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actualsaii · 4 years

Text

the bet

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Word count: 15k

Genre: smut, comedy, university AU

Summary: You lost a bet and now it’s time to face the consequences. Aka when you lose and now you have to get a tattoo.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30140211

I'm reposting this one in case it's more comfortable for the readers to use tumblr instead of AO3 :)

“I can’t believe they made me do it,” you murmured under your nose as you passed the street, knowing that your friends still sat in the car parked in the lot across the street with eyes pinned on your nervous figure. The closer you got to the two-story building, the stronger the crippling anxiety inside of you grew, causing your inners to shake under the heavy consequences of your Thursday night’s escapade that culminated into your worst nightmare.

Yes, everything started two nights ago in a shabby university bar that you grew so fond of during the past two years of your studies. It was always packed whether it was a school night or not, full of freshmen and also seniors, from time to time even postgraduate students that seemed to be only a myth to you as you’ve almost never met one outside the classes. However, neither of that mattered that night as you successfully finished your last exam and decided to hit the streets with your two best friends that carefully prepared the night to its tiniest details. Conspiracy was the first word that popped in your mind as the night continued to unfold her secrets, although it was quickly erased with the fifth shot of tequila after which you simply found yourself walking straight to the bar with one and only thing your friends managed to set your mind on.

The hot bartender, also a member of mythical postgraduate group, was your main target even though he was currently busy with lining the glasses of RedBull next to each other while smaller shot cups full of golden liquid, you somewhere in the back of your mind recalled was probably Jägermeister, balanced on the tips of the bigger glasses under. Each of his move was precise, yet you knew this wasn’t the first Jäger-train he had built. The man worked at this bar ever since you could remember - and you also recalled the moment he stepped into your first class of Forensic psychology, looking completely different than you saw him the previous night (which was your first time visiting the bar when you were a freshman) in the club. Just then one of your friends told you he was a postgraduate student who worked at the bar and also taught some classes because of his final research paper. And now he was here again, his longish black hair carefully slicked back, exposing the undercut that made him look like a bad boy. His eyes momentarily flickered up from his work and once they laid on you, smirk flashed through his features and he straightened his posture, done with what he was doing.

“Look who we have here on a school night. Isn’t it a little bit too late for you to be out, ___?” he tilted his head to the side, never allowing the smile to disappear from his handsome features. He was famous for many things, but the nickname he used really preceded his name - Worldwide Handsome.

“Kim Seokjin, nice and friendly as always. Not that it should concern you, but I’m successfully done with all of my exams; so tonight, I’m celebrating. And I’m also on mission,” you leaned closer to him, almost knocking the train made of multiple glasses of alcohol, however you couldn’t care less. There was only one thing on your mind - and you know your friends were watching you somewhere from the booth in the back of the bar. At least they tried because your mind wasn’t the only one clouded by alcohol and a stupid bet you nodded to extremely fast and without giving it a thought or two first.

“So, mission it is tonight. Anyway, congratulations to wrapping up the term. Now, is there something I can do for you? Because, as you can see, it’s Thursday night, and the place is already bursting. Also, my masterpiece is ready for the show,” he said, reaching for the empty shot cup, ready to put the train on move. Your eyes flickered from his to the said masterpiece and you chuckled. Of course, there was something he could do for you but you didn’t want to burst it out loud just like that, not when the place was crowded and you felt countless eyes pinned on you because you occupied the spot by the bar for longer than acceptable.

But then again, you were on the mission and that was more important than some impatient freshmen that expected to put their hands on one of the glasses of Jägerbomb Seokjin has just put on the move. He gently nudged the first shot sitting on the rim of the glass and watched with his eyes full of excitement how the following shot cups fell down like a domino. People around you cheered loudly and suddenly they started grabbing glasses one after another until there was just one left. In a moment you decided to snatch it for yourself, your fingers met with another long and slender ones, covered in black ink and shiny silver rings. Looking up, you realized the crowd of people was gone, scattered all over the place and dance floor while only a few people remained lingering around the bar area. And the man, who was about to steal the drink you set your eyes on, was now staring at you with a smirk that mirrored in his deep and dark eyes. Long strands of his wavy blonde hair fell into his face but he quickly pushed them back, yet he took an advantage of the moment of surprise and snatched the drink before you had enough time to say something.

“Too late, love,” he shrugged and quickly disappeared in the crowd of people, only his blonde hair shining like a beacon, eventually disappearing as well. You turned to Seokjin with lips formed in a shape of a small ‘o’, still processing what has just happened. The bartender smirked and started lining another train of glasses on the surface of the bar, this time with a different type of drink on his mind.

“What was that? Who was that guy?” you asked, momentarily confused but you quickly shook it off your shoulders like an invisible layer of dust. You had to succeed with your mission, some blonde guy stealing the drink you wanted for yourself was out of the question at the moment.

“That was Jeon Jungkook, no one you should care about. Now, what can I offer you, ___? Or are you going to just levitate around until you are brave enough to spill the tea? Because one of your friends is peeking from the booth like a chicken hidden in the bush. What is it that you want?” with those words, he leaned closer over the bar surface and you felt his hot breath hitting your face. And even though your senses were already covered by the heavy sheet made out of tequila and god knew what else, you still felt cigarettes and scotch in his breath, the favorite combination of his when he was working.

You chewed on your lower lip while the wheels in the back of your mind spun like crazy, contemplating whether to come out with your plan or just kept playing your little game of a spy on the mission - even though Kim Seokjin could see straight through you as if you were a thin piece of a transparent paper. So, with a heavy sigh, you smashed your palms against the bar in a dramatic gesture, looking him straight into his eyes. If someone was looking at you, and you were sure there was at least one person watching you besides your friends, they must have thought you were some kind of Seokjin’s crazy fangirl. Which wouldn’t be surprising since the man was quite famous at the university.

“I need Jimin’s number.”

“Oh my god.”

“I’m serious, Seokjin. I need Jimin’s number otherwise I’m in a very big trouble. You have to save my ass,” you basically begged him, now almost laying on the bar as you leaned closer to him. The black-haired bartender only shook his head no and gave you a look somewhere between ‘I like you, you are my friend, but I can’t help you’ and ‘someone please just kill me already before I strangle this girl first’.

“I’m sorry but if you want Jimin number, you have to ask yourself. And since I know the number is not for you, you should tell your friend to man the hell up and ask him herself. He doesn’t bite, you know. Well, at least I think he doesn’t,” he shook his head again and handed you a shot of tequila he managed to pour you while he was talking. Small pout formed on your lips and you tried really hard to pull out the most innocent look on your face, but such a witchcraft had none effect on Kim Seokjin.

“You don’t understand - I promised my friend I would get the number for her. We placed a bet and if I lose… Seokjin, I can’t lose! Of my fucking god, I can’t lose this one. That would be the end of me.”

Something in his face shifted and now he looked genuinely interested in your little mission. A tiny spark of hope lit up in your chest when his eyes softened and he turned to you again.

“What’s the bet about?”

You felt the heat creeping into your cheeks each second of standing by the bar, your eyes now pinned on your hands still placed on its surface. The shot laid untouched in front of you even though you felt your mouth watering just by watching it. And although the level of alcohol in your bloodstream was already dangerously high, you reached out for it and downed the shot in one gulp. Just in case you needed some more courage.

“If I don’t get Jimin’s number tonight, I will have to get a tattoo by the end of the week. So, please, you have to save my ass, Seokjin. I mean, it’s not like I don’t want that tattoo, I’ve wanted it for some time already, but I’m still not sure and—“

“You got to be kidding me, ___. This is the most stupid thing I’ve ever heard,” the almost caring look in his face was quickly replaced by his notorious smug smirk and you knew you were fucked for the night. There was no way he was about to give you Jimin’s number, and walking around the bar, asking random strangers for Park Jimin’s number was out of question.

“I will never forget your betrayal, Kim Seokjin. I will never forget how you turned your back on me. And if you come to me asking for help, I will repay you the same,” your index finger touched his chest and while you were sure you looked dangerous and almost and vengeful, Seokjin just chuckled and sent you one of his precious flying kisses.

“Duly noted, sweetheart. Don’t forget to send me a photo of your new tattoo. I will be waiting.”

And just like that, with his words still echoing through your mind, you showed him your tongue and waltzed back to the table where your friends were sitting.

Of course, without Park Jimin’s number.

And the threat of getting a tattoo dangerously hanging above your head.

“I can’t believe they made me do it.”

It was Saturday morning and the betrayal of Kim Seokjin and the following cheering sounds of your friends still rang through your mind like an annoying sound of the alarm clock set on the phone. You weren’t about to get away with new pledges and promises of getting Park Jimin’s number because your friends simply weren’t about to let you. No, a deal was a deal and now that you lost the bet, you had to get that tattoo from the artist in a parlor downtown. It was a new one and judging by what Sunmi told you a few days ago, they only opened the salon three months ago. However, the number of followers on social network sites grew higher and higher each day so you and your friends agreed it was a good place to get your first tattoo.

Although you weren’t so sure now that you were crossing the street with a paper cup of coffee in your hands. It was an olive branch from your friends when they picked you up at the dorms early in the morning, proposing the breakfast at your favorite café near the university’s main campus. At least something to ease your mind before taking such a huge step forward.

You took a deep breath and looked over your shoulder one last time, checking if those two creatures that came straight from the hell still sat in the car parked in the lot. And of course, they were still there, sending you thumbs up as if to give you a courage to step inside and get that goddamn tattoo. Thinking about that, it was all your fault because you were talking about getting one for a while, so it was only natural your friends took advantage of your big mouth and used it as a weapon against you. Although, you had to admit the smoothness they turned the bet into.

“Why am I even friends with you?” you muttered under your nose and took a sip of the coffee before you reached for the doorknob and pressed it, opening the door with a sound of ring bell accompanying your gesture. You peeked inside - and your inners immediately turned upside down with the scene that unfolded in front of your eyes. Not to mention you almost dropped the paper cup with coffee.

The studio itself looked neat and clean, shiny almost as each piece of furniture and accessory seemed brand new. Right opposite the front door sat a massive black desk with an office chair and a laptop placed on the top. But besides the PC, there was a small plant and an opened sketchbook with a picture you couldn’t see properly because you stood too far away. Not that you wanted to peek inside, not really. The wall behind the table was pitch black with a few modern art pieces and shelves full of books standing there. The remaining three walls were covered in various pieces of paper showing different tattoo motives that were apparently free for customers to choose. But that wasn’t what knocked the air out of your lungs and almost made you change your decision with backing the hell out of the studio, no. What made you almost squeal were two men half hidden behind the paravan that covered the tattooing area from the common area with two black leather sofas and a small coffee table. Even though you couldn’t see their faces properly, you exactly knew who they were. And the fact that one of them was indirectly responsible for you getting in this quite unfortunate situation made your blood boil.

“Park Jimin?”

Both of them immediately snapped in your direction while the said man rolled down his shirt and patted the blonde’s shoulder with a grateful smile curling the corners of his lips up. The blonde one only nodded but once his eyes met yours, there was something wicked mirroring behind his irises - and you were quickly reminded of the Thursday’s night and the talk you had with Seokjin after he successfully made the Jäger-train work. The blonde man was the one who stole your drink. The one who ever so shamelessly snatched it right out of your hands and walked away as if nothing had happened. You clearly remembered the wave of drunken rage that almost swept you off your feet the night it happened - the drink was supposed to be yours, not his. Either way, that fact only added to the moment of surprise you went through the second you realized the tattoo artist was no one else but the blonde thief with arms covered in ink.

“Oh, hi? You are the one from Seokjin’s Forensic Psychology class, right? ___? What are you doing here?” Jimin asked and at that moment, you felt like the dumbest dumbass walking the planet earth. What were you doing here? Oh, yes. The lost bet and the punishment you had to accept according to the terms of the deal. However, that wasn’t something you could come clean about since it would make you look like an… idiot. Complete idiot. So, instead of giving him an answer, your eyes flickered to the direction of the blonde tattoo artists who was now in the process of getting rid of the black latex gloves, throwing them into a trash bin. And as if he felt the weight of your eyes heaving him down, he looked at you with a slight hint of smirk tugging on the corners of his lips. He too seemed to be interested in your answer.

“Yep, that’s me. And to answer your question - I’m here to get a tattoo. I guess that’s what tattoo salons are for?” you tilted your head to the side and gave both males your best smile without being nervous about it.

“Do you have an appointment?” the blonde asked and approached the table where the sketchbook and other notebooks laid. As soon as his question sunk in the air filling the room, you cleared your throat and realized that, perhaps, you should have called beforehand, although this whole situation came into an existence during your Thursday night’s pre-game when you were already intoxicated and so determined to get Jimin’s number no matter what consequences might come out in case you simply failed.

Exactly like you did.

And it brought you here.

Silence fell over the room and for a split second, your brain came up with an idea of asking Jimin for his number and immediately backing away from the previous plan, but then, on the other hand, you weren’t about to chicken out of your punishment. You were too proud to do so.

“No, I don’t think so,” you smiled again, wishing for the mother earth to swallow you and spit you out on the other side of the world since the weight of the look in their eyes grew heavier and heavier each second that passed. They must have thought you were an idiot waltzing into a tattoo salon without an appointment on Saturday morning. Because who would have done that? No one but a psychology student who lost the bet and was now facing its consequences.

“Well, then I guess I will just leave you two alone. Lucky you, Jungkook was supposed to have a day off since it’s Saturday, but as I know him, he wouldn’t say no to a nice young lady, would he?” Jimin smirked and before Jungkook had the opportunity to throw the notebook in his direction, the brown-haired guy grabbed his jacket and disappeared from the salon at the speed of light.

And that made you feel bit anxious because right at the moment, it was just you and the tattoo artist Jungkook who managed to steal your drink, which, for some reason, couldn’t let you cold. The small and tiny voice in the back of your mind told you he must have been a member of the mythical postgraduate students’ group as well, but you weren’t stupid to voice your question out loud. You were just frozen in one place with lips forming a shape of a small ‘o’, unable to put together a rather coherent sentence to explain how you got into such a situation. Not that he should know each detail, but then again, he was the artist and according to Jimin’s words, he was supposed to have a day off until you came, and, well, obviously changed his plans.

Again, according to Jimin’s words.

“If you have a day off, I can come another time. Or I can book an appointment and—“

“It’s ____, right? I’m Jeon Jungkook, nice to meet you. Anyway, it’s fine. Jimin wasn’t on my list either when he came banging on the door early in the morning. One more tattoo wouldn’t kill me, really. I don’t have much to do, anyway,” his voice dropped a few tones lower and it genuinely surprised you how quickly he agreed on something that wasn’t on his schedule, therefore wasn’t supposed to happen. Honestly, you expected him to throw you out of the salon with the same sassy smirk and comment he addressed you with the night you met him at the bar. But nothing like that happened and you suddenly felt the inner storm gaining the momentum, throwing you off balance easily. And maybe, that was the reason you kept standing in one spot with lips still half-parted, staring at the young man standing in front of you with a smile plastered over his features. The smile first seemed to be innocent, reaching his eyes but mirroring something not so innocent any longer as the question slipped his lips. “Did you have fun with your friends?”

Wheezing noise came out of you and he raised his brows in unspoken question.

“I’d rather not talk about that night, really,” you rolled your eyes and bit on your inner cheek as the memory of the night came to you as a wrecking ball.

“Had too much to drink? You should be glad I managed to put my hands on the drink before you did then,” his innocent smile quickly turned into a smug one, reminding you of the way Seokjin basically laughed in your face when he found out about the bet. And since the bartender seemed to be familiar with the blonde tattoo artists, there was this one certain question that popped on your mind like a red light. Was it possible Seokjin told Jungkook about the bet? Did he out you?

No, Seokjin wouldn’t do that. He might have not helped you with getting Jimin’s number, but he certainly wouldn’t do something like blabbering about the bet to his friends who had nothing to do with that. Until now.

“About that - it was my drink, I had my eyes on that first,” you murmured but couldn’t help when the smile tugged on the corner of your lips. Fighting about something so trivial like a drink wasn’t really your thing, yet, for some reason you felt like this business needed to be taken care of.

“Then you should have been faster, love. Now, tell me about that tattoo of yours you want to get. Do you have something on your mind or am I free to come up with a design?” he asked, quickly shifting into his artist mode. He wasn’t really curious about the reason you ended up in his studio, nor he blamed you for barging in like Jimin did in the morning. He simply wanted to start to work, that was all. And you had to admit, it once again stole the wind from under your wings and left you standing there frozen in one place with lips parted but no words leaving them. A wave of admiration towards the young man that dedicated his free time to grace the skin of other people woke up inside of you and brought the butterflies in your stomach to life.

As the question settled in, your mind was suddenly blank like a fresh canvas, not a simple idea crossing it. Your loss of words made him chuckle before he turned to his table and reached for yet another sketchbook laying there. The sound of pages flipping filled the room, accompanied by Jungkook’s soft humming until he found what he was looking for.

“What do you think about this? It’s a free design I made a few days ago but I was too busy to put in on the wall. It looks like something that might suit you. Of course, it’s just my opinion,” with those words he handed you the sketchbook opened on a page with the design he had on mind for you. And you had to admit, it was beautiful. A simple line of flowers tangled together, nothing too exaggerating, quite the right opposite. However, you couldn’t quite grasp the concept of place where he wanted to put it.

“It looks really beautiful, and now I will probably sound too stupid, but where do you want to put it?” you asked, genuinely interested in his answer. Of course, he must have had an idea of where to place it once he was working on it. Your question brought a smile to his face as he came closer and gently grabbed the sketchbook from your hands. He put it back on the table while his right hand remained cuffing your left wrist.

“Here, around your wrist like a bracelet while the rest of the tattoo will continue to the back of your hand. Exactly here,” his fingers traced a delicate way from your wrist to the back of your hand, leaving a burning trace behind. Breath almost hitched in your throat when you realized how close he got to you without you realizing it, however, you quickly collected yourself and fixed your posture, looking into his dark eyes. “It’s your first tattoo and I believe I don��t have to tell you how important it is for you to choose the right place. Consider this a friendly opinion of mine. It would really suit you, ___.”

Just as he finished his little speech, his touch left your hand, yet the burning sensation remained lingering over the surface of your skin.

“That sounds like a really lovely idea,” you murmured as you brought your hand closer to your face, examining the place he traced with his fingers just seconds ago. As much as you weren’t excited about the idea of getting a tattoo this fast, although you’ve always wanted one, you started changing your mind in a snap of fingers. And whether it was the picture you really liked or Jungkook’s aura that was only hard to resist, you didn’t know. What you were sure about was the one and only thing - you weren’t about to back away from this decision. Not anymore.

You were surprised by yourself and the sudden discovery you missed the way Jungkook chuckled and shook his head over your strange behavior.

“Are you sure about that? Because I don’t really want you to chase me down the university halls in case you don’t like it anymore, you know? Tattoo is mostly a permanent thing and let me tell you, it’s really painful if you want to get rid of that. Not to mention it’s almost twice as expensive. Think about it, love,” it almost sounded like he tried to change your mind, and honestly, you felt like a child getting a lecture. Which you didn’t like at all.

“Of course, I’m sure. I wouldn’t be here in the first place if I wasn’t. I’ve wanted a tattoo for a very long time, I just didn’t give it a proper thought - as of what to get and where to place it. I was hoping that since you are a pro—you could help me out with that. Which you did, so…” you shrugged, giving him a look full of confidence. At least, you hoped you did. And as to seal your words, you took a step closer to him with a smile gracing your features. “So, can we do it today?”

Smirk flashed through his features and mirrored in his eyes.

“Of course, love.”

Jungkook put everything into motion rather smoothly and you had to admire the way he basically danced around the salon while he prepared everything he was about to need for your tattoo. From time to time, your eyes flickered to the already prepared design laying on the small table near the tattooing chair you were aiming for. Excitement rushed through your bloodstream just when you imagined the art on your hand. Funny, how everything changed in a snap of fingers and your annoyed mood was quickly replaced by the excitement in the form of butterflies fluttering in your tummy.

“Do you mind if I play some music?” he asked with his back turned to you as he did some last preparations for your tattoo.

“Not at all. It’s your place, play whatever you want,” you shook your head and shrugged down the leather jacket you were wearing. The room was hot and you shouldn’t be wearing it anyway, so you took it off and climbed into the chair, waiting rather impatiently for the blonde artist to be done with his little preparations. The soft tunes of hip-hop music filled the air and you had to smile. For some reason, even though you didn’t know him at all, the music suited Jungkook very much. It went along the aura his persona gave off, almost hand in hand.

“What is that? I’ve never heard this song,” you asked curiously as you made yourself comfortable in the chair, leaning against the leather surface with the butterflies still playing the game of catch in your stomach. Have you really been that excited about getting that goddamn tattoo? Or was Jeon Jungkook responsible for the weird excitement you haven’t seen coming once you stepped out of your friend’s car? Such questions popped in your mind and you had to sigh in defeat as you didn’t have a single answer.

The way your question captured his attention and the way he turned to you with eyes sliding up and down your body in the tattooing chair certainly didn’t help to calm the storm inside of you.

“Do you know Jung Hoseok? He is one of the postgraduates, but other than studying, he likes to work on music. This is one of the songs he released within his mixtape a few weeks ago. It’s only on SoundCloud, so I don’t blame you for now knowing it, but you should give it a try. He is really good,” Jungkook smiled as he was apparently praising one of his good friends, reaching for the box of latex gloves to put a clean pair on. The gesture itself told you he was ready to start working on your design.

“Not only you are a mythical group everyone is talking about, but it seems like all of you have that hidden side no one knows about - well, besides Seokjin. Everyone knows he is the most handsome bartender. I guess he is the reason why the bar is still so packed. But hey, I will give that mixtape a shot. It sounds catchy,” you wondered out loud without giving your words a thought or two. Yet, it has already escaped your mouth and you couldn’t do anything about it. And when Jungkook chuckled, you only hoped he didn’t think you were a complete weirdo.

“Is that so? I’ve never heard anyone calling us a mythical group but I can see the point. It’s just we are always busy with the university and when there’s a slight chance to do whatever else than the research for doctoral thesis, we simply do what we love to do - and it differs from person to person. For me, it’s the salon and the art of tattoo. Although it mostly belongs to my older brother, every time I’m free from uni, I spend my time here,” he was open with you and it almost made your heart melt because even though he didn’t know you properly, he talked to you about the daily basis of his life as if you two were old friends. Plus, his words convinced you he didn’t think of you as a weirdo, which was definitely a very good sign. “I’m sure there’s something you love to do too.”

That made you wonder. There were many things you enjoyed doing, but suddenly, none of them came to your mind as Jungkook kept staring at you, probably waiting for the answer. Your brain worked faster than on the university entrance exam, yet the more pressure you put on that poor thing, the more alert it seemed to be.

“Honestly, I’m glad when I have a weekend off. This is my second year on the university and keeping my shit together is getting harder and harder. But well, there was this period of time when I enjoyed doing Yoga almost every day. Currently it’s just reading books and listening to music. Now you are going to think I’m one of those boring people who like to stay inside instead of partying with a large group of friends,” you decided to be honest with him because there was nothing left to lose. Also, why not being honest with someone who decided to sacrifice his own free time in spite of giving you tattoo?

“Why would I think you are boring? I love being by myself with a good book or a good movie on Netflix. However, I also like to go out with my friends from time to time. And I bet you do, too,” the teasing smirk was back on his lips, although it didn’t last long as he reached for your hand with excited sparkles dancing in his eyes. “Are you ready?”

You only nodded, watching him like a hawk when he reached for the disinfection and turned back to you with a smile tugging on the corner of his lips. And just like before, Jungkook easily slipped into his tattoo artist mode, moving around with grace and something more that made your eyes stay pinned on him rather shamelessly. He must have felt your eyes scanning him up and down when he did the magic to your hand - aka applying the disinfection and then wiping your skin gently once he was done. After that, he put some kind of gel on your skin and when you asked what he was doing, he only chuckled.

“I need to print the design on your skin. It helps with the process,” he said, not giving you a single glance as he was so drawn in each step of his job. Next time you looked down on your hand, he was pressing the paper against your skin, peeling it off after he was sure the design was completely imprinted. The picture came out blue and blurry in some places, but you knew that wasn’t an issue for someone like Jungkook. “Is it okay like that? Do you want me to move it a little?” he asked, pushing back on the chair he was sitting in for you to have space to inspect the future design of your tattoo. You brought your hand closer to your face, inspecting each detail of the pattern, internally already excited about how it was going to look once it was done and completed.

Honestly, it looked nice and somehow, you felt it suited you well. Exactly like he told you when he first showed you the design. Simple and delicate, yet somehow daring. Nonetheless, you must have been checking it for way too long as Jungkook cleared his throat and you were quickly snapped back to the reality.

“Oh, yeah, sorry about that. I think the place is amazing, you don’t need to move it. I can already imagine it,” you smiled without the realization Jungkook was closer to you once again, his hot breath brushing against the skin of your exposed shoulder. You weren’t going to lie here, the shivers danced down your spine crazily and your head spun a little when the scent of his musky cologne attacked your senses. How come you didn’t catch it sooner? Never mind, this wasn’t the right time nor place to be weak for the blonde artist.

Although he was hot.

Very hot.

“Okay then, let’s get this beauty done,” he smirked and you couldn’t do otherwise but mirror the excitement that was entangled within his voice. You outreached your hand for him, mentally preparing for the pain to come. Bonus points for Jungkook who let you breathe out for a while before he grabbed the tattoo machine and leaned closer to you to the point you felt his breath and cologne again. Damn, that kind of thoughts must have clouded your mind completely because you hissed when the needle first touched your skin. Thankfully, you didn’t flinch nor you moved an inch in your seat. Soon, you grew kind of used to the new sensation glazing through your skin.

“You okay?” he looked up to your eyes after a minute or two, you didn’t count. You only nodded, chewing on your inner cheeks because you couldn’t describe the weird sensation. On the scale of ‘it hurts’ to ‘it’s kind of annoying’, your feelings balanced perfectly in the middle.

“Yeah. Just can’t decide if it hurts or not. I mean, it doesn’t hurt as much as I thought it was going to hurt. Am I weird?” you voiced out your thoughts with a chuckle accompanying them, hoping Jungkook would understand the message you tried to send.

“You are not weird. I’ve met countless people who couldn’t quite decipher what they felt, and to be honest with you, I’m surprised you are not squealing in pain considering the place you chose for your first tattoo is quite painful. No offense, of course. Anyway, yeah. Long time ago, me and my brother agreed this type of pain was… somehow exciting. You are expecting something great and you are willing to go such a length to get it, whilst the pain. I, personally, like that pain.”

“I can see that. Considering your arms are basically drowning in the ink. I like it,” the bold confession slipped your lips without you even realizing so. Jungkook stopped working for a split second and looked at you, eyes hazy and suddenly full of something that hasn’t been there before. And as much as you yelled at yourself internally to avoid his gaze, the other half of yourself did quite the right opposite. You started back with the growing smirk curling your lips in a teasing matter. Something inside of you enjoyed the little game that was slowly but surely getting out of control with each second that passed. If he could call you love, you could play with him in return as well.

All while keeping his eyes on yours, he started talking, the process of tattoo momentarily completely forgotten.

“Most of it is mine work, some of it my brother’s. Got my first one when I was sixteen and parents almost killed me. My brother went with me, he played the role of my legal guardian since I was still a minor. And that’s basically how this addiction started. First tattoo, drawing my own designs, getting the machine and experimenting on my own skin. I fucked up some and my brother had to cover it with another design. And I still want more,” he said, giving a special emphasis on the last word as his eyes flickered in your direction for the last time before he started working on the tattoo again. The stinging sensation grew heavier, yet you prevented yourself from yelping or flinching in your place.

Because the sensation of his burning stare caused you feel more than the process of inking your skin itself.

“That really is a sheer talent,” you murmured under your nose, still bothered with the thoughts that kept whirling in your mind like a vortex that swept everything along the way. You thought about his words again and again until a question rolled down your tongue. “Do you think I might end up wanting more too?”

He looked up to you with the long strands of blonde hair falling into his eyes. The urge to push it behind his ear was too strong and you had to resist hard not to reach out to do it. Damn, there was something about him that kept bugging you like crazy.

“I don’t know, love. You can get rid of the tattoo in a year or less. Or you can come barge in like Jimin did because you will want another one. One can never know,” he said as he reached for the paper wipes to clean the first part of the tattoo that crawled around your wrist. His touch was gentle and caring, almost as sweet as the smile that appeared on his lips when he said: “I’m going to finish the outlining and then we can take a break if you want. But I should warn you that after the break, it might hurt a little. Your skin will be triggered, so if you feel dizzy or something, let me know.”

“Now you sound like I might pass out.”

“You wouldn’t be the first one,” again, the sound of his laugh filled the room and you rolled your eyes. “But so far, you are holding really bravely. You are definitely not going to pass out.”

The next twenty minutes passed in silence between the two of you, only the soft tunes of R&B music filled the room. However, that wasn’t something that disturbed you, quite the right opposite. You managed to relax yourself, body almost melting against the chair as you let Jungkook finish outlining the tattoo. However, despite your relaxed state, you couldn’t stop thinking about the way he touched you even though it was just a part of his job. Of course he had to touch you, of course he had to be careful with what he was doing.

But there was something more to it. Something more about Jeon Jungkook and the way he talked to you when he explained the story behind his tattoos. The way his eyes from time to time flickered to you and refused to leave just to hold a tiny piece of eye-contact. Not that you wanted to flatter yourself, but you did. This wasn’t only in your head - he was staring because he probably felt the same connection or how you should call it.

No, it was not connection.

Perhaps something else.

Something you would dare to call desire.

But then again, you didn’t want to flatter yourself.

But you did.

The realisation you were all hot and disturbed because of the blonde tattoo artist covered in ink felt fresh and exciting, however, you were quickly pulled out of the pool of your thoughts when he pushed back and put down the machine, getting rid of the gloves. He threw them into a trash bin and when he looked at you, there was this bunny smile gracing his features.

“Time for a little break. Do you want coffee or something? I bet the one you brought with you must be already cold,” he shook his head and got up from the seat, eyes still pinned on you. For some reason, a thought of him being able to read your thoughts momentarily flashed through your mind - and you felt stupid for even thinking about it. Of course, it was only able in those fantasy books you loved reading.

Yet, his eyes mirrored something deeper.

“Coffee, please. With milk and sugar if I can ask.”

“Of course. Everything for you, love.”

Jungkook wasn’t lying when he said it might hurt after the break. The skin on your hand was triggered and burning, however, you were too proud to admit it was getting too painful and too unbearable. Instead, you kept biting on your inner cheek while your eyes remained on his focused face and his skillful fingers that were almost done with the tattoo. What was first a design in Jungkook’s little sketchbook was now a beautiful art gracing the skin of your hand in a very delicate way. Just when the art was done and Jungkook cleaned your skin, he put on a transparent tape over it and gave you yet another bunny smile.

“And, we are done,” he pushed away from you and got rid of the latex gloves, cleaning the mess around while you hopped down from the chair and checked yourself in the mirror on the wall (although you didn’t really have to since the tattoo was perfectly visible just by looking at it). As you were scanning your posture in the reflection, you also felt something else. A pair of eyes running up and down your body rather shamelessly, and you had to admit - you enjoyed the attention he was giving you.

“You are strangely silent and I’m not sure if I like it or not,” Jungkook surprised you with his words, causing you to finally turn to him with a smile tugging on the corners of your lips. He was already done with cleaning the space, now sitting in the tattooing chair with arms folded over his chest. Something about him was so mesmerizing you found yourself unable to look away and take a deep breath. He seemed the same, though, giving you a rather intimidating look full of undisclosed attention and something more.

“I was just checking the masterpiece you created, that’s all. It looks amazing,” your voice came out strong and steady, surprising even yourself when you finished the sentence with a smile plastered over your features. Ever since you crossed the threshold of Jungkook’s salon, you managed to boost your confidence a little over the small talk and the cup of coffee you two had together during the short break.

“Now you are exaggerating, love. Anyway, I’m glad you like it. The first one is always very special. At least in my case,” the smirk was soon replaced by the bunny smile you found too cute on a guy like Jungkook. His appearance and look probably confused many people - including you. When you saw him for the first time, you thought he was a bad boy, a player, someone who would toy with you around only to tell you off the next day. But the more you were talking to him through the session, the more convinced you grew he was actually a nice guy with passion for art and tattoos. He was a nice example of that ‘to not judge the book by its cover’ saying. Those thoughts seemed to occupy your mind for longer than you thought as Jungkook slid down the chair and came closer to you, examining the tattoo he has just given you. “And it looks very good on you. Hot and tempting, but also sweet and delicate. It’s complimenting you well, love,” this time, he put a special emphasis on the last word, catching you completely off guard. However, you quickly collected yourself as your eyes found his, already staring. Once again, he came too close to you, completely destroying the last pieces of your personal space, but for some reason, you didn’t give a damn. If he was about to play, you weren’t the one to chicken out of this. No, not really. Therefore, came the answer with a smile flashing through your features and the smirk your eyes managed to pull out.

“Thank you, I like that place too. And who knows, I might come for more once I think about it deeper,” you smiled and internally fought the urge to touch him somehow. Anyhow. The aura around him was so welcoming you almost heard it whispering those teasing words into your ear, luring you to come closer despite the fact his work was over for now. You didn’t want to be done with him, not yet. You wanted more.

And moreover, you wanted him to call you like that again.

Gosh, being attracted to someone has never been more annoying than at this very moment when you wanted nothing more but to lean closer and—

“I’d be very happy, to be honest,” he took a step back, however, the smirk remained lingering over his facial features, giving you that tiny spark of hope that the game wasn’t finished just yet. But then again, he took a step back and it was a sign for you to do the same.

“Surely I will let you know in advance next time. Now, how much do I owe you?”

“How much what?”

“How much for the tattoo, Jungkook,” you couldn’t help but put a special emphasis on his name that rolled down your tongue easier than you first expected. He seemed to be caught off guard momentarily before a soft sound of him chuckling filled the room.

“Nothing,” he shrugged as if it indeed was nothing, as if he just didn’t grace your skin with his art.

His answer made you look at him in pure shock, blinking once and twice before his answer settled and you finally understood the simple word that left his lips. Just when you were about to scold him a little, he caught you unprepared with yet another shocking answer. “I stole a drink from you, so think about this as a payback. Also, you seem to be friends with Seokjin - and Seokjin’s friends are my friends.”

It was quick and bold answer, leaving you standing there as if someone spilled a bucket of cold-ass water over your head. Your lips formed a shape of a small ‘o’ and you very probably looked like a complete idiot.

“No, I can’t let you do that. I came here on your day off; you can’t give me a tattoo for free.”

“My studio, my rules, love. However, you are right about this one,” he wondered out loud, giving you a look that you couldn’t decipher, quite the right opposite. The look and his answer made your heart beat faster, almost as if it wanted to jump straight out of your ribcage. However, you kept it cool, just casually waiting for him to tell you more.

But he didn’t.

“So?”

“So… let’s just say you owe me this one, love. Let’s settle this as a debt I can collect anytime I want. What do you think about that?” he tilted his head to the side and gave you a look that was supposed to look innocent, yet there was nothing innocent about the mischief burning in his eyes. And despite the fact you didn’t know what did he mean by the ‘debt he could collect anytime he wanted’, the idea somehow excited you, causing the butterflies to play the game of catch in your tummy again.

“I think that’s something I can agree on.”

“Then give me your number, love,” he fetched his phone and unlocked it, handing it to you right after. You took a deep breath, typing the number and giving it back almost immediately. You didn’t dare to save the number, honestly curious about what name he was about to use for you. But as much as you tried to peek, Jungkook turned away from you, typed something down and then gave your phone a quick call so you had his number as well. Just then he put the phone back into the pocket of his jeans. Pout momentarily flashed through your features, but once he turned back to you, it was quickly replaced by a smile. At least you had his number now.

“Alright so… I’m gonna go now. Thank you for… you know, staying and working despite you were supposed to have a day off.”

“No need to thank me, pretty one. Let me tell you, it was a very well spent time. I will see you around? Perhaps on Seokjin’s anniversary party at the bar next week? Or… perhaps sooner, who knows,” the same mysterious look appeared in his face once again as he gave you a look. You tried not to pay attention to the way he ghosted after you while you collected your stuff and slid into the leather jacket. “And don’t forget to take care about the tattoo. Leave the tape on for approximately twenty-four hours and then gently wash it. And use a special lotion, here, I almost forgot,” it was impressive how quickly he snapped into his artist mode, reaching for one of the tubes standing on the shelf nearby. “Here, use this. Twice or thrice a day. If anything, call me.”

“Thank you, Jungkook. I will see you.”

“I already can’t wait, ____.”

Perhaps Jungkook was right when he said he would see you at the bar next week. And maybe, just maybe, you expected that stupid call or debt-collecting way sooner. Because once you came home from the tattoo session at his salon, you did nothing else but stared at your phone, almost cursing yourself for being that worked up over a boy you’ve only spent a few hours with. Yet, he left you excited and expecting, although nothing came. The week was long and boring, you mostly spent it with your friends or cuddled under the blanket with Netflix and bottle of red wine. From time to time, you thought about giving him a call first, but you always declined the idea as soon as it rubbed against your mind. You didn’t want to seem desperate; you didn’t want to look like another freshmen thirsting over the postgrad student, way out of your league.

But then again.

The way he talked to you never left your memory, quite the right opposite. Your brain decided to rub it in your face until the night of Seokjin’s anniversary party came and your friends came barging into your dorm room with paper bags full of alcohol they claimed to be a ‘pre-game you needed’. Drinks were followed by loud laughter and fight over who was about to use the bathroom first - because it had the biggest mirror and the best lightning needed for a precise make-up process.

Hours later, you finally made it to the bar, wearing short black dress your friends chose for you despite your loud protest. At first, it felt a bit uncomfortable because you were used to visit the place wearing jeans or shorts with comfortable tops, but once you realized you weren’t that underdressed, it calmed your mind a little since there were girls wearing considerably less amount of clothes.

“I’m thinking about tequila, what about you?” one of your friends asked, actually not waiting for you answer as she made a straight bee line towards the bar. Not caring about people waiting, she fought her way towards the bar and ordered you a round of the drink you swore you would never drink again. Yet, some promises were made to be broken - all over again, in your case.

After you received your shot of tequila, you cheered with your friends but not for long. It literally took them ten minutes to disappear, dancing in random corners of the bar with random dudes while you tried your best to find a calmer place - which was a corridor that led to the restrooms and deeper, where the visitors of the establishment weren’t allowed.

Not that you weren’t about to have fun, not at all. You just wanted to check your phone in case… well, you were probably very much head over heels for Jeon Jungkook who didn’t give you a call or spared you a text since last Saturday, but who were you to blame him?

“Looking for someone?”

You almost jumped in your place, placing the phone back into your purse as you turned around and face Seokjin, the handsome bartender to whom this crazy party has been dedicated. Instead of his usual place behind the bar, he seemed to have a night off, enjoying the party at its fullest.

“No, not really. My friends dumped me and I wanted to check my phone, that’s all,” you shrugged with a smile on your face, crossing your arms over your chest right after. “What about you? Aren’t you having fun tonight? It’s your third anniversary as the most handsome bartender - as I heard. What are you doing here?”

Yes, what was he doing there? In the hallway that led towards the door to the supply room when he wasn’t even working? Perhaps he was seeking some lone time as well, you didn’t know.

“Oh, we are at the VIP box with the guys but we ran out of some bottles so I was just going to get them. It’s easier than fetching it from the bar. Do you mind giving me a helping hand?” he asked with a genuine smile plastered over his features. You quickly nodded, following him to the supply room. You’ve never been there before which made you feel like going on an adventure. Seokjin quickly grabbed a few bottles of whisky, handing you two of them as he collected more. You gave him a look but he left it without answer which only left you wondering just how many guys were out there, sitting in the VIP box he had mentioned before.

“So, are you enjoying the party?” you asked and followed him out of the supply room, hands full of bottles of alcohol. Seokjin scoffed but smile crawled to his lips almost immediately.

“I’d rather spend the night behind the bar. I mean, I’m not saying I’m not enjoying the night, but it feels different to be on the other side. I guess I’ve been working here for way too long to enjoy a proper night off.”

“Come on, this is your party, you should enjoy it,” you nudged him as you navigated your way through the crowd of people dancing on the floor. The VIP box was located on the second floor of the bar, way calmer spot for people who just wanted to chat and enjoy the night without bumping into already intoxicated (mostly) freshmen. Way up there was a bit challenging with high heels and your hands full, but you successfully reached the spot - and almost dropped the bottles when your eyes met with Jeon Jungkook’s. He seemed to be surprised to see you up there but he quickly adapted to the situation and offered you a smile that quickly transformed into a welcoming smirk.

You put the bottles on the table, completely ignoring the looks of others, and straightened your posture.

“Okay, so… I’ll go,” you didn’t know who did you address your words to, but Seokjin was the one to answer you almost immediately.

“Why would you go? You said your friends dumped you. Stay with us for a while and then you can go. I don’t think the others would mind,” he said, turning to the guys sitting around the table. They shrugged one after another until it came to Jimin and Jungkook. The duo seemed to welcome you way warmer than the others, deep into a conversation about a thesis that was completely out of a place.

“Come, sit, sweetheart,” Seokjin ushered you to the last vacant spot next to Jungkook who immediately moved to give you slightly more space. Not so much, though, as he shamelessly threw his arm on the couch over your arms. He didn’t touch you, but you knew the motion spoke for itself.

“So, you got dumped, huh?” he asked, leaning a bit closer so you could hear him. The music might have been a bit more silent than down there, but people still needed to sit closer to each other if they didn’t want to yell like crazy. Exactly like the rest of them since the conversation seemed to escalate into something reminding more of a fight.

“It depends on the point of view. They were pretty much smashed before we even arrived here. You know, the pre-game and stuff. So, after a shot of tequila, they disappeared to look for an adventure like Powerpuff girls. I’m not blaming them, it’s not the first time. And right now, I guess I’m talking way too much, aren’t I?” you looked at him, kind of flustered by your own behavior. The words just fell off your mouth without you thinking about them first. Perhaps you were intoxicated more than you first thought and it perfectly mirrored on the way you were talking to him - shamelessly and without filter between your brain and mouth.

“You can never talk too much, love.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. At least you are not blushing and giggling like crazy. That’s really something I’m not digging,” he shook his head and looked into your eyes but soon, the gaze dropped to the hand in your lap. He gently reached for it, his thumb recreating the lines of the tattoo that was already in the process of healing. “Seems like you didn’t forget to take care about it. Good girl,” his voice dropped a few tones lower and his breath caressed your skin. Your eyes met and your heart fluttered, the urge to lean closer was back and on the highest alert. Yet, you were still not intoxicated enough to simply lean closer, grab his collar and kiss him right here, in front of his friends. Also, the way Seokjin peeked over his shoulder to check on you to stopped you from proceeding with the plan that has just come to life in your mind.

But taking one brave step forward would harm anyone, would it?

You leaned closer to his ear, desperately fighting the way his cologne was making you go crazy, and whispered: “Exactly like you told me, Jungkook.”

His posture changed and you could swear you saw the muscles shifting under the layers of clothes he was wearing. With clenched jaw and closed eyes, it took him a while to come back to his senses. Yet, you never pulled away from him, enjoying the scent of his musky cologne taking over your senses rather quickly.

“Love, what are you doing right now?”

“What am I doing?” you asked, blinking once and giving him an innocent smile. “I’m not doing anything, Jungkook. I just let you know I’m taking care about my tattoo the way you told me to.”

“Right,” he straightened his posture and cleared his throat. Something inside of you chuckled, the silent voice telling you that indeed, the game you started to play last week was on the table once again. With those thoughts, you watched as he reached for one of the bottles on the table and turned to you with a question mirroring in his eyes. You only nodded, giving him a go to pour you a glass.

Suddenly, you completely forgot about the pre-game drinks and the round of tequila you had shortly after you’ve arrived at the establishment. You forgot how annoying the hungover might be in the morning. Also, it was too late to think about it when Jungkook handed you a glass of whisky you brought with Seokjin. It was neat, without ice cubes you would be happy for, but this had to do.

“To—is there something we should cheer to, love?” he asked, taking his previous place next to you. Dangerously close to you. You looked at the glass in your hands and let out a humming sound.

“First, we should toast to Seokjin. In the end, this is his party,” with those words, you turned to Seokjin who occasionally kept an eye on you two. He smiled and nodded, joining the toasting process without even being invited. When the others joined and their loud cheering filled the space, you turned back to Jungkook without taking a sip of the drink. “And then, perhaps, we should drink to this masterpiece you managed to create on my hand,” you smiled softly, yet the softness never reached your eyes as the game has already started. And you hated being on the losing end.

“You are the fierce one, I see. Honestly, I misjudged you a bit,” he said, downing the drink and putting the empty glass on the table. You did the same and leaned back, your nape brushing against his arm that managed to find the way around your shoulders once again.

“Now you got me interested. How did you misjudge me, Mr. Jeon?”

“Easy as that - you came to my studio visibly stressed on Saturday morning. I knew you were not sure about getting the tattoo at first, but then, something changed. As if something has clicked inside of you and you took the complete opposite direction. I liked that. I liked that a lot. But then again, I’ve already told you I’m not digging the fake shy game. You decided to be honest with me,” he shrugged, offering you a genuine smile.

And that was the moment the smile vanished from your face.

Because you weren’t completely honest with him.

You didn’t tell him the whole tattoo thing was just a bet because you didn’t manage to get Jimin’s number. Yes, that satan who now sat at the same table as you, laughing loudly on something his best friend told him. However, you weren’t mad about the bet anymore, because what came out of the consequences you had to accept was something beautiful. Something you fell in love with your eyes fell on it.

And perhaps that was the reason you decided to be honest with Jungkook once again. You took a deep breath, desperately trying to calm the inner storm that dispersed the game of catch the butterflies played in your stomach.

“Actually, there’s something I have to tell you.”

“Come at me, love. Tell me whatever you want.”

“The tattoo… when I came into your salon last weekend, without having an appointment… it was a consequence of a bet I lost the night you stole my drink. I— I believe I don’t have to tell you what that bet was about, but the condition was simple. If I fail, I’m about to get a tattoo. I believe my friends used it against me because I was talking about getting one for quite a time, so… this was just a push for me,” suddenly, you weren’t so brave and bold as before. You felt shrinking in your seat, the touch of his hand on your shoulder almost burning. For some reason, you expected a storm coming but instead, your senses met with a chuckle that escaped Jungkook’s lips. He shook his head, giving you a rather unbelievable look.

“So, a bet, huh? I’m not gonna lie to you, love. You are not the first one to get a tattoo because of a bet. Although, I didn’t consider you the type to accept conditions like this. I guess I should put that on the mental list I made about you - things about ____ that keep surprising me. We should drink to that.”

You looked at him with mouth wide open, probably looking like an idiot. You were expecting a lecture but instead, he laughed in your face - and didn’t forget to flirt along the way. And although you were pretty much caught off guard, you quickly collected yourself and relaxed a little. Your little secret was out and you felt much lighter.

“May I know what was that bet about?”

“No, you may not. Now, pour us that drink.”

“Savage. I like that as well,” smirk graced his features momentarily. Your glasses were soon filled with another round of the golden liquid that easily slid down your dry throat and numbed your senses more. The good old feeling of intoxication clouded your view of world and your head spun a little, making you lean into Jungkook. The blonde didn’t seem to mind as he finished his drink and his hand other hand slid to your thigh, leaving a burning trail as it finished its journey on your exposed knee. He was silent for a moment, his eyes dropped to his hand that explored your skin, fingers dancing on the floor of your naked skin. The sparks of electricity were undeniable, making you take a deep breath.

“So? How did you decide? Do you want to get rid of that or do you want another one?” his hot breath met the sensitive skin under your ear as he leaned closer to ask you a question you didn’t see coming. Just then his hand left your knee and grabbed yours, thumb once again recreating the lines of tattoo he gave you. The way he was basically curled around you, shielding you from the outer world that seemed to go wild around you, made your breath got stuck in your throat, unable to give him a proper answer even though you were basically screaming in the back of your mind.

“I haven’t given it a thought yet, to be honest. But if I wanted another one, I’d definitely book an appointment beforehand, no worries about that.”

“Well, that’s your call to make. You have my number, so it’s going to be fairly easy,” he murmured, leaning even closer to you, not giving a damn about his friends sitting around the same table. You looked at him, taking a deep breath just to get a little bit higher on his musky cologne. And although his breath was mixed with alcohol and perhaps cigarettes as well, you so wanted to lean in and kiss those two sweet cushions. Inches of air held you from kissing each other, inches of nothing but space you hated so much. You hated it existed and you hated it prevented you from kissing the blonde tattoo artists. Although, everything you needed to do was simply to lean in and steal the kiss.

You didn’t do it.

No, you didn’t.

Because he was faster.

He crossed the last line of your personal space and pressed his lips against yours in a kiss that was sweet but tempting at the same time. You felt the tip of his tongue caressing your lower lip, wordlessly asking for a permission to slip in and give you more.

But there was this thing.

You weren’t alone. Not at all.

That was the reason you pushed back even though the kiss left you feeling like a hot mess. And before you had a chance to speak, he pressed his index finger on your lips.

“It’s time to collect my debt, love.”

“Collect how?”

“Do you want to get out of here?” he asked, boldly.

You felt your head spinning and you didn’t know whether it was because of the alcohol or the excitement that rolled through your body and settled in your core, sending painful pangs to your lower parts. Yet, you managed to give him an answer right away.

“Like where?”

“Like to my place.”

“Gladly.”

The cold night outside seemed to be the only witness of your little escape from Seokjin’s party. Jungkook’s friends sitting around the table were too busy with the fiery conversation going on to notice the two of you left, and your friends were nowhere to be seen. The club was packed, so Jungkook had to hold your hand tightly when he navigated the way through the ocean of dancing bodies. You liked it; the way his fingers tangled with yours, holding tightly onto you just to be sure you wouldn’t disappear or bail from his debt-collecting plan.

When you finally got out of the club, the cold air brushed against your skin and sobered you up a little to the point you realized what you were about to do, but Jungkook didn’t seem to care as he led the way down the street, knowing exactly where to go. Just when you crossed the street and walked for a few more minutes, you realized his studio wasn’t that far away.

The studio.

Was he really taking you to his studio?

“Didn’t you say we are going to your place?” you asked, a little bit dumbfounded when he didn’t aim for the main entrance of the tattoo salon, but instead led the way to the other side of the building. Another door came to your sight and Jungkook fished the keys from the inner pocket of his leather jacket. He noticed you staring at him with furrowed brows and he chuckled.

“Of course, love. This is my place, you just haven’t seen it all, that’s it,” he said as he unlocked the door and pulled you into a dark hallway. He closed the door and locked it again, but instead of turning on the lights, his arms sneaked around your waist like a pair of snakes, pulling your body closer into his. The way he teased you back in the club was nothing compared to how he held you at the moment, his chest hot and heaving with every breath he took brushing against you, igniting the fire again. “I hope you didn’t change your mind, princess.”

“Not yet,” teasing words rolled down your tongue and were followed by loud yelp when Jungkook’s hands slid down your bum and made you jump into his arms. The dim light of the street lights that peeked inside through the windows illuminated his face and revealed the smirk curling his lips.

“Love, you know I like it when you are fierce, but even I have my boundaries. So, if you don’t want to end up with blue ass and shaking legs, I wouldn’t go there if I were you,” he murmured into your ear and turned around as if you weighed nothing. His motion only made you wrap your arms around his shoulder and bury your face into his neck. Soon, you felt him climbing the stairs to the upper floor. Curiously, you looked around only to see nothing. The room was covered in darkness, not even the street light reaching inside.

“Mhm, mysterious,” you mumbled under your breath and squinted your eyes in desperate effort to scan the place. Jungkook only chuckled and continued in his little journey until he reached one of the doors, bringing you inside. Finally, he switched the lights on and revealed the place he brought you to.

The room was coated in darkish colors and was dominated by a big bed with sheets crumpled in a messy pile. Opposite the bed was a working table with PC and a pile of sketchbooks and in one of the corners stood a guitar. The rest of the room was made by wardrobe, drawers and shelves. It was simple yet it somehow complimented his persona. For a while, you just stood there, looking around yourself to grasp a tiny detail that would tell you something more about Jungkook’s character. And just when you were about to dive in, a pair of strong arms curling around your waist from behind cut the train of your thoughts.

“Do you want something to drink?”

You turned in his arms, wrapping yours around his neck to pull him into a kiss that seemed to be the most natural thing ever. Your lips met in a sweet kiss that soon grew into something more heated, perhaps a fight for dominance you immediately lost as he pressed you closer to his chest and caressed your lower lip with his tongue. You opened your mouth, welcoming him with a silent whimper that crawled from deep inside of you. He smirked into the kiss, deepening it a little to lure another series of moans out of you. And when he pulled away with the same smirk still playing over his features, you pouted.

“That wasn’t an answer, sweetheart.”

“I don’t want to drink. I want you,” you murmured and your fingers started to work on his leather jacket, slowly rolling it down his shoulders until the piece of clothing hit the floor. But you didn’t stop, the jacket wasn’t enough. Your fingers found the way to the buttons of his shirt, undoing one after another until his firm chest came to view and you took a deep breath.

“Seem like you like what you see, love,” Jungkook wondered out loud, chuckling right after. Honestly, you didn’t mind stripping you off the clothes that covered upper part of his body. He didn’t even mind when your fingers touched his burning skin and recreated the lines of tattoo covering his chest and stomach, mainly the tattoo of tiger and its paw that disappeared under the waistband of his peeking boxers. When you touched him there, his hand shot up and handcuffed your wrist. “In this household, we play the fair game,” with his words, you found yourself pressed against the wall with his lips lingering around the skin of your neck. So close, yet so far; his lips left you desiring when he didn’t kiss you there. And you were craving him. You wanted him like crazy. Your mind was clouded, your eyes seeing red as he carefully peeled your jacket off your body. Cold air mixed with his hot breath gently caressed your skin and you trembled, wishing for nothing but to be in his arms already.

“Then strip me,” surprisingly, your voice came out steady and full of confidence. Even Jungkook blinked once before the infamous smirk flashed through his features - and to your very surprise, he took a step back until the back of his knees meet the bed and he sat down. Spreading his legs while leaning back on his elbows, he teasingly clicked his tongue and you felt his eyes running up and down your body.

“Why don’t you do it yourself, love?”

Wave of heat rolled through your body and your cheeks flushed momentarily. He took the game to yet another level and for a split second, you weren’t so sure about playing. But then again, your eyes briefly flickered in his direction and you had to swallow the whimper crawling up your throat.

“Fine,” you shrugged and reached for the straps of your dress, internally cursing your friends for making you wear it. This piece of dress was too tight to allow you to wear a bra underneath, but thankfully, you could afford to wear at least panties. The process of thinking slowed down your motion which only boosted the hunger in Jungkook’s eyes. The spark of power play flashed between the two of you as you finally managed to pull one string down - and the second followed right after. You’ve never stripped in front of anybody - if you didn’t count your friends, but that was a completely different case - so you weren’t so sure about what you were doing. Yet, Jungkook seemed to like it. His hand slid to his crotch where the bulge started to form while a silent curse left his lips.

You pushed the fabric lower over your hips and let it hit the floor before you stepped out of it, kicking the high heels off your feet along the way. Shivers danced down your naked spin and you trembled a little under the weight of Jungkook’s heavy gaze. He was silent for a while, only staring at you as his tongue poked his inner cheek.

“I always knew you were a piece of art, love,” his words surprised you and brought yet another wave of blush to your cheeks. Even in the middle of a heated moment he was complimenting you like a true gentleman. His posture straightened as he sat on the bed and signaled you to come closer. “Come closer, sweetheart.”

Your body acted on autopilot, approaching him only to stop between his parted legs. He looked at you from down there, long blonde strands of hair falling into his eyes as his hot breath brushed against the soft spot under your exposed breasts. The shyness went completely away when he leaned closer and his lips traced a line of wet kisses down your stomach. And again, as if your body didn’t belong to you at all, your fingers found a way to his hair, tugging on the strands tightly when he slid down the bed and dropped to his knees to reach lower.

The tingling started in your fingertips, making them numb to the soft feeling of his hair, and continued to your inners, travelling down to your core that you already felt dripping wet. Your panties were ruined the moment Jungkook stick his tongue and copied the curve of its lacy hem. But before he could do something more, you pushed away, looking at him through your hazy eyes.

“Sit.”

Throaty laugh crawled out of his mouth, but he obediently sat back on the bed, waiting for your move. You weren’t so sure about your next move, but what you knew what that you couldn’t let him continue in his little play. You were already balancing at the edge of falling down the pit of pleasure - and honestly, you didn’t want to let go that easily. And that soon.

You waged your way between his legs only to drop to your knees like he did seconds ago, undoing his pants rather quickly. The bulge in his pants didn’t escape your attention and you found yourself licking your lips. The situation completely took over your senses and turned you into a someone who desperately sought something raw and feral.

“Must be painful, isn’t it, honey?” he was the pro in using pet names, but who said you couldn’t give him one as well? Mainly when he looked like he really enjoyed you calling him like that. However, you quickly hushed those thoughts to the corner of your mind and rolled down his pants, throwing it into the space behind you. Fierce, really. Suddenly, Jungkook was sitting in front of you only in his boxers, yet you decided to get him rid of those as well.

Wearing nothing but ink and the smug smirk on his face, you took another deep breath to calm your senses before your eyes dropped to his lower area. Tall and hard, his cock brushed against his underbelly with his red tip that called for some attention.

“It indeed was painful, thank you for your help, little one,” suddenly, his voice dropped a few tones lower and you swallowed hard, contemplating what to do next. Of course, you weren’t stupid, you knew what to do next. However, you wanted to adore the view in front of you for a little longer.

Because the naked man in front of you kicked the air out of your lungs completely.

“Well then we should do something about it, don’t you think?” you leaned closer, fingers curling around the base of his pulsing cock. Whimper escaped Jungkook’s lips and you smirked, leaning even closer to gently kiss his rosy tip.

“Love, don’t tease me,” he murmured, voice deeper than before because of the tense atmosphere lingering around. You had none of his shit as you took him in and twirled your tongue around his length, feeling the veins popping out. You gave him a few licks before diving deeper, letting his tip brush against the back of your throat. His whole body tensed under you and his hand found a way to your hair, tugging on it rather harshly. Not that you minded.

“Fuck, love, just like that—“ he threw his head back and moaned loud, causing you to swallow on purpose. You looked up at him exactly at the same moment he looked at you, eyes wide open as a deer caught in the flashlight in the middle of the road. What happened next was too fast for you to catch up but suddenly, you found yourself caged under his firm body on the bed, legs wide apart as he squeezed himself in between. His whole posture changed, the features of a soft artist were gone and replaced by something harsher and hungrier. He was hungry for lust and passion. He was hungry for you.

“It’s time for you to get rid of these,” he murmured, pushing away only to get you rid of the panties. The sound of fabric ripping filled the room and you gasped, giving him a rather offended look.

“Those might have not been my favorite one, but hey! I’m not going home completely underwear-less!”

“Who said you are going back home?” the cockiness in his voice caught you completely off guard and unprepared when he parted your legs again and slid lower, making himself comfortable in between. “Because I’m not letting you go home that soon, love,” with those words, you felt his lips burning a fiery path down your underbelly until he reached your womanhood. And then, the fireworks exploded behind your closed eyes. First, you felt his lips sparing your nether lips soft kisses, nibbling and sucking gently. Then, you felt his tongue sliding up and down your slit, lapping around to drink your juices. And last, you felt his teeth gently teasing your clit which almost pushed you towards the bliss you wanted to hold off for as long as possible.

But your plans were ruined the moment you felt one of his fingers pushing in slowly, curling inside only to leave your body twisting on his bed and in his sheets. Soon, second finger followed, stretching you oh so good while his lips never stopped the wicked dance with your clit. Moans mixed with curse words fell down your lips and your fingers tangled within his blonde locks in a desperate need for climax. And as it was slowly building inside of you, you rolled your hips against his face and now three fingers that pushed in and out in a desperately slow manner. The man exactly knew what he did to you - and he enjoyed it.

“Jungkook—I—I need to cum. Please—“ you stuttered with the last strength you found in yourself, giving him a look. He started back, looking like a hot mess between your legs with your juices glistering all over his face.

“You sound so good when you are pleading, love. Do you want it that much? Huh?” he asked, picking up the pace and you nodded, desperately rolling your hips against his hand. You felt the spasm coming, dangerously close, peeking around the corner. Chuckling sound filled the room as he dove deep into your core again, this time sucking harsher. That was the last action that finally pushed you towards the first orgasm of the night. You let go and welcomed the warm arms of the bliss, screaming and moaning while Jungkook tried his best to guide you through the paradise. The motion of his hands slowed down and he spared your inner thighs sweet kisses to calm you down a little.

It’s been a while since you experienced orgasm this hard and heavy, clouding your senses for minutes until you came back to yourself. You opened your eyes to meet Jungkook’s. He was hovering over your, his erecting poking your inner thighs only reminding you that indeed, he needed some release as well.

“You are so beautiful,” with those words, he leaned closer and gave you a taste of yourself, the kiss so sweet but so passionate at the same time. After you were sure your body recharged at least a little, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer, bodies colliding together. Yet, what was sweet once again turned into something not so innocent anymore. His hips rolled against yours and you were again reminded of his pulsing shaft.

“Jungkook—“

“Yes, my love?”

“I need you. Take me. Make me yours.”

“As you wish, my love,” he spared you one last kiss before he pushed away and reached for the nightstand. You gave him a confused look before you realized he was reaching for a pack of condoms. Smile sneaked to your features as you grabbed his arm and pulled him closer again. And at that moment, it was his turn to be confused.

“You don’t need that. I’m clean and on pills so—“

“Shit, don’t tell me twice,” he was back above you, his hand crawling down to his shaft to give himself a few pumps before you felt his tip brushing against your slit. The familiar wave of heat rolled through your body and you didn’t even have enough time to collect yourself as he slowly pushed in, grunting noise accompanying his motion. Slowly, from the tip to the base he filled your pulsing walls and halted, his eyes scanning your face to find a tiny hint of discomfort. However, there was none, only a pure need to urge him to move.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” his voice came out low and hoarse with the first roll of his hips. Unable to form any coherent word or sentence, you only nodded, desperately reaching for him to hold onto something. The gentleman he was, he leaned closer, however the motion caused him to part your legs even wider until you find yourself in a position when your legs were pressed against your chest while Jungkook picked up the pace, sliding deeper and deeper with each thrust of his hips. He looked at you and despite the lust that almost sent you to another dimension, you managed to give him a smirk.

“I told you—I did yoga.”

“From now on, you are only practicing yoga with me, love,” smug smirk tugged on the corner of his lips as his thrust became harsher and you felt his tip hitting your cervix.

“You wish,” your teasing manners didn’t leave you even in such a situation, and you soon felt your legs pressed between his and yours shoulders as he decided to lean in and shut you with his own lips. The kiss was hot and heavy, broken from time to time because you the moans that crawled out of your throat. Each thrust of Jungkook’s hips became harder and deeper, which made you call out his name loudly. You felt the sensation building inside of you, slowly but surely. Clenching around him, you tried desperately to push him towards his own limit which was already visible in his hazed eyes. He was close and so were you, yet letting go still seemed out of option.

“More,” you murmured, tugging on his lock, pushing him closer and closer to the finish line. You felt him twitching harshly inside of you, first drops of precum warming your insides.

“Fuck, love, I’m so close.”

“Then cum with me,” your voice came out as a desperate cry, eyes almost tearing as you looked at him, completely lost in the view he provided you. Hot mess was nothing compared to the man towering over you, desperately chasing over the sweet release.

His hand found a way between your sweaty bodies, crawling lower until it reached your clit and gave it a few rubs which finally pushed you towards the finish line. Your body was momentarily caught in a spasm before you allowed yourself to let go, screaming and desperately digging your nails into the skin of Jungkook’s back. The second orgasm of the night felt stronger than the first one, mainly when Jungkook kept thrusting into you, still not there. And you let him. You let him overstimulate you until his body tensed and his cock twitched inside of you for the last time before the thick warm sprouts of his release coated your insides and eventually leaked out into his sheets. His body collapsed into yours and you let a whimper. The heavyweight of his relaxed body made you unable to breathe and when you tried to push him away, it didn’t work.

“Kook, baby.”

“Hmpf.”

“Jungkook.”

Nothing.

“Jeon.”

“What?”

“I can’t breathe.”

“Crybaby,” he murmured and slowly pushed away while gently pulling out of you. The sudden lack of his girth made you whimper but you soon found yourself comfortable as he rolled over and pulled you closer to his arms. His chest was firm but soft at the same time, the slight scent of his musky cologne mixed with post-sex scent lingering around. He pressed a kiss to your hair and chuckled.

“What was that?” you asked, too tired to actually look at him.

“Nothing. I just didn’t imagine collecting my debt to end up like this.”

“Now you are lying.”

“No, I’m not, love,” he shook his head and spared the crown of your hair another kiss. “I wanted to ask you on a date. Well, I guess we skipped that stage. Unless…”

“Unless?”

“Unless you want to go on date with me.”

Now that was something that made you look at him with a question mark hanging above your head. The man that has just fucked the soul out of you turned into a complete sweetie asking you out for a date. How unbelievable.

“That I’d love to, Jungkook.”

Heavy sigh left his lips. It almost looked like he was relieved.

“And you know what else I want?”

“What is that, my love?”

“Drink. I want my drink, Jungkook.”

“I swear to god… You are going to be the death of me.”

#bts fanfic #bts fic #fanfiction #jungkook #jungkook fanfiction #jeon jungkook #jungkook x reader #smut #college au #bts au

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lyracasstuff · 4 years

Text

I am NOT prepared to make myself sad,, you FRENCHIE!! ಥ⌣ಥ

However,, I will accept because as much as it pains me to write angst,, I also have to in order to improve my writing skills..

I'll do this in one shot/fic form as I feel as though I can convey emotions there better. That and I've been doing headcannons as of late,, so let's switch it up a notch..

WARNINGS: DEATH, BLOOD, SPOILERS FOR JOSEPH'S BACKSTORY

Joseph x fem! S/o

To be Sick at Heart💔

"How did this all happen?" thought the Frenchman, although it was more retorical, as he already knew deep down the answer to that question... He just can't accept it..

You had been an acquaintance to Joseph before, seeing as how your family served him, and the both of you only grew closer once you got caught in the twisted "games" of the manor. Joseph asked as to what had tempted you to accept the invitation of the manor.

It turns out, you were looking to find people who you can treat as your own family. In all your life, you practically had been treated like dirt, especially the time when Joseph had gone missing. Your family had given you love and acceptance, but it was short-lived seeing as how their lives were slowly taken from them early on in your life by sickness, you had no one but the other servants to take care of you.

The other servants cared for you, but not to the same extent as your family... You were aware of that fact as did they. So, when the invitation arrived, you couldn't help but accept right away.

It promised that "they" could fulfill your desire of having the bonds and relationships that you never had growing up, why wouldn't you accept? You would be missing out on a golden oppurtunity.

And so, that was how you ended up in this morbid manor, tricked and forced to participate in these "games" that gets everyone hurt much like every other survivor who came here...

Days had gone by. Weeks. Months. Hell, even years, and you were all still being forced to play.

Thankfully, you had everyone to keep you company during these times.. Thanks to your loving nature, you were able to be close with everyone in the manor, even those who are notorious at being secretive like Norton. You even managed to befriend some of the hunters as well.

But most especially of all, you were thankful you had Joseph to be there with you.

You were quite shocked when you saw the silver-haired count, as he had seemingly disappeared out of nowhere the last time. So to see him here made you pleasantly surprised.

Joseph as well felt shocked when he saw you here, albeit he took some time to figure who exactly you were as you looked extremely familiar to him.

It didn't take long for the both of you to grow close to each other where outside of matches, you two were practically inseperable. The both of you would be spotted having afternoon tea together, walking around the manor together, sightseeing for new photoshoot locations together.

You always did things together...

Over time though, you would grow feelings for the count and the same can be said for Joseph as well. However, your fears of being rejected has delayed the both of you from ever confessing about your feelings toward each other. The others in the manor can most definitely see your connection as bright as day, but they really didn't know how to go about helping you about it. After all, all of them never really had great experiences in their lives, so they don't know what would normally be best in a situation like this..

Despite this, you can't help but feel content and happy that you have found people that you can treat as your family. Emily and Michiko were like motherly figures to you with their kind nature. Leo treated you like his own daughter, much like how he treats Emma. Wu Chang, Andrew, Norton, Naib, and Eli were like big brothers for you, always being protective of you to keep you safe.

You really felt at home with all of the inhabitants. It almost felt as if being stuck in a manor wasn't so bad after all...

Almost

There was still one more thing you wanted to do. You had discovered your family, but you wanted to expand on that desire..

You wanted to start your own family

And you would want to do so with someone you love... That someone would be the Frenchman with whom you have grown immense feelings for.. So you sent him an invitation to go to the balcony of the garden at night, where you won't be disturbed by the others...

Unbeknownst to you, the Frenchman had been thinking the same thing, especially after reading the invitation you sent him. Can you blame him though? Seeing you interacting with him, along with all of the others, made him feel butterflies in his stomach. How you unconditionally helped the other inhabitants through their issues and suffering, not because you needed something from them, but because you wanted to. You wanted to help them, you wanted to nurture them, you wanted to support them...

With that feeling alone, Joseph finds that he just couldn't take it anymore... He wants to confess to you..

He wants to be with you, to call you his love, to marry you and call you his wife, and to start a family as well..

With that thought, he made up his mind and decided to accept your invitation, and there, he will confess..

It was night time, you were already at the balcony waiting, knowing that Joseph values punctuality and doesn't like to be kept waiting. Soon after, Joseph shows up. It seems as though he had been brisk walking which is evident by the way he's catching his breath in the slightest.

Taking a deep breath, you slowly and calmly began to confess your feelings towards him and how you wanted to start building a future with him as the father of your children.

Joseph was in awe, for he had never could've guessed that you felt the same way. He accepted, saying how he had always thought about you the same way, and that he would be honored to be the father of your children. Joseph took a few steps towards you, with you unconsciously doing the same. Joseph wrapped his arms around your waist to pull you closer, while you wrapped yours around his neck.

He lifted his hand and tilted your chin upwards to stare at your features, admiring them. The way your skin glistened in the moonlight, how your eyes sparkled with life when he stared at them. How your cheeks were flushed with the slightest hint of color.

You looked angelic to him.

Brushing his thumb over your lower lip, he slowly closed his eyes as he allowed his lips to connect with yours.. You can't help but reciprocate immediately, you'd been waiting for this moment to come. You truly felt happy that you took the risk to confess to him, knowing that he may have rejected you instead.

And that was the start of your blossoming relationship...

For the next few years, the two of you became more and more in love with each other every single day. Countless affirmations of love, bouquets of your favorite flowers, numerous cuddling sessions, along with the discussion of having a domestic life together..

You two really had the potential to have a wonderful life together...

But, there are repercussions in growing fond of the potential...

One time at a match, you had been feeling dizzier and more nauseous by the second, so much so that it frequently disoriented you from kiting the hunter properly. At some point even, you threw up a bit. Your team still won the match since the hunter decided to go friendly in the end because of your condition, however they were still concerned for you so they sent you immediately to Emily.

You were diagnosed to be pregnant..

Your thoughts immediately went to Joseph. A mixture of joy and anxiousness washed over you. Can be a good mother for your child? Can you really do this? Can you really start a family like you had promised? What if you do something wrong? What if you're not cut out for this?

Just as your thoughts began to generate more questions, Joseph runs in and looks over to you with wide eyes. Emily must've told him that you were pregnant with his child. He immediately went towards your bed and hugged you as he sobbed his heart out.

He was so convinced that the bright future you two head towards is certain...

Oh, how a fool he was for believing so....

2 months in and your belly hasn't been growing rapidly.. Normally, you would've had a small baby bump forming on your belly... Joseph and Emily had been constantly reassuring you that you might need to readjust your diet more to fit your baby's needs....

But, that's not the only thing bothering you...

You see, just as you haven't "developed" your baby, your dizziness and nausea didn't go away. For quite sometime, you thought it was normal.....

Until you see tiny specks and droplets of blood on your hand...

That's when you realize....

You're not actually pregnant.. You're sick...

Having this sudden realization, you quickly washed your hand and looked at yourself in the mirror... Maybe this was some sort of mistake? Maybe you're actually pregnant and you just scratched the inside of your cheek?

You were hoping. Praying, that it was anything else other than a sickness... However, as time passed, you felt yourself growing weaker and weaker...

For months, you had kept this sickness of yours a secret. You didn't want to make anyone worry about you and you especially didn't want to disappoint Joseph with the fact that you're not actually carrying a baby or make him devastated with your death just as he became devastated with his twin brother's death...

However, try as you may, the longer you kept it a secret, the more the others noticed. How your skin was getting paler, how your cheeks had started to sink in, how you became alarmingly skinnier and bonier, how your eyes became more dull and lifeless...

Most importantly, at how you became increasingly more secretive and quiet about all this.

Joseph was by far being more and more anxious than before. He didn't know what was happening. He wasn't an expert in medicine, but even he could notice that this isn't normal for a pregnancy..

Quickly carrying you to Emily, he asked for a check-up to see what was happening. You would've stopped him if it weren't for the fact that you were so weak, you couldn't move a muscle without hurting it.. There, he was informed about the condition you're in. He was just as shocked as you are, but there's a mixture of fear and hopelessness bubbling inside him...

No. He couldn't let this happen. Not again...

His breathing starts going rapid, his hands start shaking, he hugs himself as he looks at you at your weakened state with tears threatening to spill from his eyes...

Just as he was about to confront you, Victor had entered and pointed towards the main hall, signaling Joseph and Emily to go there.

Apparently, there's a meeting that's going to be held.

Joseph and Emily looked at each other before turning to look at you. Then, they quickly left the room, with you all alone inside with nothing but your thoughts and the life within you.. Or, what's left of it...

The meeting started once Joseph and Emily arrived as they were the only ones left to attend. Emily had to quickly explain your condition when some of the others questioned your whereabouts.. All were quite shocked and concerned about your sickness, however the meeting was said to be an important one so they had to stay. They'll just have to relay the information given to you by the time it's done..

After the meeting, everyone was so shocked and confused that for several moments, no one said a word.. Who wouldn't though? Because after all this time...

They were all finally free

Free from the clutches of the manor, free from the twisted "games", free from the prison that presented itself as a grand oppurtunity for everyone to get what they want.

They were free at last... Now, they can all live their lives as they want it to be...

Suddenly realizing this, Joseph quickly made his way back to your room. There was still hope he thought, he had hoped for you to get better and finally leave this prison together, along with the others.

But what he saw when he opened the door made him feel like his heart had been crushed into a million pieces...

There in your room, was you lying in your bed, breath shallow and rapid, crimson blood dripping from the side of your mouth and staining the sheets, your eyes looking duller and duller as ever...

You were grasping..

Grasping for whatever life you had left within you, it made Joseph run to your side quickly as he cradled your head in his arms, proclaiming you'll be fine and that you're all free now and that you just need to hold on for a little while longer..

But you both know that you won't make it..

You both know that Joseph is more so convincing himself, than convincing you..

The others had rushed in to see you, and they too were crushed for they also wished for you to escape with all of them...

You held Joseph's hand, and told him not to worry anymore.. Looking towards the others, you proclaimed that you had finally found the people that you can call your family, and that even if Joseph can't see you, you'll always be there for him no matter what.. And that you wish for him to be happy and enjoy his newfound freedom, without the confinements of the manor...

Joseph begged you to stay, to hang on, to stay strong, all while sobbing uncontrollably but to no avail...

You withdrew your final breath as your hand became limp, your eyes closed, and your body going cold...

...

You had died

For the second time in his life, he once again witnessed the death of someone he deeply cared about..

First Claude......... And now, you....

Joseph lost it as he let all his tears and sadness out.. Everyone, soon followed suit. They can't help but be crushed at the thought of their friend never making it on time for the escape....

The now former inhabitants of the manor prepared one last funeral in honor of your death, with Aesop embalming you, Andrew preparing the hole from which will forever be your resting place, Emma preparing the funeral flowers, while the others prepared the venue... The Red Church.. Everyone gathered and mourned for your death. By the end of it all, everyone left the cemetery and the manor together, with Joseph gripping a bar of the gate, longing to see you again once more and hoping that you were still alive somehow...

Alas, it never came. And so, he reluctantly left the manor and had trenched forward to live his life "to the fullest"...

But how can he ever live his life as he pleases when you're not around? How can he simply enjoy the pleasures of life when you aren't there to accompany him? How can he move on when he doesn't want to forget you?

These thoughts plague him constantly, as he stirs his tea mindlessly, looking into the distance, as his new "family" were chatting happily, not knowing what goes on inside his head..

He has a family now alright, but it wasn't perfect.. It wasn't with you.

That thought is enough to make him sick at heart, for he will never experience the joy he had longed for when you were still around...

Sick at Heart : to experience deep unpleasant emotions such as grief or disappointment

💔🎞💔🎞💔🎞💔🎞💔🎞💔🎞💔🎞💔🎞

Author's Note: I hope you are all satisfied with this angst, Frenchie... Because you really made my day a bit sadder than usual..

Can someone pls request something fluffy the next time I open my requests?? I need some comforting chocolate cake after that bitter black coffee moment..(╥_╥)

Well,, until next time then! See you all in my next post!! (Ｔ▽Ｔ)💚

#identity v #identity v x reader #identity v oneshots #idv #identity v imagines #idv x reader #identity v photographer #identity v joseph #idv photographer #idv joseph #joseph desaulnier #joseph desaulnier x reader #joseph desaulniers x reader

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draconica · 4 years

Note

Oooo, for the writing prompt, a little 7+4+1? Or just one, I might be a little greedy 😖🤣

7: Engagement sex 4: Petnames 1: Spicing things up in the bedroom

I made it work, anon ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

I also headcanon Ellis can be a powerbottom so enjoy that

When Ellis returned home from the shop one warm evening, he was humming softly to himself. There was a sly smile to his features as he gently jostled the plastic bag he had brought home. There was no groceries or anything that mundane inside. No, there was something very special inside of this particular carrier.

“Niiick?” he crooned in the hope that his boyfriend was home, and in the mood. Now, he was home, but as Ellis turned the corner into the living room he was met with a sight he wasn't quite expecting to see.

Nick was stood in a black suit - a proper, swanky, three-piece number – and holding a red rose. A soft song was playing on their stereo system, and the lights were turned down low. He had definitely been stood here for some time, waiting for Ellis to return home, and Ellis dropped his smile briefly. The gambler was smooth as silk at the best of times, but this was unexpected.

“Welcome home, sweet peach,” Nick led with, making Ellis blush – that damn pet name of his. “You good?”

Ellis scratched the back of his neck. “Uh, I'm jus' fine,” he smiled, setting down his bag for now, and gesturing to Nick as he took a step towards him. “What's this for?”

In a second, Nick's smile slipped a little, arching his brow. “...You forgot, didn't you?” He rolled his eyes, but that smile soon came right back as he stepped forward also, closing the gap between them and offering him the rose. “July 12th? The day we got out of quarantine?” Nick chuckled, leaning in closer and making it more personal. “The day we moved in together, made the new place official?”

A million thoughts swarmed Ellis's head at that point, taking the rose and knowing he was absolutely overcome with blushes. “O-oh… damn, I guess I did forget,” he giggled, tilting his head a little as his boyfriend leered closer. Even now, Nick was still the most damn attractive man he'd ever met, let alone dated. “M'sorry, darlin', just had a lot on my mind, I guess?” he shrugged.

Nick seemed to understand, nodding once before pulling Ellis in for a kiss. “It's all good, sport. You can make it up to me later. But for now...” he turned and clicked a remote in love control, turning down the music a touch, before his hand returned to where it belonged – holding his lover's.

“Ellis,” he began, looking down at his thumb caressing the back of El's hand. “It's been a hell of a ride to get here, huh? Fighting for our lives every day in the apocalypse, a year of quarantine, and now three years of living together. Before the Green Flu, I was at my lowest point. I… well, wouldn't be alive if I hadn't met you. The zombies were a distraction, but you were a reason to live. You mean the Goddamn world to me, Fireball, and I want to spend every day by your side. So… I have one question for you.” Ellis watched on, mouth dropping, as his boyfriend got down on one knee and produced a velvet box containing a thick silver ring. In the center, there was set a dark blue gemstone. “Ellis, mi tesoro, will you marry me?”

Needless to say, Ellis had not been expecting this today, and that was obvious given the absolute astonishment on his face at that moment. It almost made Nick want to laugh, but he was slightly too nervous for that.

Thankfully, Ellis broke into his lop-sided, brilliant Southern smile. “You sly sumbitch,” he chuckled. “Hell yeah, I'll marry ya!”

The gambler got to his feet, immediately bringing his lover closer into his arms with an unbreakable smile. The ring was a perfect fit onto Ellis's fourth finger, something else that Nick had been worried about, but seeing how snugly it sat made the older man's heart swell. “I love you, Overalls.”

“Love you, too, darlin',” Ellis responded as he brought Nick's face in for a kiss... and then another... and then his arms were around Nick's neck. Any distance between them was suddenly gone.

It wasn't unusual for their kisses to get out of hand, certainly in their earlier days where it seemed like sex was on the table every day (not literally, except for a few times Ellis can remember where they'd gotten adventurous…). That's when Ellis remembered what was in the bag he had brought home. Well, now he had no choice but to surprise his lover with its contents.

By now, Nick's kisses had moved to the mechanic's neck, and Ellis couldn't suppress a shiver as he found his favorite spot just below his ear. Many a hickey had been placed there before, and it was near-enough a certainty that he'd be getting a new one tonight.

“Nick,” he whispered, shifting his hand through the hustler's hair and smiling when he caught sight of the shiny new engagement ring on his finger. “Take me to the bedroom.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Nick chuckled before tightening his grip around Ellis's waist and hoisting him up, causing the younger man to gasp against his lips. “You don't have to tell me twice.”

Of course, Nick couldn't possibly carry Ellis up a whole staircase and into said bedroom. He wasn't a young man anymore, after all. Not that Ellis minded – it actually gave him a chance to grab the bag he'd brought home. Nick gave him an odd look as he did so, but his young fiancé had simply smiled, told him not to worry about it with a pat to the cheek.

Once they both stepped into the bedroom together, Ellis set the bag down once more and brought Nick into more kisses, having missed them in the thirty seconds they had stopped.

“How long were ya plannin' that for?” asked Ellis curiously as he slipped the black tie from Nick's neck, smiling at him.

Nick shrugged a little. “Few months,” he admitted. “Knew I wanted to marry you someday, seemed like the anniversary of getting out of that Goddamn pandemic was a good time.”

Ellis was now working on those pesky shirt buttons, granting him access to that chest hair he loved so much on Nick. “Romantic as usual,” he mused. “Gotta be honest… I was plannin' a lil' somethin' for us tonight, too. Nothin' big like askin' ya to marry me, so kinda puts my gesture in the shade.”

“Don't be modest, sweet peach,” Nick chuckled, allowing Ellis to remove his suit jacket and leave it on the floor – something he usually gets very picky about.

“Well...” Ellis slipped Nick's belt from his pants, and was pleased at the choice his lover had made – a black leather strap. Yes, this'll do nicely. “I know you like bein' in control 'n all, but I wanna show ya how we ride in the South.”

That piqued the gambler's interest, not in the least because Ellis was looping the belt around his hand, pulling it taught for Nick to see, and something about the sight was enough to set his erection at full mast.

“Ace...” he paused, needing to wet his lips when he found his mouth suddenly dry. “Do I get a say in this?”

“You certainly get to pick the safe word,” mused the mechanic, shifting his weight slightly on his hips as he played with the leather strap some more.

Nick must've been mad, or at least deeply in love, as he decided to shift control over to his little fiancé for the night. “All right,” he conceded, stepping out of his pants which, with lack of support, had pooled onto the floor. “Where do you want me, sugar?”

The mechanic's grin spread further up his cheeks. He led Nick over to their king-sized bed and sat him down. “Now, you go ahead and make yourself comfortable, mister gamblin' man, and I'll go slip outta these here greasy clothes.” With a little canter to his steps, he grabbed the bag once more and headed to their en-suite bathroom, shooting a look over his shoulder. “Recommend losing those there briefs, too. Won't be needin' them at the rodeo.” And with that, he disappeared into the next room, door shutting slowly behind him.

Nick had always been good at following instructions, and Ellis's were about as subtle as a sledgehammer to the face. So, as he stripped himself down completely and got comfortable, he took the time while Ellis was gone to think about some of the more memorable trysts in their relationship.

There was the very first time which had been during the apocalypse. It had been rough and hurried, considering they had just escaped death by the skin of their teeth, and it was more a carnal desire of the most basic of human instincts. Ellis had almost alerted a horde with how loud he'd been.

There was another time, during quarantine, where love had for the first time been entered into the equation. Namely, the first time they had said 'I love you' to each other. Nick had topped then, too. And he wasn't a picky partner by any means – after all, Ellis was young and full of testosterone, and sometimes he needed to fuck just as much as anyone else. Nick had come to enjoy bottoming, absolutely, but he was more or less the one in charge on most nights. Ellis never complained; quite the opposite, in fact. Nick was still lost in thought when suddenly the bathroom door opened at last, revealing Ellis in his attire for the evening: Nothing but a cowboy hat (and one engagement ring).

“Howdy,” he drawled as he leant against the door frame, still playing with Nick's belt in his hands. “Heard there was a no-good city slicker that I needed to take good care of. Assumin' that's you, handsome?”

Nick couldn't' help but smirk up at him, raising an eyebrow. Ellis was unbelievably adorable, especially whenever he was making effort to please him. That included… this. “Goddamn it, Ace,” he shook his head. “Didn't think this was how my night was gonna go.”

Ellis shot him an amused look, then slipped right back into character. “I'm the best darn rodeo rider this side'a Georgia,” he boasted, sauntering closer to the bed. “Ain't no wild stallion I can't tame. So, reck'n you'll be my best ride yet.” The mechanic reached into the bedside drawer to fetch the lube, and took a moment to stand beside the bed, looking over his naked lover. “Safe word?” he asked.

Nick nodded up at him. “Witch.”

Ellis frowned. “Damn, Nick, really? All the words in the entire American language and you had to pick one that reminds me of the time you almost got yourself killed?”

“You almost got me killed,” retorted the hustler, squinting at him. “You're the one who spooked the bitch.” But he shook his head, letting a smile return to his red face. “Fine. Safe word is 'wedding'.”

With a roll of his eyes, Ellis blushed a little as he set the lube down on the table for now. “Good 'nough for me.” Slipping back into character once more, the Southerner crawled his way onto the bed and straddled his lover, halfway up his chest, at one point his erection bobbing near Nick's face. The gambler just watched on with hungry eyes. “Now then… one thing I know about tamin' the wilder beasts is that they need to be trained, sometimes with force.” Ellis looped the leather belt around Nick's neck gently, watching the older's green eyes for any signs of discomfort or fear. There was nothing but trust, and a lot of hunger.

Ellis cinched the belt, not tightly, but enough for Nick to feel the presence of his around his throat. With a twist of his hand, Ellis curled the leather around his wrist and tested the length. There was plenty to work with, and he grinned. “Damn, look at'chu, city boy.” Ellis backed up his hips, grinding himself backwards onto Nick's cock, and watching in triumph as Nick's eyelids fluttered slightly. “I think I'm gonna really enjoy ridin' you.”

The helpless gambler chuckled as he rested his hands on Ellis's thighs, watching those hips move back and forth and craning his neck back a little. A moan almost made it's way out of his mouth, but not quite. Ellis had to try harder. “You're getting more into the kinky sex, Overalls,” he smiled, throwing in a wink. “I'll take credit for that.”

With a tilt of his head, Ellis's hand pulled back, tightening the belt a little like pulling on the leash of a disobedient dog. Nick gasped beneath him, moaning in the afterthought, which made the cowboy grin. “You speak outta turn like that again and you'll be in the doghouse,” he threatened. Reaching over to the nightstand, he took the open tube of lubricant and squirted the thick liquid onto two fingers. The look in his baby blue eyes was so very kinky, and Nick could feel his cock give a twitch in appreciation as he pictured what Ellis was about to do with those fingers.

Picking up the belt once more with his clean hand, those fingers then went behind Ellis, slipped between his cheeks and found his pucker. The younger man was a dab hand at prepping himself, and knew his own body inside and out. While he worked his magic, he moaned aloud and reintroduced his bucking hips back into the mix. The sight was amazingly erotic, and Nick couldn't resist reaching over to play with Ellis's neglected dick. Ellis, for the most part, seemed to allow it, even bucking up again into the gambler's grasp.

“You're thinkin' about it now, aren't ya, city boy?” Ellis chuckled with an open-mouthed grin. “Thinkin' about me ridin' ya real good, getting' ya all hot 'n bothered...” He leant in slightly, pulling once more on Nick's restraint until the man was a little closer. “Thinkin' about how fuckin' good I'm gonna feel around your cock once I'm wet n' ready?”

That accent was so thick, deep with lust, and it was driving Nick crazy. The gambler gave a groan, just as the belt loosened again and allowed him is breath back. His head fell back to the pillow, already seeing a black fuzz around his vision. “God… sweet peach…”

“Yes, my darlin'?” Ellis crooned, by now with three fingers knuckle deep inside of himself.

“Ple…” Nick panted as he closed his eyes. “Please.”

That was all Ellis needed to hear. With another lop-sided smile, the mechanic shifted until he was kneeling and scooted back a little on Nick's body. He kept a keen eye on his fiancé's face, even as he reached behind, took Nick's cock in hand, and slipped himself down onto it like he'd done it a hundred times before.

The card shark grunted and turned his head a little, and Ellis could hear a shift behind him as Nick moved his legs. His feet was planting themselves onto the mattress and knees bending up, in order to provide him with the leverage he needed. Ellis leant back, slipping down further onto Nick's cock while at the same time resting against Nick's thighs like a back rest. He was grateful for that.

“How about that?” Ellis nearly sang as he shifted on Nicolas's lap. “You're bein' a good boy after all.”

Nick said nothing, just looked up at his Southern lover with a smile on his face, throwing in a wink for good measure. Ellis chuckled and wrapped the belt once more around his wrist for another harsh tug, at the same time, lifting his hips and slamming back down in a harsh bounce. The leather crackled in his grip, and Nick drew another breath. His face was getting redder. “El,” he managed, grinding out the noise, and Ellis was careful to make sure he had enough air to speak, should his next breath utter the safe word.

“Giddy up,” purred the cowboy, reaching up to hold his hat before beginning his ride. Putting all his power to his thighs, up and down Ellis's hips went as he bounced away. The sweetest moans left his throat – couldn't rightly help it, as Nick had always been the best lay of his life.

Nick's hands found their way to Ellis's hips, gripping him there and guiding him on and off his dick. In no time at all, Ellis was fully into the sex, letting go of his hat to reach back and steady himself on Nick's knee as he continued to ride him hard.

“Fuck yeah,” Nick murmured to himself as he gazed up at the scene Ellis was blessing him with. He groaned soon afterwards, craning his neck, and smiled up at his lover. “The belt… please… fuck...”

Ellis grinned and slowed his thrusts down a little in order to tug the belt once more, harsher and tighter than previously. Nick's knuckles went white around Ellis's hips.

“Look at ya… enjoyin' yourself so much,” Ellis praised and drove his hips down once more, grinding back on Nick's length. “C'mon, city boy, you know you wanna come inside'a me...”

Nick could hear the blood rushing around his head, fell the pleasure begin to whirlpool around his cock, and did the only thing he knew he could do. He moved a hand to Ellis's dancing erection and gave him a tight sleeve to fuck into, watching with watering eyes. The Southerner groaned and dropped the leather strap in favor of bracing both hands on Nick's legs, rocking himself like crazy. The gambler drew a gasp of air, Ellis threw his head back, and then it all went white.

“NICK!” Ellis broke character at the last minute to shout his fiancé's name in orgasm. He spilled semen all up Nick's chest and some managed to hit his chin. The sight was erotic enough to send the older man tumbling off the precipice himself, filling Ellis up until he was overflowing. Ellis moaned and lifted himself off for the last time, feeling warm liquid seep down the insides of his thighs.

With a sigh, Ellis leant forward and braced his hands on Nick's shoulders to prevent himself from falling atop him. The cowboy hat fell from his head and onto the floor beside the blunt end of the belt. The mechanic looked up at last, seeing Nick with his eyes closed and drawing in large breaths. He blushed as he reached up to carefully removed the leather from his neck, letting it clatter to the carpet.

“Darlin'?” Ellis whispered as he lifted himself off of Nick, in the process grabbing some tissues in order to clear them both up. “Nick.”

Nick opened his eyes at last, letting them fall onto his cute young lover as he grinned. “Even after all these years...” He reached out to cup El's cheek, rubbing his thumb there. “...you still surprise me, Overalls.”

Once the necessary clean-up had been finished, Ellis crawled back onto the bed and cuddled right up to his gambler, running his hand through his fine chest hair. “Glad you enjoyed the show, Nick.” He looked down, admired the ring still snugly on his finger. “Yeah, not quite how you pictured your night goin', huh?”

“No, sir,” agreed Nick and moved his hand up to lace their fingers together. “But if this is how the rest of my life is gonna go, I think I'm okay with that.”

With a short laugh, Ellis reached up to kiss him, rubbing his thumb along Nick's jaw. “Love you, city boy.”

#nellis #nick/ellis #l4d2 #draconicauthor #its so good to be writing them again asdfgfjkdgh ;-;#anonymous

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ve1vetyoongi · 5 years

Text

Mic Drop | myg

pairing: yoongi x reader

genre: smut, angst, fluff

au: rapper!yoongi, photographer!oc

summary: when underground rapper min yoongi uncovers the dirty secret behind his biggest rival, your brother and hip hop champion kim namjoon’s success, he is determined to take home this year’s mic drop contest trophy no matter who he hurts along the way. you’re behind the camera, content with capturing namjoon’s picture perfect persona from the sidelines but when his hard-faced enemy Gloss, makes you realise you could be more than just the point and shoot, you start to feel your loyalties shifting.

warnings: multiple smut scenes, dirty talk, dry humping, penetrative sex, fingering, oral sex (both m and f receiving), lots of orgasm denial, multiple orgasms, cum play, cum eating, but also tender fucking lol, very brief mention of death.

word count: 29k (rip)

rating: definitely explicit

playlist: visit my playlist page and select “mic drop.” (all links to be added later)

a/n: ahhh you don’t understand how happy i am to finally put this out into the world!!! i started writing this fic back in july and after a few rewrites (more on this at the end of the post if anyone sticks around until then) she’s finally finished eee <3 also!!! this fic is brought to you courtesy of the love yourself collab! this project has been super fun to be a part of n i wanna say thank you to everyone involved who made it such a welcoming experience! you can check out the masterlist here (link will be added later f u tumblr) to read all the other amazing fics from the incredibly talented authors in this project (literally so talented??? it’s sickening???) (im so excited to finally read them all now im done w this monster lol). all the love as always <3

Introducing Runch Randa!

The host is barely audible over the chants of your brother's name as the lights dim and the arena is sent into a haze of strobe lights.

The air is already heady with body heat and fragrant with sweat from the thousands of bodies smushed together in the pit and beyond that thousands more seated in the stands, phone lights twinkling in the darkened arena like stars. A girl in your peripheral clutches a sign with MARRY ME RUNCH RANDA scrawled in sharpie, torso clad in one of the cheap merch hoodies with your brother's face printed on the front, just like hundreds of others around her.

It's a full house. No one's surprised. The Mic Drop semi-final always creates a buzz of anticipation within the hip hop scene. But this year, with your brother Namjoon returning to compete for the trophy again, there isn't an empty seat in sight.

A buzz pulses through the crowd when the bass kicks in. It makes hearts beat faster, blood run hotter, a crescendo of screams crashing violently through room, the sheer volume enough to make the walls shake in time with the stamp of impatient feet.

It's infectious. Almost. If you hadn't been here a hundred times before, countless nights the same as this one that all started to blur into one somewhere along the line. Different crowds but the same energy, the same hum of anticipation that used to get your bones rattling, your skin hot with suspense. Now it's just routine. Now you feel nothing.

Besides, you're just here to do your job. The photographer. To take pictures, not to enjoy the show. Just like always.

Five seconds. You know Namjoon's set list like the back of your hand by now. Five seconds until he takes the stage and the crowd goes wild.

One, two, three, four...

Like clockwork, the stage lights up and there he is, face blown up in painful detail across every screen. Runch Randa. His stage name pulses through the room, a mantra, chanted until throats turn sore and mouths run dry.

Dark framed glasses cover his eyes but his stance is enough to tell you that he came here to win, his presence immediately filling the empty stage with an energy that makes it impossible to look anywhere else, even for a moment.

He is already damp with sweat, neck glistening beneath the white lights. Like routine you snap a few shots when he taunts the camera with a smirk, brushing a hand through his immaculately gelled hair teasingly, mouth turning up into a grin when the audience roars.

Runch Randa walks across the stage with the ease of someone who lives and breathes for moments like these. Grabs the microphone with two hands, shiny silver rings glinting on his fingers beneath the harsh strobe lights.

You can see his opponents in the front row, nothing but rookies, the intimidation etched into their features visible even from where you stand side stage as they swallow the bitter pill that they stand no chance against him.

Once upon a time you were the same as the wide eyed fans in the pit, filled with an admiration for your brother. He was everything you wanted to be; a whirlwind of fearless, brazen passion when he got up on stage. But things changed once Namjoon won Mic Drop, claiming the trophy at the tender age of seventeen. After that he started filling arenas. Then stadiums. And you were left behind in the ruins of his whirlwind, feeling the Namjoon you once knew slip further away as Runch Randa took center stage, viewing his perfect persona through the lens of your camera with the same sour resentment as the rookies.

Because when a familiar beat permeates the arena, you can't help but close your eyes and imagine the name the crowd screams is yours. That it's you out there instead of him. It's you pouring your heart into the lyrics that you find yourself whispering unconsciously in time with your brother.

Your lyrics.

The lyrics you wrote especially for this performance. The same lyrics that would be streamed by millions, top charts and win Namjoon another stupid trophy to add to his already elaborate collection.

The only reason Namjoon still kept you around was because he couldn't write them himself.

The track ends and the Mic Drop host crosses the stage with a grin. Namjoon's arm is thrust into the air triumphantly.

"And our first finalist is...Runch Randa!"

You snap a picture of your brother smiling victoriously.

"He's gonna win. I know it."

Namjoon's manager Jimin sidles up beside you, grin plastered to his face. It's nauseating.

"Does he ever lose?" You murmur

Runch Randa! Runch Randa! Runch Randa!

Mic Drop. The most highly anticipated event in the music industry for its ability to make hip hop artists stars; as well as its tendency to break them just as easily.

Fame. Money. Glory. Just a few of the reasons why rap rookies from across the globe are desperate to compete in the ruthless battle of blood, sweat and rap that is Mic Drop.

They all think they have what it takes. That they have that special something the judges are looking for. Unfortunately, most don't even make it past the auditions phase.

When your brother, Mic Drop legend Runch Randa, announced he would be ditching his celebrity status and stadium concerts to return to his underground roots and compete for the trophy again, it raised a series of questions

Why now? What did he have to prove?

Once the press got wind of the fact that your parent's, CEO'S of the most prestigious record label in the industry Big Hit Entertainment, had run into a spot of financial trouble, everyone assumed your brother's re-entry was a master plan to win the lavish cash prize afforded to competition winners. Sure, you couldn't deny that it was partly true --- Big Hit's stocks were plummeting and a lot was at stake.

Truthfully, though, you knew your brother well enough to see that Namjoon's motives were far more selfish; to put it simply, he was greedy. Fame was his drug. Once he got a taste he could never get enough.

Of course, a cheque signed and delivered by your father's hand shut any rumors down very quickly. Your parent's were good at silencing people if it meant protecting Namjoon's reputation.

Even you, their own daughter.

The name tag labelled OFFICIAL PHOTOGRAPHER was nothing but a cover up for the true reason you spent so much time at Big Hit -- writing each and every one of Namjoon's hit songs. A secret you were forced to keep as you watched your brother through a camera lens.

Which is how you find yourself as his strictly-invitation-only after party, an attempt at building momentum for the big final in just a few weeks time, with a camera in hand.

You're sat in the corner of the A-list club Jimin rented out for the event, swirling the deep red liquid in your glass with a bored disinterest as you watch your brother shake hands with company investors and big buck producers, most of which you'd never even heard of.

These things always seem to drag on, the clock ticking slower with each agonising second spent smiling courteously to uphold the supportive sister persona. Your feet are starting to hurt in your heels and all you want to do is hide away in the Big Hit studio and scribble down the lyrics floating aimlessly in your mind. That's the only good thing about these events -- they give you time to think, a rare relief in between your brother's busy schedules.

"Well, well. If it isn't my favorite lyricist."

A cheerful voice jolts you from your thoughts and when you blink up through the flashing lights you're met with a lazy grin belonging to Hoseok, one of the producers at Big Hit. He's an ex Mic Drop contestant himself, coming fourth and just missing out on the semi-finals three years ago. He never had the stomach for it anyway, he always says, but you never miss the rejection in his eyes.

Hoseok is also one of the only people who knows about your secret. He was hired to help you work on tracks for your brother once he made it big after all, and although he would never admit it you knew he probably had to sign a hefty NDA. Still, you were grateful to have him around — you couldn't deny you made something of a dream team together.

"Mind if I sit?" He gestures with his glass towards the empty space beside you, and you move your purse so he can squash in on the leather couch. "At least some of us are having fun, huh?" You follow his gaze to Namjoon on the dance floor, hands all over some vaguely recognizable celebrity's hips.

You grimace and swig back the remaining alcohol in your glass. "Too much fun, apparently."

Hoseok snorts, wringing his hands. "Y'know, we could get out of here if you're as bored as I am..." His words slur just slightly and you figure his confidence is a result of the amber liquor in his glass. The shy Hoseok you know well returns quickly though as he averts his eyes when you raise a brow. "Not like that! I just thought maybe we could get a drink or something...if you want to?"

You shift awkwardly, having to shout over the booming club music for him to hear you. "I should really stay here. People might ask questions if the sister of the host just...disappears."

"Right!" Hoseok smiles sheepishly then slaps his own forehead. "Right. Forget I ever asked."

You shake your head fondly and turn back towards the dance floor just in time to see Namjoon whisper in the ear of the DJ, music cutting as he takes the mic and hops up onto the small stage to address the party.

Finally! A sign he was going to wrap up the evening for good!

He clears his throat and the huddle of mingling bodies below him fall into an expectant hush.

"Uh, so I'm not usually very good at these speech things --" He pauses and the crowd laughs. You tap your knee impatiently. "But I just wanted to say thank you. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for your support. So, the next round of drinks are on me! I haven't won — yet — but its never too early to start celebrating, right?"

Namjoon raises his flute of champagne and the party-goers cheer just as a flurry of confetti drops from the ceiling. The music starts again and you're too busy picking the brightly colored paper out of your hair disgruntledly to notice the way the room suddenly quietens and the guests part down the middle like prey from a predator.

"Y/N. Look." Hoseok elbows you sharply and flies forward in his seat, whisky sloshing over the edge of his glass. "Shit! Is that--"

Is that really him? What is he doing here? He's back!

You look up just in time to see the commotion as a figure in a black hoodie weaves effortlessly to the front of the room. You don't recognise him but something about his presence gives you chills.

Namjoon is too busy throwing back his drink to notice as the man climbs the stage, his skinny jeans and high tops sticking out like a sore thumb against the sea of dress shoes and cocktail dresses. He clearly wasn't invited.

By the time your brother senses the change in the air, it's too late.

You feel your face pale, choking when the figure finally turns and lets down his hood, revealing a head of blue hair and a venomous smirk.

"Gloss?"

Namjoon turns and his smile dissolves. He just stares stiffly at the person in front of him like he's seen a ghost. In a way you suppose he has -- the ghost of his past. After all, the last time anyone saw this face was five years ago at the Mic Drop final.

It is him! It's Gloss! Why is he back?

The night that changed all of your lives. When Namjoon claimed the Mic Drop trophy and Gloss, his opponent, lost everything.

It's been years since the last time you saw Gloss but you still recognize the distinctive confidence in his gait, the way his eyes flash with something dark as he looks your brother up and down with a breathy laugh.

Namjoon is frozen, breathing heavily.

Gloss' voice is husky when he finally speaks. It makes you shiver.

"Runch Randa. Long time no see, huh?"

A beat of unbearable silence.

"What are you doing here?"

Gloss's chuckle makes Namjoon snarl. You see the way his jaw tenses and his fists clench. He's too wound up; he'll snap if you don't do something and fast.

You get to your feet but Hoseok pulls you back down sternly by the elbow. "Don't." You protest but his grip is too tight so you just fidget helplessly instead.

Something settles in the atmosphere; a nervousness that makes you itch, makes your heart pump into overdrive as you watch them draw closer, eyes narrowed like boxers in a ring, waiting for the other to make a move. Hoseok covers his eyes.

"I wouldn't start celebrating just yet, Runch. The competition has only just begun."

The crowd gasps when your brother's clenched fist swings at his smug opponent. The rapper ducks but not quite in time and you can't remember which comes first — the crunch that crackles through the speakers when Namjoon's ring-clad knuckles collide with Gloss' face or the ear splitting thump of his mic dropping to the ground.

The party ends abruptly. Your head spins with confusion as you watch the guests leave in shock. Seeing Namjoon up on that stage opposite his biggest opponent again makes your stomach sick, like you were reliving the events of five years ago all over again.

Deep down you had always expected this moment to come. For Gloss to return looking for revenge or something. After all, Gloss didn't just loose Mic Drop to anyone -- he lost to Namjoon, his former best friend and music partner. Namjoon and Yoongi. They were supposed to win together. But for reasons still unknown, even to you, Yoongi was disqualified moments before the final commenced, plummeting your brother into the world of fame alone.

After that, Gloss all but disappeared, his pitiful downfall nothing but a hip hop legend to those who heard it. No record deals or sponsorships or stadium tours like your brother. A legend in his own right, but for all the wrong reasons. Mic Drop banned duos from competing thereafter.

Eventually you gather the courage to head into one of the back rooms where the rappers had been hauled by security guards in hi-vis jackets after their scuffle. You can hear Jimin babbling before you even reach the door.

"What were you thinking? Punching him? You better hope the press don't get ahold of this or else you're in big trouble—"

"Let me go!" Namjoon grunts to Jimin whose face is almost as red as his own. "I'm gonna end this once and for all."

"You'll do no such thing," Jimin tuts, pushing him firmly by the shoulder so he slumps into his seat with a roll of the eyes, other hand pressing his phone to his ear. "Do you even understand the amount of damage control I'm going to have to do to? — hold on, yes, this is Park Jimin speaking..."

The room smells of disinfectant and medical gauze and you spot Namjoon instantly, surrounded by an abundance of medics. His breathing is still ragged, the vein on his neck standing to prominence, knee bouncing as he impatiently waits for his ruby knuckles to be bandaged, too engaged to notice your arrival.

To your left you're surprised to find Yoongi. He's the epitome of composure despite the heavy tension in the air. He grabs a roll of bandage and begins to patch up his own fist, eyes lighting up with something you can't put your finger on when you slide into the room.

"Well, look who decided to turn up. If it isn't Namjoon's little sister. Long time no see, Y/N."

You freeze. It's been years since you heard him say your name. It makes you feel funny.

"Yoongi." You swallow. "What are you doing here?"

His shit eating grin makes your blood boil. "I take it you haven't heard yet, then."

You roll your eyes. You should be checking on Namjoon not humoring whatever stupid motives his opponent has. "Heard what, Yoongi?"

"I'm re-entering the competition, too."

You stagger backwards. Yoongi? Re-entering the competition? Mic Drop?

"But--you were disqualified--I don't understand?"

"I was disqualified. Disqualifications are only valid for five years, according to the rule book. Who knew?" He smirks when your eyes widen. "And I think you'll find that my sentence is up. I'm gonna win this time, once and for all."

"I don't think you know what you're doing, Yoongi—"

"There's more." He licks his lips. "I know your secret."

Your heart stops, mouth running dry. You throw a glance over your shoulder. Namjoon is still engaged, swatting away a medic's ice pack with a scowl, thankfully too busy to notice when you draw closer, voice a harsh whisper. "W-what secret?"

Yoongi lets out a dark chuckle, wincing just barely when he touches a damp cloth to the cut in his lip, a red splotch forming on the fabric. "You know exactly what secret I'm talking about, Y/N. Wouldn't it be ironic if someone slipped a tip off to the judges panel about Namjoon's ghost writer—"

"Shut the fuck up Min Yoongi or I'll break your nose for real this time!" Namjoon's voice bellows behind you, making you jolt. He charges at Yoongi, lip quivering like he might make his threat a reality. "Leave her out of this!"

Yoongi's nostrils flare. "Everyone knows she's a part of this, Namjoon, whether she likes it or not!"

All eyes look your way, as if expecting you to say something, but Yoongi's words fall cluelessly on you. You hadn't so much as thought about him in years. What did you have to do with this stupid ongoing feud with your brother that he refused to let go?

You glance between them, settling for sending a blank look at Yoongi and shuffling over to Namjoon instead. Your brother seems prideful at your show of allegiance. Yoongi scoffs.

"Namjoon?" Your mouth is dry with the shock of the situation and it comes out sounding funny, like you're wary of him. A gash above his eyebrow starts to dribble crimson. "Shit, you're hurt..."

"Get off me." Namjoon shakes his shoulder violently and you gingerly remove your hand, brows furrowed at his rejection. He directs his attention to Yoongi. "And you. You want a fight? It's on."

"Joon!—" He waves you off. It's pointless anyway. When he gets this rash there's no changing his mind.

"You want to end this thing once and for all? Then let's do this. You and me. At the final."

Yoongi raises a brow. "Deal. I'd shake your hand but you might try and knock me into next week again."

Namjoon doesn't laugh.

A hoard of security guards bust into the room and head straight for Yoongi. "Finally. What the fuck do I even pay these people for?"

"Get off me!"

You place a hand on Namjoon's shoulder and find that he's trembling. Rage? Nerves? Adrenaline? All three, probably, if the vacant blackness behind his eyes is anything to go by.

You're already trailing behind your brother when you hear Yoongi's voice carry down the hall. "I'll see you at the final! When I win. Secrets always find a way to come back and bite you in the ass, Runch. You should know that better than anyone!"

Namjoon begs you to come as his plus one to some scummy gig Gloss is rumored to be performing at tonight. To check out the competition, he says, but you recognise the way he nibbles his lip as he does.

Fear. He'll never admit it but Namjoon is scared he’s going to lose.

You agree to join him because you think it may put his mind at rest.

As Namjoon's manager, Jimin has all sorts of connections, mumbling thank you's into the head set sitting around his ears like a permanent accessory and scribbling down the address of some club down town.

The driver your parent's hired to escort Namjoon around as a paparazzi safety precaution drops the three of you a block away; the car's black tinted windows and shiny number plate would be out of place in such a scummy part of town. The plan would only work if you went unnoticed. Namjoon couldn't risk running into a Runch Randa fangirl tonight. It was technically against the Mic Drop rules to have any intel on your opponents, after all.

You don't like to tell Namjoon that his disguise won't do much for blending in. He dons a designer cap pulled down low over his face, long black coat drowning his figure and expensive leather boots crunching against broken glass and cigarette stumps as you near the club. It's too put together to seem natural, a dead give away that he doesn't belong here among the sea of ripped jeans and septum rings and tattoo sleeves around you. Even with a patterned bandana covering half of his face, the sculpted cheekbones and piercing eyes smudged effortlessly with black eyeliner poking over the top scream celebrity.

Luckily for you, the plain dress and knit cardigan hugging your body doesn't alert the suspicions of the bouncers cross armed at the entrance.

Namjoon wrinkles his nose and prods a half empty solo cup discarded outside with his toe, Jimin practically jittering with nerves and barely avoiding a stumbling drunk as you approach the men who stand at nearly double your size. Namjoon said it was best that you acted as spokesperson tonight — the only reason he even brought you along was because nobody would know your face and your position at Big Hit allowed you to pull some strings.

Your fingers shake as you produce a photography license from your bag, heart pounding as one of the menacing bouncers raises his eyebrow beneath the deep red hue emanating from a tacky neon sign posted above the door.

Luckily the breath you're holding is leaving you in a relieved thank you as he nods, moves to the side and gestures for your entourage to dip inside with the rest of the crowd. Namjoon charges ahead into the darkness and you follow him with an awkward smile to make up for his rude demeanour.

No turning back now...

Music hits like a deafening wave, blasting from the speakers at a volume that makes the walls shiver and your head throb. The club is alive with reckless anticipation, a sea of sweaty bodies gyrating on the dance floor in time with the pulsing beat. The energy swallows you whole, knuckles turning white as you cling to Jimin's sleeve, letting him elbow through the throng of indistinguishable faces that glitter beneath the tacky disco ball dangling haphazardly from the ceiling.

The crowd eventually spits you back out in a quieter corner of the club, Namjoon already making a beeline for the seedy bar. "There's a whiskey sour with my name on it and it's the only thing that'll get me through this shit." He murmurs as he crosses the room and occupies a bar stool beside a couple mid heavy make out session, pulling the hat closer around his face.

With a sigh, you turn back to Jimin who is eyeing up the strip pole and the exotic dancers nearby with wide eyes. "I still don't think this is a good idea."

The italian leather couch you slump into is suspiciously sticky beneath your bare thighs. "He needs to get the apprehension out of his system," you counter. "Once he sees that there's no competition he'll be able to take him down."

"I hope you're right." Jimin is wringing his hands, not knowing what to do with them now his headset is sat on the backseat of the car a block away. "I'd hate for this to knock his confidence."

"What?" You snort. "You think Gloss might actually beat him?"

Namjoon is the best rapper around, there's no debate. Nobody could beat him. Not even Gloss.

"No." His pursed lips say otherwise. You raise a brow. Jimin lowers his voice. "Maybe. Namjoon's rash. Gets ahead of himself. If he doesn't pull it together he'll play straight into Yoongi's hands..."

"Shows starting." Your open mouth snaps shut when the cushions dip beside you and Namjoon throws his arms over the back of the couch, swirling his half empty glass with an overconfident smirk.

Jimin averts his gaze. He knows he probably said too much. Sure, you're technically his colleague but you're also Namjoon's sister, the daughter of his boss. If Namjoon had overheard his position at Big Hit could have been called into question.

You would have to grill him more about Yoongi's motives later. Namjoon was right; the show really was starting.

Lights send the club into a dizzying purple haze, a new beat rumbling through the club that makes your skin prickle. It's almost drowned out by the electricity in the air, the frantic stamping of feet, the brazen chants of a single name over and over that fills you with a funny tingly feeling.

Gloss! Gloss! Gloss!

Something about it feels dirty.

The crowd is packed tightly together in the pit now. Even from where you sit, avoiding club goers eyes on the opposite side of the room, you find your attention glued to the stage. The set up is nothing like the one your brother occupies every night; just a wooden structure, painted black at one point but scuffed and scratched by the soles of shoes that boast the history of the place. The speakers are propped on broken crates, no big LED screens or back up dancers like your parents hire out for Namjoon.

Though none of that seems to matter when your gaze falls on the sole microphone stand placed centre stage beneath a blinding spotlight. It's the only familiar parallel between the two performers. It's a symbol of an artist, of the passion that comes with being up on that stage — any stage. It belongs to a performer.

You have to peer through a sea of frantic waving hands on your tiptoes to catch a glimpse of the combat boots taking the stage in time with the music rushing in your ears, mouth dry at the silver rings glinting under the harsh lights as fingers curl around the microphone.

"Yoongi." Namjoon grunts beside you, back stick straight and alert now. The traces of his previous smirk have been erased, a line appearing at the bridge of his nose. "There he is."

Yoongi throws his head back, breathes in the stuffy air that carries the shouts and whistles of the crowd like it's the sweetest oxygen money can buy.

The stench of beer burns your eyes but you're scared you'll miss a glimpse of his messy blue hair, or the eyes drunk on the fierce energy pulsing through the club to stop watching even if you tried.

When his voice permeates the room it's husky, burning through you like a shot of dry whisky. Namjoon stiffens, loosens the bandana around his face so he can see better.

Is that Runch Randa?

"Namjoon..." You hiss. "People are looking."

"Shut up." He grits, jaw tightening as Yoongi's lyrics cut through the tension like a serrated knife.

The way he moves across the stage like he owns it is exhilarating, makes the blood in your veins pump hot, limbs turning to lead as the crowd hangs off his every word.

He's good. Great, even. His lyrics give you goosebumps and you realise you haven't felt like this about a performance in a long time. Passionate. Yoongi is exhilarating to watch and it shakes you to the core.

It's then that it dawns on you. The reason Namjoon feels threatened is because there is a real chance that he might loose everything.

Gloss might take the trophy once and for all.

You only rip your eyes away from the stage when you feel Namjoon stand up beside you, his body disappearing into the crowd.

You get up too. "Leave him." You watch Jimin mouth. "He's just angry, he'll calm down—"

You don't care about Namjoon, not when the air is suddenly too thick, too heavy to breathe. Not when your hands sweat and you heave with a desire to run from reality and the suffocating smell of stale cigarette smoke that made your throat burn, like you can't get your body to breathe.

"Y/N? Where are you going?"

You swear you're floating, feet never seeming to quite touch the ground as you battle against the hazy dizziness that makes the room spin, ignoring Jimin's exasperated shouts of your name as you push through the gaps between bodies and pray your sense of direction is still intact enough to pull your outstretched arms towards the exit.

It's dark outside when you spill out of the exit, spluttering and heaving for air.

The brick is cool against your back when you slide down a nearby wall, hugging your knees.

A deep breath. In then out. Your chest loosens, lungs begin to feel full enough again.

Until a gravelly voice rings out into the night, clearer than the thump of unintelligible music from inside the club that makes your head pound.

"So it was you I saw back there. Good to know I'm not seeing things."

Even before you lift your face from between your knees you know who it belongs to. The single person you want to see least in the world at this very moment.

"Go away." You grumble but all that follows is a low chuckle as Yoongi slumps down next to you, ensuring to leave a safe distance between your crouched bodies.

It's funny. You had been preparing yourself to see him all night but now he's actually here in front of you, your mouth is dry.

He looks the same as he always did; dark eyes that burn hot as they scan your face, cocky smirk turning up the corners of his mouth. His brow looks wearier than you remember though, too weary for a man of twenty three. The only indication that time has passed since him and your brother were best friends.

"I assume Namjoon sent you here, then?"

The mention of your brother's name offers you the courage you need to look at him directly. His forehead still gleams with sweat in the dim moonlight, hair slicked back with a red bandana. There's a ring around his eye now, black and bruised. He must have taken off the black hoodie he donned on stage, left now in only a white vest which exposes his arms and to your dismay makes your blood run a little hotter.

"He's inside. I just came along because I had to." You mumble. "I'm not his spy, you know."

"Sure as shit seems like it." Yoongi spits with an amused chuckle, head lolling on his shoulders to face you. "He worried I might tell everyone about his little secret? Or was he trying to find his own leverage?"

A hot anger boils beneath your skin, rising all the way to your cheeks. Namjoon wouldn't do that would he? He didn't play that way. He didn't need to get an upper hand on Yoongi. He just wanted to see what he was up against.

"What's your problem, Yoongi?" The smirk on his mouth never falters, something glinting behind his eyes that tells you he wants to get a rise out of you. Even so, you can't help the way your voice raises, staggering to your feet. He chuckles darkly in response. "You get off on being an asshole or something?"

"You're too naive. What's so bad about telling the truth?" He closed the space between you until he's hovering above you, breath warm against your cheek. Your heart starts to race."What's so bad about taking back what is mine?"

Your breath hitches when his hand presses into the wall beside your head, effectively cornering you beneath his chest. "You could ruin his career."

Yoongi snorts. "What? Like he ruined mine?"

A few beats of silence. His eyes scan your face and it makes your stomach feel funny. You push at his chest, sucking in a shaky breath when he backs off a little and you realise part of you is weirdly disappointed that he did.

"Yoongi I don't know what happened between you and Namjoon—"

"No. You wouldn't know." He scorns, slinging his hands in his pockets, face darker now at the mention of his feud with your brother. "Because Namjoon loves secrets right? Namjoon likes to use people, Y/N. Just like he's using you now, to get to the top. And then he'll throw you away just like he did with me, sweetheart."

"Namjoon wouldn't do that." You bite your lip, the words leaving your tongue sounding a little less sure than you intend.

"Why? What makes you think you're any different?"

"He's my brother."

"I was his brother once too, remember?" He swallows, shaking his head in disbelief at your denial. "The only blood that matters to Namjoon is the blood shed to get him to the top."

You wrap your arms around your torso instinctively. Yoongi's words cut too deep. Maybe something inside of you thought Yoongi was right?

No. You came here to protect Namjoon yet here you were allowing his enemy to get inside your head.

"Fuck you, Min Yoongi." You spit, enjoying the way his eyes widen at the venom lacing your tone. "I made a mistake coming here."

Before you could brush past him and escape the heat running through your blood stream which feels fuzzier than hatred should, a hand curls around your wrist.

"Shit. Looks like someone's on your trail."

A quick glance over your shoulder reveals none other than Jimin, face hidden by the visor of his black cap but recognisable none the less. He speaks a few words to the bouncer, probably asking if they saw you come out.

"Oh no."

The bouncer gestures in your direction. Jimin's eyes pause for a second as they skim across your form stood rigid with shock and your heart falls out of your ass when he starts in the direction of where you stand way too close to Yoongi unable to move a single muscle as you brace for discovery. To pay for your betrayal of your brother.

"You coming or what?" Yoongi snaps you back to reality with a tug on your arm, feet stumbling over each other as he drags you behind him further down the alley and around a nearly pitch black corner, too far away from the street lights to be basked in their orange glow.

"What the fuck, Yoongi?" You try to shrug out of his grasp, heart beating faster when you see the flat look on his face. "Let go of me!"

Yoongi comes to an abrupt halt. "Listen, I'm trying to save your ass here. You want to get caught? Go on then! Not my problem."

You nibble your lip, glancing one way at the dark alley and the other at Jimin pacing up and down the street with furrowed brows.

"Just trust me, Y/N."

Jimin's footsteps get closer and closer. It's now or never.

Tightening your jaw, you turn back to Yoongi and nod. The words feel foreign as they pass your lips. "I...trust you."

With that, Yoongi grabs your hand and breaks into a sprint

Turning the corner, the alley meets a dead end. The back of the club is just as run down as the front, littered with cracked beer bottles and cigarette stumps. The sign above the door labelled NO ENTRY doesn't offer any light and apparently Yoongi doesn't listen to directions because he fishes in his back pocket for a key, sliding the bolt and pushing on the bar to hold the door open with a small nod for you to go inside first.

With a deep breath, you do.

The door closes behind you with a jingle of chains, cutting off the slither of moonlight it provided and sending you into complete darkness. You hear Yoongi slide the bolt back across and then he fumbles for you in the darkness, your body pulled down next to his with a yelp so that you're out of direct view of the window which looks inside the room.

"I think they followed us." His voice is silk but there's an underlying insinuation. Be quiet.

Yoongi's eye level now, knees squeezed up against yours in the cramped space beneath the window ledge. Your eyes slowly adjust to the darkness, able to see the way he scans your face when he thinks you aren't looking. The way he grumbles and looks away when you catch him.

There's not time to dwell as you hear footsteps turn the corner, tracking all the way to the door where the bolt rattles, a sleeve wiping the window and pressing a cupped face to the glass.

"She's not here, man. You must have seen someone else."

It was Hoseok. You'd recognise his voice anywhere. Countless all nighters in the studio together does that to a person. Had Jimin called him all the way down here to look for you?

Jimin chimes in quickly. "I could have sworn it was her..."

The voices trail off as they retreat back down the alley, around to the front of the club.

A sigh escapes you, head falling against the wall in relief. When you open your eyes Yoongi is looking at you again. There's something pained in his expression, unspoken words visible in the way he bites his cheek to stop them from spilling out into the darkness.

His fingers are still wrapped around your arm, an electricity buzzing through your veins when you feel him lean in closer, pulling you towards him just barely.

His lips. Chapped and so close to yours. God. You think you want to kiss them. Just to know how it feels. You've never seen them up this close before. Not close enough to feel his hot breaths puffing against your forehead. Not close enough that if you just lifted your chin a little bit...

Yoongi lets out an embarrassed cough, jolting you out of your thoughts. "That was a close one, huh?" The spot where his hand resided feels cold when he rips it away.

Yoongi's face is wiped of any emotion again. He's not completely slick though as when he finally speaks again he sounds husky, the betrayal in his voice surprising even him.

"Are you okay?"

What were you supposed to say to that? I almost got caught with my brother's enemy and then thought about kissing said enemy. No, I don't think I am okay.

"Fine. Thanks."

Yoongi offers you a hand, getting to his feet and pulling you up after him before he leans across your body to flick on the lights.

The yellowish stream burns your eyes but allows you to take in the room around you. There's a keyboard in the corner, piles of sheet music strewn across the wooden desk beside it. A pair of speakers hooked up to a worn looking sound machine. A mic and a pair of headphones slung over the back of the mismatch wheely chair tucked beneath a desk.

A studio.

He must notice the way you look around with wide eyes, redness creeping up his neck as he busies himself by kicking some of the clutter on the floor behind the desk. "Wasn't expecting guests."

It definitely wasn't the high tech producing set up you were provided with back at Big Hit, no hifi system or fancy computer programmes. The furniture was mismatch, like someone had collected a bunch of spare puzzle pieces and shook them up in the box until they made a picture.

Somehow of the pieces still manage to seem somehow inherently Yoongi; the basketball tee with GLOSS on the back draped over his chair, even the empty water bottles overflowing in the trash can. The tiny framed picture of a younger looking Yoongi next to a woman you think you recognise but can't quite put your finger on.

"Genius lab?" You snort, nodding towards the sign hanging haphazardly above the monitor.

Yoongi shrugs. "What can I say? It's true."

"Confident." You muse.

You share a smile. It's strange. Familiar. The way his eyes crinkle and even the husk of the chuckle that follows reminding you of when things were good, back when you considered Yoongi to be a sort of friend. Before things got fucked up.

"You'll take it back when I win."

Old habits might not die hard but the rational part of your brain registers the implication of his words, even beneath his playful facade. The studio suddenly feels cold. Nostalgia dissipates. You remember why you're here.

"Why didn't you just let them find me?"

"You know as well as I do that Namjoon risks getting disqualified if Jimin causes a scene and gets himself caught snooping around here."

You huff an exasperated breath. For all Yoongi's talk of having the upper hand he sure did seem reluctant to use it. "Isn't that what you want? What's stopping you? Want to drag it out or something?"

Yoongi lets out a breathy laugh, crossing the room and ducking into a drawer in the far corner. He returns with two glasses and a murky bottle of something strong, already a quarter empty as he pours some out. He offers the second glass towards you but you wave it away.

"Suit yourself." He takes a swig of the dark liquid, squeezes his eyes shut. "Because I want to win fair and square."

You shake your head. "All of this. Just for a stupid trophy?"

He eyes you over the rim of his glass, swirling the liquid with an overconfidence that makes you grit your teeth in annoyance. "So Namjoon knows how it feels to lose something he loves." He looks you up and down then, coughing and turning his head when you notice it. "Yeah. I guess it's for the trophy."

Yoongi is despicable, you think. Is he really so fame hungry that he will destroy anyone standing in his way to get it? Even Namjoon? Sure, your brother has his faults but if there is one thing you know it's that he loves being on that stage. What happened between them that makes Yoongi think he deserves it more?

"So its a revenge thing, then. And what if you lose, huh?" The way your voice raises makes you wince. Yoongi slams his glass down and flashes you an are you serious face.

"Y/N don't you see? I have nothing to lose. Namjoon already took everything. My life, my family, my fame. Everything. You know how it feels to have it all dangled in front of your face? And then get it ripped away like it was never yours to begin with?"

Yes. You'd never tell him that, of course. But you did know. You had to watch Namjoon perform your songs every night through a camera lens. Snapping shots of him in his element and wishing those picture perfect moments were yours. What did Yoongi know?

"I see him on the big screen, on stages I dreamed of. Crowds screaming his name. It was supposed to be me, Y/N. Meanwhile I'm sat here," Yoongi gestures to the shabby studio you find yourself in, liquid sloshing over the edge of his glass. "In clothes I printed myself, making music in a shitty club for free because nobody will even listen to my shit."

He's panting by the end of his spiel, knuckles pressed to his eyes as he tries to regain his composure before he lets too many of his weaknesses show. Something resonates inside you, softening the anger towards him with what you recognize as sympathy.

"Then why do you still do it? Make music?"

"Because it's the only thing that never left me alone."

You sigh. While you're collecting your thoughts something catches your eye — a Polaroid picture, tacked onto the plasterboard behind his computer. It's of a smiling Yoongi and much to your surprise, a smiling Namjoon, arms wrapped around each other like nothing could ever break them apart. You briefly wonder why he kept it, if he hated Namjoon so much.

You turn to him again.

"Don't make me regret saying this but you're good, Yoongi. Like really good. Your performance earlier it was...amazing. I mean that."

Yoongi's stern eyes soften with surprise. He almost seems pained, like the simple compliment means more to him than you expected.

"So, you don't have to do this. Big Hit has connections, I could get in touch with a couple record labels--"

He stiffens again. "What? Are you my manager now? As if any record label would take a chance on the biggest Mic Drop loser in history, Y/N, don't talk shit."

You trail off. It's true and you know it.

He swallows hard. "You know what I think? I think you're here because you know that I might actually win this thing. As much as Namjoon knows how to play dirty he doesn't have the talent. He never did! That's why he's using you to write his material." His laugh makes you shiver. "How can he even call himself an artist? It's pathetic."

That's all it takes for your patience to snap. Is the way your blood boils with a sudden and insatiable rage because of the way he bad mouthed your brother? Surely you didn't actually believe him? No, everything he said was a lie -- it had to be.

Your hand curls into a fist, anger spilling over as you charge at him full force. Yoongi barley flinches, his fingers deftly curling around your wrist before it can meet his jaw and pulling you into him at the waist so he can slot his bottom lip between yours.

"Fuck yo— hmf?"

Your eyes widen as you register his slightly chapped lips moving against your own, remnants of the amber liquid he poured down his throat earlier sour on your tongue, a surprised gasp leaving you when Yoongi flips your bodies and slams your back roughly against the wall, settling himself between your legs.

"Gonna finish what Namjoon started, sweetheart?" When he pulls back you're panting, eyes trained to his parted lips with wonder.

He kissed you. Yoongi kissed you. For real.

His warm breath still mingles with yours as you try to choke a response, anything. Yoongi's eyes have a dark glint to them and god you should hate him for winding you up like this but being this close to him just feels too good.

Then, before you can think better of it, you grab his collar with your free hand and smash your lips together in a tangle of teeth and tongue that makes your entire body burn with relief.

The groan he lets out against your mouth tells you he wants this too. "Fuck, couldn't help myself." He pants. "You're driving me crazy."

You feel a dampness throb between your legs when his hands tangle in your hair, lips never leaving yours as he pulls you across the room and drops into his chair.

A whimper is pulled from your lips when his palms cup the flesh of your ass beneath your dress, though it's not in protest, dizzy with desire when he pulls you into his lap and bucks his hips so that his half hard cock brushes against your clothed heat.

"See what you do to me?" He pulls back to smirk at your swollen lips, a much needed breath entering your lungs, filling you with another bout of restless desire as Yoongi's eyes scan your face hungrily. It feels too good even though it should be so wrong.

"W-we shouldn't." Your mouth is dry, words coming out a little unsure which gives away just how much you want to keep going. "What if--"

A particularly harsh thrust of his hips makes you moan softly, head falling into the crook of Yoongi's neck. He growls when he catches sight of the growing wet patch on the front of his jeans, testament of his effect on you as much as you hated to admit it.

"What if Namjoon finds out?" His hand shoots between your legs, pads of his fingers tracing your clothed core, the coarse lace of your panties adding a delicious layer of friction against your folds. The delicate touch sets your body alight, skin burning to let go and submit to the feeling despite the voice in the back of your mind screaming no!

"What if Namjoon finds out that I make you this wet?" Your panties are sticking to your heat by now so it would have been futile to deny it. He smiles smugly when your legs shake and you throw an arm around his neck to keep your balance.

"S-shut up." It's meek and it only makes him laugh darkly, the husky sound sending shivers down your spine as he leans in closer to nibble on the lobe of your ear.

If you didn't know any better you would think he was unaffected by this. Your chest heaves with desire and your hands itch with a yearning to touch him but Yoongi appears the epitome of composure, maintaining sinful eye contact as he pulls your panties to the side. The only give away is the way his cock twitches against your leg with each jerk of his hips, a funny sense of pride erupting in your chest knowing that he wants you too.

Open mouthed kisses drag down your jaw, lingering at your neck. His teeth nibble at the sensitive skin, tongue laving out to soothe the sting and it feels too good to worry about the bruises his sinful lips leave behind as a reminder of your weakness Namjoon could never know of.

"Look so pretty marked up, sweetheart." The pet name makes your clit throb, head throwing back as his mouth attacks the sensitive spot on your neck like he knew it was there all along. It's almost concerning how quickly he has you falling apart in his lap. How easily he turned you into a shuddering mess, barely able to form coherent sentences in between breathy gasps at the sensation of him making you his for all to see. "Show everyone that you're mine, hm?"

When Yoongi removes his hand from your core you slap a hand over your mouth to stop a whine of protest from escaping. Yoongi's eyes narrow, palming his bulge through his trousers as he watches you writhe in his lap with amusement, every twist of your hips falling short and providing no relief for your pulsing clit, already missing the feeling of his hand cupping your mound and considering how it would feel skin on skin—

Oh god. What am I doing?

You let out a groan, but not the good kind.

"What?" Yoongi seems to read your mind, snapping you back to reality when he pulls your panties to the side. He circles your entrance teasingly and you can't help the way you whimper. "Don't act like you don't want to sink down on my cock, Y/N. You could ride me right here and nobody would ever know."

"H-how can I trust you?" It would ruin Namjoon if he found out. He was already stressed, already growing distant from you. This had to stop before it went too far. Before there was no going back.

"Because I can make you feel like this." A lithe finger slides into your heat, easy because of how you drip over his hand. "Think about how much better my cock would stretch you out, hm?"

Each drag of his finger against your velvety walls has you squeezing your eyes shut. The sensation is overwhelming, and when he adds a second digit you feel your repose crumble. Lust seems to crash over you like a wave, clouding your thought with a hazy desire to just give in and let Yoongi take you, uncaring about the repercussions now as you push down to meet his thrusts so he hits deeper than before.

"Fine." Your words are slurred, too busy chasing the feeling between your legs to see the way it makes Yoongi's eyes light up. "J-just hurry up and fuck me Yoongi."

"Well well," Yoongi settles back against the wall, looking between your bodies to watch the way his fingers disappear into your soaking cunt with an expression almost primal, his own breathing ragged now as he tries to resist turning you over and fucking you into tomorrow then and there. "Never thought I'd actually get to hear my name on your lips like this. Say it again."

A sharp flick of his wrist has you falling against his chest, pulsing around him. "Yoongi!"

"That's right," He licks his lips, free hand unzipping his jeans to relieve the pressure on his length. "Me. Yoongi." The way he mimicks your breathless tone makes a hot blush rise in your cheeks, aware of just how fucked out you must seem right now but too horny to care. "Been waiting for this. Ah shit!"

You take it upon yourself to hurry along the process by reaching into the waistband of his boxers to wrap a hand around the shaft of his cock. It pulses at your touch, the pace of Yoongi's fingers in your cunt stuttering as he flies forward, knuckles on the hand gripping your thigh turning white as he tries to regain some control while you stroke him firmly.

"Fuck your hands. Sinful. Knew they would be. God you're going to kill me if you keep this up, I swear." The worlds tumble from his mouth in one heaving breath as you twist your palm around his sticky head, enjoying the way his thighs twitch with a want to buck into your fist and his nose flares with the effort it takes to resist.

His cock feels girthy in your palm, hot and heavy as you help him shimmy his jeans around his thighs. When his cock slaps back against his stomach, impossibly hard and leaking with anticipation you feel your mouth water.

"Like what you see?" He almost taunts.

You bite your lip. "I don't think you're gonna fit."

It must have brushed his ego because the tip seemed to flush an even deeper shade of red. "Wanna sit on it and find out?"

A nod is all it takes for Yoongi to slide your panties to the side, slapping your hands away to grip the base of his cock and line it up with your entrance.

You both groan in unison when he pushes into your heat, the stretch burning with every inch, fingers clutching the fabric of his tank top at the sensation of finally being full.

"Fuuuck." You see his tongue snake out to wet his bottom lip when his hips finally join flush to yours, hair sticking to his already damp forehead as he allowed you to adjust. "So fucking tight for me, princess."

His cock throbs impossibly deep inside you when you unconsciously clench around it, feeling your face flush as you whimper for him to get on with it and fuck you already.

"Shh, patience." His thumb pulls at your bottom lip, setting it free with a pop. "Move."

At his command you do, bracing yourself on his shoulders. You raise up, feeling every ridge of his length until just the tip remains inside your heat. Then you are slamming back down and flushing at the groan which tumbles from his chest.

"Such a slut, taking my cock so well." His palms feel hot on your hips, dragging you up and down through the motion that has you panting.

Yoongi looks utterly amazed at the visual of you sinking down onto his length, unable to stop the satisfied grin settling into his features when you cry out after a particularly deep thrust. "Imagine if Namjoon could see you now. Falling apart on my cock?"

"Can we — hnng — not talk about my brother when you're in my fucking guts?"

"Why?" A whine leaves you when he slips out of your cunt, grabs you by the ass, and hoists you to your feet, roughly bending you over the desk until your cheek presses against the cold surface. Yoongi tugs your hands behind your back, cock already sinking back into your heat before you can protest at the emptiness. "Worried he'll think you're a slut for taking my cock when I'm the one whose going to fucking end him?"

"Yes!" You cry, unable to hold back now as you feel his cock hit deeper than before with every ram inside you that fills the room with the slapping sound of his pistoning hips, brushing your sweet spot each time and making the coil in your stomach tighten.

God, this is so wrong and you know it. You know it shouldn't feel so good when Yoongi's hands tangle in your hair, pulling you so that your back arches flush against his sweaty chest. Know how many people would be hurt if they knew how much you love it, how you push back into his thrusts, eager for more.

"Shit, you're squeezing so tight." His voice sounds strained now, thrusts turning sloppy as you feel him shudder. "Close, shit. Where can I—"

"Inside me. Want you to f-fill me."

"Holy sh— always wanted to hear you say that. Okay, fuck."

A few more pumps of his cock and he's spilling inside you, the feeling of his release coating your walls enough to have you falling over the edge unexpectedly too, vision turning black as you cum with a cry.

The only sound that fills the silence is your heavy breaths mingling with his as your arms give out. You're silently grateful, as much as you hated to admit it, for the strong arm around your torso that holds you to him when your legs turn to jelly.

Yoongi slips out of you, admiring the way his cum leaks down your trembling thighs. The emptiness makes you keen, clenching around nothing.

"Made such a mess of you, kitten."

The sound of his zipper makes your heart sink, stiffening as he tucks his spent cock back into his pants. For a second you think he's going to leave you like this, shame caressing your cheeks as you envision how fucked out you must look.

But then, Yoongi's palms are back on your thighs as he kicks the chair from under his desk and pushes you roughly onto the cushion. "Think you can go again for me, princess?"

"Wha--?" His swollen lips make you loose your words, the way his tongue tantalizingly caresses your bottom lip drawing a choked whine from your throat instead.

"Fuck, always thought you'd make such pretty noises." It's mumbled gruffly under his breath, like he's confirming it with himself rather than addressing you. He pulls back to stare at you spread out for him, lidded eyes widening at the visual of your skirt pooled around your waist, legs kept open by the rough grip around your thigh that exposes your swollen slit. The way your arousal drips down your inner thighs along with his own release has him swallowing thickly. "Like being filled with my cum, huh? Such a slut."

Yoongi traces his fingers up your inner thighs, thumb applying a gentle pressure to your clit, legs struggling to fall shut around his hand to escape the over stimulation. "P-please Yoongi, I can't."

"You will." It's growled against your neck, hot breath making you shudder. "I know you can take it."

A knee slips between your thighs, holding them open so his fingers can deftly continue their brutal attack on your sensitive folds. Each drag of his knuckle up your slit makes you whimper, the way the pads of his fingers rub firm circles into your clit making it pulse. The feeling is more intense than before, borderline agonizing as a warmth builds in the pit of your stomach again.

Eventually the pain starts to dissipate, turns into something closer to pleasure when you feel a single digit slip into your heat, the slide made easy by the fact that his cock had already stretched you out and his release lubed you up nicely. Each pump makes a lewd squelching noise that has you biting your lip to stop from groaning unabashedly, Yoongi's gaze fixed to the sight of his knuckles disappearing inside you.

When you buck up into his touch again, desperately circling your hips to try and grind your clit against the heel of his hand, Yoongi lets out a dark chuckle. The muscles in your cunt tighten, skin damp with sweat as you fuck yourself on his hand in search of a second high that burns ever closer.

"Look at you, all needy again from just one finger. All fucked out again even after I stretched you out."

With that Yoongi removes his hand from your heat all together, leaving you gasping and clenching around nothing as your release falls farther away, unable to resist the groan of frustration that passes your lips.

"Don't stop!" Your head lolls back against the chair, thighs trembling with desperation to feel his touch again. "I was so close--"

"Suck." Yoongi raises his fingers to your lips. You notice the way they gleam, sticky and white in the studio lighting. The pads of his fingers smear the wetness across your swollen lips as he pushes for entry which you gave to him eagerly, humming around the digits. "Be a good girl, hm?"

He all but groans when your eyes flutter open and lock with his, tongue swirling around his fingers teasingly, enjoying the taste of your own arousal mixed with the saltiness of his cum, almost in sensory overload at the thought of how much better his cock would feel in your throat.

"That's it." A knuckle drags down your cheek possessively, tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. "Good girl."

A sticky trail of spit follows Yoongi's fingers when they leave your mouth with a lewd pop, your breaths coming out shaky and desperate as you watch his eyes zone in on your aching core.

The sight of him dropping to his knees is enough to have you squeezing your eyes shut in anticipation, whimpering when his hot breath grazes over your throbbing clit. "Wanna taste you for myself."

And with that his tongue runs a rough stripe up your slit, eyes falling shut as he hums against your folds contentedly.

"Fuck Yoongi!" Your eyes roll back as he laps a few teasing licks across your bud, body turning to putty when his hands roughly pull you down the chair so that he can attach his mouth to your mound fully.

A guttural moan rises from his chest when you grind your core against his face, knuckles turning white as you clutch he chair like it's the only thing keeping you grounded, stopping you from floating away and losing yourself to the feeling of Yoongi's tongue teasing your already wrecked hole. An impatience rises in your stomach every time his nose grazes your clit, pushing your hips more forcefully to chase the relief it brings.

"So eager." You knew he'd have a smirk on his face if his lips weren't already occupied, wrapping around your clit and sucking with just the right amount of pressure to have your fingers tangling in the blue locks that spill loose from his bandanna now, holding him to your core so that you can rock against his tongue easier.

"Close sweetheart?" The way your chest heaves and little gasps spill past your lips as you chase your high must give away the effect he is having on you. You nod breathlessly and to your surprise Yoongi places a chaste kiss to your folds before pulling back all together, leaving you writhing and desperate for him to make cum for the second time. "Did I give you permission?"

Your heart beats furiously as your release slips away once again. Yoongi only stares at you intently. His lips glisten with a mixture of both of your releases and the thought alone makes your core ache. A loose shake of your head makes his eyes darken, licking some of the dampness from around his lips. "Gotta use your words, baby. Did I say you could cum?"

Dizzy with arousal, your words sound slurred and alien to your own ears. "N-no."

"Good. Now ask nicely."

"Please." It comes out whinier than you anticipate but Yoongi's hands twitch against the flesh of your thighs, giving away the fact that he likes it despite the way his mouth presses into a tight and unforgiving line. "Can I cum? Please?"

A deep laugh leaves his bitten lips. "I don't think you deserve it." His head dips back down between your legs, sloppy kisses pressed to each of your thighs as he edges ever closer to your dripping core. "I want you to count, okay?"

"O-oh, okay." He attacks your clit again, tongue swirling where his teeth graze across the pulsing bud. You're so sensitive that you're sure just the light brushes of his lips will send you over the edge if he keeps going.

"G-gonna cum if you--"

"Don't." The authority in his voice makes you gasp. "Didn't I say to count? One."

"Fuck!" Hot tears streak your cheeks when he pulls back so just his hot breath ghosts across your glistening folds. "I..I was so close!"

"Hey, hey." His hand reaches up to stroke your cheek, a strangely gentle action in comparison to the bruising grip on your thigh. "You're doing so good. Trust me, okay? Wanna make you feel good."

For the second time that night you nod, putting all your trust into him for reasons you are too fucked out to dwell on there and then.

When his tongue snakes out to tease your clenching hole again it draws an agonizing cry from you, the coil already tightening in your belly. You shut your eyes.

"Don't" The hand on your chin tightens, forces you to look down at where his face is buried between your legs, authority lacing his words again. "Keep your eyes on me."

As soon as you lock eyes he gets to work again, humming out a "good girl" before you're losing yourself again to his tongue and he has to plant your feet down roughly to stop your hips from bucking too much.

Before you know it your clit's throbbing again and you're about to fall over the edge but before you can even let Yoongi know he's pulling back with a pant, practically gasping for air but still flashing you a shit eating grin. "Didn't think I was going to let you, did you sweetheart?"

"Two." You manage to breathe. "Two!"

By now you're sick of the teasing, a hand coming between your own legs to finish yourself off, ready to come undone whether Yoongi likes it or not. Before you can get your way, Yoongi's swatting your hand away. "Desperate slut. Wanna cum that bad huh?"

"Please!" You practically whimper.

That seems to do it for him, his eyes glazing over with what you recognise as lust. As if the last of his self control just snapped. Anticipation makes your blood run hot.

"Then make it to three and we'll see if I'm feeling nice."

"Shit!" Yoongi's tongue plunges into your heat with a new found eagerness, thrusting in and out like a man deprived. You manage to maintain eye contact this time, falling apart at the way he groans in appreciation when he tastes himself, fucking your hole with his tongue mercilessly like he wants to get every last drop of his cum.

His thumb finds your clit and the coil in your lower belly tightens too rapidly for you to comprehend, tugging on his hair as you cry out. "Yoongi!"

"Cum for me."

His permission is all it takes to have you falling over the edge into a shattering orgasm that makes your vision turn black, mind wiped of any hesitation and guilt and replaced with a single word, over and over again: Yoongi.

When you finally take a gasping breath, he's there, rubbing encouraging circles into your hips and leaving kisses across your stomach that makes something in your chest warm, heart beating a little faster and not just from your orgasm.

"So fuckin' pretty when you cum." You're sure that's what he murmurs against your damp skin. "Can't believe I had to wait this long."

You furrow your brow. Yoongi sits back against his heels, wiping your arousal from his mouth with the back of his hand and flashing you a lazy but satisfied smile, looking awfully pleased with himself. Like this was his biggest dream come true.

It dawned on you that it probably was in someways -- what better way to get back at an old friend than by fucking his sister?

You suddenly feel like an idiot for letting him charm you, guilt washing through you, flying forward when your chest aches with regret.

Yoongi notices how you pale. "Are you okay? If that was too much then I'm really sorry--"

"Too much?" You suddenly feel exposed beneath his gaze, shuffling around to pull your skirt around your thighs, eyes roaming the room hurriedly for your panties so you can get out of here and quick. "This is all too much, Yoongi."

"What?" He puts a hand on your shoulder to stop you as you brush past him but the way you jolt at the touch makes him rip it away like he touched a live wire.

"I...shouldn't have come here. This was a mistake."

Namjoon's face was embedded in your mind. The way his eyes would crumple with betrayal if he found out you came here at all -- let alone let Yoongi take you so intimately. And you hadn't even tried to stop yourself from falling into him, gave in to your emotions too easily and allowed Yoongi to use you as a swipe at your own brother.

"Why? Didn't seem so upset when you were coming on my tongue." The scoff in Yoongi's voice makes you freeze.

"I can't stop you from hurting Namjoon," Your lip quivers and you have to press your nails into your palms to stop the tears spilling over. "But do you really have to hurt me, too?"

"Y/N, wait--"

Your hands shake as you grab your bag and head for the door. "Shit happened between you and my brother, I get it. But we were friends once, Yoongi. Doesn't that mean anything to you? We can't see each other again."

Your tears are warm in contrast to the cold evening air as you take off into a run, needing to get as far away from Yoongi and the evidence of your own betrayal as possible.

By the time you stumble back into the Big Hit company building, the studio is empty. To your surprise, words seem to flow out of you easier than they ever had before, a heart shaped stain appearing on the formerly empty page of your notebook.

Sleepless nights were becoming your norm. You had barely slept a wink since that night, not when every thought was plagued with guilt, the same name running circles around your mind, the same dark eyes and swollen lips and messy hair tauntingly appearing in your mind whenever your head hit the pillow.

Yoongi.

That night with Yoongi felt something like a dream, a hazy memory, the only evidence of it being real the fact that every time you closed your eyes you could feel the way Yoongi's hands burned your skin, how his lips moved perfectly in sync with your own.

As much as you knew it was a mistake, something that should have never happened, you couldn't help the way your heart throbbed every time you replayed it over and over in your mind, repeatedly, until you felt like you were going insane with guilt. It was eating you alive. But sometimes you would remember the way you felt when he was pressed up against you and every ounce of regret felt worth it.

You hated yourself for it, and you knew your brother would hate you to, if he ever found out.

He could never find out.

So, you take to avoiding Namjoon altogether. It wasn't that hard really, you knew his schedule well enough to be a step ahead of him at all times, and it wasn't as if he was enthusiastic about your company to begin with.

Of course sometimes your paths have to cross, but you still can't look Namjoon in the eyes when you slip into one of the Big Hit practice rooms where you know you'll inevitably find him.

The music hits before you even open the door. Namjoon is dressed in casual clothes, cap pulled down low over his face as he raps into a mic, the way his voice husks a tell tale sign that this was not the first time he'd gone over the same verse.

He seems stiffer than usual, all elbows and knees as he scrutinises his own form in the wall to floor mirror. You've seen him perform this choreography flawlessly hundreds of times so your brow furrows with confusion each time his feet miss a beat or his knees literally buckle under the pressure.

On the far side of the room sits a row of men and women in formal suits. Investors, brought in to bet on the contestant most likely to win. They watch Namjoon with intent eyes, some shaking their heads in disapproval, others whispering insults below their breaths.

Is that really Runch Randa? Pfft, he'll never win with footwork like that.

Jimin stands close by, hopping from one foot to the other and wincing with every mistake Namjoon makes. He's been making desperate phone calls for the last week, pleading with any investor he could get ahold of to take a chance on Namjoon which was hard to come by after the royal media fuck up the other day at the after party.

This was Namjoon's only chance at a do over — he needed their money if he wanted to win this thing. The judges were expecting a show from him. Smoke machines and good lighting are expensive, after all.

Namjoon, however, only seems interested in the reactions of your parents sat in the back row, expressions grave. He's chastising himself, self loathing evident in his eyes every time he stutters over a lyric. He knows how hard they worked to establish Big Hit and the disappointment in their eyes as it slowly slips through Namjoon's fingers like sand makes even you feel jittery with nerves.

For a brief moment you're grateful that you are practically invisible in this room, no eyes even glancing your way as you join them. You're glad that Namjoon takes the brunt of the pressure. You never were the strong sibling after all.

The music cuts, Namjoon coming to a stand still. He crumples at the knees, forehead pressed against the polished linoleum floor as he tries to catch his breath.

Jimin slumps into a chair, head in hands. That tells you all you need to know.

Investors leave the room, some sending apologetic looks towards Jimin with a shrug. Others deposit their cheque books back into their briefcases, taking pity on the pleading smiles and firm handshakes from your parents when they apologise for Namjoon's lacking performance. One even pats Namjoon on the back, following the small crowd as they leave the room. "Take a break, buddy."

Nearly everyone has filtered out before Namjoon gets to his feet shakily, slumping down into a seat beside you. You don't acknowledge him, afraid of what you might let slip if you do, fiddling with your camera as a distraction.

It's him who breaks the silence.

"How's the song coming along?" He seems disinterested, clicking his knuckles with no real intention of listening to your response.

"Fine." Another lie. It wasn't coming along at all, really, but now is probably not the best time to tell him when his nerves are already heightened by his failure to gain any crucial investments.

His eye is still slightly swollen from the fist fight a few days ago, a permanent line forming at the bridge of his nose that wasn't there before. You almost didn't recognise him. He stares at his own broken reflection in the steamed practice room mirrors vacantly, like he doesn't even recognise himself.

A few moments of uncomfortable silence pass. Namjoon's heavy breathing slows to a regular pace.

"I know you went to see him."

It echos menacingly through the room and you stiffen, clutching the floor beneath you for support. Namjoon's hard eyes still don't look your way but you see him analysing your reaction in the mirror. The way your mouth gapes speechlessly tells him everything he needs to know.

"Not even gonna try and deny it?" His head shakes in disbelief.

You throb with guilt. "H-how did you find out?"

"I have people everywhere keeping an eye on him, Y/N. You're lucky the paparazzi didn't catch you, because it sure as shit looked shady. My own sister," He scoffs around the word, as if it tastes bad in his mouth. "Siding with him?"

You place a hand on his forearm, surprised to find him shaking beneath your touch. "I'm not siding with him, Namjoon."

"Then what are you doing?" He roars, ripping his arm away.

What was I doing? You don't even know yourself.

It takes everything inside you to keep the expression on your face neutral, to wipe away the regret and the sadness and the fear that makes your voice wobble.

"We just talked." You had to avert your gaze, scared that somehow your disingenuous eyes would give away what really happened with Yoongi — a little more than talking to say the least.

"About what?"

"The secret, okay? I wanted to protect you—"

"Protect me?" Namjoon pinched the bridge of his nose. "How is meddling in business that doesn't even concern you protecting me, Y/N?"

"Have you forgotten that what you're — we're — doing is against Mic Drop rules? That you could be disqualified or...worse! Get your trophy revoked?"

"Pfft. Yoongi won't say anything.."

"What makes you so sure?"

"It's me he wants to hurt. I know him, Y/N. He'd never forgive himself if you—" He eyes you carefully. "If anyone else got dragged into this. It's between me and him, that's it."

Your head is spinning. You remember a time when things weren't this way, back when Yoongi and Namjoon were friends. Partners. What happened between them that made them so hell bent on destroying one another?

"There are things about Yoongi that you will never understand, Y/N. Things he did that can never be forgiven."

It briefly crosses your mind that if Namjoon could cut Yoongi, his best friend, out of his life, just how easy it would be for him to do the same to you if he found out just how unforgivable your betrayal was. A funny feeling pools in your stomach, a distance settling between you and Namjoon as, to your dismay, you realise just how much you have in common with your brother's enemy.

"But what about you, huh? Why should he forgive you? You took everything from him! I'm not surprised he's back to kick your ass. If you ask me it's him who should be holding a grudge—"

Namjoon's hands clamp onto your shoulders and you recoil from the contact. You're breathing hard, the tears welling in your eyes threatening to spill over any second.

"Listen to me. He's trying to get in your head. You need to stay away from him Y/N. He's bad news."

"Tell me why! Help me understand!"

Namjoon's face is grave. "Some secrets are best kept that way. It'll only make it worse if I tell you."

Before you can protest he's striding across the room and hitting the play button on the boom box in the corner, music blasting from the speakers again.

"Joon—"

"Just stick to taking pictures and stop getting involved in business that doesn't concern you."

Then his body is twisting across the room in time to the music with an intensity he didn't possess before. Like a machine on autopilot.

You shove your camera into your bag and let the door slam shut behind you.

"We were a mistake."

The cursor flashing on the empty document on your computer screen feels like it's taunting you.

"Please don't tell my brother what we did."

You've been like this for the last week. Holed up in one of the tiny studios at the Big Hit company building, head swimming with beats and melodies and lyrics that just won't seem to fit together. Not when your mind is preoccupied with a more pressing issue.

"Are you thinking about me as much as I'm thinking about you?"

Yoongi.

God, how are you supposed to write this song for Namjoon when all you can think about is his enemy?

You don't know why you're still so hung up on Yoongi. It's not as if what happened between you meant anything. It was just a spur of the moment mistake. You were both tense and needed someone to help blow off some steam. That's it. Nothing more, nothing less.

Right?

You'll never admit that deep down, a part of you wants to see him again. To check that he's real and that you didn't imagine the whole thing. To see if he is going as crazy as you feel.

That's when the answer hits you. The only way to make this right is to end things once and for all. Tie up all your loose ends and tell Yoongi that you and him were a one time thing. Make sure you were on the same page.

Then maybe you'll be able to concentrate on helping Namjoon beat his ass.

A sudden confidence grips you, standing up abruptly from your desk, alerting the attention of Hoseok who up until now has been quietly engrossed in the track he's producing.

"Where are you going?" He asks.

There's an address burning at the forefront of your mind. You have the route committed to memory. How long it'll take to get there. How long it'll take to get back before anyone else at Big Hit notices your absence.

The only place you knew where you might find Yoongi.

"I won't be gone long. Cover for me if anyone sees I'm gone, 'kay?"

Hoseok eyes you curiously and pulls his headphones to sit around his neck. "O-okay but don't you think you should take an umbrella? It's raining and you might catch a cold — oh."

You don't hear him, the door already slamming behind you.

In hindsight, Hoseok was probably right. You're soaked before you even get half way to Yoongi's studio.

Not that you care. Not when there are so many things you want to say to Yoongi. So many questions only he knows the answer to.

Not when you're about to see him again and you're giddy and nervous and scared of the way your heart feels like it's about to bust out of your chest.

You don't really know why you're doing this. For Namjoon's sake? To ease your own guilty conscience? Both?

You shake your head before your confidence can deflate and focus on putting two feet in front of the other instead, trying to take your mind of your destination by focusing on your surroundings. You always liked this part of town, with it's bustling roads and street vendors and buskers. Here it's easy to forget, to just close your eyes and let the buzz of cars and the melody from a nearby street guitarist and the torrent of ice cold rain whisk you away, like life is operating at double the speed but you're too caught up in your own thoughts to care.

So caught up in your own thoughts that you don't spot the guy handing out flyers on the side of the street until your face is colliding with his shoulder.

"Shit, I'm so sorry!"

The guy lets out a groan as you helplessly watch his flyers flutter to the ground like autumn leaves, disintegrating on the rain dampened street.

"Does nobody look where they're going any more? My boss is going to kill me..."

The guy gets to his knees and starts grabbing as many flyers as he can by the handful.

"I'm so sorry, at least let me help?"

You hear him sigh deeply but he doesn't stop you when you drop down beside him.

You stamp on a flyer before it can be whisked away by the breeze. It's ruined. The rain makes the ink bleed into a black blotch in the center of the sodden paper, but if you squint you can just make out the barely legible print.

Live Classical Piano - 7:30 - 9:30 Every Wednesday At The Coffee House!

A throat clears, shaking you back to reality, and a nimble hand thrusts towards you, palm up, waiting for you to deposit the pile of flyers you collected.

"Just gonna stand there all day, sweetheart? Some of us have a job to do."

Shame heats your cheeks. "I wasn't looking where I was going, I'll pay for these —"

Its then, as you let your hood fall down, that the boy stiffens. You look up slowly, meeting a widened pair of piercing grey eyes for the first time. The very same eyes you haven't been able to get out of your head all week.

"Wait...Yoongi?"

It's him. He's here? A coincidence surely but it sure as shit doesn't feel like one.

Just seeing him knocks the breath out of your lungs.

Yoongi blinks a few times, eyes wide with disbelief. Then he's ripping the flyers from your slackened grip and grabbing you by the wrist, dragging you behind him to the side of the street where you're just out of view from passerby's.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" He deadpans.

You take in the way his mint hair clings damply to his forehead, shirt darker in places where droplets of rain soak into the fabric. He's wearing one of those traditional pianist outfits with the funny tuxedo jacket and a little black bow tie strung around his neck that looks like it came from a bad Beethoven Halloween costume. It catches you off guard. No wonder you didn't recognise him before. Not exactly hip hop.

"What are you doing here?"

Yoongi glances over his shoulder warily. "Look, you can't tell anyone you saw me here okay? Did Namjoon send you?"

"What? No--?"

"Just leave, Y/N. Before someone sees you here and tells your precious brother that you've been hanging around with scum like me." He spits, drops your arm and starts in the direction he came from.

"Yoongi, wait!" You blurt, throwing your hands up in frustration. He freezes."Can we...can we just talk?"

Yoongi nearly does a double take. He's usually full of jibes but this catches him off guard. "Talk?"

He backtracks, though you notice the way he keeps a safe distance between you. It feels silly considering how much...closer you were just a few days ago. You wonder, as his eyes look you up and down, if he's thinking about it too. If you crossed his mind as much as he crossed yours.

"Listen, I don't have time for this, I need to go get some more of these flyers..."

Your heart drops, embarrassed for even entertaining the idea that he would want to see you again.

"Please?"

He hesitates. You're sure he's going to blow you off again but then his eyes fill with something scarily close to concern. "Shit, you're shivering."

Your hair hangs in heavy tendrils around your face, droplets of cold rain caressing your cheeks. Your knees knock, arms wrapped around the damp hoodie clinging to your torso to retain some warmth.

Yoongi shrugs off his jacket, despite the way his own teeth chatter. "You're going to catch your death dressed like that."

You stand there dumbly as he holds it out to you. He kicks a stone with the toe of his sneaker awkwardly when you finally wrap it around your shoulders.

"I thought you didn't want to see me again." It's almost accusing but you're sure you hear a trace of a pout in his voice.

"I...I didn't want to." Yoongi looks up. "But I think we should talk about you know...us."

Yoongi bites his lip, like he's having an inner debate. Like he's about to do something he knows he shouldn't.

"Fine. Let's talk. I, uh, guess I have some things I need to say to you too." He scratches the back of his neck. "But not here. Could I—would it be weird if we got coffee or something?"

Definitely weird. That's what you should say. But you don't.

"Okay."

You don't miss the way Yoongi's cheeks turn a little red.

The coffee shop Yoongi takes you to is a quaint little place, definitely not the sort of establishment you expected rough-around-the-edges Min Yoongi to frequent with its exposed brick walls and mint green espresso mugs with smiley faces on the side that give it a somewhat cosy appeal.

"I work here," He explains when he sees your eyes roaming. "Needed some extra cash."

You nod. Makes sense. The smell of pumpkin bread and coffee beans is still a welcome relief from the bitter chill outside.

The guy at the counter nods in greeting when Yoongi approaches, already grinding up coffee like he knows his regular order. Yoongi flashes him a tight smile. You figure they know each other, not that Yoongi seems the type to mingle within barista social circles but then again he is full of surprises today.

They share a few hushed whispers, staring not so subtly in the direction of where you sit hunched in one of the corner booths, but you just ignore it by watching a rain drop crawl down the window with rapt attention.

Words barely pass between you and Yoongi until you're both seated, him with a coffee you learn he takes black and you with a much too sugary frappe which you take to stirring with your straw nervously, chin in palm.

It's Yoongi who finally breaks the silence.

"What are you thinking?" He looks at you expectantly over the rim of his mug. For some reason it makes you nervous.

Guilt niggles at your repose. The cafe is alive with indistinguishable chatter, a coffee machine whirring loudly nearby. In reality, you merely blend in to the hubbub. But as you watch Yoongi fiddle with the rings on his fingers in anticipation of your response it's like a hush has fallen and all eyes are on you. Judging, like they know how wrong it is for you to be here.

He's been the only thing on your mind all week but now you're here in front of him it's like your mind is blank.

"Did you tell anyone?"

Yoongi blinks. "Namjoon's secret? I said I wasn't going to say anything—"

"No. Our secret. Us..." It feels foreign, referring to Yoongi and yourself as a unit. You hate to admit it makes your heart beat a little faster. "Namjoon knows."

Yoongi's coffee cup clatters to the table and words rise like bile in your throat, everything you've been bottling up inside tumbling out before you can stop it.

"Namjoon knows! He found out about us somehow and now everything has gone to shit and...I shouldn't even be telling you this! God I'm an idiot! I just don't know what to do—"

Your wailing is interrupted suddenly by a warm hand covering your own. Yoongi's hand. The touch is gentle, comforting, something about the squeeze of reassurance it provides calming your hyperventilating. It feels right.

Why does it feel right?

Yoongi must misinterpret the puzzled look you flash him as a warning he's crossing a boundary because he retracts his arm jerkily, a flush creeping up his neck.

He glosses over the weird moment hastily.

"Slow down, go back. He knows?" There's a lilt of surprise to his voice. Either he's a really good actor or he is just as panicked as you by this news. "And you think I told him?"

"Well, not exactly. He knows some of it — not everything! — he thinks that I just spoke to you after the show...I assumed you would have filled in the blanks by now."

Yoongi laughs breathily. Relieved. It flummoxes you. Shouldn't he be satisfied that his plan to get under Namjoon's skin was a success?

"Y/N, there were hundreds of people at the gig, anyone could have seen us. Jimin and Hoseok probably told him. You act like I tried to seduce you just to get revenge, or something." He gulps back the last of his coffee and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before his expression suddenly turns serious. "You don't think that right?"

"Isn't that exactly what you did?"

Say no.

Yoongi opens his mouth and then shuts it again. He doesn't deny it.

Something in your chest twists with disappointment. It scares you shitless and you know you have to end this — whatever this is — before there's no turning back.

"Look, it — we — were a stupid mistake okay? I need to know that you're not going to use this against him. It would kill him."

"Mistake?" Yoongi's face drops. "Didn't I say you could trust me?"

It sounds somewhat pained, like he wasn't expecting you to think so lowly of him. His eyes soften with a certain gentleness now and you almost feel bad for thinking they could ever look at you with sinister intentions.

"Do you regret it? What we did?"

You hesitate. You want to say no so badly. But that's not why you came here.

Pull yourself together!

"Yes."

He raises an eyebrow. "You really believe that?"

"Do you regret it?"

"No." His eyes glint. You can't breathe. "Which is exactly why I'll never say a word. I don't play that way. Fair and square remember?"

You're speechless. All you can get out is a measly oh as you stare at the coffee in your cup and process.

"What did Namjoon say anyway?"

Your fingers find the patterns carved into the surface of the wooden table top, feeling the grooves as a distraction from the embarrassment flushing your cheeks. "He told me not to come back and find you."

A wry smile creeps across his face. "But you did?"

Even Yoongi is accusing you now? God, you played right into his hands. He's probably enjoying this. That you broke Namjoon's trust again, all for him.

The worst part is that you can hardly bring yourself to care. Sitting with Yoongi still feels deliciously indulgent — seeing his face again, feeling the heat of his body where your knees brush under the table finally satisfying a craving that had been growing inside you since that night in his studio.

"He doesn't control me."

He just nods. "I get that." His fingers tap in time with the sickeningly happy radio tune that plays overhead, eager to change the subject, like he's aware that he already said too much. "How is Namjoon anyway? You written him a song yet?"

Not allowed. If any information gets leaked about Namjoon's Mic Drop stage the first person he'd blame was you. You had to keep your lips tightly sealed.

You shrink back into your seat. "You know I can't tell you that."

"Okay, then." Yoongi throws his arms over the back of his chair, a cheekiness in his voice, like he's testing the waters to see how you'll react. "Ask me something instead. I'll tell you whatever you want to know. Shoot."

That's allowed, right? Where's the harm. If it doesn't involve Namjoon then it can't hurt him...

"Okay..." You purse your lips, eyes travelling around the dimly lit coffee shop. "Why do you work...here?"

Yoongi nods to the stack of damp flyers beside him. Live classical piano. "I play piano here sometimes." He scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. It's kinda cute. "Needed some spare cash and this was the only place that could take me at such short notice."

"You play piano?"

He nods and you follow his gaze to the grand piano stood unoccupied in the corner. You imagine how Yoongi would look bent over the keys. How his fingers would move across the instrument with concentrated precision. How the tune would mingle with the warmth of the coffee shop on a cold evening.

"I didn't know you like classical music?"

"I don't. Not really." He cocks his head, finding the right words. "Namjoon has investors right? People who just throw money at him?" You nod, somehow ashamed. "Teaching me to play piano was my mom's investment in me. She always said it might come in handy some day."

You nod. "And do you have to wear that stupid costume every time?"

"This?" A snort leaves you when he shoots you a look, a shy smile finding the curve of his lips. "Don't mean to brag but it's a huge hit with the older ladies."

You can't help but laugh when he smugly tugs at the bow tie around his neck, unable to miss how his eyes light up. You share a smile that makes you feel light headed.

"I'd have to see it to believe it."

"Well, you know where to find me if you're ever bored and need a good laugh on a Tuesday, Wednesday or Friday evening." He shifts in his seat. "Or you could just come back to my place, y'know if you wanted to —" You frown, the easiness that had settled between you dissipating as you both sense the inappropriateness of his suggestion. "I know I shouldn't ask, it's just I have a piano and—"

For some reason the rational part of your brain taps out and your heart says fuck it.

"I'd love to."

"So, where do you live?" You ask when you finish your drink and nervously copy Yoongi who is already getting to his feet.

"Oh about that...I live in the apartment upstairs actually." He chuckles sheepishly."Cheap rent, you know?"

It takes you by surprise but you don't press.

"Oh. Right."

Yoongi extends a hand towards you. The thud in your chest gets faster when you slide your palm into his and he pulls you behind him to the foot the stairway you had disregarded upon entry, the distressed baby blue door at the top labelled RESIDENTS ONLY seeming strangely inviting.

Yoongi gestures for you to go first and you've barely ascended three steps before a voice rings out behind you, making you freeze like a child caught in a mischievous act.

"Use protection you two! And close the door so that Odengie's innocence isn't compromised this time!"

The barista from before rounds the corner, a tray of empty mugs in his left hand and a cloth for wiping down tables in the other.

You suppress a laugh. "Odengie?"

"His goddamn sugar glider—" He says it more to himself rather than in response to your query, flashing the tousled haired boy an exasperated look. "Really, bro?"

The other man either doesn't notice or doesn't care. "What? He's too young to learn how baby sugar gliders are made." His eyes suddenly flit to you and, as if remembering his manners, he deposits the cloth onto a nearby table and reaches a damp hand through the staircase to shake yours with a friendly smile. "I'm Jin, by the way."

You take it cautiously, wiping your now wet hand on the back of your jeans. "Nice to meet you?"

"Come on," Yoongi is flushed red as he pushes you up the rest of the stairs with a pressure at the small of your back. "We'll be back down in a minute, chill okay?"

Yoongi shoulders his way into the apartment, pulling you across the threshold alongside him, but not before you catch a glimpse of Jin's teasing grin poking around the staircase, words reaching your ears before Yoongi could slam the door shut in time.

"Oh, so it's a quickie? Have fun!"

A laugh escapes your lips, Yoongi pressing his back to the door with a sigh of relief. "Sorry about him. He's my roommate. Kind of came with the apartment, you know?"

You glance around at the small maisonette that unfolds before you curiously. It feels more like a dorm room, a mismatch pile of shoes piled at the entry way, a pair of beanbags substituting a couch surrounding a small gaming set up littered with empty pizza boxes you presume belong to Seokjin.

"Ah. He's part of the furniture then."

The other corner of the room is littered with an assortment of vinyls strewn out beside a pair of speakers and a record player, the needle still hovering over the grooves of an album by an artist you don't recognise. Yoongi's touch to the decor, you suppose.

"Guess you could say that. He's not so bad once you get over the uh...small rodents."

You trail behind Yoongi into what you assume is his bedroom, if the frameless mattress which lay on the floor in the corner beneath the window with sheets unmade and strewn across the floor messily was anything to go by.

He flicks on the set of fairy lights tacked to the wall, a surprisingly homely touch that makes you think Yoongi isn't as cold as you believe him to be.

Yoongi approaches a clothes rack stuffed with a variety of stage outfits. "Here." He pulls an oversized hoodie from one of the hangers, throwing it at you from across the room. "You're clothes are still wet. Wouldn't want to catch a cold. You can wear this until they dry."

"O-Okay." You stand there dumbly. He isn't expecting you to strip right in front of him, is he?

He seems to sense your hesitance, turning around so his back is to you with wide eyes. He plays it off by grabbing a selection of clothing for himself, shuffling past you with eyes trained to the ground. "I'll use the bathroom. Tell me when you're done."

You are soaked through to your underwear but you leave them on since Yoongi probably didn't have a spare pair of panties laying around you could borrow. The fabric of his hoodie is soft and warm when it slips over your otherwise bare skin and you breath in the woody scent that seems to embrace your entire body, ignoring the way it makes your head dizzy, and roll up the large sleeves to free your hands before calling to him that you are done.

When he re-enters the room, pulling a grey beanie over his head haphazardly to match the much more Yoongi appropriate outfit of a simple white tee and sweats, his breath hitches at your bare legs peeking out from the bottom of the garment. His lingering stare makes you hug your torso self consciously, eyes never leaving you even as he grabs the pile of sodden clothing you discarded earlier and lays them neatly over the radiator to dry.

You practically hear the way he swallows awkwardly when his eyes lock with yours, caught in the act. He's quick to lighten the mood.

"Well...here she is."

You turn as he moves across the room to the piano occupying the opposite wall, wood stained dark but bleached slightly in places by the stream of sunlight which washes its surface from the opposite window. The stool beneath it scrapes against the scuffed floor boards when Yoongi makes enough space to seat himself on top of the blue velour cushion.

"I know it's not much — nothing like you're used to I mean, but it makes music just the same."

He must take the way you hang back near the door frame as a sign of your distaste which couldn't have been further from reality; it's simply to allow you to study the way Yoongi sits with his back perfectly straight, fingers lingering over the keys like he knows the piano as well as an old friend. And, though you'll never admit it, the way your heart thumps at the thought of being in Yoongi's most private space.

"Where did you get it?"

"It was my mother's." The breath you suck in is slightly too harsh. "Like I said earlier, she liked to play, before she..."

Died. The word never passes between his lips but it sits heavy in the air like a weight.

Yoongi's eyes avert yours so you don't press any further, instead focusing your attention to the pattern of scratches embedded into the piano's lid, unable to help the way your fingers trace the coffee cup rings littering the surface like rugged halos. "It's beautiful."

The side panel is littered with lines, carved deeply into the wood with a penknife; a makeshift height chart like the one you had on the back of your bedroom door as a kid. Your drop to your knees to squint at the nearly illegible words scrawled next to the markings that ascend almsot to the top of the instrument.

Yoongi aged 3...Yoongi aged 4...Yoongi aged 5...

All the way until Yoongi aged 7 where they stop completely.

You frown but he lets out a soft laugh, somewhat pained. "That's when she got sick. I grew up quickly after that."

Straightening up, you swallow thickly, unsure what to say, so you just settle for changing the subject instead.

"So, what can you play?"

Yoongi fiddles with the open sheet music book on the piano stand. His fingers tremble slightly as he turns the worn pages before finally settling on a sheet that is lightly crumpled and ripped around the edges and coffee stained and ferociously dog eared at the corners. Tell tale signs that he had played this piece before, over and over again.

His favourite, you perceive.

Sure, he had literally fucked you into next week already but your hands get clammy at the knowledge that Yoongi feels comfortable enough to share such an intimate tidbit about himself with you. Music means a lot to him after all. Anyone can see that.

You catch a glimpse of the piece over his shoulder.

Romeo and Juliet - Love Theme.

Yoongi notices how you raise a brow at his choice.

"I know I said I don't like classical music but this arrangement is different. You know the story right?"

High school had given you enough general knowledge about Romeo and Juliet for you to nod in confirmation.

"It's like you can feel the passion they have for each other in every note, you know? Like nothing could ever come between them."

His words are so earnest they make your heart ache. You hadn't put him down as the hopeless romantic type.

"I mean not really. They still die in the end." You counter. He frowns.

"But only because of their fucked up families. It's their feud that comes between them in the end. This piece comes before all the shitty parts. If you play it over and over again it's like they never stop loving one another."

His hands fold in his lap and he sucks in a bashful breath, nose scrunching with embarrassment at his dramatic outburst. "It's stupid. I know. Forget I said it."

"No, no I understand completely. Maybe if they weren't so busy fighting they could have listened to their hearts. Right?"

"Right." He scoots across the piano stool, patting the empty space beside him with an encouraging look. "Sit."

Like a magnet you find yourself drawn to his side, shivering when his shoulder brushes yours. His arms hover over the piano, poised and relaxed, concentration etched into the hard lines of his face.

"Ready?"

You can only nod. And then he starts to play.

Yoongi's fingertips eagerly caress the keys of his piano, eyes lifting from the sheet music to gauge your reaction while his hands carry the melody on autopilot, the pretty silver rings he dons glinting with every movement. His neck is bent slightly, allowing his head to bob and sway along with the rise and fall of the rhythm, eyes screwing shut as the composition reaches its most pivotal sequence.

He's practically raking the keys now, pure passion and violent emotion splashing every inch of the room. You shut your own eyes, hands clutching the bottom of the stool until your knuckles whiten, like you might float away with the beautiful tune if you don't ground yourself.

When he said you could feel passion with every note he wasn't wrong. You could feel his passion clear as day.

Slowly, he comes back down from his high, wrists coming to a standstill. All he can do is take in heaving, ragged breaths, body slumped down, spent with the sheer effort expelled in his performance. Oxygen is lodged in your own lungs as you take in how how his bangs stick to the beads of sweat prevalent on his forehead

You recover before he does, unconsciously fumbling around in your tote bag, hands curling around the Polaroid camera you bring everywhere just in case a photo opportunity arises.

They never usually do. Until now.

"Stay like that." The viewfinder raises to your eye and you snap a shot of him with precision, the soft click that emanates through the room making Yoongi's eyes snap open.

The picture dispenses from the camera, black square fading out to reveal a hazy image as you shake it back and forth. Yoongi, face relaxed, lashes pressed softly to the tops of his cheeks with a lazy smile.

It's the Yoongi you remember. Your Yoongi.

He smirks when you slide it into the back pocket of your jeans, cheeks glowing with a contentedness you hadn't seen for a long time. "You always did like taking pictures of me."

"Shut up."

When your hand tentatively closes over his where it still rests on the piano, it's his turn to shoot you a curious look. With a shaky breath you flip his palm, slotting your fingers together perfectly, and lean across the piano to press your lips against his.

His mouth is softer than you remember, not attacking with the rich taste of lust but rather caressing your lips gently, sweetly. Taking your time to commit each tickle of breath against your nose, each slide of his bottom lip between yours, to memory. Everything other than the dizzying sensation of his tongue tracing your bottom lip disappears. All your worries, reluctances, regrets, just dissolving like the setting sun.

Everything feels safe here with him. Everything feels right.

It barely lasts a minute, not much more than a delicate brush really, but when he pulls back you are already breathless, immediately starved of the satisfaction that came from finally feeling him against you again, tasting the spearmint mixed with something so inherently Yoongi you didn't quite realise how much you were craving.

Yoongi sighs blissfully. You need more.

Your hands tangle in the front of his T-shirt but before you can pepper his mouth with a series of further eager kisses, his free hand plants on your shoulder and pushes you back carefully.

"About what you said the other night." His eyes are wide with concern, trained to your lips, resisting the urge to capture them again with all his self control. It made your heart flip. "I don't want to hurt you Y/N. We don't have to do this—"

"I want to. So bad." His thumb caresses your knuckles. "I trust you."

In that moment, it's true. You trust him more than you've ever trusted anything in the world.

"But Namjoon..."

His words fade out when you lean in for another reassuring peck. Namjoon's name falling from Yoongi's lips doesn't make your skin crawl like it usually did. In fact you feel nothing at the mention of your brother.

"To hell with Namjoon. I'm a big girl. I know what I want."

Yoongi grins, hand coming to cup your cheek tentatively, eyes crinkling with what you could only describe as liberation. "And what's that?"

Your eyes narrow in on his parted mouth again.

"You."

His eyes darken and then his hands are tangling in your hair and pulling your chest flush to his in a kiss that is far rougher than before. No more beating around the bush. Just passion as you crawl into his lap and kiss him like it's the first time — or perhaps, more accurately, the last time. Like the world will end if you part for a single breath.

Fingers find the hem of his shirt and you're pulling it up his torso greedily, heart beating a little faster when you feel his warm skin beneath your fingertips. His chest is softer than you expect, a perfect contrast to the strong arms wrapping around your waist to pull you back to his lips.

It's not long before you feel his pants fill out underneath you. The feeling is all too familiar, reminding you of how it felt to be above him like this in his studio. That night feels like a life time away as his hands grab your hips and press you roughly down onto his crotch.

You both groan out at the feeling, something intense, something primal, heating up between your legs as you circle his clothed length, want and need blending into one as your core dampens with every twist of your hips.

Yoongi breaks away from your lips with a gasp when your fingers reach between your body and find the sensitive head of his cock, a wet patch forming on his sweats. His eyes are shut, head thrown back against the piano top as he bites into his thumb to stop little moans tumbling from his swollen lips.

He shoots upright when you slide down his torso, hardwood cold against your bare knees, fingers fumbling with the strings of his pants. When you finally get them open and slip your hand beneath the waistband, Yoongi all but groans at the feel of your cool palm grabbing his hot cock skin on skin.

You shimmy his sweats around his thighs, mouth practically watering as you eye up his pulsing length, unable to resist stroking it firmly with your fist. A hand covers yours.

"Wait!" A strangled noise of agony rips from his chest when your grip loosens, desperate to buck up into your touch but managing to stay firmly planted to the stool in favour of gaining your consent. "Are you sure?"

You scoff teasingly. "Would I be on my knees if I wasn't?"

His laugh is breathy, half a moan as you pick up your pace again. "Just nervous — ah!" A soft kitten lick to the reddened tip of his cock has him flying forward, knuckles white as they grip your shoulder.

"Min Yoongi gets nervous?" The precum that coats your tongue is salty, makes you itch to take him into your mouth fully.

"Shut up." His breathing is ragged, hands hovering over your hair. "Didn't think this would happen again. Needs to be perfect — holy fuck Y/N."

You give no warning before you sink down on his length, his hands finally tangling in your hair and tugging lightly when your nose presses to his pubic bone, groaning around him when you feel the head of his cock pulsing in the back of your throat.

"So warm, shit."

You come up for air, lips wrapping around his head and enjoying the way his thighs trembled when your tongue runs teasingly along the underside of his cock. His hand pushes at the back of your head, forcing his length further down your throat than you're expecting until you gag around his girth.

"Shit, sorry."

The groan that follows doesn't sound very apologetic though. The visual of your drool coating his painfully hard length mixed with the sensation of your warm mouth engulfing him whole nearly has him blowing his load then and there, utterly fucked out and oblivious to the string of groans leaving his lips when you finally come up for air. Tears streak your cheeks and Yoongi wipes them away with his knuckle tenderly.

"God, look at you." He's breathless, amazed. "C'mere."

A hand cups your elbow, pulling you to your feet so he can connect your lips again, humming when he tastes himself on your tongue. His hands are all over you now as he wraps you in his arms and stumbles backwards your back is pressed to the mattress in the corner. It dips in the middle when he crawls over you, tucking away strands of hair that fan around your face like a halo before his mouth is on you again like he can't quite help himself.

A series of open mouthed kisses caress your jaw, then your neck, all the way down your chest. Yoongi's eyes flick up to watch your face, lips parted with want as his hands fiddled with the hem of his own much too big hoodie swaddling your body.

"Can I?"

Your hand threads into his hair encouragingly. "Please."

A gasp passes his lips when he finally pulls the fabric over your head, eyes following his curious calloused hands as they explore the expanse of skin exposed to him now you're left in just your bra and panties.

"So beautiful." He traces his fingers down your shoulders, down the valley of your breasts, across your stomach. The light and delicate touches have you shivering, writhing for more. Almost as desperate to feel him everywhere as he is to worship every inch of you.

His touch stops at the hem of your panties. You're already working on the clasp of your bra, a violent nod the only permission he needs to drag the fabric agonisingly slow down your legs, unhooking them from your ankles carefully.

When he looks back up you are completely bare, laid out beneath the stream of half-sun-half-moon bathing the room.

Yoongi pounces, lips wrapping around one of your nipples greedily, tongue swirling around the hardened bud until you're gasping his name over and over.

"Can't believe you're letting me see you like this."

Hands wrap around your thighs, legs falling open, the way he licks his lips as he takes in your glistening heat not going unnoticed.

Yoongi's head shakes in disbelief, mumbling words which sound an awful lot like so pretty and fucking gorgeous as his head dips and he continues his trail of earlier kisses, tongue laving over your inner thighs and edging ever closer to your aching core.

"W-wait." Yoongi freezes and comes up to meet your face. His breath is hot against your cheek, eyes scanning your face for hesitation.

"What is it? Are you okay?" He's frantic, swallowing nervously as his palms cup your face. "Want to take care of you this time. What is it? Tell me."

"I'm fine. More than fine." You brush your noses together. It makes him smile. "Just want to feel you, that's all. Now."

Yoongi lets out a dramatic sigh, voice high and whiny. "But I've been dreaming about how you taste for days, Y/N. Literally. Dreaming about it."

You don't mention how you've been replaying the visual of his lips wrapped around your clit and edging you over and over again since it happened, just stroke his cheek in mutual understanding.

"Too bad. You'll just have to wait until next time." His features light up at the promise of a next time. Another moment like this, just you and him.

His face falls into the crook of your neck, nibbling the sensitive skin teasingly as a hand trails between your legs. When the pads of his fingers circle your entrance you whimper, clit throbbing with want when his hand pulls away nearly as quick as it came.

The want only intensifies when he brings two of his arousal coated digits to his mouth with closed eyes, guttural moan vibrating your flush chests when he savours the taste of your arousal coating his fingers.

"Next time." He hums and you are sure you nearly came untouched.

"Need you. Now."

He wastes no time taking his achingly hard cock into his fist, placing a supportive hand on your hip as he lines himself up with your entrance. You whine when he drags the tip up and down your slit, giving some brief but much needed stimulation to your clit.

Before he can push inside though you place a hand on his chest to stop him. He doesn't have time to dote on you again though because without further ado you're whipping off the beanie that still sits snugly around his head, throwing it across the room with a smirk.

His eyes glint fondly. "Whoops."

The room has grown darker by now, only lit by the gentle sparkle of the fairy lights and Yoongi has to feel around in the sheets to find your hand. In the same moment he tangles your fingers together beside your face, he pushes inside with a gasp.

Unlike the first time in his studio, Yoongi is in no rush. He wants to savour it. He fills you slowly, so that you can feel every ridge of his length dragging against your velvety walls. When he finally bottoms out and your hips press flush together, you squeeze his hand. Tight. It's this small action that tells him everything he needs to know. Explains the funny feeling in your chest without ever saying the words.

Your legs wrap around his back automatically when his hips begin to rock, angling your body so that he hits so deep with every thrust it steals the breath straight from your lips. Arousal drips from your heat down onto the bed sheets, making each slide deliciously smooth.

"Yoongi I.." It almost slips from your lips. The deepest, darkest secret that you haven't quite admitted to yourself yet.

Yoongi just ups his pace, exchanging words for actions to show you he feels the same. Fucking you a little harder, a little deeper. More sincerely. It compensates for the words neither of you know how to say.

"I know." You feel so full, so warm when he places his forearms at either side of your head to press you into the mattress. "I know."

All the yearning inside you disappears. All that matters is you and Yoongi now, nails scratching up his back, his forehead pressing to yours so that your moans mingle together until you can't tell whose was whose any more.

With a fucked out moan against your lips he's spilling inside you, sending you over the edge with him, hissing as you clench tightly around his cock.

All thoughts are wiped from your mind. Apart from the sensation of his cheek pressed to your chest, hot breath against your collar bone. How you can't believe you lived in a world without Yoongi in it. How you never want to go without him again. How you don't think you can deny how Yoongi makes you feel anymore even if you tried.

The stars behind your eyes fade, and when you come back down, Yoongi is hovering over your body, lips parted and eyes blown out, mesmerised. He's sweaty and smiling and you can feel the way his heart beats in time with yours.

"You okay?"

"Never better." His smile stretches into a grin when your words slur together. "—'m so happy."

A soft, chaste kiss is pressed to your forehead and before you know it Yoongi is tangling your legs together and wrapping the sheets around your bodies, entwined as one.

Me too. You knew that's what he meant. You'd dwell on it another time. For now your eyes are falling shut, satisfied as you inhale Yoongi's scent on the sheets...

Before a blissful slumber could take you away, you're interrupted by a series of knocks against the bedroom door. Both you and Yoongi shoot upright, exchanging a puzzled glance.

"I thought you said it was gonna be a quickie. Come on man, I need to use the bathroom!"

Yoongi groans into the pillow.

"That's it. I'm getting a new roommate."

As the weeks go by you start spending less and less time at the Big Hit office, turning up late to your shifts or clocking out before they were up. The perks of being employed by your parents is that they can't fire you in good conscience, you suppose.

Instead you increasingly find yourself at Yoongi's apartment, writing lyrics at the piano when he was around (sometimes even when he wasn't) or down in the coffee shop, helping yourself to hot chocolate refills on your work breaks. Jin joked that you'd need to start paying rent soon.

Just like how you were able to pick apart each of the boys' influence on the apartment the first time you went there, your own presence was becoming ever apparent.

In the way you spilled sugar on the counter when making tea and always forgot to clean it up, much to Jin's dismay. How some of your own hoodies and pyjama pants had begun to smell like Yoongi's washing powder, ending up folded neatly in his laundry basket and stowed away on his clothing rack like they belonged there. The way his piano top was littered with open notebooks filled with your messy scrawl and pens with the caps lost and half empty mugs stained around the rim with your chapstick.

Yoongi seemed wary at first, cautious to let you get too comfortable around him, dropping you home late at night once the lights in your house switched out and you knew it was safe to go inside.

But eventually he started to crave the little things that reminded him of you, unable to stop the smiles which crept onto his face as he loaded the dishwasher with the mugs and carried you to bed when you fell asleep at the piano stool.

Your bed. That's what you'd taken to calling it now.

Yoongi hated to admit that he was weak. When he got up on stage he was Gloss, hard faced and brazen and ruthless. But here with you, the facade he tried to uphold seemed to crumble into nothing. And the worst part was that he loved it.

Even when he was performing at the club or practicing for the competition, his thoughts always ended up wandering back to you. There were times when your schedules clashed or it was too risky to see each other or times you were simply too exhausted once you got home, falling into bed as soon as you crossed the threshold. But the knowledge that you were always there waiting for each other became the only safe place he knew and that was enough.

Of course you still had to oversee Namjoon's Mic Drop stage, it was your job after all, but that never seemed to come up when you were together. Just watching movies on his laptop or laughing at ungodly hours while you filled each other in on anecdotes that happened in the time you were apart, retreating beneath the sheets when Jin banged on the wall because it was four in the morning so would you please shut the fuck up.

For the first time in a long time you felt happy. Like you belonged somewhere that was all your own. No more answering to Namjoon or your parents. Just your own heart. And it always seemed to lead you back here to Yoongi, straight into his arms.

And as much as you hated yourself for it, you could feel your resentment for Namjoon growing. You'd be damned if you let him take this away from you, like he'd taken everything else.

Eventually, you stopped crawling through your bedroom window like a goddamn teenager and your parents stopped questioning why you never came home anymore. The cracks between you became a chasm. And right now, Yoongi was the band aid holding you together.

When Yoongi returns home later than usual, he's not even surprised when he ascends the stairs and find you and Jin laid out on the bean bags, already tipsy on red wine and giggling at his disgruntled expression.

That is until you take in the weary lines that had etched their way into his forehead, how his eyes look sunken and puffy. How his hands tremble against your waist when you pull him into your arms, body swaying back and forth lightly in your grasp like he could topple over any second.

You know what overworked looks like — after all, you had tended to Namjoon plenty of times when he refused to stop at his limits, barraging through them instead, a habit Yoongi also seemed to possess.

Ordered to stay on bed rest, Yoongi slumps face down into his pillow, letting out a long groan of relief when the mattress cushions his aching limbs.

You're already tucking him in, half way to the door to prepare him a hot cup of honey and lemon to soothe the husk in his throat from rapping too aggressively when his arms loop around your waist and pull you down to snuggle into the crook of your neck contentedly.

"Yoongi, let me go." It's futile, his grip is firm and he is already kicking the sheets over your body and pressing his cheek to the left side of your chest where you're sure he can hear how your heart races, a pout evident in your voice. "I want to take care of you."

"Mmf you are.." Words already slurring with the beginnings of sleep, he smiles groggily when you fall slack in his grasp and press your cheek to the top of his head in defeat. "Stroke my hair please?"

As soon as your fingers tangle in his blue locks he lets out a sigh of relief, like he'd been waiting to feel the touch all day.

Watching his face relax as he drifts off, you bask in the warmth of fulfilment singing your very nerve ending and silently wish that you can stay like this forever.

Just you and Yoongi against the world.

At some point your own eyes fall shut.

You're awoken by the sounds of muffled sobs.

The dark room momentarily disorientates you, heart quickening as you realise you're not in your own bed. Eventually your eyes adjust to the blackness, taking in the piano stood sturdily in the corner, breathing in the scent lingering on the pillow beneath your cheek and you're washed with a wave of comfort.

"Yoongi?" You croak.

The sheets are ripped from your body as Yoongi's form shoots upright. His bare back is damp with sweat, visible in the moonlight creeping through the slanted blinds, mattress rocking slightly with every sob that wracks his frame.

"Go back to sleep." His voice is gruff , but forcibly so and you hear the tremor lurking below the surface.

You sit up beside him. His face is buried in his palms. The sight makes your heart ache.

"Are you okay?" You're still new to this. Sure you're tangled up in his sheets most nights but you're still learning the ropes, unsure how best to comfort him. You settle for gently patting his shoulder, wincing at how cold and distant the action feels.

"I said go back to sleep." When his face emerges from between his hands you see the tell tale tracks of tears streaking his cheeks. Even when he wipes his face with the back of his palm there's a steady stream of them dripping down his chin.

"Is that what you really want?"

Yoongi presses his mouth together in a tight line, eyes black and empty as he tilts his head back and takes a shaky breath. That's when he crumbles. "Please stay."

"Oh, Yoongi." It's barely a whisper, afraid that if you speak too loud he'll shatter into a million pieces. He's like a scared kid, knees hugged to his chest as he wipes the hot tears from his eyes with a hard rub of his knuckles.

Yoongi stiffens when you fumble under the sheets to find his hand. You think he might pull away as you link your fingers with his but to your surprise he pulls your interlocked palms into his lap and squeezes so hard you feel the circulation in your fingers cutting off. The way he chokes back another sob stops you from complaining though, already cupping his cheek and tilting his face towards yours with your free hand.

"Why are you doing this?" His eyes squeeze shut, fresh tears sliding down his face and doing nothing to hide the slight tinge of red beneath them that tell you he's embarrassed to be seen like this. Vulnerable, so unlike the hard faced Yoongi you had come to know.

"Because I want to." You squeeze his hand and feel him squeeze back weakly. "You can tell me anything, you know."

Pressing his forehead to yours, Yoongi leans down and captures your lips between his own. I know, it says.

This is different to the way he usually kisses you. There's no hunger, no hands on your neck and your thighs that set you alight with desire. Just a sense of yearning, like he wants to be closer to you, the plump flesh of his lips slotting between yours like a perfect puzzle piece, slightly salty from his tears. It makes you ache all over, like you're somehow connected and sharing his pain.

He pulls away, sharp exhales tickling your face as he scans your eyes for any sign of hesitation, any sign that you're going to leave him here alone. This is side of Yoongi that you have never seen before. He always said he isn't good with words and you know better than anyone that he hated admitting that he needed someone. This was is his way saying he needs you.

And in that moment you feel a piece of your heart flutter into his hands.

"Nightmares." He mumbles, swallowing thickly and tipping his head back against the headboard, expression pained "Just nightmares."

"Want to talk about it?" You sit back next to him, and when he rolls his neck to face you. He looks unreadable again. Eyes void. You half think he's going to push you away, turn over and fall back asleep and leave you to stare at the ceiling alone with the silence.

But he doesn't. Instead he lets out a deep sigh, shaking his head at himself as he pulls you into his arms, stroking your cheek fondly when your head comes to rest on his chest, burying his nose in your hair.

"Why can't I say no to you?"

"Guess I have that affect on people."

He snorts lightly, the first proper reaction he'd given you and you're pleased at his amusement. Pleased you were able to comfort him somewhat.

Unspoken words cloak a heavy silence for what feels like hours, just tracing mindless patterns on his arm and listening to the way his heart slows to a normal pace beneath your cheek, grip around your torso never faltering. When his breaths dwindle to soft puffs against your temple you think he's already drifted off.

Until, "Do you remember when I convinced Namjoon to sign up for Mic Drop the first time. The day after my mom died?" His voice is gravelly, both with sleep and a sign of his withheld tears.

"Of course I do." You swivel in his arms to blink up at him curiously. Sure you remembered. After the funeral, your parents had taken Yoongi in — a repayment they called it. For helping Namjoon achieve his dreams. Of course, that was before you realised just how much Yoongi would help.

Yoongi became a part of the family for a short while. An extra seat at family dinners. Another pair of shoes by the front door. Another bed in Namjoon's room.

"Back then, I was too trusting. I thought that they wanted to help me...I thought that they saw me as their son." He spits the word with the bitterness of a man who was stripped of the title of 'son' before he knew what it really meant.

You think back to how Namjoon and Yoongi used to be. Joined at the hip, everyone used to say. Brothers.

"I think they did—"

"No." He stiffens. You bite your lip. "Namjoon never cared about me. He just saw me as a way to get to the top. And it worked."

You feel a pang in your chest.

"I'm sorry, he's your brother. I shouldn't be talking about this with you."

Yoongi almost turns away but you stop him by pressing your lips to his briefly. Telling him its okay. You understand.

"The nightmares." You say with an eagerness to change to subject before you could dwell on it too hard. Before you could admit to yourself that Yoongi was right. "You didn't say what they were about?"

"I'm getting there." He lets out a strained chuckle and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. The action makes you shiver.

"The last time I saw my mother she said that she wasn't scared to die. She was just scared that she'd miss seeing me on the stage. She was the only one who believed in me." The next words come out choked. "She said that if she couldn't be there to see it then I needed to make as many goddamn people watch me lift that trophy as I could."

Mic Drop was never about the fame for Yoongi after all. It always ran deeper than that; a need not a want. A vulnerable promise left unfulfilled.

The realisation makes you blanch. All this time, all these years, you hadn't been able to see the real greed right in front of your eyes; your own brother.

The image of Yoongi, crumpled and broken on that fateful day all those years ago makes its way to the forefront of your mind.

The same anger flashes across his face now. "Namjoon took that from me. I don't care about the fans or the money or the trophy — none of that shit! He took my dream Y/N. Do you understand how that feels?"

You find yourself nodding, slowly at first and then with vigour as the dam inside you breaks and your own tears flood. "I do. I understand."

And you do. You understand why Yoongi is so determined to win Mic Drop. You understand why he hates Namjoon as much as he does. You understand how it feels to always fall second best to Namjoon, to be outcasted.

"I keep forgetting her face. I can't hear her voice in my head anymore." Yoongi's crying again now, heavy sobs no longer able to be contained. "But in the dreams she's so clear. The disappointment in her eyes, its so clear, Y/N." His words are interrupted by hiccups that leave him gasping.

"I'm sorry." You whisper once he calms. It's all you know how to say.

"Not your fault." He flashes you a watery smile, wiping away the tear on your cheek with his knuckle. It makes your heart flutter, even despite the guilt weighing on your shoulders.

You feel useless. It wasn't your fault directly but you couldn't help but feel like you wronged Yoongi. All of this happened right in front of your eyes but you were too blinded by Namjoon's broken promises to see it. All this time you had let Namjoon make you think Yoongi was the enemy.

"I'm here now." Hands plant on either side of his face, eyes meeting his. "I believe in you."

He doesn't need to say anything. The way he kisses you speaks louder than words.

All you can do now is hold him, tangling your legs with his and pulling the covers over your intertwined bodies, stroke his cheek with your thumb and pepper kisses to his strained forehead which relaxes beneath your affections.

"I'll make this right." You whisper into his hair after his eyes flutter closed and the sun starts peeking through the window, watching dust particles floating in a stream of light in the room's golden glow through lidded eyes. "I promise."

"I like this." Jimin nods enthusiastically along to the track playing through the headphones Namjoon placed over his ears. "Sounds like a hit to me."

Namjoon's face contorts into a scowl. He disagrees, obviously, if the disgusted shake of his head is any indication.

Mic Drop is just a few days away and Namjoon had decided to scrap his entire stage after Jimin scored a couple big last minute investors who suggested he do something new, something exciting. Something that pushed Runch Randa's limits.

It was a bold move, this close to the big day. But Namjoon was cocky, said that he had enough experience in the industry to win in his sleep. Practice was a waste of time anyway.

"Next one." He waves his hand, barely even glancing in your direction as you press a button that cuts off the track and makes another one start playing.

The bass is louder in this one and it makes Jimin startle backwards, the headphone jack slipping loose so the music plays through the speakers instead.

"Hoseok and I still need to put the finishing touches on this one but it's pretty catchy—"

Namjoon cuts you off with a sharp no, it was too upbeat for his Mic Drop performance. Said he needed something with grit, something that would make the judges feel something.

"Let me see that." He gestures for you to get up, slumping down into the chair you occupied and slotting himself beneath the studio desk to scroll through the open folder on the computer screen.

He skims through countless tracks, demoed and ready to be recorded at Namjoon's disposal — you were something of a writing machine, always scribbling down lyrics on receipts from the store or on the back of your hand and paired with Hoseok you were a dream team; he always seemed to find a beat that fit perfectly. Unfortunately Namjoon's straight face gives away his disinterest in any of them.

"None of these will work." Namjoon throws the keyboard down with a force that makes you wince, jaw tightening as he presses his knuckles to his eyes in frustration. "I'm going to fucking lose."

You are about to tell him to write the fucking track himself like everyone else if none of yours were good enough for him but Jimin flashes you a glance. Don't make things worse.

You settle instead for a hand on his shoulder. He tenses at your touch. It had been a while since you'd been in the same room for longer than ten minutes and when you take in the gauntness of his cheekbones you briefly wonder if he's been eating properly. He always did forget when you weren't around to remind him.

You suck in a breath to give you strength. "There must be one that you like."

His lips purse and he disgruntledly goes back to scrolling again, clicking on a couple titles that draw his interest. You and Jimin let out simultaneous sighs of relief.

"What's this?" Namjoon's eyes narrow as he presses play on a track that sends you flying forward, heart in your mouth and colour leaving your face as a song plays that you swore to never show to anyone.

Yoongi's song. The one you wrote after that night in his studio. Probably the best song you had ever written.

"That's not — I was supposed to delete that one." The heat in your cheeks as you push him aside roughly to wrestle with the pause button has you hiding behind your hair, as if he would somehow know this wasn't just an ordinary song. That it was a song about his enemy, for god's sake.

Namjoon's slaps you away from the computer, head bobbing to the beat and you fall back into your seat in defeat, fingers crossed behind your back that he would hate it as much as the others.

"I love it."

Oh no.

"This is the one!"

Shit shit shit!

"A-are you sure?" You're rambling now, words slipping out way too fast and Jimin seems puzzled at your lack of elation at Namjoon's decisiveness. "I'm sure I could write something much better if you just give me some more time—"

Namjoon's arms pull you into a tight embrace before you can finish, your nose ending up smushed against his chest as he practically vibrates with excitement. Your body goes stiff, hands dangling at your sides awkwardly. Considering Namjoon's coldness towards you as of late his sudden display of affection takes you by surprise. Mostly because despite your physical closeness it only makes you feel even more distant from your brother.

A sigh of relief escapes when he finally sets you free, only to be replaced with pure horror as you watch him stick a USB drive into the computer and load up the song before sliding it in his back pocket with a grin while you have no choice but to stand there helplessly.

"I'm totally gonna win!" His change in attitude is abrupt but seems to soothe Jimin who nods enthusiastically. You feel sick. "I can't wait to see the look on Yoongi's face when he hears this shit."

The smirk on his face washes you with dread. If only he knew.

Yoongi was right. Secrets always find a way to come and bite you in the ass.

Every rap of your knuckles against the run down studio door seems to echo ominously through the alley like an omen.

"Y/N?"

As soon as the bolt wrangles across and the wooden panel flies open to reveal a disgruntled Yoongi, a warmth seems to thaw through the icy evening chill that, along with your nerves, is making your knees knock together.

His chest is warm against your cheek when he pulls you into his arms, the smell of cologne and black coffee consuming your senses. It's enough to make your tense limbs fall slack, curling into his firm frame instinctively. Finally. You can breathe again.

"Hey." He mumbles sweetly against your temple, a trace of a smile in his voice like he was happy to see you. You silently wonder if he'll still be so happy once he hears what you have to say.

The studio is basked in darkness, the contours of his face barely visible in the blue glow emanating from his desktop monitor. There's a dent in the cushion of the adjacent chair, Yoongi's hair sticking up at the back where the pair of headphones slung around his neck had sat moments ago.

"I can go if you were working, wouldn't want to interrupt." As the words are leaving your lips you cross your fingers, selfishly hopeful that he would send you away and you could avoid the conversation that was about to follow. Blame it all on circumstance, leave saying that you at least tried.

But that would be keeping a secret. It would make you just as bad as the rest. And the thought of him finding out from someone else was enough to make your palms sweat and enough to keep your feet planted against the carpet determinedly.

Yoongi's hands find you like he can't bare to keep them away, dragging you across the threshold without hesitation. "S'fine. Work better with you here anyway." He smiles and you try to return it but your lips are pressed into a permanent line, like they're scared the daunting words you have to say will come spilling out before you were ready -- if you ever would be ready. As you slump into a chair and watch him wheel another one around to face you with his arms slung lazily over the back, you realise there is no going back.

Considering the countdown to Mic Drop was nearing its end, less than twenty four hours to go before Yoongi would be stood opposite Namjoon on stage in front of thousands, he looked the epitome of relaxation, unlike the nerves in your chest making you jitter.

"Jin's on his way with takeout, I would've asked him to get more if I knew you were coming but I'm sure we can share— babe, are you alright?"

Babe. The endearment had started slipping from his lips frequently recently. At first he tried to cover it up with nervous laughter but now he was brazen, enjoying the way the word tasted on his tongue. It would be so easy to force a smile, to push "the right thing" to the back of your mind and let the selfish part of your heart accept his affections, even knowing you're about to hurt him.

But the clock ticking away on the wall sounds deafening with every beat of silence that follows, twisting the rings on your fingers until you could no longer distinguish the sound from the sinister thrum of your heart.

You can't hold it in any more.

"I need to tell you something." It comes out a hoarse whisper, nearly unintelligible beneath the stream of hip hop from the hifi system in the corner.

"What is it?" Yoongi's concerned eyes never leave you as he reaches over to switch it off, the room now draped in a shroud of quiet. The reality of the situation seeps into every dark corner and right into your bones.

"It's about us. Kind of."

Yoongi rolls closer, stopping your teeth from nibbling your cuticles by slotting his fingers between yours like a perfect puzzle piece. It seems to ground you, like you're filled with helium and he's the weight stopping your feet from floating off the ground. For a second you think everything will be okay. Nothing, not even this betrayal, could come between what you had.

"Did Namjoon find out?" Even in the dim light you see the panic stricken raise of his brows. When your head shakes in a violent negative they smooth back down, relieved, as if nothing you could say next would be worse than that. No matter how hard you try to meet his eyes you can't.

His hand squeezes gently then. You muster up the courage to squeeze back. Perhaps it would soften the blow that was about to follow.

"His song. The one I wrote for Mic Drop...it's about you. I thought you should know. Before you hear it for yourself."

Nothing but an immeasurable silence followed. "Oh."

Yoongi is unreadable, almost as if he didn't hear the words hanging like heavy storm clouds over your heads. You expected him to be angry, to shout -- even cry, maybe. Not knowing how he was feeling was even worse than any scenario you had imagined. Made you feel like you were back to square one and he was shutting you out of the window into his soul you'd worked so hard to wriggle through.

For a second you think the sudden cold against your palm is a result of the numbness coursing through your veins like you were dunked in ice water, but then you see his hand retreat to his lap, eyes wide and staring at it in disbelief like he'd been scalded.

"I...I don't understand." He sounds choked, face contorting with pain. Like it does when he wakes thrashing in the night with a bad dream. Unlike those times though, he doesn't levitate towards you for comfort, just stares at you vacantly like he's far, far away despite being physically close enough for your knees to brush.

"It was written after the first time we...y'know...here--" You glance around, convinced your mind is playing tricks when you see a vision of you in Yoongi's lap across the room, lips attached like nothing else in the world mattered. It feels far away and out of reach when the real Yoongi gets to his feet, creating a distance between you that is foreign, his form staggering across the room so that you could see the way his back tensed beneath his t-shirt when he grips the edge of his desk for support, processing.

"I don't understand."

"I was emotional. It just happened--"

"No. What I don't understand is why you're letting him perform it?" Fists send a stack of sheet music flying to the ground. His lip trembles, face red, with anger or affliction, you can't tell which.

"Yoongi--" You reach for him, fingertips barely grazing his arm before he's smacking you away with a violent shake of his head. He'd never resisted you before. Not even in the beginning.

"You expect me to just sit back and listen to Namjoon of all people rapping the lyrics my girlfr-- that you wrote dissing me? This has to be a fucking joke."

"It's not that kind of track!" You hug your body pitifully. It's the only thing you can do to stop yourself from falling apart as his mouth spits a venom that makes your heart shatter. His eyes fill with one thing. Betrayal. "I'm sorry. I just...I can't keep choosing between you anymore, Yoongi. He's my brother."

"And what am I, huh?"

Every second that passes, every stutter or attempt at explanation that leaves your mouth makes Yoongi crumple. You see it in the way his adam's apple bobs, how his shoulders slacken.

For some reason you can't open up. Tell him he means more to you than anyone ever had. That you thought your heart might really break and bleed out on the carpet if he didn't feel the same way.

Instead you settle for, "Why are you so mad? It's my job! I had no choice."

Without warning he's rushing at you, trembling palms capturing your face and pressing his forehead to yours. His breaths shake, chest heaving as he battles internally with the words flying from his lips like a ghostly breath across yours.

"Because I fucking love you, Y/N! Can't you see it? I fucking love you and your bastard of a brother always finds a way to ruin things between us!"

His admission stuns you, the tears welling in your eyes spilling over in a silent stream down your cheeks.

He loves you. He loves you.

"Yoongi--" Words just won't come. Nothing feels right.

Because you love him too. It had taken you this long to admit it to yourself but it was clear now. Every breath, every beat of your heart, every fucking song you would ever write was for him. It scared you before but now, stood here in front of him, you know it's true.

Something hopeless niggles at the back of your head, stops you from spilling everything to him. If he loves you, how can he expect you to choose?

If words couldn't make him see the truth then you'd just have to show him the only way you knew how. Straight from your heart.

You're crying as you dig around in the bottom of your bag to retrieve a USB, pressing it into his curled fist firmly and begging him with your eyes to understand. "Just listen to the song. Please. It'll explain everything. I promise."

You begin to back up and his hand shoots out to stop you, pulling you roughly into his chest which only makes you cry harder, tears creating a wet patch on his T-shirt.

"Please don't leave me. Not again." It's a fragile whisper.

It's all too much.

"I can't choose any longer, Yoongi. This has to end."

With one last look at his crumpled face you flee from his studio with eyes just as watery as the first time you'd walked down this very alley. Except this time it takes all of your strength to resist running back into his arms.

Yoongi can only stand there and watch you go, the USB hot against his hand.

This has to end. The words make his chest burn and he hates it. Hates feeling weak. You always make him feel so fucking weak.

If he can't have you then he had no choice but to do everything in his power to make sure he got the next best thing.

Suddenly it all seemed clear. Yoongi knew what he had to do.

The arena is almost desolate when you creep inside.

Just a sea of empty seats stretching out from both sides of you where you sit in one of the stands, nibbling the skin around your thumb and watching Namjoon pace the stage below.

It's gone midnight by now. Most of the crew went home hours ago. Not Namjoon though. He stayed to practice some more. Said he couldn't get the choreography quite right.

You tried going home but you couldn't get the fight out of your head. Everything reminded you of Yoongi and your thoughts started to wander. Did he hate you? Was he listening to the song right now? Why hasn't he called? Why is your own bed not as comfy as the one you shared with Yoongi?

It all got too much eventually. Something told you that you weren't welcome at the apartment so you ended up heading towards the only other place you knew, surprised to find your brother had the same idea.

A single spotlight illuminates the stage as Namjoon twists his body in time with the one, two, three, four he unconsciously mumbles under his breath, face contorted with a stark concentration that flits to impatience when his foot slips and he misses the beat. Again. It just about sends him over the edge.

"I can't do this anymore!" A microphone squeals and hits the ground with a thump. It reverberates through the arena, your hands flying to your ears as you watch Namjoon let loose all his anger on an innocent amp stand before collapsing into a heap at the edge of the stage. "Fuck this shit!"

You're flying down the stairs to his aid before he can do any serious damage to the stage equipment — or worse, to himself.

Namjoon scoffs when he hears the stage creak under your feet. "Nice of you to show up."

It stings. You snap.

"What happened to you, Namjoon?" You look at his sunken cheekbones, his curled fists, the blackness behind his eyes. "I don't even recognise you anymore."

He just sniffs and says nothing. The distance between you feels bigger than ever.

"Can I tell you a secret?"

A secret? Since when did Namjoon abide by a policy of honesty?

He takes your shocked silence as a yes.

"I'm calling first thing and dropping out of the competition."

Your world stutters to a standstill, breath knocked out of your lungs.

Dropping out?

"Shit Joon...if this is about Yoongi—"

He waves you off. "No. This is about me."

You can't breathe. This can't be real. "I don't understand..."

"I've made up my mind. I can't do this any more. I used to love being up here you know?"

You follow his gaze, out over the empty arena. The last time you were here every seat was filled. You were down there, part of the crowd, packed into the cramped space with barely enough room to breathe.

Imagining how it must feel to be up here comes easy. If you close your eyes you can hear the screams, feel the body heat. Smell the sweat and the anticipation. See thousand faces looking up in awe. At you. It makes your blood run hot.

You much prefer being up here, you decide.

Namjoon brings you back down. "Now it just feels like a chore. I look out and all I see is disappointed faces. I can't pretend for them anymore."

"People travel miles to see you Joon! No one is disappointed."

"Not the fans. They love me. Well, Runch Randa, at least." He cracks a half smile. "It's me whose disappointed. In Kim Namjoon."

You always thought your brother was sure of himself. He's cocky, confident and above all fearless. It's his biggest strength (and his most irritating quality sometimes) but it's what you always admired most about him.

Clearly you didn't know your brother as well as you thought you did.

You bite your lip. "Why?"

He turns to face you, leaning back into his arms while he searches for the right words and, little to your knowledge, gathers the courage to confide in you.

"Because I re-entered Mic Drop for all the wrong reasons. I just wanted to prove myself, you know? Win for real this time, not just by default." He swallows. "But then I saw Yoongi perform. And to be honest? I saw you. I saw how much you care about the music. How you come alive when you're writing lyrics or when you're in the studio." His smile is woeful. "Im supposed to feel like that. But I don't. I never did. It's like I'm always asleep, y'know?"

You did know. Every time you lifted a camera. Every time you pressed the shutter and snapped another shot of Namjoon on stage you felt your soul grow exhausted.

It makes the distance between you and Namjoon close a little. For once you understand each other and you don't have to hide how you feel any more.

"I can't stop thinking that it's your name the fans should be screaming. Not mine. They deserve better than me."

"But you're the best performer I know!" You rush. It always seemed like he wanted to keep you out of the spotlight at all costs. "Why now?"

He lets out a deep sigh. "I'm a selfish person, Y/N. I thought I was protecting you from... all this." He gestures around him. "The late nights and the paparazzi and the criticism and a fucking manager on your back all the time." His eye roll makes you snort, sharing a brief smile at the image of hardworking Jimin mumbling into his headset like a man posessed.

He's quickly serious again though. "Fame comes with a price. But I realize now that the price is worth it if your hearts in the right place and...what I'm trying to say, Y/N, is that mine never was."

You let your chin fall into your palm. Huh. "So that's the big secret?"

"Actually...there's something else." He shifts nervously. "I know about you and Yoongi."

You freeze, scrambling to your knees with wide eyes. "Wait, Joon, let me explain—"

"Let me finish!" Namjoon brushes you off with a breathless laugh, nodding to himself, as if finally coming to a solid conclusion about coming clean when his eyes meet yours. "He's in love with you."

This time it feels like the whole world goes into overdrive. You forget how to breathe.

"What...how...huh?"

It's Namjoon's palm squeezing your knee reassuringly that brings you back down.

"He always was. Even back before things got messed up." A deep breath. Something was coming, you could tell by the way his eye twitched nervously. "That's why me and Yoongi fought. That's why I...I lied and said that I wrote the song the night of the Mic Drop final...accused him of plagiarism—" Your mouth gapes. "I know! I know. Don't look at me like that. I can see the irony."

It all makes sense now. She's a part of this, Namjoon, whether you like it or not.

The reason Namjoon sacrificed his best friend wasn't for fame but for your sake?

You want to fly at your brother, scream at him for keeping this from you for so long. For turning you against Yoongi. For keeping you from the only person to make you feel safe. Feel Happy.

But his eyes are void of anything other than regret and you can tell his betrayal had been playing on his mind all these years.

"Point is, I didn't want you to get hurt." He shuffles awkwardly, not knowing what to do with your silence. "That's not an excuse, I know. Do you hate me?"

"No." Your voice sounds small. His chest heaves with relief. "I just wish you had been honest with me before. Saved us a ton of trouble."

"I thought I was doing the right thing. But I was a shitty brother in the end anyway."

It's strange. Even after all the fights and the resentment and the goddamn secrets, you don't think Namjoon is a shitty brother. Sure, his actions and intentions were shitty there was no denying it. But now it's like the puzzle pieces finally click into place and the full photograph comes into view, crystal clear.

All this time, he just wanted to protect you, when you should have been protecting him. He was hurting too, you just never knew it.

"It's not too late, Joon. Just be happy for me okay? I think..." If Namjoon plucked up the courage to tell you his secrets then it was only fair that you did too. "I love him too."

A pinkish tinge caresses your face when you finally admit it, both out loud and to yourself.

You love Yoongi. And now all the cards are on the table there's nothing holding you back from it.

Now you just need to tell Yoongi.

"I know. You think I don't know who that song is about?" The grin that spreads across Namjoon's features is sincere."And I am. Happy for you, I mean."

Now the truth is out in the open it feels like your wounds are already beginning to heal. You place your hand over his and squeeze it tight. It was time to forgive.

A thought suddenly strikes you. "So what are you gonna do now?

Namjoon fumbles in the back pocket of his jeans, thrusting something towards you. A polaroid picture. The same photo you'd seen at Yoongi's studio.

He kept it, too?

"This kid." His finger jabs at the innocent face of a younger Namjoon, arm wrapped around the shoulders of his best friend. "I didn't get enough time to live as him before I became Runch Randa. I think it's time to just live as Namjoon for a while."

"But what about Big Hit? It'll fall apart and mom and dad will kill you—"

"No it won't. They have you. I already talked to them, in fact. There's a stage with your name on it right here." He pats the ground. "If you want it, that is."

You blink, stunned. You? "I...I don't know if I can."

"I believe in you." Namjoon says. "And I'll be cheering you on from the front row."

You'd have to think about it long and hard but you can't help the grin that appears on your face. Things were going to be okay.

An urge rises in your chest to tell Yoongi this news. To see the way his face would light up as you started the journey to following your own dreams, like he always said you should.

You and Yoongi were going to be okay.

"Hey! Maybe I should try photography now I have some free time." Namjoon tugs at the camera strap around your neck, lifting his eye to the viewfinder and laughing when you cover the lens with your hands. "Damn I'm kinda good!"

You bump his shoulder teasingly, the belly laughter that spills into the arena feeling like the most natural thing in the world.

You're only interrupted by approaching footsteps. Jimin bursts into the arena.

"Namjoon," he pants. "I have some bad news."

It's compulsory for all competitors to attend the crowning ceremony. Even those who get disqualified.

RUNCH RANDA BLACKLISTED FROM COMPETING IN FUTURE HIP HOP COMPETITIONS AFTER PLAGIARISM SCANDAL SURFACES.

Just one of the devastating headlines that hit the media after the judges panel received an anonymous tip in the form of a USB stick that exposed Namjoon once and for all. The same USB that you pressed into Yoongi's hands just hours before Namjoon's disqualification.

RAPPER GLOSS TO SNATCH MIC DROP TROPHY IN SHOCKING REVENGE FOR HIS BRUTAL DEFEAT.

Namjoon reads it aloud in the back of the car. He laughs at the end but it does nothing to lighten the mood.

The windows are tinted but you can still see the hoards of fans lining the streets, eyes steeped in betrayal.

You should hear the way they boo as your brother drives past. You should hear the way they chant his name instead.

Yoongi! Yoongi! Yoongi!

But you don't. You don't hear anything. You don't feel anything. All you can think of is the same three words, throbbing in your chest over and over again.

I love you.

Did he mean them at all?

"Y/N? Did you hear me?"

"Hm?" You look up. Namjoon's staring at you with concern.

"Your phone's ringing again."

It's no surprise when you pull out your phone and see a contact picture of yourself and Yoongi gracing the screen. He's been calling all morning. It takes every strength inside you to tap the red decline button.

"Aren't you gonna talk to him?"

Another call lights up the screen.

"Not like this."

With trembling fingers you shut your phone off all together.

Paparazzi cameras flash brazenly as you step out of the black company car, following Namjoon with your hood pulled tightly round your face. A hoard of body guards usher you through a back door to the arena. The main entrance is reserved for notable guests only, you learn.

While Namjoon's presence usually makes the room buzz with an electric energy, there's no excitement when he enters now. An awkward hush falls like a shroud as he elbows his way past pitiful stares. It's like someone died. In a way it's true; there's no trace of Runch Randa in Namjoon's hunched stance. Here, the dead still walks for everyone to see.

Jimin's waiting by the stage door. No words are exchanged as he slips passes into your hands. Namjoon's has a big red strike through the word TALENT, "guest" scribbled all too generously below it to match your own.

It's nearing show time. They're just waiting for you to take your seats, Jimin says, though you barely hear him. You're too busy imagining what you would do if you bumped into him right now, heart pounding whenever you catch a glimpse of blue or hear a laugh you're convinced you recognise.

Deep down you know exactly where you have to go to find him. To find Yoongi.

"I'll join you in a second, okay?"

Namjoon looks nervous, the first time you've ever seen him with such a severe case of the jitters. His smile is empty when you rub his forearm reassuringly. "Don't be too long. If I'm gonna do this I want you by my side."

You manage a smile. "Always."

With that, Namjoon takes a deep breath and pushes out into the life of the arena and you find your feet numbly carrying you down back corridors you know by heart until you reach his dressing room.

Your heart is blind, you think. Even now the shattered fragments ache for him, beat a little faster knowing he's just behind this door.

Why can't you go back to hating him, just like you did before? Deep down you know it's because you never really hated Yoongi. You don't think you ever could.

Forgiving him, though? Some wounds never heal, no matter how badly you want them to.

You pause outside the door. The stupid gold star that used to be there has been scraped off, replaced with a new name tag. Gloss. You put your ear to the wood. Nothing.

A deep breath and you find the handle. Should you burst in and give him a piece of your mind? Knock and enter politely? You can't help but scoff. Shouldn't he be the one coming to find you?

He calls your name before you can do either.

"Y/N?"

Fuck. Is hearing his voice supposed to hurt this bad?

You don't know what you're expecting when you turn around. Something different about him perhaps. A sign that he isn't the person you had grown to know. Grown to love.

But there he is. All messy blue hair and bitten lips and eyes a little red around the edges. Your Yoongi.

Your arms curl around your body like a band aid, holding you together. You can't crumble. Not now.

He looks stony but his eyes flicker with tender remorse when he sees the tears staining your cheeks.

His hands reach for you instinctively. The same hands that make love to his piano in the shitty apartment above the coffee shop. The same hands that could make you fall apart with even a delicate touch. You want to run into them so bad it hurts. But now they're stained red with betrayal and he chokes when you recoil.

Seconds feel like hours as you just stand there taking each other in like it's been years. It's only been a day or two. Maybe three? You can't remember. They all rolled into one meaningless blur of angry tears and insomnia.

You had a whole speech prepared for the moment you finally faced him again. But there are no words that feel right. You just need to know. If he meant every touch and every inside joke and those three words that make your heart soar despite how badly you want to hate him. And there's only one way to find out.

"Why did you do it?"

Your voice sounds timid and scared, like you feel. He winces.

"Y/N, let me explain—"

"Explain what?" Your voice raises shakily."How you lied to me? How you used me?"

He rushes towards you and it takes all of your strength to draw back, especially when his eyes look so frantic, so desperate. Like he's having one of his nightmares. It tugs at your heart because this time the nightmare is real and you're living in it.

"It's not like that—"

"Did you ever even want me? What about all that fair and square bullshit you told me huh?"

"Of course I wanted you Y/N...want you." His eyes fill with pain. "This wasn't meant to happen. I know how this looks but I just panicked!"

You rush at him, fists curled like that day in his studio except this time he doesn't stop you when you start hitting his chest, vision blurry.

"He was going to pull out! Namjoon was going to let you win! So that I could -- we could be happy!"

"What I...I don't understand?" His mouth gapes, processing. "But you didn't..." He swallows, like remembering is painful. "When I confessed, you didn't say it back. I thought we were over! I thought I had nothing to lose, Y/N. He had already won..."

You remember your words. I can't do this anymore. A misunderstanding that would never have happened if he just—

"Did you even listen to the song?"

His face drops at the mention of the song. "No." He looks like he might cry. "I was angry! I...I acted impulsively. I never got the chance..."

You bared your soul in that song in ways you never thought you could. He wasn't supposed to find out how you felt about him this way. Not here, when you're falling apart and there's nothing you can do to stop it. But it all comes tumbling out before you can change your mind.

"I wrote that song because I love you, Yoongi!"

Silence. He has to grip the wall to steady himself.

"Y-you love me?"

"I love you." The words feel indulgent on your tongue and even now as they hang heavy in the air and you're overcome with an indescribable combination of grief and longing, you mean them with every bone in your body.

You rush at him. You can't help it. Can't resist how your head falls into his chest and how you cry harder when you breathe in his scent one last time, sobs muffled by his hoodie. But he hears them, you know he does, because his hands are trembling when they pull you closer like you're fragile enough to break.

"I love you. So fucking much it hurts, Yoongi."

You're weak. You're so so weak.

You don't know why you do it but you grab his face with both hands and then you're kissing him. Showing him how much you need him, how much you mean your words. His hand cups your jaw like always and his lips press back with a tender desperation and you believe him. You believe that he loves you. Whole and true. Because in that moment, with his lips on yours, everything is okay. He's your Yoongi and you're his Y/N and he loves you.

But then you pull back and he's crying too and everything's broken and your heart goes numb.

"I'm sorry. God, Y/N I'm so sorry. If I could take it back I promise I would."

You muster up all the strength you can. You know what you have to do.

"I'm giving you a choice, Yoongi. You go out on that stage and pick up that trophy and we're over. For real."

He tries to kiss you again, grabbing at you frantically when you turn your cheek.

"Y/N, don't do this. We love each other. That's all that matters right?" He musters up the closest thing to a smile he can manage, like he's convincing himself more than he is you. "You don't have to—"

"No." You pull away from grip. It feels cold and wrong. "I have to do this. If you love me like you say you'll...you'll understand."

You turn but he grabs your wrist, pins you in place.

"I can't lose you to him again, Y/N. I...I already lost you once and I don't think I..."

The hard faced Min Yoongi you once knew is gone. All that's left is the vulnerable man in front of you who holds your heart in your hands with a grip so tight it scares you.

"He can't win...please."

You suck in a final breath.

"Please what? Don't make you choose between me and that stupid fucking trophy? You did this to yourself, Yoongi." You turn and this time he lets you. "The only person pushing me away is you."

"Y/N please, wait!"

You don't dare turn to look at him as you walk away. Not even when he pleads or you hear him fall to his knees, a strangled sob echoing down the hall. You're scared you might run back to him if you do.

You don't let yourself break down until you turn the corner. Yoongi doesn't follow.

"I'm okay." You assure Namjoon as you take a seat beside him inside the arena. It's a lie, of course. No amount of cold water splashed on your face in the bathroom could prepare you for this moment.

You're just in time. The ceremony is already starting. The host is taking the stage and the lights are dimming but you're too numb to care.

You go out on that stage and pick up that trophy and we're over.

Your decision is final. There's no going back. You've cried all your tears. You've said all that needed to be said. All you're left with now is a sickly feeling in your stomach as you look down at the trophy sat in a display case center stage.

We love each other. A slither of hope tugs at your heart strings. You barely manage to suppress it.

"Sorry! Excuse me!" The empty seat to your left sinks under the weight of Hoseok as he clumsily stumbles into the arena, late as always.

He offers you a smile which turns to a frown when you only stare past him vacantly, straining your neck to keep an eye on the stage.

A hand covers yours. You freeze at the contact, only relaxing when you peer through the darkness to find Hoseok staring at you gently. His voice is a whisper. "Whatever happens I'm here for you, okay?"

A wave of emotion crashes through you and you think you might cry again. You can't make your lips sound out a response but Hoseok understands and you feel a little stronger when you turn your attention back to the ceremony knowing you have someone by your side.

"As you all know there have been some...complications with this year's finalists." The host coughs and fiddles with his tie awkwardly. "But we are glad to announce that we do in fact have a winner here with us today!"

The crowd chants Yoongi's name again. Namjoon stiffens. Your free hand grabs his and he squeezes it tight.

"So without further ado, I would like to welcome this year's winner, Gloss!"

The crowd goes wild but the sound is drowned out by a ringing in your ears. It's like you're underwater, holding your breath as you wait and wait for him to take the stage and all the oxygen to slip away.

One...two...three...

You get to ten seconds, then twenty seconds and then thirty and by the time you get to forty you feel yourself break the surface, take a heaving breath.

You're floating. He chose you.

He loves you! Yoongi loves you! He—

No.

You're seeing things. You must be. That can't be Yoongi's face lighting up every screen in the room. That can't be him crossing the stage and taking the trophy from the hands of the host with a smug grin. That can't be Yoongi holding it up in the air like a martyr.

That can't be your Yoongi. This is a stranger.

You crash back to reality when Namjoon wraps his arms around your waist and you realise your sobbing. Sobbing so hard it hurts your chest and your lungs burn with misuse and you're sure the tears will never stop.

"It's okay! Shh."

Nothing is okay. Nothing.

Yoongi's face is still blown up on the big screens in painful detail. The smile on his face falters when he looks out into the crowd and spots you instantly. Sees you crumple.

There are two things Min Yoongi ever loved in this world.

His music and you.

The trophy feels cold in his hands. The crowd gasps as he rushes to the edge of the stage and calls out to you.

"Y/N wait! I'm sorry—"

You hear his voice through the speakers but it's too late. You're already running.

Yoongi's mic drops to the ground.

Yoongi's nightmares are back. Except this time they're different.

When he closes his eyes you're there. Smiling and laughing like you used to. His heart warms and he reaches for you...

And then he realises it's not you. Just a picture, blown up on the big screen as you cross the stage at the front of the room he's suddenly aware he's in.

He glances around at the indistinguishable people around him, all smiling and clapping ferociously. Why isn't he happy?

The bottle in his hand is half empty. He's realises he's screaming. So hard his throat burns and his lungs beg for air but you don't even look his way. He screams your name, over and over again. Nobody seems to hear him.

Namjoon's there too. Bouncing a baby on his knee, maybe one or two years old if he has to guess.

"That'll be you one day," He whispers, but its deafening to Yoongi. "Only the very best for my niece." The baby giggles up at him, stubby fingers wrapped around his thumb.

She has your eyes. The very same eyes Yoongi would look into like they held everything in the world. The very same eyes Yoongi saw fill with pain on the last day he saw you before things got messed up.

She has Hoseok's nose. And his mouth, too, small and heart shaped. The resemblance is uncanny as Hoseok appears beside Namjoon, takes the baby girl into his arms and places a sweet kiss on her forehead.

Then there you are. The same old Y/N. The same smile that makes your eyes crinkle and the same laughter than makes his heart melt. The same girl who used to love him.

Though it's clear that that much is no longer true. Not when you lean up to kiss Hoseok on the cheek, Namjoon drawing you into a hug when you present the trophy in your hands to them with an elated laugh.

A family.

It feels like he's been punched in the stomach.

Yoongi always thought winning Mic Drop would mean he had everything. Fame. Money. Glory.

He didn't need family. He always got by on his own.

It took holding the whole world in the palm of his hand to realise none of it meant anything if he didn't have you by his side.

You were his everything. But he was too stupid to see it and he let you slip away.

It's too late now.

A hand appears on his shoulder. It's cold, grip bruising. The voice that comes next gives him chills every single time.

"So was it worth it?" Namjoon asks.

Yoongi tries to answer but his vision is blurred with hot tears now and he's on his hands and knees and he's screaming.

And when he wakes up at ass o clock, sweaty and gasping for air, he still finds himself reaching for your warmth beside him.

But all his fingers find are cold sheets and bitterness.

extended a/n: okay so if you have reached this far then you are a TROOPER. a trooper who i love and appreciate endlessly for reading 30k of my waffle lmao im so sorry <3 ksksksk so this fic has been in my head for the longest time and in my drafts for almost five months so im super attached to it and putting this out is like the scariest ever?? i really put my heart into this piece, like y’all don’t understand how many times it’s cropped up in my dreams and I’ve woken up like MUST WRITE. it’s far from perfect but i tried my best!! i can’t tell you how many scenes had to be rewritten until i was happy enough with them bc this fic is literally my baby in every sense of the word and i wanted to get it right :( although that just made the ending even more SOUL DESTROYING to write for me ugh i had the ending set in my mind before i even started writing but there were moments where i jus wanted yoongi and oc to be happy ever after :( but alas, I feel like this ending was far more realistic for them and i couldn’t go against my gut sigh. there may be a few drabbles planned in the future tho to make up for the angst :) Anyway!!! I’ll stop rambling. Thank you for reading this far, if anyone has. TROOPER. love you <3

updated 12/01/19: drabble #1 | drabble #2 | drabble #3

#ksmutclub #bts #bts smut #yoongi smut #yoongi fanfiction #yoongi imagine #btswriterscollective #btsguild #kwordsmiths #thebtstown #yoonkooknetwork #yoongi scenario #my writing #fic: mic drop #love yourself collab

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falseroar · 4 years

Text

Dog Days Part 14: A Welcome Distraction

((Abe takes to the streets in search of the Host, but instead he finds a different kind of performer. Back at his office, he finds a new, seemingly unrelated case waiting for him.

Here are links to the previous part and to the whole series.))

Abe chose to walk to the coffee shop, hoping the walk would help clear his head after a long night and that conversation with Google. That, and he wanted the extra time to take a different route, to see if he was still being followed or not. Problem was, he forgot that weekends were a thing, and it seemed like half the city was out shopping and enjoying the warmer than usual fall weather. He checked faces at every crosswalk, doubled back and looked over his shoulder whenever he had an excuse to do so, but if he was supposed to recognize any of those faces, he didn’t.

Instead, the walk just gave him more time to think about what he wanted to say to the Host once he got his hands on him, and a few creative things he’d like to do to…pretty much everyone who had a hand in getting him involved in this case. All this time spent watching a doctor, and he could have been using it to find out more about the Colonel’s new alias—if he even really was going by a ridiculous name like Wilford Warfstache these days.

The bench in front of the coffee shop was taken by a pair of ladies happily chatting, and a quick search up and down the street found no sign of the Host. There was another street performer there though, who had set up a small booth set up to look like a stage and curtains that could just barely fit one person inside. A burst of laughter came from the crowd gathered in front of the temporary stage, with a few kids sitting so close that they had to look up to what a sign pinned to the top of the stage proclaimed to be “Jameson Jackson’s Jolly Jaunts.” Jackson, probably, was pantomiming alongside a pair of puppets, shock on his face as the cloth detective puppet accused him of stealing a diamond while the other, a cutout of the most stereotypical burglar you could image on a stick, proclaimed that he knew it all along.

As Abe watched, Jackson appealed to the audience and an increasing number of puppets for help, the bit going on until the detective puppet slapped him on the back of the head and he coughed up a shiny rock to the puppets’ shocked silence before they all piled on him, dragging him out of view to the audience’s cheers and laughter.

Cute, but not the reason Abe stuck around after a “The End” card was drawn up on a string, and the puppeteer and a few of his favorites appeared to wave goodbye to the kids before they ran off. A few minutes after the crowd dispersed, the hunter watched Jackson step out of the back of the little popup stage, two shoebox-sized boxes tucked under one arm.

“Need some help cleaning up?” Abe asked as the puppeteer set the boxes down on top of the booth and stretched, visibly glad to be out of the confined space.

Jackson dropped his arms mid-stretch and pointed at his throat, drawing a line across it with his finger before shrugging.

“Oh, you can’t—” Abe paused. “But your show, I heard…”

Jackson smiled and opened one of the smaller boxes, tilting it to reveal multiple identical devices. He tapped a button on the one labeled “Diamond Heist”, causing the puppet detective’s voice to ask, “But what about the cookies?!”

“That’s…actually pretty clever,” Abe said, causing the puppeteer to smile. Especially considering he recalled at least one of the puppets directly responding to something one of the kids called out.

Jackson started to sign before catching himself and pulling a small notepad and pen out of one of his waistcoat pockets. There he wrote, “Thank you, my friends were kind enough to supply the recordings for me. And a few other tricks, to keep it interesting.”

He winked, and only grinned wider when Abe said, “Guess I don’t need to bother with complimenting your ventriloquism skills then. Do you do a lot of street shows like this?”

“Different places, but yes. Mostly on the weekends, more often during the summer for the kids. I’ve done a thing or two in more traditional venues, but that’s more for the older crowd.” Jackson shrugged again once Abe was done reading, as if to say one place was as good as the other.

Abe nodded before asking the question he had been leading up to, “I ran into a guy the other day who apparently sings on the corner around here sometimes, but I’m having a hard time finding him again. Called himself the Host, had bandages around his eyes. You haven’t you seen him around, have you?”

Jackson tapped his chin with the end of his pen before writing, “Can’t say that I have, but I try to avoid performing in an area when I see someone else is already there. Don’t want to be rude!”

The puppeteer hesitated before adding, “I know a few places that tend to be popular with street artists. Why are you looking for this Host fellow?”

“I know the owner of that coffee shop over there, Carla. He was coming around here a lot for a while there and suddenly stopped, and she’s just a little worried so I thought I’d check on him,” Abe lied. Last he checked, Carla wasn’t worried at all, probably because she was used to customers like Abe disappearing for days or even months at a time before showing up again like nothing happened at all. At least, he assumed he wasn’t the only one who did that. Either way, wasn’t like he was about to explain the real reason to some random guy on the street. “Do you mind helping me out?”

Jackson pulled a fancy-looking silver pocket watch out of his other waistcoat pocket, opening an intricately carved cover to check the time before writing his response.

“Looks like my friend is running a little late. If you were serious about helping me pack up, I can give you a few ideas.”

Easy enough, and between the two of them the stage was soon a folded bundle that, while a few feet long, the puppeteer could at least manage to carry by himself, although add in the boxes of recording devices and puppets and it all seemed like a bit much.

“You sure you can manage all of this?” Abe asked as he tucked the list Jackson gave him into his pocket for later. Not that he was about to volunteer to lug all this stuff anywhere, especially considering he hadn’t taken the car today, but he did feel a twinge of guilt at leaving the hipster puppeteer to fend for himself.

Jackson nodded and started to write before he was distracted by a text notification. He took out a basic-looking phone that he probably only used for the text function, considering how he fumbled with it before smiling at the message.

“He’s on his way! Thank you for the help,” he wrote for Abe’s sake.

The hunter tried not to look too relieved, which became a lot easier when for the second time today he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and the clear, sneaking sensation that he was being watched.

Jackson stared as he looked around, Abe’s eyes narrowed as he scanned the people walking by, the busy shops, before landing on a figure standing too still in the narrow, shared drive between the nearby laundromat and florist’s shop for deliveries. A figure who disappeared as soon as the hunter glanced his way, leaving a vague impression of someone wearing red.

“Good,” Abe said, barely listening to what he was saying. “Uh, thanks for the list, I should…get on that now, for Carla.”

Jackson nodded and waved as he walked away, looking bemused and a little concerned for the hunter. Almost as soon as the hunter disappeared around the corner, the puppeteer jumped at the sudden presence of the man standing next to him.

“Don’t do that!” Jameson signed.

“Sorry,” Jackie said out of reflex, not that it ever stopped him from doing it. He was staring at where he last saw the hunter, the corner of his mouth turning down in a grimace. “Who was that guy?”

“Not sure,” Jameson said. “He was asking about another street performer, a singer, I think. Said someone was worried about him.”

“Just that?” Jackie asked, and Jameson shrugged. “…Okay. Let me know if you see him around again, maybe I can help him find what he’s looking for.”

Jameson paused, wondering if he was reading too much into Jackie’s expression and tone of voice, but the vigilante shook his head and picked up the folded stage.

“We should get back,” Jackie said. “I left Chase trying to convince Y/N to wear their collar and go for a walk.”

“Oh, that would be nice!” Jameson signed. “I certainly don’t want to miss that.”

“Great, then you can be the one to tell them about the leash law,” Jackie said, waiting for Jameson to pick up the rest of his materials before motioning for him to lead the way.

Behind Jameson, Jackie shot one more look at where he lost sight of the hunter. He’d have to ask Jameson a few more questions about what, exactly, the hunter had said, and maybe encourage him to set up his act somewhere on the other side of the city for a while. Better to have to get a ride from Chase than to risk running into that man again.

---

Red.

He was sure of it, the person watching him had been wearing red. He hadn’t been able to make out anything else in that split second, but did he really need to?

Google. That thing was watching him, had to be. Probably whatever magic kept him running also made it easier for him to get around without being noticed, or maybe it was a special feature whoever he was working for had added on.

The longer Abe thought about it, the surer he was, until by the time he returned to his office he was furious enough to punch the tin can man, consequences be damned. The fact that his walk around half the city failed to turn up the Host or seemingly anyone else who knew the guy, and he was not in the mood to find someone waiting outside of his office again.

A fact the young woman who looked up and saw him coming seemed well aware of, as the second she saw him she stopped leaning against the office door and rubbed the back of her neck with a heavily-tattooed arm.

“Sorry, think I’ve got the wrong place,” she muttered, already stepping aside to go around him.

Abe sighed and said, “Well, if you were looking for someone who knows what he’s doing, I think you might be right about that. Still willing to give it a shot, if you need help with something.”

She hesitated, giving him time to look her up and down. Short dark hair, young enough to be in her late teens or early twenties if he had to guess. Despite the cold weather, she was wearing a sleeveless top over her ripped jeans, which showed off the full spread of her tattoo sleeves. The ink on her dark skin was dominated by images of waves and schools of fish, to the point the sleeves would have looked just as at home on the arms of a sailor.

“I was told you could help with…finding something of mine,” she said, unable to completely hide her doubt.

“You know I’m a hunter, right? I don’t usually look for things.” Someone sent her here? Carla, maybe, he had asked her to keep an eye out for any potential cases, but of course his luck meant she would she show up now.

“I know, I wouldn’t be here at all if—” she stopped herself and took a breath. “I don’t have a lot of time, and I can’t go to anyone else because…It’s complicated.”

“I get that a lot,” Abe muttered. As much as he didn’t want to, he already knew where this was going. “We can talk about it in my office.”

She nodded, and it wasn’t until after he unlocked the door that Abe thought to say, “Right, sorry about the mess.”

“I’ve seen worse,” she said, not even blinking an eye at the state he’d left the place in this morning. Still, she waited until Abe sat behind his desk before she slowly sat down in the opposite chair, her arms pulled in tight around her. “Like I said, I need help getting back something—something very important to me. I know who has it, but I’m afraid if I try to get it back myself, he’ll…”

She swallowed, hard, and not for the first time Abe thought maybe he should try to keep tissues around here. Then again, she looked closer to being sick than actually crying.

“You know this guy?” Abe asked.

“I thought he was a friend, he thought we were something else,” she answered. “Still does. This is just a stunt to keep me from leaving, or maybe he’s just being vindictive, but either way I can’t risk getting it myself.”

“And this thing he stole would be…?” Abe asked. Kind of an important part of this, after all.

She swallowed again and hesitated, eyes searching him as though trying to find some clue whether she could tell him or not.

Abe returned the stare, before his eyes drifted back to the tattoos on her arm. Loves the ocean, a guy steals something so personal from her that she can barely speak of it, can’t take it to the police…and suddenly it became a story he’d heard too many times before, usually after it was too late to do anything about it.

“Your sealskin?” he asked, and her expression answered for her. A selkie, a seal who could remove their skin and pass for human. Without that skin, she couldn’t change back. “Let me guess, you’re not registered with the city.”

She shook her head. “Couldn’t afford it, and the job at the bar, they don’t really like…my kind. Not human...Are you going to report me?”

Report her, and by the time she was done dealing with the aftermath, wannabe boyfriend would have had enough time to hide the skin or sell it on the black market to the highest bidder, if he didn’t just shred it out of spite.

“Where’s he live?” Abe asked.

Meri, that was her name, was surprised when the hunter returned under an hour later. It helped that the guy lived only a ten-minute drive away, and Abe was lucky enough to find him at home and willing to share where he had hidden the skin, or at least he was after Abe may or may have taken the opportunity to work out some pent-up aggression.

If she noticed the hunter’s split knuckles, Meri immediately forgot them the second she saw the smooth, dark pelt he held up. Her eyes watered as she smiled for the first time since she got here, and Abe rocked back on his feet as she tackled him in a hug.

“Oh my god, thank you thank you thank you,” she said, repeating the words over and over again as she pressed her sealskin to her chest, and now she really was crying and Abe really, really needed to invest in a box of tissues.

“He’s going to report you, you know,” Abe said.

“I know,” she said. No matter how he went about getting the skin, they both knew that’s what the outcome of getting it back would be. A guy like that didn’t just stop, even if Abe left him with a few things to consider. “I was already planning on leaving the city, I just couldn’t go without this. I know someone who can help me get through the watch on the harbor, and from there…”

“Well, good luck with that, and here’s hoping you never have to see me again,” Abe said.

She smiled, and for a second Abe was afraid she might hug him again. Despite her size, that last hug had threatened to crack his spine. Instead, she settled for another round of thanks before walking out of his office, leaving him to sigh and hunt down some ice for his knuckles.

If only all of his cases were so easy to take care of, Abe thought to himself as he glanced at the clock. Looked like he had just enough time to get a nap in before nightfall, when he’d take a drive around a certain neighborhood. Spotting the doctor leaving his home or returning in the morning seemed like too much to hope for, but at least it would make a change from staring at the door to the clinic all night.

Both would be a little more bearable too, after that little reminder that he could at least get something right every now and then.

((End of Part 14. Thanks again for reading! Sorry that I haven’t been responding to the comments--it’s really, really hard not to spoil stuff! I have seen them though and it sounds like a longer part is okay, so that’s what I’ll do for tomorrow. Can’t wait for you all to see where that one goes. :)

Edit: And here’s the link to Part 15: Going for a Walk.

Tagging: @silver-owl413 @skyewardlight @withjust-a-bite @blackaquokat @catgirlwarrior @neverisadork @luna1350 @oh-so-creepy @weirdfoxalley @95fangirl @lilalovesinternet-l @thepoolofthedead @a-bit-dapper @randomartdudette @geekymushroom @cactipresident @hotcocoachia @purple-anxiety-blog @shyinspiredartist @avispate @missksketch @autumnrambles @authorracheljoy @liafoxyfox ))

#markiplier #jacksepticeye #fanfiction #detective abe #monster hunter au #jameson jackson #jackieboy man #mistaken identity #hipster puppeteer is not a phrase i ever thought i would use #abe really needed a win

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cantgetoutofmyheda · 4 years

Note

do you still take prompts? if so, how bout clexa going to a sports event and getting featured on the kiss cam

The entire arena roared a boastful cheer and Clarke looked around trying to figure out what caused the eruption of excitement.

Finn noticed the confusion on the girl’s face, “We just hit another three.” He said, his eyes already back on the court waiting to see how his favorite team would fare on this round of defense.

Clarke did not enjoy watching sports, let alone being surrounded by fifteen thousand screaming fans watching the game in person. In all honesty, Finn had been pestering her about going on a date ever since she accidentally got too drunk at a frat party and let the boy kiss her. When he sent her a text that his dad’s season tickets were up for grabs, she brushed it off. It wasn’t until her best friend squealed at the game in question. Lexa’s favorite team—the conferences underdog, naturally—was up against the leading team. She told Clarke to go, to take the date for her so at least one of them could “witness history when Polis beat Arkadia.”

Finn, the ever persistent puppy that wanted to forever impress the blonde, offered another ticket for Lexa to join them—if it meant Clarke would actually come, he didn’t care if she brought a friend to tag along. In his mind, Clarke with Lexa at her side was better than no Clarke at all.

Sounds of groans and booing peppered throughout the stadium—Clarke looked up and Polis had scored, then achieved a turnover as soon as Arkadia brought the ball across the half-court line. A few hints of cheers occured, and a smile drew over her lips as Lexa’s team sank another shot—bringing the game to a tie.

“This is bullshit,” Finn exhaled. “They suck. How is this even happening?”

Clarke eyed the boy, annoyed at the sound of his voice and wishing Lexa was back with their snacks—the only silver lining to any live sporting event, at least in the blonde’s mind, “I mean, they clearly don’t.”

“Are you rooting for Polis?” Finn quickly turned to face her, his face contorted into an expression between confusion and annoyance.

“Obviously,” Clarke shrugged. “They’re Lex’s favorite team.”

He wrinkled his nose, “But Arkadia is mine.”

Clarke raised a brow at the boy, “My loyalty is to Lexa, here.”

“But I brought you here,” he pointed out, the confusion was still ever-present in his demeanor.

“She went to get me snacks, though,” Clarke shrugged again, before looking over her shoulder for any sign of Lexa.

The truth of the matter was that Finn could have offered Clarke front row tickets to anything she could have dreamed of, and the blonde wouldn’t have accepted. The only reason she was sitting exactly where she was that day was because of the spark of excitement that lit up Lexa’s brilliant green eyes at the prospect of Lexa being able to tag along. Clarke knew that the brunette had a distaste for the boy, but she also knew that Lexa understood that she had zero interest in him. If the two could use the outing as an excuse for Lexa to enjoy the game and for Clarke to enjoy some nachos and freshly popped popcorn, then so be it.

Just as Finn was about to open his mouth—likely to make another asinine comment—the sound of a long buzzer went off. Clarke didn’t know much about sports, but it didn’t take long for her to realize they were now in half-time. Her eyes scanned the crowd again, and she finally saw Lexa making her walk through flocks of people flooding to get more beer and snacks and make a bathroom break. Instantly Clarke’s eyes lit up, thankful that the brunette was finally returning back to their seats.

“There you are,” Clarke smiled, as Lexa started handing her various little cardboard trays and a rather large plastic cup.

“Sorry,” Lexa finally took a seat. “That took longer than expected.”

“Was it super crowded?” Clarke asked. Now that Lexa had returned to her place, the blonde’s back was fully facing Finn and her undivided attention was at the brunette with the beautifully-flowing chestnut waves.

Lexa shook her head, “No, not really. The first place I went only had bottles of soda, so I walked around trying to find a stand with fountain soda because I know you like that better.”

Clarke jokingly batted her lashes at the confession, “My hero.”

Lexa rolled her eyes and brushed her off, “Please. It was just so I wouldn’t have to get up again. What’d I miss? I see we’re tied.”

“We are,” Clarke chimed. “And hopefully Polis takes a huge lead soon so we won’t have to stay the whole time.”

“We’re staying the full time,” Clarke heard both Lexa and Finn say.

She finally looked towards the boy, “You know I hate sports.”

“Yeah, but you’re still here,” he offered a sly grin, still not understanding that the blonde wanted nothing to do with him nor his fancy seats to the game.

“Because Lexa wanted to come,” she offered as a reminder. “I would be perfectly happy at home right now.”

The three sat in an awkward silence, Lexa was holding back a grin at Clarke’s latest remark to Finn. Finn was fumbling around on his phone, and Clarke was mindlessly watching the footage on the jumbotron. It was going from random commercials, to short interviews of a few important looking people on the floor, to the home team's dancers putting on some sort of halftime show. After their routine ended, the dancer’s cheered their way back to the locker room entrance and a voice boomed through the speaker system.

“Alright, Arkadia Arena—it’s time for everyone’s favorite halftime segment. Give us a cheer if you’re ready for the Arkadia Kiss Cam!”

Random bursts of cheering exploded throughout the arena and Clarke shook her head at the sound. Suddenly, noises of hooting and hollering came from the boy to her left, leaving a look of distaste and disdain crawling all over her face.

“Finn, what the fuck are you doing?” Clarke quipped.

He ignored the blonde and leaned behind her to get Lexa’s attention, “Ready to be a third wheel, Woods? The cameras always pan this way.”

Lexa raised a brow at his question and remark, then turned to her friend before pointing to the huge screen above the court, “Saddle up, Griff. Looks like he wasn’t kidding.”

Clarke’s eyes immediately darted up to the jumbotron and saw that Lexa wasn’t playing around—she was staring at a video feed of Finn starting to close his eyes and make his way to close the small gap between his face and her own.

In one swift movement, she pushed the boy away and muttered, “No fucking way.”

In a turn of events, she immediately turned around to face Lexa—the sound of laughter started to fill the arena at the sight, the cameraman definitely knew something was coming and didn’t want to miss the moment. Clarke offered her a smile, one more bashful than she could have anticipated, and brought her hand to the back of Lexa’s neck before bringing their lips gently together.

Dazed by what just happened, Lexa pulled away before she even had a chance to kiss her friend back. It took one look into the sea of Clarke’s blue eyes to realize this wasn’t just a show for their audience of fifteen thousand. Lexa returned the smile that was looking back at her and brought Clarke in for a second kiss. It was soft, it was gentle, it was something she didn’t realize she had been wanting.

They were met with the sounds of the full arena cheering and clapping until the camera finally made its way elsewhere.

Lexa grabbed Clarke’s hand and gave it a soft squeeze, before turning to the boy next to the blonde who was in total shock, “Who’s the third wheel now, Collins?”

#clexa prompt #clexa #clexa au #clexa drabble #clexa ficlet #clexa kiss cam #send me the prompts #send me the asks #send me the headcanons #ask #asks #anon #clexa fic request

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shi-daisy · 4 years

Text

The Phoenix and the Dragon

Yet again we've arrived at Ulquihime week! Gotta confess I'm not much of a Christmas person but I do look forward to December for my OTP week. Everyone puts so much love and effort into their entries that it's hard not to be excited. Okay so today's theme is Crossover and I wanted to pick something that wasn't likely to be repeated by someone else, so leave it to my nostalgic mind to go 'What about a Winx Club crossover?' Thus here we are! This little one-shot is based on one of my fave childhood shows and one of the first villain ships I ever had. (Yes, my 10-year-old self hardcore shipped Darkar & Bloom) 😅 Hope you like it! (Spoilers for some aspects of season 2 of Winx Club. I'm taking from the 4kids version of the show and Nickelodeon special btw. And some mild spoilers for the second movie.)

Also for those who do know the winx cast and want to know who is who in the crossover here it is.

Orihime- Bloom

Ulquiorra- Darkar/Avalon

Tatsuki- Stella

Shizuka- Layla

Ichigo- Prince Sky

Isshin- Errendor

Sora- Daphne

Unohana- Faragonda

Okay now that's all set, here's the fic!

@ulquihimeweek

Ulquihime Week- Day 1 Crossover

The Phoenix and the Dragon

Orihime awoke in a dimly lit room. She didn't remember much, just going into Professor Schiffer's office and then...'And then he changed and turned into the Phoenix.'

"I can sense you. Just come out of the shadows already." She muttered.

Ulquiorra obliged, no longer looking like a human but in his true form as the Shadow Phoenix.

To her he didn't look much different, his skin was paler but his other features remained the same. He had large dark wings and a tail, along with tear markings.

"I should've known it was you. We get warmed about a Shadow Phoenix and next thing we know a new professor shows up at our school."

He chuckled. "Yes well, that didn't occur to you as we bonded, Ms. Inoue."

She lowered her head in shame. Since Ulquiorra arrived at Alfea he had become her favorite teacher, and even offered to teach her about her home kingdom, Sparx, which had been destroyed when she was just a baby.

"Is that why you brought me here? To taunt me?!"

"No, darling. I have other plans for you. Or should I say us?"

"I'll never collaborate with you!"

"You say that now, but you might change your mind after I explain my plans to you."

She frowned, but at the moment there was nothing she could do. Orihime sighed. "Fine. I suppose I can listen to you for a while."

"I appreciate it. First I must ask you something. What do you know about me, Orihime Inoue? Who do you think I am?"

"Headmistress Retsu told us you were once human. That you came to the underealm to try and find the shadow fire, but that it's power consumed you and that now you're seeking to take over the magic universe.

I also know that you came to our school and posed as a professor until now..."

"The headmistress is a wise woman, studious too since she appears to know my origins well, the one commonly excepted that is."

"What do you mean?"

"Indeed, I was once human, that I came here to study the Shadow Fire, but it's power didn't overtake me. For you see, I willingly submitted to it. I'm the one in control, always have been. And while I do wish to take over the magic dimension it is not for my own gain."

"Why else would you want to take over?"

"I want this dimension to change. I want to tear down the structures that bind its kingdoms. I've wanted that since I was a human.

You see, darling, the structures of this dimension are so very ancient and so very obsolete. The squabbles between kingdoms have led to so much war, to destruction, to sadness... Just look at what happened to Sparx."

"My kingdom was destroyed by the ancient witches. Not by war."

"You're right, but your kingdom had a close ally. An ally that should've saved you from the witches, yet instead bargained to have them take your kingdom and spare them. The king of Eraklyon made said bargain."

Orihime grew dizzy. 'No, no it can't be! Ichigo's father wouldn't do that! This is a lie!"

"You think I'm lying, don't you?"

"Of course you're lying! King Isshin wouldn't do that, neither would Ichigo!"

"Analyze the situation, darling. Eraklyon was your closest ally, and yet they didn't suffer any damage as Sparx was destroyed. Your parents vanished, your brother died saving you, your planet is now an icy wasteland. Yet Eraklyon stands as the richest land in Magix. As for your little prince, he was merely a child when this took place, but I don't doubt he'd keep it a secret from you, he has done so before."

Orihime felt as if her skin was catching fire. She hated to be reminded of that lie, to think back when Ichigo had hidden his royal lineage and engagement to a princess. She'd forgiven him, of course, and they were a couple once again, but deep inside she still distrusted him. And a part of her did think Ulquorra's words were true.

'Maybe that's why his father disapproved of us. Not because I'm a princess of a destroyed kingdom, but because my kingdom's destruction was partly his fault...'

"You see, darling. That's only one example of plenty I can give you. All of these realms need someone truly wise to rule them."

"Even if I believed you, that doesn't mean I'll join you. I don't want to kill anyone."

"Who said anything about killing? There are plenty of ways to dethrone a ruler. That's what I crave to do darling. Imagine it, a dimension without destroyed kingdoms, without arranged marriages, without squabbles for the throne. We'd be the only rulers, the royals would be our regents, they'd have to abide by what we demand."

Ulquiorra's eyes glowed green as he spoke. She had seen him like that before in his humanoid form. His eyes always sparkled as he thought her class about History and asked them to be part of the change.

"Ulquiorra, I think it's wonderful that you're trying to make the universe better, but I fail to see why would want me to join you. I'm no leader."

Orihime felt Ulquiorra's cold hand gently lift her chin. "Orihime, you're the only person I've ever met worthy of wearing such a crown.

The reason I posed as a teacher at Alfea wasn't to further my plans, or to steal the codex but to observe you. In just a few months you made such great progress that I couldn't help but be convinced you were worthy of sharing my crown, of carrying the dragon flame, of ruling over Magix.

You came from Earth yet quickly adapted to this dimension, to its power and its costumes. You're kind, fierce, strong, I couldn't ask for a better queen."

He noticed Orihime's pale skin turn bright red, and her sliver eyes grow misty. "No one's ever really praised me like that. Thank you."

He smirked. "I'll be sure to do so more often in the future then."

With a snap of Ulquiorra's fingers, her bounds disappeared. Orihime stood up, directly facing Ulquiorra.

He took her hands in his and directly stared into her eyes, silver meeting emerald. "Orihime Inoue, will you join me in my quest to bring peace and order to the magic dimension?"

It wasn't easy, she didn't want to leave her friends, her school, or even Ichigo. Even after what she learned it felt wrong to vanish without a word.

'But it must be done. Tatsuki-chan will be free to choose who she marries, Nemu-san won't be forced to follow the path her father wants for her, Shizuka-chan won't have to take the throne of the harmonic nebula...even Ichigo would now be free to make his own choices. This would be for the best.'

With a beautiful smile and newfound determination, Orihime finally responded. "Yes, I will."

"Then it is done, our power is now bound."

She could feel a surge of dark magic taking over, but it wasn't unpleasant. Her characteristic blue fae dress was now black and her fairy wings had turned grey. Orihime also noticed Ulquiorra's form slightly changed, his dark wings now had accents of green and he resembled his humanoid form a little more.

"It's the bond." He told her after noticing her confusion. "Light cannot exist without dark and vice versa. As such my darkness had to take some of your light and your light had to take some of my darkness."

Shadow Fire & Dragon Fire were united at last. Orihime was certain that now she and Ulquiorra would be unstoppable. 'We'll fix everything soon.'

"What shall we do now?"

"Since I've acquired all the pieces of the codex, I was thinking we could go to the Relix dimension. Your parents might've vanished there after the destruction of Sparx."

"My parents...I never thought it'd be possible to reach them."

"It is, my darling. We'll bring them back and then return Sparx to its former glory. After that, we can finally reshape the magic dimension into what it should've been from the beginning."

For the first in a long while, Orihime felt like she was doing things right. It would take her friends some time to forgive her, but she knew in time she would join them again. 'I'm doing this for all of us. For me, and for him.'

She gently kissed Ulquiorra's cheek, he blushed at the gesture. "I was not expecting that."

"I'm still a little miffed at you for pretending to be a professor but if we're to be in harmony as rulers this is a good place to start."

"Then I guess I should do my part too."

Ulquiorra wrapped his arm around her waist and gave her a passionate kiss. Orihime quickly blushed and playfully shoved him as he let go of her.

"Show off."

"Guilty as charged."

"Y'know, I remember seeing paintings back on earth with dragons and phoenixes together as a couple. Do you think that was a prediction?"

"It could be, after all, the most enduring romances are likely to echo through many universes."

#uhweek2020 #ulquihime #orihime x ulquiorra #Ulquiorra Schiffer #Orihime Inoue #Day 1: Crossover #Winx Crossover AU

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briefololtragedy · 4 years

Text

More ways than one

Pairing: Indra x Sakura

Rating M

Words: 1157

Summary: It was supposed to be an easy target. Indra didn’t anticipate being one upped by a pink haired woman.

Inspired by Alt-J’s In cold blood

Warning: Assassin, cussing, slightly dark themes

The beat of the music could be felt through the whole club. It was a techno song that made his head throb. The lights flashed different colors. Some of the women were wearing dresses that glowed in the dark. Neon yellow, pink, and green assaulted the eyes. His black eyes took in his surroundings. There was a pool with a bar just outside of the club's doors. Many of the club goers didn’t seem to care as they jumped in. He was just looking for one man. Once he found him he could complete his job and leave this god forsaken place.

He leaned back against the bar, his whiskey in hand. He looked at his gold rolex watch, 11pm. His target should be here. As he continued to wait he could feel the eyes on him. He knew he drew attention with his long brown hair and black eyes. He was not an overly arrogant man, but knew women found his face and body attractive. His body had to be agile, fast, and strong. The armani suit also helped with his appeal. It was one of his favorites: silver grey in color with a jet black dress shirt. In a sea of brown and black hair, he didn't think that finding a red head would be this hard.

Now onto his third drink he spotted him. Sasori was on the dance floor. He had simple black dress slacks and a white button down shirt. The shirt looked like it was unbuttoned halfway down. Indra had to roll his eyes. He was going to make this quick.

However, his best laid plans hit a snag when he saw his target grinding into another club goer. Hmm this was going to make it a little more tricky. He needed to get his target alone. Indra downed his drink and went to the dance floor. As he stalked up to his prey he took into the companion his target was dancing with. She was a petite little thing. Her dress was a midnight blue with cutouts on the sides, showing her porcelain skin. It was not as revealing as the dresses around her, but hugged her body like a second skin. Her hair was a striking pink, that graced her collar bones.

Indra found himself memorized by the way the woman danced. Her body was fluid, attuned to the music. He watched as Sasori moved his hands up and down the figure of the woman against him. Indra couldn’t see her face, but watched as she bent her head back. He took in her long graceful neck. She then spun and whispered something in Sasori’s ear.

Fuck. was the only thing he could think as he saw the two go off together. His mind started to work through different scenarios. A wicked grin crossed his face, especially as he saw them go into a secluded hallway. He watched as the drunk girl stumbled next to his target. The girl grabbed his collar and was then shoving him into a room. He was shocked when a few minutes later the girl walked out of the room. His target not following. Unlike moments before her balance was impeccable. She walked by him and when she looked up he froze. Forest green eyes looked at him. Then a wicked smile danced across her delicate features. Orange and antiseptic filled his nostrils.

A feeling of dread overcame him. As he opened the door he realized he would not be getting his payment. The woman with forest green eyes beat him in killing Sasori. Indra looked at the lifeless light brown eyes. In a fit of rage he punched the wall.

___________

The office staff parted like the red sea as Indra stormed down the halls. This was the last place he wanted to be. He was going to sit through a board meeting with his idiotic brother. He debated putting some rum in his coffee this morning, then quickly decided against it.

“Are you ready for the meeting this morning? Tsunade Senju from Konoha Hospital will be joining, since this merger will affect her hospital.” He just glared at Asura. Indra would never understand why their father gave the reigns of their company to his baby brother. It was that decision that led him to channel his anger in his side job. He could never bring himself to kill his brother, but others were a different story. His failed job last night caused a sour taste in his mouth. That fucking pink haired woman.

Indra was known for being cold and indifferent so didn’t have to put on a fake smile for the meeting. They would be meeting with the Senjus and Uchihas this morning, both distant relations to the Otsutsuki. He took his typical seat at the long mahogany table. The smell of leather comforted him. Soon one by one other board members filtered in and the other company's representatives. His heart started to pound when he saw who was walking by Tsunade.

Coral hair and forest green eyes come into his view. He thought the lights from the club made her hair appear pink, but it looked natural. She was wearing a light grey pencil skirt and a light green blouse. That wicked smirk caused his heart to skip a beat.

He vaguely heard his brother talk to the Uchihas and Senjus. Indra rolled his eyes at Fugaku’s youngest son, the kid was a prick.

“Let me introduce you to my protege. This is Dr. Sakura Haruno. She just became our newest general surgeon on staff.” Sakura just extended her hand out for him to shake.

“Nice to meet you Mr. Ostutsuki. I’ve heard so much about you.” Her hand nearly crushed his with her strength.

Indra had a hard time focusing in the board meeting. Sakura was sitting across from him on Tsunade’s right side. Indra had to excuse himself at one point in the meeting.

The cold water splashed on his face. It stung, but helped to center him. He felt pressure around his waist and on instinct his elbow shot out. It was stopped before making contact with the person’s face.

“That’s not very nice.” Her voice whispered in his ear. She hadn’t let go of his elbow yet.

“What are you doing in here?” She nuzzled into his neck.

“I think we have a lot in common. What are your plans for the night?” Indra debated what she said. He was mesmerized by her last night and now the fire in him grew.

“I don’t have any plans, but think we can have some fun together.” After he spoke he acted. He liked how she sounded when he spun her around. She was light and easy to pin against the tile wall of the bathroom. As he kissed her and felt her move against him, he knew they would have fun together. In more ways than one.

#indra x sakura #multisaku #Sakura Haruno #indra otsutsuki #fanfic

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cakesunflower · 5 years

Text

Room 304 [C.H. One Shot]

Summary: Hooking up with her half-brother’s ex-best friend probably wasn't the best idea. But no matter what Maeve told herself, it wasn’t entirely a bad idea, either.

Important Note: There’s, like, a 98% chance that this entire fic is not going to show up if you read it on a desktop. This fic is 29,440 words, written in 3 days, and it’s my baby. I can’t believe I finished writing all of this, but I’m hoping you guys enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. But, yeah, the entirety of the fic probably won't show up on desktop because it’s so fucking long, so if you want to read all of it ((which I assume you would)) please read it on your mobile Tumblr app. And please, please, please let me know what you think of this fic. I planned every bit of this fic down to the detail, and I would love to know what you think. Also, the cute little lyric edit in the middle of the mood board was made by the lovely @easiertostayy

Without further ado..... Happy reading!

Day 1

Returning from the bathroom and settling on her seat, Maeve wasn’t surprised to see Lina taking a picture of her freshly arrived food before posting it to her social media, placing the napkin on her lap and eyeing her own grilled chicken sandwich. The Bryant Park Grill was one of Maeve’s favorite spots; the flowers they were surrounded by on the rooftop restaurant along with the string lights, tabled umbrellas and view of the park made for a great place to have lunch or dinner after a day in the city. So when Lily had told Maeve she’d booked a table, the blonde caught the next bus into the city and met up with her best friend, where the two of them sat with the sun setting behind the buildings that began to glitter with lights brightening their surroundings. Peaceful and much needed.

But before Maeve could even reach for her sandwich, her eyes caught sight of two familiar faces talking with the hostess, and Maeve realized in that moment that it had been damn near a year since she’d last seen Calum Hood. She couldn’t seem to pull her gaze away, taking in the way the black bomber jacket hugged his broad shoulders and dark curls subtly danced in the light breeze that blew by every few seconds. It was an instinctive reaction, to admire how good he looked, smiling at the hostess as she grabbed two menus and led him—and Michael, who Maeve realized was accompanying him—to an available table.

A table that was right by her and Lina, with an empty one right in between. Maeve didn’t miss the second Calum’s eyes landed on her, stopping right next to the hostess by the table as his dark eyes met her bluish-green, lips parting in too late realization of just who he was about to sit near.

Before either of them could say anything, could even acknowledge one another, it was Michael who broke the silence when he confusedly followed Calum’s gaping gaze, a startled laugh escaping the tattooed blonde. “Oh, shit, Maeve!” he exclaimed familiarly, voice loud and happy at the sight of her as he pulled his chair towards his table. “How’re you doing?” His green eyes shifted to the red head across from Maeve, nodding his head as he added just as sincerely, “Hey, Lina.”

While her best friend waved as she smiled around the straw she was sipping her Moscow mule from, Maeve managed to find her voice, returning Michael’s smile as she said, “I’m good, yeah.” Calum slowly sat down opposite of Michael, just to Maeve’s right, as she looked at him once more before adding almost gingerly, “Hey, Calum. Been a while.”

She wanted to instantly cringe as she said that last bit—of course it’s been a while. The last time she’d seen him, things had gone to hell a bit too fast, beyond anyone’s control, and she doubted anyone needed a reminder. But the memory was still there; Maeve could feel it in the awkwardness that pursed her lips, could sense it in the way Calum’s hands were fisted on his knees under the table. Briefly, she wondered if this was genuinely difficult for him—to be around the half-sister of the man who used to be one of his closest friends. A man who, the last time Calum saw him, had given him a busted lip and left with a broken friendship he had no intention of fixing.

The brunette man nodded with his gaze on the table in front of him before he finally forced himself to look at Maeve. God, it was awkward. They all knew it, could feel it. While Michael occasionally still hung out with Ashton, neither Maeve nor her half-brother had seen or heard from Calum for almost a year. It was like as soon as Ashton and Calum’s friendship had fallen apart, Maeve stuck by her brother and cut Calum out of her life, even if his role hadn’t been as significant as it was in Ashton’s. It could be blind loyalty, because to this day Maeve didn’t truly understand what exactly had happened between the two men, and it was no use asking Ashton because he was as stubborn as they come. He didn’t talk about it, and that was that.

“It has,” Calum agreed, voice carrying the familiar rasp and hint of lisp she hadn’t heard in a while. “How’s uh—how’re your parents?”

She wondered if he was about to ask about Ashton before stopping himself, wondered if he missed his once close friend and wished she knew if her brother felt the same way. Lightly clearing her throat, Maeve nodded as she answered, “Yeah, they’re good. All good. Yours?”

Calum rolled his lips into his mouth before offering a quick smile, like it almost pained him to do. “Everyone’s great,” he responded, grabbing the menu the hostess had left for them and turning his attention to it.

The conversation dissolved after that and Maeve tried not to focus on the air around them being tense or awkward as she ate her food, throwing a wide eyed, helpless look towards Lina. Her friend got the message, and Maeve gave Lina a relieved smile as her best friend started up a conversation with her, leaving the boys to decide on their meals. But still, Maeve couldn’t help the way her eyes would not so innocently glance over to Calum whenever she reached for her drink and sipped at it, looking at the tattooed man from the corner of her eye.

The topic of the Big Fight—capital B, capital F—was basically a taboo around Ashton. He never talked about it, and no one ever brought up Calum around him either, despite the two of them having many mutual friends. As she took in the sharp line of his jaw and silver rings on his fingers, Maeve wondered if it was the same for Calum, if he turned into a stubborn, hostile fool if her brother was brought up. Maeve listened to Lina talk, absently twisting her lips to the side. Boys were so ridiculous.

Despite the initial awkwardness, the rest of lunch wasn’t too bad. Michael often pulled the girls in for a conversation or two before they went back to their own discussions, and each time Calum and Maeve remained silent if the other spoke. Maeve couldn’t help but think Calum didn’t speak directly to her because of everything that happened, and so she stayed quiet in return. As if they had come to a silent agreement that speaking to one another wasn’t allowed—an agreement neither of them quite remembered signing off on.

By the time Maeve and Lina finished their food and paid the bill, the boys were halfway through theirs. Getting up, Maeve shouldered her purse and followed Lina around the table, and stopped at the guys’ table to say, “See you guys; it was good to see you.”

She purposefully locked her gaze with Calum’s as she said the last bit, hoping that he would see that she genuinely did mean it as a breeze had the ends of her short blonde hair tickling her collarbones. Maeve wasn’t entirely sure if her skin prickled from that or from Calum’s eyes intensely holding a gaze she initiated. He remained seated, relaxed in the chair and right arm rested on the table as he gripped his bottle of beer, expression so unreadable that it almost had Maeve bristling on the spot.

She was about to regret even saying anything until Calum finally offered a nod, subtly tipping the mouth of his bottle towards her as he stated, “You too, Maeve.”

Though it was just a three word response, it was one that left Maeve satisfied as she shot the boys one last smile before following Lina out. And when Maeve got home, after a bus ride and car drive to her neighborhood that was unwittingly spent thinking of a tattooed brunette she hadn’t seen in a year, she caught sight of her half-brother who happened to be over rather than at his own place, and the words spilled out of her mouth.

As she shut the door of the fridge after greeting Ashton, pulling out a bottle of water as he helped himself to the bag of veggie sticks in the cabinet, Maeve stated, “Guess who I ran into today.”

“Taylor Swift?” Ashton joked, grinning dimply at his own unfunny reply as he dug a hand into the bag he was holding, giving a shake of his head to move away the dark blonde strand of hair falling over his eye.

Maeve didn’t even grace him with a roll of her eyes as she swallowed the cold sip of water, coincidentally swallowing down the hesitance as she leaned back against the stainless steel fridge and responded, “Calum.”

The expected reaction was almost immediate in how Ashton’s expression instantly fell, features darkening at the mention of his old friend. Maeve watched him, head tilting ever so slightly, almost challengingly, as she noted the way Ashton thinned his lips. She even heard the crunch of the plastic bag he was holding, grip tightening at the sound of the name he hadn’t uttered in a year. All signs of joking vanished from Ashton’s features, bright eyes a darker shade of hazel and expression stoically grave.

It was palpable how heavy the tension in the room settled, all by a mention of Calum, reminding Maeve of the unforgettable fact that her brother was still pissed off at history. Still, Maeve bit the inside of her cheek before adding, “He was having lunch with Mic—”

“Didn’t fucking ask,” Ashton cut her off, harsh and unkind and final as he fisted the top of the bag of chips and walked out of the kitchen with powerful strides, the muscle in his jaw jumping and the veins in his arms threatening. Maeve watched him go, eyebrows raised, before hearing the sound of the television in the living room clicking on and Ashton raising the volume as a way of drowning out whatever she may have to say.

She gave a shake of her head at his absence and pettiness, scoffing softly as she looked the other way towards the window above the sink looking out into the backyard. Sure, she’d expected him to react as such at the mention of Calum, but it never failed to strike her as absurd. Was whatever happened between them really so bad that talking about it would only flare up Ashton’s already thinning temper on the matter, or was it truly so ludicrous and trivial that Ashton didn’t talk about it because he knew it would only paint him as someone holding onto a grudge that’d be better of letting go of? At this point, Maeve believed it could honestly go both ways.

Day 22

The door of the store thudded closed followed by the sound of footsteps, informing Maeve that someone had arrived rather than left, and she focused on finishing folding a men’s polo shirt while welcoming with the customary, “Hi, how are you?”

She looked up by the end of her greeting, polite smile turning into a surprised parting of lips as she looked at Calum. They both underwent a simultaneous moment of recognition, Calum recovering before her as the corners of his lips quirked into a small smile as he returned, “Hey, Maeve.” His dark eyes glanced around the store before landing on her once more. “I didn’t know you worked here.”

The blonde placed the folded shirt onto the appropriate stack, the table of polos separating her and Calum as he took the few steps towards her. The store wasn’t too busy, the music playing through the company playlist louder than the chatter of coworkers and few customers around, so Maeve busied herself by recovering the men’s section. The last person she expected to see was Calum walk in.

“Someone’s gotta pay for my makeup habit,” she responded lightly, a small joke to ease whatever tension that may remain between them since that evening of running into each other in New York. It had been almost three weeks since they first saw one another after everything, and Maeve hadn’t been entirely sure if she’d see Calum again, writing off that day as a fluke. Wasn’t really sure if his presence even called for the hours she had spent thinking about him, which was an unnerving fact on its own. Rubbing her hands down her jeans, she asked, “Can I help you with anything?”

He blinked, almost as if he was just then realizing that she’d offered to be the one to assist him if he needed it. Maeve considered if he would prefer it if someone else helped him should he require it, and couldn’t help herself from adding pointedly, “Unless you’d rather me get one of my coworkers?”

Calum’s dark eyes looked into her bluish-green, the color of her eyes never one he could ever figure out, before his eyebrows drew together ever so slightly. Like he was genuinely confused at her question. He responded to her inquiry with one of his own, “Why would I want that?”

Maeve almost wanted to laugh. She hoped he wasn’t being serious. She saw the question swimming in his eyes and her smile faltered slightly, suddenly filled with the same exasperation she felt towards Ashton when Calum and the Big Fight were involved. So Maeve shrugged, eyebrows raised challengingly, arms folded on top of the blue and yellow stacks of polos as she coolly responded, “You tell me.”

He was silent for a few moments, tongue pressing to the inside of his cheek as he accepted the fact that her statements were justified. Calum nodded to himself, dark curls dancing across his forehead, before he told her, “Dad’s birthday is coming up and apparently anythin’ I brought isn’t dressy enough.”

Maeve’s gaze dropped from Calum’s face, taking in the clothes he was wearing, aware that it was probably a sin for a shirt to fit someone that well and feeling the sudden urge to touch the silver chain necklace he wore along with the matching bracelet on his wrist. She appreciated the tattoos on his arm that were in view, and from some of the looks Calum was receiving upon his arrival, Maeve knew she wasn’t the only one who did. She bit back the urge to swallow, meeting his gaze once more and keeping the even tone as she mused, “Yeah, athletic shorts and Zeppelin tees don’t exactly scream formal wear.”

Calum’s chin dropped to his chest and Maeve didn’t miss the smile that quirked his lips as he let out a short chuckle, hands splaying by his sides before he slapped his thighs and said to her, “Kind of why I’m here.”

It was a cute sound, his breathy chuckle, and Maeve’s own mouth tilted at the sound of it before gesturing to her right. “Button downs are to the right, and if you want dress pants they’re towards the back.”

He was capable of picking out his own clothes, Maeve knew, not wanting to hold his hand through the process, and was only proven correct when she was running the fitting room. She was folding the go-backs when he walked in with two pairs of pants and a few button downs of different colors draped over his arm, and Maeve shot him that close mouthed smile she often shot customers while unlocking one of the fitting room doors for him, cringing when he walked in and shut the door. Her customer service smile was for customers, not Calum.

Maeve could vaguely hear Calum shuffling around in his stall over the music as she kept folding the small hill of clothes that were on the fitting room table left by customers. She thought of Calum, and of how she hadn’t seen him for a year and suddenly had seen him twice in the span of three weeks, wondering if there were any more run-ins with him she’d have to face. He was more of a presence in her life than he was in Ashton’s, even if it had been two interactions weeks apart, and that fact kind of saddened Maeve.

Ashton and Calum were so close, best friends, and to see Ashton grow so hostile over the mention of Calum and Calum to feel whatever level of awkwardness he may at the sight of her was just a reminder of how much things had changed. Obviously Maeve didn’t share Ashton’s dislike for Calum—she didn’t have enough information to given that the reason for the Big Fight was still unclear—but she wasn’t entirely sure where she stood with Calum. Granted, they weren’t as close as Ashton and Calum, but the latter had still been her friend, and Maeve had only abandoned him because of her loyalty to her half-brother.

And she’d never tell Ashton, but Maeve had kind of missed having Calum around. He’d always been the quietest of her brother’s friends, but the silence that followed once he was gone wasn’t the kind she was used to.

She heard the door open, and in the midst of folding a pair of jeans, Maeve glanced over to see Calum step out of the stall, one hand reached behind him to make sure the door didn’t close all the way through. His eyes instantly found Maeve, but she was too busy taking in the way the baby blue button down hugged his figure, the short sleeves wrapping around his biceps a bit too well. Calum smoothed it down with his hands, the shirt tucked into fitted black pants before running a hand through his hair, pushing the curls back and away from his face.

Maeve could feel her mouth dry at the sight of him, giving herself a moment to admire the man in front of her because the shock of seeing him the first time at the restaurant hadn’t given her the opportunity to do so. She could see the chain necklace peeking out just a bit from under the collar and Maeve wasn’t exactly sure when he started wearing that specific piece of jewelry but, shit, she was glad it was there.

“What do you think?” Calum asked, raising an eyebrow at her as he held his hands out as a way of presenting himself. “This good enough?”

Good enough didn’t do him justice. His curls were messy and the tattoos under the somewhat formal wear provided Calum with a boyishly handsome aura that Maeve actually felt herself tightening her grip on the jeans she was holding. She was deaf to the music playing throughout the store, all too aware of the quickened pace of her heart, wondering when exactly Calum Hood was able to have such a pulling effect on her.

“Uh, yeah, it is,” she quickly responded, not wanting to stand around just openly staring at him. The last thing she needed was to give Calum an open invitation to her betraying thoughts. Not when he was already watching her expectantly.

Calum looked down at himself, taking in the shade of the shirt before saying, “I like it, but ‘m gonna try another one too.”

He turned to head back into the fitting room, and right before the door shut, Maeve quickly recalled the various colors he’d taken inside and found herself blurting out, “Try the yellow.”

Calum paused at her unexpected suggestion, glancing at her over his shoulder, and Maeve forced herself to not visibly cringing at her spontaneous burst as Calum glanced away before meeting her gaze once more and nodding. She even saw the ghost of a smile tilt at his lips before he disappeared inside, and as soon as the door shut Maeve raised the folded jeans she held and pressed her forehead against the denim, squeezing her eyes shut so tightly that she could feel it in her temples and wondering what her damn issue was.

It wasn’t even a big deal but, God, her conscious wouldn’t stop telling her she probably just embarrassed herself. Over the color of a damn shirt.

But then the door opened a few moments later and Calum stepped out, and Maeve felt the air rushing out of her lungs at the sight of him in a sunny colored button down, not at all harsh on the eyes, looking absolutely golden against his inked brown skin. This time, when Calum’s expectant eyes met hers, Maeve could see the hint of mirth dancing in the dark brown irises, could hear the smirk in his voice as he quirked a knowing eyebrow and asked, “Better?”

She hugged the jeans to her chest, catching the smirk that actually did make an appearance on his full lips because he definitely caught the way she swallowed the lump in her throat before, almost enchantedly, breathing out, “Better.”

When Calum proceeded to leave the fitting room after changing back into his own clothes, offering to hang the shirts he didn’t want from where he’d picked them up so she didn’t have to, he surprised Maeve by stopping in the entrance of the fitting rooms. She raised an eyebrow at him as she folded a graphic tee, looking at him with a combination of expectation and confusion, especially when she noticed the furrow in his eyebrows like he was conflicted about something, the previous relaxed expression he wore nowhere in sight as his features tightened. Something had changed.

And when she noted the muscle in his jaw ticking, Maeve knew it couldn’t be good.

What he said only proved her correct. “You know, I understood when Ashton cut me out of his life. But, I gotta say Maeve—” Calum sucked his teeth, finally looking at her, and she felt herself tense up at the disappointment and hurt that was in his eyes, neither of which she had been expecting. “—I didn’t think ya had it in ya to drop someone like that so quickly.”

Maeve stopped what she was doing, Calum’s words freezing her in place as she gaped up at him with widened eyes and parted lips. One corner of his lips was curled in resignation, disillusionment, and Maeve found herself hating that she was on the receiving end of that look. The back of her neck started heating up, spreading to her cheeks at the unexpected confrontation, and Maeve began stammering as she tried to reason, “I—Ash’s my brother, Calum. I couldn’t—”

“Stay friends with the guy your big brother punched out? Yeah, clearly.” He scoffed, derisive and unimpressed, only serving to heat up her face more. Cutting off Calum when Ashton did had always been something Maeve had been iffy about, had told herself she didn’t need to stop being friends with someone just because Ashton had. But then again, Calum was Ashton’s friend before he ever was Maeve’s—he had been one of Ashton’s best friends. So what right did Maeve really have keeping Calum around?

She just never expected him to be upset about it.

With a shake of his head, Calum licked his lips and looked ahead, throat working as he continued in a voice that was gruffer than his usual rasp. “You have your loyalties, I get it. But things went to shit between me and Ashton—not me and you. The least you could’ve done was give me a heads up that I was losing two friends instead of one.”

He walked away and Maeve was stunned into silence to do anything but watch him go, wondering if the heaviness in her chest was an inkling of what Calum must’ve felt a year ago.

Day 25

The music playing through Ainsworth was almost deafening, making it damn near impossible for Maeve to hear what her friend Audra was screaming into her ear. But Maeve was enjoying herself, nursing a margarita after two rounds of tequila shots, sticking to her drink for the most part. It was a Thursday night and after her shift she’d quickly gone home to change before meeting up with her friends in Hoboken, keeping company in the restaurant/bar by the water as she enjoyed her drink after splitting a mac and cheese burger with Lina.

Maeve was having a good time, she really was; the music was good and the food had her full and the two rounds of tequila shots had been free for her and her girl friends. And yet, she was alarmingly aware of the eyes that would ever so often find hers, dark yet glittering under the dim bar lights, and as much as she tried not to look his way, Maeve couldn’t stop herself from every so often locking gazes with Calum.

He was sat at the other end of the bar and as the bass of the music resonated through her chest, Maeve wondered what he was doing at a restaurant in Hoboken when he apparently lived in the city. The sight of Michael and a few of their old high school buddies answered her question, and Maeve did her best to focus on spending her time with her own friends rather than looking towards the man who had all but told her off just a few days ago.

It wasn’t until she was done with her margarita that she looked over, eyes locking with Calum’s, did she still on her seat on the barstool. Through the moving crowd between them, Maeve could see Calum watching her, couldn’t tell what he was thinking because of the stoic mask he wore on features too gorgeous not to admire as she looked right back.

But then Calum looked away, and Maeve’s heart sank with the beat drop of the song when she couldn’t figure out if Calum hadn’t found what he was looking for, or if he was just disappointed by what he did see. Her grip on the edge of the bar tightened, silently asking herself why she cared, why the weight of his gaze burned her skin in a fire she didn’t want to put out, and Maeve let out a breath.

She wasn’t anywhere near tipsy as she stood up, heels of her feet clacking against the wooden floor as she excused herself from her friends and began making her way to the bathroom with her purse in her hand. The breath of relief escaped her as soon as she stepped inside, the music from the bar muffled as the door shut, and Maeve approached the sink as she ran her fingers through short, wavy blonde strands. Looking at her reflection, at the flush of her cheeks and the pink lips she’d been nibbling on as soon as she caught sight of Calum, Maeve knew exactly what was going on.

Accepting it was just proving to be difficult.

There was a longing that coiled in the pit of her stomach, one that had begun to form the other day in the fitting room of the store and had only intensified the second Calum stepped foot into Ainsworth. Pressing her palms on the cold marble of the sink, Maeve dramatically wondered if this was God or the universe playing some kind of prank on her; as if her, without provocation or warning, being attracted to the one man her brother seemed to hate was the funniest joke anyone could come up with.

A huff escaped her pink lips as she glared at herself in the mirror; the only one to blame was herself, really. And maybe Calum for popping up in her life more in that past few days than he had in the past year.

Mostly the blame went to herself, though, and her eagerly relentless body’s equally relentless yearning of a touch only Calum could somehow satiate.

“Great,” Maeve muttered to herself, her little bathroom trip resolving nothing and only serving to add onto the tension in her muscles. She pulled open the door and began making her way back to where her friends were, the music once again loud and clear, and as Maeve looked ahead she found herself slowing to a stop, heart dropping at the sight of her brother and Calum standing a bit too close for comfort. Standing closer than they probably had in the past year.

Maeve caught sight of Lina, who even though she was tipsy, was fully aware of the situation and knew how badly it could go. Everyone seemed to sense the suffocating tension in the room, from their friends to the bartenders to any other customer around that wasn’t part of their group. Maeve noticed Michael and Luke hovering by Calum and Ashton respectively, standing tall and ready to interfere should things got out of hand—Maeve wished they’d step in right away before things even had the chance of escalating.

Hesitantly, she took a few steps closer, the click of her heels drowned by the music that was still playing, bluish-green eyes widened in alarm as she heard the deep baritone of Calum’s lowered voice say to Ashton, “If you’ve got somethin’ to say, say it to my face. Didn’t seem to have a problem doin’ it last time.”

His tone was chillingly cool, standing toe to toe with her half-brother, and Maeve’s dry throat tightened when she saw Ashton’s hazel eyes twitch into narrowing, never once taking his gaze off of the man who was once his closest confidante. While Maeve wasn’t one to get scared easily, her chest still tightened at the sight in front of her; the angered expression on her brother’s face wasn’t one she was fond of—especially not in this intensity—nor did she enjoy the rigidness of Calum’s back as he clenched his hands on either side of them.

God, what had happened to the two of them? If she didn’t believe it before, then Maeve definitely did now that the reasons for the Big Fight were probably some that were strong enough to damage a friendship like it did this one. She could just never see Ashton and Calum fighting over something enough to get them to where they were now, and she found herself hating that this was where they now stood: angered and dark and ready to throw a punch in the face of a man that each once considered a brother.

Ashton’s mouth shifted, as if he was trying to keep his lips pressed together to keep back the snarl from escaping, and Maeve’s heart beat a bit too quickly to keep in time with the music playing as everyone watched on with bated breath. Like it was some damn TV show happening right in front of them. Ashton then lifted his chin, eyes never leaving Calum’s, as he finally gave a single shake of his head and a dismissive scoff. “Not worth my time.”

He was turning away, something Maeve hadn’t expected him to do, but her relief was short lived when Calum released an unsurprised and mocking gibe, “Hate to break it to you, but your time isn’t something to be fuckin’ worthy of. Just ‘cause you’ve got your own head stuck up your ass, doesn’t mean everyone else does, too.”

The air rushed out of Maeve’s lungs, only being given a second to exasperatedly wonder why Calum would push Ashton like that—especially with a couple of those words being similar to those uttered on the night of the Big Fight—before her brother’s body jerked forward—not to hit Calum, she could tell, but to get in his face. Still, it wasn’t something anyone was keen on happening, so Luke and one of their other friends stepped in to hold Ashton back, the sudden movement of his body bringing forth a clamor among everyone, exclamations released in hopes of stopping a fight before it got started.

Maeve had gasped, taking a step back, but instead of watching her brother being calmed down by his friends, Maeve’s eyes slid over to Calum, who still stood where he had been. He gave a shake of his head, as if he was over the whole thing already, absently telling Michael and his other friends that he was fine, it was all good, nothing to worry about.

Fuck, Maeve hadn’t even noticed Luke walking Ashton out of the bar, her gaze glued to Calum as he ran a hand down his face, rings glittering as his eyes met hers. Calum pursed his lips as Maeve’s buzzing phone in her hand went ignored, too busy watching Calum take in her alarmed reaction before he broke their gaze and looked away. As if he couldn’t stand to watch her look at him the way she was—dismayed and startled all in one.

Lina rushed over to her just as Maeve looked at the text she’d received from Ashton.

Luke and I are heading to Weehawken. I’m sorry for ruining your night, text me when you get home.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good,” Maeve absently assured Lina as she texted Ashton back, pocketing her phone and looking up at her friend. Just as she did, her eyes went over Lina’s shoulder to catch sight of Calum stalking out of the bar, tall and looming over everyone else as he walked outside. She watched him go, moving with purpose, and Maeve’s eyebrows knitted together as she felt the impulse to follow after him.

Afterall, she needed to apologize.

What Calum had said to her at work the other day had stuck by Maeve, and it unsettled her. Sure, she had felt a sense of loyalty to her half-brother, but maybe just dropping Calum cold hadn’t been the best way to go about it. Like he had said, she could’ve given him some kind of heads up. Or. . . She could’ve just kept the friendship.

She knew that Luke still occasionally hung out with Calum, and knew Michael did the same with Ashton—even if those instances were exceedingly rare. It was kind of like Luke stayed with Ashton and Michael stuck with Calum during the divorce type situation, which made all of it sound more amusing than it ever was. So maybe Maeve could’ve kept the friendship she’d formed with Calum over the years. Ashton probably wouldn’t have liked it, Maeve may have felt some small semblance of guilt, but Calum had been her friend, too. And the way she just abandoned him. . . It wasn’t fair.

Leading Lina back to their small group of friends, Maeve quickly said to Audra, “Hey, keep an eye on her, huh?” to which her friend nodded as she put an arm around Lina before Maeve began making her way towards the exit.

It was kind of cold outside, the March air only getting chillier due to the body of water the restaurant was across from. The New York skyline glittered up ahead, the buildings in perfect view, but Maeve’s gaze was drawn to the spark of light to her left, releasing a silent breath as she watched Calum shove the lighter back in his pocket and grip the cigarette in his mouth between his two fingers. He was leaned against the brick wall, the light above the service door next to him glowing over him as he leaned his head back and released a cloud of grey smoke.

Maeve wasn’t entirely sure how to approach him, but as she began making her way over, she found herself lightly musing, “Looks like I owe you both my apology and Ashton’s.”

Not the best opener, but it’d have to do.

Calum opened his eyes, straightening his head as he watched her near him. The end of the cigarette glowed a bright ember before he pulled it out, exhaling the smoke through his nose as his expression remained professionally indifferent. How he internalized things, Maeve would never know. “If your brother wanted to apologize, he would’ve,” Calum replied throatily, free hand shoved into the pocket of his leather jacket. His left foot was propped against the wall behind him, bent at the knee. “What’re you apologizin’ for?”

Maeve pressed her tongue to the back of her bottom teeth as she looked at him. If she focused enough, she knew she’d be able to see the shadows of his eyelashes against his cheeks, but she also admired the way they hollowed when his lips wrapped around the cigarette. Calum looked so calm and collected, not at all like the man who was about to get into a fight just moments before.

Finding her voice, Maeve spoke up, “You were right ’bout what you said the other day.” She took a few steps closer, the distance between them minimal, as she absently played with her fingers. Calum watched her coolly, eyes never leaving her, as she added earnestly, “I shouldn’t have just dropped you the way I did. It was a shitty situation and I felt like I had to be on Ash’s side but—it wasn’t right and—and I’m sorry.”

She hoped he’d hear the genuine sincerity in her voice, would hear the apology she was trying to convey because she really did regret piling on more to an already awful situation. Maeve had a feeling that a friendship breakup hurt more than a relationship breakup, and while she hadn’t been as close to Calum as Ashton once was, the former had undergone two at the same time and Maeve resented that she had any part of it.

Another billow of smoke curled out of his lips, and Maeve stood silently under his gaze. The music from inside the bar, and from another one a few ways down, could still be heard along with the distant sounds of cars driving by. But otherwise it was silent between them and Maeve wrapped her arms around herself, the full sleeved fitted crop top not doing much to keep her warm in the chilly March night air. Still, she’d rather focus on the goosebumps raised because of the cold rather than the twist of her stomach in anticipation of how Calum would respond.

Eyes on her, Calum pushed against the wall, placing the cigarette in his mouth and surprising Maeve as he silently shrugged off his leather jacket. She watched his actions, tracking every movement, breath hitching when he stepped towards her, his looming figure taking up her personal space deliciously as she caught a whiff of the alluring woody and fresh cologne he wore. Her gaze lifted upwards, wanting it to be continuously locked with Calum’s darker ones, desperately wanting to figure out what exactly was swimming within his brown irises as he draped his jacket around her shoulders, the somewhat weighty material hanging off her frame.

Calum stood in front of her, so close that she could feel the warmth of his body sink into her skin, fingers itching to brush away the dark curls across his forehead as she peered up at him. She was embraced by the scent of him, only fueling her need for him, and Maeve was slowly starting to accept that it wasn’t something she could ignore. And, shit, it was a bad idea—a terrible one—but Calum’s figure towered over her and he was already beginning to overwhelm her senses, his presence only drawing her in like a magnet that could sense its other half.

Her gaze dangerously dropped to his lips, pink and full, as Calum responded raspily, “At least you own up to your mistakes.”

The near whisper of his voice sent a shiver down her spine, not having anything to do with the weather, and that familiar desirable twist of her stomach tightened considerably, nearly knocking the wind out of her lungs. If Calum was aware of the effect he so suddenly had on her, he expertly didn’t show it. To be able to hide his expressions so effortlessly. . . Maeve solemnly wondered just how much Calum had been hurt to be able to do so.

A regretful smile tilted Maeve’s lips, pressed together as she pulled the lapels of his jacket closer together. His scent clung to her readily as Maeve took a breath, light eyes meeting his darker ones as she spoke through a breathless tone, “If I could make it up to you. . .”

Something shifted in his eyes, alluring and magnetic, and for the first time Maeve saw something in his gaze that wasn’t hesitant wariness. She followed the motion of his tongue briefly poking out to wet his lower lip and the knots in the pit of Maeve’s stomach only tightened delightfully as his hummed, “I can think of a way.”

His right hand got rid of the cigarette, dropping it in the metal trash next to the restaurant before he cupped her face once he brushed the blonde strands away from her face. His touch sent a jolt through her body, inhaling a shaky breath through parted lips, unable to pull her blue eyes away from his brown, too lost in them to do anything but anticipate what she knew to be coming next.

Calum was close, so close, and Maeve’s heart was thundering in her chest quicker than the bass of the music playing in the bar, waiting, waiting, waiting for him to just close the gap between them. God, it was a bad idea, but Maeve was ready to throw caution to the wind, was ready to forget about the potential consequences of hooking up with the one guy her brother couldn’t stand. All she wanted to do was give in to the sensation of Calum’s body pulling hers in, give in to the unexpected need she found herself drowning in, that came like a slap to the face. The aftermath was meant to be thought about after.

She saw the mirth dance across his eyes, and suddenly Maeve was aware that Calum was waiting for her to make the next move both of them were aching for. So she let out a breath and with the help of the heels on her boots, tilted her chin up to close the distance, eyes shutting as soon as her lips met Calum’s.

They leaned into each other, Calum’s hand going from her cheek to the back of her head, fingers threading through the blonde strands to keep her close as their lips got to know one another in a slow yet eager dance. Maeve’s skin felt like it was on fire as Calum kissed her, tongue finding hers while she felt his free arm wrap around the exposed expanse of her waist under the jacket to pull her even closer.

Her own hands gripped the front of his shirt, sinking into him greedily as every single nerve in her body came to life by having him so close. Any thought not pertaining to this moment didn’t have a place in her mind; all Maeve could focus on was the feel of Calum’s fingers in her hair, arm keeping her close, and lips moving with hers. The music had drowned out and the chill of the night was replaced by the warmth Calum was providing, and she wanted more.

They parted, heavy breaths and pounding hearts with foreheads pressed together, and Maeve’s eyes remained closed because she already felt so dizzy as Calum quickly breathed out, “Wanna take you home.”

It would be embarrassing how badly she wanted that too, if she cared. Maeve shook her head, opening her eyes only to look at Calum’s lips; so kissed and pink. “Not an option,” she responded through a gentle gasp when she felt his fingers dig into her skin, cold rings only exciting her more. All she wanted to do was take Calum home, but that would be a risk given that Ashton had the habit of crashing there rather than his own apartment.

Calum let out a throaty chuckle, nose pressed against hers and lips only barely brushing across hers as he started, “Unless you wanna wait half an hour to get to my place—”

Oh, fuck no. No way was Maeve patient enough for that, and by the tight grip Calum had on her, she knew he wasn’t, either. “I’ve got an idea.”

Somehow, in their desperation for one another, both Calum and Maeve managed to escape their friends. She wasn’t sure, nor did she care, what Calum said to his buddies to excuse himself from the bar, but Maeve told Audra, “If anyone asks, I’m sleeping over your place,” in case Ashton ended up asking and while her friend eyed her questioningly, she agreed after Maeve promised to explain later. She didn’t care who knew, so long as it wasn’t Ashton or her parents or anyone who would run their mouth.

Soon enough, Maeve and Calum had left Ainsworth and walked down the streets of Hoboken, the destination Maeve had in mind not too far off—especially since everything in this small town was within walking distance. It was only a five minute walk, her heels clicking and his Doc Martens thudding against the pavement, and it was nice.

The city skyline was in continuous view as they went, and while the reason for them leaving the bar wasn’t lost on either of them, the anticipation and excitement still brewing, it didn’t stop the two from engaging in a conversation. Calum was quiet, that hadn’t changed in the past year Maeve hadn’t seen him, but he listened and he responded when it best fit. It didn’t feel awkward or forced; hell, it didn’t even feel like they were two people on their way to find a place to finish what they started. It felt good, and for the time being, Maeve tried not to dwell on the ominous thought of that not being the best thing.

Because this was someone her brother couldn’t stand to be in the same room as. This was someone who she already had a somewhat complicated history with. But it’d just be one night, right? One night of forgetting all of that and allowing herself to give into something that needed to be satiated. Maeve kept telling herself she’d never felt such an instant attraction to someone before, that it was about time she gave into her thoughts of finding Calum attractive for years now in this one night. That’s what she kept reassuring herself with, even though there was a mocking voice in the back of her mind telling her that she was betraying her brother—that there was no way this would only last one night.

Calum stopped, looking up at the pink and blue neon sign with its colors washing across his skin and dancing against his eyes. There were a few cars scattered around the parking lot, the lights in few of the rooms behind the curtains on and telling them they wouldn’t be the only occupants. Maeve saw the incredulous look he wore, head tilted up and a disbelieving scoff escaping him as he sounded, “You gotta be kidding me.” He turned his head to look down at Maeve, who was trying to suppress her own amused and somewhat sheepish smile as Calum raised an eyebrow at her. The smirk was threatening to tilt his lips. “A motel—really?”

She let out a laugh, shrugging her shoulders as she told him, “It’s the best we got,” through warming cheeks. Bringing Calum to a motel by the waterfront kind of made her feel like a two bit whore, which may be a harsh comparison, but frankly, she didn’t entirely care. Maybe it was desperate, but it was also the only place they had. It was either this, or take a train back into the city and either walk or take the subway to Calum’s apartment. Staying in New Jersey was safer—the Skyview Motel was safer.

When Calum looked at her, saw the way Maeve rolled her innocently smiling lips into her mouth and raised her eyebrows at him expectantly, he let out a huff of laughter and a shake of his head. Not so innocently, Maeve pulled the jacket closed by its lapels with one hand as she took a step back, the coyness slipping into her voice as she mused, “Hey, if you’re not up for it—”

He wasn’t about to let her go that easily. Calum’s hand reached out, grasping Maeve’s, and her grin widened as he started walking towards the small reception area with purposeful strides. “Come on.”

It was a quick check-in with Maeve sticking to Calum’s side and soaking in his warmth as he showed his I.D. and flashed his credit card, not even blinking at the $70 price for one night. Maeve offered to split it, but Calum merely gave her a look and she rolled her eyes; if he could afford living in the city without any roommates, he could afford a motel room by the water. And while the makeshift lobby was small, it was clean and not at all rundown, and it only gave Maeve hope that the room would portray the same kind of care.

The man behind the desk took a set of keys off a hook on the wall behind him, each key connected to a small ball as he handed it to Calum and said, “You’ll be in room 304.”

As soon as they received the key, it was like all bets were off.

They stumbled into the room, the impatience and desperation bubbling over, no slowness from their first kiss present, as the leather jacket dropped from around Maeve’s shoulders and right to the floor, Calum kicking the door shut while his lips never left Maeve’s. Heavy breaths could be heard and pounding hearts were felt within their chests as they moved towards the bed, so in sync as Maeve’s fingers expertly undid the front of Calum’s button down.

She got rid of his button down, fingers grabbing at the tank top he wore and roughly pushing it up, pulling it out from where it was tucked into his pants. Their kiss was interrupted only briefly so Calum could pull the black tank over his head, and Maeve breathed heavily as her eyes drank in the sight of his naked upper half. Calum’s tattoos were in her view, greedily taking him in, feeling the pit of her stomach tighten excitedly as she hooked a finger on the cool chain of his necklace and tugged him towards her once more, lips meeting in yet another bruising kiss.

They moved towards the bed together but before Calum pushed her onto the mattress, his fingers moved to the hem of her shirt, tugging her crop top up until it was off. She watched as his eyes drank her in, just as she had done so to him, and Maeve bit down on her lower lip as she felt his gaze burn into her skin. The action seemed to stir something in Calum, a low growl escaping him as his hands grabbed at the back of her thighs and lifted her up, and Maeve couldn’t help the giggle that escaped her as her ankles instinctively wrapped around Calum’s neck and lips met his once more. Fiery, impatient, needy.

Their next few movements were a blur. Clothes were torn off, thrown haphazardly around the room as they began losing themselves in one another. Maeve was pressed into the mattress, Calum’s body on top of hers, warm and lean and wonderful, as he kissed her. Her fingers tangled in his hair, keeping him close, loving the way his body fit between her legs.

He began moving lower, lips dragging away from hers as he kissed down her jaw and neck, lips burning her skin and scruff scratching her deliciously. Maeve closed her eyes, head tilted back and chest sinking as she released a heavy breath, her entire focus on the trail of electricity Calum’s lips were leaving in their wake as he kept moving. His lips wrapped around her right nipple, left hand paying attention to her other breast, her fingers still in his hair as he switched before he continued his downward path. He was getting closer and closer to where Maeve desperately needed him to be, the room filled with the sounds of her gentle gasps, transitioning into an appreciatie moan when Calum flattened his tongue against her core.

Calum wrapped his arms around her thighs, keeping her open for him as his fingers dug into her skin, working her entrance expertly with his lips and tongue. Maeve’s moans, every little sound that escaped her, only motivated Calum, reveling in the taste of her as his thumb circled her clit, sloppy and effective if the tightening of her grip on his hair was anything to go by. She sounded his name amongst a flurry of curses, pushing him into pushing her, bringing her closer and closer to the edge.

“Calum, Calum, Calum,” his name fell off her lips like a chant as she felt that familiar coil in the pit of her stomach, head tilted back and pressing into her pillow. Fuck, he found himself loving that sound, found himself wanting to hear her say his name in a breathless flurry of dizziness and pleasure over and over again.

Her release washed over her, and Calum sucked and licked her clean greedily as her body shuddered through the orgasm before lifting himself to hover over her once more. He licked his lips, grinning down at the breathless woman wickedly, and she tried to catch her breath as she looked up at him through hazy eyes. Curls a wild mess thanks to her hands, smirking lips begging to be kissed once more—which is exactly what she did as she pulled him down. “Do I get to return the favor?” she asked against his lips, nails scraping down his back that sent a shiver down Calum’s spine.

Fuck, Calum felt his cock twitch at the mere thought of her lips wrapped around him, but he had a feeling that if she did just that, he wouldn’t last long at all. “Next time,” he promised because, shit, there couldn’t not be a next time.

He grabbed the condom that was waiting on the bedside table, sitting back on his knees as he tore open the pack. His eyes met Maeve’s once he rolled it on, his own chest heaving as he looked down at her. Calum felt whatever air that was left in him rush out as he took in the sight of her; blonde hair like a halo and cheeks flushed and lips kissed, and Calum knew in that moment he’d never seen a sight more stunning. He committed it to his memory, heart thundering erratically in his chest because he couldn’t believe this was happening. She was so fucking gorgeous.

Calum hovered over her once more, holding himself up with his arms, suddenly his movements thoughtful and slow as opposed to the frenzied rush the two of them had been in before. His nose brushed against Maeve’s, the chain of his necklace dangling and his curls just barely brushing against her forehead, and his raspy voice asked, “Ready, sweetheart?”

Maeve answered him with a kiss, slow and savoring, and Calum swallowed her moan as he sank into her. He filled her, completely and deliciously, and Maeve’s nails dug into Calum’s shoulders as a way of telling him to move. Her heart was pounding, skin feeling as if it was on fire as Calum moved his hips at a dizzying pace until she grazed her teeth against his ear and begged, “Faster.”

He picked up his pace almost instantly, the sound of skin slapping against skin damn near echoing in the room, sinfully mixed with her moans and Calum’s grunts. The headboard could be heard hitting the wall with every movement, the bed creaking ever so slightly, but fuck it if either of them cared. Maeve’s nails scratched down his back, urging him on and on and on, both of them utterly lost in the way he slid in and out of her, groaning every time he buried himself in her.

Calum eventually moved his face to the crook of her neck, scruff scratching at her skin as Maeve tangled her fingers in the curls at the back of his head. She somehow managed to open her eyes, breathing labored as Calum brought her closer and closer to the edge once more. She stared up at the ceiling, biting down on her lower lip as she felt the cool chain of his necklace on her heated skin, his lips leaving sloppy yet welcomed kisses on her neck. This was such a bad idea. This was such a terrible idea.

But it felt too fucking good to stop, and Maeve knew Calum had ruined her. And she was okay with it.

Day 161

He was pulled out of his slumber by the mattress shifting beneath him, eyes remaining closed as he furrowed his eyebrows in a morning grump, burying his face into the pillow he rested upon. Calum could feel her shifting around to the right of him, a groan rumbling past his throat as he sleepily asked, “Wha’ time is it?”

“Nine,” came Maeve’s response, light and tired in her own right.

Calum moved to rest his cheek against the pillow, watching as she sat on the edge of the bed and was bending down, probably tying the laces of her Converse. The confused frown remained when he saw her already dressed, shoulder length hair tied into a haphazard bun with blonde strands sticking out. The motel room was already brightening due to the sun being up for a few hours now, the curtains on the windows not doing much to keep the light out since they hadn’t lowered the blinds the night before.

Cheek pressed on the pillow, Calum’s words came out sounding like a smushed drawl as he rasped, “I thought your shift wasn’t until eleven-thirty?”

Maeve straightened, looking down at Calum over her shoulder as she took in the sight in front of her she’d grown so used to during the past five months: dark curls messy from her fingers and sleep, brown eyes adorably sunken in and cheeks flushed—not to mention the several tattoos in view because he either slept in just his underwear or completely naked—the latter more often than not. And while the sight of a barely awake Calum practically glowing in whatever sunlight that seeped through the motel room window was one Maeve had grown familiar with, it still managed to catapult her heart into her throat and twist her stomach in knots only he was capable of loosening.

She shifted to sit sideways, one leg folded on the bed and body facing the headboard as she looked at Calum. “Yeah, but I’ve gotta head home and have breakfast before I get ready.”

Calum lifted his head, propping himself up with his right arm as a lazy smirk upturned his lips. The slyness shimmered in his dark eyes and coated his tone as he retorted, “We could have breakfast right now.”

The cunning innuendo wasn’t lost on Maeve, Calum knew, by how she tried to stop the amused grin from spreading across her lips while shooting him a flat look. And though she tried to seem unimpressed, Calum could tell she didn’t think it was a half bad idea. Still, she leaned down, diminishing the gap between them until their noses just barely brushed together, and Calum’s eyes dropped to her lips as he yearned to taste the familiar strawberry chapstick he knew Maeve was wearing as she hummed teasingly, “You’re not slick.” And then she was sitting upright once more, much to his chagrin, and said, “I gotta go.”

The disappointment he felt wasn’t something Calum had learned to ignore, acknowledging its presence before trying to push it aside as he watched Maeve get up and grab her bag and anything else she needed. As they passed the five month mark of getting into this arrangement they had, Calum had yet to get used to watching her leave—the part that he hated most, because he completely went against the number one, albeit silent, rule.

He got fucking attached.

As Maeve walked to the door, Calum swallowed the tightness in his throat, an expert and pushing things aside, before calling out, “I’ll see you at Vick’s tonight.”

She stopped short, hand on the doorknob, and Calum’s eyes remained fixated on Maeve as she turned to look at him with a confused frown furrowing her perfectly done eyebrows. Even the puzzled pucker of her lips was adorable. “You’re going to Vick’s?”

He gave a nod, sitting up as the blanket pooled on his lap. He didn’t miss the way Maeve’s damn near translucent eyes took in his exposed chest, drinking him in the same primal way her lips had trailed across the expanse of his skin the night before. But instead of focusing on that, Calum’s attention was on the way she was looking at him—almost accusingly. “Yeah,” he responded, leaning back on one hand and pushing back the messy curls with the other. His tone remained even as he gave a single shrug. “She’s my friend, too; ’course I’m goin’ to her birthday.”

Calum could tell she was chewing on the inside of her cheek, a habit she had when she was thinking hard about something, her chest sinking as she let out a breath. “You didn’t tell me you were coming,” Maeve said, her tone light yet the resignment was ever present, and Calum didn’t like the fact that it was towards him. With a pointed raise of her eyebrows, she said, “You know Ash is gonna be there too, right?”

It was like she said it as a way of getting Calum to back out from going, and he would’ve laughed if it didn’t kind of irritate him. Calum wasn’t afraid of Ashton, far from it, and he didn’t give a shit if he was at the same party as him. He wanted to remind Maeve that it was her brother who had the temper issue, who instigated shit whenever the two of them happened to end up in the same place because while Calum minded his own business, Ashton didn’t seem to share the same sentiment.

Sometimes Calum thought Maeve didn’t get that—didn’t understand that it was Ashton who needed to be put on a damn leash. Because while Calum didn’t particularly enjoying seeing his former friend either, he wasn’t the one who demanded a fucking confrontation every time. He could actually control himself unless provoked. So why the fuck should Calum not go to a friend’s party just because Ashton was going to be there, too? Nah, fuck that.

But Calum kept his expression cool, lips pursing briefly as his eyes locked with Maeve’s when he said evenly, “Then I guess I’ll see you both there.”

She sighed, a heavy exhale through her nose as she looked towards the wall momentarily like she was already trying to mentally prepare herself for whatever may happen at the party. And for her sake, despite the mild irritation Calum felt, he still couldn’t help but hope that things didn’t go to shit.

Maeve gave a single nod, shooting him a brief smile that didn’t entirely reach her eyes as she said, “Yeah, guess you will,” before opening the door and leaving Calum naked and alone and a bit disappointed.

Not that it would be the first time.

“Alright, let me hear it—what’d Maeve do this time?”

Calum shot Michael an exasperated look, watching as his friend put away his AirPods and leaned back against the pillar. The two of them were at the train station, waiting for their Uber to take them to Vick’s car after just getting in from the city. Calum couldn’t seem to stand still, which of course told Michael that something was up because constantly shifting around was his thing.

“She didn’t do—” Calum cut himself off at the pointed look Michael was giving him, the look that told the brunette to not even try and bullshit his way out. Calum didn’t know why he even bothered to attempt to do so—he ended up telling Michael everything anyway. “I think she’s just bothered by me coming to Vick’s tonight. Because Ashton’s gonna be there.”

Michael’s face scrunched up, as if that was the most ridiculous thing he’s heard, and Calum was glad to see his best friend seemed to share his thoughts. “That’s dumb. Vick’s your friend and it’s not like you’re the one that tries looking for a fight. If Ash has an issue, that’s his problem. Not yours.”

“I know,” Calum huffed, scuffing the tip of his shoe as his eyes caught sight of a car pulling up in front of them. Double checking the license plate, Calum nodded, “That’s it.” He and Michael got in the back, greeting the driver, and once Calum settled he continued, “I get that she hates whenever Ashton and I get into it, and trust me—” he let out a huff of a dry laugh, “—I’ve got no problem keeping my distance from him, but why should I be the one to sit somethin’ out just because he can’t keep it together?”

“You shouldn’t,” Michael agreed, lifting off his hat and using his fingers to fix his blonde hair before he settled it back down as they drove down the streets, lamp posts they passed illuminating the car every few seconds. He sighed as he shifted, back against the door to look at Calum. “Listen, man, you knew this was gonna be kind of complicated when you got with her the first time. And then you started having feelings for her so now you’re just gonna be bothered whenever she seems like she’s only in it for the sex.” Michael gave a shake of his head, raising a dubious eyebrow. “You sure you thought this through?”

Calum pursed his lips, leaning his head back on the rest as his jaw tightened. Michael wasn’t wrong; Calum did have the tendency to grow aggravated whenever Maeve brushed off what they had as sex and nothing more. He wasn’t someone to force someone to have feelings, but there were so many times when it seemed as though she felt exactly how he did—he could see it in the way her light eyes glittered and how if she smiled big enough around him, it showed off the barest hints of dimples.

Sometimes he caught her looking at him when she didn’t think he knew; whether it was in the confines of their favorite motel room or if they decided to venture out in New York or, if they felt brave enough, in Hoboken. It’s not like they only hung out when either of them couldn’t stop thinking of the other’s lips or hands or bodies—they’d reclaimed their friendship that had been lost, got back to how they were and more, and Calum loved it. He loved spending time with her. He loved—

His teeth grinded together. Sometimes she tried so hard to make it seem as though she felt nowhere near as he did but—fuck, what if it really was all in his head? Hooking up with his former friend’s half-sister on a repeated occasion was a bad enough idea—actually falling for her was another level of stupid.

As soon as they walked into Vick and her fiancé’s house, Calum headed straight for the credenza where all the bottles were. He probably should’ve found the birthday girl to wish her first, but after making himself a gin and tonic once he saw all the ingredients out there for him, he easily found Vick and wished her before distracting himself by mingling with the people he knew.

The house was nearly full, people spilling out into the backyard as the music played through the speakers. Calum sipped at his drink, the alcohol running down smoothly as he stood near one corner of the living room talking to a few friends he’d went to high school with. And while he was having a good enough time, Calum couldn’t stop himself from letting his eyes wander, looking around the familiar and few unfamiliar faces in hopes of catching sight of Maeve. He didn’t even know if she was here yet, and still Calum’s eyes kept searching.

It was pathetic.

His grip on the plastic cup tightened, though Calum was mindful of not completely crushing it as he began sipping it. As he listened to J.D. talk about recent Yankees game he’d gone to while a Post Malone song played throughout the house, Calum looked over the rim of his cup to see the woman he’d been searching for finally enter through the front door.

Everything seemed to melt away as Maeve came into view, a smile on her face as she walked in with Lina and Ashton, but Calum’s focus was only on her. He watched her smile widen as she was greeted by someone she knew, hugging the other girl before pulling away and brushing back locks of soft blonde hair Calum could practically feel his fingers running through. She wore a pair of black shorts and a tight yellow tank tucked in and all Calum wanted to do was feel her in his arms, run his hands across her body like he’d done so a hundred times before.

But, man, her smile. Bright and happy and reflective in her light eyes, a sight that rendered him breathless enough to nearly choke on the sip of his drink. How he let a single woman have such a profound amount of control over him without even trying, Calum had no idea. In five short months she managed to take over his head, his fucking heart, and Calum often wondered if he was just pathetic or stupid. Maybe both.

Because Calum had always been careful with who he fell for. When it came to Maeve, though. . . He had no control.

As if she could feel the weight of his gaze, Maeve glanced over to where Calum stood, his blue eyes finding his brown, and he watched as she shot him a quick friendly smile before following Ashton and Lina further into the house. And that was it. That’s all he got.

For most of the party, that’s all he fucking got.

Maeve stuck with Lina most of the night, but somehow she was always nearby Ashton, whether it be playing beer pong in the backyard or doing shots with them and Luke. Calum didn’t want to start anything—he knew if he so much as approached Maeve, Ashton would have something to say about it. And Calum wished he didn’t care so much, wished that it didn’t bother him that Maeve was pretending as if he didn’t exist and instead was enjoying the party with her best friend and half-brother. Not even a hi was thrown his way, nor a look spared and Calum only knew that because his eyes didn’t seem to be able to leave her.

“Fuck this,” Calum muttered to himself after downing three vodka shots a couple of friends dragged him over to partake in. He was only just starting to feel the alcohol running through his veins, head just barely beginning to feel light as he made himself a cranberry vodka. The drinks weren’t doing much to ease his discontent, maybe only serving to disgruntle him more. It probably wasn’t healthy for him to feel this way, to be so hung up on a woman not paying him the time of day, but he couldn’t entirely help it.

So when he was in the hall that led towards the backyard and the bathroom door opened to have Maeve step out, Calum couldn’t help but announce, “We need to talk.”

Maeve stopped, looking to the left before catching sight of him to her right, leaned back against the wall and nursing his nearly empty drink. People passed by every now and then, moving to different parts of the house, and this was the closest Calum and Maeve had been the entire night. She looked at him, eyebrows furrowing together in surprised confusion before letting out a breath, glancing down the hall before asking through a breathless and disbelieving laugh, “About what?”

Calum scoffed, tilting his head slightly. “Seriously?” Did she truly not see the way she was acting around him? Or was he just being overdramatic? “Can’t even spare a second to say hi?”

Yeah, he knew what he sounded like, knew he sounded dramatic and pathetic and was giving away too much of himself than he ever would. But the alcohol was warm and made it easy for Calum to run his mouth, whether he liked it or not, and when it came to Maeve, he had a bit of a hard time keeping things to himself.

A flash of guilt passed across her face at his words, lips parting as she started, “Calum—”

“The hell is going on here?”

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

Calum exhaled sharply through his nose in hopes of calming himself down, but the snappish tone Ashton announced himself in grated at the brunette, not even bothering to grace Ashton with an acknowledging look as he made his way towards them. Instead, Calum kept his gaze on Maeve, who’d pressed her lips together before looking at her brother and easing, “Nothing, Ash. We were just saying hi.”

Calum couldn’t help the derisive snort that escaped him at her words. That was exactly what they were getting into—Maeve not saying hi to him. Her bluish-green eyes snapped over to him at the sound and he could see the warning in them, the pleading to not make this escalate. He ground his teeth together; Calum never initiated anything, and despite the urge to tell Ashton to fuck right off, he kept quiet. For Maeve. Always for her.

“Great,” Ashton said flatly through gritted teeth. Calum could feel his gaze burning a hole on the side of his face, but he didn’t give the hazel eyed man the satisfaction of looking at him. Instead, Calum pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek, looking down at his drink as he swirled it in the cup some more. “Come on, Maeve, let’s play another round of pong.”

Before Maeve could reply, Calum scoffed, head tilted back against the wall, feeling the bass of the music thud against him as Ashton’s words caused him to go against what he’d silently promised Maeve when he lazily drawled, “Relax, buddy, ’m not someone you have to rescue your sister from.”

He could feel Ashton take a few steps towards him without even having to look. “No one was fucking talking to you. And I’m not your buddy.”

This time Calum looked at him, took in the icy glare glowering Ashton’s features and the tightness of his jaw. He’d always been temperamental, always had trouble controlling his temper and back when they were friends, Calum had thought Ashton used to do a good job in maintaining it. Until he didn’t. With obvious raised eyebrows, Calum mockingly narrowed his eyes as he reminded almost bitterly, “Yeah, you made quite sure of that, didn’t you?”

Ashton probably took that as a challenge, hands fisting at his side and the irritation across his face only intensifying as he took the last few threatening steps towards him all the while growling, “Listen, you’re the o—”

“Hey, hey, stop,” Maeve demanded as she swiftly slipped her body between the two men. Ashton stopped advancing just as Calum pushed himself off the wall, both men halting to look down at the shorter woman. She had one hand on Ashton’s chest and the other was held behind her as a readying way of keeping Calum back, looking back and forth at them. Her hair moved as her head did, a thin strand of blonde hair getting caught in her pink lip gloss and all Calum wanted to do was tell Ashton to fuck off and move the piece of hair. But he didn’t.

Letting out a breath, Maeve gave a shake of her head before saying to Ashton in a somewhat soothing voice, “Calm down, alright? You’re getting worked up over nothing. Don’t ruin the night by getting into some dumb fight—let’s go play pong.”

They had to pass by Calum to go out to the backyard, and Maeve made it a point to push along Ashton first. Calum’s eyes met his hazel ones as he went, hard and still lacking the warmth of friendship as they had been for the past year. And still, the awareness of losing a man who had once been such a good friend hit Calum heard, painfully so, as he tightened his jaw to keep it locked inside. Fuck, how things had changed.

And then went Maeve, following after her half brother, gaze lifting to meet Calum’s as she walked by. He saw the tiredness in her light eyes, looking completely over the situation between him and Ashton, and Calum had half a mind to open his mouth and spew out some half assed apology.

But then Maeve shook her head once more, released a dismayed scoff and kept walking, not even uttering a word to him as she stepped outside with Ashton. Calum stared after her, eyebrows drawing together ever so slightly, lips parting as his own disappointment washed over him because it was Ashton who’d once again tried to start something, and it was Ashton who Maeve was seemingly siding with. Not for the first time, Calum had to watch her walk away, twisting his heart and knotting his stomach tensely.

Calum downed the rest of his drink, reveling in the burn of the alcohol as his chest sank.

Brother or not, it fucking hurt.

Day 164

He caught her just as she walked out of the cafe, approaching her as she rummaged through her bag for her car keys. Calum hadn’t really planned on confronting Maeve; he’d only just left Shake Shack across the street after having lunch with Michael when he saw her leaving the cafe, and before he knew it, Calum was crossing over to get to her before she got in the car.

“Maeve,” he called just as she got her keys out, prompting her to look up and squint against the sunlight, one hand going to her forehead to shield her eyes. Calum got to her quickly once a car passed, watching as she looked at him in surprise, not expecting his arrival, as he said, “We gotta talk about the other night.”

She dropped her hand from her forehead, the sun making her eyes appear translucent and beautiful—as always—as she let out a breath. Fisting her keys in one hand, Maeve ran the other through her wavy hair, pushing it back as her gaze dropped to the ground when she shook her head and said, “Look, Cal, I’m sorry about Ashton. He’s—”

“’M not here to talk about Ashton—I couldn’t give a fuck ’bout him.” Maeve looked up at him, at the slight edge that had creeped into Calum’s smooth voice. He hated speaking to Maeve this way, hated that it even came to this. But for someone who had always been good at internalizing, at never bothering others with his issues, Calum couldn’t seem to keep this to himself. Maeve brought out a different side of him, for better or worse, and it made Calum want to deal with his problems—especially if they concerned her. What he felt for her embraced him with an overwhelming force, a tight grip that refused to let up. He’d fallen for her so fast, so hard, so blindly, and every time Maeve did something that seemed like an insult to his feelings, Calum felt hurt. And he was growing tired of it. “’M here to talk ’bout you and how you acted like it was my fault your brother got in my face.”

“I—” Maeve stopped, gaping up at Calum despite the sun burning down into her eyes. He suppressed a huff, shifting ever so slightly to the side so his shadow washed over her figure, effectively shielding her from the light. Her eyes relaxed a bit, but the incredulity over Calum’s accusation remained. In a reminding tone, Maeve continued, “You were provoking him, Calum. You know you were.”

Calum’s lips parted to let out a scoff, having to look away in disbelief before saying to the blonde, “I said two things to him—”

“And they were enough to set him off!” Maeve pointed out, her exasperation already bubbling over. With a tired huff of a laugh, she added, “You know how easily pissed off he gets, Calum. It would’ve been better if you just ignored him. Or, you know,” she paused, looking away and licking her lips before her eyes met Calum’s once more, “maybe not approach me when you know he’s around.”

His jaw tightened, the heat of the sun only adding onto his frustration. Right arm propped against the top of her car, Calum said to her, “You ignored me all night, Maeve. I’m not gonna apologize for bein’ bothered by it. That’s not the first time you’ve made me feel like an idiot.”

She shot him a frustrated, helpless look of her own, but Calum didn’t miss the hurt that flashed across her eyes at his words. “I didn’t—I would never want you to feel that way, Calum, come on.” She frowned, shaking her head once. “ But you know that’s how it has to be, Cal, if Ash is around. For his sake, I can’t be seen being all friendly with the guy he hates.”

Her words sent a sharp pain through Calum’s chest, hitting him harder than he would’ve liked. Of course he knew Ashton hated him, his own feelings for his former friend weren’t too far off, but when he actually heard it, it felt a bit more crushing each time. And for Maeve to say it so carelessly, whether she meant to or not, twisted Calum’s heart fiercely. Except Calum wasn’t sure what hurt more; the surface meaning behind her words, or the underlying one that had more to do with Maeve and Calum than Ashton and Calum.

He scoffed, almost defeated as he raised his eyebrows at her. “So brother over me, huh? Again?”

It wasn’t a fair shot, he knew, and Calum was probably setting himself up for heartbreak by asking that because Ashton was, after all, her brother. She sided with him the first time when she stopped speaking to Calum—maybe sleeping with him wasn’t really going to change much.

Maeve’s expression fell, and Calum wondered if his words hurt her. He didn’t want them to, would never want her to hurt, especially because of him. But things were going to shit and maybe this was unrequited, after all. Maybe he really was an idiot. “Stop looking for a double meaning in everything I say, Calum,” Maeve said, her voice firm yet not holding any true anger. She sounded more resigned, tired—over it, once again. Over him? The thought was almost nauseating. “It’s not that simple. This situation is complicated and I just—I don’t know what you want from me.”

Calum’s chest felt tight, heart squeezed up into his throat as he looked down at her. The sun had brought our her freckles, peppering over the bridge of her nose and the tops of her cheeks. She always made sure to let them show whenever she did her makeup, once upon a time telling Calum they were her favorite feature of herself when he one day, in the midst of the motel room sheets, told her he was going to count them all. There were so many things during so many occasions he felt for her, with her; frustration, happiness, companionship, disappointment, contentment, love. And every time he thought she may feel the same way, doubt and reality had him second guessing himself.

Calum’s arm dropped from her car, the disappointment and hurt tasting bitter in his mouth as he watched Maeve’s expression fall when she noted the defeat on his face. Calum smiled, wry and humorless. “I don’t know, either.”

Day 168

It was funny how the second Maeve stepped into the motel room, she felt as though she could finally breathe. She shut the door behind her, hands trapped between it and her lower back as she took in the familiar interior of room 304. The light purple bed covers were perfectly made, somehow matching nicely with the greyish blue walls, and the curtains were parted and the blinds were up to let the late afternoon sun stream in, the view of the city across the water a sight worth seeing.

The sunlight provided the room with a soft glow and Maeve didn’t want to turn on the lights to take away from the beauty of it. This room, complete with a TV, bathroom, and mini kitchen area had become more than just a place for her to meet up with Calum for sex—it had become an escape. A safe space, almost. The two of them sometimes found themselves meeting up at the Skyview not to do anything but just hang out, because it was the one place where they definitely would remain hidden from Ashton or anyone else. And right now, Maeve needed this place.

September had just started, which meant Maeve was back at school attending classes for her graduate degree. There was already so much reading involved, so much to do, not to mention she had work on top of it all and she found herself stressing out too much too early into the semester. Honestly, it had all only just begun—how was she supposed to last the school year? On top of it all, she had to deal with aggravating, rude customers at work and Maeve just felt drained.

She’d made it a point to finish whatever pressing assignments she had, and as soon as she did, Maeve found herself leaving campus and driving right to the Skyview Motel, spending money unnecessarily on the motel room she didn’t really need. But finding comfort and relaxation in another place wasn’t likely, she knew, so it was a small price to pay to lay down in the middle of the bed with a sigh of relief escaping her. She hadn’t been to the room in a few days, and the basic yet familiar vanilla scent that clung to the room was comforting as she closed her eyes and breathed it in.

Maeve wasn’t entirely sure how long she laid like that, but eventually she had to open her eyes when a Snapchat notification rung out. Letting out a breath, Maeve picked up her phone, using the popsocket to hold it over her face as she blinked at the notice. It was from Calum—who she hadn’t spoken to for about four days now. And yet, she felt her heart jump at the sight of his name. She knew he was mad at her, knew that he wasn’t happy with her over how she’d treated him at Vick’s party, and Maeve did feel guilty about it. And confused. And frustrated. God, it was messy.

He’d sent her a typed message, and she opened to see it read, You brought a new dude over to Skyview? I’m hurt.

A wry smile tugged at her lips, practically hearing the sarcastic, joking tone in which she heard him speak in. For a moment, Maeve wondered how he knew where she was, before remembering her location on the app was available for him, and a select few others—Ashton not included. Quickly, she typed back, Of course not. It’s just me in my lonesome.

She dropped her phone on the mattress, getting up with a gentle groan to shimmy off her jeans and pull out a pair of comfortable shorts she’d been smart enough to put into her backpack. Her stomach grumbled and Maeve pursed her lips, cursing herself for not picking up some food on the way. Her phone rung out again, and Maeve opened Calum’s message that read, Want some company?

She blinked, slightly surprised. Maeve didn’t think he’d want to hang out with her after what happened, given that they hadn’t spoken to each other since the day outside of the cafe. He was in the city, she was pretty sure; he really wanted to come down to see her?

For a second, Maeve wondered if he only wanted to have sex, and then she wondered why she was worried about that. Wasn’t that the arrangement, what they agreed upon when they started this? She had no reason to feel. . . Bothered. But she was, and she knew why, and still pushed that aside because it was a bad fucking idea.

Chewing on her lower lip, she typed back, Only if you bring some food.

Around thirty minutes later, there was a knock on the door, prompting Maeve to pause the episode of Peaky Blinders she was watching on her laptop since the motel room TV didn’t have a Netflix connection. She opened the door, feeling a smile tug at her lips at the sight of Calum standing with sunglasses covering his eyes in his favorite Sensation shirt tucked into his jeans, a to-go McDonalds bag in one hand and a cardboard tray of soda in the other.

“I come bearing gifts,” Calum greeted, smiling as Maeve stepped to the side to let him enter.

She let out a laugh, shutting the door as she teased, “My hero.”

He put down the food on the circular table in the small kitchen area, pulling out the Big Mac box for her and Filet-O-Fish for himself before taking out the fries. In a mutual silence, they moved over to the bed, bringing the napkins and food with them as they sat cross legged, side by side, and Maeve played the show as the two of them began digging into their food.

They did so in silence, the only sound uttering from the show, and Maeve wanted to believe all of it was a comforting one, that she couldn’t feel some of the tension that still existed between the two of them. But it was there, hanging over them like a dark cloud and weighing them down, and Maeve knew that it was her fault.

“I don’t know what you want from me.”

“I don’t know, either.”

Their words rang through her mind like a bitter reminder, making it hard to swallow the bite as she remembered the empty look she’d seen in Calum’s normally dark eyes—eyes she’d grown used to seeing so expressive. At least around her they were. But she’d shut him down, pushed him away—blamed him for something that wasn’t entirely, if at all, his fault and Maeve hated that she did that. She understood, in that moment, the stress she’d been feeling for school and work was also because of the silence she’d received from Calum, and it was no one’s fault but her own.

But, God, it got confusing. Sometimes she truly didn’t know what to do. Ashton was family and she’d stuck by him her entire life but that didn’t give her the excuse to be on his side when he was the one making things difficult. Maeve knew Calum only opened his mouth that day at the party because he was upset with her, because more often than not he never really provoked Ashton. He was an internalizer, he kept things to himself, and it had frustrated Maeve at first, when the two of them first got together. They’d had conversations about it until Calum learned to open up.

And now that he was, she was punishing him for it? She was getting upset that he was rightfully mad at her? She deserved it. After the way she blatantly and purposefully ignored him under the guise of keeping it all a secret from Ashton, Maeve deserved the silent treatment.

Still, Calum showed up, all the way from the city, with food nonetheless. It made her fall for him harder, faster, no matter the voice in the back of her head constantly reminding her how terrible of an idea that was. She didn’t even want to think of what Calum may possibly feel for her, if he did, since she couldn’t make sense of the mess going on in her own head and heart.

They finished their burgers in the continued silence, watching the show, her right knee pressed against his left as they remained cross legged, the denim of his jeans warm against her exposed knee. Calum shifted then, sitting back against the headboard as he let out a soft breath, eyes still on the laptop screen as Maeve debated with herself silently.

She glanced at him, dark curls handsomely messy and left arm raised to rest folded between his head and the headboard, tattoos in full glorious view against golden skin. He saw her admiring him, brown eyes meeting her blue, and before Calum could get a word in, Maeve blurted out, “I’m sorry.” He blinked, understandably surprised at her unexpected burst. Maeve worried her lower lip with her teeth, hunched over ever so slightly as she picked at her nails. Her back was still to him, only half facing him, as the show still played in the background. “I wasn’t being fair to you and—it’s just so complicated,” she said the last bit with a sigh, turning to face him a bit more as Calum listened to her, lips pressed together. “And I know I keep saying that and I know it doesn’t excuse it but I can’t give Ashton any reason to think that there’s more to you and I than he thinks—which is nothing—but still. Have to keep it that way.”

Calum’s throat worked, Adam’s apple bobbing as he brought his arm down only to cross both of them across his chest. The silver chain bracelet he wore rattled subtly at the movement, though they paid it no mind as Calum’s brown eyes kept locked with her lighter ones. “So, what, if we end up at the same place, we gotta pretend we don’t even know each other? That’s bullshit, Maeve. The issue is between me and Ashton, not me and you. How does that make sense?”

“How does any of this make sense, Calum?” Maeve retorted, a breathless and exasperated laugh escaping her as she fully turned, sitting on her knees to face him, the show long forgotten. “One day you two are friends and the next shit hits the fan and I have to be the loyal sister and stop being friends with you. It wasn’t fair and I hated that, and I’m sorry that I blindly followed whatever Ashton did. I am. But you have to know, at the end of the day, I don’t feel the same way he does.” The fight seemed to leave her, suddenly feeling nothing but helpless as she hoped Calum would see her honesty, would know that despite all the bullshit, despite her own stupid behavior, she still wants him in her life. In what capacity, even she wasn’t entirely sure yet.

Maeve rolled her lips into her mouth, licking them before she scooted closer to the brunette, watching Calum watch her as her hand reached out to grab one of his. He let her hold on, undoing his arms from where they were crossed, and Maeve reveled in the feel of his fingers interlocking with hers. It was those kinds of moments, where an innocent touch warmed her just as a greedy one would, when Maeve acknowledged that, yeah, it was more than sex between the two of them. She knew it. He knew it. And the only reason he stopped himself from truly saying anything was because he knew she was conflicted. Maeve wasn’t sure how long Calum would be willing to stick around for her indecisiveness, and she swallowed the lump in her throat and pushed that nauseating thought away as she squeezed his hand and offered him a sincere smile.

“I don’t feel the same way Ashton does,” Maeve repeated, because she felt like she needed to, raising her eyebrows at Calum in hopes of understanding. “This is good, yeah? We’re good?”

Calum looked at her for a few seconds, eyes searching hers, and Maeve felt her heart pounding in anticipation until he smiled. Soft and gentle and warm, erupting the butterflies in her stomach as if she was a teenage girl with a crush. And still Calum was the only one to entice such a sensation in her. “Yeah,” he rasped, giving a nod. “We’re good.”

Flashback

“What the fuck did you say to me?”

Calum scoffed at Ashton, at the uncalled for rage simmering in his best friend’s voice as he glared him down. He could feel everyone around them staring, anticipating a fight even he could feel coming, waiting to see who would be the one to throw the first punch. Calum wished it wouldn’t escalate that far, but Ashton had been yelling at him for almost ten minutes, growing angrier by the minute and Calum himself wasn’t too far off from being pissed off. At the situation, at him, at all of it.

And he was over it. Enough was enough.

“I said you’re a shitty friend, Ash,” Calum repeated, strong and unapologetic, watching as his words caused Ashton to narrow his eyes threateningly. With a shrug, Calum added, “You have been for a couple of months now. I just didn’t say shit because you kept apologizing and I was enough of an idiot to believe you meant it. But you keep pullin’ the same shit over and over again so, yeah—you’re a shitty fuckin’ friend and it’s about time you got your head out of your ass to hear me say it.”

Yeah, he was pretty damn sick of it. Sick of Ashton ditching him, canceling on him, making plans with other people when he already had plans with him. He was sick of him trying to play the victim, to play innocent and apologizing and promising that he would try to be a better friend, only to go around and do it all over again. And it wasn’t like Calum hadn’t been patient, like he hadn’t given Ashton the benefit of the doubt because he was one of his closest friends. He didn’t care if Ashton went out to hang with his other friends—so long as he wasn’t kicking Calum to corner to do so. He deserved more respect than that—as a friend and as a human being.

And when Calum went off to hang out with other people? Of course that was a problem. Of course it would prompt Ashton to start talking shit about him behind his back, because that was the mature and appropriate reaction. Calum didn’t understand how things went badly for them so fast, how Ashton changed so quickly and started taking their friendship for granted, always being Calum would be there when he was bored. It wasn’t a friendship Calum had wanted to be a part of anymore—especially when he realized that it was only him that Ashton was doing this to. He was perfectly fine with everyone else. It was just their friendship that was rapidly sinking.

So Calum was done. He was over it. No matter how much it fucking hurt to lose his friend.

Though, the punch that Ashton delivered to his jaw was a close second.

Exclamations of surprise and protest sounded from around them, but Calum paid them no mind as he stumbled back from the unexpected hit, a sting of pain shooting up from his left jaw. He could feel someone’s arms catch him, keeping him upright, vaguely thinking it was Michael as he pressed a ginger hand to his jaw before his incredulous and deadly glare was directed at Ashton.

The dirty blonde stood where he had been, fist clenched and jaw set, completely ready for this to escalate. “Get off your fucking high horse—you’re not perfect, either.”

Calum pushed away from those behind him, hand dropping from his face as he slowly stalked towards Ashton. He could see and feel everyone watching him—Michael, Luke, Maeve, Lina—but Calum’s focus was on Ashton. The tension in the backyard of his house was palpable, Calum was sure everyone could feel it, and it weighed heavily upon them. “Never said I was,” Calum returned, the edge in his voice ever present, low and threatening as he shot Ashton a mocking smirk. “The only disillusioned one here is you.”

Ashton launched again, this time with a low growl that sounded vaguely like “motherfucker” to Calum’s ears, though he couldn’t be too sure given that he was dodging the next fist that flew his way, instead delivering an uppercut of his own. His knuckles connected with the bottom of Ashton’s chin, a heavy grunt escaping him as he stumbled back because of the hit, eyes squeezing shut automatically.

When Ashton recovered, he made a move to go after Calum again, but suddenly Luke was pulling him back and Calum was being yanked back by another pair of arms, glancing wildly over his shoulder to see Michael gripping him tightly, a hard look in his eyes. “Calm the fuck down,” he hissed in his ears, his hands on his shoulders firm and weighed.

“What the fuck is wrong with you two?” Luke demanded, taller figure coming to step between the two fighting men, left hand against Ashton’s chest to keep him back. He glanced back and forth between them, eyes wide and eyebrows drawn together in bewilderment. Things had escalated faster than anyone had anticipated.

“He doesn’t know when to keep his mouth fucking shut, man,” Ashton exclaimed, the anger ever present in his tone as he spoke to Luke, though his gaze was on Calum.

The brunette almost wanted to laugh at the irony of him saying that if it wasn’t for the pain in his jaw and hand. “And you don’t know how to be a decent fucking friend—you’re the one that started this shit, Ashton,” Calum retorted, speaking through the stinging pain of a bruised jaw, shaking Michael’s grip off of him once he showed him he wasn’t about to launch at Ashton again.

Ashton, in turn, slapped Luke’s hand away as he took a step forward, and Luke didn’t move as he watched him. “Yeah, and I’m gonna be the one to fucking end it, too. I’m done with you and your bullshit—get the fuck out of my house.”

Calum exhaled sharply through his nose, reality beginning to sink in as Ashton’s half-sister, Maeve, spoke up with an alarmed, “Ashton—”

He didn’t even look her way as he snapped, “Stay out of it, Maeve.” Tightening his jaw, Ashton took a few more steps towards Calum, everyone watching with bated breath and alarmed eyes as Ashton stopped in front of him. Calum saw the rage up close, the anger he knew his friend sometimes had trouble controlling, had never lost towards him until now. Ashton lowered his tone, dark and dangerous, as he repeated, “Get the fuck out.”

Calum wasn’t sure how his friendship with Ashton ended in less than ten minutes, but maybe that was it—maybe it hadn’t been ten minutes. Maybe it was months and months of them growing distant, of issues that just never got resolved that led to this. And it hurt Calum, more than his bruised jaw and knuckles, because he could tell this was it. There was no going back from this. His friendship with Ashton, in a few harsh words and rough punches, was over.

And it felt empty.

Day 220

Something had gone wrong and it was eating away at Maeve. She thought they were good, that they were okay, but time and time again she was being proven wrong and as they neared the two month mark, she knew something had to be said or done. She’d let it go for a while, believed that he was busy with work because she knew she was busy with her own job as well as classes. Plus, it wasn’t ever like they saw each other every day, not with him living in the city and all. Maybe that was why Maeve, at first, didn’t think anything was wrong. She saw him if they were free, mostly at the motel and sometimes with her going into New York, and for the most part things were normal. They had been normal.

And it only had Maeve wondering when Calum had gotten good at keeping things from her.

She just didn’t understand where it went south; didn’t understand why suddenly his texts seemed clipped and he no longer wanted to meet up at their place—not just for sex but to hang out. Maeve had to hand it to Calum—he’d been smart about it. He’d come by every so often, but would make sure to sprinkle in some days where he had to reject her offer with some well thought out excuse, making it seem as though something really had come up and he genuinely wasn’t able to make it rather than not wanting to go in the first place.

For a while, Maeve told herself she was just making shit up, looking for something that wasn’t there. But something in her head—hell, even her chest and her damn gut—was telling her that things were off. That something was going on. And it didn’t help that she missed him—so much. She missed Calum’s presence once he really did start pulling away as of recently; she missed being able to talk to him, not just hold him or kiss him or feel him. They often spent hours talking, whether it was just something they wanted to do or when they were under the sheets, spent and satiated but still wanting each other’s company.

God, Maeve didn’t realize how much she craved being with him until she wasn’t.

She sat in her car in the parking deck of her campus, chewing on her lower lip as she looked down at her phone. A debate had been tossing around in her head, questioning whether or not she should send Calum a text, asking him to meet up. There was a genuine hesitation out of fear of him rejecting the offer, given that he’d been doing that for a while now, but this wasn’t a conversation Maeve wanted to have over the phone. And she wasn’t about to show up to his apartment in the city like some stalker. They needed to meet at their place. Their safe haven.

Taking a breath, Maeve unlocked her phone, quickly typing out, Hey, can we meet up, please? I need to talk to you about something—it’s important before hitting send and dropping her phone on the passenger seat with a squeal. She felt ridiculous, but she really thought the nerves would eat at her and prevent her from hitting send.

Maeve’s heart thudded as she waited for a response, fingers drumming on the bottom of the steering wheel as the music playing through her car did nothing to calm her down. The vehicle was still warming up, the early November cold already bitter, but Maeve knew her jittering had more to do with the anticipation of Calum’s response than the weather.

Her heart sank when five minutes passed without a response, throat drying as she tilted her head back and lips turned downwards in a defeated grimace. Though, before she could throw herself a pity party, Maeve’s phone let out a beep, and she scrambled to desperately grab it and let out a gasp of relief when she read Calum’s message of, Yeah, I’ll be there in forty.

Oh, he agreed. He was coming.

She knew she’d get there first, given than her campus was half an hour’s drive from the motel, and the entire time Maeve was acutely aware of her thundering heart. Worry twist and turned her stomach as she drove, swallowing her dry throat because she really didn’t know what she was walking into. Something was up with Calum and Maeve wanted to know, especially if she’d done something wrong, but she wasn’t entirely sure if she was ready to hear whatever it was. But she had to face the music. She missed Calum, and if she fucked up—again—she needed to fix it.

Arriving at the motel, Maeve checked her phone to see if Calum had texted her while she was driving. She’d only just received a text, telling her he’d be there in ten minutes, and Maeve texted him back saying that she’d arrived and get the room.

It was a quick transaction at the reception, paying for the room for only two hours, making the price cheaper. But when she got to the door, room 304 for their taking, and inserted the key, Maeve blinked in surprise when she heard footsteps coming up the staircase a door away from her and Calum turned the corner. The door unlocked and Maeve opened it, shooting Calum an almost nervous smile as he returned it with a close mouthed one of his own while she greeted with a small, “Hey.”

“Hey,” Calum returned, coming to a stop next to her as his eyes flickered to the red door. “If you’d waited five minutes, I could’ve paid—”

“It’s fine,” Maeve quickly reassured, widening her smile a bit as she opened the door. She gestured towards the room, silently inviting him in as she entered the room, hearing Calum enter after her before shutting the door behind them. She played with her fingers, twisting at her rings, working up the courage to say what she wanted. His presence loomed behind her, waiting, and Maeve just needed to gather the words and—

“What’d you wanna talk about?”

Her train of thought screeched to a stop at his words, cutting right to the chase as Maeve licked her lips and turned to face him. He stood with his arms crossed and Maeve couldn’t help but note the defensive stance, as if he was protecting himself from something—her. It only reinvited the unease that loomed in the pit of her stomach, reminding Maeve of the reason why they were here in the first place. He’d been all but keeping his distance from her, slowly but surely, and Maeve needed to find out why.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” she started, hoping her tone didn’t hint at the nerves she was trying to fight off. “Why? What’s the issue?”

Calum blinked, something flashing across his dark eyes, before he furrowed his eyebrows and tried to play off an innocent frown. “No, I haven’t.”

A disbelieving laugh escaped her. “Don’t bullshit me, Cal,” Maeve said with a shake of her head, crossing her own arms. She didn’t want to play anymore games. “Seriously, I thought—I thought things were good between us. So what changed?”

“Nothing changed, Maeve—that’s the issue.” She gaped at Calum, not entirely expecting the burst from him as he threw his arms down. Maeve took in the defeat that took over his face, the helplessness he spoke in. Calum was angry and tired of whatever was bothering him, and Maeve only looked at him in bewilderment as he let out a dry, humorless chuckle with pulling his lower lip into his mouth. His eyes took in the room they stood in before shrugging. “We’ve been doing this, for what, six months? And shit hasn’t changed at all. It’s just getting worse.”

Maeve’s heart dropped at his words, confusion and worry making for an uneasy combination as she looked at him with wide, distressed eyes. Six months—had they really been doing this for half a year? Sneaking around, meeting up in this room, losing themselves in each other? It had flown by, and Maeve was kind of surprised no one they didn’t want to know hadn’t found out about them. They’d been doing the same thing for six months but hadn’t that been the plan?

“I—what?” Maeve asked, shaking her head in hopes of understanding what he was saying. “What’s getting worse?”

Calum shook his head, pressing his lips together at her inquiry. But he looked at her, dark eyes boring into her bluish-green ones, taking in the questioning look she was shooting him, begging to know what he was on about. Maeve waited, silent with a quickening heart rate, hoping he would answer, tell her the truth. She was sick of the silent treatment he had been giving her; she just wanted things to be normal.

And then finally, Calum responded, tired and defeated yet completely behind his words. “The fact that I’m in love with you and you keep reminding me how bad of an idea that is.”

Maeve wasn’t sure what struck her more—the fact that Calum felt that way about her, or the fact that she already knew and he’d finally said it. God, Maeve would have to be blind to not know how Calum felt about her and, okay, maybe she wasn’t aware he was in love with her—but she knew he felt more for her than someone would a fuck buddy. Still, her heart pounded at his revelation, inhaling a sharp yet quiet breath because up until this moment, it had always been a silent understanding. Something had always existed between them, he knew it and so did she, but neither of them ever said anything. Neither of them acknowledged it.

And now Calum was looking at her in defeat, in exhaustion over this whole thing, and Maeve had a sinking feeling that she wasn’t going to like where this was going.

“Calum—”

“I don’t wanna do this anymore, Maeve.” The words died in her throat, feeling it tighten as she looked at Calum with eyes widened ever so slightly in surprise. He stared right back, eyebrows pulled together as he forced out words she didn’t think he wanted to say, but had to. His words hung in the room heavily, settling like an unmovable weight upon her chest. He didn’t. . . Want to do this anymore. “I can’t do this, not with you. And ’m not gonna keep puttin’ myself in a situation that just. . . Doesn’t feel right anymore.”

It felt like a slap in the face, it really did, with the sting of his words springing tears into her eyes because he wanted to be done. Maeve reeled at his words, blinking as her arms slowly uncrossed in her state of surprised disbelief. It was falling apart, right in front of her; her relationship with Calum—this complicated, wonderful, dizzying relationship—was coming to an end and Maeve didn’t know how to stop it, no matter how desperately she wished to.

The way Calum was looking at her, lips pressed together and the muscle in his jaw ticking, eyes swimming with so much emotion that it was overwhelming for her—Maeve could tell he didn’t want to do this, but had to because it was something that was probably good for him. And she wanted to tell him that they could fix this, she wanted to tell him the words she knew would change everything, but would that just come off as her telling him what he wanted to hear? Would he see it as a manipulative tactic? Because even as Maeve thought about it, she could tell that it may come off as that.

Her anxious over thinking rendered her speechless, forcing her to keep the words she desperately wanted to say in her mouth, not letting them fall off the tip of her tongue where they rested. Maeve’s body felt hot with frustration, her heart hammering as her head screamed at her to say the words Calum needed to hear—that she needed to say.

But she didn’t. And Calum’s throat worked as he gave a shake of his head, disenchanted by her lack of response. “Right,” he breathed raspily, nodding to himself as he looked down at his feet, and Maeve’s features fell when she saw the way his own face scrunched up. Like he was willing himself not to let his own tears from falling. Maeve was quickly losing that battle, too. “I’ve gotta go.”

Calum didn’t wait for Maeve to respond, not looking up until he turned around and was heading towards the door. He didn’t stop, didn’t spare her another look as he opened the door and walked out.

He left, the room now smelling of its familiar vanilla mixed with the subtle scent of Calum’s cologne. It only made it easier for the tears to fall once he was gone.

Flashback

“Go to hell,” Maeve pouted, forcing herself not to toss the cards in Calum’s direction like a child, instead of slapping them down on the grass. The brunette merely snickered, satisfied with himself as he took the cards from her and put them in his small pile. “I didn’t show you this game for you to bankrupt me.”

Calum grinned, running his tongue across his lower lip as he looked down at his hand. “Monopoly takes no prisoners, sweetheart,” he hummed, brown eyes meeting her blue, unshielded as her sunglasses rested atop her head.

They were seated comfortably upon the grass in Bryant Park, the mid May weather making for a beautiful day to be out in the city. It was fairly busy at the park, understandably so, as someone seated a few feet away from them played music from their portable speaker, the sound mixing in with the hum of people talking amongst themselves as well as the traffic on the street in front of the park.

Maeve narrowed her eyes, leaning towards Calum as the cards not in their hands remained laid out between them. With her mock glare furrowing her brows, Maeve told him flatly, “You suck.”

Calum leaned forward as well, minimizing the distance between them, noses just barely brushing together as Maeve peered into his dark eyes, willing herself not to get lost in them. Two months since they started whatever this was and she knew she was losing that battle tremendously. A smirk tilted at Calum’s lips, boyish and lazy as he remarked arrogantly, “Isn’t that your job?”

Her jaw dropped, a startled laugh escaping her at his teasing words, only prompting Calum to laugh as well with mirth dancing in his dark eyes, cute crinkles at the corners. He wiggled his eyebrows, suggestive and not at all innocent, and Maeve shot him a mocking smile as she said, “You’re not funny.”

Calum scoffed with a roll of his eyes. “I’m hilarious,” he replied, though he barely got the words out because Maeve shut him up by placing her free hand to the back of his neck and pulling him in for a kiss. Calum hummed against her lips, earnestly returning the kiss as she felt his own hand cup her cheek, rings cool against her skin and fingers brushing into her hair. He tasted like the gum he’d been chewing, fresh and minty, and Maeve couldn’t stop herself from leaning in, completely intoxicated by the feel of his soft lips as they moved with hers so perfectly.

“You know, not everyone’s comfortable with so much PDA.”

Maeve pulled away from Calum at the new, familiar voice, pulling her lower lip into her mouth as she sat up and looked to see Michael standing over them. He stood, arms crossed and an amused smirk dancing on his lips as he looked down at them, raising his eyebrows. Calum huffed as he looked up at his best friend, pressing his lips together as he tasted the strawberry chapstick he’d kissed off Maeve’s lips. “What’re you doing here, Mike?”

The green eyed man snickered. “Interrupting you two, apparently.”

Maeve breathed out a laugh of her own, shuffling her few cards in her hands. She wasn’t bothered with Michael catching them, even if it was in a place as busy as New York. Her and Calum had been running around for two months now, doing whatever the hell it is they were doing, and she was well aware that Michael knew of their little arrangement—just like Lina knew, given that they were their best friends. The two of them needed to gossip with someone about this deal they had with one another.

Continuing after brushing the fringe out of his eye from under his cap, Michael said, “Nah, I’m just hanging out with—”

“Maeve? Calum?”

She froze at the new voice, eyes widening when her gaze shifted from Michael to the man that appeared at his side, heart dropping to the pit of her stomach when Luke came into view. Her brother’s best friend. Maeve stared up at him, shock coursing through her because she didn’t think Luke and Michael still hung out. More than that—she wasn’t entirely sure if Luke was going to mention to Ashton that he’d caught her hanging out with the guy he couldn’t stand.

The blue eyed blonde looked down at the two of them, confusion written across his face as he looked between them, raised eyebrows showing just how unexpected the sight was for him as it was for Maeve. He was slowly chewing a mouthful of roasted peanuts, taking in the way Maeve was gaping up at him because she was too speechless to actually say something.

“You two, uh, friends now?” Luke questioned, gesturing between her and Calum with a single ring clad finger.

“Somethin’ like that,” Calum answered, not as shaken at the blonde’s presence as Maeve was. He leaned back on his hands, looking up the two guys with ease. With an effortless grin, he added, “Don’t let us stop your date.”

Maeve pressed her lips together as Michael smirked. “I was gonna say the same to you,” he hummed, nudging Luke with his elbow as a way of telling him they should go. Looking back at the two seated people, Michael added, “Have fun, you two. Remember to keep the PDA to a minimum.”

Calum scoffed with a roll of his eyes. “Fuck outta here.”

Michael laughed as he offered a wave, and Luke bid goodbye with a simple, “See you two around,” before following Michael away.

Maeve stared after them, after him, lips parted and still feeling startled at seeing Luke. She felt the urge to go after him, to make him promise not to mention this to Ashton at all, but Maeve felt rooted in her spot. Whatever she had going on with Calum was still fairly new, but it was good and fun, and the thought of it coming to an end because of her brother had her stomach twisting uneasily.

“Hey,” she heard Calum say, a finger poking at her knee as she forced herself to face him once more. He furrowed his eyebrows at her pale expression. “You okay?”

“Do you think Luke will say anything?” she asked, eyebrows drawing together in worry. “To Ash?”

The crease in Calum’s forehead smoothed out at her question, understanding her sudden concern. He looked over her shoulder in the direction the other two boys went, curls dancing across his forehead with the light breeze that blew by. Calum stayed silent in quiet consideration for a moment as Maeve chewed her lower lip in worry. “No, I don’t think so,” he answered finally, with a firm shake of his head. “I doubt he’s gonna wanna purposefully piss Ashton off. He’ll keep his mouth shut.”

Maeve let out a gentle scoff, raising her eyebrows. “You sound so sure.”

“It’ll be fine, doll,” Calum assured before sitting up, picking up his cards and grinning, “Come on, I was kicking your ass.”

It wasn’t until later that day when Maeve finally got home, around five in the afternoon, that the worry she’d felt earlier came back in full swing. She entered the house, freezing almost instantly when she took a few steps in when she caught sight of who was sitting on the couch with her brother.

Maeve stood, gaping at Ashton and Luke in silent surprise, though her gaze seemed to be glued to the blue eyed man. He stared right back, eyebrows raised, as if silently asking her if everything was okay. Her heart was thundering in her chest, mind swirling with frantic questions, wondering if he’d told Ashton, wondering if he was going to if he hadn’t already. But he merely stared back, innocent and big blue eyed, as if he wasn’t aware of what could possibly be Maeve’s biggest secret. Her stomach turned uneasily, throat dry, unsure of what to say and wondering if she should say something.

“Can you move? You’re blocking the TV, Maeve,” Ashton spoke up, gesturing to her in annoyance with the remote in her hand. He eyed her with a frown, looking at her in bewilderment until she quickly moved, offering a brief apology before heading up the stairs to where her room was.

She barely shut the door, left ajar, as she tossed her purse on the bed and ran her fingers through her short hair. The worry brewed in the pit of her stomach as she sat down on the edge of her bed, nibbling on her nails—not that she really could. No way was she ruining a fifty dollar manicure.

But, fuck, she was kind of on the verge of having a bit of a meltdown. Maybe that was overdramatic, but things were going so well for her and Calum. They were having fun, enjoying each other’s company—and bodies—while also getting reacquainted with one another, and Maeve didn’t want any of that to come to an end so soon. Because she knew, if Ashton were to find out. . . Man, saying he’d be pissed off would be the understatement of the century.

Maeve wasn’t sure how long she was sitting in her panic, changed into a pair of comfortable clothes and keeping herself busy on the word search app on her phone—though being so distracted because of her anxiety over today didn’t allow her to beat her personal record. But eventually, there was a knock on her door and she looked up to see Luke pushing it open and peeking his head in.

Their eyes met, and Luke took a step in as a dimpled grin spread across his face when he commented, “You should’ve seen the look on your face. Priceless.”

She licked her lips, dropping her phone and shifting to sit on the edge of her bed, hands on either side of her and shoulders up to her ears, trying and failing to ground herself. “Can you blame me? You and I both know what you saw earlier.”

The smile from Luke’s face slipped as he leaned against the wall by the door, hands behind his back as he let out a breath. They grew silent for a minute, Luke scratching his right eyebrow before asking, “Are you gonna tell Ash?”

Maeve let out a humorless chuckle, raising her eyebrows. “So he can kill Calum? Fuck no.” Luke exhaled sharply through his nose, and Maeve bit the inside of her lower lip as she stood up, taking a few steps towards him. “I know Ashton is your best friend and I would never want you to lie to him but I just—I need you to keep this to yourself, Luke, please. He can’t find out.”

Luke looked at her for a moment, searching her eyes for something, before letting out another breath and rubbing his hands down his face. “Of all the guys, Maeve, it had to be Calum?” he questioned with his hands still covering his face, words muffled but understandable before he dropped his hands to his sides.

She offered a sheepish, almost apologetic smile with a gentle shrug of her shoulders. “The universe works in mysterious ways?”

He let out a laugh, still in a state of disbelief. “Fuck off,” he grinned before pushing himself off the wall. Running his fingers through his hair, Luke looked down at her, his large body towering over hers easily. “I’ll keep your dirty little secret. I hope you know what you’re doing.”

Maeve scoffed lightly, relief washing over at his words. Knowing Luke was going to keep her secret, even from his best friend, eased many of Maeve’s worries. He was a good person and she hated that she was forcing him to keep something from Ashton, but she needed him to, and she was grateful. “So do I,” she breathed, smile widening as Luke pulled her in for a goodbye hug.

About fifteen minutes after Luke left, Maeve headed downstairs into the kitchen. Just as she grabbed a banana, Ashton entered the kitchen, stopping her when he asked, “What’s going on with you and Luke?”

Maeve shot him a frown, tilting her head slightly in confusion. His question caught her off guard, so did the way he asked it a bit too innocently, like there was some underlying motive. As she peeled the banana, Maeve gave a shake of her head and asked, “What do you mean?”

Gesturing towards the living room vaguely, Ashton said, “Well, you were acting weird earlier and then he actually went to your room to say bye.” His eyebrows twitched into a frown. “Something going on?”

Okay, Maeve was utterly bewildered. Her chewing of the banana slowed down as she stared at her half-brother, frown deepening as she choked out a laugh. What was he even talking about? She had an idea, she’d be dumb not to, but the fact that he was actually asking her if something was happening between her and Luke was kind of hilarious. “I—No, Ashton,” Maeve told him truthfully with a laugh. “I don’t—No, there’s nothing going on with me and Luke.” When he didn’t look entirely convinced, Maeve rolled her eyes, shoulders dropping. “What, do you think I have a crush on him? Because I don’t.”

He stared at her for a few more minutes, and Maeve widened her eyes pointedly, an incredulous smile still growing on her face because she’d been asking Luke to keep his mouth shut about her secret relationship/arrangement with Calum, and here Ashton was, thinking she had something going on with Luke.

“Okay, okay,” Ashton finally relented, letting out a sheepish chuckle. “Sorry, I just thought—anyway, uh, good.” He turned to walk out of the kitchen, stopping as he pointed at her with a finger, eyebrows raising as he added, “Stay away from my friends.”

She stared after him as he went, unable to entirely tell if he was joking or being serious. There was a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach that told her it was the latter, and suddenly Maeve’s appetite was gone.

Because if Ashton didn’t want her getting involved with his friends, God knows how he’d react if he found out she was getting involved with an ex-friend.

Day 243

He’d just left a bar, only allowing himself a few beers that he caught with a few guys from work, when his phone started vibrating incessantly. He was walking towards the subway as he pulled his phone out, stopping at a corner waiting to cross the street when he saw each text he received—about seven of them—were from Maeve. Calum’s eyebrows drew together as he read the messages, not one hundred percent coherent given the extra unnecessary letters and misspellings some of the words consisted of.

He rolled his lower lip into his mouth, biting down on it as he felt his chest constrict. He hadn’t seen her in, what, twenty days? More? Calum was, frankly, surprised he was able to keep his distance from her for that long, and he was also surprised that Maeve gave it to him, too, never calling or texting him. The disappointment that came with that was unjustified, given that it was he who told her he was done, but it was still present. And since that day at the motel where he finally told her how he felt, the weight hadn’t lifted from Calum’s shoulders. If anything, it felt heavier, pushing him down more and more. It was only a matter of time until he fell to his knees.

Calum had told her he loved her and then he walked away. He didn’t entirely blame Maeve for not reaching out, but he still found himself selfishly wishing that she did.

Fuck, he was never happy, was he?

No. He was. Despite the drama and the secrets, Calum had been happy when he was with Maeve. He could never lie about that.

Looking down at the texts, Calum’s jaw tightened when he saw that Maeve was begging for him to come to the motel, to their spot. From what he could make out, she was already there, waiting for him, alone and drunk, and the thought of her being there by herself was unsettling. Calum had half a mind to text Lina or Audra, asking one of the girls to check in on Maeve, but he knew he wouldn’t be satisfied unless he saw her with his own eyes.

People moved around him, crossing the street as he remained put, gaze lifting as he thoughtfully looked ahead of him. The buildings around him were glittered with lights, cars buzzing and honking as they drove past, and Calum debated if he should go. Debated if it was his place to check in on her. He wanted to keep his distance, that had been the plan, hadn’t it?

But, fuck, Calum would be lying if he said the past twenty-three days spent without any sort of contact from Maeve hadn’t been damn near agonizing. How the fuck had he lived his life before they ran into each other at the Bryant Park Grill?

So he texted her, promising to be there soon, and turned around to head to another subway down a few blocks that would take him to Penn Station. His mind was made up.

The half and hour journey seemed to drag on forever to the point where as soon as Calum reached Hoboken, he practically sprinted to the Skyview Motel. The air felt chilling in his lungs as he finally reached the motel, going up the stairs two at a time until he reached the third floor and the familiar door of room 304. Calum let out a breath, heart drumming in his chest as he knocked on the door, chewing on the inside of his lower lip as he impatiently waited, hoping Maeve hadn’t passed out during his journey over.

Calum turned his ear towards the door as he heard footsteps on the other side, the relief rushing the air out of his lungs as the door swung open to reveal Maeve, barefoot yet dressed in fitted leather pants and a laced red bodysuit, clearly finished with a fun night out.

“Calum!” she greeted, cheery and drunk with flushed cheeks and lips that no longer were painted red but he could tell at one point in the night, they had been. “You’re here,” she added with a giddy grin, both hands grabbing his left wrist and tugging him into the warmth of the room.

He let her pull him in, eyebrows raising because, yeah, she was drunk as he shut the door behind them. Her purse and jacket was tossed on the table, shoes on the floor. Her blonde hair was a bit messy but her makeup was perfect, and even if it wasn’t Calum knew she would still be effortlessly beautiful. “Yeah, I am, sweetheart,” he told her, the term of endearment slipping past his lips before he could stop it.

It seemed, even in her drunken state, Maeve noticed as her grin widened, standing in front of him as her hands gripped the lapels of his bomber jacket. She looked up at him, bluish-green eyes glittering and freckles standing out against her flushed cheeks as she softly hummed, “I love when you call me that.”

He looked down at her, lips pressing together and throat working because all he could see in her eyes, past the drunken haze and sleepiness, was honesty. She was smiling up at him, still smelling of her familiar fruity and cocoa butter perfume and lotion that Calum often found himself getting dizzy on, and he felt his chest tighten. Maeve had the remarkable ability of so easily enticing emotions from him, emotions he’d tried so hard to push aside where she was concerned because he knew he’d only end up hurt—which he did. But saying no to Maeve. . . Calum had accepted it wasn’t something he was good at. No matter how hard he tried.

“I know,” he told her softly, unable to stop his hand from reaching up and using his finger to brush some blonde hair away from her face. “Come on, Maeve,” Calum added, arm wrapping around her waist as he started moving them towards the bed, “You should get some sleep.”

“No,” Maeve whined, pushing away from Calum and stumbling on her feet. He grabbed her elbow gently, making sure she didn’t fall, as he eyed her with a mixture of surprise and worry. She faced him once more, pouting as she pointed a finger at him lazily. “If I go to sleep, then you’ll leave,” she said, her words a tired and drunken drawl. “You left me here last time. You’ll leave.”

Calum’s throat dried, lips parting as he looked at the woman who was looking at him sadly, complete with a frown on her eyebrows and lips. Despite being drunk, Calum could tell that Maeve was genuinely hurt, that him leaving her the way he had that day had really been eating away at her. And it wasn’t like Calum was trying to give her a taste of her own medicine—never in a million years because he wasn’t an asshole. He would never hurt someone he cared about—someone he loved—intentionally. Calum thought he was giving them both what they needed. Now he was realizing, after understanding how the days since he left her fucking sucked more than he thought, that distance wasn’t the answer. He couldn’t stay away from her, not even if he tried, and it was obvious she hadn’t fared well either.

“I won’t leave, doll,” Calum assured her, stepping towards her as his hands found her cheeks. Her throat worked, looking up at him with big, glassy eyes and he felt his chest tighten even more. He hated himself for hurting her. “I’ll be right here with you, yeah? I’ll spend the night.”

Maeve looked up at him, eyes narrowed in drunken suspicion. “Promise?”

She spoke softly, hopefully, and if there was any ounce of doubt or fight in Calum, it left immediately with the look she was giving him. How had he ever thought he could stay away from her? The thought was almost laughable now.

Not the first time Calum had been stupid where Maeve was concerned.

His thumbs rubbed on her cheeks, nodding his head and offering a smile. “Promise,” he responded breathily, the smile she returned warming him up.

They took a few minutes to make sure to let Maeve’s parents know that she was staying at a friend’s, and then Calum took her to the bathroom where she could wash off her makeup, all the while moaning and complaining about not having her wipes and hating that she only had water and soap before drying herself off.

He then brought her to the bed, pushing back the comforter and helping her into her designated side. Maeve settled down, though she didn’t lie down as she bagan unbuttoning her pants. “Can’t sleep in these,” she mumbled sleepily, frowning down at the pants she struggled to unbutton.

Calum pressed his lips together, watching her fingers stumble over themselves and fail to complete their task. He let out a breath, crouching down to his knees and gently swatting her fingers away and bringing his own ring clad ones to swiftly unbutton her pants. Maeve giggled sleepily, “At least take me out to dinner first.”

He suppressed the amused huff of laughter, undoing her pants and shimmying them down her legs before folding them and placing the pants at the end of the bed. Calum took a look at the bodysuit she was wearing as he stood up, figuring it probably wasn’t the most comfortable thing to sleep in, and shrugged off his jacket. As Maeve pulled the comforter up to her hips, Calum asked, “Want my shirt?”

Her eyes met his, wide but tired, as she responded almost timidly, “Please.”

Well fuck, melt his heart, why didn’t she.

He took the shirt off, leaving him shirtless as he handed it to Maeve before walking around the bed towards his side. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Calum felt the gentle shifting of the mattress as Maeve took off the bodysuit, and Calum stared at the wall in front of him. This wasn’t how he thought his night would go, sitting in the room that had become one of his favorite places over the months, with the woman that had honestly become one of his favorite people. He had no problem admitting that to himself, not when he’d already admitted his feelings to her.

Even when Calum had told Maeve that he couldn’t keep continuing whatever they were doing, he had a hard time believing his own words, which only presented more doubt of being able to follow through. And he should’ve known he wouldn’t be able to. Not when it came to her.

Calum felt a hand on his bare shoulder, pulling him out of his thoughts as Maeve tugged him back, silently getting him to lie down. He looked at her as she shifted downwards, looking a lot more calm and sober than when he first arrived, though Calum figured sleep was washing over her quickly. Smiling gently, Calum toed off his shoes and socks and lifted the comforter to slide in, unable to stop himself from thinking how adorable she looked swimming in his shirt.

“Come here,” he mumbled, laying down and lifting his right arm, allowing Maeve to scoot closer until she was pressed against his side and her cheek was resting against his chest, and he lowered his arm around her to keep her close. The warmth of her body against his was comforting, familiar, and a feeling Calum never wanted to deprive himself of ever again.

He heard and felt her hum against him, eyes fluttering closed as her hand rested on his chest as well. The smile that tugged on Calum’s lips wasn’t one he could stop, taking in the sweep of her lashes and the freckles dotting her skin. “Thanks for coming, Cal,” Maeve mumbled sleepily, her breath warm against his skin.

Calum’s fingers gently brushed her hair away from her shoulder, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head as he murmured back, “Anythin’ for you, sweetheart.”

She hummed happily, sleepily, and Calum thought she would drift away right then and there. But then she spoke up one last time, sending shockwaves through Calum’s body that would keep him up for the rest of the night. “G’night, Cal. Love you.”

Yeah. He was definitely not getting any sleep.

Day 246

As she pulled into the line of the Starbucks drive through, waiting for her turn to order, Maeve pulled out her phone, busying herself while she waited. She fooled around one some of the apps, lips twisting to the side as nothing seemed to particularly interest her, her finger accidentally slipping when she was on Snapchat as it took her to the map. And then she saw Calum’s location, right in the spot that was theirs, and her eyebrows raised as she saw that he was there right now. The drive through line creeped forward as Maeve messaged him a familiar quip, What chick are you sneaking there?

His response was almost instant, Just waiting for you to get the hint. My location is loud & clear.

Maeve let out a breathy laugh, telling him she’d be there soon as it was her turn to order. She ordered her own drink before deciding to get Calum his usual order as well and being on her way. As she drove, Maeve could feel her stomach twisting and turning in familiar knots, reminding herself that today was the day. Today, she was going to try and let go of her worries and concerns, because the drunk version of herself already had.

It had been three days since Maeve, in drunken and sleepy stupor, had told Calum she loved him, and it had been two days since she remembered the fact. And when she had suddenly recalled that memory, vague as it may be, Maeve knew it had happened, and she wasn’t sure if she was mortified that the first time she told Calum she loved him was when she was drunk, or worried over the fact that he never brought it up. Had she thought it was just something she said while she was drunk, therefore not really meaning it? Or because he had moved on?

She swallowed the discomfort at that thought. She hoped to God that wasn’t it.

But Maeve was done. She was finished with the constant pushing aside of her feelings, and she was done with ignoring Calum’s feelings for her—if he still had them. She was done with them dancing on their toes around each other, never really uttering how they felt until it was too late. God, hadn’t they wasted enough time already?

“Hey, my personal UberEats is here,” Calum grinned upon opening the door and catching sight of Maeve and the drinks she held. He looked good, as always, in a ripped up shirt tucked into his pants and his favorite black Doc Martens. He made Maeve’s heart race so damn easily.

A scoff escaped her, handing him his as she entered the room. “Anyone who gets Starbucks delivered is pathetic,” Maeve responded factually before taking a long sip of her drink, as if the frappuccino was going to grant her some courage to say what she wanted to. And as soon as she put the drink down on the table, Maeve blurted out, “How come you never said anything about what I told you the other night?”

She turned around just as she said, looking at Calum who was mid sip of his iced latte, eyebrows raised at her in surprise. “Uh,” he sounded, releasing the straw as his dark brows furrowed. “You’re gonna have to be more specific, doll.”

“No, I don’t,” she responded with a shake of her head. Maeve saw it in his eyes, in the recognition that flashed across them, and for a brief moment she was relieved that she was able to read him once again, so easily. Was relieved that he allowed her to. She took a few steps towards him, arms crossed. “You know exactly what I’m talking about, Cal. I doubt you forgot.”

Calum sighed, not even bothering to keep up the charade as he held the hand that held his drink out while he spoke. “Because you were drunk and half asleep, Maeve. I wasn’t—” he paused, exhaling through his nose as he pressed his lips together. His eyes met hers once more. “I guess I didn’t just wasn’t sure if you meant it or not.”

Her heart sank at that, and Maeve in that moment acknowledged that telling him that way was a complete idiot move on her part, even if she didn’t entirely have control over it. She looked at Calum, at the way he pressed his downward turned lips together, and her heart jumped into her throat. Maeve closed the distance between them, approaching the tall brunette as the closer she got to him, the higher her gaze lifted. Once she was in front of Calum, embraced by his familiar scent and cologne, she felt some of the tension in her muscles relax.

Lifting her hands, Maeve placed them on either side of his neck as Calum looked down at her, and she hoped he saw the honesty in her eyes and heard it in her voice when she said, “I hate that the first time I told you that was when I was drunk, but I mean it, Calum.” She saw his dark eyes looking back and forth between hers, could feel him holding his breath, and Maeve’s lips turned upwards in a smile she couldn’t contain. God, she could hear her heart thundering in her ears, but she knew Calum heard her loud and clear when she said, “I love you.”

It took him a few moments to process her words—words he wasn’t sure how long he’d been waiting for her to say. But once Maeve uttered them, they flew around in Calum’s head, settled deep within his chest and sent electricity through his veins and he was fucking finished.

He had half the mind to reach behind him to put the latte down on the bedside table before his arms wrapped around Maeve’s waist and crushed her into him, lips finding hers immediately in a kiss that was so different than the ones they’d shared. This one held nothing back; it was full and open and honest, pouring every single emotion into it with a stunning force that rendered both of them utterly breathless.

Maeve’s hands went from Calum’s neck to the back of his head, wrapping her arms around him as his tongue slid against hers, his own arms embracing her in a way that made her feel so safe—safer than their little motel room.

What they had, had been messy at the start, and despite being open about their feelings, both Maeve and Calum knew things were just as complicated—if not more. Hiding a friends with benefits situation wasn’t too difficult, but with the silent and mutual agreement of wanting to be together, they knew eventually, they’d have to come clean. Eventually, her brother would need to find out that she was dating the guy he couldn’t stand. Eventually, shit was going to hit the fan.

But for now, they were pretty damn content.

Day 274

“Can—you—let me—go?” Maeve could barely get the words out between her laughter and the fact that Calum’s lips never seemed to want to leave hers, her hands applying some pressure on his shoulders as a feeble attempt to push him off. Calum’s arms remained winded around her waist, his back pressed against the brick wall as he kept kissing her, a crinkly eyed grin on his face that Maeve couldn’t get enough of. She lightly slapped his shoulders, trying to pull away. “Come on, Cal, I have to pee.”

“Fine, fine,” Calum relented, reluctantly dropping his arms from around her. He remained leaned against the wall, pouting as she stepped back from him with an amused grin. “I’m gonna go out back for a smoke.”

She voiced her acknowledgement before disappearing into the ladies room, and Calum then made his way down the hall towards the main area of the bar, but instead of going to where his friends were, he opened the door that led to the back alley smoking spot. The door shut behind him as he pulled out his packet of cigarettes and lighter, placing one between his lips as he lit it. It sent a spark of warmth through him in the chilly night, the alley in between two bars dark and justifiably smelly as he saw the occasional car drive by on the street a few feet ahead.

But Calum barely got to enjoy two puffs of the cigarette, because suddenly the door he’d just come through burst open, slamming against the wall and startling Calum—though not as much as the man that stormed through.

Ashton’s eyes, wild with anger even in the dark of the night, caught Calum’s surprised ones as his hands tightened into fists as he stormed over. His footsteps thudded heavily on the concrete, and Calum watched as the vein in Ashton’s neck threatened to burst as he all but yelled out, “Stay the fuck away from my sister!”

Oh, fu—

Calum couldn’t even finish that dumbfounded thought because Ashton’s fist unforgivingly collided with his jaw, knocking the cigarette right out of his hand as he stumbled right back into the brick wall with a groan. He’d felt the dull force of Ashton’s knuckles as well as the metallic hit of the rings he wore, and Calum’s eyes squeezed shut as he tried to gather his bearings as quickly as he could.

It didn’t matter how Ashton found it. The point was, he knew, and Calum was in deep shit.

Ashton was right on him once again, fist connected with the same jaw, slamming Calum’s head into the wall as the brick scraped against his temple, and this time drawing blood as Calum tasted the copper on his tongue. “The fuck were you thinking, huh? Are you fucking stupid?”

For fuck’s sake. He blinked away the spots that were dancing in front of his eyes, the sudden burst of dizziness still present, but allowing Ashton to get two hits in was enough. Mustering up the energy and ignoring the thundering of his heart, Calum pushed Ashton away and delivered a punch of his own to keep him back for good measure, straightening as he spat the mouthful of blood. “I’m thinkin’ that your sister is a grown fuckin’ woman who can make her own decisions,” Calum snapped, his own anger letting loose as he took a somewhat shaky step forward, the sole of his shoes scraping against the ground. His head fucking hurt, and Calum knew that once the adrenaline wore off, it would probably be much worse. Calum could feel the blood trickling down his chin, could still taste it, as he all but taunted, “Who she fucks is none of your business.”

It was a poor, antagonizing choice of words, Calum was well aware, but he was fucking sick of it. Sick of the hiding, sick of sneaking around, all because Ashton had an issue with him. It was about damn time everyone got the fuck over it.

As expected, Ashton launched at him again, an angered, primal growl escaping him as he ran at Calum and crouched to push him against the wall by his stomach, slamming Calum against it once again. The brunette groaned as the bricks dug into his back, at Ashton’s vice like grip on him, but Calum lifted his right arm before jamming his elbow directly on Ashton’s upper back, which had him falling, only for Calum to swiftly bring his knee up and bury it harshly in Ashton’s chest.

He groaned, tumbling to the ground as the wind was knocked out of him, and Calum stood above, his breath uneven and quick. Looking down at him, Calum swallowed the tightness in his throat, the anger that was simmering. Fuck this. Calum moved to step around him, gingerly licking his lip and tasting the blood and wincing at the cut that was there. At least he hadn’t lost a tooth.

But just as he took another step, Ashton seemed to recover, grabbing Calum’s leg with a growl of, “Fucking son of a bitch,” and giving a harsh tug, sending Calum to the floor as he groaned when he landed on his front on the concrete. He struggled to get up, feeling Ashton’s hands force him to lay on his back as he got on top of him, and Calum caught sight of the rage in his darkened eyes. He was pissed off, beyond comprehension, and Calum couldn’t help but wonder how they’d come to this. Were they really so far into this, to the point of no return? Would there ever be any coming back from this?

Just before Ashton’s fist could descend, Calum vaguely heard the door slam open, followed by the sound of Maeve’s voice screaming, “Stop!”

And then Ashton was being pulled away, two pairs of arms grabbing him as he struggled against them, his weight no longer on top of Calum. He sat up, breathing labored, just as Maeve rushed to his side, crouching down with one hand wrapping around his arm and the other going around his waist to help him to his feet. For the moment, Calum ignored Ashton’s angry words to Luke and Michael about letting him the fuck go, instead choosing to look at Maeve, who’s light eyes were swimming with terror and concern as she eyed the blood on his face.

“Oh, my God, Calum—you’re—are you okay?” she asked, her voice breathy and rushed and thick with emotion. Her hand left his arm, gingerly touching his jaw as she looked at him, and Calum winced only when she drew her hand back and saw her skin stained with his blood.

Before he could say anything, though, Ashton’s hard voice cut through the air. “Get the fuck away from him, Maeve.”

If it didn’t hurt so damn much, the adrenaline quickly wearing off, Calum would clench his jaw at Ashton’s words. Instead, his eyes narrowed into a glare at the man who was already scowling at him, not entirely calmed down as Luke and Michael flanked him, ready to interfere once again if they had to. Maeve looked at her half-brother, her throat working. There was no blood on him, which she saw as a good sign, but it also angered her knowing that Calum was right next to her, bleeding.

“No, Ashton.” She gave a shake of her head, her arm around Calum’s waist tight as his arm laid around her shoulders. She couldn’t believe that this was how Ashton came to find out about her and Calum, couldn’t believe that she missed any opportunity to tell him in the past two months her and Calum had officially gotten together. Though, honestly, she wondered if his reaction would’ve been any different. “He’s my boyfriend, so no—I won’t get away from him.”

Her brother stared at her, her words widening his already angered eyes as he took a few steps towards them, Michael and Luke hastily following as Ashton snapped, “Your fucking what?” His eyes darted between the two of them, standing close with their arms around one another, before letting out a dry scoff. “Are you fucking serious? Maeve, what the hell—”

“Look, Ashton,” Maeve spoke up, finding her voice once again. She didn’t want to piss Ashton off anymore than he was, though she figured that was a little too late. But Maeve was done with all the hiding and being scared of him finding out—given that he knew now. It was out in the open, and seeing what Ashton did to Calum only gave her more of the strength to stand by her relationship. “I’m sorry you found out this way, but I’m not going to apologize for my relationship. Your issues with Calum have gone on long enough and it’s about time you either move on, or just get the hell over it.”

Ashton looked at her, the anger mixing with disbelief as he parted his lips. But Maeve stared right back, didn’t cower under his gaze as she kept Calum close. She felt him squeeze her shoulders encouragingly, saw Michael and Luke exchange knowing looks on either side of Ashton. A breathless scoff escaped Ashton as he subtly nodded to himself and raised an eyebrow. “You’re taking his side over mine?”

It always came down to sides, didn’t it?

Maeve looked at Calum, saw him already looking down at her with brown eyes that failed to hide his worry, the blood still trickling down his chin. She knew her answer as she looked back at Ashton. “Yeah. I am.”

Day 298

The house was filled with people, all Maeve’s closest friends and family, present for a brunch her parents threw for her twenty-fourth birthday. The early afternoon was filled with drinking mimosas, eating delicious food, and taking loads of pictures as Maeve enjoyed the company of her loved ones. Except that happiness dulled every so often when her eyes met those of her half-brother’s, hazel eyes void of any emotion save for what she achingly knew as betrayal. Maeve had a sinking feeling that Ashton was only present for her birthday because it was expected of him, because their parents told him to put aside whatever anger he had at Maeve and Calum’s relationship and to be there for his sister’s birthday.

The idea of him being forced to be here twisted at Maeve’s heart.

She was standing with Calum in the living room, the two of them chatting up with Maeve’s cousin Dawn when her eyes caught sight of Ashton heading up the stairs. Her eyebrows furrowed after him, biting the inside of her cheek before quickly looking at Calum and Dawn and saying, “I’ll be right back, guys.”

They nodded, Calum’s eyes meeting Maeve’s where she could see the silent concern. Calum was another target of Ashton’s anger, though what he was on the receiving end of a more violent type of rage. What she was getting was the silent, cold shoulder and dagger eyes that had her heart sinking in her chest each time. She hated that she upset him, but Maeve couldn’t be sorry for being with Calum. She had spent too long telling herself it was a bad idea when it wasn’t; how could it feel so good if it was?

After shooting Calum a reassuring smile, Maeve weaved through the people around her house and headed up the stairs quickly, hoping to catch Ashton before he locked himself in his old bedroom like a stubborn child.

“Ash,” she called, spotting him in the hall. He didn’t stop as he kept going, and Maeve let out a breath as she kept following him. “Come on, Ash, can we talk?”

“We’ve got nothing to talk about, Maeve,” Ashton said, turning to look at her blankly. “You’ve made your choice. Glad to know where I stand.”

She released an exhausted sigh, giving a desperate shake of her head. “Why does it have to be a choice in the first place? Why can’t you two just forgive and forget, huh? You got in a stupid fight for a stupid reason, Ashton—just let it go.”

Ashton tightened his jaw, lips pursed as he glared at her. “It’s not that simple.”

Maeve’s heart thudded. Was that some kind of hint he was willing to try at least? “It can be,” she told him, her tone turning soft as she took a few steps towards her half-brother. Offering a small smile, she said, “Something I learned over the past few months is that we just make shit harder for ourselves because we’re too stubborn to think it can be easy.” When Ashton scoffed, not entirely convinced, Maeve licked her lips and looked up at him with an apologetic, almost sad, expression. “I know I hurt you, Ash, and I’m so sorry for it. But asking me to be sorry for loving Calum would be like asking me to lock away a part of myself. And you had always been the one to tell me to never be afraid of being me.”

She saw some, not all, but some of the anger in his eyes melt away, face scrunching up in half hearted annoyance as he groaned, “Don’t use my words against me.”

Maeve braved another smile. “That’s another thing I’m not sorry for.” When he rolled his eyes, she grew serious once more. “You have every right to be mad, Ash, but doesn’t that get tiring? I know if you and Cal just talk it out, you’ll be able to get past this. You can’t tell me you don’t miss him.”

Ashton’s expression hardened a bit, tone warning as he started, “Maeve—”

“Please, Ashton,” she begged, hands grasping one of his. “You two are three of the most important men in my life, and since Dad doesn’t have any beef with Cal, I need you to at least consider what I said.”

He was silent for a few moments, looking down at her pleading eyes, until finally he let out a sigh with his gaze flickering to the ceiling and gave in with a muttered, “Fine.”

Whether he meant it or was just saying it to shut Maeve up, she wasn’t entirely sure, but for now, she took it. She grinned, happy for the moment, before pulling him in for a hug. Maeve relaxed when Ashton returned the hug, the relief flooding her because, God, she didn’t think he’d ever hug her again after all of this shit. And it felt good, to hug Ashton again after so many days of him giving her the complete silent treatment, of her feeling like she was going to lose her brother if she hadn’t already.

Things weren’t resolved, not by a long shot, but this was a start.

Day 304

“Hey, isn’t that. . .” Calum spoke up, eyebrows furrowing as they pulled into the parking lot of their favorite spot. Maeve followed his confused gaze, her eyebrows shooting up when she saw exactly what he was looking at. “Isn’t that Ashton’s car?”

It was. Maeve recognized the pick-up anywhere, exchanging a bewildered look with her boyfriend at the sight of the vehicle. What the hell was he doing here? Calum pulled into his usual parking spot and the two of them got out, hugging their jackets close to them in the cool November air as they both glanced around, trying to catch sight of her brother, though finding no sign of him anywhere. She looked at Calum, who was squinting in confusion before he shrugged at her, and the two of them headed towards the reception, though Maeve was still looking around for Ashton.

Calum quickly paid for the room—the receptionist, Ted, was on a first name basis with them at this point, and vice versa—and the two of them began making their way to their favorite room. “Seriously, though,” Maeve frowned as they headed up the first flight of stairs. “Why’s his car here? Where the hell is he?”

“Maybe he rented a room?” Calum guessed with a confused raise of his eyebrows, glancing back down at her given that he was a step ahead of her. He chuckled at the flat look Maeve shot him, before shrugging, “I don’t know, love.”

Maeve scrunched her face up as they continued, her curiosity not at all satisfied. When they got to the third floor, turning the corner, Maeve and Calum both stopped short when her questions were answered at the sight of her brother leaning against the wall right next to the door of their room. He stood, busy on his phone, only looking up when he heard their footsteps.

The two of them gaped at him, not expecting him in front of their room, as Ashton straightened and pocketed his phone. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his jacket, and Maeve could tell just how awkward and uncomfortable he looked, and all of her questions, as well as new ones, came to the forefront of her mind. “Uh,” Maeve sounded, glancing at Calum who looked just as bewildered, but still eyed Ashton warily. “Hey, Ash. . . What—what’re you doing here?”

“Um,” Ashton licked his lips, letting out a breath. “Lina told me you two would be here and I, uh, was hoping we could talk.”

Maeve pressed her lips together, not sure if she should curse or thank Lina for giving up the information. Even down to the room number. “S-Sure,” she told him, glancing at Calum to see if he was okay with it. His bruises from their fight had faded, and even though a potentially healing conversation is what Maeve wanted between them, she wanted to make sure no more punches were thrown.

Calum nodded silently and the two of them approached the door, and Maeve shot Ashton a small smile as Calum unlocked the room and the three of them walked inside. She wasn’t oblivious to the tension that settled upon all of them, and Maeve silently prayed things didn’t escalate between them. Luke and Michael weren’t around this time to interfere.

Calum and Maeve dropped their bags on the bed, turning to face Ashton who probably felt as out of place as he looked, hands still in his jacket pockets as his eyes took in the room around them. Maeve wondered if he was thinking it wasn’t as sleezy as he perhaps pictured it while he was waiting for them. “So what’s up?” Maeve questioned, trying to keep her tone light.

“I thought about what you said,” Ashton responded slowly after taking a breath. “And you were right. . . I am tired of being mad. And I’m. . .” His eyes met Calum’s and Maeve felt her boyfriend stiffen slightly, though her eyes remained on her brother as he finally said, “I’m sorry for being the shittiest friend—person—on the fucking planet.”

Maeve’s eyes widened because, shit, she didn’t think she’d ever hear Ashton say that to Calum. She was holding her breath, his words hanging in the air as both she and Calum tried to register them. She was having a hard time processing—she wondered how Calum was faring.

When neither she nor Calum said anything, Ashton let out a breath as he pulled out a hand and rubbed it down his face. “Everything that’s happened between us—it’s my fault, man, and it’s about time I accepted that,” Ashton continued, his gaze still on Calum. “There’s no excuse for how I treated you, and you deserve better than someone taking you and your friendship for granted. I’m gonna—I’m going to work on this temper issue I have, alright? And I know this apology is, like, almost two years and a few punches too late but I am sorry. Really.”

His words had Maeve’s chest tightening, a smile threatening to spread across her face as she looked at Ashton. He looked genuinely apologetic for his actions, for everything that had happened between him and Calum, and she could hear it in his voice, too. And the fact that he actually sought Calum out to tell him face to face spoke volumes.

Glancing up at Calum, Maeve saw his throat working, the muscle in his jaw prominent which told her he was clenching it. His gaze remained on Ashton, processing his words, and he finally spoke up once he did. “If you came to me a year ago, I would’ve told you to fuck off.” Maeve held her breath at the words Calum spoke in his raspy voice. Calum lifted his chin and Maeve saw the ghost of a smirk tilting at his lips. “But I’m not the same person I was a year ago—and I can only thank Maeve for that. And I know you were hurt when you found out about us. So I’ll forgive you for all that shit, if you forgive me for hurting you, too—even if we weren’t friends when I did.”

Maeve rolled her lips into her mouth, feeling her heart launch into her throat as she looked between the two men. She felt like such a girl, getting so emotional at what was happening in front of her, but that wasn’t such a bad thing. They were finally, finally, finally making up, making things right—Maeve figured she had the right to get a bit choked up.

Especially when Ashton’s eyes met hers, saw just how emotional she was getting, and a dimpled smile tugged at his lips before he let out a breathless laugh and nodded at Calum. “Deal.”

And then the two of them were walking towards each other and Maeve watched, with the smile finally splitting across her face, as Calum and Ashton clasped each other’s hands and embraced in that one armed dude hug, slapping each other’s backs with their free hands, but staying in that position for a moment. Maeve would’ve totally photographed the sight in front of her if it didn’t ruin the moment, so instead, she just watched with a grin on her face and tears stupidly gathering in her eyes. But she didn’t care. They were finally okay. Maybe it would take them a while to go back to how things were before the Big Fight, but it was finally in the past. It wouldn’t loom over their heads anymore like a dark cloud; they would be okay. They’d be friends.

The two of them pulled away, smiles on their faces that Maeve knew they hadn’t given each other in almost two years, and Ashton’s eyes met hers as he said, “Alright, I’m gonna leave you two to it.” He walked backwards towards the door, adding in a joking tone, “I feel like I’m stepping on holy ground.”

Maeve finally let out a snicker, raising her eyebrows at him. “You are.”

Calum pressed his lips together to keep down the laugh that threatened to escape when Ashton shot her a disgusted look. “Gross,” he commented before opening the door. “You know you guys don’t have to sneak here anymore, right? Stop wasting money.”

Maeve rolled her eyes. “Bye, Ash,” she said in a sing-song tone, shooing him away with her hand. He chuckled, offering one last wave before he left. As soon as the door clicked shut behind him, Maeve turned to look at Calum. “He’s got a point though, you know. We don’t have to sneak around anymore.”

“I know,” Calum nodded, slowly sauntering over to where Maeve stood. “Which is why tonight’s our last night here.”

She raised her eyebrows, looking up at him once he stopped right in front of her. “It is?” she asked, narrowing her eyes when Calum nodded with a cute little mhm, something akin to mirth and delight dancing across his eyes. There was something he wasn’t telling her. “What’s so special about tonight?”

“Well,” Calum began, stretching the word out as he tilted his chin up, wrapping his arms around Maeve’s hips to pull her close before looking back down at her. His smile was soft across his face, a smile reserved especially for Maeve that always erupted butterflies in the pit of her stomach. She wrapped her own arms around him as she waited for him to continue. “Today, sweetheart, is the three hundred and fourth day since you and I ran into each other all those months ago in the Bryant Park Grill.”

Maeve blinked up at him, lips parting at the revelation. Her lips upturned into a grin, gentle and completely in love with him; 304. It was a silly little coincidence that related to the number of the very room they were standing in, the very room that had become their safe space to be with one another, but the fact that Calum actually counted the days since they saw each other for the first time at the restaurant had her heart bursting like she was in some damn cartoon. But she didn’t care; all she cared about was Calum.

“Three hundred and four, huh?” Maeve grinned, pressing her front against his as Calum mirrored her smile, looking just as entranced with her as she was with him. Sometimes she couldn’t believe they finally figured their shit out to be together. Maeve often wanted to punch herself for being so stubborn and not letting herself be with him sooner. “Is that our anniversary before our actual anniversary?”

“Yeah, why not?” Calum grinned, throwing her a quick wink. “Keeps things spicy.”

Maeve let out a laugh, which only widened Calum’s grin as she told him, “We rented a motel room every time we wanted to get together—that’s pretty spicy already.”

“You’re right,” Calum hummed, lowering his head to press his lips against Maeve’s. She instantly returned the kiss, leaning up into him as she stood on her toes, fingers tightening on the material of his jacket. His own hands shifted, going from her hips to her butt, digging into the pockets of her jeans and giving her a cheeky squeeze that had her grinning against his mouth. “I think the bed deserves one last round, don’t you?”

Maeve bit his lower lip, prompting him to tighten his grip on her as she coyly asked, “Just one?”

Calum groaned, shamelessly and completely crazy for her and the way she thought. “Fuck, I love you.”

She had no problem returning the sentiment during the next one, two, three rounds.

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