#Like God SO many shots of him where his shirt is cut open are just...ILLICIT hsdkjls

[saltpepperbeard]

The beauty of Stede Bonnet

[mdawritings]

Wanna Be Yours: Ch. 10

I.X

Masterlist

Warnings: None. But it is a long chapter.

Song(s): "killer + the sound" by Phoebe Bridgers & "illicit affairs" by Taylor Swift

"Just a reminder! Your final exam will be this Monday, proctored in this room, by me," Hotch paces at the front of the classroom, but your mind is elsewhere. You watch him, a smile growing on your face as he lectures the whole class. It’s finally your birthday, and Hotch set aside some time late in the day to spend with you. He also mentioned a small surprise and though you’re not usually one to get excited about gifts or surprises, you can’t wait to see what he has planned.

"Miss Y/L/N. Focus," Hotch calls out your name and you sit up straighter, attempting to suppress the grin on your face. "I won’t turn away anyone who shows up late for the exam, but you won’t be given the full time. Do I make myself clear? This exam starts at 11:00 sharp. I can promise you will need the full three hours to complete the whole thing. So I mean it. Don’t be late."

"That seems pretty relaxed for Professor Hard-Ass," Charlie leans forward to mumble into your ear and you bite your lip, suppressing a laugh. You want to tell him to thank you, since you’re the one who convinced Hotch that turning people away is cruel. At least let them try to finish the exam. A 50% is better than an actual zero.

Hotch shoots both you and Charlie a side glance which quickly shuts you up. You struggle to stifle small giggles and see Katie shaking her head off to the side, "You’re both children."

"You can’t be mean to me on my birthday," You protest under your breath, hoping Hotch doesn’t see you two goofing off. It’s your birthday and the last day of classes, he can ease up on you. He can cut the hard-ass, bullshit act for one class. It’s established that you’re not his favorite. Well, at least that’s what the class has been thoroughly convinced is the truth. You know, or at least you hope, the truth is the opposite. The semester has been a whirlwind from start to finish. Although you’re not quite at the end of it, you’ve been fundamentally changed since it started.

"Yeah? Watch me," Katie taunts, "Can’t let you get a big ego, Einstein."

"Assholes," You mutter under your breath, faking anger at your friends, but the large smile never leaves your face.

"I wish you all the best of luck. It was a pleasure to have all of you in this class," Hotch nods, putting down the chalk from the board where he’s written his contact information, "Reach out to me if you require anything like a recommendation letter. No promises I’ll do it though." He teases and flashes a cheeky smile to the whole class, "Class dismissed."

As you start to pack up your stuff, your attention flits over to Hotch a few times as a swarm of students begin to crowd around his desk, already shoving cover letters and resumes and job applications in his face. You shoot him a small apologetic look and mouth a ‘sorry’ before Katie and Charlie hook their arms in yours, pulling you to the door.

"We have a million things to do before the party tonight," Katie starts to ramble off the list of things she has planned. Katie, quite dissimilar to you, loves birthdays and planning parties.

"Party?" You glance at her, "I thought we were going to drink a little and then go out to a bar."

"When have we ever showed up to a bar sober?" Charlie rolls his eyes, "Alcohol is expensive. You’ll buy yourself a shot or something small for the significance. And you can buy the alcohol for the pre-party."

"I’m sorry, are you trying to get my stomach pumped tonight?" You laugh and before you even have a second to breathe Charlie pipes in with a ‘yes.’ to which Katie replies with a soft punch to his arm.

"So what time can we get together to organize everything?" Katie gives you a small knowing look, suspecting that you’ll probably disappear for an hour or two to see Hotch.

"Oh god, please don’t tell me you’re spending your birthday studying," Charlie lets out a strained groan, "It’s bad enough I have to meet with Professor Hard-Ass for missing one too many lectures."

"How is that my fault in any way at all?" You roll your eyes and turn back to Katie, "Let’s all meet at our apartment at like 7:30 pm? Gives us time to run errands, pick up liquor, eat some dinner, get ready and then start the party at 10."

"That works perfectly for me," Katie smiles, wrapping an arm tightly around your shoulders. "My little baby is all grown up," She mocks in a dramatic, teary, weepy tone and pretends to wipe tears from her eyes.

"I hate you all," You shake your head as your best friends drag you off to get lunch.

———————

You pull your knees up to your chest and thumb through the pages of the novel you’re currently reading. It’s not your favorite thing you’ve ever read, but it’s managing to maintain your attention for the time being. You’re sitting on the floor a few doors down from Hotch’s office, as you wait for him to get back from his last class of the day. You’ve managed to go all semester without drawing any suspicion or attention, the only person who’s seen through your guise of secrecy is Katie, but you know she would never tell or do anything to possibly endanger you or ruin this.

You hear his deep voice from the down the hall, your eyes shooting up as soon as it rings out. You attempt to play it off, but you can’t peel our eyes off of him. You already saw him this morning, but just the time you’ve spent waiting to see him again this afternoon has made you forget just how good he looks today.

His black polo shirt strains a little against his arm muscles as he carries his books and papers under his arm, a student trailing behind him as he walks down the hall towards his office. You can see the frustration written all over his face as the girl nags him over and over again. He manages to push past the hordes of people in the hallways, the girl occasionally getting lost in the swarms and needing to run to catch up to him.

You start to stand up from the floor but pause when you see her follow him all the way to his office door. "Listen, the grades you receive are final. End of discussion. You could’ve submitted any paper for a regrade, but that deadline was the end of classes. Which for your seminar, was yesterday."

"But—" She starts to speak up. You see him roll his eyes and turn his back on her, digging around in his pocket for his keys and unlocking the office door. He opens it and begins to step in, the girl eager to follow him. He whirls in place and blocks her from following him inside.

"Miss Hunter," His voice is steely and you slowly make your way to the office, still standing a good distance away as you watch the situation unfold in front of you. "I have made the rules abundantly clear. Now I have meetings with a few students who have actually managed to garner my respect. So please, stop wasting my time."

There’s a moment of silence. The girl tugs her bottom lip between her teeth, and you can tell she’s struggling not to cry in front of Hotch, and his harsh focus is unwavering. He just stares her down, waiting for her to leave. After a few seconds, her attempts to fight tears fail and she turns her back on him, rushing away down the hall before disappearing into the bathroom. You watch and turn back, Hotch finally taking note of you standing in the hallway. He shakes his head, rubbing his forehead with his thumb and forefinger. The worry lines in his face leave creases in his skin even after he’s unfurrowed his brow.

You seem to have forgotten how cruel he can be. Every snide remark, snippy comment, insult he’s thrown at you, it’s clear that they’re part of this whole ruse. You try not to think too hard about the comments, but you wonder just how many of them he means or how many are all part of the act. His tongue is biting. He’s impatient and stubborn. He doesn’t play into social niceties. He sees no need to make others feel comfortable.

Hotch nods his head at you and walks back into his office, expecting you to come follow him. You push the interaction to the back of your mind before rushing to follow Hotch. You step into the doorway and see him, one hand on his hip, the other placed firmly on the edge of his desk. His eyes running over the papers he’s just placed down on the surface.

His head looks up, the corners of his mouth pulling at the sight of you. You barely pay attention to anything but him. You give the door a push to close it and drop your stuff onto one of the chairs, rushing to him with a wide smile.

You press your lips to his, kissing him slow but needy. You grip his shirt in your hands, attempting to press as close to him as possible.

His mouth is hot and heavy on yours but he pulls away for a second, those enchanting eyes of his sweeping over every inch of your body, "Happy birthday, pretty girl," He mumbles, one arm wrapped around your back, holding you close to him, the other hand reaching up to push the hair out of your face so he can really look at you.

He pauses. His eyes stay focused on you for awhile, memorizing the details of your face as if it's the first time he’s seeing it, or like it’ll be the last time he sees it. He studies the curve of your lips as if the memory of you will be all he gets.

He soon breaks the pseudo staring contest, pushing his chair out of the way and lifting you up onto his desk, so he can stand between your legs. You arch your back, pressing your plush breasts against his firm chest. You feel his muscles shift and flex under his shirt. He leans in closer to you, one hand tangled into your hair, the other placed firm on the desk next to your body.

His mouth is so warm against yours. You lose yourself in him. Nothing and no one manages to make you feel the way he does. He’s started a fire within you and every moment spent with him, every look, every touch, every smile is tinder for the flames. The fire of the two of you sucks the oxygen out of the room. You’re breathless around him. Who knew suffocating could feel so good?

There’s something innately beautiful about Aaron Hotchner. He’s sexy, he’s confident, but above all there’s something simply enchantingly beautiful about him. He does everything with such purpose, such ease, but those moments of beauty: the tug at the corners of his lips when you talk to him, the shine in his eyes when he gets to discussing something he’s passionate about. There’s no other way to describe him besides utterly beautiful. At least, that’s how you see him.

You wrap a hand around his bicep, gripping it tightly as his mouth travels down from your mouth to your neck, nipping at the skin. Your head falls back, your own mouth gaping open, soft whines erupting from your swollen lips. "I thought you said you were bad at giving gifts." You tease breathlessly. Aaron pulls away from your neck, looking at you with those warm, intelligent eyes, his lips equally plump. The confusion spreads across his features, "You." You mutter and cup his cheeks, "This. You’re enough of a gift. This time with you." You say softly.

An unreadable expression reaches Aaron’s face. As much as you try to understand the man, he remains mysterious and closed off to you. You worry that you’ve said something to offend him, or scare him away. It’s no secret you enjoy spending time with him. It’s no secret you care about him. You assume that much is clear to him. But then again, for as intelligent and perceptive as he seems to be, you wouldn’t be surprised if your admission comes as a shock to him.

Aaron’s hands move to trail up your bare thighs and up under your skirt, fingers hooking in the waistband of your lacy underwear. "I better make it a worthwhile gift then," He leans in, close enough that you think he will kiss you, but instead he rests his forehead against yours, his lips ghosting over your own. You lean forward to press your lips to his. You want to regain the feeling, the tingles it sends down your spine as his hands roam your body.

He evades your kiss, pulling away and bending down as he pulls your underwear all the way down your legs, tossing it off to the side. You smile and laugh at the action, glancing over at how your underwear has landed, draped across the arm of the chair in the corner.

"Something funny?" He grabs your chin, pulling your attention away from your discarded undergarment and back to him. His tone is serious, but the corners of his mouth are upturned in a slight grin.

"No, nothing at all," You tease and push him back into his chair, taking the opportunity to straddle his waist, grinding against him tauntingly.

"What’s this?" He raises his brows at the shift in power dynamic, but it’s clear he’s not complaining from the way his large hands rest just at the bottom of your ribcage, thumbs circling the skin just to the side of your breasts. The little gesture, the feeling of his fingers so close to where you want yet not quite touching you exactly there, drives you crazy. You lean forward, your hair falling in your face as you kiss him.

"Taking what I want," You moan against his skin. He peels the sweater from your body, your black tank top hugging tightly to every curve. He balls the sweater and tosses it over your shoulder onto the floor.

This time, you can’t suppress the loud laugh, "You going to do that with every article of clothing?"

"I just might," He taunts and pushes your hair out of your face with both hands once again, wanting to see your face. As he kisses you, you reach for his belt undoing it and unzipping his jeans, "You’re in a rush. Don’t you want to savor your birthday gift?"

You roll your eyes, "I’m pretty sure since it’s my birthday, I get to decide what I want." You smirk and plunge a hand deep into his briefs, pulling his hardening cock out of his pants. You take his hot flesh in your hands, pumping it a few times, trailing your fingertips over his tip, eliciting an absolutely sinful groan from him.

He throws his head back, and you watch with pride as the man begins to come undone in front of you. You watch as his neck tenses, his jaw clenching as you continue to pleasure him. His chest rises and falls rapidly. You stop your motions, pulling your skirt up a little, just enough for him to plunge deep into you. You sink onto him with a long and loud groan, gripping his shoulders for support. Your skirt falls down around the two of you, seemingly shielding your actions from the world.

Your actions are agonizingly slow, wanting to savor every moment with him, wanting this feeling to last forever. The pure bliss you feel as his head dips, pushing the collar of your tank top down enough to free your breasts. He sucks a nipple into his mouth, sucking harshly and lightly biting, just the way he knows sends your head into a haze. His hands rest on your hips, but they’re not gripping them, he’s letting you take it at your pace.

You’re so caught up in the lustful trance that you almost miss it. A knock at the door.

"Professor Hotchner?" A familiar voice calls from the other side.

You freeze. "Charlie?" You whisper at Hotch.

"Shit," He curses under his breath. "I’ve double booked myself." He shakes his head, trying to swiftly get you off his lap. "I’ll be with you in one minute!" He calls through the door, glancing down at his watch with a small groan.

Hotch tucks himself back into his pants, struggling to zip them up and tuck his shirt in in a timely manner. You scramble to do the same, readjusting your tank top and scooping your sweater from the ground. You run your fingers through your hair and wipe your mouth, knowing that you must look like a flustered, overheated mess.

Hotch gives you a small sideways glance before sitting at his desk more properly before nodding. "Come in." Just as the door opens and Charlie steps in, you realize you’ve forgotten something vitally important: your underwear. It’s too late. He’s already in the office and you have no idea how you can smoothly pluck your black lace panties from the chair without drawing his attention.

"Einstein?" He glances at you confused.

Your mouth falls open but you can’t seem to come up with anything to say, "Charlie." You smile. You glance at Hotch, "Sorry Professor, I didn’t realize you had meetings today." You stare at him a little too long, hoping he can suddenly read your mind in which you’re screaming at him about the underwear hanging off of the chair.

"Why didn’t you mention your meeting earlier?" Charlie asks you but Hotch clears his throat slightly, saving you from needing to come up with a reasonable answer.

"It was a last minute request on my part," Hotch covers for you two, "I apologize for running over time with Miss Y/L/N and into our meeting time."

"No, no I’ll just wait outside," Charlie turns to leave the office and your heart sinks into your stomach.

"No!" You call out a little too forcefully. But it’s too late. The black lace panties catch his eye.

"On second thought I’ll just…" Charlie turns to look at you, tightening his grip on the strap of his bag, glancing between both you and Hotch, "I’ll just leave you two…" He shakes his head and turns, getting out of the office as fast as possible. You groan frustratedly and look over at Hotch as you rush out after Charlie.

"Charlie wait!" You call out, garnering attention from the few students in the hallway. You catch up to him and grab his hand, "Please."

He turns to you, letting out a sickeningly sinister and bitter laugh, "I am such an idiot. I don’t know how I never saw it."

"Please let me explain myself," You beg him, pulling his hand into yours, but he’s quick to yank it away.

"You just had to be the person to get an A in his class, huh? You couldn’t handle the possibility of being anything less than the best." You wrap your arms around yourself as he shakes his head.

"No… that’s not what this is about." You argue back with him, hoping he’ll understand, the same way Katie seemed to.

"Is this how kid genius got to law school at 20? By sleeping your way to the top?" He lowers his voice so that anyone else in the hallway can’t hear you, but his words are just as venomous and biting.

He takes a few steps towards you, pointing back towards Hotch’s office, "He’s using you. You know that, right? He doesn’t love you. He doesn’t care about you. I can’t believe you’d be so fucking naive, so, so… so stupid."

You open your mouth to speak, but Hotch cuts you off, coming up behind the two of you, "I understand you’ll be discreet about what you saw, Mr. Miller."

Charlie’s eyes narrow at Hotch, his chest puffing up in anger. "And if I’m not?"

"You’ll find that it will greatly benefit you and your success in my class if you are." Hotch’s focus on Charlie is unwavering and the harsh demeanor that seems to be so natural and comfortable for Hotch returns. His voice is hushed, "Now I suggest you turn around and forget what you saw, or take this conversation somewhere more private, for everyone’s sake."

Charlie goes silent. His gaze shifts to you. You can’t read what his face is saying but it’s a mixture of disbelief, anger, and what seems to be disappointment. With a small scoff and shake of his head, Charlie turns and disappears down the hallway.

You take a step forward, hoping to go after him and explain yourself, explain everything, including your feelings for Hotch. You want him to know you haven’t done it to get ahead in life but because you genuinely enjoy spending time with Hotch. That you genuinely enjoy his company, but Hotch reaches and grabs your wrist, pulling you with him.

"You have to let me go after him! I have to talk to him. He could ruin your career," You let out frantically as Hotch pulls you by the arm back into his office, "Or my reputation."

"He won’t," Hotch gives you a small tug, causing you to catch your feet on the rug and trip a little as you get through the doorway of his office. He’s careful to move around you to close and lock the door firmly. He turns to you before turning back to the door, jiggling the handle a few times to test the lock, ensuring that there will be no more unwanted interruptions.

"Aaron, you can’t just give him a good grade to shut him up," You argue, "That’s- that’s immoral, that’s wrong." You bite your lip.

"And what we’ve been doing isn’t?" He rubs his face with both hands.

You have no response to that because he’s right. What the two of you have been doing for the past semester is immoral and unethical on every possible level. "How do you know he won’t report you anyway?"

"Because he cares about you," Hotch clarifies, but you find yourself lost. You’re not sure how that means Charlie will definitely keep his mouth shut, "He knows that reporting this will hurt you just as much as me, and the last thing he wants to do is hurt you. He’s in love with you, isn’t that obvious?"

You shake your head, still not entirely convinced that Hotch’s bribery will work on Charlie. "Aaron… You might lose your job. I can’t be the reason that you—" He places a soft slow kiss on your lips. "You know I hate when you kiss me just to shut me up."

He gives a warm smile, "Don’t worry about it. It’ll be okay, I promise." He rubs his thumb over your cheek comfortingly, "I have something to take your mind off it, off of him." He moves away from you, walking around his desk and opening the bottom drawer. He pulls out something but quickly hides it behind his back.

"Something for me?" You grin and try to look around his back to see what it is.

"It is your birthday, isn’t it?" Hotch holds out a small parcel, wrapped with brown paper, tied up with a small string, "I’m not uh— I’m not great at wrapping things. Or giving gifts." You take the package from him, the warm sensation of happiness spreading throughout your entire body.

"No matter what it is, I’ll love it because you gave it to me," You undo the string, and start to tear at the corner. You open the package delicately, as just the gesture of the wrapped parcel is enough for you. You didn’t expect anything from Hotch. Actually, you just expected birthday sex.

You peel back the paper and smile, feeling waves of emotion wash over you as you pull the nice, leather bound book from the wrapping. "You remembered?" You look up at him and a small sheepish grin spreads across Hotch’s face.

"Open it." He nods.

You look down at the book, running your fingers over the gold lettering on the cover that reads "The Great Gatsby." You open the cover flipping through the pages to see them all full of annotations, highlights and small notes. "Are these your annotations?"

He nods, shoving his hands into his pockets, "I gave it a second chance. Tried to look past my initial perception of it. Tried to see it through your eyes."

"And?" You struggle to tear your eyes away from the pages, looking for your favorite quotations, trying to read his notes alongside them.

"And I loved it." He reaches a hand and turns to the front page for you, where he’s written a small note. The note is barely legible in his scrawl, but to you it’s perfectly clear.

Y/N,

The beauty of life is in the grays. Thanks for being the gray in mine.

— A.H.

Your heart swells at the message and you close the book pressing it firmly to your chest. "This is… the best birthday gift I’ve ever gotten." You reassure him. "I wish I could celebrate with you all day."

He places his forefinger under your chin, tilting it up to place one last soft kiss to your lips, "Go. Have fun with your friends. Stay safe, okay?"

"I will," Your eyes stay on his. There’s so much you want to say to him. So much you want to ask him. You want to reveal everything to him. You want to tell him how much he means to you. You want to share how he’s changed your life. You want to tell him you don’t want to spend time with anyone but him. You want to tell him that you’re falling for him. But you stop yourself. You don’t want to rush it all out here standing in his office. You want to tell him in the right moment.

You’ve exposed so much of yourself to him, but to bear your soul in such a rushed manner in his office feels inappropriate and ill-timed. "I’ll see you again this weekend, yeah?" You ask him.

This time, you can tell he’s the one who wants to say more. There’s something bubbling under the surface that he wants to let out to you. You hope that what he is holding inside is the same as what you’re holding back. He hesitates a little before finally nodding.

You don’t want to pull away from him. You don’t want to move out of his grip, out of his warmth, it feels too much like a goodbye. You manage to pull away and grab your bag from the floor, keeping the book close to your heart as you turn and leave his office.

———————

You scan the room for what feels like the hundredth time within an hour, looking for the familiar face in the crowd of people.

"He’ll show up. I’m sure he will," Katie throws her arm around your shoulders, handing you another shot.

"No, K, I don’t think he will," You look around your crowded apartment, filled mostly with faces that you barely recognize from your classes, but there’s one person in particular who has yet to make an appearance: Charlie. You told Katie what had happened, and she was definitely shocked at Hotch’s reaction to the situation, but she hid it well enough, wrapping her arms tightly around your body to comfort you.

"He was so angry, so disappointed in me," You sigh and take a long sip of your beer, "He was so hurt."

"I understand his desire to protect you, I really do, I feel the same way," She nods and settles into the couch right next to you, "But at the end of the day, you are responsible for your own decisions and no one else has a right to tell you what you should and shouldn’t be doing with your life."

"I know," You rub your face, "But I don’t want to make decisions that hurt my best friends."

You worry that this signifies the loss of a friendship. The loss of one of the most important people in your life. A loss that you can withstand if Hotch remains in your life but even that is up in the air. You find yourself wondering whether you’ll be forced to choose: a continued relationship with Hotch, if you can even call it a relationship, or your friendship with Charlie.

"Please, don’t let stupid Charlie ruin what should be a super fun night," Katie pulls you up from your seat, reaching for a shot of her own, "To us, to our friendship, and to kid genius no longer being a kid." She teases and clinks her glass against yours, downing her shot. You mimic her actions, the alcohol sliding down a little bit too easily now that you’re indulging your sorrows.

The small get-together at your apartment only lasts a little while longer, just long enough to get everyone plenty tipsy before you all head out to a bar. You play drinking games and a few of your friends indulge you by taking shots with you, sharing drinks, pouring you drinks. Despite the fact that you’re entirely surrounded by people, you feel devoid of love tonight. Katie is pouring over you, hugging you, teasing, attempting to lighten your quickly souring mood, but Charlie probably isn’t coming at all and you can’t invite the person you want most to spend your birthday with.

Within another hour, the whole group has managed to get you drunk enough to forget about the pain in your chest everytime you think about Charlie. They drag you out of your apartment and you all start the long walk in the cold to the best bar in the city.

You look around the neighborhood, recognizing it as Hotch’s, and the pain in your heart comes back harder than ever. You wonder what he’s doing right now. You can picture him perfectly: hunched over his desk, scribbling away some illegible comments on a student’s paper. You can see yourself perched on the edge of his desk, telling him off for grading every student so harshly.

He would roll his eyes but place a comforting hand on your thigh, leaving it there while he works, occasionally squeezing lightly or rubbing circles into the skin. You flash the bouncer your real ID earning a round of cheers from your group of friends and a small smile from the big muscle man at the door, "Congrats kid." He teases, letting you all slip into the crowded bar.

"First round is on me! Everyone make sure Einstein doesn’t have to pay a dime for her own drinks tonight!" Katie cheers as she drags you to the bar for more drinks.

Everytime your mind wanders to either man, Hotch or Charlie, you finish a drink, take a shot, order a new one. Anything to distract you. You check your phone every few minutes, finally deciding to send Charlie a single text.

We’re at the bar now. If you decide to show up. Please come.

You get no response. You decide to pretend he probably hasn’t seen it. He’s asleep or studying. He’s busy. Something came up. That’s why he’s blown off your birthday. He’s one of your best friends. He’ll show.

Along with desperately checking your phone for a reply from Charlie, some part of you is hoping, praying, even, that Aaron will surprise you. You hope that he’ll come walking through the door, walk up to the bar, and buy you a birthday drink. He’ll ignore the fact that most of his students are present and do it for you, because it would make you happy. However, you know that he can’t. He can’t risk it.

So you keep drinking. A lot. You end up drinking a lot.

——

Hotch finishes off his comments on another student’s suboptimal essay, writing a large B in dark green ink at the top of the page before circling it. He rubs his hand over his forehead tiredly. As much as he attempts to direct all his focus on the work in front of him, he can’t stop thinking about you. It seems to be a common problem recently. You invade his every waking thought, hell, you’ve even seemed to invade his dreams as of late.

Everything reminds him of you. He looks over the collection of novels on the walls of his home office, wondering what your opinions of his favorite titles are. He wonders what books would draw your attention. He can picture you in here perfectly, telling him that he should be focused on his work when he can’t take his eyes off of you. You would tell him to focus but do just about a million things that he finds all together way too charming and endearing to ignore.

Your scent invades his mind. It’s utterly intoxicating. The way he can tell when you’ve freshly showered, your shampoo smelling of lavender and vanilla. He thinks about the way his fingers feel all tangled up in that hair of yours.

He thinks of how soft your skin is, in contrast with his rough calloused hands. He thinks about how beautiful you look when you’re focused on something. He wishes you were here with him. He wishes he could give you the birthday you deserve.

He wouldn’t let you leave his clutches all night. He’d keep you tangled up in the sheets of his bed, moaning, laughing, talking, smiling, whatever you wanted to do, he’d do it with you.

It’s a troubling position he’s in. He can’t say he’s ever felt this way about anyone before. He’s been a solitary man most of his life. He had friends throughout schooling, but he always much preferred his own company. He’s never wanted to be around someone as much as you.

You seem to comprehend exactly how his mind works. He questions whether you can truly read minds because you always manage to say exactly the right thing at the right time. He knows he’s gotten himself in too deep. He realized when he found himself speeding through the pages of the Great Gatsby, a novel he had never been fond of, purely because he was picturing the way your face would light up when he handed it to you.

He knows he’s getting too emotionally involved. It’s not a sustainable relationship.

His phone vibrates on the desk next to him and when he picks it up, he’s shocked to see your name on the screen. "Y/N?" He picks up, expecting a drunk dial.

"Professor Hotchner— Aaron," Katie’s voice rings through the phone, "I need… you need to come pick her up." Her words are slurred together.

"Kaitlin?" He asks confused, "Katie," He corrects himself, "Is she okay? What’s wrong?" He stands up grabbing his keys and wallet, shoving them into the pocket of his joggers, rushing to slip his sneakers on.

"She’s had too much to drink and I don’t think I can get her home myself." Katie sighs out and Hotch can faintly hear your voice on the other end, slurring and yelling something about letting Katie take your phone.

"What bar? I’ll be there as fast as I can," Hotch takes note of the address, which, thankfully, is just two blocks away from his apartment. "Get her water. Get her outside into the fresh air. If she gets really bad, don’t hesitate to call 911." He hangs up the phone. What he really wants to do is scold Katie for letting you drink so wildly. Just because it’s your 21st birthday, doesn’t mean that you need to drink yourself to death. At the same time, he feels the deep sting of guilt, knowing that your strained relationship with Charlie probably encouraged more drinking than usual.

He makes his walking pace brisk, rushing the two blocks to get to you. He feels responsible for letting this happen to you. It’s not as if he could’ve been at the bar with you, it would’ve drawn an intense amount of scrutiny and suspicion, but he could've made plans with you, told you to ditch your friends for him.

As soon as Katie catches sight of him from down the street, she struggles to hold you up, trying to walk you over to him, "I’m sorry to call you, I hope I didn’t wake you up, Professor, I just didn’t know who else to call for help. Everyone else is equally drunk and normally I’d trust Charlie with her but—" She glances down at you, as you clutch at her shoulders for support, eyelids half closed, "He isn’t here to help."

"Fuck Charlie. I mean I don’t want to fuck Charlie, I mean like fuck him for not coming," You slur slightly and Katie hoists you up, holding you out for Hotch to help keep you steady.

"No I’m glad you called," Hotch replies with a nod. Katie’s focus lingers on him for a while and he can sense the judgment behind her eyes. She wants to say something to him. The drinking has lowered her inhibitions and he’s sure that as your best friend she probably has a few choice words for him. But right now, he can't take the time to listen to her or even argue with her. Right now, he just wants to get you to his home and get you to safety.

"Take care of her, okay?" Katie finally lets out before digging around in her purse for a pen and grabbing Hotch’s hand. She scribbles her number, a little messily due to her elevated blood alcohol level but legible enough, "Call me if anything happens to her."

Hotch nods, "I will." He turns all his attention onto you and starts to walk you back towards his apartment, knowing that the 5 minutes it took him to jog to the bar will turn into a 10 minute endeavor, carrying you to his apartment.

"I’m sorry, Aaron," You mumble into his shoulder, "I shouldn’t have drank so much I just…"

Hotch shushes you softly, rubbing his hands on your upper arm as he holds your trembling shoulders. "You should’ve brought a jacket." Your foot catches on the pavement, and for a second, it looks as if your face is going to collide with the sidewalk, but Hotch’s grip is so tight that he keeps you from falling.

"Didn’t go with the outfit." You laugh and weakly gesture over your body with your hand.

Seeing you like this, it stirs something inside him. Anger and frustration build like wildfire deep in the pit of his stomach. How could you act so irresponsibly? How could your friends be so careless with you? If he was out with you on your birthday, you never would’ve gotten so dangerously drunk.

"My apartment isn’t far from here, remember?" He’s practically holding up your entire body weight at this point.

"I remember," You nod, "Charlie, he didn’t come."

"I know." He slows down your walking pace as you struggle to keep up, your feet dragging along the ground, "Katie told me."

"Katie is mad at you, you know?" You regain a bit of your balance and strength, walking on your own, but hardly walking in a straight line. "I’m not mad at you. She’s just worried about me. I guess Charlie is worried about me, but he sure has a silly way of showing it, right?"

"It’s important to have people that care about you like they do," He’s choosing his words diplomatically, knowing that he can’t let on how much he’s been thinking about you, how much it angers him to see you so dangerously drunk. He’s not sure why he’s so careful of his words choice, as if you will remember his exact wording tomorrow.

After an eternity of practically carrying you for two blocks, you reach the steps of Hotch’s apartment. The steps are a complete other task. In which Hotch is tempted multiple times to simply pick you up entirely and carry you upstairs, but he worries that will just make you sick and the last thing he wants to do is clean your vomit off of his apartment building’s staircase.

"I’m sorry you have to take care of me," You whine, holding onto his shirt as he helps you into his apartment. "But I’m 21!"

"I know," Hotch’s heart races as you stumble along in your heels. It’s terrifying to see you like this. He realizes just how fragile you are, how easily you can slip through his fingers.

It should make him want to sink his fingers into you, dig his heels into the ground, hold you close and never let you go, but he’s motivated to do the opposite. He wants to run and hide from you. If he sinks himself too deep into you, he can never get out and if he loses you once he’s in too deep, what will happen when you get hurt? What happens when he’s the one to hurt you?

He’ll inevitably disappoint you. He knows you expect a lot from him. He can see it in the way you look at him, with those warm, intelligent eyes, so full of adoration.

"You think you can get yourself up the stairs to bed while I get you water?" Hotch walks you carefully to the bottom of the stairs. You nod, reaching for the wall next to the stairs, to help balance.

Hotch watches you with a close eye, making sure that you make it all the way up before going to the kitchen. He reaches up into the cabinet for a glass and some ibuprofen that you will inevitably need by tomorrow.

He puts both down on the counter, taking a minute to place both palms on the surface firmly, taking a deep, steadying breath. It’s almost the end of the semester. After Monday, he’s no longer your professor. That should be a relief. He doesn’t have to feel this internal conflict. The morality of his actions has never concerned him before. That was before you.

When he’s with you, he’s more conscious of the imbalance of power. He’s aware of what it looks like from the outside. The way Charlie looked at the two of you today was confirmation of that. Confirmation of the perception that he used to never care so much about until he met you. Reducing you to just another student fling feels wrong. But that’s what you are, right? There's been no confession of feelings, no grand gestures, no romantic dates or picture-perfect movie moments.

Despite the lack of relationship structure, everything with you feels different. It feels so intensely genuine. That’s the only way Hotch knows how to describe it to himself. Being with you makes him feel alive.

But if being with you is living, why does he feel this growing dread in the pit of the stomach as he walks up the stairs? He steps into his bedroom expecting to see you draped across his bed or struggling with the zipper on your dress, but he doesn’t see you anywhere, "Einstein?" He calls and then he sees the light coming from under the bathroom door and the distinct sounds of you sick in the bathroom.

He pushes open the door to see your arms on the toilet, your face hovering over the bowl. He lets out a small breath, bending down to your level so he can pull your hair out of your face. He pulls the hair tie off your wrist and messily ties your hair into the best ponytail he can manage. You groan in pain and he rubs your back gently. "Shh, you’re okay. I’ve got you," He presses a small kiss to your temple.

"I don’t want to have to choose," You let out a strangled cry and a small hiccup, lying your head on your forearms on the seat of the toilet. Hotch’s heart sinks at your words, "I can’t choose between falling for you and keeping my friendships."

"You won’t have to," He gets to his feet, reaching for a washcloth and dampening it in the sink. He bends back down to your level, gently lifting your head from your forearms, wiping your face and mouth, "Let’s get you up off the floor, okay?"

"Make the world stop spinning, please," You hold your arms up so he can lift you off the floor.

He sits you down on the edge of the bed, bending down to unzip your heels, placing them on the floor.

"He didn’t come. He’s my best friend and he didn’t come to my birthday," You chew at the skin on your lip, holding back tears, not wanting to turn into a weepy drunk. Especially in front of Hotch. He reaches around unzipping your dress, helping you out of it.

"I’m sorry," The apology is soft but Hotch knows it's partially his fault Charlie never showed. You’re right, you shouldn’t have to choose between him and your friends. He can already tell the way you’re pushing them away for time with him.

He helps pull one of his shirts over your head and pulls back the covers for you to crawl into his bed. "Please hold me," You mutter softly, "At least until the room stops spinning." Looking down at you, the way your eyes are threatening to spill over with tears, the mascara smudged, your hair tied back messily, pieces falling out of the ponytail, you look so helpless, so pure, so innocent and loving. He can’t stop himself from nodding and sitting next to you on the bed. He puts his arm behind your head, wrapping it around your shoulders.

"I don’t want to lose him to keep you," You lay your head against Hotch’s chest, gripping at his shirt tightly. Your tears fall against his dark green shirt, leaving small wet splotches. "I can’t let you go." You sniffle and shut your eyes in an attempt to get some rest and ease the sick feeling in your stomach.

"You won’t lose him." He shushes and gently plays with the ends of your hair, wrapping his other arm around the front of you, holding you tight against him. Your sniffles start to die down as you drift off to sleep, Hotch listening closely to your steady breathing.

He knows he’s not being fair with you. Every affair, every relationship he’s had, has been so simple, so uncomplicated. The semester is coming to an end soon and he knows exactly what he has to do. But sitting here staring down at you, the way your face is scrunched up in your sleep. He doesn’t want to let you go. It’s not just your body, it’s not the sex. It’s your biting wit, your intelligence, your humor.

It’s not how you look. It’s not the way that he knows your body better than he knows himself. It’s your heart and mind that captivate him. He’s so used to being and feeling alone, but you always make sure he never feels that way. It’s not in the obvious things. It’s in the subtleties. It’s in the small smiles you give him in passing. It’s in the way you always ask him about his day. It’s in your reassuring eye contact. When he speaks, he knows you’re listening. And you’re not just listening when he’s teaching or tutoring or sharing new information, you’re listening when he talks about himself.

Like today in his office. There was a palpable difference in the energy between you two. He knows that gift was personal, but he wanted to give it to you, and the way your face lit up when he did, tells him it was worth it. He wants to be selfish and hold onto you forever. He wants to spend every minute with you, but he knows that the more he draws you to him, the more he draws you away from your friends, from the world, from everything you want to achieve in life.

And that’s why, staring down at your sleeping form, he knows this must end.

Chapter 11: I.XI →

[epochofbelief]

Breath Control, Chapter Nine

An A Court of Mist and Fury College Swim Team AU

All characters belong to SJ Maas!

Elriel and Feysand

Let me know if you want to be tagged!

Please enjoy!

Masterlist Link

NINE

~~~Elain~~~

I watched the landscape crawl past the windows of my car.  The steering wheel was slightly damp beneath my fingers. Six enormous trucks in the fast lane blew past me, one by one, as I maintained my steady course in the right lane.

It had been awhile since my last first date. Since my last date, to be honest. What would we talk about? What if I had nothing interesting to say? All I did, all day long, was bake or garden or study for my classes. Or hang out with my sister. That was it. As soon as I saw him in person, Azriel would realize how boring I really was. 

Another truck blew past me just as I slowed the car down even more in order to turn in to my destination. It wasn’t a fast food place, like I’d anticipated, even though it was right off the highway. 

It was a picnic spot. Trees lined the dirt road I had pulled onto, going back about a mile. Lights had been strung along the trees, guiding my way down the road. I had no idea how they were powered out here in the middle of nowhere, but the effect was appreciated. They looked really beautiful, lighting up the cloudy day. Hopefully it didn’t rain, but it looked awfully dark to the east of me. I pulled into a parking spot where the tree line ended. 

And there he was. 

Luckily the fall had been mild so far. It was a beautiful seventy degrees still, the leaves in various shades of red and orange. Azriel had claimed a picnic table beneath one of them. A blanket was spread on top of the table and he sat upon it, disregarding the surrounding benches entirely. 

I took a deep breath. Grabbed my purse, although I obviously wouldn’t need it since we weren’t at an actual restaurant. Pushing my car door shut behind me, I stood there next to the car. Just go, Elain, go, walk. Okay now. He’s gonna see you and think you’re weird or staring at him. Come on…

Damn. He’d spotted me. His face broke into an enormous grin, totally unrestrained, as I looked at him. I definitely looked stupid, lingering here next to my car. 

He jumped off the picnic table and strode toward me. Finally, my legs decided to work and I inched my way in his direction. 

“Elain.”

“Azriel.” Despite myself, I smiled. Were my cheeks bright red right now? He was just standing there, looking perfect, staring down at me. How’d he manage to look so good in a pair of black jeans and a t-shirt, black converse on his feet? His hair was slightly disheveled, which only served to make him cuter. 

“You look really nice.” 

I was definitely blushing. I wore a skirt that hit just above mid-thigh, black and white gingham. My white blouse was tucked into it.

“Thank you. Matching shoes,” I added, knocking my black converse high-tops boldly against his. Or at least, it seemed bold in my mind. Hold your horses, Elain! Shoe on shoe contact in the first five seconds of the date!  Nesta would be laughing at me right now. I scowled. I could do this. I’d had boyfriends before. 

“So… What is this place?” I asked him as he led me over to the picnic table.

“Just this random place Rhys and I discovered on our many drives around the state. Back in high school, we’d spend whole days just roaming the highways Don’t ask me why. We had nothing else to do.”

“It’s beautiful,” I told him. 

He smiled. “I brought food. I hope you like sandwiches, cuz that’s about the only thing I know how to make.”

“Sandwiches are perfect. I wish I’d known this was a picnic! I could have brought something.”

He shook his head, and pulled out a picnic basket from below the table. I took a seat on top of it as he started doling out sandwiches, little tupperware containers full of adorably cut berries and apples, and a couple of sparkling waters. “No, no. First date, my treat.”

He hopped up onto the table beside me. We were silent for a few moments and I became very aware of the large possibility for awkwardness that existed for the next hour, or at least until we finished the meal. 

“How was your drive?” 

“Easy. Yours?”

“Same.” He took an enormous bite of his sandwich. “Please, eat.”

I took a bite myself. “Wow,” I said, my mouth still full. Then I nearly died of embarrassment for forgetting my manners. First Date 101: don’t talk with your mouth full. I swallowed, cheeks burning. With my luck, my face would melt off by the end of the date, I was blushing so much already. “This is amazing.”

“Please,” he said. “It’s just a sandwich.”

“I mean it.”

“Thanks.”

Silence again, but this time it was more comfortable. 

“So how is it having Feyre and Rhys around you?” 

“What do you mean?” I asked, focusing on my shoes. I was pretty sure none of Feyre and Rhys’s friends yet knew they’d been having illicit sleepovers under my father’s roof.

He raised his eyebrows. “Elain.”

I sighed. “They spend all day making moon eyes at each other. But don’t tell them I told you! Feyre would kill me.”

He held up his hands. “I would never betray you like that. Scout’s honor.” He leaned forward. “But it is sickening, right?”

A giggle escaped me. “God, YES it is. Wherever I go, there they are making out on the tennis court, or sneaking around the house, or just staring at each other while we’re all in the living room watching a movie. It was a relief when they left for Rhys’s dad’s house.”

“Yeah, Cass and I had a bet going on when they’d bite the bullet and get together. I won, just so you know.”

I gave him a high five. “Congratulations. What do you win?”

“He’s buying drinks next time we go out.”

“Oh. Sounds fun.”

Silence again. “You could come with us, if you wanted. Next time we go out. I know it might not be your scene…” 

True. I hadn’t been out since Greyson and I had been dating at Mortal U. He hadn’t been a big fan of it and had usually gotten pretty jealous when random guys in bars so much as looked at me. But I’d already gone on my first date since that time…. Who says I couldn’t go out and have some fun, make more friends? 

“I would like that,” I said. 

After that, conversation flowed freely. Azriel told me about his friend group, and I even asked him how he thought Feyre was doing since her breakup. I told him about my hobbies, and school. And when we reached the point where I thought we’d have no more concrete facts about our lives to share, we continued to discuss politics, morals, love, all sorts of random things. Most of the topics we agreed on, and the ones that we had different opinions about were fun to debate. The entire time, though, I kept glancing at the sky. It was getting darker and darker, the clouds rolling in overhead. 

Azriel noticed where my gaze continued to go. “Ah, that. I’ve tried to ignore it but I think it’s going to storm… We should probably go.”

He’d said what I had been reluctant to acknowledge for the past half hour as the clouds rolled in. We exchanged a couple of pleasantries, he asked to see me again (I agreed), and moments later I found myself in the front seat of my car as the sky opened up and a torrential downpour unleashed itself on the dirt road. Azriel was in front of me, already a quarter of the way closer to the highway. I tried to pull out of my parking spot, but the car wouldn’t move. I tried again, and could feel the wheels spinning against the muddy ground. 

I was stuck. 

I lunged for my phone and dialed Azriel’s number. He didn’t answer. His phone was probably on silent or something after our date. I called again. No answer. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. 

I could barely see his taillights receding down the road, so I did the only other thing I could think of. I opened my car door. Enormous raindrops battered me instantly. I was soaked through in a matter of minutes. But if I wanted to get out of this muddy parking lot any time soon, Azriel was my only shot. I ran down the road, waving my hands. “Hey!” I screamed. But he turned right and his truck disappeared.

Soaked, my converse now a lovely shade of mud-brown, my white blouse sticking to my skin. I turned to trudge back through the mud to shelter in my car. 

Two sharp beeps came from behind me. 

I looked over my shoulder and through the rain, saw Azriel’s truck turn back onto the little dirt road. Thank goodness. I nearly started crying in relief. How he’d known to turn back, I had no idea. It was so dark, the rain so thick, that the string lights along the trees did nothing to illuminate the road. Lightning flashed. I decided to get back in my car until Azriel could make his way down the now treacherous dirt road, but I barely made it one step before my foot sank deep into the mud and I fell, hard. 

I heard a door slam behind me and warm hands hooked themselves beneath my shoulders, lifting me off of my hands and knees and out of the hole. Without thinking, I threw my arms around him, pulling him tightly to me under the rainy sky. 

“Are you okay?” Azriel shouted, his arms, at first hanging at his sides, coming around to hug me closer to him. Thunder crashed and I jumped. 

I nodded. “Thank you!” 

He smiled, despite the rain and mud that was now nearly covering both of us. His eyes dropped for just a second, and I looked down at myself. Ah, yes. The white shirt. Now very obviously see-through.

“My car is stuck!” I said, trying to cover up the awkwardness of the moment. 

He glanced behind him. “Get in mine!” 

I followed him and he insisted on holding the passenger door open for me, letting the rain continue to bombard him as I climbed in. He raced around the front of the truck and jumped in. 

We sat there for a moment, each of us breathing heavily. 

“You’re all wet and muddy now,” I said quietly. “I’m so sorry.”

He waved his hand. “Don’t apologize. You needed help.” 

“Thank you.”

He turned around and brandished a large overcoat at me. “This is all I have, but it will have to do until the rain stops and I can try to get your car out.” 

I repeated my thanks and covered myself with the coat. 

He turned on some music, and we settled back in a comfortable silence for a few moments, the heat on full blast. Then a Metallica song came on. 

“No,” I said. “No way. Don’t tell me you choose to listen to this.”

“What?” He said. “Rhys got me into it.”

“Ugh,” I groaned. “Feyre warned me about Rhys’s music tastes. Just my luck, I’d end up with somebody with an equally painful selection of music.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Ah, so you’ve ‘ended up with me’, have you?”

“Uhhh… I mean, I didn’t mean it like that. I just--”

“Elain.” 

“Yes?”

“Ending up with you sounds wonderful.”

-----------------------------------

~~~FEYRE~~~

Rhys was noticeably uncomfortable. We’d been swimming and played some tennis in his father’s backyard that afternoon, and he’d been preoccupied the entire time. I understood that his ex was now living in his house--I couldn’t even imagine living with Tamlin while we’d been together, much less now that we were broken up--but I didn’t know why he didn’t just talk to me about it. Plus, we were only staying tonight and tomorrow night, then heading back to school on Sunday. We hadn’t even seen Amarantha since meeting her that morning. 

She wasn’t present for the tense dinner I’d eaten with Rhys and his dad, either. The father and son had been civil, I would grant them that. However, Mr. Night didn’t make much of an effort to get to know me, which I found a little odd, considering I was staying in his house. Rhys had made many attempts to discuss my major, my hobbies, my swim career. Mr. Night would just nod, say, “That’s nice,” and fall into silence again. Rhys kept shooting me apologetic glances, but I just shook my head.

I was so lucky to have my dad. Sure, we’d had a rocky past. But he’d made an effort to give me a comfortable place to live, an effort to get to know my boyfriend. Mr. Night went to no such lengths, and I didn’t blame Rhys for it, or even his father. I just felt sorry for him that he didn’t know how to love his son. 

Later that night, Rhys and I returned to his room. I was ready to collapse into bed and perhaps binge something on Rhys’s enormous flat screen TV. I turned to suggest this plan to Rhys, but halted when I saw his face.

“What are you plotting?”

He grinned. “Well… Some of my old high school friends are having a party tonight. They do it every school vacation. I don’t normally go, but under the stressful circumstances…” His face darkened imperceptibly. I knew he meant the stress of his psychotic ex-girlfriend currently living in his house. And I would go out to party with him if it would make him feel better. It might be fun to let loose with Rhys by my side.

I smiled back at him.

“Well, Ms. Archeron. Allow me to take you out on the town tonight.” 

--------

I scrounged up the best party clothes I could find in what I had packed—a black cropped tank top and a jean skirt, black Vans and some silver jewelry. When I emerged from the bathroom, the room was empty. 

“Rhys?” He stepped out of his closet that was mostly empty despite its size.

“Feyre—wow. You look amazing. Ravishing. Dare I say it? Hot.”

“Shut up, you’re going to make me blush. You don’t look too bad yourself.” Indeed, his jeans and t-shirt were simple but he looked good. 

“Allow me to escort you out through the window,” he said. 

“Your dad wouldn’t approve of us leaving?”

He shrugged. “I’d rather not take my chances. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Discussing it isn’t worth it.” 

He led me over to the window. I followed after him and nearly slipped off the roof. He glanced over his shoulder. “I’m in a boot, and you’re the one who’s about to slip off the roof?”

“Shut up.”

“Well please be careful. I like your face the way it is.” He shimmied down the tree next to the roof and I followed suit. 

As I hopped down beside him, proud that I hadn’t fallen out of it, he hastily covered up a wicked grin. 

I cocked my head. 

“Just admiring the view from below,” he said innocently.

“Shut up,” I said again. But he grabbed my waist and pulled me against him. 

“Remind me. Did I tell you how gorgeous you look tonight, Feyre darling?”

I put my hands on his shoulders. “I don’t believe you did.”

He kissed my forehead, then both of my cheeks. “Well then let me tell you again. You look absolutely, positively gorgeous tonight, Feyre.”

I didn’t give him a chance to say anything else before I kissed him full on the mouth, my arms sliding up around his neck. I started to think we wouldn’t get farther than his lawn tonight when a bang issued from inside the house. We jumped apart. 

“Let’s save the making out for when we’re too drunk to make it home tonight.” He took my hand and started leading me through the shadows to the street. 

One Uber ride later, I found myself outside of a club called The Temple. Rhys whisked me inside without a word. We stepped directly into a cavernous room, the walls, ceiling, and floors painted a stark black. Strobe lights pulsed from every corner in time with the pounding music. The place was already packed full of college and high school aged people. Rhys pulled me over to the bar. A moment later, he handed me two shots. 

“To the people who look at the stars and wish!” He shouted over the music. 

I grinned, no idea where that particular outburst came from. “To the stars who listen and the dreams that are answered!” I shouted back. 

We clinked our drinks and I downed both of them, one after the other. Rhys turned back to the bar. 

“Feyre!” A voice shouted from behind me. 

“Mor! What are you doing here?!”

“I live here, silly!” She was heavily intoxicated, I could tell. But I was overjoyed to see her. Mor--my friend. Warmth spread through me at the reminder that I had such a friend at school. She seized my wrist. “Bye, Rhys!” Two seconds later I was in the center of the dance floor. I’d only had two shots but with Mor, but I had no trouble loosening up and giving myself to the music. In the midst of all the writhing, dancing bodies, I raised my arms and joined the dance. 

Rhys joined us a few moments later, passing me a drink. I downed half of it and, surprising myself at my boldness, got as close to him as I could. 

And so we danced. 

Hours, or maybe just minutes later, I stumbled off the dance floor and into a seat at the bar. Mor joined me and ordered us both another drink, despite my protests. We sat there, sipping our vodka tonics, breathing heavily and recovering from all the dancing and drinking we had been participating in. I reached the bottom of my vodka tonic and looked around. 

“Where’s Rhys?” I asked. 

Mor tossed her plastic cup behind her. “He was right behind us, I thought,” she said, already inching closer to the dance floor. I could see a couple of her old high school friends (I’d met them briefly while in the throng of dancing drunk people) already beckoning for her to rejoin them. 

“Go,” I told her, giving her a little push. “I’ll find him!”

She gave me a sloppy kiss on the cheek and disappeared. 

The world spinning around me, faceless males grabbing my ass as I pushed through the crowd, I worked my way all around the bar surrounding the enormous black room and the crowd of bodies filling it. I didn’t see Rhys anywhere, and I had been positive he had followed Mor and me off the dance floor. 

I stumbled a bit as I turned to check the hallway by the bathrooms. That would be the only place inside the bar that he could still be, unless he’d been pulled back into the crowd. 

The hallway to the bathroom was long. Several doors were placed in the walls at various increments. The bathrooms were located at the very end, right next to the doors that led to a smoking porch that was currently crowded with people. I hadn’t known the porch existed, so perhaps Rhys was out there, although I knew he didn’t smoke. Smoking while trying to be a Division I swimmer was a bit of a challenge… 

I stepped out onto the porch. He was nowhere. Finally, I decided to check the alleyway. Men shouted at me from the porch, asking me to join them but I ignored them. I tried to walk as directly as I could in order to appear more sober than I actually was. I was about to turn the corner of the fence to peek into the alleyway when I heard him. 

“--have to do this right now?” I heard his voice say. 

I was about to turn the corner when the voice that answered him caused me to stop short.

“Why do this later when now is the perfect time?” Amarantha’s smooth voice issued from beyond the fence.

I heard Rhys sigh. I felt bad for listening, but I wanted to know what was going on. And Rhys had been rather tight-lipped about what went down between him and Amarantha that caused her to key his car, etc, etc. 

“This is the last time, okay?” he said, sounding defeated. “And then you’re going to forget about this.”

Amarantha didn’t answer, so she must have nodded. Because the next thing I heard caused my heart to sink from my throat, where it had lodged as I’d listened to their conversation, through my chest and directly into the pit of my stomach. 

He was kissing her. And not lightly. 

I couldn’t hear another second of this. 

I ran.

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