time I’ve spent with you are some of the best I’ve had. I’ll even be bold to say they’re my favorite. No matter how few they are, but that’s just how much I treasured them.”

“Jinwoo…” you laugh sadly, and when you raise your head to him for a second, your eyes are shifting waters of divinity and mortality. When your voice comes out again, “I told you before, right? Don’t force yourself. Maybe the heart inside you is just forcing you like mine-”

“No. It’s not like that. I know that.” Jinwoo wouldn’t lie. It hurt him a bit. He understands where you were coming from. For so long, he felt like he was being dictated by Ashborn’s feelings for you. But no. He knows it more than ever. “I could lose the heart that gave me my abilities right now. I could go back to being an E Rank hunter. I would still find you.”

You look up at him and for a second, the mortality wins and he almost reaches out to you again. But like lightning, the divinity hits you like a flash and you force yourself to step back from him. You’re breathing heavily, trying to reign in your past self and Jinwoo could only feel turmoil.

He wants to bring you back to the present just like he did back then, but would you even hear his voice? Or would you hear Ashborn? Which one would turn to him

“But Jinwoo… Zhigang… I…?” you mutter it in between unsteady laughter.

It hurt, because he knew you were right. This was wrong. This was unfair. And yet, and yet. Jinwoo manages a strangled laugh. Why did he keep talking? What was he trying to achieve? His chest hurts so much, but he knew it was nothing compared to you. So why did he keep hurting you like this?

Ashborn was wrong. This wasn’t going to fix things at all. But Jinwoo knew – maybe because they’ve been entwined so deeply now, in body and love for you – that Ashborn was clinging to the smallest of chance that they’d take you away from Liu. Desperate to save you from a similar fate. Desperate to save you from the past and join you in the future.

He promised you forever in another life, didn’t he?

“Can I just know? Did you… the you in the present… feel anything for me, too? At least a little bit?”

“I…” But you don’t get to finish, just staring at him hopelessly. Jinwoo watches as your eyes shift from divinity to mortality, from past to present, to uncertainty and more doubt. Maybe realizing he could see the confusion as clear as day on your face, you press your hands over your eyes again, willing to keep your feelings at bay.

He wants to reach out, and for a second he found it so funny. Back then, he was always the one who wanted to pull away, always told you not to get too close, but now…

Jinwoo watches as tears slowly spill from past your hands and down your cheeks. He hesitantly reaches out to brush them away, give comfort however you need that would right every wrong he’s ever done to you.

However, before he can say or do anything more, someone stands behind you. Jinwoo straightens up and curses at himself for not noticing sooner, too lost in the moment, but he’s unable to take a step forward, frozen. An enraged glare pins him in place, and for just a moment once more, he felt like he was an E Rank hunter again, unable to do anything more than watch as he stood before something more than he could ever be, something he could not match, despite knowing otherwise.

Liu Zhigang holds a hand over your eyes, as if shielding you from a potential threat. He wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you flush against his chest and farther away from Jinwoo, even if it was just a few steps away. Liu doesn’t look away even once, controlled rage all over his face as he slowly turns his body to push you behind him in protection. Jinwoo’s hearts were hammering in his ears – eyes shifting from the glare of an angered National Level hunter and, from what he could see of you behind your lover, the woman he loved clinging to his back in desperation.

“Hunter Sung,” Liu’s voice is deathly quiet but could be heard clear as day even in the vast open space. It seemed to command the very air. “Did you just make my lover cry?”

Jinwoo was starting to think that just being in your presence made him ten times more stupid. He felt like he always lost the idea to think, always at a loss for words. He felt it now more than ever.

Because how was he going to deny that when there you were right behind Liu, gasping as you cried and clutching the back of his shirt. To other people, it might have looked like you were over exaggerating in your reaction or that he had done more than just admit his feelings for you.

Liu reaches out behind him and one of his sheathed swords appears behind him. He grips at the hilt of it and in a split second, your hands hold down his wrist, Hae-in takes a defensive stance, ready to break up the ensuing fight and Jinwoo’s daggers are in his hands. The shadows beneath the monarch grow restless.

“Zhigang,” you choke out. “Stop, don’t, please.”

“Rìluò, don’t tell me to stop when this bastard can’t seem to treat you like a proper friend.” Liu makes the words out through gritted teeth, the grip on his sword tightening.

That seemed to hit you both at the same time as you and Jinwoo flinched. It held more weight than one. Liu was right, Jinwoo had been acting out too much the moment he saw you again. And despite your efforts, the past you kept rearing her head, drawn to the familiar presence of her past lover in his vessel. For yourself… Jinwoo wasn’t too sure if it was the guilt of how it must have all looked like to Liu or…?

“What kind of friend makes you sob like that, Rìluò? If this is his version of friendship, not really sorry to say, but I don’t want it for you. You don’t deserve this.”

You swallow, and you shift on your feet. Jinwoo thinks you’re slightly swaying. “…Zhigang, please, can we go back home for no-?”

You don’t get to finish. Because in the next second, Jinwoo almost seems to watch in slow motion as your grip on Liu’s wrist loosens. You’re falling. The glimmer in your eyes disappears, and so does the mortality as they grow dull, your whole body shutting down. He yells out to a shadow – any of them, desperate, oh so desperate – and Beru comes out before he can even finish. The shadow ant catches you before you hit the ground.

Liu turns around in a flurry and takes you from the shadow’s arms before he could react. For a second, Jinwoo felt Beru’s fury spike, angered at the hunter and he raised one of his arms to strike. Jinwoo’s eyes flash a brilliant purple.

DON’T.

But My King-!

I said don’t, Jinwoo swallows as he watches Liu cradle an unconscious you in his arms, not even bothering to look at the shadow ant in front of him, ready to strike. Jinwoo thinks of a red sky and health potions that look like blood and so much desperation coursing in his veins as he holds your body. He doesn’t have to see the look on Liu’s eyes to know, he can see the tension in his shoulders and the shuddering breathing as he made sure. We’ll… we’ll make things worse. Come back here. You did well. You… did enough.

Hae-in comes closer and helps check your vitals while Jinwoo stays rooted to the spot, waiting with bated breath as your lover and friend go over your state.

“She’s fine,” for what felt like an eternity, Hae-in stands, but she bites her bottom lip and swallows hard as she turns to Jinwoo. “But it’s better to send her to a hospital to make sure.”

“Is this what you wanted?” Liu’s voice is deadpan, but Jinwoo felt the hit to the face all the same. He can’t summon the urge to say anything more hostile. Even if you were knocked out, it felt like you’d hear and it would hurt you more than it would actually affect Liu.

“...Hunter Liu, take her somewhere far away from me. Please.” Jinwoo’s voice is devoid of emotion.

“I don’t need to hear that from you,” Liu picks you up effortlessly, and with a last withering glare at Jinwoo, eyes burning a terrifying gold – “I should have killed you the first time.”

Hae-in swallows before letting out a small whisper. “I want to make sure she’s fine. I’ll go with you.”

Jinwoo doesn’t need the player system to know that a threat that could kill him was meters from him. A part of him tells himself that maybe it would be for the best to let Liu go through with it, but the hunter leaves without another word with you in his arms. Hae-in rests a hand over Jinwoo’s shoulder for a second, but she’s unable to say anything more, and she jogs to catch up with Liu.

He stays rooted to the spot for a moment more. Right here was where he was talking to you just moments before. And there was where you lost consciousness, unable to fight your past self. Jinwoo sits on the bench. And on this bench…

Is it finally over for us…? Jinwoo asks. But Ashborn neither agrees or disagrees. Neither of them wanted to know the answer.

=O=O=O=O=O=O=

How many times has Jinwoo been to this park in his life?

Numerous. He’s been here countless times with his family when he was younger, running around with Jinah with reckless endeavor. Even as he grew older, they had occasional picnics, even if it was just him and his sister. And then he started working out here when he was first made a player. And then he came and went again after he used the Cup of Reincarnation. The most recent ones that come to mind were his picnic with his family and they invited Hae-in to join them. That day was… he thought it might have been the beginning of the end, in a sense. He had thrown you away then, and came crawling back to you a year later. Breaking your heart again in a different way.

And now here he was again with Liu Zhigang. The hunter had asked – ordered, better said – that Jinwoo meet him in the park in a big enough clearing. Jinwoo immediately knew where he was talking about – the hidden spot of a park bench with the perfect view of the sunset. He should get that park bench removed someday. No one was going to miss it, definitely not him.

Wasn’t sitting on the bench, however. He was standing slightly farther away, quietly staring into the horizon. He was dressed in his hunter attire, swords carefully sheathed behind him. Jinwoo doesn’t bother preparing his own daggers, or telling his soldiers to be ready.

Liu insisted on meeting around sundown.

Jinwoo stands a safe distance beside Liu. Safe for him or the National Level hunter, he wasn’t quite sure. For a moment, he questions if he would win, even with Ashborn’s help, with the heavy guilt weighing down on him, or would he just let it all happen. “How… is she?”

“Fine, although that’s no thanks to you,” Liu snaps back almost immediately, like he knew what the first thing Jinwoo was going to say.

There’s a pause, and when Liu speaks again, he sounds far away. Reliving a memory that was neither pleasant nor painful. It sounded like a fact he just remembered. “She hates watching the sun set, did you know?”

Jinwoo pauses. “I heard her mention once that she doesn’t watch it, but…”

The answer seems to make Liu angry because he inhales sharply and gives Jinwoo a judgmental glare from his peripheral vision. “...I see.”

A tension filled silence passed between the two of them, too many words that remain unspoken, if only for the sake of keeping things civil enough to see this conversation through. Finally, the glare in Liu’s face passes and something comes over him. He takes a breath in, as if steadying himself, before he passes a hand over his face. Finally he faces Jinwoo.

“I wish to ask you for a favor.”

“Haven’t asked for enough, I see,” Jinwoo manages a small self-deprecating laugh, feeling faint. He hasn’t had a reasonable amount of sleep ever since that talk with you. All he could see when he closed his eyes was the way you cried, your body on the floor. He imagines himself holding your unconscious body again like he was in the red gate and he feels the bile rise to his throat. “I’m the last person you need that from.”

Liu smirks mockingly. “Don’t worry. I have a feeling this will be the last time.”

Jinwoo manages a scoff. “We’ll see. From past experience your favors aren’t exactly favorable for everyone involved, but let’s hear it.”

Liu pauses, looking at the sunset before turning back to Jinwoo. “I want to ask for your permission. I wish for your full blessing to take care of Rìluò, to bring her with me to China.”

Jinwoo blinks, unsure if he heard wrong. But Liu doesn’t break into that lazy grin or even laugh at his face mockingly. He looks at him straight in the eye, and to his surprise, there is no glimmer in his eyes that comes when he talks about you or the burning suns when he stands as China’s hero.

Mortal. Just completely mortal.

And unguarded.

Jinwoo can’t help but scoff incredulously. “That’s the most idiotic request I’ve heard from you. She’s her own person. As if I have a say in where she wants to-”

“I’m not asking you.”

Jinwoo frowns, his temper rising. He can only have so much patience with the man who continues to challenge it. But he tries to will it down. “So is this another order from a National Level Hunter disguised as a-”

“Shut up,” And suddenly, it felt like Liu wasn’t looking at him. He was looking through him. “I’m not asking you. I’m asking that heart that continues to beat inside you.”

The park is eerily quiet. Jinwoo’s rage fizzles out of him, at a complete loss for words.

“Ashborn… that’s your name, isn’t it?” Liu continues, voice resolute and almost seeming to echo in the open space just like before. The very air crackled with it. It definitely felt like it was ringing in Jinwoo’s ears, and all the way to the soul that rests within him. He was suddenly so aware that he was a Vessel of something very dangerous. “What do you say?”

Jinwoo didn’t even have any time to react. Before he knew it, he was thrown into the back of his consciousness. The whole park is overtaken by darkness, the sunset disappearing in a cloak of black, locking him and Liu into a separate dimension. He can feel how the strongest of his army are summoned around him -- Igris and Iron with their weapons drawn, Beru more than ready to strike, even Bellion’s commanding aura can be felt from his back. Ashborn had complete control of his body at that very moment, and for once, Jinwoo was taken aback by how easily the original Shadow Monarch had access to it. He’s reminded of a previous conversation: Jinwoo may own the body, but as Ashborn said: not completely. Jinwoo, no, Ashborn takes quick steps towards Liu and grips on to his collar, almost dragging him forward. His knuckles are blemished white, but for a split second, Jinwoo could have sworn it was a hand encased in black armor.

“I must have misheard you, Reincarnated Monarch… Murderer of My Beloved. Maybe your mortality has affected your memories and you don’t remember your greatest sin, so depending on what you say next, I may spare enough of you to still resemble something that can be called human.”

Despite Ashborn’s menacing aura, Liu stands his ground. Golden eyes meet blazing purple without looking away, if anything, they seem to burn brighter, trying to overpower him. Jinwoo can make out familiar glittering, and it only fuels Ashborn’s rage to roaring heights. His grip on Liu’s collar tightens and he can hear his shadows grow restless behind him.

“It hurts my pride to admit, but I don’t believe I can win against an actual monarch, or whatever you are. Sorry for not living up to your expectations, but if it helps my case, I’m not what you call a reincarnated monarch, or any kind of reincarnation. I’m very much human.”

Ashborn frowns and Jinwoo feels the doubt that courses between the two of them. That’s impossible. They know what they saw whenever his hands found the wound on your back, or the way he had the same glowing eyes of the monarch you had seen before you eventually passed. Isn’t this conversation damning proof enough? That he had known about Ashborn before anyone besides you did?

Ashborn scoffs. “Explain yourself. I implore you to make it quick before I decide your words are meaningless to me and the shadows lose their patience."

“I’m my own person, I know that for a fact.”

“And yet you call my name? Somehow, you simply knew of my existence beforehand? I refuse to believe My Beloved has told you anything about me.”

Liu mouths Ashborn’s name for you, and for a second he looks away with a tick of his mouth in the corners. Ashborn harshly shakes him once and Liu looks back to him. He almost looks bored. “Listen to me. Memories, that’s all they are. I am not whoever you think I am, and I certainly didn’t murder her. The very idea makes me sick. I’d rather kill myself before I even get a mile closer to her with those intentions.”

“I’d be happy to fulfill that wish of yours.” Jinwoo hears the shadows step closer.

“Yeah, I bet,” Liu mutters. “But if you even care a fraction for her, then listen to me first. Put the idea of me killing her on the side, just for a moment. Presently, she’s alive, am I right?”

Ashborn pauses, the grip he has on Liu loosening only for a moment before he tightens it again. “As my vessel has said, we have no hold on whether she stays or goes, no matter if we wish to.”

No matter if we begged her to reconsider. She is a wild thing, like a dandelion carried by the wind.

Fleeting, ever so sadly so.

“Maybe not for you, but that’s not the same for her.” Liu frowns, and for a second it’s like he wasn’t being held by the collar by a monarch.

Jinwoo’s heartbeat is in his throat. Ashborn laughs scornfully. “You doubt her love for you? That’s not our concern. That is a failing on your part.”

“Ha. I don’t doubt it, and if you weren’t so angry right now, you wouldn’t either. She’s not like that, and you know it’s true if you’re fighting so hard for her,” Liu laughs once, but it’s empty. “But that’s besides the point. There’s something inside of her that continues to love you.”

Ashborn and Jinwoo pause, and for a second, they sense hope growing within them like a weed. “Forgive me, but I don’t see why I’m meant to see that as something I should stop.”

“Don’t see it, huh? Yeah, I figured you wouldn’t,” Liu clicks his tongue. Before Ashborn could react, Liu unsheathes one of his blades and strikes. He misses, of course, Jinwoo and Ashborn’s body disappearing into shadow. Liu stands a way off as the monarch materializes, glaring at the hunter. “Of course you wouldn’t see it as a bad thing. But that’s not the same for her.”

“I’m asking the both of you to stay away from her.” To Jinwoo’s surprise, Liu sheaths his sword once more. Jinwoo suddenly feels like Liu is staring past Ashborn and right at him. But it’s almost impossible to think about when Ashborn’s anger was coming back in full force. Even Jinwoo was unable to comprehend what he was asking. “Hunter Sung, you saw what it does to her, right? Another her keeps trying to fight back. You may say that the other one has good intentions, that she is as kind and as lovely as the Rìluò I know, just trying to get a share of life. But she’s hurting Rìluò, isn’t she? I don’t know how you and Ashborn work, but I don’t think it’s the same for her. I don’t think she can live as both at the same time.”

Jinwoo wants to fight back, to retort something. They’ll teach you how to control it again. They’ll figure out a way where you can live peacefully with the past you that has survived all this time. You’ll be fine, just as you did back when you were friends.

You’ll be fine.

But he thinks of the way that the glimmer overtakes your eyes each time and wonders – what if it completely stays? Then what?

“You taught her, right? You’re the one who taught her how to control it. I know you did. Are you going to throw all of that down the drain just to keep her beside you, even if it means losing the one in the present?” Liu’s voice raises ever so slightly, like he knew he was getting through to Jinwoo. Ashborn takes a step closer, but Liu doesn’t bother stepping back. His face is resolute. “If she keeps seeing you while clinging to the past, there will come a time she won’t see you, Hunter Sung. You know this.”

The unseen bench is a harbinger, still. Jinwoo may not see it right now, but its presence outside this dimension lingers. He remembers sitting there with you, and how without a second thought –

You almost called him Ashborn.

You knew his name by then, meeting him for the first time in the Hunter’s Association. And still, you called out for someone else.

He understood it made Ashborn happy. But you and him are in the present, and Ashborn is simply a being that resides within him now. Is that what he wanted? A version of you that would only cling to him because of a memory of forgotten days? Will you one day wake up and call on Ashborn instead of his name and forget every memory he’s built with you?

Jinwoo opens his mouth to answer – he needs to say something, anything – but his voice doesn’t work.

“And if we… I… refuse?” Jinwoo wants to shut him out at this very moment, but he realizes he doesn’t have to. Jinwoo feels the shadows behind him slowly go back to the abyss. Ashborn’s voice is uncharacteristically soft, but still on edge.

Liu’s hand reaches for his swords again. “Maybe I don’t stand a chance against a monarch, but I don’t mind trying. Either I convince you or I die attempting.”

“Stupid enough to admit you’re weak, too proud to try anyway. And you think you can stand beside her? The chances of you staying alive long enough to convince me first are slim to none.” Ashborn laughs sarcastically.

“Well. If I do die, she’ll know.” Liu shrugs

“So that’s how you plan to win? Showing her that I am a monster who murders her mortal lover?” Ashborn glares at him.

“I don’t think she’ll see you as a monster. I don’t think she’s capable of that. Maybe she’ll think I’m more of one for fighting with you. But if I do die, I know the Rìluò I know will end up staying away from you. So I’ll lose, and the idea is unconventional and cruel, but I still get what I want for her.”

There’s a pause where a sinking feeling crawls at the back of the monarch’s spine.

But also what came with it was insurmountable relief.

“...You are… not him? You are not a reincarnated monarch like her.”

Liu blinks in surprise. “Not my point on this side of the conversation, but no, I’m not. What made you realize?”

“Monarchs in this day and age know they do not stand a chance against me. They have been weakened, to some degree. And yet if your word is to be believed… you will try for her. That is not something those heartless beings would do. It will hurt me, yes, but not if it meant giving their lives away.”

“If it’s Rìluò, then I don’t mind,” Liu gives a half hearted shrug, and then the lazy smile is back, his head lost in a memory. Jinwoo doesn’t have to guess what he’s thinking about. “I would’ve kicked the bucket a while back anyway. Came back a couple of times thanks to her. I owe her for that and much more.”

“...I see…”

It’s quiet, suffocatingly so. The darkness and the lack of a reply from both parties ended up making things stifling. Finally, Jinwoo feels himself take back the body, Ashborn silently handing over control. The darkness that surrounds the both of them slowly ebbs away, and what remains is a moonless night sky.

“Let me know what you think. Rìluò’s still at the hospital. They’re running some tests just to make sure she’s fine,” Liu breathes out a sigh. “You… should go see her when you can. Whichever decision the both of you make. We left on bad terms in front of her, after all. I don’t want her to feel it was all her fault.”

Without waiting for an answer, Liu walks away.

Jinwoo stares at the horizon, his head and hearts as silent as a grave. There was only a single thought in Jinwoo’s mind, however.

Igris.

In a flash, the shadow knight appears and slashes at the bench behind him. The crack and splinter of wood echoes among the trees. And then all is quiet again. But it does nothing to calm the hammering in Jinwoo’s ears.

That bench was nothing but trouble. Ashborn agrees.

=O=O=O=O=O=O=

“Thanks for everything, Jinwoo.”

The end comes regardless, that is what Jinwoo has come to realize.

You were leaving. You were finally going. He wanted to hold you back. To think things through.

If he pulls you to his chest, will that help? He’ll pull you to his chest and you will hear him, won’t you? You will know that he is still there, and you’ll stay with them?

Ashborn whispers something, so softly Jinwoo thought he misheard. So softly he prayed he misheard.

She will be late for her departure. It’s time.

He bites the inside of his cheek, but offers you a small smile. Hae-in smiles through tears and gives you one more lingering hug. Liu comes up from behind you, but for once Jinwoo doesn’t even bother glaring holes into him. He felt… exhausted, in a sense. He continued to look at you, burning the memory of you into his mind because – without you knowing, and maybe you never will know – it will be his last time having a memory of you that is purely his, and not Ashborn’s.

He takes a step back and you turn around. Liu holds out a hand that you readily take into your own. Gold eyes find dull purple eyes and give them a single nod. Was he still in control of the body? It certainly felt like not. He’s not strong enough to watch the plane leave, so he turns around with all intention to leave and Hae-in doesn’t stop him.

Was Ashborn watching? He felt like he was falling into a deep slumber – until he saw something familiar. Something no longer their’s. Something they felt like they were intruding upon.

The hill of flowers is quiet. Jinwoo just noticed the flowers are all purple, splattered with red and gold. He thinks he’s never hated that hill more until now, but he sits down and leans against the large tree anyway. The sky glows red with a setting sun. He waits for a familiar figure, but no one comes. Ashborn closes his eyes.

Just once more.

It’s quiet, all for the passing breeze stirring the grass and leaves awake. And then, they hear it.

The grass rustles as someone carefully steps closer. They think they’re imagining it, so they don’t make a move. They think it’s too good to be true, so they don’t open their eyes. Whoever it is, they stop short, right next to them and pause. Then slowly, the monarch hears someone sit down, feel their heat right next to them. The newcomer does not say anything.

Ashborn doesn’t open his eyes, and neither does Jinwoo.

They don’t watch the sun set. They don’t think they’re strong enough to.

Just once more, they think.

If you feel like listening/watching me brainstorm the fic or just see my first draft of it, here's a video I recorded for it. Use it as a Write With Me if you feel like it - it's got typing sounds, music and, of course, my yapping:

youtube

✨ Masterlist ✨ KOFI/Commissions

Disclaimer: Characters are not mine and belong to their respective creators. Their portrayal is merely my own interpretation of them and may not be accurate to their intended characterization. I stake no claim to the original works, only to the ideas and plot of the fictitious stories I’ve written them into.

#Youtube #solo leveling x reader #solo leveling reader insert #solo leveling jinwoo x reader #solo leveling sung jinwoo x reader #sung jinwoo x reader #sung jinwoo x reader x liu zhigang #liu zhigang x reader #solo leveling liu zhigang x reader #solo leveling one shot #write with me

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fligniuz · 2 months ago

Text

playing favorites

luigi mangione x reader

｡𖦹°‧ your cute new tutor takes quite a liking to you. (or: four times luigi kept his feelings to himself + one time he didn’t)

word count: 10.8k • part of my study buddies series (read here!) • nsfw (with some fluff) • read on ao3

tag list : @mangionebabymama , @mangobabygirl , @jenisaswift13 , @mangionesdaisy , @iinfinitelimits , @daydreamingwithluigi , @nephris , @mashkatzi , @straw8berry , @bean-is-reading

warnings : f! reader; EXPLICIT; unprotected (PRACTICE SAFE SEX); creampie; oral (f! receiving); luigi being a frickin nerd🤓

notes : this one is a BEHEMOTH sorry…mcdonald’s 1974 garfield lead cups my beloved. also tumblr wouldn’t let me format the math right sorry :-(

— 1 —

The weather is clear and sunny on the day that Luigi Mangione first meets you.

Which makes quite a lot of sense, in hindsight, because an entrance so poetic was fitting for you. If there were storm clouds hanging over him prior, then your rays were the straw that broke the camel’s back, parting his stress and his loathing to make way for a new feeling, something fuzzy and sickly sweet and warm to the touch. Something that eats at him like moths biting holes into throw pillows. Something that most people might call attraction.

Luigi is not most people. No, he is one of his own, a contrarian at heart—but a sensitive one, someone with guts and a brain equipped to handle nuance, a quality he has always taken pride in. He thinks for himself and is careful with the words he uses and he takes this much caution for one reason only: the world is unpredictable, far too large and far too fast for one man to make sense of all at once. Nothing in life is truly simple.

That’s why you scare him so much, at first. Because what he feels the moment he lays his eyes on you is simple. And it shouldn’t be. He shouldn’t be able to pin his immediate impressions down with one word, one noun, let alone one with such a heavy and yet universally understandable significance.

You defy all of his expectations. And at first, he is not so fond of it.

He thinks of this day often, and so he remembers nearly every detail: you’re at a house party, some stupid fucking house party, and so is he—what can he say? There isn’t much he wouldn’t do for free booze and an excuse to not think for a few hours. Tonight is not as fun, though. Several problems: the friends he’d care to hang out with are already sloshed (annoying) or sneaking off with someone (scandalous), everybody else here is only interested in doing much the same (boring), and the booze in question isn’t even that good (disappointing). So he resorts instead to his next favorite thing to do: snooping, of course.

Well, he prefers the term investigating. Makes him sound like the Pink Panther and not a nerd with ridiculously high standards looking for something to do.

This place is big, and about five minutes before you walk into his life—or, rather, before he walks into yours—he finds himself in a hallway with far too many rooms to pick from. Some doors are cracked open, some are shut, almost like his own little haunted house. He’s still trying to calculate what his chances of meeting you would have been had he opened a different door that night.

It’s not often that Luigi is distracted by a woman, but something about you catches his eye. Probably because he doesn’t find you among the action. No—he finds you curled up in the corner of a spare bedroom, with a notebook in your lap and a pencil in your hand and, of course, a red Solo cup filled with something amber in color and bubbly. You’re wearing a striped tank-top and some jean shorts, your boots off and to the side of you, hair tied into a loose updo and wispy around your face. You have your jewelry on, and some mascara, and some ankle-length socks printed with Garfield’s face. Garfield socks. You have on Garfield socks.

The moment he saw you he thought of one word only: trouble. You were going to be trouble for him.

“Sorry,” he says abruptly, still fisting the doorknob. “I didn’t know someone was in here.”

Yeah. What’s next, he was looking for the bathroom? Good one, Mangione.

You look up at him, face motionless, then back down at your notebook. “Now you do.”

Uh oh. Do you want him to leave? Is this your room? Your house? Who the fuck are you? He asks you just that—not verbatim, of course, but politely, subtly, a meek little “is there something more exciting happening in here?” Smooth. Not accusatory, he hopes.

“I don’t know,” you shrug. “Do you find math exciting?”

You’re doing math at a party?

“Actually, yeah,” he laughs. “It’s my minor.”

“Oh, great, you’re just the little freak I need. You can help me with my homework. If you’re not doing anything better.”

You’re flicking your pencil back and forth between your fingers, and he really can’t identify the look on your face. Luigi has encountered an enigma in this mystery bedroom. It’s not like he came here to take on the complex world of mathematics with a stranger—quite the opposite—but he can’t possibly think of anything better to waste his time with than whatever this is going to become.

Sitting down criss-cross in front of you, he asks, “do you always do your math homework at parties?”

“Not on purpose,” you say, scribbling something. “I was expecting this to be more fun. But my friend just invited a bunch of frat guys and some girls she thinks are cooler than me, and I had my backpack in her car, so now I’m making better use of my time.”

Ah. Perhaps your circles are more interlinked than he first thought. There is an odd sense of kinship that he feels at your words; as if the roles you occupy in those circles are not so different, either.

“Would you still want my help if I was one of those frat guys?” he asks.

You look up. “You’re in a frat?”

“Phi Kappa Psi,” he affirms.

“I’m employed. I don’t know what any of those words mean.”

“The words are Greek,” he says uselessly, adding, “we’re just a bunch of nerds, honestly. Like, I’m into Pokémon and statistics and books, for the most part. Probably not the kind of frat guy you’re used to.”

“So I was right!” you exclaim, grinning. “You are a little freak!”

Oh, you’re funny. He doesn’t know who you are, or where this is going, but he knows that you’re funny and that he likes you. Likes your company.

“Which means…” you flip back a page in your notebook and then set it down in front of you, mirroring his posture. Pointing at a problem (labeled with an aggressive and thickly-drawn question mark), you ask, “you can help me factor these stupid polynomials, right?”

Luigi knows a lot about factoring polynomials. And, much like he hinted, he knows just about everything any human being could stand to learn about mathematics before either pulling their own brain out of their skull or just falling asleep. So after nearly two hours of helping you with algebra you’re finally packing up your things, just seconds before you do something that changes him forever: you hand him your phone, opened up to an empty contact page.

“What’s this?”

“Put your number in, dork,” you explain. “I’m gonna need your help again eventually, and I don’t want to have to hunt you down. So give me your number.”

Oh. Wait. Is this a thing now? Oh, fuck. He has to swallow his excitement and steady his hands when he grabs your phone, typing quickly.

Chuckling, he quips, “am I tutoring you now, or something?”

“Call it whatever you want,” you sigh, shrugging your backpack over your shoulders. “My professor sucks and you’re good at explaining things. I’m gonna take advantage of that. Is that cool with you?”

It’s cool with him, alright. He proudly hands you your phone and shoots you an emphatic nod.

Your brows furrow at the screen. “Your name is Luigi?”

And there it is.

“Not the one you’re familiar with, I take it?” he jokes.

You look him up and down, then, surveying him. “Well, you don’t have the mustache,” you note. “And you’re not as tall as him, either. So…nope. Not familiar.”

You’re walking away. You’re walking out the door and just leaving him with that, leaving him with possibly the biggest ouch to his ego and a racing heartbeat and something warm and fuzzy in his nerves. The memory plays out in his head like it’s a videotape of his own wedding day; each second is a frame burnt into his mind’s eye, your features bouncing off the television screen, your smile, your eyes, your hands, swallowing him whole. Some days he has it on repeat. Some days he hates it, hates the way you make him feel. Some days he never wants it to end.

He doesn’t know in that moment what you’ll do to him over the following months. What he does know, unequivocally, is that he likes whatever you’ve got going on.

— 2 —

One Thursday night, a number he doesn’t quite recognize sends him a curious text:

(###) ###-#### : yo yo yo

Hm. It’s difficult to theorize from just three short words. Only way out is through:

Who’s this?

And a few moments later:

(###) ###-#### : OMG i’m so rude i’m sorry!! this is the girl you helped with math at that party last week? idk if u remember

If he remembers? If he remembers? He doesn’t really expect to hear from you again, but alas, you continue to surprise him.

You are just full of surprises.

Speaking of, he still doesn’t know your name. Or really anything about you. But for whatever reason he can’t get his mind off of you, your banter, your handwriting, the face you make when you’re concentrating.

Some of that might be why he shows up at the campus library at 5:30 p.m. that evening, searching for you amid shelving and occupied tables. Some of it might be motivated by the fact that you sent him this text, verbatim, when he asked you for your name:

Garfield Girl : help me study for my unit test tomorrow and i’ll tell you >:-)

He doesn’t find you easily. Probably because you show up five minutes late, panting, apologizing profusely.

“Fuck, sorry, I am so sorry,” you whisper-speak, shrugging your backpack off your shoulders and plopping into the booth across from him. “I ran, like, so fast to get here on time, but my lit class is all the way across this building—”

Luigi shakes his head, brows furrowed. “Nah, don’t apologize, I honestly—”

“How long have you been waiting?” you frown.

“Not long at all. I just got here. I was about to tell you.”

Your demeanor now is quite different from the one he got to see when he first met you. The contrast between your cool, unbothered, solitary self at the house party and you now, stumbling over yourself in embarrassment and practically vomiting apologies, is an experience that not even the word whiplash can adequately convey. Anxiety is a motherfucker, he guesses; either that or he can blame it on the alcohol, since you were drinking. Do you make a habit of doing drunk math? He wonders what other habits you have in store. The quirks he’s borne witness to so far have only failed to deter him from what is quickly becoming a problem, emotionally speaking.

“Do you want to show me what you need help with?” he asks.

You fumble through an unlabeled folder and whip out a stapled packet of papers as well as the same notebook you had with you the night of the party, setting them out on the table and planting your backpack next to you. He can only imagine what the hell you have stuffed into that thing. It’s beat up, fraying around the edges, perhaps a relic from high school that you never bothered to replace. You have some keychains hanging from a front pocket, which you pull a pencil and a red pen out of: a braid of colorful yarn, a beetle-shaped Tamagotchi, a figurine of a cat laying atop some nigiri. He spots some pins in various places, too; he can’t quite read all of them from where he’s sitting, but he can make out one with Garfield and Odie clearly. You love Garfield. So cute.

“Right! Okay.” You clear your throat and twirl your pencil between your fingers. Another tic of yours. “We have a study guide, and I’m almost finished with it but I wanted you to look my answers over. And help me with the ones I get wrong.”

Luigi frowns. “You’re assuming that you got some wrong.”

“Well, yeah,” you say simply, handing him your pen. “I’m no good at math. It’s my worst subject.”

“Lots of people think that about themselves…” he starts, folding out the study guide so that he can look over the first page while you finish up the last. “…until they meet me.” Then he flashes you a proud little grin. “So I’d say you’re in good hands.”

Ugh. Corny. Maybe too cocky? You give him an uncertain smile and shrug, leaning forward on your elbows to look at the problems you haven’t solved yet. As he’s looking over your study guide he starts to realize that maybe you’re not that far off—you seem to struggle a lot with graphing (who doesn’t, though?) and systems of equations specifically. But it’s nothing he can’t fix! He draws a little star next to the problems you get wrong so that he can explain them to you later.

As you’re filling out a table of coordinates you perk up. “Luigi?”

“Hm?”

“I wanted to apologize,” you start, “for, um, the way I acted when we met.”

He pauses, looks up at you and watches as you continue to work. “What do you mean?”

You stay silent for a moment, deep in thought, before confessing, “I feel like I made a bad impression. I was kinda short with you, and I wasn’t having the best night anyway, and I just feel embarrassed about it.“

Luigi blinks at you. It kind of breaks his heart that you’re this insecure. Beer must make you confident, he deduces, since this anxious, squirrely mood seems to be your natural state.

“I don’t know if you got that vibe from me,” you add hesitantly.

He offers a firm shake of his head, curls bouncing. “I didn’t.”

“Oh,” you mutter. “Well. Okay. I’m sorry.”

For what? You’re hard to pin down. And, distantly, Luigi gets the feeling that maybe you aren’t even sure what you’re so worried about, or why you need to be so concerned with his perceptions of you. He considers a class insecurity on your part—it was no secret that Luigi came from money, that he had gotten most of what he wanted throughout his life, no ifs, ands, or buts. Maybe you had become acquainted with that fact. Maybe it made you feel some sort of way about yourself, no matter his own flaws or faults. Was it his salt of the Earth comportment? His seemingly boundless wisdom? His charming, boyish good looks? He certainly hoped for none of the above.

He read once that anxious people yearn most for comfort—that the best remedy for confusing or seemingly needless “I’m sorry”s was simple reassurance.

“That’s alright,” Luigi says. “No need to apologize. Want to go over your study guide?”

At your nod he flips back to the second page, where most of the issues lay in front of him.

“So,” he starts, pointing at problem #9. A word problem. Great fun. “Everything else you’re doing fine with, from what I see, but you struggle with questions like this.”

“Word problems?”

He grins. “Nah. Those are hard for everybody. What’s this one asking you to do?”

How much pure acid should be mixed with two gallons of a 40% acid solution in order to get a 70% acid solution?

“It’s a mixture problem,” you observe, “so we have to make a chart.”

“Right,” he nods. You draw out a new one on a blank page in your notebook, a three by four table labeled accordingly: # of Gallons. Acid %. Amount of Acid.

“I can fill it out from here,” you say, adding, “but I can’t figure out how to solve these.” You’re scribbling numbers into the chart, correctly converting your percentages into decimals and noting the necessary two gallons of 40% acid.

Luigi gestures toward your notebook, and you slide it to him. He leans in close to write a basic equation into your chart.

“If we need two gallons of 40% acid…” he muses, “...then we can let x equal the amount of 70% acid we need to mix it with, right?”

“Mhm.”

“So, if we combine these two columns,” he gestures, “and add two to 0.40, then we get this equation.”

He copies it in chicken scratch below your table: x + 0.80 = 0.70 (2 + x).

“Did you catch all of that?”

You look positively flabbergasted. “Wait. So you just basically add the columns together? And then make them equal to each other?”

“Yup. Basically.”

Shaking your head in disbelief, you say, “nobody’s ever broken it down like that before.”

Leaning toward your notebook, you start working out the equation the two of you came up with—you distribute, combine the like terms, isolate the variable…and in less than a minute, you have an answer: x = 2.

“Oh,” you gasp. “Oh! Oh my god! You got me an answer! Like, one that works!”

Luigi smiles, and he can already feel the tip of his nose flushing. Ugh. “Nah, you got that answer. You worked it out yourself.”

“I know, but…” You’re already working on the next mixture problem, drawing out another chart, this time with three rows by three columns. “You showed me how to put the equation together. I didn’t know how to do that. Thank you.”

You tuck your hair behind your ear and flash him a meek little grin.

Goddamnit. Goddamnit.

It hits him then that you’re beautiful. Devastatingly beautiful.

“By the way,” he straightens up in the booth. “You didn’t make a bad impression. When we met, I mean.”

Glancing up at him, you punch some numbers into your phone’s calculator.

“I think you’re intriguing,” he says, trying hard to focus on breathing steadily and keeping his tone even. “I like spending time with you. And I like helping you with math and watching you figure things out.”

The smile on your face haunts him in the weeks that follow.

You never tell him your name. But lucky for him, you don’t really have to, because before you can stuff your study guide into your backpack he catches a glimpse of the first page, sees your name printed in your script in the far left corner. To learn something new about you sends his heart soaring.

He changes your contact as soon as he gets back to his dorm, but not before you can send him a text:

Garfield Girl : thank you so much for helping me on such short notice!

i am foreva indebted to u ^_^

Luigi sleeps soundly for the first time in a while.

— 3 —

By the time your meetings become a regular thing Luigi is in far too deep to pull himself out.

Thursdays quickly become his favorite day of the week, because he gets to meet up with you—in the library, at his dorm, at yours, and, much to your chagrin, sometimes at the Phi Kappa Psi house—to talk about one of his favorite things in the world: mathematics. He gets to show you how to rationalize radicals and solve right triangles, watch you twist your pencil and quirk your brows in concentration and giggle with joy when you finally understand something he’s taught you, and he gets to do it every week. What could possibly be better?

The problem is that he’s expected to keep himself under control simultaneously. That is a more difficult ask. And he feels awful, really, because even though this isn’t technically official and even though he’s technically never acted on his feelings it feels so, so wrong to be so into you. So wrong on so many levels.

…Perhaps playing out every memory of you that he’s bound to his hippocampus in his own personal chimera of a jerk-off reel isn’t the best way to relieve the stress that comes with this predicament. But he’s a man with very natural and very vivid desires, and what he does in his own shower is his business. He can’t help but think that you’re a dream. He can’t help but beat his dick to the fleeting, gentlemanly glances he’s caught of your ass in those tight jeans, the thought of you taking him in your perfect mouth, spit dribbling from the corners of your lips, down your chin, between your tits. There is a particular image he has of you on your back with him fucking you, your legs tossed over his shoulders, your face flushed and your hair wild and your voice in his ear, whimpering, chanting “yes, yes, yes,” in time with his thrusts, arching into him and gushing all over his cock—

And he could never have any of it, any of you, because there’s no way in hell he would ever let this progress past whatever it is right now. Luigi is completely fine with coming in his hand until the end of time if it means that things stay exactly as they are between the two of you. You seem to be benefiting quite a lot from your meetings with him; you have a much better grasp on the concepts that confused you before, your confidence is building, and, best of all, your test scores have reflected your improvements. No, it’s not official, but breaching this boundary that he’s set as your tutor would eat at him for the rest of his life, and all of his guilt would be earned, in his eyes. He has a sort of power over you, at the very least an influence, and it would be against every moral he’s ever held himself to if he were to use that to fulfill his perverted, intimate fantasies of you. You’re doing well, all thanks to his help and your willingness, and he would hate to ruin that for you.

But if you felt the same…

No. That would be ridiculous. You’re a smart woman and a very responsible one at that—you’re focused on your schoolwork and your job and working toward a better life one step at a time, just as you should be, and the last thing you need is some lovesick boy interrupting everything for you. But when Luigi lets himself dream, just for a moment, in a world where you felt the same and wanted the same, needed it like he does, he would let you have control over everything you do together, let you make your own choices at your own discretion. He would only let you fuck him if you asked for it. No exceptions.

So, for now, he can indulge on his own and keep this problem under wraps—his own little secret.

Most of the time, when the two of you aren’t talking math, you’re talking about each other. Especially yourself.

But sometimes, you ask about him. Once, towards the beginning of your relationship, you asked what kind of ice cream he liked and brought some to your next meeting to celebrate passing a test. Another time you asked about his family: if he had any siblings, what his parents do, where he was raised. Sometimes you inquire about things he doesn’t expect—what cartoons he watched growing up, if he likes pineapple on his pizza, the exact time and place of his birth. Sometimes you ask about his studies. Sometimes you branch out into the weird and nerdy: his favorite Pokémon, countries he’s seen and would like to see, potential AI world domination. Luigi has never liked talking about himself, but when it’s you showing interest, you wanting to know, he feels like he could run his mouth for hours. And you actually care. You listen to what he has to say and genuinely process it with your ears and your brain, and then you respond with your mouth (and your hands, when you’re really worked up). You are uniquely human. You are autonomous and brimming with ideas and he loves every single one.

Today, you’re interested in his linguistic abilities:

“Luigi.” You’re sitting across from him on your bed, scrawling notes on a worksheet that the two of you have been banging out for the last half hour or so. You put your pencil down and rest your head in your hands. “You’re Italian, right?”

“Who, me?” Luigi grins. “Yeah, I am. Why?”

“I was wondering if you can speak Italian.”

He quirks his eyebrow and tilts his head to the side, shaking his hand, as if to say it’s so-so. “Kinda? Not really. I have a very basic understanding, but I’m definitely not fluent.”

“Basic?” You pull your knees up to your chest. “Define basic. Like, ‘¿dónde está la biblioteca?’ type stuff?”

He giggles. “I can say please and thank you and, yeah, I can ask to go to the bathroom and all that shit. Beginner level. Easy stuff.”

It’s probably better to leave out the fact that he’s specifically learned a few pet names, too. Just in case.

“My mom tried to teach me some when I was younger, but I never really took to it,” he adds, scratching his palm. “She has this YouTube channel where she teaches Italian.”

“Whaaaat? That’s cool. Your mom sounds cool, I mean.” You pick up your pencil again, pausing, cocking your head. “Actually, I probably would hate it if my mom was on YouTube. I feel like that’s either really dope or really humiliating.”

“She’s niche,” he shrugs. “Nobody has ever asked me about it before, so she can’t be that famous.”

There is another little fidget that you do when the two of you are alone together: you bite the end of your pencil, chewing carefully on wood and polymer. Each little detail Luigi notices about you strokes a notch in his heart that he never knew existed, one that you carved with your bare hands the moment you met him.

“I think it’s neat that you do know some Italian,” you say, smiling meekly. “I’ve always wanted to learn another language, but I’m not sure if I have the brain capacity for it. Even knowing basic stuff is impressive.”

He smiles—probably blushes, much to his horror—and lightly nudges you with his foot and tells you that your brain has plenty of room for other languages, that he’s nothing special. That you think of him as such has his own brain melting in his skull, burning from the heat of his attraction to you. Somehow you achieve something Luigi thought he’d never find in another human being: you make him feel good about himself. He dedicates so much of his time to bettering himself and it’s nice, really fucking nice, to have that hard work affirmed by someone he’s so drawn toward. Someone so beautiful and witty and silly and kind. Someone who pushes his boundaries, challenges him, makes him want to do things unbecoming of an accomplished valedictorian with notable manners and a leveled head on his shoulders.

You make it exceedingly difficult to not break the rules.

“So, this one would be an ellipse, right?”

You’re pointing at a question:

What is the shape of the graph indicated by the equation?

x to the 2nd power/16 + y to the 2nd power/4 = 1

Correctly, you’ve noticed that the equation is in the same formula as an ellipse: (x - h) to the 2nd power/b to the 2nd power + (y - k) to the 2nd power/a to the 2nd power = 1. Before you met him you always confused ellipses with hyperbolas. It seems you’ve overcome that tendency.

Luigi smiles. “Yeah, that’s right.”

He’s observed that you’ve had much less trouble lately, as evidenced by your superb test scores and your professor’s feedback; Luigi is a people pleaser at heart, and so it warms him to have been able to help you so much with a subject so troubling for you—but he can’t help but wonder if maybe your use for him has passed. It seems that most of your recent meetings have gone quite well without much of his guidance, a stark contrast to your first sessions, when he essentially had to reteach basic algebraic concepts to you. And yet, you still call him every week. Every Thursday he still meets up with you wherever you please, even though you don’t seem to be depending on it to pass your class.

What’s up with that?

“Hey.” He rests his elbows on his knees and clasps his hands under his chin, eyes narrowed at you. “You don’t need me much anymore, do you?”

You quirk your eyebrows; there’s less anger and more concern in your expression. “What do you mean?”

“You wouldn’t have been able to get that question right without my help a few weeks ago, and here you are nailing it on the first try,” he starts, leaning back against the wall. “You’ve been doing a hell of a lot better on your tests, and the things you do still struggle with aren’t likely to show up on your final exam.“

“Are you upset that your efforts have paid off?” you ask, smirking. You turn back to your worksheet, plotting intercepts on a small hand-drawn graph.

Upset is not the word. Anticipant? Conflicted? Elated? Luigi needs a pocket thesaurus when it comes to you.

“No,” he shakes his head. “I’m just wondering what gives.”

What gives? Maybe he sounds too hostile, not appreciative enough. It’s not like he doesn’t enjoy any of the time he spends with you—far from it. Perhaps if he were educated in the humanities as opposed to the inner workings of inanimate objects made of wires and buttons and not flesh and blood he would know how to approach this ache that you’ve instilled in him, this itch he can’t scratch, this shadow that lurks around the corner of every room he walks into. You demand an expertise that Luigi does not possess and the flutter of his heart when he’s near you scares him; the stalling of his brain when he lays his eyes on you scares him; the immediate response of his groin at the thought of you in a less than academic nature scares him. You scare him, you electrify him, you make his bones shudder and his teeth grind and his throat close up like never before. You are the nucleus of his universe. You, you, you.

“You are the best tutor I’ve ever had,” you say, like it’s nothing, like those very words haven’t been spoken in every dream he’s had for the past month and a half. “And I like having an excuse to hang out with you. What’s wrong with that?”

Oh.

Wait.

What?

You like hanging out with me? he doesn’t ask. You’re the best student I’ve ever met, he doesn’t say. He doesn’t kiss you, or throw up, or do anything, despite every impulse. Luigi is speechless for what must be the first time in his life. Bewitched. Wooed. Are you flirting with him?

No way. Not a chance. Your probably meaningless compliments are getting to his head and he feels like a bumbling fool just sitting here staring at you. How do you possibly respond when the girl of your dreams turns your world around with three sentences and goes back to her math homework like it’s just another fucking thing?

“Nothing wrong with it,” he mutters. “Nothing wrong at all.”

Neither of you speak for the next few minutes. You answer the following five questions on your worksheet with no problems, just scribbling and circling and plotting in silence, while he watches your hands move and your eyes focus. And Luigi just sits there and thinks, thinks about his first memories of you: that night at the party; when he met sober you in the library; your irregular text conversations throughout the semester; his not so irregular showers, steaming hot and infiltrated with thoughts of you, naked and soft and oh so warm and begging for him, bent over and on your back and on top of him, every little fantasy he’s ever dreamed up since he found you.

And then he says: “You don’t need an excuse to hang out with me.”

“Yeah?” You look up at him, playing with your pencil.

“Yeah.” Luigi clears his throat. “We don’t even have to do math.”

Good. Simple. Jovial. You don’t have to know that he’s been dying to do far more than math for quite a while now.

You only have to know that you don’t need an excuse. Not with him.

— 4 —

There is one time that the two of you meet to do something other than math.

Once, you ask Luigi to join you at an antique mall, some little place a few miles out of town. And, to be completely honest, it’s not quite how he imagines he’d be spending his Saturday afternoon—but he’s always been up for trying new things, and he’d go just about anywhere if it means getting to be with you.

So you pick him up and you drive him to the outskirts of the city where there’s dirt roads for miles and only little strips of shops every so often; it’s at least an hour away with traffic and he worries at first that he might make things awkward, but much to his comfort, it’s easy to be a passenger in your car. The drive is smooth and the small talk is evenly paced and you even let him play a few songs on the aux—when you start singing along to some of his choices he decides you’re (officially) one of the coolest people he’s ever met.

The shop is small, smack dab in the middle of a rural paradise, with porcelain dolls and cases of themed pins lined up in rows and old telephones wedged in groups in front of the display windows. It’s old, with fraying roof tiles and cracked paint on the walls, but sort of charming, a bit mom-and-popish. You had mentioned it’s one of your favorite places in the world. Luigi feels honored that he gets to accompany you this one time.

“I don’t like those dolls,” he says.

You shake your head in agreement. “Me neither,” you mutter. “We won’t look at them.”

He wants to open the door for you but you beat him to it. When the two of you step inside, him following behind you like a lost child, the cashiers warmly greet you and you wave back with just as much enthusiasm.

This store has three floors—three!—and you aren’t wasting any time. First up is…well, the first floor, of course, where all the floral-print couches and gumball machines and butter churns are waiting. Butter churns! Luigi has never really been in an antique mall before this, and it’s not what he expected; there’s stuff everywhere, in literally every corner, like one of those disorienting and downright incomprehensible pictures that someone posts on Twitter with the caption “name one thing in this photo”. It’s overwhelming in probably the best way possible. There are bins with folk records and little dishes shaped like fruits and veggies and a whole crate of billiard balls and a wall of vintage Elvis posters—who is bringing this shit in? He hardly has time to think about it, because each way he turns there’s just another thing to look at: a collection of earrings hung on a lamp shade; shelves with sculpted forest animals and little replicas of bikes and Rolls-Royce models; a whole section of spoons; not one, not two, but three cases of rings that you spend a predictable amount of time browsing. As if you don’t have enough.

From over in a far corner, you chime, “Gi! Come here!”

Gi. Fuck. You’re calling him nicknames, an old one, at that. One he hasn’t been called since he was still a boy.

You’re pointing at a figurine: a pair of bears, dressed in checkered sweaters and sitting together with books in their laps.

“It’s us!” you beam.

Fuck.

Luigi wants to kiss you. He wants to kiss you right here in this store, right here in front of everyone, slowly. And he’s never had to deal with these gripping, effusive, all-consuming feelings hitting him so quickly, so all he can do is smile sheepishly at you, sweating bullets in his jacket, heart thump-thump-thumping in his chest like a Lambeg drum. He feels stupid. Stupid and so nutty over you and everything you do to him. There is no proof or formula that can save a smitten boy, and Luigi is living proof.

The second floor is more books and toys and furniture than anything else. He quite enjoys looking through every shelf, each with their unique organization—cookbooks to novels to nonfiction to textbooks (most of which are very, very outdated). You become enamored with a section of glassware, colors and shapes galore, a rainbow of vases and cups and bowls. When you have your back turned to him he sneaks a picture of you, body shaded by the daylight streaming through each carefully crafted piece. He likes this floor the most. It’s kitschy and vintage and sort of hip, and he can observe one thing clearly: this place is like home for you. You embrace each corner with the nostalgic grace of a child, like you yearn for something unspoken and so obstinately heavy on your shoulders.

Something catches his eye by the stairwell: there is a wall of mugs and dishes, and one in particular has a familiar face painted on its glass front. The one and only Garfield. Riding triumphantly on a skateboard, pulled on a string by beloved lapdog Odie. Use your friends wisely, a thought bubble reads.

A bit familiar, no?

“My professor sucks and you’re good at explaining things. I’m gonna take advantage of that.”

On the way up to the third floor Luigi pauses. “Hey.” He pats you on the shoulder. “I should use the bathroom.”

“Yeah, alright,” you nod. Then, smirking: “Don’t fall in.”

So corny.

He finds you again looking at some paintings and prints, shifting back and forth on your feet.

“Hey, cowboy,” you greet. “I’m ready to bounce if you are. I’m overstimulated and hungry and I think I’ve seen everything my brain can handle today.”

Luigi laughs. “Let’s bounce.”

You don’t buy much—just a few rings, of course, and a deer Beanie Baby with spots on its rear. The cashiers wish you both a good evening and safe travels, and he just about explodes when you link your arm with his and skip out of the door, smiling ear to ear.

The drive back to campus is quite moody with the sunset overlaying the view. He lets you control the aux, tapping his fingers along to each beat, watching trees and buildings fly past him out the window. Spending time in this peaceful silence with you is nice. Relaxing. Schmaltzy. He feels almost like he could doze off, wake up to his mother carrying him inside, fall asleep in his childhood bed. You make him feel safe.

When you pull up to his dorm complex, Luigi doesn’t want to leave your car. Or your presence, really. As you shift the gear to park he takes a deep breath, smiles at you when you slap your hands against your thighs conclusively.

“Um,” he starts, reaching into his deep jacket pocket. “Here.”

Normally he’s much better at words than this. You curiously take the brown paper bag from his hands, feeling the shape of the object cupped in your palms.

“I thought you didn’t get anything,” you say, opening the bag.

Luigi shrugs. Grins a little. “Got something for you.”

You’re pulling it out now, the Garfield mug, still stuffed and wrapped with some tissue paper to protect the glass. Your jaw drops when you peel it apart.

“Oh. My. God.”

And then you reach over and hug him. It’s a bit awkward with him beside you in your little car, and he has to maneuver himself around to return it, but you work it out, and you’re hugging him. You’re warm and soft and you smell like paradise—he wants to snuggle into the crook of your neck. If only.

“Luigi, this is, like—oh my god. Holy shit.” Your smile is unbelievably wide, and all Luigi can think is aw, shucks. You’ve got his heartstrings in a death grip. “This is awesome. This is literally the best day of my life.”

He giggles. “I didn’t realize a mug could mean so much to you.”

“No, this is a huge deal,” you rebut, eyes brimming with joy as you explain: “this isn’t just any mug, pal, this is a mug made by McDonald’s in 1974 and it is pumped full of lead—”

“Wait, what?”

“Oooooh yeah. This baby has, like, ten thousand times the legal limit of lead and cadmium in it, it’s so dope.” Examining it in your hands, you add, “how the fuck did I miss this?”

“Please promise me you won’t drink out of that,” Luigi pleads.

You roll your eyes. “I won’t! I’m not that crazy. I have the perfect place on my bookshelf to put it.”

Together you sit in your car, smiling at each other, him basking in your happiness.

“Thank you for coming with me today,” you say. “I had a really good time.”

If only. If only you knew.

“Anytime,” Luigi nods, giddy and grinning. “I had fun too.”

For the record, he did actually stop by the bathroom when he bought that mug. To splash some water on his face and calm his nerves, of course.

— 5 —

The weather is dark and stormy the night that Luigi decides he has to do something.

Something to fix this ache he holds for you. Something to get his mind off of every second of his life spent with you so far, repeating incessantly in his brain’s playback, the memories of you untainted and raw. Something he can keep all to himself. Something just for him.

So he shows up at your apartment during your roommate’s night shift, having made the trek just minutes after you confirmed to him that you were home. He’s standing in the pouring rain when you open the door, like a sopping wet stray begging for your attention. Or some food.

He feels fucking pathetic. And maybe he is. Maybe you’ve ruined him.

“Luigi, what’s wrong?”

“No, no, nothing’s wrong,” he reassures you, but he isn’t entirely certain that it’s true. “I’m—um—can we talk?”

“Jesus, come inside, weirdo.”

You grab him by his shoulders and drag him into your home, practically into your arms—but not before you can tell him to take off his sneakers and leave them on the doormat to dry. Then you take a step back, giving him space, your eyebrows quirked and your posture cautious.

Fuck. Where to start? Writing an essay is a walk in the park compared to verbalizing feelings you hardly understand.

“What am I to you?” he asks, voice soft and sappy.

He regrets it the moment the words leave his mouth. Too vague. Too cliché. If he were better at feelings he might’ve had half the mind to write something out before coming here and blabbing to you, before practically cutting his heart out of his chest and handing it to you with bloodied, trembling hands.

You think in silence, and Luigi almost can’t stand it. Seconds feel like hours. Then:

“…You’re my, uh, unofficial tutor,” you say, adding, “and…I’d like to think you’re my friend, maybe.”

Your tutor. Sure, it’s appropriate, but if any higher ups were to ever peer into his mind, see and hear the thoughts he has of his tutee, the things he’d like to teach you, the veracity with which you occupy every corner of his brain, he’d most certainly be accused of any number of ethical violations, not to mention playing favorites.

“Is that all?”

You blink. “What else were you expecting?”

Luigi has his hands in his jacket pockets, now pacing around your living room. “I just need to know if you feel anything else for me so that I can either get over you and move on with my life or make more room for you in my fucking head.”

In this moment of the two of you just staring at each other he actually looks at you, takes you in, and you’re wearing some pajama shorts and a thin white T-shirt, and your nipples are fucking hard in the chill of the room and he can see it and fuck, it’s taking every atom of strength in his body to will away the blood rushing to his cock. Not now. Not yet, anyway.

“What are you saying, Luigi?” you ask, standing stiff and straight in front of him. You still have to crane your neck up just a little to meet his eyes. It drives him nuts.

Oh, god. What is he saying?

“Fuck, I don’t want to just be your tutor,” he starts, unsteady. “I’m—I want to be your man, I want to be yours, I want to be so much more than just this. And if you don’t feel the same then that’s okay, but if you do I have to know. I have to relieve whatever it is that makes me feel this way for you.”

You’re just staring at him, like a deer in headlights, and so he continues, even though he probably shouldn’t: “We don’t have to put a label on it, or anything like that, we don’t even have to tell anyone, I just—I need to know if I can have you. Please.”

If he could peer through your skull he thinks he’d see all the gears turning inside your brain. Wires cross and trickle into flames. Buttons are pressed. Levers are flipped. Attraction is mechanical, in some ways.

“I want you to kiss me,” you say.

Oh, god. No way. No fucking way.

“What?”

“I want you to kiss me,” you repeat, adding, “and we can see where it goes.”

Oh. Oh.

Oh, the places he’ll go—if you’ll let him.

So he steps forward and kisses you, carefully, lips meeting quickly and softly. He doesn’t pull away from you. His forehead is against yours and he can look you in the eyes, and he does just that until you’re leaning in again. He’s kissing you, he’s finally fucking kissing you, and it hardly feels real, so he grabs your face with both hands and threads his fingers through your hair, feels the silky smooth strands brushing against his skin, hears the way you sigh into his mouth. Making out with you must be heaven on Earth. He drinks in every little detail of you; licks into your mouth and pulls your bottom lip between his teeth to know exactly how you taste, cherishing the sickeningly obvious wet sounds of your kisses. His hands begin to roam, moving from your hair to your back to your hips, and then down to your ass, grabbing a handful of you through your cotton shorts. You raise a hand to unzip his jacket, tugging it down hurriedly, and Luigi groans against you.

He shrugs it off his shoulders, kisses you, lets it fall to the floor. “Is this really happening?” he asks.

You smile, giggling at him. “Yes, stupid. Is this okay? I thought you wanted this.”

“Fuck, yes, I do,” Luigi stammers, fingers tracing up your spine. “I really do…”

He still thinks that maybe you’ll float away or disappear into thin air if he lets go of you, but by the time you start to lead him towards what must be your bedroom the doubt starts to dissipate. You lock the door and his heart skips a beat.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he whispers, backing you up against your bed.

You shake your head.

And then he grabs your hand and plants it right on his very obvious and very hard cock, swelling in his jeans, just so you can feel the direct consequences of your affections, hear the way he groans when you grope him. Your hand moves to unbutton his pants but he is quick to stop you.

“No,” he grunts, guiding you to lay back on the mattress. “Wanna take my time with you, pretty girl.”

He truly does. He’s spent nearly a whole semester building up to this very moment, and if a single millisecond of it goes to waste…Well, he’ll have to make up for lost time, of course.

Hovering over you, Luigi’s hands glide up your body to cup your breasts underneath your shirt, thumbs tweaking your nipples. You moan and arch into his touch like you need him, nothing but him, nothing but his hands exploring and finally becoming familiar with how beautiful every inch of you is. Your shirt is quickly pulled up and over your head so he can see you in full, and fuck, he had never realized how perfect your tits are. He’d gotten quick glances before, had stolen a particularly delicious look once when you leaned over in front of him to grab your pencil, had definitely imagined them more than a few times, in his hands and in his mouth and pressed against his chest—but the real you beats every dream his brain has ever conjured up. By a long shot.

Still playing with your tits and your nipples, he kisses down your jaw, your neck, his lips finding purchase in a particular patch of flesh that you respond curiously to. His name sounds glorious in your mouth. You pant and sigh and gasp, the sweetest sounds he’s ever heard, and he works overtime to kiss you into a bliss so intense that you’re left entirely at his mercy.

Not that you aren’t already.

Experimentally, Luigi’s tongue teases a nipple, licking slowly, before both lips suck. You cry out and thread your fingers in his tight curls.

“Fuck,” he mutters, circling his thumb where his mouth once touched you, watching your hips move in sync. “Baby, you’re gonna kill me. You sound so beautiful.”

Blood rushes to your cheeks. Resting his forehead against yours, he slides one hand down your stomach, under your waistband, and then against your pussy, and he fucking shivers when he feels your slick enveloping his fingers. You’re so warm. So warm and wet and sweet like sugar, coating him with your hunger.

“Oh my god.” Luigi shakes his head in disbelief. “Do you always get this wet?”

He wants to know just how sticky you get when you’re touching yourself late at night. He wishes he could watch you, let you show him how to please you just the way you like.

You shudder, shaking your head. “Just for you.”

“For me?”

At the sound of his low voice in utter astonishment you bite your lip and nod. “Luigi, I’ve been needing this, so, so long—”

“Oh, you need it, huh?” Luigi’s teeth graze your skin just below your collarbone before he bites down, groaning. As he pulls back, leaving you aching and weak, he playfully chides, “you dirty girl. You never mentioned how bad you needed your tutor to play with your pretty pussy.”

Right then he makes a note to say the filthiest things to you when you’re vulnerable like this, because the fucking face you make is the cutest little wince he’s ever seen. When you buck your hips he hooks his fingers under your waistband and pulls your shorts and panties off with one swift tug, parting your legs and pushing them back so that your knees are bent in the air.

And then his ring and middle finger swirl over your clit, applying gentle pressure, relishing in your sobs.

“Luigi,” you’re moaning, swearing, singing his name to the heavens. He’s a well-traveled man—he’s seen beaches galore, the mountains of Japan, the ruins and castles in Puerto Rico, the sunset at Ke’ana Point, and yet, by far, you are the most gorgeous sight his eyes have ever known the honor of beholding.

“Shh, I know,” he hums. “You’re such a good girl, bella.”

You shiver throughout your whole body. Bingo. He suspected that you might be weak for a sprinkle of Italian, but the whole ”good girl” thing was a shot in the dark, and it fucking worked, because your cunt is gushing.

With his thumb replacing where he once rubbed your clit, two of his skilled fingers slide inside of your cunt smoothly, filling you just right. Luigi feels like he’s going to explode right here knowing that he’s touching the most sensitive, secret parts of you, feeling every ridge and fold squeezing him, drawing him in. He is curious at his core—and that certainly doesn’t end with you. Those incredible fingers work you open with ease, pushing in deep and scissoring back and forth inside; they must be much longer than your own (or god forbid anyone else’s) because you’re a complete mess underneath him, literally sobbing into your pillow like you haven’t been touched since hell froze over, and Luigi is wondering how you’re even going to handle his cock if just two of his fingers has you this worked up.

His name leaves your mouth in a delightful yelp when he curls his fingers up, his other hand situated on your abdomen, applying the slightest pressure. Luigi’s eyes are fixed on your hole, watching those two digits plunge in and out, down to his knuckles. You have to reach up and grab the headboard when he presses against your G-spot experimentally, teasing at first, then massaging you with full force—his cock is about to burst in his fucking pants watching you, white knuckled and keening. It’s driving him crazy to know that this is real, that he finally has you, that you’re making every wet dream he’s ever had come to life without even trying.

You whine when his fingers slide out of you, glistening with your milky arousal, and he holds them there between your bodies for a moment so that you can see what he’s doing to you. “Fuck, bella,” he moans. “You’re making such a mess on my fingers. I can’t wait to feel you all over my dick.”

It’s in moments like these that choosing his words carefully pays off: you squeeze him tight, eyes shut and legs trembling, and you wrap your fingers around his wrist, moaning, “oh my god—“

“Are you going to come?” Luigi asks, slowing his fingers. His smile is mischievous, prideful, daring. “Already?”

All you can do is nod with a shrill moan, your back arching, hand coming up to pinch your nipple. There’s lightning in your veins, bright and hot and flashing, rumbling through you, and you’re making the prettiest sounds—

And then he pulls his fingers out of you, this time all the way, and you groan.

“Oh, don’t cry, baby,” he coos, bringing his slick fingers up to your lips. “I just want to feel you come on my dick, yeah?”

You wrap your lips around his two digits, sucking your own taste off of him, and he moans appreciatively. Luigi thought for sure that you couldn’t possibly be any more beautiful—and now he’s seeing you with his fingers in your mouth and, once again, his assumptions about you are challenged effortlessly.

“Girls like you usually have to work for this kind of thing, you know that?” he says, drawing his hand up and down your stomach, wet fingers leaving a trail of your spit along your skin.

You pout. “Haven’t I?”

Luigi smiles wide, cupping your face with his big hands. “You’re cute.”

He decides to not yet tell you that no, you didn’t have to work for it—because he wanted you the moment he found you in that guest room at that stupid fucking house party. And he’s always known it.

Regrettably, he pulls away to tug his shirt off, making sure to flex his biceps and his abs for you just to hear how your heavy breathing stutters at the sight. You’re sitting up and reaching for the button of his jeans quickly and this time he lets you pop it open and work them down his legs, running your nails over his thighs deliciously. You’re needy. You’re flushed to all hell and your hair is messy, eyes lidded and bare chest heaving with your panting—the beautiful curves of your body belong in a museum, lit up and posed for his eyes only. Luigi thinks of Venus, of Ives’ Undine Rising from the Waters, of Aphrodite, of Goya’s La maja desnuda. If he had the skill he’d make a model out of you.

“How long have you been needing your tutor to fuck you, baby?” he asks, taking handfuls of your tits. Only his boxers are left and he’s grinding into you, hard and heavy, pressing against your stomach.

You bite your lip. “Fuck, forever, oh, god…”

“Forever?” Luigi giggles. His cheeks are rosy red and pleasantly warm against your palms. “That’s a long time.”

As he kisses you, you nod, hands gripping his curls and his strong arms. When your fingers dip underneath the waistband of his briefs he guides you to lay back again, pulling your hips flush against his so that he’s hovering over you perfectly. And then his boxers are coming down, his cock springing free and smacking against his abdomen, vein prominent along the length and pre beading at the bulbous tip. For a few moments he just kisses you, tongue meeting yours with exuberant titillation, licking and sucking—and both of you have to take a deep breath when that big dick slides up between your asscheeks and nudges your slick cunt, pressing against your folds and quite literally collecting your need all over him.

Then he winces. Before you can check in on him, he murmurs, “I don’t have a condom.”

He feels like an idiot. It’s not like he was expecting to get his dick wet tonight, but it’s probably good practice for a gentleman to carry protection, not to mention smart—and, by all means, Luigi considers himself a rational, logical man, who thinks with his brain and most certainly not his cock. Right. He’s definitely not tempted by how warm you are or by your hand guiding him back and forth through the weeping creases of your pussy.

“I’m clean,” you say simply. His forehead is pressed to yours. “Luigi, if you stop right now, I’m going to—”

“Fuck. Fuck.” Luigi pumps himself in his hand and circles the tip of his length over your clit. “I—Um, I am too, but this is…”

“What?” Your thumb grazes his ear, his sideburn, and oh, man. You’re really going to kill him. “This is what?”

He swallows. Blinks. “Do you really want me to—?”

You nod keenly, eyes focused on his lips, slick with your spit. “Please. It’s okay.”

A kiss. A nudge to your entrance. And then he’s filling you, all at once, every inch stretching you impeccably. You grip onto his bicep and dig your nails into his skin and furrow your brows, and it takes every ounce of self-control that Luigi can muster to not give it all to you right then; to not slam into you with no mercy just to watch your face contort; to not show you exactly what you do to him.

Oh, god. He feels like he’s losing his virginity all over again with you.

“Fuckkkk,” he sighs, bones sagging. He’s already as deep as he can get, the curly hairs on his pelvis pressed against you, and you’re dragging your nails down his back—

“How’s this? Are you okay?” Luigi asks.

You exhale with a nod. “Very okay. You feel really nice inside of me.”

Oh, god.

“Baby, you feel really nice. Fuck.” He kisses you, deep and sweet. When he pulls away he hooks one of your thighs under his shoulder, enhancing his angle for you, and you shiver.

And then he’s moving.

Luigi is fucking you. He’s finally fucking you—it’s been almost a year of knowing you and seeing you and craving you and this very thing occupied his mind for just about eighty percent of it, and he’s finally inside your cunt. Deep inside, pumping without hurry, just feeling your wet pussy yield to his girth. All while your mouth is on his and your legs are wrapped around him and your hands are on his back and his arms.

“You feel like heaven,” he whispers against your lips.

All you can do is moan, a little mhmm.

“All those months you spent doing math with me, reeling me in, and you could’ve been taking me just like this.”

He’s not entirely sure where this silver tongue came from. But you respond delightfully, whining and gripping his cock. Desperate and greedy. All his.

You arch your back, squeeze your eyes shut. “Luigi, oh—oh my god…”

“Hmm?” He swings your other leg over his shoulder so that your feet are in the air and you’re stretched perfectly around him. “Does this feel good, bella?”

“Yes, fuck, it’s good, I just—I want you to—faster…”

You’re clawing at his curls, pulling tight, and Luigi can’t help but groan. “What’s that?”

Face twisted, you moan, “faster, I can take it—”

He grabs your chin, holds you steady. “Ask nicely,” he orders.

“Please fuck me faster, pleaseee…”

Luigi is a sucker for your pleading. So he rocks his hips quickly, and you’re gripping the sheets and moving with him, practically fucking him back; and when he spreads his hand over your abdomen he can fucking feel his cock pushing into you, and he realizes that he isn’t going to last much longer.

“I’m—“ His hand finds your clit, tweaking you with two fingers. “I’m gonna come, baby, fuck…”

With your hand at his hair pulling him close to you, you whisper in his ear, “inside, come inside of me.”

He must be fucking dreaming. His own insecurities force him to consider the possibility that he’s lost his mind for good, that this is all his wild imagination, but it’s not—you feel hot and snug around his dick and you’re keening and he’s so, so close—

“Are you—oh, fuck—are you sure?” Luigi, calm and sensible and sophisticated, trying to have half the mind to confirm that what you want is really what you want; that he’s not coming undone in pieces on top of you.

“You’re too prudent,” you mutter, smiling. “Give it to me, big guy.”

And then his balls are drawing up and he’s flooding you, mouth agape, hips still pumping sloppy and unbalanced into yours. It’s unbelievably warm and tight and slick and he can’t even comprehend how good you make him feel.

He has to catch his breath, but the moment he pulls out of you Luigi is quickly getting on his knees between your thighs.

“What—“

You try to inquire, but he shushes you. “You didn’t get to come, did you?” he asks, thumb toying with your clit. “I’m just helping you with the mess I made.”

What he does next is quite unfamiliar but surprisingly exciting: his tongue peeks out to taste, collecting his own essence and your slick before licking straight up the length of your cunt. He can’t stay away from your entrance; the taste of himself and you together is almost enough to have his cock rising again, certainly not helped by your fingers in his curls and his name in your mouth as you jitter and buck your hips into him. His tastebuds are buzzing with joy as he licks and sucks you to your climax.

As you lay back and relish in your pleasure, Luigi wipes his mouth and pulls his boxers back on, settling next to you and watching you catch your breath. He has learned something new about you—you look beautiful after getting fucked. Your hair is messy and your chest rises perfectly with each inhale and exhale, eyes shut in pure bliss. It’s not like you don’t look beautiful all the time, but right now, under the glow of the sex and the high of your orgasm, you look angelic.

“So,” you mutter.

“So?”

Biting the inside of your cheek, you ask, “you can still help me with math, right?”

Luigi chuckles. “Yeah, of course. And anything else you need.”

“So…” Rolling onto your stomach, you prop yourself up on your elbows and run your fingers along the strap of his Fitbit. “Hypothetically speaking, if I were having trouble, uh, making myself come, or something…You could help me with that too?”

“Definitely.”

Definitely is an understatement. Gladly. Proudly.

That’s what tutors are for, after all.

^ dividers by cafekitsune

#luigi mangione x reader #luigi mangione imagine #luigi mangione fic #luigi mangione fanfiction #flig’s work #✏️tutor gi

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himasgod · 6 months ago

Text

Diluc x Reader

Where you help him pick his grapes at sunset

Where you help him pick grapes and spend the whole day working. Because you spend your time eating grapes instead of working, you end up playing pocky with a grape and sharing a wine in the evening.

The evening light painted the Dawn Winary in golden hues, and the vines seemed to glow as if they were grateful for the warm day. You stood by one of the barrels, admiring the view as Diluc carefully adjusted the last bunch of grapes into a basket.

“You know you don’t have to stay and help me, right?” he said with a slight smile, not looking away from his task.

“And you know I’m not leaving, right?” you replied, crossing your arms with a smile.

Diluc sighed, but there was a spark of amusement in his gaze as he looked up at you. It was rare to see him so relaxed, without the seriousness that usually accompanied him on his night patrols or while he tended to the affairs of the vineyard.

“If you insist…” he murmured, straightening up and offering the basket. “Then at least do something useful.”

“Useful?” you glared at him, feigning indignation as you took the basket. "I've been working all day!"

"Calling eating more grapes than you pick "working" is a bit generous, don't you think?"

You blushed, though you couldn't help but laugh too. It was true: you had succumbed to temptation more than once. The grapes were sweet and juicy, and you didn't regret trying a few… or several.

"It's a necessary quality control" you declared proudly.

So, you grabbed a grape from Diluc's basket, one that looked especially large and juicy, and held it between your fingers.

"I've already done my quality test. Now it's your turn to try them."

And with that, you put your lips into a duck beak shape and held the grape between them. Your plan was malicious but cunning. Diluc looked at you with a raised eyebrow

"So you expect me to taste the quality of my own perfect grapes from your lips?"

You gave a thumbs up smiling as best you could, your lips busy holding the grape between them.

Diluc sighed before placing a hand on your lower back and pulling you a little closer to him. With his other hand, he raised it to your cheek cupping it and with a lazy smile, giving you a slow and soft kiss as he stole the grape from your lips, passing it to his own. He continued kissing you as he savored it a little, before pulling away and saying.

"As perfect as ever"

"The grape or me?"

"Who knows"

With a big smile as if you were a little girl you grabbed the basket and began to deposit the grapes while humming a song, your spirits high.

Diluc shook his head, but his smile didn't disappear. He watched as you carried the basket into the cellar, noticing how the last rays of sunlight illuminated your face. There was something calming about sharing these moments with you, away from the bustle of Mondstadt and the shadows that often haunted him.

“Come here,” he called to you after a while, pointing to a small wooden bench on the porch of his mansion, overlooking the vineyards. In his hands, he held a bottle of red wine he had taken from the cellar.

You joined him, and Diluc poured two glasses before taking a seat beside you.

“This wine is new. I wanted to try it with you before presenting it at Angel's Share. You know I normally hate wine, but a glass won't hurt me."

“With me?” you asked, smiling widely.

“I trust your opinion… when you're not too busy eating the grapes, that is.”

You both laughed, and the moment felt perfect. The night breeze was beginning to blow gently, and the taste of the wine was exquisite. But the best of all was seeing Diluc like this: relaxed, enjoying the present, and sharing with you a lighter, more human side of himself.

“It’s delicious,” you said, smiling as you raised your glass to him. “I think Charles will be delighted.”

“I hope so. But…” Diluc raised his glass, his expression softer than usual. “Even if he wasn’t, this moment is worth it.”

It was in those moments that you realized how much it meant to him to have someone to share the small pleasures of life with.

Here is my masterlist, in case you are interested in any more of my work or want to send me a request <3

#genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin fanfic #genshin #genshin x you #genshin impact fanfic #genshin fluff #diluc x y/n #diluc #genshin angst #diluc ragnvindr #genshin diluc #diluc x reader #diluc x you #diluc x oc

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sheriffaxolotl · 5 months ago

Text

Rough Hands and Gentle Strokes (Chapter 1) Arthur Morgan x Reader

Summary:

In the rugged wilderness outside of Blackwater, a hardened outlaw crosses paths with a woman who challenges everything he’s ever known. A kind-hearted and resilient art teacher, she bears the weight of the world’s judgment, especially regarding a woman’s place in it. As their lives intertwine, he struggles with feelings he can’t make sense of, questioning his very purpose. In a world of harsh realities, can he dare to let someone in? And will she allow herself to soften enough to find love where she least expects it? Together, they come to heal, challenge each other, and discover what it truly means to fight for something worth living for.

Additional Tags: Romance, Arthur Morgan Deserves Happiness, Pre-Blackwater Massacre (Red Dead Redemption), Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Sexism

Chapter 1: The Touch That Lingers

°─────────────────°•❀•°─────────────────°

The sun hung high over the quiet town of Willoughby Creek, its golden rays dancing over the bustling main street. Children’s laughter floated through the air, mingling with the rhythmic creak of wagon wheels and the hum of distant conversation. Arthur Morgan tugged his hat lower over his eyes, squinting against the glare as he guided his horse, Boadicea, toward the general store. He wasn’t planning to linger—just pick up supplies and get moving. The less time spent around people, the better.

Compared to Blackwater, Willoughby Creek felt like a world apart. Where Blackwater thrummed with the energy of a growing town, a hub of commerce and the occasional confrontation, Willoughby Creek was still finding its rhythm—quiet, more laid-back, with a slower pace of life. The folks here went about their business in a way that reminded Arthur of the earlier days of civilization, before progress changed everything. A lot more open space, fewer buildings, and none of the modern hustle and bustle. In some ways, it suited him. But that didn’t mean he felt like sticking around long.

The creaking of an old wooden sign as it swayed in the wind drew his attention for a moment, but he quickly shook it off, focusing on the task at hand. He wasn’t here to get lost in thoughts of how things used to be—he had a job to do.

But as he passed the edge of the small park by the church, something made him pause. A group of children sat cross-legged on the grass, their faces alight with concentration as they hunched over wooden easels. In the middle of it all was a woman, her voice soft but carrying a melodic quality that drew his attention. She moved among the children, her skirts brushing the ground as she knelt to examine their work, offering encouragement or gentle advice.

Arthur’s brow furrowed. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard laughter like that—pure, unrestrained, and joyful. It was contagious, and before he knew it, he’d stopped entirely, his curiosity getting the better of him.

“Mister, you here to join the class?” piped up a small voice.

Arthur’s eyes darted down to a freckled boy staring up at him, a mischievous grin on his face. Arthur shook his head, glancing around as if to make sure no one else had heard.

“Nah, kid. Just passin’ through,” he said gruffly, shifting his weight. “Don’t reckon I’d be much good at somethin’ like this.”

The boy wasn’t deterred. “Aw, c’mon! It ain’t hard. You just gotta try. Here, I can show ya!”

Arthur took a half-step back, his hands coming up in a warding gesture. “Listen, I—”

“Mister!” the boy interrupted, his tone insistent as he grabbed Arthur’s sleeve and gave it a tug. “It’s real easy! Miss Harper says anyone can draw if they give it a shot.”

“Miss Harper?” Arthur repeated, glancing toward the woman now, who was crouched by another child and hadn’t yet noticed the commotion. He was about to gently extricate himself when the boy cupped his hands around his mouth and called out loudly.

“Miss Harper! This man says he can’t draw!”

Arthur groaned inwardly as several heads turned in his direction, including hers. The woman straightened, brushing her hands on her skirt as she approached, her expression curious. Her eyes—clear as a mountain stream—locked onto his, and for a moment, he felt rooted to the spot.

“Oh, now, don’t be shy,” she said with a smile that held both warmth and mischief. “We’ve always got room for one more.”

Arthur shifted awkwardly, one hand scratching the back of his neck. “Don’t think I’d be much good with all that,” he muttered, his voice gruff.

“Nonsense,” she replied, gesturing to an empty spot on the grass. “Art’s not about being good. It’s about trying. Besides, I’m sure the kids would love to have you join us.”

“Yeah, mister! Draw somethin’!” the freckled boy chimed in, tugging on Arthur’s sleeve again.

Arthur sighed, glancing between the boy and the woman, whose expectant gaze didn’t waver. He opened his mouth to protest once more, but the boy’s grin widened as he thrust a piece of paper and a bit of charcoal into Arthur’s hands.

“Here! Just try it!” the boy said.

With a resigned shake of his head, Arthur relented, muttering under his breath as he lowered himself onto the grass. The woman’s smile softened, and she crouched beside him, her presence unexpectedly calming.

“Here,” she said, demonstrating a quick, simple outline of a horse. “Just start with basic shapes. You’ll get the hang of it.”

Arthur’s first attempt was, in his opinion, a disaster. The horse he drew looked more like a lopsided mule, and the weight of so many curious eyes made his hands feel clumsier than usual. He wasn’t used to drawing where anyone could see—his journal was a private refuge, where lines flowed easier without the pressure of an audience. Here, under watchful gazes, it felt like every flaw was magnified. He half-expected the kids to burst out laughing. But when he glanced up, he found the woman studying his sketch with a soft smile.

“It’s got character,” she said. “And look at how strong those lines are. You’ve got a steady hand.”

“You don’t have to lie,” Arthur replied, his voice tinged with self-deprecating humor.

She laughed, a sound that made something in his chest loosen. “I’m not. Art’s about expression, not perfection. And you’ve got plenty of expression here.”

By the end of the lesson, Arthur’s initial awkwardness had faded, replaced by a reluctant sort of enjoyment. The children’s chatter and the woman’s easygoing demeanor had a way of disarming him, and he found himself lingering longer than he’d intended. As the children began to pack up their supplies, she turned to him with a curious tilt of her head.

“Thank you for joining us,” she said. “I don’t think I caught your name.”

“Arthur, Arthur Morgan,” he replied, adjusting his hat, his voice faltering slightly.

“Well, Arthur, it was a pleasure having you in class. You’ve got an artist’s spirit, whether you realize it or not.”

He snorted softly, brushing a hand over the brim of his hat. “Don’t think anyone’s ever accused me of that before.”

She smiled warmly, her eyes crinkling at the corners. There was a kindness in her face, a softness that felt out of place in a world that seemed to grow harder by the day. “Well, there’s a first time for everything. I’m Miss Harper, by the way. If you’re ever in town again, feel free to stop by. We’re always here on Wednesdays.”

Arthur nodded, tipping his hat politely, but before he turned to leave, his gaze lingered on her for a moment longer. She wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, he noticed. Her hands, pale and delicate, bore faint smudges of charcoal, a small testament to her craft. Her dress was simple but well-made, the soft blue fabric catching the sunlight in a way that reminded him of clear summer skies. A loose strand of hair had slipped from her bun, framing her face in a way that made her look younger, almost carefree.

She didn’t seem like the sort who belonged to a place like this—Willoughby Creek, with its rough edges and tired faces. She carried herself differently, with a quiet confidence and a grace that made Arthur feel a little self-conscious of his own mud-splattered boots and worn clothes.

“Take care, Mister Morgan,” she said, her voice pulling him from his thoughts.

“You too, Miss Harper,” he replied, his voice rougher than he intended.

As he walked back to his horse, he could feel her eyes on him, and for reasons he couldn’t quite pin down, that thought stirred something unfamiliar in him—something cautious, but not unpleasant.

When he swung into the saddle, he hesitated for a moment, his gaze drifting back toward the park. The sound of children’s laughter carried on the breeze, mingling with the faint rustle of leaves. Miss Harper was crouched beside a young boy now, showing him how to hold a piece of charcoal properly. She laughed at something the boy said, her head tilting back slightly, her expression open and genuine.

Arthur scratched at the back of his neck, feeling an odd warmth creeping over him. It wasn’t like him to pay much attention to anyone, let alone a schoolteacher in a quiet little town he had no real reason to linger in. Yet, as he turned his horse toward the trail, he couldn’t help glancing back once more.

The memory of her smile stuck with him, as did the image of her standing there with the sun framing her like some kind of picture. For the first time in a long while, Arthur felt a flicker of something he couldn’t quite name—something warm and unsteady, like the first rays of dawn breaking through the dark.

And as he rode away from Willoughby Creek, he found himself wondering if, perhaps, he might take a little longer to pass through next time.

°─────────────────°•❀•°─────────────────°

The ride back to camp was quiet, the sun dipping low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the trail. The gentle clop of his horse’s hooves and the occasional rustle of the trees were the only sounds accompanying him. Arthur kept his eyes on the road ahead, but his mind drifted back to Willoughby Creek, to the park, and to Miss Harper.

It wasn’t often someone stuck with him like that. Most folks he passed through towns barely left an impression. But her, with her calm voice and that unshakable, easy smile, had rooted herself in his mind like an itch he couldn’t quite scratch.

By the time he reached camp, the sun had sunk below the horizon, leaving the sky awash in hues of deep blue and purple. The gang was scattered about, some gathered around the fire, others tucked away in their tents. Arthur exchanged a few nods and muttered greetings but made a beeline for his own tent. He wasn’t in the mood for conversation, not with the thoughts stirring in his head.

Once inside, he lit the small lantern on his makeshift desk and pulled out his journal. The leather-bound book felt familiar in his hands, the pages worn and filled with the fragments of his life—sketches, musings, and bits of poetry he’d never admit to writing. It was his way of making sense of the world, of keeping a piece of himself in a life that seemed to take more than it gave.

He flipped to a fresh page and began writing, his hand moving slowly at first.

“Passed through Willoughby Creek today. Nice enough place. Kids were laughing in the park. Seemed like the kind of town that don’t see much trouble, at least not yet. Met someone too. A teacher. Miss Harper. She said I had an artist’s spirit. Can’t say I know what she meant by that, but she weren’t mocking me, I think. Funny how some folks can see something in you that you don’t see in yourself. Maybe she was just being kind.”

He paused, tapping the pencil against the page. His jaw tightened as he stared at the words. It felt strange to put her down in writing, like it made the memory of her more solid, more real. With a quiet huff, he set the pencil to the side, rubbing the back of his neck.

But instead of closing the journal, his fingers lingered, his mind drifting back to the way she’d looked, standing in the park with the sun on her dress. Without thinking, he reached for the pencil again, the movements of his hand slower, more deliberate this time.

The lines came hesitantly at first—a curve of her face, the loose strand of hair, the faint crinkles around her eyes when she smiled. Arthur wasn’t much for portraits, but there was something about trying to capture her that made him focus in a way he hadn’t in a long time. The memory of her dress, that soft blue, kept coming back to him, and he shaded in the folds, the light catching just so.

When he finally sat back, hours must’ve passed. His fingers ached, and the lantern’s light had dimmed, the flame flickering low. He stared at the page, at the image he’d sketched—a rough rendering of Miss Harper, caught mid-smile, with a faint outline of trees behind her.

He let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “Damn fool,” he muttered to himself.

His gaze drifted to the small table beside his cot, where a worn, silver-framed photograph stood. Mary. The sight of her smile, frozen forever in that picture, made his chest ache in a way he’d grown used to but never truly stopped feeling. His calloused thumb brushed the edge of the frame, tracing the curves of her face. She had looked at him like that once too, full of hope and possibility, before it all fell apart. Before he let it fall apart.

A familiar weight settled on him, that dull ache of knowing how much he’d lost and how much of it had been his own damn fault. He swallowed hard, the lump in his throat stubborn and unmoving, and set the photo back down gently. For a moment, he just stared at it, the silence of the night pressing in around him.

Then his eyes shifted back to the open journal on the desk, to the rough sketch of Miss Harper. The lines weren’t perfect, the proportions a little off, but her smile—he’d gotten that right. It was different from Mary’s, lighter somehow, like a breeze instead of a storm. It wasn’t better, he told himself—just different.

He leaned back in his chair, letting out a slow breath as he studied the drawing. That ache in his chest was still there, but now it felt... tempered, softer, like a wound starting to scab over. For the first time in what felt like forever, the thought of tomorrow didn’t feel quite so heavy.

And just before he drifted off, he thought again of Miss Harper’s laugh, of the way she’d looked at him like he wasn’t just another shadow passing through. For the first time in a long while, Arthur felt the edges of hope creeping into the corners of his mind. And he didn’t hate it.

°─────────────────°•❀•°─────────────────°

The days passed in the usual rhythm of camp life—chaotic and loud when it needed to be, quiet and tense when it wasn’t. Thursday came and went with a botched supply run outside of Blackwater that ended in an argument over who’d gotten the directions wrong. Friday blurred into a long, cold ride through the mountains with Hosea, chasing down a lead on a gang of highwaymen. By Saturday, Arthur was back at camp, fixing a broken wagon wheel while Dutch rambled about their next big score.

Life didn’t slow down, not for a moment. Yet, in the quiet spaces between the noise, Arthur found his mind wandering back to Willoughby Creek. To her.

It wasn’t deliberate, at least not at first. He’d catch himself thinking about the way her hands moved as she worked, smudged with charcoal but still delicate, or the way the sunlight had lit up her hair, catching on the loose strands.

He’d been cleaning his gun Thursday night when the memory of her voice drifted in, unbidden. “You’ve got an artist’s spirit.” He’d chuckled softly to himself, shaking his head, but the words lingered. What had she seen in him that made her say that? Surely not the man he was now, the man who spent his days riding hard and his nights drowning out the sound of his own thoughts.

On Friday, during a break in the ride with Hosea, Arthur had found himself idly sketching in the dirt with a stick while they rested. The lines he drew made no sense, but his hand kept repeating shapes he didn’t notice until later��curves like the hem of a dress, the outline of a tree, even the faintest hint of a smile. Hosea had teased him about looking distracted, but Arthur just grunted in reply and went back to saddling his horse.

By Saturday afternoon, as he worked on the wagon wheel, he caught himself staring off into the distance. It was a fleeting thing, just a moment of stillness in the midst of camp chaos, but in that quiet, he wasn’t in camp at all. He was back in Willoughby Creek, standing under the shade of those trees, hearing the laughter of children and watching her crouched beside a boy, guiding his hand as he drew.

“Arthur! You listening to me?” Dutch’s voice snapped him back, sharp and impatient.

“Yeah,” Arthur replied, shaking himself out of it. “I’m listenin’.”

As the days passed, Arthur tried to push the thought of her from his mind. There was work to be done, things to keep him occupied—patrolling, hunting, keeping an eye on the camp. But in the back of his mind, she lingered, like a quiet hum, always present.

Monday morning found him sharpening his knife by the fire, his thoughts drifting once again to Willoughby Creek. He wondered if the park was still the same, if the children still laughed and ran through the grass. His hand paused mid-motion as he remembered how she’d looked at him, so calm and steady, and how he’d felt like just another drifter passing through. Yet, something about the way she hadn’t turned away when he spoke to her, how she’d seemed interested, had made him feel... noticed.

The sound of a twig snapping nearby brought him back to the present. He glanced up, seeing John and Bill coming back from the river with supplies. Arthur gave them a quick nod, but his mind was elsewhere. His hand returned to the knife, but it wasn’t the blade he was focused on. He found himself absentmindedly carving small, jagged shapes into the wood. Faint outlines of trees and curves that looked a lot like the one he’d seen on her dress.

Tuesday came, and with it, another long ride out to check on the progress of a deal with a neighboring gang. Arthur kept his focus on the job at hand, but as the hours passed, he couldn’t help but feel the distance between himself and the men he rode with. Their conversations felt distant, like noise he couldn’t quite tune into. The laughter, the insults, the stories of past misdeeds—none of it really reached him. He was there, but not fully.

He found himself scanning the landscape, the sparse trees, and distant hills, as if searching for something—or someone—that wasn’t part of the life he had. His mind was somewhere else, half-wishing he were back on that road to Willoughby Creek, wondering if she might be walking down the street, or sitting in the park again, perhaps drawing quietly in the afternoon sun.

By the time Wednesday rolled around, Arthur could feel the weight of it, the pull in his chest. The thought of returning to Willoughby Creek was on his mind constantly, as if his body had already decided. He told himself he was just passing through, that there was no harm in a quick stop—just another day of rest on a long journey.

But deep down, something had shifted. He wasn’t sure if it was the pull of her smile, or the way she’d spoken to him, or the feeling that there might still be something good left in the world for someone like him. But he knew he couldn’t keep pushing it aside.

The morning light on Wednesday was crisp, and the air smelled different—fresher, almost. He saddled his horse with the usual motions, but this time, they felt deliberate. There was a purpose in his steps that hadn’t been there before.

As the camp began to stir with activity, Arthur rode out, his mind already miles ahead, heading toward Willoughby Creek once more.

He didn’t know what he was looking for, exactly, or if he would even find her there. But the thought of seeing her again, of hearing her voice, filled him with a nervous anticipation that he hadn’t felt in a long time.

And for the first time in days, his heart beat with something resembling hope. He didn’t know where it would lead, or if he would regret it. But for now, he was content to let that small, foolish hope guide him toward something he couldn’t quite name.

°─────────────────°•❀•°─────────────────° The ride was long, the familiar landscape blurring past him, but Arthur felt none of the usual impatience. His mind wasn’t occupied with the weight of the past or the worry of what the future might bring. Instead, it was filled with thoughts of Willoughby Creek, the sound of children’s laughter, and the faint memory of her smile. Each mile felt like an unwritten story, one he wasn’t sure he was ready to live—but it was pulling him in anyway.

As the afternoon wore on, the town’s silhouette finally appeared in the distance. It looked just as he remembered—quiet, unassuming, with the same rows of buildings, the same dusty streets, and the same park tucked at the heart of it. The closer he got, the more he felt a strange flutter in his chest, like a bird trapped in a cage, beating against the bars. He’d come here once before, without much thought or expectation. But now…

Arthur slowed his horse as he rode into the heart of the town, giving the familiar buildings a cursory glance. His heart rate picked up as he approached the park, the place where he had met her. The children were still there, running around in the sun, their laughter filling the air. But he was looking for something else.

He dismounted, the soft thud of his boots hitting the ground drowned out by the noise of the bustling park. Arthur scanned the area, his gaze landing on the familiar figures of mothers, fathers, and townsfolk, but not her.

For a moment, he considered leaving, just turning around and heading back to camp. It wasn’t like he’d promised anything—hell, he hadn’t even told her he was coming back. But something told him he had to stay, even if it was just for a little while longer.

And then, as if by fate, there she was.

Miss Harper was standing near the edge of the park, crouched down beside a child, guiding his hand as he drew. Her soft blue dress fluttered in the wind, and her hair—loose and wild in the breeze—seemed to shimmer like sunlight through the trees. For a moment, Arthur just stood there, watching her, feeling the weight of something both familiar and foreign stir inside him. He hadn’t expected to feel this nervous, to feel his heart race like it did when he was face-to-face with something he wanted but didn’t know how to reach.

She looked up, her eyes catching his almost immediately. A soft gasp escaped her lips, quickly followed by a tentative smile.

“Mister Morgan,” she said, her voice warm and surprised. “I didn’t expect to see you again.”

For a moment, Arthur couldn’t find his words. He’d imagined this moment a hundred times over the past week, but now that it was here, he felt strangely tongue-tied. He cleared his throat, shifting his weight awkwardly from one foot to the other.

“Didn’t mean to surprise ya,” he said gruffly, scratching the back of his neck. “Figured I’d pass through.”

She smiled again, and it was like a weight had been lifted off his chest. “Well, I’m glad you did.” She gestured to the empty space beside her. “I’m just showing this young man how to make a proper tree. You’re welcome to join us.”

Arthur glanced at the child she was speaking to, a boy no older than eight or nine, holding a piece of chalk in his small hand. He looked up at Arthur with wide eyes before quickly looking back to Miss Harper.

“I’m no artist,” Arthur muttered, his gaze flicking back to Miss Harper, who raised an eyebrow playfully.

“Not yet,” she said, her voice light, teasing. “Come on. I already know you have a steady hand.”

Arthur hesitated, but the offer was genuine, and the warmth in her eyes made him take a step forward. He crouched down beside them, his large hands seeming out of place beside the small child, but he did as she asked, picking up a piece of chalk and tracing the outline of a tree on the pavement. It was simple, nothing special—but it was enough.

For a long while, they worked in silence. The child drew beside them, occasionally looking up at Arthur’s rough attempt at a tree and giggling. Miss Harper’s soft voice would occasionally offer guidance, and Arthur found himself listening to her without realizing it. Her words, like everything else about her, seemed to settle into him, easy and natural, like the feeling of home he hadn’t known he’d been missing.

The peace between them stretched on, the quiet hum of the afternoon blending with the sound of chalk on stone. Arthur’s mind was surprisingly clear, filled only with the image of the tree he’d drawn—a simple, crooked line, but something about it felt... right. He caught himself smiling, despite his usual grimness. It was easy here, in this moment, with her, surrounded by children and the laughter that filled the air.

But just as he thought he might finally relax, a voice cut through the air, sharp and unwelcome.

“That’s enough, Miss Harper.”

Arthur’s hand froze mid-stroke, the chalk slipping from his fingers and falling to the ground. He glanced up, his brow furrowing as a man in a long coat and flat cap approached them, his gaze fixed firmly on Miss Harper. The man was stocky, his chest puffed out like he carried the weight of the world, and his tone was anything but friendly.

Miss Harper looked up, her smile faltering just slightly. “Excuse me, sir?”

The man jabbed a finger toward the group of children, his face contorting in a mix of disdain and authority. “It’s improper, you know,” he said, his voice dripping with condescension. “For a woman like you to be out here, teaching them... especially teaching these girls. It’s one thing for them to learn how to read a bit of writing, but this—this nonsense, drawing and such—is no place for a lady.”

Arthur’s jaw tightened at the man’s words, something dark flickering in his chest. He could feel his muscles tensing, ready to rise and say something, but Miss Harper was already speaking, her voice calm but firm.

“I’m not teaching them nonsense,” she replied, standing up straight, her gaze unwavering. “I’m teaching them to create, to express themselves. There’s nothing improper about that.”

The man’s face twisted with outrage. “It’s unnatural,” he spat. “A woman’s place is in the home, not out here, teaching this kind of thing to young girls. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Miss Harper.”

Arthur’s hand clenched into a fist at his side, his eyes narrowing on the man. He knew the type—men who thought they had the world figured out, who believed they knew their place and everyone else’s. This wasn’t a man who saw women as anything more than tools for family and housework. It burned in Arthur’s gut, seeing her challenged like this, in front of the children who looked up to her.

But Miss Harper didn’t back down. Her voice was steady, though there was an edge to it. “You’ll have to excuse me, sir, but I don’t believe I asked for your opinion. I’m teaching them what they deserve to know. You’d do well to mind your business.” She glanced over at the children, her expression softening. “Now, go on, all of you. Let’s finish this tree.”

Arthur could feel the tension crackling in the air, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. But he admired her, how she stood her ground, her face resolute and calm even as the man’s anger bubbled up.

“Now you listen here—” the man started, stepping closer, his voice rising.

Arthur stood up slowly, the ground beneath him seeming to settle into place with each movement. He had no particular desire to get involved in this kind of fight, but something in him bristled, instinctively wanting to defend her.

“Is there a problem here, sir?” Arthur asked, his voice low, but unmistakably firm.

The man turned to face him, sizing him up, his eyes narrowing at the sight of Arthur’s broad shoulders and the unmistakable presence he carried. There was a moment’s pause, the man seemingly calculating whether or not to escalate things.

“I’m merely stating a fact, friend,” the man said, taking a step back, his bravado faltering slightly as he looked up at Arthur. “A woman has no business doing such things.” He shot a venomous glance at Miss Harper. “It’s a shame. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, teaching these girls such ideas.”

Arthur took a step forward, his hand hovering near his hip where his gun rested, just a reminder of who was standing here with him. “You’re mistaken,” Arthur said quietly, a cold edge to his voice. “Now you best be moving along, rather than standin' around, talkin’ down to women like you seem to enjoy doin’.”

The man’s eyes flickered to Arthur’s hand as it rested near his hip, a subtle but unmistakable warning. His bravado faltered for a moment, the cocky expression twisting into one of irritation as he took a half-step back. He seemed to reconsider his position, no longer willing to push things too far with a man who clearly wasn’t one to back down.

“Fine,” the man muttered, his voice dripping with venom. “I’ll go, but mark my words, Miss Harper—this isn’t over. A woman has no business teachin’ those girls how to think for themselves. I’ll see to it that someone puts a stop to it.” He shot a final look of contempt at her, eyes narrowing, then turned sharply on his heel and walked away, his heavy footsteps leaving a trail of tension in the air.

Arthur watched him go, his jaw clenched tight, but he didn’t say anything more. The man wasn’t worth the trouble, and Miss Harper didn’t need any more of his nonsense. She stood silently for a moment, the weight of the encounter pressing down on her, but she didn’t let it break her. Arthur could see that, see how she straightened her shoulders and took a breath, as if shaking off the shadow the man had tried to cast.

“Don’t worry about him,” Arthur said, his voice softer now, though the edge of anger was still present, a remnant of the tension in his chest. “He’s just talk.”

She glanced over at him, her eyes meeting his with a small, appreciative smile. “Aren't they all?,” she said quietly, though there was a subtle tightness in her tone. “Doesn’t make it any easier, though.”

Arthur nodded, his hand shifting away from his hip and resting at his side. He didn’t know what else to say. The kind of world they lived in—where women had to constantly fight for respect, just for being who they were—was one he didn’t fully understand, not like she did. But he could see it now, the quiet toll it took on her, the way she had to pick herself up every time someone tried to put her down.

She sighed, looking back at the children who were still drawing, their laughter slowly returning to the air. “Thank you for stepping in,” she added, her voice softer now. “You didn’t have to, but I’m glad you did.”

Arthur shifted uncomfortably, the weight of the moment pressing in. “I don’t take kindly to men talkin’ to women like that,” he said, his tone steady but firm. “You don’t deserve that.”

She smiled, a small but genuine curve of her lips that eased some of the tension between them. “Well, I appreciate it all the same. But you’re right—he’s not worth dwelling on. I’ve dealt with far worse.”

Arthur watched her closely, his gaze lingering on the way she carried herself, her shoulders squared, her face steady even after the man had left. There was a quiet strength in her, but it wasn’t the kind that he imagined she wanted to wear all the time. But what if she didn’t have to? What if she didn’t have to face it all alone, shoulder to shoulder with the weight of every fight?

The thought lingered in his mind as he shifted on his feet, watching her interact with the children, a soft smile lingering on her lips. There was something about the way she carried herself, like she was always poised, ready to meet any challenge head-on. But in the quiet moments, when the world wasn’t pushing in on her, she seemed so different. He wanted to see more of that side—the one that wasn’t always hardened by the world’s cruelty. The one that wasn’t always on guard.

Before he could dwell on it for too long, he felt her hand on his arm, a soft touch, delicate but warm. Her fingers rested there for a brief moment, and it was like the weight of everything else faded away. She looked up at him with a kind smile, her eyes reflecting gratitude, something soft and sincere in her gaze.

“Thank you again, Mister Morgan,” she said quietly, her voice gentle. “I truly appreciate it. You didn’t have to step in, but I’m glad you did.”

The simplicity of the gesture—the warmth in her touch—struck him more than he expected. For a moment, he felt his heart skip, something unexpected stirring in his chest. He wasn’t used to this kind of attention, especially not this close. His breath caught, and for a split second, he forgot how to breathe properly. His chest tightened, the way it did when he was caught off guard, like the world had tilted slightly on its axis and he hadn’t quite found his balance again.

He blinked, caught off guard by the sudden rush of warmth flooding his cheeks. Arthur opened his mouth to say something, but the words tangled in his throat, slipping away before he could form them properly. His usual gruffness, his tough exterior, suddenly felt inadequate. It wasn’t like he was a man who stumbled for words, but in front of her, with the gentleness of her touch and the softness of her gaze, he found himself out of his depth.

He shifted on his feet, his hand moving slightly as if he wasn’t sure what to do with it. His fingers twitched at his sides, the calluses from years of hard work suddenly feeling like they didn’t quite belong. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, trying to find his footing again, but the warmth of her touch lingered, a constant presence that made him feel oddly exposed, yet strangely... safe.

“Ah… uh… yeah. Nothin’ to thank me for,” he muttered, his voice rougher than usual, a little quieter too, like he was unsure of how to match the softness she was giving him. “I just... I don’t like seein’ people talk to ya like that.”

His words came out a little jumbled, as if his mind wasn’t quite catching up with his mouth. He cleared his throat, trying to shake off the awkwardness that had crept into his chest. But it didn’t help. He still felt that strange flutter in his stomach, like he’d forgotten how to be around someone who didn’t look at him with suspicion, or fear, or just plain indifference.

She smiled again, a soft, understanding smile that only seemed to make him feel even more flustered. Arthur’s gaze dropped briefly, looking anywhere but directly at her face, though he could still feel the weight of her attention on him.

“Mister Morgan,” she said, her voice light and reassuring, “you’re a good man. I appreciate it more than you know.” Her hand lingered just a moment longer, a light touch on his arm before she gently pulled it back, though the warmth of it stayed, as if it had seeped into his very bones.

“Just don’t make a habit of it,” Arthur mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck again, his mind still racing as he tried to regain some sense of normalcy. “Steppin’ in for folks. Ain’t my place, and I... I ain’t no hero.”

She chuckled softly, and the sound was like music to his ears. He risked a glance up at her, seeing the twinkle in her eye, the gentle amusement that softened her features even more.

“I think you’re more of a hero than you give yourself credit for,” she teased, her voice light and playful, but with that same quiet sincerity. “Least, today, you can be my hero.”

Arthur’s heart thumped in his chest, and he suddenly realized he couldn’t quite remember how to stand properly. His hands shifted at his sides, his boots scuffing the ground beneath him, and he gave her a sheepish look—something close to a nervous grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. His mind wandered just briefly, noticing how her presence felt calming in ways he hadn’t expected. She had a soft scent to her, like wildflowers mixed with the faintest trace of lavender, and it lingered in the air around him as she stood so close. He wasn’t sure how he’d never noticed it before, but now it was almost impossible not to.

He blinked, his thoughts scattering a bit. It wasn’t just that though. There was something about the way she moved, the gentle fluidity in her motions, like the world around her didn’t need to be rushed. The way her hair framed her face, soft curls catching the light in a way that made him want to reach out and touch it—though he didn’t, of course.

"Maybe..." he said, his voice a little lower than usual, unsure of the weight of her words but feeling a strange warmth spread across his chest all the same. "Maybe just a little bit."

He cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure, but the smile that tugged at his lips remained, a little hesitant, a little shy, as though he was still trying to figure out what exactly it meant to be someone’s hero. The quiet joy in her gaze, the way her words hung between them, was enough to leave him feeling like he was standing on shaky ground—but for the first time in a long while, it wasn’t a feeling he minded.

Arthur stood there, still a little off balance from the strange warmth she’d ignited in him with just a few words and a simple touch. He had always been good at keeping his distance, but right now, with her standing so close, it felt like the world had suddenly gotten a little softer. Her presence was something he didn’t know how to handle, but he was starting to like the feeling of it.

When the moment stretched on, and the air seemed to hum with something unsaid, he cleared his throat, trying to focus on something—anything—other than the quiet fluttering in his chest. He looked over toward the path leading back to town, where the shadows were beginning to stretch long, the light fading as the sun dipped lower. The thought of her walking alone, that man possibly still lingering somewhere in the back of her mind, didn’t sit well with him.

"You know..." Arthur started, scratching the back of his neck, unsure of how exactly to word it. "I’d be happy to walk you home, Miss Harper. Don’t think I want that man bothering you again." He glanced at her, offering a quick but genuine smile. "I reckon you’ve got enough to deal with without folks like him getting in your way."

The suggestion felt strange coming from him—like he was trying to do something good, even if it didn’t come naturally. But it was the right thing to do. Besides, he found himself wanting to keep her safe, to make sure she didn’t have to carry the weight of the world alone, not when he could help.

He shifted on his boots, suddenly aware of how clumsy his words had sounded, and he added, “If you don’t mind the company, of course.”

Miss Harper regarded him for a moment, her gaze soft but searching, as if weighing his offer. Arthur shifted on his feet, suddenly self-conscious of the silence stretching between them. He didn’t know what he expected—maybe her to turn him down politely or give him a teasing remark, but when she finally spoke, her voice was warm, thoughtful.

"I’d like that," she said, her eyes meeting his with a quiet sincerity that made his chest feel a little lighter. "I appreciate the offer. I really do."

Arthur felt a small, relieved smile tug at the corners of his mouth. He nodded, more to himself than anything, before turning slightly toward the path that led out of the park. His steps were a little slower than usual, like he was reluctant to rush this, but at the same time, he felt a strange sense of rightness in walking beside her, not as a guard or a protector, but just... as two people sharing a quiet walk home.

They fell into step beside each other, a comfortable silence wrapping around them. The distant chatter of the children, still lingering in the park, faded as they walked away from the lively scene, the evening air growing cooler with each passing minute.

Arthur couldn’t help but glance over at her now and then, though he tried to keep his attention on the road ahead. He found himself noticing little things—the way the setting sun caught her hair, making it shimmer like gold in the last light of the day, or how the faint scent of lavender seemed to follow her with every step. It was subtle, but it was there, and for reasons he couldn’t quite explain, it made him feel like he was walking through some kind of dream.

As they neared the edge of town, where the dusty road met the outskirts, Arthur found himself thinking about how easy this felt. Like it wasn’t just a simple offer to walk her home—it was something more, something that felt right, like he was supposed to be here with her.

"So," he started, breaking the silence as he turned his gaze to the darkening horizon, trying to keep his thoughts focused on the conversation instead of how his heart seemed to be beating a little faster. "What’s it like... teaching these kids? I mean, I can’t imagine it’s the easiest thing, especially in a place like this."

He glanced over at her again, his expression curious. It wasn’t just the teaching that intrigued him—it was the way she’d handled everything, the way she’d stayed so composed even when people tried to tear her down. He wanted to know more, to understand more about her, about what made her the way she was.

Her eyes flicked toward him, a thoughtful expression crossing her face as she considered his question. “It’s not always easy,” she said after a pause, her voice carrying a quiet strength that seemed to come naturally to her. “But it’s worth it. These kids, they deserve a chance to learn, to grow up knowing there’s more out there than just what’s around them.” She smiled slightly, a soft, wistful look in her eyes. “I just wish... I wish more people saw that. Saw the potential in them, in me.”

Arthur’s heart tightened at her words, and he glanced down at the dirt road beneath them. He couldn’t imagine how hard it must be, always having to prove yourself to the world, to constantly be pushing against the current. He wondered what it would feel like to just be able to exist without that weight pressing down.

“You don’t have to prove a damn thing to me,” Arthur said quietly, his voice low but firm, though there was something almost tender in his tone. “Not for me, or anyone else.”

She looked at him, her expression softening, and for a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. Then, she gave him that small, quiet smile again, the one that made something flutter in his chest.

"Thank you," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “That means more than you know.”

They continued walking in comfortable silence, the night growing darker around them as the stars began to twinkle overhead. Arthur couldn’t help but feel like this was a moment he’d remember, one that was almost too peaceful, too perfect, to be real. But in that moment, he didn’t want to think about anything else—just the quiet rhythm of their steps and the warmth of her company.

As they approached the small house at the end of the road, the comforting quiet of the evening wrapped around them. The flickering light from the window illuminated the soft, rustic simplicity of the building, a humble cottage nestled against the edge of the town. Arthur slowed his steps as they neared, not wanting the walk to end. Something about it felt different—like it had meant more than just getting her safely home. The idea of saying goodbye had an unexpected weight to it.

When they reached the front gate, Arthur glanced over at her, his voice quiet but tinged with curiosity. “Well, here we are,” he said, hesitating before adding, “You got someone inside waitin’ for you?”

The question hung between them, light yet weighted, and he found himself almost bracing for her answer. He wasn’t sure why it mattered to him, but it did. His eyes flicked to the house, then back to her, wondering if he’d be handing her off to a husband or another man, someone who might look at her the way he wanted to.

Her eyes softened as she met his gaze, and there was a faint amusement in her smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes in the same way it usually did. “No,” she replied, her voice steady but not without a touch of something else, something private. “No husband.”

A small, unexpected relief flooded through him at her words. He hadn’t even realized how much he’d been holding his breath until it was released. He hadn’t thought about it before, but in that moment, a part of him was grateful that there was no man waiting for her, no one to claim her, to take her away from the quiet moments they’d shared.

“Well, I—” Arthur cleared his throat, feeling a bit awkward. “I didn’t mean to... I mean, I just didn’t want to be handin’ you over to anyone. Figured if there was a man, he’d be worried, you know?”

Miss Harper’s smile softened, and she gave a little shake of her head. “I understand. But no, no one’s waiting for me.” She paused, as if considering something before her eyes met his again, this time with a hint of something more vulnerable, more sincere. “I appreciate you walking me home. I know I can handle myself, but... it’s nice to have someone watch my back, even for just a little while.”

Arthur shifted on his feet, a little caught off guard by the sincerity in her words. He opened his mouth to say something, but the words didn’t come right away. Instead, he just nodded, his heart feeling uncharacteristically light in his chest.

“Well, you take care of yourself, Miss Harper,” he said, his voice gruff but soft, the way he always spoke when the moment felt important. “You don’t have to worry about anyone botherin’ you while I’m around.”

She gave him a small nod, her smile more knowing now, as if she saw something in him that he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to acknowledge. But it was there, and it made something twist pleasantly in his gut.

“Thank you, Mister Morgan,” she said quietly, her tone full of unspoken meaning. “I’ll be alright. You don’t have to worry about me.”

Arthur hesitated for a moment, standing there in front of her small, quiet house. He wasn’t sure what to do next—whether he should say something else, or just leave it at that.

As they neared the small wooden porch, Arthur’s boots scuffed softly against the gravel path, and the quiet hum of the evening seemed to press in around them. They were standing at the base of the steps now, and without thinking, Arthur found himself stepping forward, his hand reaching out toward her.

"Here, let me help you," he said, his voice a little rough as his fingers hovered near her elbow.

She glanced at him in surprise, then down at his outstretched hand, her brows furrowing slightly, but there was a softness in her eyes that made something in him tighten. He hadn’t even realized what he was doing—he just knew he wanted to offer her something, some small gesture to make sure she got inside safe and sound.

He cleared his throat, suddenly aware of how ridiculous it might seem, but her smile, warm and gentle, eased the awkwardness in him.

“That’s kind of you,” she said quietly, her voice soft, like she wasn’t sure what to make of the simple act of him offering his hand. But without hesitation, she placed her hand in his, the warmth of her fingers sending a strange spark through him.

He helped her up the steps, not saying a word, but somehow it felt like the simplest, most natural thing in the world. He was conscious of the way her hand fit in his, the way her presence seemed to fill the quiet space between them, the sound of her soft breath just beneath the night sky.

When they reached the top, she paused, turning to face him with a small, appreciative smile. “Thank you,” she said, her eyes meeting his, and there was something in them, something unspoken that made Arthur’s chest tighten in a way he didn’t understand.

“Don’t mention it,” Arthur muttered, his heart beating a little faster than it should, his hand lingering just a moment longer than necessary before he pulled it back. “Just don’t go doin’ any more of that stuff, alright?”

She chuckled softly, a warm, genuine sound that made his heart skip a beat. “I won’t. But I’m glad you’re here. I truly am.”

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak for a moment, the words caught in his throat. He wasn’t used to moments like these, to soft touches and quiet smiles that lingered in the air.

"Well, you take care, Miss Harper," he finally managed to say, his voice a little rougher than usual, and as she stepped back into the doorway, he turned away, his mind buzzing with all the things he hadn’t said. As the door closed behind her, he hesitated, standing there for just a moment longer, before turning and heading back down the path.

Arthur walked a few paces away from the porch, his boots making steady crunching sounds against the gravel. He kept his gaze forward, not daring to look back. But the feeling in his chest, the strange warmth in his blood, refused to let him go. His heart thumped against his ribs like a wild thing, and the heat of her hand, where it had briefly touched his, still lingered on his fingers, as if it had somehow settled deep into his bones.

He finally came to a stop, his boots shifting slightly as he rubbed a hand over his face, the same hand that had touched hers. A low, frustrated groan escaped him, more from the feeling than the words he couldn’t quite manage to say out loud.

"Goddamn it," he muttered, shaking his head as he dropped his hand back to his side. His breath was a little unsteady, like he couldn’t quite catch it. He could still smell her—something sweet, something soft and natural, mixing with the crisp evening air. And for some godforsaken reason, it made his blood feel hot, too hot for the night.

His fingers twitched, like they were still waiting for her touch to return, and the thought of it made him grit his teeth. "What the hell’s wrong with me?" he grumbled to the night, kicking a small stone in frustration. His mind raced, chasing around the moments of the evening, the way her smile had made his chest tighten, the way her touch had felt like the most natural thing in the world and somehow, still, the most terrifying.

He stood there for a long minute, breathing deeply, his thoughts tangled with the heat in his blood, trying to make sense of it.

Finally, he gave a low, frustrated sigh and turned away from the house, his steps more purposeful now, though the unease in his chest lingered like a shadow.

One thing was for sure—he was far from done thinking about her.

°─────────────────°•❀•°─────────────────°

I haven’t edited this yet, but I’ve been craving to write something sweet and different from Bleed, Survive, Remember. I wrote until I was happy and giggling about it, and I’m excited to see where it goes. I’ll make sure to edit it later!

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x you #rdr2 x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #rdr2 fanfic #red dead redemption 2 fanfic #arthur morgan

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burtreynolds-esquire · 2 months ago

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Ashes

Chapter One - Change

Lottie Matthews x gn!reader

—————————

'You will never do anything in this world without courage. It is the greatest quality of the mind next to honour.' - Aristotle.

You moved to Wiskayok, NJ during the Summer of ‘95. Before the faithful day of the Yellowjackets plane crash, you have to navigate a normal high school life of friendships, crushes, unnecessary drama, actual serious drama, a shitty home life, and cheering at the sidelines for the girl’s soccer team.

Covers pre-crash, wilderness, and adult timeline.

Mature rating for later chapters for obvious Yellowjackets reasons. Cannibalism, violence, injuries, lots of swearing, possible sexual content (we’ll see).

AN: I originally wrote this with my OC in mind and changed the pronouns and everything for a reader version for tumblr. I noticed tumblr folk prefer reader inserts over OC’s so I did my best to accommodate that. There may be slip ups of female pronouns but I did my best to change every single one. I’ve kept it as vague as I can for the reader but certain things I can’t change, such as Lottie’s height being taller than the reader, the reader’s backstory and hobbies (which are still fairly vague in comparison to my OC) and during intimate scenes later on (if I write them) reader may be AFAB, it depends how well I am at writing sexual content without using gender specific words. I’ll do my best though!

~ Well begun is half done ~

1995

The warm rays of the late-afternoon sun cast a pleasant glow over the trailer park as it made its descent in the cloudless sky. A potent smell of marijuana lingered in the air as two teenagers sat on the back door steps of one trailer in particular, sharing a joint.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna come tonight?” Natalie Scatorccio asked her companion before taking a drag of the joint in her hand.

Natalie had met you, the seventeen year old who was currently sitting to her right, just a few weeks ago when you and your mother had moved to New Jersey from out of state. The two of you had grown somewhat close rather quickly, bonding over your paternal trauma and habit for smoking weed.

“Absolutely not,” you replied, your accent a stark difference to that of your New Jersey friend. “I don’t know anyone there and I’ll just be stuck on my own all night while you have Kevyn following you around like a little duckling.” You took the joint off Natalie as soon as it was offered to you again.

“Come on, it’ll be a good way to meet some people before school starts,” Nat tried to persuade you. “Besides, it’s the last weekend of Summer vacation and the party’s at the resident rich girl’s house… a house that has a pool. Which means it’ll be your final chance to attend a pool party before school starts.”

“Then I definitely don’t wanna go,” you replied as you gave what was left of the joint back to Nat. “The bigger the house, the more people will be there. No thank you.”

“Suit yourself,” Nat shrugged as she stood up to leave. “You still cool with picking me up tonight, though?”

“Of course, someone’s gotta make sure you get home safe. Tell Kevyn I’ll take him home too, I don’t mind.”

“Will do, thanks,” Nat replied before making her way to her own trailer.

“No worries,” you half-heartedly waved her off. You continued to sit for a few moments, listening to the sound of gravel disturbed by your friend’s boots as you heard her walk away. You leaned your head back against the rear door of your trailer home, soaking in the sun’s rays on your face with a contemplative sigh before finally standing up.

With the rest of the afternoon now free, you made the decision to wander the area a little more with your camera. You entered the trailer through the back door to grab the item in question from your bedroom, catching sight of your mother on the way in. She was sat on the couch in front of the television as she usually was on her days off, chain smoking her way through another packet of cigarettes.

Once you had what you needed, you walked passed your mom on your way out of the front door, which you noticed was slowly turning a shade of yellow from the constant cigarette use within the home.

“Hey ma, I’m going out for a bit. You need anything?”

“Hm?” Your mother looked up at you hazily, having not noticed your presence until you spoke. “Oh yeah, get me another couple packs of smokes, will you?”

“Sure thing,” you replied as you took some cash from your mother’s purse to fund the cigarettes. “I’ll see you later.”

Your mom didn’t reply, her focus being back on the TV once more. Rolling your eyes at your mother’s disassociation, you left your home.

As much as you hated that you had literally become trailer trash since moving to New Jersey, you were thankful to be away from your father at least. You often wondered about what he was up to now that you and your mother had left him behind.

‘I hope he’s drank himself to death by now,’ you thought bitterly as you made your way to a nearby park. ‘The world and everyone in it would be better off without him.’

Natalie woke up on Monday morning hungover as hell, feeling overly sensitive to the bright rays of sunlight filtering into her room through the gaps in the pitifully old curtains. Despite the party being on Saturday night, she’d spent the entirety of Sunday still drinking with a couple of her friends. And today she was feeling it.

And so, despite the pounding in her head and constant nausea in her stomach, she swallowed some pain killers, took a quick shower, and got ready for the day before hearing the telltale beep of a car horn outside.

Nat grabbed her leather jacket and opened the front door, seeing you waiting in the driver’s seat of your blue 1989 Toyota Corolla, 80’s rock music now playing from the tape deck.

“Get in, loser! We’re gonna be late,” your voice carried through the open windows. Nat rolled her eyes as she made her way to the car, noticing that you had placed your camera in the back seat.

“You bringing that to school?” She enquired once she sat in the passenger seat, nodding to the item sitting behind the you both.

“Yeah I was thinking of joining the yearbook or something, I dunno,” you explained, making your way out of the trailer park and onto the main road, heading in the direction of the school.

“Seriously?” Nat asked, her eyebrow raised. “Have you seen the kids that do yearbook? Nerds pick on them.”

You playfully scoffed at your friend’s teasing behaviour. You knew Nat well enough by now to know she wasn’t seriously insulting you.

“Be that as it may, I need an extracurricular and I’d rather it be something to do with photography. Otherwise what’s the point?”

“You could always try out for the soccer team.”

“Wooaahhh, I’m gonna stop you right there. Absolutely not. I’m nowhere near athletic enough for sports and you know it,” you laughed as you spoke.

Nat shrugged before answering.

“Fair enough, you could always try for the school newspaper as well. Either way, you’ll have to come to some of my games. The student photographers and reporters always make it to the most important ones,” she explained.

“Oh please, I’d be at all you important games anyway,” you smiled with sincerity. “I have yet to see these so-called legendary Yellowjackets in action.”

“Hey, we are legendary! I reckon we could go to Nationals this year if we don’t fuck it up.”

French class first thing on a Monday morning had to be a crime. Despite your maternal grandmother being born and raised in France, you had never taken to that particular language very well.

You looked around the classroom trying to find your seat, praying you didn’t seem as hopelessly lost as you felt. This classroom was laid out with tables built for two people instead of a single person, presumably so students could perform speaking exercises with a partner.

You finally found your assigned seat and sat down, the other one at the table already occupied. The student next to you was a girl with bright eyes, a warm and welcoming smile, and dark blonde hair. Or was it light brunette? You couldn’t quite tell to be honest.

“Hi there, you’re new,” the girl stated before introducing herself, her voice sounding just as sweet as her smile. “I’m Jackie Taylor.”

“Oh, uh hi…” you replied, a little taken aback at just how one person could be filled with so much pep this early in the morning. “I’m (Y/N)… uh, (L/N).”

You didn’t mean to sound so awkward, really you didn’t. But Jackie’s attitude just took you by surprise and if you were being honest with yourself, you were still half asleep.

“Oh wow, a different accent! You’re from out of state?!” Jackie asked in awe. “People are gonna love you around here. Most of us have never left New Jersey. I have, of course, but still!”

“Uh, really? I can’t be that rare.” You honestly didn’t know how to respond.

“In small town New Jersey you are,” Jackie explained as she watched you take out your things, almost fascinated by your existence.

“So, (N/N)… can I call you (N/N)? you any good at French?”

“Anything good happen on your first day of school, then?” Natalie was once again sitting in the passenger seat of your car, her right hand hanging out of the window holding onto a lit cigarette.

“I actually made a friend,” you replied in the driver’s seat as you pulled out of the school parking lot.

“No shit!”

“You have the audacity to sound surprised. I can make friends, you know,” you squinted your eyes in a mocking manner. “Her name’s Jackie.”

“Ugh,” was the only reply you got from Nat. Evidently your first friend did not approve of your newest friend.

“What’s wrong with Jackie?”

“Seriously, Little Miss Preppy Over-Achiever? How’d you end up friends with her?”

“She sits next to me in French class and insisted on showing me around during lunch,” you replied simply.

“Oh, well that explains it. She’s gonna be relying on you all year, Jackie sucks at French,” Nat explained as she flicked her cigarette away out the window.

“Well, I suck at French too,” you shrugged. “By the way, when’s your first practice? I kinda need to meet your coach.”

“Wednesday straight after school, what d’you need coach for?”

“Because not only are you looking at a brand new newspaper photographer, I’ve also been tasked with taking portraits for the sports teams,” you smiled as you explained. “I’ll be sticking around you guys a lot this year by the sounds of it.”

“No fuckin’ way, that’s actually pretty cool,” Nat responded with genuine enthusiasm.

“Oh? What happened to me being worse than a nerd?”

“Shut up. I was messin’ with you, (L/N), and you know it.”

You just gave a chuckle in response as you drove

home.

Wednesday morning rolled around all too quickly for your liking and you had woken up barely on time, so you got ready for the day ahead with what little time you had. By the time you were showered and dressed, you noticed your mother had already left for work.

Since moving here, the two of you didn't spent much time together anymore. Hell, your mom barely spoke to you now but you couldn’t help but not hold it against her. You’d both been through a lot in terms of what your father had done and you figured your mom would be ready to talk about things, or anything really, in her own time.

You found yourself sitting in your car once again waiting on Natalie. This would soon become your usual morning routine, you figured. And, yet again, the two of you drove to school whilst sharing playful banter and a morning cigarette.

At lunch time, you spent your time in the room assigned to the school newspaper. Wiskayok High seemed to love its sports teams so much, even the newspaper had affectionately been named The Buzz Bulletin after the school’s mascot, the Yellowjacket wasp.

You didn’t really have anything to do other than introduce yourself and meet the people you’d be working with until graduation. Most importantly, you would be getting to know a girl named Jennifer Miller, a journalist who would be covering all the sporting events, both soccer and baseball, alongside yourself.

She seemed nice enough and you both got on just fine, but you didn’t immediately click with her like she had done with Nat and even Jackie. You felt like you’d be coworkers at best.

Your last class of the day was English, which you coincidentally took with Nat. The bleached blonde girl sat in the seat directly behind you so you were in prime position to be pestered the entire time. Whilst Natalie was a good enough student that she’d do her assigned work, she also took every opportunity to torture her poor friend.

“Natalie Scatorccio, I swear to God…” you mumbled quietly enough so only Nat could hear after another small paper ball had been tossed at the back of your head.

“God, I’m so fucking bored,” Nat commented with a sigh. “I can’t wait to get out of hear and blow of some steam at practice.”

“Okay girls, listen up,” Coach Martinez called out to his team, all of whom were scattered around the soccer field in their blue soccer uniforms, which they’d worn specially for picture day.

Everyone instantly stopped what they were doing and made their way to their coach as he stood near the edge of the field with you, where you were feeling nervous at suddenly being the centre of attention.

“This here is (Y/N), they’re our new sports photographer for the school paper,” he explained as he placed his hand upon your shoulder in a gesture of introduction. “They’re in charge of taking your portraits for the year so I’ll leave them with you. They’re all yours, (Y/N).”

A few girls nodded at you in acknowledgement and Jackie even shouted from among the crowd,

“Hey (N/N)!”

You found Jackie and waved a little awkwardly at her. With both Jackie and Nat just across from you smiling encouragingly, you started to feel a little more comfortable amongst the strangers that you could soon hope to call friends.

“Uh yeah, what Coach said,” you started, cringing internally at your clumsy first impression. You took a moment to take a breath and calmed yourself before speaking up again.

“I’m gonna need some group portraits from you all first before I move on to doing your solo ones,” you spoke a little more loudly, willing the confidence to be there. “I’m thinking in front of the Western goal post, there’s less cloud coverage which makes for better lighting. Also the sun won’t be in your eyes so less squinting.”

You got a few chuckles for that as the girls started to casually make their way over to the specified area. Coach Martinez and the other younger coach were already manoeuvring a long bench in front of the net for half the team to sit down on.

“Okay, I’d like the goalie to be front and centre on the bench please,” you called out once you had quickly checked that the area and lighting were perfect. A red headed girl holding a soccer ball made her way to the bench, introducing herself as she walked by you.

“Name’s Van,” she said as she nodded her head briefly in your direction.

“Hi Van,” you replied, repeating the name in an effort to remember it. Van obediently sat down on the bench and placed the soccer ball between her feet as you instructed the rest of the team.

“Okay so I’d like the captain to be right behind Van, so Jackie if you please… then you with the big doe eyes, you can stand next to Jackie… Nat I’d like you to go next…”

This went on until only the tallest of the girls were left, and they were to join Van on the bench. You looked around the remaining crowd to figure out who you’d like to place where.

“Hey,” you gestured to one of the girls, “tall, dark, and beautiful… you can sit on Van’s right side.” The girl in question seemed to hesitate for a split second and very nearly tripped over her own feet as she made her way over to the bench, thanking whatever Gods were out there that you hadn’t seen the hint of a blush spread across her cheeks. Unfortunately for her, Van had seen everything and watched with a smirk as her teammate sat next to her.

“Aaaand tall, dark, and gorgeous,” you gestured towards another player, “you can go on Van’s left side.”

After another few minutes, every single one of the Yellowjackets were in place and ready to be photographed. You were about to get started until someone else caught her attention. An excited looking blonde girl with a hopeful look in her eye was watching from the edge of the field. Her blue and yellow jacket stated that she was the equipment manager.

“Hey, Curly, you getting in on this or what?” You shouted towards her. The girl wore an expression of pure shock before changing it to enthusiasm.

“M-me? Really?!”

“Yeah, get over here,” you called casually, not realising how much being included meant to the girl. The young equipment manager ran over and stood on the end, a wide and toothy grin adorning her face.

“Okay guys, let’s do this.”

Once you had taken an adequate amount of group shots, you let everyone go about their warm ups while you did the solo photos of each player. With the promise that they didn’t get too sweaty, of course. These would be their portraits for the year so they had to look good.

You did each one in numerical order, starting with number one: Van

It didn’t take long to get through each girl and when you got to number five, you smiled warmly as the girl approached somewhat nervously.

“Oh hey, if it isn’t tall, dark, and beautiful,” you greeted her as you got your camera ready to take yet another portrait for the team portfolio. “I’m sorry, I got way ahead of myself back there and never actually asked you your name.”

You, once again, were completely oblivious to the deep blush on the girl’s face.

When number five finally reached you, you realised just how tall she actually was in comparison to yourself. The height difference was very apparent.

“Lottie,” the girl introduced herself softly, her voice sounding careful and deliberate as she made eye contact with you for the first time.

“Lottie…” you repeated. “It’s nice to meet you.”

———————

#yellowjackets #Lottie Matthews #lottie matthews x you #lottie matthews x reader #natalie scatorccio #she’s our bff #fanfic #Yellowjackets fanfic #my work #I HATE WRITING FIRST CHAPTERS OMG

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bloodfiendarling · 6 months ago

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𝓶𝔂𝓬𝓮𝓵𝓲𝓾𝓶 𝓽𝓮𝓶𝓹𝓽𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷

a .. anon chan ...? oh my god .. are you a mind reader ? a saint , perhaps ..? ive had a similar idea for months , i just never got to writing it (shy ,,)

thank u so so much for the idv req >_< i didnt think id get any so early .. this fic took heavy inspo from saya no uta , too .. i rlly did give him the fuminori treatment ..

another case of — written by my dick — this is so horrible .. im so sorry frederick sama ..

DEAD DOVE : DO NOT EAT .

pairing — pioneer research!frederick x hallucinated!reader

wc — ~1.1k

contains — coa vii setting, fem reader (the form reader takes , i guess . theyre kind of not real ..), reader referred to with it/its prns, mindfuck, dubcon .? (is it dubcon if hes on shrooms and doing it to himself . i gen dont know, emeto, body horror, hallucinations, reader is a hallucination, self harm (scratching), established past relationship w reader

playing .. mushrooms • mili

even in such a desolate land, frederick still has the desire to create his work — his music. the composer’s desire for creation still persists, and with the chaos, he found inspiration.

…and unluckily for him, he had a slump.

nothing in the current area could inspire him for music. it frustrated him. even as he played away on the abandoned piano he found — nothing quite stuck to him right. it all felt too empty.

so tonight, frederick decided on leaving. just for one night, though. he’ll return by the next morning, of course — it’d be too dangerous to stay any longer. and where’s the harm in it, anyway? him and his team have been hopping from abandoned building to another.. be it to study more about the fungi or just to rest up.

he took a pen and paper, writing a note to leave behind — a short one, but at the very least it told them he’ll be fine… he’s sure qi will be scolding him afterwards, but.. it’d be well worth it.

as he signed it, he left it on the dirty table they’ve been using. taking his gas-mask to leave. the world is barren. everything was abandoned, there were those mushrooms everywhere. everything within frederick’s field of vision was nothing but a wasteland.

after a good, long walk he stumbled upon an abandoned music venue. it was big — it was grand. he’s sure he could find some inspiration and maybe even a new instrument.

little did the composer know, the venue was a big source of mycelium fungi.

he opened the heavy doors, looking around. a big stage in the middle, and seats all around for the audience to sit. it brought him back to his past for a bit — when he was shown on a stage — being praised for his music. ‘it was like a ray of divine light,’ they’d say.

that stage still had a piano on it. he walked between the empty seats, making his way onto the stage. the piano… it somehow still looked brand new, weirdly enough. it even sounded just like so, properly tuned and cared for.

it didn’t feel real. he thought he was dreaming. frederick sat himself down, performing as if there was an audience. he hasn’t gotten the chance to use such high-quality equipment ever since the infection spread.. he’ll definitely stay for a little longer.

even if it wasn’t real.

the composer peeked around backstage, and somehow, it looked clean. nothing like what he’d usually see. an infected corpse, bloodied walls, some mycelium growing.. none of that. it looked polished in here.. he’ll tell his group he found a new place for them when he gets back.

even if it was filthy in a sane man’s eyes.

it was getting late — he could tell that much. he’s sure his group wouldn’t mind if he came back a little later. he has in the past, anyway.. it didn’t make much problems. he sat down, back against a wall, just looking at all the equipment backstage before drifting to a dreamless sleep.

only to be woken up by a horrible sight. everything looked different from last night. no longer was it that clean place he saw the night before. it was horrid. worse than anything he’s ever seen — flesh and mushrooms coating the walls. the floor felt moist, almost as if it were actual meat. and the smell — god, the smell. poor frederick threw his head to the side and threw up. his throat burns. what even happened here..? was last night all fake?

it got worse when he saw those flesh-like veins start to crawl all over body. with wide eyes, he scratched and hit himself. it didn’t hurt, oddly enough. his body felt weirdly numb — though, frederick was a little too disoriented to notice.

“are you okay, frederick?”

he heard a voice. a woman’s voice — you..? how..?

it can’t be real — but it looked and sounded just like reality. just like you. could it be a hallucination..? no, no.. he’s seen how his groupmates reacted to the mycelium’s hallucinogenic spores — none of them ever mentioned anything like this.. he would know. it’s happened to him a few times before, too.

he placed his hand over his gas-mask, only for it to have a fleshy feel. he could see teeth and blood on his palm — panicking, the composer grabbed onto the mask of his, not realizing it was, in fact — his gas-mask. in his mind, it looked like a piece of gore had latched onto his face. he pulled onto it hopelessly. he wanted it off.

“ah, you’ll hurt yourself..” you cup his face, slowly taking the mask off. in frederick eyes, it really was a young woman helping him discard the living flesh off his face — letting him take a breath. though, it was nothing like that in reality.

he had just taken off his mask in a high risk area.

it felt like fresh air — though he was overwhelmed by the smell of rot after a few seconds, gagging. he can’t help but still see ‘you’ as a fake. but he can’t help but still give in.

“what are you doing here by yourself, anyway..?” it asks.

his jaw locked up, he can’t say anything. frederick looks down, he looks ashamed, almost. why? he didn’t know, either. he just knew whatever it was, it was you — and he’ll believe entirely.

“does it hurt, frederick?” it asks, caressing frederick’s cheek. ‘you’ could see a few red scratch marks on them.. ah.. the way it said those words — alongside those gentle actions. it really was you here in his mind. he can’t help but nod, pressing his knees against his chest and rambling nonsense.

“everything — all of it hurts.” he mumbled. ‘you’ wanted to comfort the composer. and he wanted that comfort, too — he longed for you after you disappeared. who knew he’d find you here of all places.

“do you want me to make you feel good, frederick?”

of course he did. he wanted you again. he missed you. he craved for you. your warmth. you. the composer didn’t care if this ‘you’ wasn’t real.

he watched you climb on top of him, pressing featherlight kisses onto him. as if fungi wasn’t already seeping into his tongue. frederick wrapped his arms around ‘you’ — when in reality they were enveloping himself — scratching red, bloody lines into his skin.

more openings for the spores to use him as a host. for ‘you’ to use him as a dear host.

frederick’s nose started bleeding, some of it had gotten into his ear — though, he paid no mind to it.. it felt like little kisses and bites on his earlobe — just like how you did it back then.

he felt your hands around his neck, how your lips felt against them, too. ah, he was in pure bliss. even if the room looked and smelled like rot — at least ‘you’ — no, it — was here to make him forget about everything.

maybe the rest of his group wouldn’t mind if he just left..

maybe he should stay just a little longer

idv masterlist ♥︎

#♱ library of ruins .#♱ bitter chocolate .#♱ butcher vanity .#✸ oletus manor .#✸ call of abyss .#✦ frederick kreiburg .#i hope i dont scare anyone with this ..#walks away ..#frederick kreiburg #frederick kreiburg x reader #idv #identity v #idv x reader #frederick x reader #dark content #dead dove do not eat #dead dove

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wallpapers4screen · 15 days ago

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#Windows 10 blue logo #4k #X-ray #high quality #hi-tech blue background #Windows 10 logo #Windows logo #creative art #blue neon light #Windows #wallpapers

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melanirana · 1 year ago

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A Tune and a Drink

singer!reader x bartender!sun/ moon

Suprise! Have a little something. You are a singer in the 1930's and two specific bartenders have caught your eye, just like you have caught theirs.

I even have a musik recommendation for this one. Habits - Vintage 1930's cover and Levitating - 1920s style cover by PostmodernJukebox on YouTube. Check em' out they're really good.

with that said, enjoy

It’s the 1930’s, the era of glamour, fashion, parties but most of all, good music. Big cities are getting bigger, new opportunities arise on all sides, technology is advancing and you are right in the middle of it.

You are known throughout the whole city, not famous enough to be known across states but known enough that clubs and bars fight to have you sing on their stage. To have you bless their establishments with your voice and draw in the people, so these people make their bar The City Bar.

Whenever you agree to sing at their club they make it known immediately. Whether that is through the newspaper, telling their guests who tell it their acquaintances, or hanging papers around the city.

“downright heavenly”

“the voice of an angel”

“as powerful as it’s wonderful”

“rich with a beautiful smoky undertone” they call your voice. A bit of an exaggeration you think, you can agree on the smoky undertone but the rest. It must be because you hear your voice every day, when you wake from sleep, when you talk, when you warm up, when you practice when you sing.

But other people only hear you when you sing, it isn’t often it is a special occasion, it is desired it is sought after. To them it means so much and therefore it means so much to you. To sing for people, to lighten their day, to make them happy.

There is barely ever you turn down an offer to sing, it is simply a matter of when you have time again. More often than not you don’t come back to a bar for a month or two, too busy singing somewhere else, writing, or any other reason.

So why is it, that even with such a full schedule, you always find time to come back to sing at one certain high-profile bar named Celestias.

People wonder. Is it close to home. Do you have a deal with the bar. Does it mean something to you. Is it the celebrities that frequent this establishment. Or is it simply the wonderful view of the river that divides the city, that flows right by the building.

All good guesses, but utterly wrong.

The reason you keep returning is the bar, those how tend to it specifically. Two highly advanced Animatronics.

Metal polished like a brand new 540 K Special-Roadster, but not just a car. Highly advanced machinery capable of many things, but not an industrial machine. Eyes that see, hands that move, mouths that speak, but not human.

The robot pair is truly unique with their circular faces and wonderful colors. One bright as a golden Charleston-dress under a chandelier, eyes so wonderfully bleu they seem to be carved out of the ocean itself with a crown of metallic rays. The other shines like a blue evening gown under a low light, eyes as dangerous and enticing as a ruby with a long silk night cap that looks like it was sewn from the night sky.

Both with crescents that split their faces in the fashion of theater masks.

Both wear high-quality suits, the black of the suits contrast with their color, making their color shine even more and complementing their long limbs. A thick tie sits at the base of their slim metal necks, the end tucked neatly into their suits. The golden animatronic’s tie is a rich scarlet as well as his half gloves that always cover the animatronic’s hands. The blue animatronic’s tie and gloves contrast his counterparts wonderfully with their deep navy blue.

The robots are the bar's pride and joy, placed where everybody passes by, and the reason why they come here. The bar.

You noticed the animatronics the first time you visited, they were hard to miss as the owner proudly showed you them, even when it was from across the room. After that you had no time to pay the two bartenders any mind, quickly surrounded by people eager to meet you followed by your performance only to once again be surrounded by more people.

It was only your third visit that you truly saw them, and saw them you did. In the middle of your performance your gaze wandered to the bar, and what you saw was the golden robot cleaning a glass and looking at you.

You were no stranger to being looked at, your place was the stage after all, but the way the robot looked at you was different from the usual. Almost love-struck in that wonderful half-lidded lazy smile kind of way.

Your response to the animatronic’s gaze was a particular smile while singing a more romantic part of your song. This would have people hiding their faces as they reddened, have them melting on the table they are leaning on, or your favorite, bring a hand to their face as they hide their giddy giggles.

This however was not the response you got from the bartender.

Instead, you got a raised eyebrow and an amused smile, the robot placed the glass below the counter without braking eye contact. “Are you sure?” he said without making a sound. A challenge.

A challenge that you accepted.

For the rest of your performance during any particular romantic part of the song you made sure to let your gaze glide to the bar and exchange look with it’s bartender. His expression had changed ever so slightly from the first time you caught him looking. Still mostly the same but now with a hint of danger mixed in.

You could feel the tension between the bar and the stage rise with each exchanged look, neither of you breaking eye contact during the few seconds you had.

It was the most exciting performance you had in a long while, but it had to come to an end. The night just started and you needed to save your voice for your continued performance later in the night.

Immediately you were surrounded and distracted by people once you started your brake. Even though you couldn’t see the bartender you were pretty sure he saw you. Shortly after you began your brake a waiter came up to you, on a silver platter sat a single beautiful decorated crystal glass. The glass is short and wide like a whisky glass.

A rich orange liquid filled the short glass to a perfect half. When you asked the waiter who sent you the drink he simply said ��It’s on the house.” You had ever the slightest hunch from whom it came. When you sipped from the glass the taste of honey sweet and yet smoky whisky filled your mouth, followed by a fruity aftertaste.

You couldn’t help the little that spread on your lips.

Later in the evening, your performance continued. But this time it was not the golden robot tending to the bar but his blue counterpart. A little childish part of you wanted to make the two bartenders jealous of each other, make them vie for your attention.

While resting the owner had told you more about the robots, how highly advanced they were, how they are unique and that there is no second pair like them, how they work together like a well-oiled machine. “Almost like twins,” he said.

‘Twins’

Maybe you can cause a little bit of a sibling rivalry then.

Nothing too bad, just a little bit of fun.

You didn’t even need to get the robot's attention, when you let your gaze wander to the bar he was already giving it all to you. You went through the whole routine again, you smile at the bartender during a romantic part of the song, he raises one eyebrow in a challenge and you accept.

And just like his counterpart, he did not break eye contact as the few seconds you had each song ticked by.

This went on for a few songs until his counterpart returned. When you looked back to the bar you saw the two of them talking, the blue one facing away from you and the other blocked by his counterpart. They looked neither irate or iterated, rather they looked natural at least from what you could tell during those few seconds before you returned your gaze to the guest.

Oh, too bad.

Maybe they figured out what you trying to do and decided to ignore you then. You couldn’t really blame them, even if you did. A fun challenge ended because you wanted some excitement in your life.

When next you returned your gaze to the bar you where meet not by one but two pairs of glowing eyes, both pairs half lidded accompanied by lazy smiles. The two robots have banded together.

Two robots band together against you in order to win this challenge, that is known only to you three. They might have been at a numbers advantage, but if they thought that you were going to let them win they were in the wrong. You were not going to back out just because it got more exciting.

And so this challenge went on for the rest of the evening and into the night, unbeknownst to the other guests in the large room.

By the time your performance ended it was well into the night, the sun was long gone and the moon took its place in the sky.

And just like always the moment you step off the stage you were surrounded by people eager to snag all your attention for themselves. You gave them your attention, but not all. Just like on stage, you glanced towards the bar but there were no eyes meeting you.

The bartenders had returned to their duty, now that your performance was over the guests wanted their drinks. Both animatronics hands move at impossible speed around the bar, you were surprised they didn’t knock anything over at the speed at which they were moving.

Your challengers are distracted by their duty so you allowed yourself the be distracted as well.

Not long after a different waiter came up to you, on the silver platter a tall wide decorated crystal glass. It almost looked like a whine glass but not quite, that moment you decided that you’d have to brush up on your glass etiquette. The liquid inside this glass was deep red, along the edge a ring of sugar.

Again as you asked who this is from the waiter said “It is on the house.”

You toke a sip and the sweet flavor of wine spread across your tongue along with a light taste of citrus from the ring around the glass.

That’s when you decided you have to come back and come back often.

And so you did.

Over the following months, you were at the bar at the very least once a month. Every time without fail, after you went on brake or finished your performance, a waiter would come up to you with a wonderfully decorated glass and the best-tasting drink inside of it.

Once, when your voice wasn’t the best to the point where it was hard to miss that you weren’t at your best, a waiter brought you a simple glass, inside was warm milk with honey when you asked who sent it the answer was “The bar.”

Months and months have past, and a good amount of change happened both in your career and in your relation ship with the bartenders.

Career-wise you have taken off. Now recognized and sought after outside the state you were busy going to new locations, meeting new people, meeting contemporaries, and singing your new songs.

You were outside the city more often and longer, but you made it a point to always drop by your bartenders.

Your bartenders, with whom you have not exchanged a single word since you first saw each other. The bartenders with whom your relationship has developed past a simple challenge.

The looks you exchange have not increased in length, which was nigh impossible while you stand on stage, but they have increased intensity.

Their looks are no longer love-struck but devouring. Every time they look at you they drink up your entire being, as if your existence and your existence alone keeps them alive. They now let their eyes wander across your form, you never see them doing it but you can feel their eyes on you.

As their eyes travel up and down your body, drinking it in. The way you move, the way your costume lays against your skin, the slightest of wrinkles in your clothing, the smallest of hairs it doesn’t matter. They absorb it all, like a flower after drought drinking up all the water it can get.

That night when you first noticed their eyes traveling you, you almost lost the challenge.

When your gaze followed the path it took so many times before, you saw them. Sitting behind the bar counter, leaning on it as they rested their faces in their hands. They had no shame as they showered you with their affection, attention, adoration and anything else they could give you through their eyes alone.

You immediately felt your face heat up and the urge to hide your face but you caught yourself before you looked away. Your cheeks remained a soft shade of pink trough the rest of the night and your singing had a bit more pep in your step.

Not long after you reviled a new song that made big waves and that caused you to become more known. A song about the sun and the moon, how the singer basks in the sun's warm light, how the singer would follow the moon's beautiful light anywhere and never feel alone, how the singer oh so loves the celestial bodies and their wonderful light, how they wouldn’t know how to live without them.

You let the song spread before you visited your favorite bar again, you wanted to play with them before returning the favor of a warm face. And play with them you did. You teased, called members of the audience the sun and the moon, said how the song is devoted to all and everyone. You played up how this song is to remind of the things one easily takes for granted and that whole spiel.

In the corner of your eye you could see how the robots seemed to deflate with each word. It hurt, and a lot more than you expected but you had to do it so it would hit just as hard as their affection.

When the part came where the singer talks about their love for the sun and moon you let your gaze wander before firmly landing on the bartenders, you had not looked to them before this part of the song. You didn’t care to hide your smug smile on your face as you look at your dear bartenders.

And it worked, like a charm.

They went rigid as they listened to the words coming out of your mouth, completely and fully directed at them.

The cheeks of the robots started to glow a bright orange as some mechanism in their face began to overheat, small puffs of steam expelled from their joints as they tried to cool themselves. And just like you, they almost lost the challenge.

Those few seconds felt like hours, hours their eyes were glued onto you before you released them. From the corner of your eye you could see them fanning their face, desperately trying to cool the mechanism in their face and failing.

For the rest of your performance, their cheeks remained a soft warm orange.

And now, here you are.

Sitting in front of your vanity in your brand new apartment right above your favorite bar. The owner had gifted it to you as a thanks for visiting the bar so often and coincidentally bringing in more guests and therefore income.

Said guests have started to slowly leave the bar below as it is about to close. You can hear the distant chatter of people through your open balcony door. After one more look at yourself in your vanity mirror, checking your makeup and hair to see if it is acceptable to leave your apartment in these conditions, you get up the close the balcony door.

The chatter has significantly lessened since the beginning of closing time. The few people outside must be the last stragglers.

The bar is now officially closed.

When you return to your vanity you catch yourself in the mirror again. Your simple dark blue dress pants reach slightly over your ankle. They blend well together with your black shoes, they are not your highest shoe when it comes to heel shoes but your favorite, they give you just a few inches more.

A light green poke dot poncho hangs from your shoulders, down to your thighs. It's loose and frilly, one of your favorites. It shows enough of your silhouette but not too much, even if that doesn’t really matter since you’ve worn very form-fitting costumes on stage before.

And yet again you contemplate your looks, you have been doing this for far too long. Changing outfits, makeup, hairstyles and changing the outfit again.

You never have trouble picking an outfit for performances before. So why is it that you are struggling now to pick an outfit, your not even preparing for a performance.

You just want to finally actually meet your bartenders.

You have been exchanging looks with them for months, basically flirted with each other back and forth. Hell, you have even confessed each other's love for one another. You wrote an entire song to do it.

So why are you so nerves.

You look at yourself in the mirror for many moments and as the doubts about your clothing start to make their way back in your head and gnawing at your confidence, you all but run out the door. If you change again you’ll never meet the two.

They are already head over heels for you and so are you.

You make your way down the stairs. The staircase is illuminated by small decorative lamps along the walls, their colored glass shades bath the space in a warm yellow. With a rhythmic tack tack tack of your heals you make your way down the stairs.

Once you’re at the bottom you stand in the back hallways of the bar. No simple guest is allowed back here and yet the hallways are equally as decorated as the main floor. You haven’t had time to familiarize yourself with the all corridors, but you know the way to the stage entrance.

The path is well light and as you step on to the backstage, slowly you pass the curtain that decorates the side of the stage, the light just above welcomes you as always. Your heart is beating like insane in your chest and you have to take a couple of deep breaths to calm before you fully step out onto the stage.

The view of this usably packed place, now completely empty is more than a bit strange but that is not what you focus on. You focus on the bar and its lack of attendants. The bar sits completely empty, there is not a single metallic shine of robotic limbs to be seen. To say your heart drops would be an understatement.

Did you miss them, they should be here, they are always behind the bar. Do they just leave once the bar is closed.

Where are they.

As fear begins to pluck at your heartstrings, what if you don’t meet them now, will you ever actually meet them. Are the three of you cursed to only look at each other.

Suddenly a muffled noise from somewhere even further behind the bar gets your attention. You walk to the very edge of the stage and lean over the edge to listen for that muffled noise again.

It sounds like a conversation. And just when you think that it might be them, you see a flash of blue pass by a doorway in the bar’s wall that you didn’t even notice was there. All these months you look at the bar and nerve noticed that it has a backroom, well you were more so looking at the bartenders. But that doesn’t matter now, they are still here, you didn’t miss them.

Immediately your mood brightens by the power of the sun. You hop of the stage as quietly as possible and tiptoe your way to the bar counter. Easier said than done thanks to your heals.

You are full of energy and nerves, your heart is doing leaps in your chest. You are as giddy as a kid whose dad is taking them to the toys shop to pick out a new toy.

In an attempt to stop the giggle building in your throat you bite your tongue. However that doesn’t stop the stupid smile on your face from spreading.

In on swift and quite motion you sit yourself on one of the bar chairs. You remain unnoticed. On top of the bar counter are two little bras bells, one with details painted in yellow and the other in blue. You have a hunch for what these bells are for.

Past the door, the conversation between the unknowing animatronics continues. You take one deep breath, then you ring both bells at once with a gentle tap of your finger. The sound the bells make is beautiful and light, but your trained ear can hear that one of the bells has a bit more reverb than the other.

The conversation comes to a stop and hear what you think is a synthetic sigh. Then out from the door steps one of your dear bartenders. His rays catch the light from above and give him the appearance of a glowing crown. His wonderful blue eyes don’t meet yours as he looks down to his hands where he works on putting his red half-glove back on his exposed hand.

His had is a wonderful shining chrome, the tips of his fingers are a brilliant yellow.

When he speaks his voice is butter-smooth and honey-sweet when he talks. “The bar is closed for tonight.” He sounds exhausted, like he had to have this conversation often. “I’ll have to ask you to leave-“

He finally looks up and meets your eyes, immediately freezing mid-step. He looks at you wide-eyed, surprised to see you of all people here.

“Oh, if you don’t want me here I can leave again.” You say as you turn on the chair as if to get up. “Ah- No. Stay.” The animatronic blurts out as he steps closer to the counter, one ungloved hand stretch out as if to stop you from leaving.

You lean back on the counter and smile at the sunbot, resting your head on the palm of your hand. “I’ll stay then.”

“Yes stay here.” The animatronic says quietly, sweetly, as he moves even closer. He drinks in your very being like he did so many times before, only closer now.

Your face warms up, about to catch fire. Already you can tell, that if he speaks even more sweetly to you, this will be a lethal encounter.

At least you know the names of your demise, after all the bar owner proudly told you their names during your very first performance.

From behind your Sun his counterpart emerges, his nightcap lazily resting on his shoulder, he is also not wearing his half gloves. Just like his counterpart, his hands are a shining chrome and his fingertips are a deep blue.

“Sun, what’s going on?”

You just about die. His voice is nothing short of heavenly. Deep and lush, simply beautiful. You can feel the vibration of his voice down your spine.

The lunar bot meets your eyes and visibly brightens. “Oh~.” You are deceased. “Finally decided to visit us~.” The animatronic says with a grin, showing his sharp teeth. He steps around his counterpart and stands next to him.

“Oh, you know. I had nothing else to do.” You lean forward, closer to them and fold your fingers together before resting your head on them. Both robots lean forward as well, closing the distance between you even more.

“Plus, I thought things were getting a bit boring, so I thought we make it a bit more exiting.” The smile that spreads across your face is smug.

Both bots raise their eyebrows, just like they did the first time. “More exciting? And how might we do that.” The golden bot asks.

Without saying a word you free your hand and reach for the sun bots face. His gaze follows your hand. Gently and slowly you reach under the bots chin and lift it, from where he was looking down at your hand, to look at you.

“Oh, nothing too big.” You say sweetly.

His internal workings kick into overdrive, the wiring inside his chest becomes louder, puffs of steam seep through his suit and the metal of his cheeks becomes a hot orange. The rays around his face fold back against his head and he stammers something before he wraps his hand around yours and removes it from his face as it is getting to hot.

However, he doesn’t let go of your hand.

Next to him, Moon lets out a dark chuckle and it’s your turn to melt.

“Playing the jealousy game again?” The bot accuses you amused. “It was worth a try. Don’t you think?” You retort playfully.

He chuckles again. His gaze lands on Sun who has slightly recovered from your flirt, now he examines your hand with a loving fascination. You follow Moon's gaze and watch Sun as he gently turns over your hand.

It is only then that you realize how much bigger Sun's hand is compared to yours, his hand completely engulfs your with ease. A few seconds later you realize how much bigger they are in general. Sitting at a bar with a human bartender, you see eye to eye but with these two you have to crane your neck to look them in the eye, even if they are already hunched over.

So lost in your realization, you barely notice the hand that is coming towards your face. Blue fingertips gently tuck a strand of hair behind your ear before tracing your skin and cupping your face.

You can't help but lean into the cool chrome hand and let out a small sigh. You relax as a cool thump softly draws circles on your cheek and yellow-tipped fingers work their way up your arm.

And there you remain for longer, with your dear bartenders, no longer confined to look at you, but now able to touch you just as gently as they looked at you.

#A tune and a drink #fnaf au #fnaf sun and moon #fnaf moon #fnaf sun #sun x reader #moon x reader #daycare attendant fnaf #bartender!Sun #bartender!Moon #singer!yn #fnaf security breach #fanfic

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gouraminnow · 7 months ago

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Galley on 4th

Pt. 1 (Modern AU- Yandere Thatch x gender neutral reader)

On Ao3 | Pt. 2

Raising your kid sister all by yourself is hard enough on it's own. But add classes, poverty, and several jobs to juggle and the pressure builds awfully fast. Most employers will drop you on a whim and it's all you can do to stay afloat... So when you somehow manage to land a well-paying position at The Galley on 4th Avenue, a famous, high-end place run by some well renowned Chef- You're desperate to hold things down. Good thing your new Boss is so friendly and understanding, huh?

Warnings: General yandere sketchiness. Pretty light this chapter but Thatch is a liiitle creepy. Panic attacks, reader injury, very brief mention of an overdose(not reader) and THE LENGTH OF THIS DAMN THING.

Thank you @hannahbarberra162 for beta reading this monstrosity and helping me iron out some bits!

Biking uphill is such a pain.

It’s cold today, a soft gray drizzle gradually soaking through your clothes. The cold brings a slow, tired ache to your joints too, not at all aided by the deadweight of the backpack pulling the meat of your shoulders down and back. Your chest is almost painfully tight, the fog of your labored breath released in short, steady puffs as your left foot occasionally catches awkwardly on its respective pedal. Even through the thick soles of your work boots, you could feel the wad of duct tape you had hastily wrapped it in when you found a jagged crack down the center, “hamburger style” your little sister had said.

At least the view was pretty. You were high up enough to see over downtown, a sliver of the beach and boardwalk, and the darkened water beyond it. Rays of light pierced through the cloud cover, illuminating sheets of rain as they fell like gauzy curtains onto the dreary cityscape below. The air smelled crisp, and if it weren’t for the chill, you might prefer to stay outside and find somewhere to relax. But your shift starts in twenty minutes. Thankfully, you’re making good time despite your exertion.

Once you hit the top of this hill, The Galley on 4th Avenue would be three blocks away. It’s your second job, and far nicer than the little diner you worked some of your mornings at. Not that the bar was all that high, of course. You hadn’t known it when you went in for the interview, but apparently the owner was somewhat famous, which explained why the place was fancier than you expected. Thatch Newgate, part of some hotshot rich family, or something like that. You had more important things to care about. At least he was nice. Hopefully this would translate into higher wages- lord knows the diner owed you one after single-handedly reorganizing and repackaging everything in storage to avoid food safety violations- but you weren’t gonna get your hopes up. At least the starting pay here was higher and the place was clean before you got there. Your sister would get mopey if you refused to bring her anything from this restaurant job, too.

Speaking of, what should you bring back for the little Grub? You didn’t get food from work often- it was a treat you save for the end of the week or special occasions. Employee discounts don’t do much, especially with how much nicer this job is. You’ve admittedly been spoiling her- you’ve only been a server at The Galley for roughly a month, and your proximity to quality food is just too tempting. There was a new soup you haven’t tried- a fragrant stew with tender lamb and little pearl onions. You could get a couple servings to take back, and some of the buttery rolls you both like. Maybe you could finally spring for one of those cartoonish roasts with the bone still sticking out, that would leave you both with leftovers. Or, you could forego a hearty main course and bring her one of those fancy desserts, instead. She hasn’t tried creme brulee before and you’re sure she’d love it-

There’s a sharp jolt, and your train of thought is utterly derailed when your front tire catches on a pothole concealed by a shallow puddle. “Ugh! Shit!” You scramble, feet struggling to steady yourself against the ground, but you’ve already lost control, awkwardly tumbling to the left and onto the wet asphalt. You catch yourself with your hand, the cold sting of rocks and pebbles digging into the meat of your palm as the sharp jolt of the impact shoots from your wrist up to your elbow. “Fuck!” You hiss, hauling your bike up onto the curb. Ugh, the water’s in your shoes. Your socks are utterly soaked. You swing your old backpack off, an old canvas thing you’d found second hand after the one you’d had since you were 12 finally gave up on this world and fell apart at the seams. Checking it over, it thankfully wasn’t soaked. You had your work uniform and a nicer pair of shoes wrapped in plastic grocery bags, but your textbooks had nothing. It was the wild west for them. Maybe you should wrap them up… following that, you properly turn your attention to your hand. A sizable scrape accompanied by a few small pebbles embedded into your skin, specks of grit littering the surface. You wince as you try to gently pry them out, wiping your hands on the front of your sweater. A small jolt of pain shoots up your arm again at the motion. Shit. Did you sprain it? Oh, god damn it!

You sigh. Well, your job is less than a block away. Grumbling, you stand your bike up, deciding to walk it for what remains of your route. You gently rotate your injured wrist as you go, trying to gauge how bad it is. It’s not quite a sprain, you think, though the adrenaline could be dulling some of the pain. You sigh, guiding your bike to cut across the parking lot and behind the building. You always lock it up there, in the nice little patio area the back door opens up into. There were a couple tables with four chairs each, and wooden benches facing inward whose backs formed a sort of fence along the perimeter. The whole thing is topped with soft string lights hung from the pale-brown awning sheltering the concrete brickwork of the patio floor. The little rest area was nice enough that occasionally some… “difficult” customers claimed to mistake it for a smaller outdoor seating area. Maybe you’d believe them, if it weren’t for both the signs saying otherwise and it being very clearly separate from where they were actually meant to sit- the much larger and better furnished patio on the right side of the building that also happens to be lacking in nearby dumpsters.

You lean your bike up against the back of the bench, securing it with an old corded lock looped through the wooden slats, and make your way inside. Pushing open the door, you sigh when the rush of warm air envelops you. You take a moment to just stand there and enjoy it, before heading to the breakroom. This was the nicest rest area you’d seen at any of your jobs, let alone a restaurant. At the diner, you’d just sit in one of the booths, but The Galley practically had a lounge in comparison. One large red couch pushed against the back wall, accompanied by a coffee table and a small, squeaky arm chair. There was a kitchenette on the other side of the room, but you’d seen your coworkers use the main kitchen on their breaks if things weren’t busy. It made you nervous, but you weren’t a snitch. In the adjacent corner to the kitchenette rests a larger table, a sturdy wooden piece a few shades lighter than the dark oak flooring. There were a number of differently colored tablecloths that could be swapped out- right now, it was a red and white checkered pattern, like a picnic blanket.

You set your backpack down on the armchair, the bite of the old canvas straps fading into a dull ache, and roll your now unburdened shoulders with a satisfied hum. You go to fetch the first aid kit from under the sink- one of several on the premises, of course. You crouch down to open the blue laminate doors- leaning forward to grab the bright red box and-

BANG

The doors to the kitchens slam open and you jump, banging your head on the ceiling of the little cupboard. “FUCK! UGH!” You yell before you can help yourself, whirling around to see the shocked faces of… Millie, a younger coworker with promising culinary talent, and your boss, Thatch. The man is mid-wince, with a light lopsided grimace on his face as he sucks some air in through his teeth. Millie has her hands raised in front of her mouth, wide eyes framed by her messy brown hair and the big circular glasses she wears. “Oh my god! I’m so sorry!” She starts, rushing towards you as you rub your head, wincing at the jolt that runs through your wrist. Right. Bad arm. Your good one has the kit. Well, if there’s a good time to be injured, you guess it would be now. “I didn’t mean to slam the door like that, I just- I’m sorry for surprising you!” She continues, sinking to the floor beside you. Poor kid can be just as nervous as she is talented. It rarely fails to activate your “Big Sibling” mode, which is funny since your own sister isn’t anxious like that at all.

“I-it’s fine, kid, don’t worry-” You start, but Millie keeps going.

“Were you getting the- here, let me help! I know you’re the med student but I can take a look at your head-” She reaches for your face and you instinctively jerk away.

“Millie!” She stops, shoulders tensing, hands held against her chest. “Millie, I’m serious, it’s really not that big of a deal,” you try to assure her, but judging by the looks on their faces, your smile is just as strained as it feels. Millie’s lips are pressed into a thin line, wobbling slightly. You try again. “Sorry, sorry for yelling. I didn’t mean to freak you out.” You reach for her shaking hands, gently clasping them between your own. “This isn’t something to get worked up over. I was more surprised than hurt, honestly. And even if I was, it was an accident. You can chill.” Millie exhales slowly, slowly relaxing a little bit. That’s good. Your eyes slide over to Thatch and his… impressive hairdo. He’s watching quietly now, arms crossed with a soft smile. “My only worry is getting in trouble for ‘unprofessional language’ at the moment.”

That earns a good-natured snort from your boss, who waves a hand dismissively. “Oh please, if I had an issue with that, I’d have to fire every line cook we’ve got. And you always get here early, so there are a couple things I’m willing to overlook. If anything, you’ve earned the profanity.” You quirk an eyebrow, releasing Millie’s hands to gather the kit and stand up.

“Kinda sounds like you’re keeping track. Is it measured? Do I earn swear words based on how many times I get here before my shift, or is it based on the number of minutes left before it starts?”

“Hmm. We can workshop it,” he says jovially, and when you hear Millie giggle, the strained smile you’d plastered onto yourself relaxes into something more genuine. “So, what were you getting that out for, anyway?” he asks, gesturing to the kit you’d risked life and cranium for. “Does it have to do with how drenched you are? It isn’t raining that hard.”

You chuckle nervously, opening your mouth to assure him it’s really no big deal, to just let you take care of it, when your thoughts are interrupted by Millie exclaiming “Oh!” You both turn to look at the girl, who is looking at her hands with that same wide-eyed anxious look. “Y-you, um, you bled on me? You’re bleeding?” She says, holding out her right hand to show the little bit of blood you’d accidentally smeared onto the back when you tried to comfort her.

“Ah! That’s- oh my god, that’s so gross, I’m sorry kid,” you start rambling. Now it’s your turn to be flustered. You look down at your hand, and sure enough the blood is still oozing out. “I just fell on my way here. I wasn’t thinking about it when I touched you, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay! M-maybe I could look at it?” Millie starts, but Thatch gently puts a hand on her shoulder.

“Nah. Why don’t you go wash your hands, and head back to the kitchen to tell the others about that appetizer idea you had? I’ll take care of our friend here. Don’t worry about it.” Your eye twitches a little bit at that. He’s not your friend- he’s your boss, and you have boundaries regarding superiors getting buddy-buddy, thank you very much. But it’s not worth mentioning, at this point. It’s small, he’s saying it to comfort Millie, and he’s already doing you a favor. He’s never actually crossed the line, you’re just… a bit jaded, maybe?

“Are… are you sure?” Millie asks, glancing between you and the blood smeared over the backs of her knuckles.

You smile gently. “Yep. It’s all fine. Go tell everyone about the thing. And let me know too, if you find a minute once I’m up and running.” You assure.

Millie flushes, tilting her head and looking off to the side bashfully. “It’s nothing that special…” she mumbles, shuffling past you to use the sink. “We just have a lot of cauliflower and only two menu items that call for it…”

You giggle at the comment but nearly jump out of your skin when your boss lays a hand on your right arm. “Sorry, sorry,” he says, hands raised flat in front of him. “Would you hand me that? Let me see your hand.” His voice is soft, and he’s looking at you with that warm look again- the one that really accentuates the crinkles around the older man’s eyes.

You aren’t sure how to feel.

Your boss is pretty friendly, to say the least. It really threw you for a loop when you first started working- you’d been preparing yourself for the predatory bloodsuckers you were used to, the ones who’d wring as many hours as possible while looking for any excuse to dock your pay. Practiced smiles and an ego stroked by exacting power over impoverished retail and fast-food employees. Any friendliness out of these people came with an agenda, and you’d always found it endlessly infuriating how someone so pathetic held so much sway over whether or not you’d get to eat. The Galley was probably the nicest place you’d ever worked- so you expected the attitude to be similar. You went in with your guard up, but the friendliness you’ve been met with thus far seemed genuine. The way that man effortlessly pulled you in despite your reservations was… unnerving. You barely even register that you’ve handed him the bright red box until he’s already holding it.

You blink, then mentally shake yourself off, choosing to finally shuck off your sweater. At least it’s wool, so you aren’t all that cold despite being soaked. The sink shuts off, and Millie rushes past both of you with a quick “See ya!” You smile softly again. She’s a good kid.

“Could I take a look at that now?” Your boss speaks up gently. You look back up at him, at the concerned crease in his brow, the dark eyes scanning over your wrist.

“It’s really not that big of a deal, sir, I can t-take care of it myself,” you try to assure, tensing when he frowns.

“I’m sure you can, but you don’t have to. Hmm… it’s swelling,” he says, moving a warm palm gently resting against your forearm, slowly lifting it. Now that you get a better look at it, you wince. Shit, it’s probably a sprain after all. He clicks his tongue, eyes sliding from your wrist to your face. You don’t meet his gaze. “What happened?”

“I fell on the way here, like I said. Dumb accident,” you mumble. He doesn’t say anything, just keeps looking at you. You start to sweat a little. Thatch knew you biked here- but even so, transportation was something you preferred to be vague about. Even if he knew you didn’t have a car, you didn’t want to draw attention to it. Incidents like this could be used against you, potentially creating the argument that you didn’t qualify for the position due to a ‘lack of reliable transportation.’ It was bullshit, but it didn’t mean they couldn’t do it. “It’s not a big deal, I promise. I don’t want to waste anyone’s time,” you insist, and he sighs.

“Do you want to take a night off? We both know this doesn’t look good…” he speaks tentatively and gently, but you still jolt, finally looking him in the eye.

“Wh-? No! No no no, it’s fine, I can still work!” You cringe inwardly for sounding so frantic. You’re reminded of a time where Grub had gone home with a school friend without telling you, sending you into hysterics when she hadn't gotten off the bus. You shake yourself off- you aren’t anywhere near that freaked out at the moment, but it was a memory that always encouraged you to calm down. “I can still… I’ll just carry less plates at one time, or something. I promise it’s fine,” you say, calmer this time, but he doesn’t seem convinced.

“C’mon, I know you’re pre-med,” he says softly, lowering your arm.

“Yeah, so I’ve got a decent idea of how bad it is, and what my limits are,” you huff impatiently. The sooner you can go change, the sooner you get this shift over with.

“So you know that it’s probably a sprain.”

Your eye twitches. “Yes, and I know how to wrap and tape it. There’s an elastic bandage in the kit.” Goddamnit, drop it. You need this shift, you promised Grub something good to eat, and you need to get her some decent winter boots.

He tries again. “You should see an actual doctor.”

“Not bad enough to be worth it with my budget.”

“Carrying dishes out to customers could make it even worse-”

“I’ve done harder jobs in worse condition.” Your voice raises slightly.

His brows furrow. “You shouldn’t-”

“I have to!” You spit, cutting him off before you can stop yourself. “I need the fucking hours, don’t patroni-” you cut yourself off abruptly.

There’s a beat of stunned silence. The blood rushing in your ears far outweighs the clatter of dishes and pleasant chatter of coworkers drifting in from the kitchens- people whose names you haven’t even memorized yet. You tuck your chin against your chest and stare down at the floor. You… can’t talk like that. Your body goes rigid, stomach clenching. You absolutely cannot talk like that. This is the best job you’ve had. “Sorry, m’sorry, sir.” It’s a whisper, and the sentiment feels laughably hollow. Your tongue feels heavy and numb in your mouth, like a big useless hunk of lead. You’ve been fired for less. How could you be so stupid? So utterly, laughably stupid? Damn it, damn him- you’d never argued like that with other employers, you knew better. His grating, incessant friendliness, despite your caution, despite knowing from the start that it could lure you into a false sense of security, must have gotten the better of you. You got too comfortable somehow- there’s no other explanation for how you hadn’t even spared a second thought to the idea of arguing with your damn boss. Should you plead your case? Apologize again? No, it’s over. It has to be. “I’ll…” there’s a painful lump in your throat. Getting the words out feels like dragging boulders up and out of your own big, stupid gullet. “I can just go. I don’t… k-keep anything here, anyway. Nothing to… clear out…”

There’s a movement, a flash in the corner of your eye- the shadow of a familiar raised hand is pulled from the depths of your brain and you jerk backwards, eyes blown wide, reflexively guarding your face-

Both of you are frozen for a moment. You can feel him staring at you, hear your name being called coaxingly.

“Hey,” he says softly. “Just… Come sit down and let me wrap that up for you, okay?”

“...Right.”

You don’t really make any conscious decision to sit down so much as you just find yourself at the table in a chair turned sideways, facing your boss with your arm outstretched. His hair blocks out one of the lights from where you’re sitting, and it almost makes you crack a smile, but you don’t. You’re wordless as he gently dabs your palm with a disinfectant pad, eyes searching your blank face for something. His brows furrow a little. Does he want something? Are you being too quiet? There’s a soft inhale. “You…” He pauses, sighs, broad shoulders slumping as he leans forward- you instinctively move back, and he stops. “Sorry.” He’s quiet for a moment, maybe waiting for you to say something. When you don’t, he continues. “You don’t need to be so nervous, alright? I try to take care of my people here,” he speaks softly, laying a light square of gauze over the angry red flesh of your scraped palm. There’s another small jolt of indignation. Again with the familiarity. You aren’t his anything.

… But you really can’t risk another little outburst.

“You don’t need to work tonight,” he says, warm murmur grounding you as he starts to wrap your arm. “But I won’t make you leave, either, if you’re… Really sure about this.” Your brows furrow. You don’t understand why he’s being so… Nice. You’d had a dishwashing job before this- it was mostly fine, until Grub came down with the flu. You had to take five days off to take care of her, and once you’d come back, they started cutting your hours. Shorter shifts, to losing days, to finally being “laid off.” All because you missed five days of scrubbing plates. If you’d argued with your manager there, you’re sure he would’ve smashed a glass over your head.

You sniffle, rubbing your eyes with your good arm. “I-I don’t get it,” you mutter. It still hurts to try and speak. It’s all so embarrassing.

He chuckles, a gentle rumble resonating in his chest as he applies the little bandage fasteners. He gently turns your wrist, examining the bandaging job, before gingerly laying your arm back down on the table. “Please. You think you’re the first struggling employee I’ve had?” He asks. You can tell he’s looking at your face, but you don’t feel ready to meet his eyes. He continues, seemingly unbothered. “I try to be decent, that’s all.” You nod slowly, and he hums. “You’ve still got some time before your shift. I’m gonna go check in with the fine folk in our kitchens, and you take some time to calm down. Let me know what you decide once I get back, alright?”

You blink. That was it? You aren’t even being reprimanded? You… probably should be, at least a little bit. “A-alright,” you parrot, voice faint.

He pats your shoulder before rising to his feet. Good god, he’s tall. “Great. Think about what I said, alright?” And then he’s off.

That’s it.

You don’t move, at first. It takes you a minute of just sitting in that chair, listening to the sounds of the kitchen. Then something finally clicks and you own your body again, springing to your feet and grabbing your backpack as you scramble to the staff bathroom to change- something you manage without incident, surprisingly, considering your night so far. And when you’re done, you amble your way back to the armchair, dropping backwards onto the worn leather. You should… try to clear your head. You need to be able to act like you have yourself together when Thatch gets back.

You still aren’t sure what to make of everything. He’s so painfully nice, but you still can’t help but think you’ve really, really fucked up somehow. But one thing is certain- you have another chance, and you really don’t want to ruin it.

When Thatch finally comes back, you don’t miss the way his face falls once he sees you in uniform. “... I see you’ve made up your mind, then.” You shift under his gaze, clumsy fingers fumbling with the thick seams of the right armrest. He talks nice, and plays the part of a concerned party very well, but you still can’t help but see it all as a possible ploy to get rid of you. You needed to prove yourself, so you could stay. You had to. So you just nod.

“Yes, sir.”

You have practice putting on your customer service voice. The empty smile, deliberately flexing your cheeks just enough that it looks like it reaches your eyes. The friendly voice you put on too, gratingly chipper to your own ears. The shift isn’t that bad. There are a couple tables that express concern, asking about your bandaged wrist, but you’re able to laugh it off and give a vague answer. Taking orders isn’t much of a problem. Holding the little notepad does send twinges of pain through your wrist, but it’s manageable. One table praises you for being oh-so careful with their food, and it’s all you can do not to roll your eyes. They end up tipping very well, anyway. Multiple tables do, actually. Maybe you should wear a bandage more often.

It’s not until you’re two hours in that something eventful happens. You’re on your way to deliver an order to the kitchen staff when you see her. Millie is loitering just next to the doors to the dining area, chewing her lip with a platter of appetizers in hand- a bread basket, shrimp tartlets, some of those fancy cheeses and a portion of breaded calamari, it looks like. Millie is just staring down at them, buckling at the knees in a pigeon-toed stance. “Mills?” You call softly, and her head snaps up to you. “Millie, are you okay..? What’s wrong?”

“Ah, i-it’s nothing,” she stammers, but the way her voice is trembling says otherwise. “I o-only need a moment, a-and I’ll be just fine! It’s just fine!” Her voice cracks on the last word, and she visibly cringes, the rattle of lightly jostled silverware filling the brief silence.

“... Millie,” you start gently, crossing your arms as you automatically slip into your concerned-big-sibling mode. “It’s obviously not fine. What’s the problem? What has you so shaken up?”

Her lips wobble. “It’s dumb,” she mumbles. “Not even that bad…”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “You’re a nervous kid, but not without reason. Tell me what’s up, okay?” You say, adding a touch of firmness to your tone.

She sighs, shifting on her feet, looking anywhere but you. “I-it’s just… there’s this table of business-man types, and um… a-at first they were just kinda looking at me weird, but…” Your body goes rigid. “I came back to take their orders, and one of them says I’ve got pretty hair, a-and he wants to brush it out for me? Which is j-just weird, I guess, but it made me uncomfortable, and then another one says our uniform supplier sh-should bring the skirt length up by a couple inches and everyone laughed… and another said to lower the necklines too, while they’re at it. So um… I just…” You put a hand up.

“Millie, you don’t need to say anything else. That’s fucking gross and you’re not stupid, okay?” You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose, before looking back up with a stern expression. “Alright, here’s what’s gonna happen. I’m gonna handle that table. You’re getting an early break- go take a little bit to calm down, okay? I’m taking over as server for those creeps.”

Millie splutters, but you’re already taking the platter. “W-wait, no! I can do it, it’s fine!” She reaches out to take it back from you, but you shoot the poor girl a stern look.

“If anything happens, if anyone asks- throw me under the bus. You have my permission. I’m not gonna let you deal with that shit if I can help it, okay?” You say, maintaining eye-contact with the wide-eyed girl. “Tell me you understand.” She just nods, hugging herself now that her hands are free. Your face softens. “Great. Now go take that break, okay? It’s just fine.” You want to pat her shoulder, but your hands are full. She just nods, mumbles out the table number and a thank-you, then scurries away. You take a deep breath, before pushing the door open with your back, and spinning around to face the public dining area.

You don’t bother putting the customer service smile back on. You walk up to that table with the blankest, most unimpressed expression you can muster. They’re in a corner booth, three men in suits. Two seem about middle aged, one with dark hair and the other gray. The third is a younger brunette- he has his coat draped over the back of the booth. One raises a brow as you approach, but you don’t react. Wordlessly, you set the carrying platter down, before removing each appetizer. “Shrimp tartlets, bread basket, tempura, cheese platter,” you say flatly, retrieving the platter with your good hand, before saying the dreaded next lines. “The main courses will be out shortly. Is there anything else you need.” The men look at eachother, scoffing, one shaking his head and another doing a breathy sort of laugh.

“You’re not the girl we had before. What happened to her?” One of the older two asks.

Your eyes narrow, ever so slightly. “She’s busy,” busy taking some time to herself, hopefully. “-So I delivered your food. Now, is there anything else you would like to order?”

“How about a smile?” The younger one says, leaning towards you.

You’re unable to keep the sharp glare off your face. “That is not a menu item. My coworkers and I are here to serve food, and nothing else. Now, is that all?” You ask, holding the brunette’s gaze. You don’t flinch, you don’t falter, not even when you jostle your injured wrist. You can tell they feel awkward, glancing around at each other. Nobody says anything for a good few seconds, until you speak up again. “Right. We’ll have the rest right out for you soon, sirs,” before turning and swiftly retreating. Could be better, could be worse. As anxious as you were about job security, you were far more pissed with men like that. You couldn’t deny you were jittery though- your nerves wrung tight with everything that had happened thus far, and the simmering anger at the idea of anyone upsetting Millie.

You just keep going, denying the exhaustion creeping through your body. Fake smile bright, voice chipper, laughing off your injury even when it sent jolts of pain all the way up your arm. You don’t pay the few comments much mind, save for the one-armed regular who frequents the bar with his friends cracking a good-natured joke about taking better care of yourself, lest you end up matching him. You snort, letting the facade slip a bit. The smile you give him is tired, and doesn’t show any teeth- but it’s genuine. “I dunno, man… I think I could pull off the facial scars pretty well,” you quip back. You almost worry that you could cross a line with that, but your worries are quickly assuaged by drunken laughter.

Thankfully, you don’t have to serve those men again. Neither does Millie. By the time your break rolls around, another coworker greets you- the tall, scruffy line cook with patchy facial hair who’s always chewing on a toothpick, what was his name again? He usually looks like he’s bored out of his mind. He informs you that the poor kid is in the kitchens again. She’d had an emotional conversation with Thatch, but he hadn’t heard the details, so you fill him in on the creeps she’d been serving. He smirks. “Ohoh. Well, those three won’t be back now that she’s told him, I can promise you that. Thanks for covering for her, by the way.” His eyes narrow. “Hey, what happened to your arm?”

You blink, barely swallowing a yawn. “Oh, th- it’s just a sprain. Fell on the way here.”

“And the boss didn’t give you the night off? No offense, but you look trashed.”

You wince, glancing at the little mirror above the bathroom sink. You guess you do look pretty tired, your eyebags are very prominent. “He, uh. Tried too? I need the hours.”

He’s still for a second, before the bored expression morphs into a pitying look, clapping a hand on your shoulder and leaving it there. “Listen, I know how lots of places are, but the boss ain’t one to screw you out of PTO,” he drawls, toothpick waggling as he speaks. “If he offers something, he means it, alright?” He says, looking you right in the eyes.

“Oh,” you mumble rather dumbly in response. He gives your shoulder a squeeze.

“Just… try taking him up on it, the next time he offers you something, alright?” He says, retrieving his hand and sauntering off. He moves with a hunched, somewhat bow-legged stance. Right before he opens the door to the kitchens, he turns to call back to you. “If it doesn’t go well, I’ll saw my own foot off! Like in that one movie with the guys in the bathroom… aw damn, what’s it called?”

“... Saw?” you offer tentatively.

He snaps his fingers, giving you a grin. “Yeah, that’s it! I’ll saw my foot off, just like that movie Saw!”

A nervous little chortle bubbles its way out of you. “I, um, don’t want you to do that, though?”

“Well that’s good, cuz I won’t have to!” He says, flashing a grin and a peace-sign before the doors swing shut behind him.

Huh.

He’s a nice guy. You should really get his name…

You roll your shoulders back, exhaling. You’ve got the break room to yourself, for right now. You fetch your backpack, lugging it one-handed to the table. Gingerly unzipping it, you grunt as you clumsily slide the hefty nursing textbook out of your bag. You can probably manage about half an hour of cramming before you’re back out on the dining floor. The book is dropped onto the table with a loud THUNK! Before you pull up a chair and crack it open. You ought to pat yourself on the back, you think. You’re getting a lot of shit done, despite everything that has happened tonight. You squint, staring down at your book. Ugh. Your eyes are scanning over the words, but you’re not really taking anything in. Okay. Well, you’ll get up and fix yourself some tea with the little stove. Sighing, you stand back up, trudging your way over. Wow, your limbs feel heavy, huh? You need to reset your brain. Just take a second to get your bearings. The tea will help with that, you think.

You manage to set the kettle to boil with one arm, having had to awkwardly brace it against your chest to pour the water in. You pick one of the options kept in the cabinet, until finding one that seems appealing and leaving it in a pre-prepped mug. The piercing whistle of the kettle sounds, so you turn off the little stove and pour the water. There. Time to grab your beverage and get back to it. You walk back over, sit yourself back down, and look at the page. Elbows on the table, head resting on your hands. There isn’t much left to read. Just a couple chapters, maybe? You’re allowed to annotate. Highlight text, write notes and shit. God, the text really is bleeding together though… you want to pull your hair out. You take a sip of tea, instead, letting the warmth spread through your mouth. Rubbing the heels of your palms against your eyes, you sigh. You can rest your eyes for a second. You cross your arms over the open textbook, laying your head down. Only for a second. Just for a second.

This doesn’t feel right.

You huff, brows furrowing at the dryness of your mouth. Ugh. You have your tea though, you think, fingers digging into the cushions of- you stop. Cushions? Wait. You’re at the table- no, you aren’t. You aren’t sitting anymore, you’re lying down-

You shoot up, hands flying to rub your eyes fiercely- wrenching a strangled yelp out of you when the taut sting of pain returns to your injured wrist. A white shape slides off your body with the soft rustling of fabric. You blink the sleep out of your eyes- it’s quieter now. You look around- you’ve moved to the couch. You fucking fell asleep. Why didn’t anyone wake you? And did you lay yourself down? You don’t remember that. Your tea, now cold, sits on the coffee table on a branded coaster, your textbook closed next to it with a bookmark slipped between the pages. And beside them, three… generously sized to-go bags. Your body goes numb. You feel like you’re gonna throw up.

Did you… pack up more food then you’ve ever taken before and then just go pass out? You wouldn’t have, right? Your hands are trembling, it feels hard to breathe- you wouldn’t. You know that. If you did, it would definitely be over. Back to stints in retail and fast food and lord knows they don’t pay as well. If you’ve blown this, there goes any chance at saving up money. You stifle a sob, pushing the ache in your throat back down into your chest. You sniffle, furiously wiping away the tears beading up in your eyes. Why didn’t anyone wake you up? It was busy! Little hiccups crawl their way out of you, feeling so much louder in this quiet, empty room. Your good hand slaps over your mouth, trying to stifle the pathetic sounds. Come on, get your shit together. You didn’t do this. You know that you would be too afraid to. It clicks into place when your eyes fall to the white fabric puddled on the floor by your feet. A chef’s coat- one a couple sizes too big to fit any of your peers.

Your boss’s coat draped over your sleeping form, the food you never would’ve had the balls to order for yourself, his aggravatingly friendly demeanor- you feel the heat rising to your face, resting in your cheeks and the tips of your ears. The familiar burn of the twin-flames, shame and embarrassment. Thatch moved you. Picked you up and laid you onto the couch himself. Who else? Millie couldn’t, and the coat was too big to fit… the Saw Guy. You bend down, gingerly picking up the white coat. You rub the fabric between your fingers for a few seconds, staring down at the garment now bunched up in your lap. Another sniffle, another rub of the eyes- and you drape it over the back of the couch with a shaky breath.

The food smells… really good, but you can’t bring yourself to examine it properly. You sit there in silence for a long moment, staring down at your hands. You feel… far away. This is all so weird. What does your boss get out of this? Your coworkers all seem to adore him, yes, but you just…

You don’t want to get your hopes up.

The doors to the kitchen swing open, but you don’t look. You feel a bead of sweat roll down your neck, the sensation sending a shiver through you. The familiar voice of your boss calls out to you, but you say nothing. You hear his footfalls echoing through the empty room, coming to stop on the other side of the table. You can see his figure in your peripherals. “Hey,” he calls softly.

You swallow the lump in your throat. “... Why didn’t you wake me up?” You choke out.

“... I suppose I felt bad,” he confesses. His voice is soft but… almost tight. “I have some bad news.” You immediately tense, the fingers of your good hand digging into your leg. “Well hang on, it’s not like that!” He says hurriedly, already knowing what you thought. Now you look up at him, searching his weathered face. He’s got a plain black shirt on- yep, the coat’s his for sure. He rubs the back of his neck, and there’s no hint of a smile. Despite his assurances, you feel like a fist is squeezing your heart, a thick anxious weight in your throat. “Millie came to talk to me earlier. I appreciate that you helped out, of course, it’s just…” He sighs, screwing his eyes shut for a moment. When he opens them again, he looks you in the eyes, and your gaze dips before you can stop yourself. “She went out onto the back patio to calm down like you said, and… someone had stolen your bike.”

It takes a moment to hit you. “Th-that old thing?” You breathe incredulously, eye twitching just barely. “Why the fuck… that old p-piece of..?” You stare at him. Is he fucking with you? But the way his mouth is pulled unevenly, brows drawn tight, the slight scrunch of his upper nose bridge… and his eyes are awfully soft.

“I’m afraid so,” he says softly. Your throat falls into your chest and your heart falls into your stomach. Of course. Of course! Is fucking everything happening today? You’re caught somewhere between the urge to laugh or burst into tears- you just lean forward with a choked wheeze, anxious hands pulling at your hair. Don’t- don’t break down in front of this man-

You already can’t afford a car or proper daycare a neighbor is watching your sister for fuck’s sake

Your good hand slides down to your mouth, roughly clamping over your lips in a desperate attempt to stifle the lurching wail of frustration you know is trapped in your chest. A strangled whine leaks past your rigid fingers anyway.

She needs winter boots a new coat too but the bike the fucking bike you can’t earn money without it everything is over

The couch cushions dip, and a warm hand rubs your upper back. You jolt. When had he moved? “I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “Let me give you a ride? I already do it for Millie, when her dad… can’t.” You look up at him, peeking between your splayed fingers.

“A ride,” you repeat dryly, voice hoarse. “Don’t suppose you’ll be driving me to work, as well?”

“... If that’s what you need, I can make it work. It’s not like biking is a good idea with your wrist like that, anyway.” You’re quiet for a long moment. He does have a point, as much as you hate to admit it. You change the subject for now, gesturing to the bags on the table.

“And the, uh… pity rations?” You ask. Thatch snorts, leaning back and crossing his legs.

“Millie felt pretty horrible about the bike situation, especially after the favor you did her-”

“Wh- that’s not her fault!” You interrupt before you can stop yourself. He gives you another look you don’t like, a strange warmth with a glint you can’t place.

“No, of course not,” he says, reaching over your shoulders to pick up his coat where you’d laid it out. “But you know how she is- the poor kid was broken up about it all the same. Didn’t know how to tell you, so I said I would. She made most of that for you- Genkei invited himself to help her, when he found her still sniffling over a pot of chowder.” Ah, Genkei… you remember now. Saw-guy’s actual name.

“Oh god, kid…” you mumble to yourself, shaking your head. “She’s… gone already, then? I can’t thank her?”

Thatch nods, smiling at you softly. “I wouldn’t worry about it- you can do that next time you come in. Neither of you are leaving this job anytime soon- not by my hand, anyway.”

You look to your boss, then back at the packaged food. It all still feels too good to be true, but… what option do you have, really? Even if you did still have your bike, Thatch was completely right. Biking with a busted wrist wouldn’t work out. “I just…” you start, then pause. This… puts you in a strange spot, though. You’ll… owe him after this, won’t you? Is all this gonna be hung over your head? Genkei didn’t seem worried about anything, but… but…

“What do I need to do to convince you that you aren’t in any trouble?” Thatch asks, warmth slightly cut with exasperation. You cringe.

“I don’t… I don’t know? I just…” You struggle to find the words. “... Sorry?” You offer.You aren’t looking at him, but you can feel him staring at you.

“None of that, now,” he says, waving you off. “How’s this to start? Let me help carry your things to the car.”

Well… you can’t do it yourself, you think. “Okay,” you relent, nodding. “... Thank you.”

It turns out that when Thatch said “Let me help carry your things” he’d actually intended on carrying all of it. He had your backpack and two of the take-out bags looped around his arm, while you were left with the smallest of the three. He whistles a tune while you follow him out to the darkened staff parking area- street and building lights casting strips of ruddy yellow-orange over the lot. You trail behind him, watching as he goes from a silhouette, to being outlined in amber light, to a silhouette again- staring at his bobbing pompadour as he leads you to an old, brown ford bronco with tan paneling. You blink. The paint is chipped and worn away in places- this is an old beater car. Nice when it was in its prime, likely still efficient. You’d expected something fancier from some sort of… well, you weren’t sure if celebrity is the right term, but he was a big deal in culinary circles and he came from a rich family.

He leads you to the passenger side door. With one hand, he fishes his keys out of his pocket, unlocking the vehicle and opening the door with a smile. You blink, taken aback for a moment before you thank him, sliding in and placing the one bag you were allowed to carry at your feet. Leave it to him to make being down a limb look so effortless. You exhale, trying to relax against the cracked leather seat, cradling your wrist in your lap when Thatch slides into the driver’s seat. He turns the key, then turns to you. “How’s it feel?”

You glance at him, half his face shadowed, then back to the bandaging on your wrist. “It’s… fine when I don’t move it,” you admit. That was mostly true. You suppose there was a dull ache but you were good at tuning that out. “I’ve got painkillers back home, that should help a little…” you muse, earning a hum in response.

He starts the car, asks your address, and the two of you are off. It’s mostly quiet, just the hum of the engine and the passing streetlights. What are you going to do about the bike? You don’t have work for two days, but you can’t get a new bike in that time. You glance at your boss through the corner of your eye. You… really don’t want to rely on him for this. Calling your boss for a ride to work feels wrong. Maybe you should’ve asked Saw g- er, Genkei… no, you barely know that guy, either. Ugh.

“Uh… thanks again,” you force out, when the two of you are stopped at a red light. “Grub’s gonna be really happy about the food…”

“Grub?” He asks, and you can imagine the quirked brow even if you can’t currently see it.

“Yeah, my baby sister.”

“Ah, right,” he says, looking to you then back up at the light. “Guess I never heard you mention her name.”

“You haven’t..?” You mumble to yourself. “Well, it’s… not her legal name. I called her that once to tease her, but it completely backfired and now she refuses to go by anything else,” you explain, feeling a smile start to pull at the corners of your mouth.

He chuckles softly. The stoplight switches. “She sounds like a funny kid,” he says, accelerating forward.

“She really is.”

“You take care of her on your own, then? No parents?” There’s a sharp jolt in your chest.

“... No parents,” you confirm after a long moment. The tightness in your voice is clear. You’re worried he’ll press you for more- you can feel him look at you again.

“... I see,” is all he says, voice quiet and sympathetic. You’re grateful for it. He drives in silence for a little while, making a turn. “Got lotsa siblings myself,” he muses after a while. “All of us adopted.”

You blink, glancing back over at him- but his eyes are focused ahead again. “Oh. That’s…” you aren’t sure what to say. “I-I’m sorry,” you settle on.

He huffs good naturedly. “Nah, don’t be. Oyaji’s great. I wouldn’t have things any other way.” Another pause, another strange pitying glance. “I’m sorry. This sort of thing… none of this is easy to do on your own.” You blink- finding yourself fighting back sudden tears. His voice was so much softer when he said that, so… earnest.

Why did it hurt? Why did it feel so good to hear, at the same time? He hasn’t said anything revolutionary. Of course it was fucking hard. Is it because he’s your boss, that the acknowledgement hits you so sharply? The novelty of it all that knocks you off-kilter?

You focus on swallowing that lump in your throat again. “Thanks,” you force the word out, unsure if you actually mean it.

Thatch regarded you with pity. You were far from the first employee who’d had it rough when he took them under his wing- hell, Genkei got the job a week after surviving an overdose. The ambulance ride alone put the poor bastard in debt, not to mention the actual treatment. Not that he disclosed that, but he had looked like hell during his interview and it wasn’t difficult to find out when one of your brothers has connections in every local hospital. No, Thatch was no stranger to what others would call charity cases (Though he preferred to regard them as “investments”). But matters of family never failed to tug on the Chef’s heartstrings.

He didn’t know exactly what your story was, beyond the poverty and custody over your sister. You tried to keep to yourself, bottling everything up until it was impossible to keep it in. But he could infer some things- your parents were probably either dead, or… unfit to care for children. Not unlike Millie’s parents, in his opinion- if Thatch’s father could somehow balance the amount of kids he had, Millie’s had absolutely no excuse for blatantly favoring her brothers.

… Could be worse, though… at least she had a proper roof over her head, but the apartment lot he had just pulled into left quite a bit to be desired. This complex was notorious- barely maintained structures, leased to those unlucky enough to be without alternatives. He can see you curling in on yourself the closer he gets, staring down at your fidgeting hands.

Poor thing.

Though your reservations weren’t without merit, and he had found your earlier outburst endearing- like a sad, wet puppy snapping at him before recoiling shamefully, he wished you were more receptive to being cared for. This was a step in the right direction, he supposed, as he pulled into a parking spot in front of building eight. Your apartment was on the second floor, so he’d be lucky enough to assist you in bringing your things inside as well. Even if you were embarrassed, he needed to know what type of situation he was dealing with.

“Thanks for the ride,” you say softly, hugging yourself.

“Well, of course. Wouldn’t do to strand you at my restaurant, now would it?” He keeps his voice soft for you. He unbuckles, opening the door, and you look back up at him in confusion.

“Wait, what are you-?”

He stops, turning to face you and raising a brow. “I’m helping you carry everything up, of course.”

He softens at the look you give him next, eyes widened and head shaking. “N-no, that’s okay, sir! You can just drop me off, you d-don’t need to-”

He tuts in disapproval, a little pearl of guilt welling up when you flinch. He knows you’re afraid of letting him see the conditions of this place, of the judgment you were no doubt used to receiving. But he wanted to see- it made helping easier. “I wouldn’t have let you carry your things to the car, so I’m definitely not letting you do it up a flight of stairs. That textbook of yours is awfully heavy, you know.”

You sputter as he exits the vehicle, and by the time you're done fumbling with your seatbelt, he’s already opening the door for you again. You breath shakily, looking up at him all flustered. “You don’t h-have to…” you try to insist, but he just chuckles, shaking his head.

“I want to,” he asserts, giving you a warm smile. You look like you’re going to say something else, but decide against it, closing your mouth and looking down with a huff. You timidly shuffle out of the car with your one bag. That one has mostly appetizers and desserts, so it’s the lightest. He closes the car door behind you, going to fetch the other bags. Your backpack, the other generously packed bags- one with Millie’s clam chowder, a seafood gumbo, and a hearty chili, while the other had two steaks with a portion of roasted vegetables and potatoes. He also portioned some of that roast he’d seen you eyeing- cut up so it could fit in the container easier, of course. He didn’t pack much seafood outside of the soup- he knew it wouldn’t keep or reheat as well.

He follows you, this time- glancing over your shoulder at him, your sweet face contorted in anxiousness. He idly whistles as he goes, slowing his pace so as not to overtake you. You’re fumbling with your own keys, standing in front of apartment number 404- when the door swings open, and a blurry form shoots forward to throw her arms around your legs. You stumble, instinctively reaching to pat her head with your injured hand- wincing empathetically when you inevitably jolt. The kid looks up with a big, gap-toothed smile, sparkling eyes peeking out from behind her bangs. “MISS HOWELL! EARWIG IS FINALLY HOME!” she shouts, earning an exasperated groan from you.

“Earwig babies are called nymphs, kiddo.” You correct teasingly. “At least pick a bug that actually has grubs, huh?” She pouts, sticking her tongue out and blowing a raspberry at you, before finally noticing Thatch. He smiles, giving the little girl a small wave. The sleeves of her sweater are a couple inches too short- the same as her pants, with mismatched patches sewn over both knees.

“Hey, who are you?” She asks, unwrapping her arms from around you and pointing at him- or rather, up at his hair. “You look like bread.” She states plainly.

“G-grub!” you exclaim, voice rising with your nerves, but Thatch busts up laughing before you can really admonish her- a hearty jovial sound. Children are children, it would take far more than that to upset him. His own family had said much worse.

“My name’s Thatch, kiddo,” he says, crouching down and extending his free hand to her. She narrows her eyes, glaring at his hand for a moment, and then his face. “You must be Grub, yes?” She nods, reaching out to shake his hand. She grips as hard as her little hands can, yanking up and down with a fervor that has him laughing again.

As she does so, an elderly woman appears in the doorway as well- dressed in loose, flowing clothes with her graying hair tied up in a bun. “Thank you for looking after Grub, miss Howell,” you speak softly- a tired, but genuine smile on your face. It’s a sweet look on you, he notes, before turning his attention back to the glaring child. She’s let go of his hand now, opting to cross her arms and attempt a staring contest.

“Oh hush,” chides the old woman. “You know I adore that girl, really- oh dear, what happened to your arm?” She asks, reaching out towards your bandaged wrist before clearly thinking better of it. At these words, Grub’s little brows furrow and she spins around, Thatch all but forgotten.

“What?! Something happened?!” She exclaims, before she sees your wrist and gasps. “Something DID happen!”

“I-it was an accident! N-not a big deal! That’s why Thatch is here- he h-helped me get home!” You sputter, gesturing to where he stands behind Grub.

“Oh, he did, hmm?” This Miss Howell turns to face him, hazy eyes regarding him with warmth. “Well, it’s much appreciated,” she says, shuffling forward to pat him on the arm, smiling widely when he gives her a nod before moving past him. “But this old woman is up past her bedtime, so I’ll be taking my leave.”

“What! But you’re OLD!” Grub cries, earning a panicked look from you. “You don’t NEED a bedtime!”

The woman laughs, raising a hand to cover her mouth. “I just don’t have the energy that I used to, little one. Appreciate it while you have it, hmm?” Reaching the door just across from yours- 405- she glances over her shoulder and winks. “You lot know where to find me, should you need anything,” she says with a grin, earning an adorable giggle from Grub who waves energetically despite the lack of distance.

“G’night, miss Howell! See you tomorrow for tea and cocoa!” She calls, grinning brightly. As soon as the door closes, it’s like a switch flips and she’s right back to side-eyeing Thatch. You chuckle nervously.

“Sweetie, th-this is my boss at The Galley. He drove me home, and packed us some extra food to bring home. Isn’t that nice?” You prompt through grit teeth, shoulders tensed. Please, he wasn’t so pathetic as to punish you over a little kid running her mouth. That’s what they do, after all!

She glances to you, then back up at Thatch with a suspicious look. “... He’s the food guy? The good food guy?”

“Um, yeah, pretty much!” You confirm, going to rub the back of your neck but wincing at the contact. “So, say thank you, and help bring the bags in, okay?”

Oh no you don’t. Thatch would be seeing your apartment, he would not be loitering at the door with nothing but a glimpse. “Oh, I wouldn’t trouble the little lady with that,” he deflects warmly. “Let me carry the backpack at least- I won’t have you do it and it’s too big for her. Easier to just make one trip, yes?”

You sputter a little bit, brows creased in worry, but as he suspects you don’t want to make a scene out of this. He’s not unsympathetic- your nerves do twist something inside him. But he can’t help you without pushing you out of your comfort zone. “O-okay,” you nod, relenting with a shaky sigh. Grub watches the exchange with a harsh stare. He would… need to find some way to assuage the kid’s fears.

“So what even happened?” The kid asks, throwing an accusatory glance back at Thatch as he follows the two of you inside. But before either he or you can explain, you stop in your tracks. Thatch, who is so tall he had to duck to get through the doorway, can see over your head at the… organized mess that overtakes the living room.

“Grub… what is all this..?” There’s a small tv across from a threadbare couch, behind which sits a table with four mismatched chairs, as if they’d all been picked out separately. Probably for free on some street corner, he thought. There’s one wall-mounted shelf above the tv, but other than that the only wall decorations are Grub’s artwork- unless you count the plain gray curtains. But none of that is what had caught your attention. Between the couch and the tv, various cardboard packages have been stood upright, organized in neat rows. A little to the left, beneath a cracked windowsill, the same has been done with several old cans. As he walks further, following you to set things down on your table, he sees a similar cluster of jars creeping out from underneath that, too. Some old newspaper has at least been laid underneath each collection.

Grub crosses her little arms. “Boxtown, Cantown and Jartown. Miss Howell helped me make ‘em. But don’t change the subject!” The kid says. You raise both now-free hands in a placating gesture, but roll your eyes. He snorts, setting each to-go bag down at the table, before shucking the thin but sturdy plastic down to pool around the packages inside. He sets your backpack down on a chair, and busies himself with setting out the options while listening to the two of you.

“Okay, okay,” you huff. “Biked through a puddle that hid a nasty pothole. Completely wiped out,” you confess. Ah, so that was it? You were deliberately vague with him. “... Then, uh… the bike got stolen. So even if my wrist wasn’t messed up, I couldn’t have gotten home.” Ah, now you’ll admit it, he thinks, inviting himself into the kitchen to fetch silverware and dishes. And snoop, of course. You shoot him a worried glance when he moves across the cheap linoleum flooring, but it quickly settles into acceptance when he opens up a cupboard.

“The bike? Really? That thing was old and ugly, though,” Grub blurts, earning a snort in response. Thatch smiles to himself, glancing your way, but it falls slightly once he properly takes in the contents. Three ceramic plates, three glass bowls, and a number of pilfered paper and plastic dishes- both from his restaurant, and others you’d no doubt worked at. Not that he was upset with you- it was just yet another thing that hammered home how tough you had it.

“Yeah, that’s basically what I said too,” you say, voice heavy with exasperation. “Anyway. What’s with all this?” You ask, and he looks up even though he knows what you’ll be gesturing to. “Boxtown is looking kinda sad,” you tease, and you’re right- the cardboard is a bit more scuffed than anything else, with wrinkles and torn edges abound. Not shocking- it was the least durable of the three options. Thatch passively takes note of the brands on the cluttered containers within view- generic or knock-off brands, several of those bright, eye-catching clearance stickers.

“Um, they’re having a fine- a fininal- a f-” Grub struggles for a moment. “The economy is really bad there,” she eventually settles on as he fetches a bowl and a plate for each of you. As much as he’d like to sit down and share a meal, he wants as much of this going to your mouths as possible, rather than his own. He has no need for any of it.

You huff with a shake of your head, and he notes that you don’t give him another frightened face when he returns to the kitchen for silverware. “Okay, fair enough,” you say, before crouching down to examine the jars lined up under the table. He opens a drawer, noting the way it sticks as it slides out. The silverware is just as limited, three or four of everything supplemented with plastic utensils and paper-sleeved chopsticks. “What’s going on here, though, Grub?” You call out. “This jar still has tomato sauce left in it!”

“That’s Jartown’s famous murder house! Tourists love it!” She calls jubilantly as Thatch approaches the table once more, bounding over with a big grin. The split second her eyes meet Thatch’s again, she forces the cool, stern glare back onto her little face. He laughs softly, setting out the utensils. This isn’t gonna push him away, the kid is absolutely adorable. It warms his heart to see her so suspicious on your behalf. He’d pinch her cheeks, if he thought he could get away with it.

You stand up from where you were squatting, stretching your back. Your shirt rides up, exposing a strip of your stomach, and it’s harder than he’d like to admit to not look directly. Settling with a deep breath, you fix your sister with a sly smile. “Jartown’s famous murder house should’ve been condemned ages ago, kiddo,” you tease. “Clean it up or we’re gonna get ants again.”

The kid groans, slouching exaggeratedly and lurching forward with her arms dangling limply. “Fiiiiiiiiiiine, but only because the ants suck,” she grumbles, dropping to her knees to fetch the offending container, and scurrying past him once she’s got it.

“Well, look on the bright side,” Thatch finally speaks up again. “There’s plenty of food waiting for you when you get back, hmm? Some might think it’s a bit late to eat, but I say there’s no such thing. Want me to tell you your options, or leave it as a surprise?” The returning Grub actually stops, seeming to think on it- examining all the opaque white containers while her fingers idly fumble with the pilling on her sweater. You’ve turned your attention to her as well, no doubt waiting for her to choose.

“I think…” She pauses for a moment, holding her chin between her thumb and pointer finger. “I… I want a surprise. I wanna find out when I see it.”

“Your house, your rules, kiddo!” He exclaims, and she speeds toward the table, clambering on top of a wobbly chair. She looks at her options. One bag with three tall, plastic containers of soup, one with three sizable white boxes stacked on top of each other, and the final bag with several small boxes containing appetizers. She leans forward, palms firmly planted against the table, before picking the top box from the second bag. Ah- the roast that had you so enamored. Not a bad choice, if he thought so himself. Her little hands struggle with the cardboard clasp for a moment, before finally maneuvering the flimsy hook out of place. The box pops open- the scent of a well-marinated cut flooding the air.

Grub’s eyes go wide as saucers behind the curtain of her bangs. She looks at the tender slices of meat, and then up at Thatch in dumbfounded silence- the previous glares and exaggerated disdain completely absent. Now she looks at him like he’s just given her the cornucopia. His heart clenches at the sight. It hadn’t even taken a day to win the poor kid over, huh?

Then a mischievous little grin curls across her face, and she points up at his hair again. “Do we get that, too?”

“GRUB!” You shout, but he’s already cracking up. The rascal is a delight, and so are you.

#one piece x reader #thatch #op #yandere one piece #thatch x reader #reader insert #yandere thatch #though it's kinda light here #WHEEE FINALLY DONE!!!#fanfiction

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