#and someone answered by: fool he always has been

[s6m123]

𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝖔𝖓𝖊 𝖕𝖎𝖊𝖈𝖊 𝖎𝖘 𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖑

𝓟𝓪𝓻𝓽 3:

Birds chirping, soft and peaceful waves hitting the ship. Maybe this was a dream? Y/n's life has always been chaos, chaos and more chaos and now she's a part of her brother's crew?

Y/n's eyes flustered open, meeting the bright sunlight coming from her cabin window. She got off the hammock, rubbing her eyes, she went into the bathroom which was smaller than she expected.

A sigh escaped her lips as she stepped into the shower.

After a good hot shower, y/n stepped out the shower wrapped a towel around her body, then she heard a knock.

"why right now!?"

she mumbled to herself and put up her outfit which looked like this:

(from Pinterest)

She opened the door, revealing the somewhat panicked navigator, Nami.

"Hey! y/n, um I just wanted to ask have you seen Sanji?"

Nami asked waiting for y/n's answer.

"The cook? No I haven't, why?" Y/n replied, leaning against the wall.

"Well um he is kind of missing.. he have been trying to find him everywhere but no trace of him"

Nami answered, before Y/n could even process the information, the both heard a yell from Luffy.

"Everyone! Crew meeting in the deck now!"

Luffy had the same panicked tone as Nami.

Nami and y/n hurried to the deck finding, Zoro leaning against a wall, Ussop trying to calm Luffy down, and Luffy almost at the point of raging.

"Okay there is a serious problem here, Sanji is MISSING"

Luffy blurted out, Y/n's eyebrows raised as she tilted her head.

"How can he go missing? Our ship was locked and secured the whole night"

She said.

"That what we all are asking!" The crew said together.

"Well do guys have any enemies that would do these things?"

Y/n questioned.

"No.... Wait, yes! We do!"

Nami answered.

Who? That stupid clown?"

Zoro replied sarcastically.

"Yes! Maybe it's binkey!"

Luffy said making the crew sigh.

"It's Buggy!!"

They all said in reunion except Luffy, of course.

Luffy laughed in response.

★time skip orange town★

The crew hurried went to Buggy's circus. Finding none other than the clown himself.

"Finally, you people arrived, looks like there is also an other fool who joined the crew"

Buggy said, referring to y/n as the "fool". But still Y/n stayed calm, her eyes were burning holes into the clown's head.

"Where is Sanji!?!?!?"

Luffy shouted, his voice echoing through the circus.

"Oh I just gave him a nice treatment of pain..... He didn't seem to enjoy it tho, oh well it's not like I was going to kill him.....Was I?"

Buggy said with his cocky confidence which was bothering everyone.

"Where. Is. Sanji."

Nami growled, Buggy can feel the tension coming from the crew, this is what he wanted.

"Well if you want your crewmate back.... You have to fight me"

He said with a cocky smirk, thinking he was going to win.

Without warning, Luffy immediately punched Buggy, sending Buggy whole head flying back.

Taking this as a chance, y/n took the nearest cloth rag and stuffed head into the bag, tieing it so he won't get out.

"Finally that shitty clown shuted up"

Y/n said throwing the bag out the circus.

The crew sighed in relief, then Zoro spoke up.

"Okay, let's go find the cook"

The crew agreed and searched for Sanji together.

Finally they found Sanji in the broom closet.

He looked horrible. He had a slash on his wrist, a bruise on his cheek and some blood on his forehead. He was also unconscious.

Nami was the first one to run over to him, trying to shake him awake but still no response.

Y/n was also slightly panicked seeing his condition. Then y/n spoke up.

"We should take him back to the ship"

The crew agreed and took the cook to the ship, laying him on the bed. Y/n checked his pulse which was stable for now.

The crew watched with worried looks.

"His going to be okay, right y/n?"

Ussop questioned, concerned for Sanji's wellbeing.

"His heartbeat is stable, someone needs to monitor him for the night, I'll do it."

Y/n replied making the crew relieved.

"Okay, take care of him, y/n"

Luffy said. Y/n sighed in response.

The crew went back to they're duties, checking in on Sanji time to time.

★time skip to night★

Nami cooked dinner for everyone <3

As the night settled in everyone went to their cabins except y/n since she was looking after Sanji.

While y/n was changing his clothes she heard a faint mumbled from the cook.

"Y/n is sooo pretty"

Y/n couldn't help but chuckle, this boy is flirty even when unconscious.

Maybe this crew isn't bad afterall.

Author's note: sorry if this is short, I'm trying to make y/n get along with all the members.

[dairy-farmer]

Sneaking back iiiin~☆ After a period of being away o/

D-Lister Otome Powers POG? I think SO! CONSIDER:

Tim, out on patrol, things have been... tense. He's gotten Bruce back from the timeline, but it hasn't FIXED anything. Things were said. He spiraled. Trust was betrayed. He doesn't... he doesn't feel like he HAS a home anymore.

Dick feels betrayed and worried TOO. He needed Tim's support. Instead he broke down, went rouge, and nearly DIED. Didn't explain ANYTHING. Now he's drifting away from the family.

Bruce is barely recovered. His family is in pieces around him and he's pretty sure it's his fault.

So... Patrol is... Professional. Tense. Like it has been for days.

Red Robin is checking out some minor disturbance. Discovers clues that it's some INCREDIBLY naive or foolish out-of-towner who thinks they can "make a name for themselves" in America's crime capital. Idiot is going to get himself killed.

But why target a minor gaming company?

No matter, RR can handle it. He's tired, patrols nearly over. Should be quick.

The days after weeks of hurt and hypertense emotions have left him exhausted. Making mistakes he would normally NEVER make. Like going after an unknown alone. No matter how small they SEEM.

You could always be wrong.

And that KILLS.

Batman trained him better then that. Bruce, catches his plan, too late. Is blocks away. Can hear, through Tim's comms, the most terrifying sort of confidence in that opponents voice. Not fool hardy overconfidence. Not arrogance. But "I have a nasty trick that I KNOW you can't counter". Tim. Tim, get out of there! TIM!

Red Robin does not respond.

And Tim? Wakes up with a splitting headache. Too... honestly? What looks A LOT frilly, hyper feminine version of one of Drake Manor's guest rooms. But with "personal touches" added to make it LOOK like someone supposedly lives here. Too generic though. And too artfully placed. It looks like a movie set.

Where the fuck is h-*DING!*

Then a blue screen like some of the holographic screens he's seen before, pops up. "Welcome to ☆~Knights In Gotham~☆! Complete the game or be trapped forever~♡!" It reads in cutesy font.

Well that ONE way to get him out of bed. But unfortunately, it takes less then 15 minutes to confirm that he is, indeed, not in his native reality. MIGHT be drugged or hypnotized. He'll have to test. But the whole new reproductive set, suggest otherwise.

So he pokes around. Speed runs his emotional "I'm trapped, might never see my family again. No. No! I WILL escape!" Character arc/mental breakdown in the shower. Finds some pants.

Figures out what sort of game this is. It's an Otome game. Dating. Based on? His FAMILY. Fffffuck his life.

Okay, should be TOO bad right? People never get their personalities right in fan stuff. Thanks to the Bats being Cryptids. So Tim can just pretend they're other people, right?

Wrong.

The game world he quickly realizes, is using HIS knowledge to fill in the blanks of the massively unfinished framework. This assholes Meta powers? Can only trap him IN here. He's not in control of it. NO ONE IS. Oh, that's so much worse.

Outside? Bruce has BatDad'd panic beat downed the Otome Meta. Where is his BABY BOY!? He can't answer you unconscious, Bruce. Thankfully, Dick is observant. There us a computer on. With Tim on it. He puts two and two together. They are able to keep the power on and transfer the computer to the cave.

Meanwhile? Tim is staring down a Bruce in FULL Brucie Mask. Debating with himself. Because on ONE hand? Childhood wet dreams: Get? But on the OTHER, baggage for daaaaays. And there us no guarantee this isn't a PG title. So like? Bruce would DEFINITELY be the hardest Route, wouldn't he?

He has no idea what he's doing.

He doesn't PLAY these type of games.

He figures, since demon child DOESNT have a reason to hate him here? Probably the safest bet. Especially since he won't feel as bad manipulating a version of him. It should be fine right?

Wrong. He doesn't play these sort of games. Is unaware of how they work and what's at stake. He bungles it. Doesn't play to the troupes, gets his first Bad End. He knew just a touch TOO much, too soon, too openly. Damian's character became convinced he was either a Rouge or an Assassin. But! He got all those "heart event" thingies! Tim mentally protests!

Which is why it doesn't just cut to black, a sudden attack from behind, "Game Over".

No, Tim wakes up behind bars. In a bunker. Nicer then a prison cell, but only just. Because Damian LOVES him. But can not allow him to continue his criminal ways. So he's going to rehabilitate him. By force if necessary. And he knows, because he is not a fool, that Tim does not truely love him. But?

He can fix that too.

They have time.

Outside? Actual Damian is horrified. His feelings towards Drake are... complexe. But this?! Absolutely not! He lunges forward. Dick is trying desperately to hit the Restart. It's not working. Damian hits it HARDER. It works immediately. (They later realize only the "Route" target can restart the game)

Tim wakes up in the starting room.

This time he fuckin LOOKS UP Otome Games on a computer.

Takes a bracing shot of whiskey, because this IS Drake Manor and he knows where his parents hid the good stuff, and tries again. Gets the Neutral End. Fuck! Okay, tries AGAIN. Gets shot, Game Over. Oh god damn it!

He keeps going.

Nothing seems to be WORKING. He's getting stressed. Lonely, desperate, hopelessness trying to set in. He just... just wants to feel WARM you know? Reassured. Held. Knows he's not thinking clearly, but...

So he goes after "Brucie". He KNOWS Bruce. Knows how he picks his one night stands. Knows how to dress up just enough, just OFF enough, to not be suspicious. It's a bad idea. He knows it as he gets dressed. As he arrives. Flirts. Charms and drinks, but not too much. Let's himself be tucked under Bruce's arm. Led away.

Kon always said he was great with his mouth. From the way "Brucie" tenses, like iron under the sild of his suit, holding himself back from grabbing and being rougher then his reputation would allow? He'd say Bruce agrees. Tim certainly puts his all into it. Let's himself lose himself to the rhythm of movement. The scent of Bruce's cologne. The slide over his tounge.

Stolen moments though, aren't enough to get to everything Bruce wants.

The party ends too soon. And Tim leaves with the other guests.

Only to find himself FIRMLY in Bruce's route. The man showing up everywhere. Stealing kisses. Hands disappearing under clothes. Bruce, as he tends too, obsessed. In love. Overwhelming. Tim finally, FINALLY get a Good End.

He also gets fucked, in his bed, within an inch of incoherence, by Batman.

Yet the Game does not release him. Because it did not say "complete A Route" the realse conditions were Complete the GAME. So now Tim has to "win" the others.

All while they watch.

Because THEY are the only ones who can start a new route. Bruce absolutely could have hit that restart once the Good End popped up. Yet... he let the scene play out. Sat, alone, having sent the others to bed... and watched his son get fucked by a version of himself. Watched his son gasp and whimper, cry out and sob, in pleasure.

They each get to watch. As Tim bonds with "them". Spends time with "them".

Eventually, Tim manages the secret Harem Ending. Stumbles free into the waiting arms of his family. They rejoince. But the question remains~! What will they do know? After so long, thinking darkly that they could "do better"? That TIM deserved better then the touch of imposters? That is the question we ask! As I run out of steam and need to sleep! Thoughts?

-🐼🐼🐼

tim's family watching as he works through all their "routes" 👀👀👀👀

[gojoux]

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐒𝐊 𝐇𝐈𝐌 “𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐖𝐄 𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐃?”

Gojo. Geto. Sukuna. Nanami. Choso. Toji. Megumi. Itadori. Yuta. Inumaki.

◈ — 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎

His eyes would light up and a wide grin appeared on his face. “Baby, it would hurt me if we’re not getting married.” He gives you many pecks on your face as he holds you close in his embrace. He’s actually already planning on how he’d propose to you. He’d be giddy at the thought and start pampering you. “I love you soo, sooo much!” as he kisses you with smooching sounds.

◈ — 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎

“Of course we can. I’d be a fool if I refused to marry you.” He’d give you that gentle smile of his as he placed a hand on your cheek and caressed your skin with his thumb. “I will marry you, I promise you that.” In his head, he’s thinking of what would your wedding be like, and the thought of you being by his side in an important ceremony makes him happy.

◈ — 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀

A sly smile appears on his face, “What an interesting question, my dear.” He wraps his arm over your shoulder to hold you closer to him and presses a kiss on top of your head. “Why would we not get married? I can’t let you go.” He’ll grab your chin with his other hand to make you look at him straight in the eyes. “No other man will ever marry you except me.”

◈ — 𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈

“Yes,” he answers with no hesitation, yet his face remains the same so you’re kind of confused about what he’s actually thinking. “I don’t see why not, love. Marriage is a serious commitment, another proof of our love for one another, and I can’t imagine building a future with anyone other than you.” He already has the ring, he just needs to find the right moment.

◈ — 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐎

His eyes widen in surprise, he just can’t believe someone would want to marry him, and that someone is you, his love. “You want to marry me?” He asks to make sure if you’re certain. He knows he can’t give you much besides himself. When you assure him, he’ll be so happy like it’s a dream. He vows to himself to take care of you for the rest of his life.

◈ — 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈

He’d look at you with his usual cool-headed gaze, “That’s a hard request that goes beyond my interests. But if you ask me, I would say ‘yes’.” He answers as it is. For him, marrying you would be easy, but he may not feel like it at the moment, but he also changes his mind easily just for you. He’d rather have you near him and make it official rather than never see you again.

◈ — 𝐌𝐄𝐆𝐔𝐌𝐈

He’d never thought much about it, he always assumed he’d end up alone, so it took him a while to answer your question. “There is something about being with you. It makes me feel like I can be comfortable and happy with someone. So, yes, I’d love to marry you.” He looks away shyly but he’s honest with his words. He’d think about it for a long time.

◈ — 𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐈

“Wait, you’re really asking me to marry you?” He points at himself as he stares at you. Don’t get him wrong, he’s actually very happy, just surprised. “Hell yeah! I want to marry you. You'd make my dreams come true. I'd be honored to be your husband!” He lets out a happy laugh and starts suggesting many places to go on your honeymoon.

◈ — 𝐘𝐔𝐓𝐀

You made this boy beyond delighted by just asking him that. “Oh, yes, yes, of course. We can get married!” He nods eagerly. He’s passionate about love, and he’s just glad that you’re on the same page with him that you wanted to get married. He’ll ask what you want your wedding to be like, and all that. He hasn’t bought a ring to propose to you yet, so he’s rather panicky about it.

◈ — 𝐈𝐍𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐈 🍙

He’s between happy and surprised that it’s making him even more speechless. He nods immediately like he’s going to break his neck and gives you two thumbs up of approval, “Shake, shake!” He’ll treat you like you’re already married, showering you with kisses as he hugs you tight. He’ll keep bringing the topic up, he just wants to marry you as soon as possible.

Uh, helloow, it's been a while 👉👈

[shuichi-sama]

scoring a date

volleyball captain! sunghoon! x manager! reader!

description: if someone had told you that after becoming your high school's volleyball team manager, you would capture the attention of it’s captain, park sunghoon, you wouldn’t have believe them. but as he charm’s his way to your heart, you just might.

or in which, sunghoon attempts to woo-you, seem to be working in his favor.

warnings: fluff! overuse of the word cute! (i swear i wrote it like 6 times)

note: inspired after watching en o’clock episode 87! i couldn’t help but picture all of them as a volleyball team!!!! LOWER CASE INTENDED!!!

___________

honestly? if someone had told you, that you would have volleyball captain, park sunghoon wrapped around your finger you would laugh at their face and certainly not the cute and giggly kind.

but as you watch him come up to you for like the nth time today, similar to every other day, you would be the fool not to believe them at that point.

“hi, y/n.” he says a smile gracing his face.

“sunghoon, you do know this like the fifth time you’ve come up to me during practice just to say hi right? and that’s not counting the four other hand waves you’ve given me.”

sunghoon, cheeks burns pink, it was a force of habit at this point. no matter how much he tried to avoid you, not like he wanted to anyways, if it wasn’t his eyes, the boy would physically gravitate towards you every single time without even noticing.

“well, i have an excuse this time. i actually came up here to ask you something.” If the blushing of his cheeks weren’t a quick give away of his nervousness, the cute tremor in his voice surely was.

“oh, what is it then?” without looking up from your clipboard, sunghoon take it as an opportunity to ask you what’s he’s been dying to ask you for a couple of weeks now, if you looked him in the eye at that moment he wasn’t so sure he would be able to go through with it, no matter how confident he was.

“go on a date with me.”

what? you were not death so you were sure you heard him correctly, but still.

“uh, you want me to go on a date with you? but why?”

confusion and hurt etches on his face at your question, as you prance on realizing just how bad your words had sounded. “i mean, why me?” the tilt of his head encourages you to elaborate.

“i’m socially awkward, i don’t really get along well with people outside of my friend group, i have a bad attitude, and there is a line of pretty girls who would kill to go on a date with you.”

sunghoon finds your rambling rather cute, it’s not like he didn’t know any of this information already. the both of you coming from very different social status at school, while sunghoon was very social, popular and very much liked at school, girls lining up just to get a glimpse of him throughout the halls, you were quite opposite of him.

you were a loner aside from your two reoccurring friends he would see you at lunch with. you weren’t not like at school but nobody really knew who you were, always keeping to yourself. as for your bad monotonous attitude? he thought it was cute, knowing full well it was only because you weren’t the best at expressing yourself, always giving everybody the wrong impression or idea, which may have lead to some very offended students.

sunghoon likes you just the way you are, so it irks him just a bit to listen to you list all these, qualities you deem flaws, but he wouldn’t tell you that at least not yet, he rather tease you first. “well, i think you would be the prettiest girl in that line.”

even if it wasn’t the first time for sunghoon to call you “pretty,” or even “cute,” you could just never get used to it, he simply has a way of making you dig the sole of your right shoe into the glossy wooden floor of the gymnasium bashfully.

“i-i never said i was in that line.” sunghoon eyebrows quirk at that.

“i would like you to be though.” even as his confidence seems to deter, he presses on, wanting a proper answer from you, hopeful it was one that invoked a late night date, that ends with a stroll at the nearest park while eating ice cream, possibly holding your hand if you allow him to.

“is that a no to the date?” his question, has your down cast eyes shoot up suddenly just for them to look away just as quickly. sunghoon can’t seem to take his eyes off of you making you want to turn into a putty right in front of him.

“o-oh, i never said that either.” every time sunghoon ever held a conversation with you, it always seemed like a push and pull feeling. it left him confused many times but a part of him knew that’s just how you are, and honestly? he found it cute, you were cute, so he would willingly pull you as much as he could and would take as many pushes as you want to give.

“so, is that a yes then?” he grins at your lack of eye contact, cute.

“uh-maybe.” he chuckles at your response, it being so you. as much as he wants to press on for a definite answer, he doesn’t know the full extent of your limit. no matter just how much he would love to tease you to find out he doesn’t, as you pull a strand behind your hair, the red tips of your ear giving away your embarrassment.

he chuckles, reaching for the top of your head, before he could ruffle it into a mess, you flinch not used to the physical contact of a guy.

“oh, i’m sorry. i got a head of myself, i didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” sunghoon retracts his hand to his side. distress with the idea of making you uncomfortable unintentionally, he only wishes he could kick himself for his bad habit of not keeping his cool whenever you were around.

raising your clipboard to cover your tainted cheek, you shake your head, to make him understand he misunderstood your actions. the frown forming on his face, has you clearing your throat, and pulling down the clipboard to speak much more clearer than you have been doing this whole time.

“no, it’s not that-i guess you you can say-that perhaps you just make me just a bit nervous in a good way is all.”

sunghoon’s frown ebbs away, only to switch to a look of widen eyes, and disbelieve at your clear confession. “oh.”

“why are you smiling at me like that?” you ask his looked of disbelieve turns to another of happiness, as if he had hit the jackpot, and in his world he did.

“cause you just told me i make you nervous.” well not that he didn’t know, if he wasn’t so sure he would have thought you were either nervous all the time, or simply emotionless, but you confirming that his presence made you nervous in a “good way” as you said, he was first pumping the air in his head.

“is it that shocking?” you asked out loud, more to yourself really.

he didn’t respond to your question either way. opting out to make a deal with you instead, evident that this conversation would see no end. no matter that he just wants to talk to you for the remainder of the hour, he couldn’t. if coach catches him slacking, sunghoon would be running endless lap around the the school til he saw fit, especially as team captain.

“how about we make a deal? if my team wins the mock game by 5 points difference, you’ll let me take you on a date.”

you didn’t have to consider much, but you firmly believe in his capability to score more as team manager. “if you score a difference of 10 i’ll go on a date with you.”

“you must really not want to go on a date with me, uh?” he jokingly asks.

“no, i just have faith in your abilities to beat them with a 10 point difference.”

“okay, a 10 point difference, and i also get to hold your hand after practice, it’s only fair if we both add something, no?”

sure it was fair, but now you were blushing again. “okay, deal.”

“perfect,” just before he could turns to go back to his team, he speaks again, “just so you know, i’m not going easy on them.”

“well, as team manager i would be upset if you did.”

with a beaming smile he directs at you, he reaches over your head once again unconsciously, still out of bad habit thought this time you don’t flinch away as he ruffles your hair.

you were unsure who was more nervous leaving the gymnasium, but as you walk hand in hand with sunghoon, he blames practice for his sweaty palms even after he had taken his shower. Though truthfully, he thinks it might just be too early to tell you just how nervous you make him feel, he still has to take you on a date first!

SCOREBOARD: 30/15

[flanaganfilm]

The Midnight Club - Season Two

I'm very disappointed that Netflix has decided not to pursue a second season of THE MIDNIGHT CLUB.

My biggest disappointment is that we left so many story threads open, holding them back for the hypothetical second season, which is always a gamble.

So I'm writing this blog as our official second season, so you can know what might have been, learn the fates of your favorite characters, and know the answers to those dangling story threads from the first season.

So for those of you who want to know what we were planning to do, here's a look at what would have been season 2!

AMESH Season 2 would open with Amesh, his glioblastoma advancing quickly. He would tell the first story of the season, but would be struggling to make it through. We'd focus on his love story with Natsuki for those first few episodes as it becomes clear that Amesh's death is imminent.

Meanwhile, Ilonka is trying to reconcile how she was fooled by Julia Jayne, all while falling further in love with Kevin, and she realizes he may be fading faster than he lets on.

Ilonka begins a serialized story in an effort to encourage him to "stay alive a little longer," like he did in season one. And the story she tells is... REMEMBER ME.

This was the thing I was most excited about for this season.

REMEMBER ME is one of my all-time favorite Pike books - it tells the story of a teenage girl who is pushed off a balcony, and awakens as a ghost. She has to navigate being a spirit while trying to solve her own murder. We would have stretched this story out over 5 episodes. We were going to use it as a vehicle for Ilonka to try to come to terms with the fact that she is going to die, and to begin to trying to wrap her head around being a ghost... but this is the coolest part... the lead character of Ilonka's story wouldn't be played by Ilonka. She'd be played by...

Anya.

Because this is how we live on, isn't it? In the minds of those we leave behind. And Ilonka would use REMEMBER ME as a way to imagine her dear friend Anya, waking up as a ghost, navigating the afterlife. And this sets up one of the best mechanisms of the show - even if a character dies, as long as they're remembered by members of the club, they live on in their stories.

As the story starts to pick up steam, though, the group will have to deal with the death of Amesh, which he greets with grace and bravery.

In his final moments, he sees someone in his room - the Janitor from the first season, as played by Robert Longstreet, who says comforting things to Amesh even though he can't respond.

In his final, final moments, the SHADOW descends upon Amesh, and he is engulfed into it, which reinforces the idea that the Shadow is DEATH...

With Amesh's death comes something that upends the entire thing: a NEW PATIENT. We didn't work out too much about who this would be, but it would be a new roommate for Ilonka. Someone taking Anya's old bed. Ilonka would find herself being initially cold to her - just as Anya was when Ilonka arrived. Even feeling like this new girl shouldn't necessarily be ushered into the Club. But of course they would develop a beautiful friendship over the course of the season. The new girl joins the club, where something else exciting is happening - Cheri is telling a story. We hadn't decided which one, but I think it might have been MONSTER.

Natsuki would be the next to die, which would be heartbreaking. And again, she would talk to the janitor just before it happened... and again, the Shadow would come in the final moments.

For Spence, though, things would take a different turn.

The advancements in HIV treatment in the late 90's would come into play, and we'd see his prognosis change. The HIV cocktail came out in Dec 1995, and we really wanted to explore that.

Spence would ride the swell of antiviral advancements, and by the end of the season, he'd no longer be classified as terminal. In the finale of season 2, Spence would leave Brightcliffe just like Sandra did in Season 1, heading off to manage his disease and live the rest of his life.

But onto the BIG MYSTERIES of the season one... here are some answers: What is up with Dr. Stanton's tattoo and bald head? Well, a few things. First, Dr. Stanton is actually the daughter of the original Paragon cult leader, Aceso. Her nickname was Athena, she wrote the Paragon journal that Ilonka found in S1. She turned on her mother and helped the kids escape, but because she was part of the cult in her teenage years, she had the tattoo.

It was her initials that Ilonka found carved into the tree in season 1 (her maiden name was Georgina Ballard, hence the G.B. that Ilonka finds carved in the tree).

She hated what her mother became, and the atrocities of the cult. She reclaimed the property after her mom was gone, and wanted to change it into a place that celebrated life. She was trying to undo her mother's legacy and leave something behind that was beautiful. She is wearing a wig at the end of S1 not because of a sinister reason, but because she is undergoing chemo. Dr. Stanton has cancer. Having helped so many people deal with disease, she now has to deal with it herself.

Her treatment would be successful, and she'd go into remission, but having to face that - while caring for the terminal kids at Brightcliffe - was going to be a very introspective arc for Stanton.

What about the Living Shadow? It's Death, right? Well... no.

At the end of the season, Kevin will die... followed shortly by Ilonka. And as she is dying, two things will happen. First, she'll find herself talking to the Janitor, played by Robert Longstreet... and she'll make a discovery.

HE is Death. And nothing to be afraid of. It turns out no one else ever saw this character. Stanton has a cleaning service, and the Nurse practitioners make up the rooms - the only people who ever saw this mysterious Janitor were the patients. He is Death, and offers them kind words before they die. Then what was the Shadow?

This is an idea we take directly from the book REMEMBER ME, and we'll see it play out in the final moments of Ilona's final tale. In Pike's book, Shari is pursued by a dark entity called The Shadow. When it finally catches her, though, it turns out it is not a bad thing at all.

The Shadow is THEMSELVES. It's the Unknown. As it engulfs someone, in the last moment of their life, it takes them through a place of understanding and catharsis, preparing them for the next step.

THIS is what happened to Anya in S1 when the Shadow finally reached her - that's why she fantasized a life beyond Brightcliffe, which ultimately let her find acceptance of her death. It looks different for everybody, depending on their mind-set - because it is simply an extension of themselves.

The Shadow is just the final catharsis, a return to our original form - it is a moment of true understanding, and once we experience it, we move on to the next place.

We see the Shadow in full effect when it finally comes for Kevin. KEVIN DIES with Ilonka at his side, and it leads to the biggest reveal of the season:

Who were the Mirror Man and the Cataract Woman?

They were Stanley Oscar Freelan and his wife, who built Brightcliffe (fun trivia, he is named after the real-life Freelan Oscar Stanley, who built my favorite hotel in America - the Stanley Hotel. The Stanley is also the inspiration for THE SHINING!).

But more than that... there's a reason that Ilonka only sees Stanley in the mirror, and sees the Cataract Woman whenever she looked at Kevin. This is something else we took from Pike's original book... these aren't ghosts, but glimpses of PAST LIVES.

Ilonka WAS Stanley Oscar Freelan, and Kevin WAS his wife. They've lived many lives this way, and are true SOUL MATES - they always find each other, and they always fall in love. In this life, they knew it would be a short one, so they agreed to find each other in the house they built. They've been "remembering" who they are, and glimpsing their former selves in reflections, and sometimes when they look at each other. This is also why Ilonka's very first words to Kevin in S1 were "Do I know you?" and why Kevin thought she was familiar as well. They are two souls who always find each other, again and again.

The story is this: Stanley was dying, and built this cliffside home hoping that the seaside air would help him. It did, and he far outlived his prognosis (this is also true of the real-life Freelan Stanley). However, his wife began to succumb to dementia.

She would wander the halls, looking for him ("Darling!") and would even forget to feed herself ("I'm starving...") and she eventually refused to leave the basement. Heartbroken for her, Stanley painted the walls to resemble the woodland view, and the ceiling to resemble the night sky, so that it would be a little more beautiful for her.

He also painted a labyrinth on the floor, which was a technique used to try to curb the effects of dementia. She'd walk the pattern of the maze and it was believed it could help her cognition. Eventually, she developed frightening cataracts, but Stanley loved her through it all.

They were soul mates.

So while they seemed scary in season 1, that was just how Ilonka and Kevin's mind were trying to remember their pasts. We even had their faces distorting in ways consistent with how memories degrade over time. When the Shadow comes for Ilonka, and gives her this understanding - this "remembering" - she realizes she has nothing to fear. She and Kevin will shed these personas and be reborn, and have the joy of finding each other another way. The Shadow comes for her, Death takes her gently, and Ilonka goes off with Kevin back into the cosmos, ready for their next incarnation. The series would end with Cheri telling this story to a whole new table of patients, including our new series leads. Most of our original cast now would exist as stories, a story told to the next "class" of storytellers at the table, all of whom we will have met by the end of the season. A story called "The Midnight Club."

Well, that's it... that was what we had in mind. It's a shame we won't get to make it, but it would be a bigger shame if you guys simply had to live with the unanswered questions and the cliffhanger ending. I loved making this show, and I am so proud of the cast and crew. Particularly our cast, who attacked this story with incredible spirit and bravery each and every day.

But for now, we'll put the fire out, and leave the library dark and quiet. To those before, and to those after. To us now, and to those beyond.

Seen or unseen, here but not here.

I'll always be grateful that I got to be part of this Club.

[anantaru]

"I LOVE YOU!" - "STOP SAYING THAT!" — LYNEY

sometimes lyney forgets he's not supposed to fall in love with you. wc. 800

・✶ ｡ warnings — friends with benefits, saying i love you during sex, fem! reader

"does, fuck— does that feel good?" lyney swallows a deep groan before grinding his hips into you, bending you in half as he pounds into you harder, resulting in you wincing out his name through a slacked jaw as your body overflows with excitement.

you smile a little before wrapping your arms around him, "yeah, d-don't stop," and you're beyond impressed by how easy it was for lyney to target your sweet spots like he's crafted them himself— as if he was the only reason they were there in the first place.

he angles his hips specifically to rut against them, and makes sure to alternate between fucking you hard and fast but also deep and slow to tempt you on purpose, spurring you on.

truthfully, his ability was undeniably breathtaking.

his face burns in your neck when he traps your skin in between his lips to suckle a hickey on the flesh, making sure he's always languidly thrusting into your heat— and you just feel so fucking good when you batter him with your cunt like that, squeeze down on his cock to make him whine out your name in candid mewls, so dearly that he's close to finishing inside of you.

"t-that's what i wanna hear," he grunts through rolled hips, his erection achingly hard and throbbing and ready to blow his loud into you that he's turning desperate, desperate to cum— lyney just wants this so badly right now, fuck, he needs you, okay? yearns to finally push deep into your walls and fuck you through his warm cum.

never have you been fucked just like that before— and it was thrilling, but it urges lyney to give you even more.

you always take him so well, bounce that pretty cunt back and forth his cock until you're making him thrust into you faster, better, desperately when you grip him tightly in your walls.

"archons— i love you," he whines out loudly, "just —love how you feel, just fucking love you s'much, baby,"

hold on, "w-wait, what?" you clumsily talk through a moan, but it's more of a yelp if you're being honest— and lyney seems to suddenly realize that he has just ruined this entire night for the both of you.

"what did you say?!" his noises hitch in his throat as you softly push him off your body, "lyney! answer me,"

your eyes were open in straight disbelief and terror— it's as if someone just told you the most horrifying horror-story in existence, although you were still engulfed in liquid bliss and fought the quivers of your body, you sought out his eyes and met his unfocused, slightly embarrassed gaze, his cock now completely stilled inside of you.

"I-i didn't say anything!" he panics, then whines as he slowly slides inch by inch out of your warmth, his shaft still hard and leaking, "ugh, i mean," he adds nervously and averts his gaze, "i-it's not that i love you! i mean, hm, you're great, like, only a fool wouldn't love you, right?"

in this moment in time, lyney would honestly claim anything in order for you to please just forget the last two minutes of this night.

"hey, i mean, i love this!" he swiftly points to your lower regions,

"doing this, with you! hey! don't give me that silly expression! i swear, i didn't mean you as in loving you!"

"you're not supposed to say that, lyney," you exhaustingly slant back into the disheveled pillows, "it turns things more complicated and we won't be able to continue this,"

you feel his chest rumble with an awkward chuckle as he nervously drops next to you, reaching over for a blanket to cover your naked bodies.

"yeah.." you're both still exhausted, breathing loudly from the sensitivity and the pent up stimulation forcibly exiting your bodies, the built up bubble in your stomach slowly dissolving into clear nothingness.

"this will have to be a secret," lyney continues, "between us,"

"lets pretend this never happened," you retort back almost immediately, in fact, there was nothing in this world that would make you forget this, but you could at least pretend its never happened.

after this, you're not really sure on how you're supposed to just forget this occurred and if he meant it with his whole heart— neither does lyney know how to continue living after embarrassing himself in front of the person he fell in love with, much more pretend he doesn't harbor those feelings for you in the first place while fucking your brains out next time.

©2024 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify, claim as your own

[eddiemunsons-missingnipple]

what about edging eddie everytime he comes over to visit you? Grinding or sucking him off only to stop right before he comes every single time.

The way this has been SITTING in my ask box since August :(( I'm sorry. 💕🩷

Can this be bestfriend!Eddie? Because it screams best friend eddie.

The thought of edging Eddie just does something to me. He'd be so whiny about it too whispering to make him cum but you won't and he knows it too. His soft needy cries with that deep voice as your tongue teases his leaking tip. He gets so frustrated when he's about to spill his cum in the back of your throat but you pull him out everytime

Besfriend!Eddie munson x fem!reader

Not proofread.

Your friendship with Eddie was very special. You did everything together. Even fooled around when you got lonely or drunk. You had an agreement of "as long as everything is above the waist," it's okay. Sometimes, things did eventually happen.

You and him didn't date much, so you ended up learning how to give a blow job from him. You taught him how to eat pussy. You practiced on one another. You felt like it was only right to get some experience in for whenever someone asked either one of you out.

That's just how close you two were. It never felt weird or awkward, either. But those type moments only happened once you never spoke of them again. You just heavily made out a lot and did some heavy petting.

Not that you didn't enjoy feeling each other. You most definitely did. You guys felt kinda bad about not having much experience being your early twenties. At least you have one another he'd always reassured. Deep down, Eddie always wanted to make you his.

Now he likes to come over to your place on the weekends to watch a movie and eat junk food. Usually, he brings pizza and rents a terrible b-horror flick from family video.

A loud kick to your door startles you at, and you walk over to look out the peephole.

"Pizza is here, sweetheart." Eddie greeted you with a big smile as you answered your door. That smile soon faltered when he noticed what you were wearing.

You never cared if Eddie saw you naked. You've seen him naked plenty of times when he was drunk off his ass and needed a shower. You opened the door in nothing but a thin tank top and panties that hugged your ass just right. He immediately gulped at the sight.

"It's about time Munson what movie did you pick." You giggled taking the food from his hands.

He clears his throat. "Oh, uhhhhhh, Slumber party massacre." He scratched the back of his neck as he tried to avoid looking so flustered.

"Slumber pary massacre--the movie with the chicks in lingerie getting slaughtered?" You eyed him and got plates ready for the pizza.

"Not surprised that's the movie you'd pick."

You don't really notice how he's looking at you. You're too focused getting the food ready for you and him to eat. You moved around your apartment, and his eyes followed your every step.

Eddie couldn't stop staring at you. His eyes fixed on the curve of your ass and the way your nipples were poking through the material of your shirt. He tries to discreetly readjust himself, so you see the obvious growing buldge in his jeans.

"Yeah, well, we've watched everything else in that video store." Eddie looked down at his feet with his hands in his pockets.

His cock was throbbing against the zipper of his jeans. He stood there by the door, not moving a muscle. He thought if he didn't move, you'd forget he was even there.

"Hey Eddie." You called out softly to him.

His head perks up and his eyes meet yours. "W-whats up?"

"Come sit with me." You pat the empty spot next to you on the couch.

The pizza and drinks were already laid out and ready to eat. Eddie couldn't focus on anything but you. His mind races at all the possibilities of taking you right there on the couch. Your pussy getting split open around his cock. Your cute, soft little moans in his ear. Your juices dripping down your thighs while he fucked you roughly in your living room. Your poor neighbors hearing your cries of pleasure.

The movie was playing, but he has no idea what's even happening or cares for that matter. His eyes kept glancing over at you. You're sitting with your legs criss-cross while eating your third slice of pizza. He had one foot propped up on your coffee table as he licked his lips watching you.

Your eyes focus on the shitty movie he rented. You were right he did pick this out to watch half-naked women run around in the skimpiest lingerie. The killer having a guitar as a weapon now makes perfect sense now, too. Truthfully. It was the closest thing to porn Eddie could get you to watch with him. He was a bit of perv, and he'll admit that.

He eyes keep wandering over to your figure from the swell of your breasts down to your thighs. His head leaned forward to get a tiny glimpse of what's between your legs. Your underwear doing you no justice in covering much of anything at all. He smiled to himself. his mouth watered, remembering the night he tasted you.

You could feel his eyes on you practically all night long. He was acting a little funny the second he walked through the front door. You chalked it up to him working too much and needing some rest. You tried to ignore his lingering stare. You just couldn't any longer.

"You okay?" You looked over at him. You noticed he hasn't eaten one single slice of pizza. "You seem a little...antsy I guess."

He coughed and tried to play it cool. "Me? No, no, I'm fine."

You squinted at him. "I don't believe you."

"Alright, fine." He threw his back and groaned. "it's you."

"Me?" You asked, confused. "What about me?"

"It's....you. it's always you. You always make me so hot and I feel like anytime I'm around you I can't even fucking think straight." Eddie confessed. He was speaking so fast that you barely had time to register what he was saying.

You sit there quietly, not saying a word yet. You don't want to misinterpret what he's trying to tell you. even though you have a pretty good idea of what it's about.

"I--look. Listen--Touch me. Please. We don't have to have sex. Just touch me. Make me beg. I don't even have to cum. I just need to feel you." He voice sounded so desperate.

His eyes looked into yours, and you couldn't deny him. His brown eyes are looking deep into yours. You nod and move to sit in his lap with your back against his chest. His arms instinctively wrapped around your waist, keeping you close. Your ass pressing right up against his cock. You could feel just how hard he is.

"Why didn't you say something sooner?" You whispered.

"Didn't want to make shit uncomfortable." His voice muffled as he peppered light kisses on your neck.

Your eyes flutter closed when his soft lips touch your skin. "You'd never make me uncomfortable we've done lots of things together before."

"I know I just never want you to feel like I'm using you." Eddie leaves a trail of wet kisses from your neck and down to your shoulder. You moved your head back to give him better access.

His hips lift slightly to rub up into your ass. He cursed under his breath, and your hands went down to grip on his thighs

"Fuck sweetheart grind on me." He said breathlessly.

You nod and move your hips back and forth in his lap. Your ass rubbing on his cock over his jeans. His arms wrapping around you tighter as he buries his face in your neck.

"That's it, sweetheart grind that cute ass on me." Eddie grunted and bucked up his hips for some added friction.

You pressed down harder on his cock. Your hips swiveling in a circular motion. He's whimpering in your ear. His legs bounce up and down while you grind on him. You dig your nails into his thighs to hold on tight.

"Fuck please---id do anything for you sweetheart. Anything." Eddie rasped in your ear. "You can have my cock whenever you want it."

"You think I could take it?" You teased and pushed your ass on him hard, making him jerk.

"Baby ill make sure you can take it. Y-you're such a good girl." He groaned and grinded himself up against your ass.

You continued moving back and forth on his cock. You could feel his breathing quickening just by how his chest pressed into your back.

"I know how messy you can get. Thinking about having you squirting all over me." His voice is shakey as your hips switch to moving back in a circular motion again.

You whimper at his words and feel yourself growing wetter. Your panties are completely soaked through. His voice is trembling, and his arms are constricting around you. There is a small wet patch forming on his jeans from the mess you've created in your panties and his precum.

"Mmm, I'm so close." He moans, and you slow down.

You stopped your movements for a few seconds, and Eddie whines. He swallows and tries to control himself.

After a few more minutes, you start moving. His cock is so sensitive and begging for release. He needs to cum so bad but loves the feeling of you edging him. The feeling of getting so close only for you to stop is driving him crazy.

You speed up and your ass grinds down on his cock. Your pace went from fast to slow anytime he got close again. You kept getting him close to the edge only to stop or slow down. it was almost too painful for him to keep going but liked it. His face is covered in sweat.

"let me cum." Eddie beggee and bit down on your shoulder. You whimpered from the pain.

Shaking your head no and grind your ass down on his cock. The material of his boxers scratched against him. He was becoming needy for you the more you teased him.

"Fuck please let me cum baby---please." He kept begging. Your pussy was aching for some type of relief. His breath tickled your throat while he spoke. "Shit I'm gonna cum."

"Oh," your eyebrows shoot up, and you stop. You moved his arms from around your waist and went to sick back down in your spot.

"I-i thought." He swallows and sinks back. His legs spread wide open. The look he gave you almost made you feel guilty for stopping.

You could see that wet patch on his lap that's much more noticeable than you thought. His painfully hard cock straining against his pants.

"You said you didn't have to cum. Remember?" You teased and went back to watching the movie.

Eddie smirked and moved to scoot closer to you." If I make you cum around my fingers will you let make me cum?" He whispered seductively.

"Maybe... we'll see how good you make me feel first."

[prettyboyeddiemunson]

what’s your favorite scary movie?

summary: porn star eddie is doing a halloween film with his costar, one that involves a certain mask.

pairing: porn star eddie x porn star reader

word count: 5.9k

warnings: being filmed, daddy kink, use of a realistic plastic knife (nothing weird with it, though), unprotected sex, creampies, choking, brief oral sex (m & f receiving), mentions of anal, breast play, anal fingering (f receiving), degradation, rough sex, kinda dubcon

a/n: im aware halloween is over, but its always Halloween in my mind! also, sorry if anything like this has been done. I just returned to tumblr, and haven’t read many fics here in like 8-9 months.

18+ ONLY. minors do not interact or follow, or you’re getting blocked.

————————————-

Ring! Ring!

The phone next to you was ringing its familiar ringtone, and you looked at it with an eye roll. Unknown number, typical. You were acting the part of someone who didn’t like spam calls, but you hated them just as much in real life, too. You turned your attention back to the TV, ready to forget all about it and delete any voice mail they may leave, when it began to ring again. The same number popped up, and you killed the call. They called again, and again, and after the fifth time, you’d finally had enough.

“What do you want?” you asked irritably.

“y/n,” a deep voice came over the phone. “How nice to catch you.”

“Who is this?” you asked. 

“That doesn’t matter,” he said, and you could hear a grin in his voice. “I was lonely, and thought I would give you a call.”

“Very funny,” you said. “Tell me who you are.”

“What’s the fun of that?” he asked. “Isn’t mystery supposed to be more fun?”

“Is it?” you asked. “You’re probably just someone I know, trying to play some kind of weird joke.”

“Am i?” he asked. “I don’t think I know you at all.”

“Then how did you know my name and my number?” you asked. “Answer me that.”

“Maybe I have my own methods,” he said. “Ever think of that?”

“Ha ha,” you said with an eye roll. You hung up, but the same number called again and you picked up. “Yes?”

“That wasn’t very wise of you,” he said dangerously. “You didn’t even let me ask my questions.”

“They’re probably something really fucking gross,” you said. “I’m not in the mood.”

“Now, now,” he said, tsking. “What do you take me for?”

“A pervert,” you said.

“You’re right,” he said with a dramatic sigh. “But that isn’t why I’m calling you.”

“No?” you asked with a chuckle. “Coulda fooled me.” 

“What’s your favorite scary movie?” he asked, and you could almost hear the grin in his voice.

“What the fuck?” you asked, sitting up on the couch. “What kind of question is that?”

“Are you going to answer it?”

“No, now goodbye–”

“Hang up again, and you’ll regret it.”

The threatening tone of his voice gave you pause. “Who is this?”

“What’s your favorite scary movie?” he asked again.

“Whatever,” you said, and dared to hang up. It didn’t last long until he called again, and you rolled your eyes as you answered. “What?!”

“I’m sorry for disturbing you,” he said. “I just wanted to talk to you.”

“I’m not gonna entertain you,” you said. “You’re a fucking creep.”

“Just answer my question and I’ll leave you alone,” he said.

“Fine,” you said with a sigh. “I really like Psycho, Halloween, Friday the 13th, The Exorcist.”

“I know you like Friday the 13th,” he said, and he laughed evilly on the other end. “I can see that you’re watching it right now.”

You froze, sitting bolt upright. “What did you just say?”

“Never mind that,” he said. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

“No..” you answered automatically, looking around the darkness of your windows for any signs of life. “How do you know what I’m watching…?”

“Just a guess,” he said.

You got up and turned on all the lights, looking around again to see if you could spot someone. “Look, I need to go–”

“Don’t hang up,” he nearly shouted.

“Look, this isn’t funny or cute anymore,” you said. “I’m really uncomfortable, so if you could please–”

“You look really sexy in your pretty lingerie,” he said. “I mean, I think that’s what it is. You’re wearing that pretty pink babydoll with a thong. You like to tease people, y/n? That isn’t very nice.”

“Fuck you, creep,” you said.

“You didn’t ask what my favorite scary movie is,” he said.

“I don’t care!” you cried. “Leave me alone!”

“It’s The Strangers,” he said, and you could swear his voice sounded different now. More echo, closer somehow. “You know, that movie where those people break into that house.”

“I’m–” you began, and your back collided with someone as you backed away. 

You played the part of terrified really well, and you could see the cameraman giving you a thumbs up as you kept the facade. You turned around slowly, shouting in surprise when you came face to face with a man in a mask. He was in all black, and the rest of his mask was black as well, except for the face. It looked like a ghost, its mouth agape in some kind of eternal shock. In his hand was a knife, but you knew it wasn’t a real one. It was plastic that was made to look like the real deal, something the director found at a joke shop for a little bit of nothing. You shrieked and tried to run away, but he grabbed you and held you against his back as he stroked your hair in a near-loving gesture.

“Shh,” he said in your ear, trailing the knife down your arm. “It’s okay. I’m not here to hurt you.”

“Could have fooled me,” you said, feeling yourself already starting to get wet as you felt him hardening against your ass. “Why are you here, then?”

“I was hoping maybe I’d get lucky,” he purred, moving the knife between your breasts as you shivered. “You’re so much hotter up close.”

“And what do YOU look like under that thing?” you asked, your voice conveying the whole “stall him” vibe that the director wanted you to go for. “It’s not really fair that you see me and I can’t see you. If you’re really not gonna hurt me, then why won’t you show me?”

“I’ll show you,” he said, and you could hear the smirk in his voice. “If you do one thing for me.”

“What?” you asked, turning your head so that you could look at him slightly. 

“Show me those pretty, perfect tits,” he said in your ear, running the knife between them again. “Outside of that baby doll.”

“And what would you do for me in return?” you asked, turning around in his grip and looking into that mask. “Let me live?”

“Maybe,” he said, looking you up and down. “But first, I’ll just show you my face if you do. Let’s start there, yeah?”

You smirked at him, lowering the thin straps of the baby doll and biting your lip. “You’re probably some total asshole under there. I mean, who calls random women at nine on a Friday night, stalks them, then breaks into their house?”

“Keep going,” he said, his eyes on your breasts. “Show me.”

“You’re a real pervert, you know that?” you said.

“And look what you’re doing,” he said smugly. “Giving into me.”

“You came here to kill me,” you said. “I know that to be true, but it seems like you changed your mind. Why?”

“Because why would I waste such a good set of tits?” he asked. “And I know that pussy of yours is also perfect.”

You swallowed, but smirked as you pulled the baby doll down. You exposed your breasts to him, and heard him suck in a breath. That wasn’t scripted; it was his genuine reaction. You bit your lip again, smiling as you stood before him. He took the knife and dragged it over one erect nipple, causing you to shiver and moan slightly. That also wasn’t scripted or an act, and you knew that whatever happened from this point onward, it was going to be genuine. Well, aside from the basic acts they wanted you to perform on each other, but the reactions? It would be all you, and him. 

“Like what you see?” you asked, shaking them a bit as he groaned.

“Fuck yes,” he said, his ringed hands coming up to grope them. You moaned a little, head tipping slightly as he massaged them in his hands. “I guess I need to hold up my end of the bargain, too, huh?”

“Mmm hmm,” you said, mewling as he gave your nipples a soft pinch. “Shit…”

He stepped back, and you whined at the loss of contact. He lifted the mask with one hand, revealing his face underneath. You acted as though you were surprised to see just how sexy he really was, and his pierced tongue came out between his lips with a devils-horn gesture at the top of his head. You smiled, moving closer to him and running your hands down his chest as he looked you up and down again. Soon, he was grabbing your head forcefully, and drawing your lips to his in a passionate, hard kiss. It turned sloppy, your hands wandering and his, too, finding purchase on your hips as he squeezed. Your tongue played with his piercing, and you could feel the presence of the cameraman in front of you both as you made out. One hand tangled in his hair, the other palming the big bulge that was forming in the front of his pants. His hands came up, grabbing your breasts hard as you moaned into his mouth. He tugged your lower lip between his teeth, moving away to start kissing down your neck. 

“You feel so big,” you breathed, mewling as his teeth found your sweet spot. “Fuck…”

“You have no idea,” he said, pulling your body to his before grabbing your ass. “I want you so bad.”

“Come on,” you said, taking his hand and leading him into the living room. You pushed him down on the couch, straddling his lap before grinding against his dick. “You know what I want you to do?”

“What?” he panted. 

“Want you to rip this thing off of me,” you said in his ear, tugging the lobe in your teeth. 

“Oh?” he asked, grabbing the back of it and tearing it down the middle. “Like that?”

“Mmm hmm,” you hummed, kissing his neck as he moaned. “And I want you to put the mask back on.”

“Okay,” he said, smirking before his face disappeared beneath the Ghostface mask again. 

“You know what else I want?” you asked, moaning as you continued to glide along his clothed erection.

“Hm?”

“I want that big, thick cock down my throat.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mmm hmm.”

“Then what are you waiting for?”

You could hear the smirk in his voice, and it would have infuriated you under any other circumstances. Right then, though, you were too turned on to care. You moved from your spot on his lap to slide to your knees, keeping your eyes on him as you did so. You palmed the bulge in his pants again, feeling how hard he was and suppressing a moan. He watched you from beneath the mask, both of his arms stretched along the back of the couch as you pulled his pants down. His breathing picked up a bit as you put your mouth over his cock through his boxers, and soon, you were pulling those down, too. He was exposed to you now, all nine inches of his thick, pierced, flushed erection at your mercy. As per the script, you teased him a little, sucking on his piercing before swirling your tongue around his slit. He mewled, panting as you took the tip in your lips and sucked eagerly. His arms remained on the back of the couch, not moving yet as you started planting messy, noisy, open mouthed kisses all over the entire length of his cock. You moved farther down to take his big balls into your mouth as well, sucking on them with a moan as you jerked him off skillfully. He was panting a little more heavily now, and you traced his large vein with your tongue as you made your way back up his length.

“Don’t fucking tease me,” he growled.

“Sorry, uh…” you said. “I don’t know what to call you.”

“You can call me Daddy,” he said, reaching down with one hand to stroke your cheek. “And what shall I call you, huh?”

“Anything you want,” you said with a wink, spitting on his cock and jerking him off. “Such a big dick, fuck.” 

“What did I say about teasing?” he asked, tilting your chin up with the knife.

“Sorry, Daddy,” you said, opening your mouth and taking his entire cock.

You gagged for a moment until you got your reflex under control, which was something you’d gotten good at in the business. You could feel him in your throat, stretching, his piercing at the back of it as you drug your head up, then back down. He was moaning above you under the mask, his head tipped back as he tangled a hand in your hair. You looked up at him, bobbing your head slowly as you gripped his base in one hand. You began to jerk him off in time with your movements, ignoring the camera man as he came around to get some close up shots. It felt as if he wasn’t even there, that’s how into it you were starting to get. You could feel your pussy throbbing, wetness settling in the thong you still wore as you sucked him off.

“Fuck, baby,” he moaned, tugging on your hair as you hollowed your cheeks. “You’re so fucking good at that. You’re a filthy little cock slut, aren’t you? I mean, who else just gets on her knees for a man she’s just met, especially one who broke into her house to hurt her?”

You responded by twisting your wrist, eyes still on him as you sucked him off messily. Drool cascaded from his dick and onto the floor below, and your throat was starting to hurt a bit from his piercing. But he was so hot, THIS was so hot, and you couldn’t bring yourself to stop. His hips bucked upward with a loud moan, and you choked as more of his cock went down your throat again. He stroked your cheek tenderly, before yanking you off of his dick. Spit bridged your lips to the tip, and you looked up at him in surprise. Was this scripted? You couldn’t quite remember, but either way, it sent a fresh wave of arousal to your cunt.

“Rub my dick across your tits,” he said. 

“Those are one of my biggest insecurities,” you replied, but did as he asked as he moaned filthily. “But you like them, huh?”

“Fuck yes,” he panted, watching as you sucked his tip again. “You’re so hot.”

“Thanks,” you said, and you continued to alternate between rubbing his dick over your breasts and sucking him off. After a little while, he forced you to stop by grabbing your jaw. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re gonna make me cum if you keep that up,” he growled. “Did I say I was ready to cum yet?”

“No, Daddy,” you said, reaching out to jerk him off. “But I can’t stop worshipping this huge, perfect dick of yours.”

He grabbed your wrist and pinned it to the couch, causing you to whine. “Let me make you feel good.”

“You already did,” he said, grabbing your spit-soaked chin in one hand and forcing you to look up into his mask. “Now, it’s my turn.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, trying to take him into your mouth again, but you were greeted by a light slap to your cheek. “What?”

“I said stop it,” he said, pushing you away as he got up off the couch. “Sit up here for me.”

You whined, but did as he said. You sat down on the couch, watching as he lifted the mask again. He kissed you hungrily, sloppily, one ringed hand squeezing your jaw before it found your throat. He choked you for a moment, and you moaned as his hands found your breasts. He massaged them skillfully, his rings cold against your heated skin, his fingers rubbing your nipples until they were hard buds. He pinched them, tugged on them, swiped his fingers across them, all while you moaned hotly in his mouth. He grabbed his plastic knife, running it over & between your breasts before dragging it over your waist and stomach. 

“I’m going to show you just what I’m capable of,” he said, kissing down your neck after leaving a series of hickeys in his wake. He nipped at your collarbones, before he found your breasts. “You have the hottest body I’ve ever fucking seen.”

“All the other girls you broke in on weren’t as hot, huh?” you asked.

“Not even close,” he said, pulling one of your nipples in his mouth and sucking generously. “Such an amazing set of tits.”

“Fuck…” you whined, one hand in his hair as he tugged your nipple in his teeth. You knew the cameraman was probably getting a pretty good shot with that; Eddie was skilled, he knew what he was doing and how to work a woman’s body. You were reacting to him, wetness pooling in your thong, and you spread your legs for him as you grabbed one of his hands. “I want you to touch me. Please, I need it.”

“So needy, princess,” he said, giving your other nipple the same treatment as the last. He drug the knife down, running it over your cunt as he smirked. “I’ll bet you’re soaking wet for me, aren’t you? You’re such a depraved fucking slut, you know that? Putting out for me like this, soaking that pretty thong for me.”

“Touch me the right way and find out, asshole,” you challenged, and you could feel him grinning against your breast. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” he said, smiling up at you as he started to kiss his way down your stomach. They weren’t gentle, tender kisses; they were needy, hard, bruising. You knew you’d have some marks there tomorrow. “Just that you think it’s so funny and cute to be calling me names right now, when I’ve got the upper hand.” 

“Who says you’ve got the upper hand?” you asked, and he slapped your thigh hard as you yelped. “You didn’t have to do that!”

“Shut up,” he snarled, kneeling in front of you and spreading your legs as wide as they would go. He peeled off your thong, and the cameraman moved behind him to get a shot of your pussy. “Fuck, look at that. So fucking pretty and so goddamn wet.”

“I can’t help it,” you said, shivering as he ran the knife over your bare cunt. “Daddy…”

“I’m going to make you fucking scream, baby,” he said, and he immediately began to devour you.

You had never been eaten out like that before, either off camera or on. The way his pierced tongue moved through your cunt, so skillful and hungry, had you moaning loudly. You usually had to fake your moans, or at the very least, over exaggerate them. Not now; right now, every single noise that fell from your lips was genuine. He was devouring you, his tongue flicking your clit with every drag upward, his hands gripping your thighs tight enough to leave more bruises. You reached down to grab his hair, and he moaned as you pulled it roughly. His piercing dragged through your saturated folds, slowly and teasingly, before he pressed it tightly against your clit. More wetness soaked his face, and his fingers soon joined the mix. The cameraman was getting some great shots, and Eddie began to fuck you roughly on his fingers while his mouth did its magic.

“Fuck, you’re so good,” you gasped, rutting against his face as you clenched around his fingers. “I need more.”

“More?” he asked, his free hand dragging the knife over your thigh. “How much more? I’m giving you all I can, you greedy whore.”

“I want more,” you insisted, your eyes nearly rolling back as he started sucking on your clit. “Please…”

“Is this what you want?” he asked, gathering some of your wetness on the fingers of his free hand and pushing a finger inside of your ass. “Huh?”

“Yes,” you gasped, looking down into his big brown eyes as he started to eat your pussy again. “Fuck, please…”

He took his fingers out of your cunt, instead focusing on your ass. He shook his head back & forth rapidly, growling, his eyes still trained on your face. You kept looking down at him, playing with your breasts as his tongue swirled your clit. You tugged your nipples, and soon he was slapping your hand away with his free one to take over. He squeezed it, massaging it, pinching the nipple as hard as he could. You cried out, and you could feel the familiar sensation in your lower stomach that indicated an orgasm was imminent. He kept going, lapping at your pussy as if his life depended on it, shaking his head occasionally, using his piercing to his advantage. He began to fuck you on his tongue as he fingered your ass, moaning as more of your taste flooded his tongue.

“So fucking good,” he mumbled, moaning as he reached down to jerk himself off. “I’m going to fucking cum just from eating your pussy.”

“I’d rather you cum inside of me,” you said. “I wanna feel that big dick in my tight, wet pussy right now. Wanna feel you pumping me full of cum, and feel how good you are inside of me. Please.”

“You’d rather cum around my dick?” he asked, raising a brow at you.

“Mmm hmm,” you said. “But you gotta put the mask back on.”

“Tired of my face already?” he teased, pulling his finger out and putting the mask back on. “Alright, have it your way. How do you want me to fuck you?”

“From behind,” you said.

“Just like a disgusting fucking whore, huh?” he asked, slapping your ass as you stood up. “I’m going to make you feel so fucking good, baby.”

“Then do it,” you said. “Stop talking about it and just do it already, asshole.”

He slapped your ass hard, leaving a large red handprint in his wake. You yelped but giggled, wiggling your ass toward him as he spanked it again. He held the knife to your throat, pulling you up by your head as his mouth found your ear. You could feel his giant cock throbbing against your ass, and knew he was close already. But if everything you heard about his reputation was true, you knew that didn’t mean anything. He could apparently hold off for quite awhile, even that close, and you were looking forward to having him inside of you. In fact, you needed it more than you ever needed anything. You were tired of doing films with men who had average or below average dicks; they didn’t do anything for you, and you always had to fake it. But with Eddie? You highly doubted you would have that problem.

“Keep calling me that and I’ll slit your fucking throat,” he said in your ear, pressing the hard plastic a little more firmly to your throat. “You’re in no position right now to be a fucking bitch.”

“I think I am,” you said, grinning smugly at him as you pushed back against his cock. “You’ve got me right where you want me, right? So, instead of making empty threats and being a douchebag, why don’t you just fuck me?”

He slapped your ass hard again, dragging the knife across your throat ever so gently. “You’re fucking lucky I think you’re so hot. Otherwise, I would be ending this right fucking now by cutting you wide open.”

“Fuck me already!” you said. “You’re–”

You were cut off by a loud moan as you felt him pushing inside of you. You cried out as his thick length stretched your pussy, and you could feel his piercing deep inside. He held onto your hips to anchor himself, bending you over the couch as he pushed himself deeper. You nearly screamed as you felt that piercing on your cervix, but it hurt so good. You reached down and squeezed his hand, and you could tell that he was trying hard not to break character to hold your hand. He had to know how it felt, and you could tell that he was holding back, even still. The director seemed not to notice, though; he just instructed his cameraman to get a shot of his cock buried deep inside of your pussy. He was almost fully inside, and it took you a minute to adjust to how it felt. Never had you been this full, never had anything felt so good, and you weren’t sure how long YOU would be able to last. He was moaning behind you, and you felt his dick twitch. That caused you to moan filthily, and you looked behind your shoulder into his masked face, a smirk on your own.

“What are you waiting for, Daddy?” you asked, biting your lip. “Fuck me.”

He started to thrust, keeping them slow and shallow at first. The cameraman looked up questioningly, and the director simply shrugged and instructed him to keep filming. You moaned, feeling that piercing against your cervix again with every movement inward. He kept hold of your hips, and soon, he was fucking you a little harder. You knew that he was making sure you were okay first, something that he seemingly didn’t do with any of his other costars. Maybe he found a soft spot for you, or maybe the rest of them were used to taking dicks his size. Either way, you thought the gesture of going off script was rather touching, and you looked back at him with a smile. You couldn’t tell if he was reciprocating, but the sharp thrust inside of you somehow told you that he was.

“You’re so fucking tight and wet,” he said, starting to absolutely DRILL you as you nearly screamed. “Listen to that, can you hear it?”

You could. As he fucked into you harder, you could hear just how wet you truly were for him. His fingers dug into your skin, his breath in your ear, and you just moaned as you clenched hard around him. That caused him to groan, and you smirked as you did it again. This brought another loud crack to your ass, and you yelped as the knife made another appearance at your throat.

“Stop doing that,” he growled. “You needy bitch.”

“Sorry,” you said, but did it again.

He stopped thrusting, putting the knife down to grab your throat with his hands. He choked you for a moment, chuckling darkly as you kept clenching around him. He began to move again but kept his grip, letting go only when you started clawing at his hands. He reached around to grope your breasts, rubbing the nipples as he absolutely pounded you against the couch. He was panting and groaning, the sounds filling the air as the cameraman got another shot of him fucking into you. You could feel your lower stomach tightening, but you weren’t ready for this to be over yet. Fuck, he felt so goddamn good; you never wanted it to end. You would have been content going on forever just like this, with him inside of you as you whined desperately. He knew you were getting desperate, too; he reached down, rubbing your clit in hard, fast circles as you cried out. You clenched again, his hands now on your shoulders as you braced against the couch. He drilled your needy, soaking cunt, each bump to your cervix causing you to moan even louder.

“Cum for me,” he said. “Show me just how much you fucking love what I’m doing to you. Show me what a greedy whore you are for my cock.”

You moaned, and were shocked to see that he was pulling out of you. The director was about to intervene, but Eddie was pushing you onto your back on the couch. He lifted your legs to his shoulders and pushed inside of you again, causing you to moan hotly as he filled you up again. The director stopped and instructed the cameraman to keep going, and you looked up into his masked face with a look of pleasure on yours. You arched under him, writhing, your hands finding his clothed back and digging your nails into the fabric. He pounded you hard, the new angle causing him to hit into your sweet spot. He didn’t use his entire cock this time; instead, he decided to get creative, and fucked directly into your G-spot. The feel of the piercing against it was so fucking good, and you tore at his dark shirt as he pounded against you.

“That’s it,” he cooed, the strokes of his cock remaining shallow and deep as your mouth fell slack. “Cum around my cock, princess.”

“Fuck,” you whined, your jaw still open as your head tipped back. “I’m gonna cum so hard, Daddy.”

“Cum for me,” he coaxed, his fingers rubbing hard circles on your clit again. “Do it for me. Show me how desperate you are to let some stranger fuck you like this.”

Tears began to leak out of your eyes. They weren’t bad; it was just so much, so overwhelming. You could tell that he was having doubts, so you sat up slightly to bury your face in his neck. He groaned, thrusting harder before pushing you back down. He pinned you to the couch, both of his large hands holding you down as he mercilessly pounded you. More tears leaked from your eyes, and he laughed wickedly under the mask.

“What’s wrong?” he taunted. “Is my dick too big for you, you disgusting slut? Can’t take it all?”

“No, i can,” you said, trying to get out of his grip. 

“Then take it and cum for me,” he coaxed, fucking you as hard as he could. “Go ahead, show me you can do it.”

It didn’t take much more for you to cum. A few more strokes of his cock, a few more swipes with his fingers, and that was it. You screamed in pleasure, and none of that was exaggerated or fake, either. You squirted around him twice, and the director was staring in awe as the cameraman caught everything. You kept arching, moaning, bucking up against him as he continued to pound into you. He was panting above you under the mask, moaning as you felt him twitch inside of you. He was fighting hard to keep going, but you knew he was going to lose that fight very soon. You reached down and took his knife, holding it up with a smirk.

“You wanna hold this to my throat again?” you asked. “Maybe that would get you off.”

He took it and did just that, holding it on your throat as he pounded you. You moaned, clenching around him, bucking your hips up against his thrusts to aid him. He looked down at your breasts, then back to where the knife was held to your throat, and you felt him twitch twice. You knew it was coming and, sure enough, it did a moment later. He came hard inside of you, moaning through it, his head bowed as he allowed his orgasm to take him over. He continued to thrust until it was done, stopping and nearly collapsing on top of you before pulling out. But he wasn’t finished, and you already knew what was coming because of the script. He pulled you to a sitting position and opened your legs, eyeing your dripping cunt as he rubbed the knife between both of his hands. 

“Look at that,” he said, running his fingers through your sensitive pussy before he knelt in front of you. “I made such a mess of you, didn’t I?”

“Mmm hmm,” you said, moaning as he lifted his mask. “What are you gonna do about it?”

“I think you know,” he said, dragging the knife over your thigh again before he started eating you out once more. “I’m nowhere close to being fucking done with you, you fucking slut. If you think that I am, then you’d better think again.”

“So much for scary movies, huh?” you asked, moaning as he began to devour your pussy even more desperately. 

“I think this is much better,” he said, eating you out more feverishly. “You know what we should try? You know, since you’re such a filthy girl.”

“What?” you asked, moaning as he fucked you on his tongue.

“Giving it to you up the ass,” he said. “I think that would be fun, don’t you agree?”

“And cut!” the director called.

You whined as Eddie broke away from you, standing up as he helped you. The director was coming onto the set to talk to the cameraman, both of them seemingly pleased with what they’d gotten. Eddie sat the mask and the knife down on the couch, grabbing a water as someone on set offered one. He handed it to you, and you accepted it with a big smile. You took a drink, and Eddie’s hand was on your shoulder in a comforting gesture. He pulled his pants back up and gestured for someone to bring over your clothes. You slipped them on once they did, and Eddie wrapped your jacket around your shoulders for you with a smile. 

“Are you okay?” he asked. “I mean, I didn’t hurt you or anything, did I? I tried to be as careful–”

“No, I’m okay,” you assured him. “Really. I just wasn’t used to someone that big.”

“A lot of the women aren’t,” he said with an apologetic grin. “I always ask them to let me go in slow and careful, but they never really let me. I guess they don’t want to shatter the illusion. It’s just…you were crying, and i was so scared that i was hurting you.”

“Well, I can promise you that I’m totally fine,” you said, taking another sip of the water. “Do you think we did well enough for them?”

“Oh, I think we did,” he said with a chuckle. 

“Something tells me they’ll be asking us to do another one together very soon,” you said. 

“In that case,” he said, smiling as he leaned closer to you and offered an arm. “How about I buy you dinner? I know I’ve worked up a hell of an appetite tonight.”

You grinned, taking his arm with a nod. “Yeah, I’d like that a lot.”

____________

taglist: @littledemondani @andvys @wroteclassicaly @succubusmunson @eddieschains @trashmouth-richie @eddiemunsons-missingnipple @reidsbtch @taintedcigs @happylilthought @sunkillerdreamer @battymunson @whore4romance @hallovoid @harrys-housewife14 @alovesongtheywrote @filthy-gorgeous @emmyshortcake @softgoodsstyles @deathlyweird 

[generalsmemories]

An Immortal's Delight

✧ jing yuan x gn!reader

✧ synopsis: i think jing yuan just needs someone to kiss his worries away to survive another day tbh, he deserves that.

✧ contents: established relationship, fluff, hurt/comfort, smooches and kisses in the bathtub (scandalous), he's just a tired baby please let him rest and get some cuddles and a pat on his fluffy head. spoilers for the main story in 1.2

✧ a/n: enough attempts on angst as the main genre i want my man happy again for like 3 posts before i attempt again, and i know ya'll want it too. it's cheesy, but HE NEEDS TO HAVE CHEESY MOMENTS PLEASE HE'S BEEN SUFFERING EVERYWHERE ELSE.

Jing Yuan has been submerging himself in the bath without answering your calls long enough for you to grow concernerd. You contemplate for a bit, there's still scrolls of unfinished work sitting by the dining table that you had brought from the Realm-Keeping Commission along with two plastic bags of Immortal's Delight that you bought on a whim while on your way home staring back at you.

Yanqing's not at home. The paperwork can also wait until he's out of the bath and in bed sleeping, and there's no pressing matters at hand for the both of us currently either- with those reasons in mind, you take another sip from your own immortal's delight to savor the taste while it's still cold before walking up to the bathroom door and opening it slowly.

You're immediatey hit with a wave of steam, barely able to make out Jing Yuan's figure amidst the mist. Your husband having an elbow propped up at the edge of the bathtub while resting his cheek on his closed fist. If he heard you come in he doesn't react, eyes closed while the water from the tap still runs, having long flowed over the edge.

Jing Yuan isn't behaving like his usual self lately - not after fate had toyed him like this to make him use two of his ones dearest friends whom he had had once released years back for the sake of Luofu. You can tell, you can see it in the wry smile he sports every day, you can see it in his eyes that flicker with the tiniest of emotions whenever he reports back to you for you to record and in his voice that wavers a tiny bit when he addresses his two old friends as names that are foreign to him.

He's the same general in everyone else's eyes, but in your eyes he's reverted back to his younger self who took on a role far too burdensome on his shoulders all those years ago. He can hide it beneath every meticulous plan and carefully thought out strategies, but you always see through him. You had back then, and you have now as well.

You strip off of your outer robes which leaves you in an undershirt whilst you slowly walk up to him. Making yourself comfortable by the edge of the bathtub, your fingers find the red ribbon that situates his long ponytail and pull it off.

"Darling," you hum, "If you're going to let yourself turn into a prune in here, at least make sure that the ribbon also comes off no?" your hand rests on his left cheek, a silent sign to make him look at you. And Jing Yuan is always obedient around you, opening his eyes to direct his gaze towards you. His other hand comes up to wrap loosely around your own hand, holding it still while he turns his head around to press his lips against your palm, "I would still be quite a handsome prune though, no?" he jokes with an empty chuckle - you're pretty sure his laughs have sounded empty since the stellaron incident first started.

"Debatable," you whisper, gently pulling your hand away to grip the edge of the bathtub, instead leaning down to press your lips against his cheek, "But you would most definitely be the most handsome prune in my eyes."

"That's a relief," he huffs playfully - although there's no playful tone present in his voice. It's numb and automatic, a trained response fitting of the general Jing Yuan of the Xianzhou Luofu. It could've fooled every other person, but not you. He can't fool you after all.

"I thought you had passed out in here, you were taking that long," you emphazise, lips moving from his cheek to kiss across his face, settling on pressing your lips a bit longer on the mole underneath his eyes.

"Mmm, sorry dear," he leans away from his fist, letting you cup his face between your hands while his right arm drops limply over the edge of the bathtub, "It was pretty comfortable in here that I lost track of time."

He never loses track of time.

"Jing Yuan," you call out gently, "Can you tell me what's wrong?"

He doesn't answer immediately, instead averting his eyes from your own as he grows quiet. He's probably contemplating an answer, if you were anyone else he could've easily breezed past the question with a mere acknowledgement that he's fine, but it's you. You're always able to figure him out as fast as his own foresight is able to foresee a necessary plan for a better tomorrow.

He still tries, "I'm fine," he ends up saying, "Just tired," he opens his mouth to add on more details, as if to prove to you he's really just tired, but no sound comes out.

"I know," you whisper, bringing your hand further up his face to brush his bangs away to bump your forehead gently against his, "I know you're tired, dear. But what's gotten you more tired than usual?"

Gently, he lifts a hand from the water up to your wrist. And you're already aware it's a silent request, to which you answer with a small smile and a nod. With a light tug, you get dragged down into the bathtub with your legs dangling over the edge. Jing Yuan had immediately buried his face into your neck, letting out a shuddering breath.

There's no people to care for in this small space, there's no general duties to attend to here and no setting aside his personal feelings or using old connections for his people. In this small space, there's only the feeling of your soft skin against his and the warm press of your lips on his head.

Just like back then after he had come back from defeating his master, after he had witnessed the deaths of his closer friends in battle and the punishment given to another. You're always there at the end of the day - waiting for him.

"Will you tell me what's wrong, dear?" you implore once again, arms wrapping around his shoulders.

"As much as I'm able to keep it hidden at the heat of the moment," he whispers into your neck, taking another shaky breath to which you pat his naked back for, whispering for him to breathe. "I do admit that I once again had a bit of a youthful hope to bring something back from the past that I knew was not plausible."

You merely press your lips to his temple, aware that he's not finished talking judging by the way he takes another deep breath that ends in a low chuckle - a chuckle that sounded a tiny bit more genuine than his previous one.

"... And I think I can still feel the aftermaths of the fight against Phantylia."

"... Well that's no good," you hum. You've been very much aware that Jing Yuan is still recovering from the last battle against Phantylia. His body still weak and food even harder to consume. The little he does consume end up getting thrown back up because: "It feels like my insides are having a battle of its own still," which makes it harder to get Bailu's prescribed medicine down his throat.

You run your fingers down his back a couple of times before leaning away to pull his head out of your neck - he tries to protest, wanting to stay nestled in your neck so he can live inside the personal bubble you've created away from reality. But you're too insistent, gently coaxing him with small pats to his head until Jing Yuan finds himself staring back into your eyes. "In what way can you feel the aftermath?"

He's staring at your lips, "There's a vile taste in my mouth."

Your lips are immediately slotting over his own after that. It's soft, but sweeter than usual. He can taste a hint of brown sugar on your tongue, and perhaps it's because he's not directly consuming it, but he finds it easier to want more. So he leans in for more, grabbing the back of your neck to push you further into him. More, he needs more.

"You're going to swallow me up whole at this rate," you say with a giggle, parting slightly away from his lips and giving them a brief peck when he leaned slightly further into you, "But how did that taste?" you question.

"It tastes like someone's had an Immortal's Delight before coming in here," he jests, "It's good, I like that," he confirms before settling his forehead back on your shoulder.

"That's good, maybe I should drink more of them then before kissing you silly. I'm sure whatever you're eating now paired with Bailu's medicine won't give your tastebuds the best of flavors."

"That would make eating and drinking them a lot easier for my part," he mumbles from your shoulder, "Would have something to look forward to, being that Lady Bailu bans me from drinking such sugary treats at the moment."

You chuckle at the hint of sadness present in his voice, once again wrapping your arms around his shoulders so his senses are filled with your scent. Only then does his shoulders sink in relief - And you know that Jing Yuan will be fine for another day again.

"I can't guarantee that tomorrow will be any better from today," you mumble, "Neither can I guarantee that you won't be faced with a past that you were forced to move on from too soon for the sake of the Luofu," you let go of him to climb out of the bathtub, ignoring your clothes sticking to your skin as you extend a hand towards the man before you who meekly grabs it - squeezing your hand hard upon contact.

"I can however, guarantee that I'll be there waiting at the end of the day every time," you grab one of the fresh towels by the shelves to throw over his head, ruffling his hair slightly, "And take care of you when you want to just be Jing Yuan, and not the Arbiter General of the Luofu," you declare with a smile, "And kiss the vile taste of medicine in your mouth with the flavors of immortal's delight."

Before you can turn around again to grab a new towel to pat your clothes dry, Jing yuan tugs at your wrists and pulls you towards him. A hand coming up to cup your cheek before he bends slightly down to kiss you hard and hungrily. Kissing you breathless like you're all he has left - from back then and now in the present.

He can still taste the sugary drink on your lips - He wants to keep tasting them, he has quite a sweet tooth after all.

"I like the taste of immortal's Delight," he says, pressing his forehead against yours while he gazes at you softly, "So I hope you bought some for me too."

"I did, you can afford one cheat day," you grin, bringing both hands to cup his cheeks before pinching them, "But knowing you, you would still claim it tastes better on my lips, no?"

i- i'm. can someone tell i really love this man. like i want to wrap him in a blanket and say everything's going to be okay, that he can rest now because he's done his job and way more. that he deserves rest as much as the next person- i can volunteer to do that. please.

[narryffdreaming]

Summary: Harry and Gianna are best friends. He's been in love with her for years now, but she's dating someone else and he knows it's time to move on. When Harry finally agrees to go out on a blind date, Gianna reaches out — she just broke up with her boyfriend, and she needs her best friend. 

PART ONE AU, friends to lovers +18 (explicit language) 7k words I said to myself that I wouldn't do it, but I'm doing it anyway :D

Harry knocks on the bathroom door once, and then twice. He turns his head to the side and leans in, trying to catch any indication of an answer over the music blasting from downstairs. 

It's hard to focus, though. The steady and rapid beat keeps banging from his ears to every corner of his brain, it echoes between the walls, and it seems to shake the ground beneath him. On top of that, even though he's on the second floor of the house, at the end of the hallway, and standing in an empty room, he can't tune out all the shouting, laughing, and cheering. All the people he walked past on his way in feel distant and muffled now, and yet he still can't hear one single thing through the white wood, which somehow makes everything even more annoying.

"Fuck," he whispers to himself, then steps away from the door. 

He can still run away. He can still let her know he's busy tonight. He can still tell her that he won't be able to make it because he has somewhere else to go. Because he has someone else to see. Because he's already on his way to the opposite side of town. 

He can… He still can… And also he should, right? He should tell her that. Mostly because, for once, it wouldn't even be a lie. 

Holy shit. 

Isn't it funny that, for the first time in three weeks, he wouldn't be lying to her? That for the first time he actually has plans to use as an excuse to not see her? That finally — finally — he's listened to his friends and agreed to move on? 

And isn't it funny that, despite all that, there he is, on a Friday night, ignoring everything and everyone, and standing inside a stranger's house just because she asked him to? 

Harry chuckles and rubs one hand across his face. He's so fucking stupid. 

Because yes… He can still say no to her. And he should say no to her. 

Except… 

He shakes his head, and grabs his phone. Who's he even trying to fool? He can't say no to her. Of course he can't. C'mon. It's Gianna we're talking about. His Gianna. His best friend. The one person in the world he would do absolutely anything for. Of course he can't say no to her. Not when she says she needs him. 

So… Ok. He needs to focus, instead. He needs to go straight to the point. He can't say no to her, but he can still say a quick hello and jump right into a goodbye. In and out. In a blink of an eye. He can be there for a friend, and still make it to his date.

Yes. 

C'mon!

He checks her last text one more time, the one she sent forty-three minutes ago: second floor, last door. hiding in the bathroom. With a sigh, he puts his phone back into his pocket and takes a step forward, then turns his head to the side and presses his ear against the white wood. He lifts his hand in a fist, and knocks again. And again. And again. And again.

First comes some cursing, and then her loud and muffled voice. "Go away!"

Harry closes his eyes and, before he can even register what's happening, his lips have already turned up into a smile. 

Gianna's voice is unmistakable. Not because there is something unusual or peculiar about it, but because it feels extremely characteristic of hers. Never too high, never too low. Always enough. It captures everything about her personality: the softness, the certainty, the brightness, the stubbornness, the kindness, the understanding, the annoyance, the reasoning, the confidence, the innocence, the strength, the— 

Harry blinks his eyes open, and clears his throat. 

He is there on a mission, so again, he needs to focus. Make sure she's ok, and make it in time for his date. 

"You're the one who asked me to be here," he points out, raising his voice, but not actually yelling.

And then, it only takes three seconds for him to hear the click of the door being unlocked. He steps back and faces the bathroom, then takes a deep breath and pulls his curls away from his forehead. 

Truth is, he hasn't seen Gianna in three weeks, and he can't deny he's dying to be around her again. To see the wrinkles on her face when she smiles, or the sparkles in her eyes when she tells him about something exciting that happened to her. 

Fuck. 

His stomach feels funny, and he gulps down. He absolutely hates this. 

The door cracks open, but Gianna barely gives herself enough space to look outside, let alone to give him the chance to look at her. 

"Is it just you?" she asks, peeking around him through the tiny gap she's created. 

Harry frowns, and snorts. "No, I just met a bunch of strangers downstairs and brought them up here to check on my friend who apparently locked herself in some random bathroom and—" 

"Okay, okay." She rolls her eyes and sighs, then steps aside. "I get it." 

She hides behind the door, and silently offers him more room to walk in. 

Harry shakes his head and presses his lips into a tight line, but shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans and walks forward anyway. 

The space is tiny, but enough for both of them. White walls match the toilet, the bathtub, the countertop with the sink, and the medicine cabinet. The only sources of color are the orange towel hanging on the wall next to the sink, the bottles of shampoo on a corner shelf, the yellow shower curtain crumpled on one side of the tub, and a bowl of Doritos on top of the closed toilet lid.

He quirks one corner of his mouth up, but also furrows his brows. What the hell is going on? How long has she been here? And why is she even hiding in the bathroom in the first place?

Gianna closes and locks the door, and Harry jolts. 

He turns on his feet, just in time to see her twirling around, too. 

She glares at him with a frown on her face and hands on her hips. Her chest moves up and down, quickly and heavily, and her nostrils flare every time she takes a deep breath in. It's easy to notice, because the green overall she's wearing does a great job at hiding everything from her belly to her midcalf, but it isn't covering that much of her cleavage. Nor the soft skin on her shoulders. Nor the smoothness of her arms. And her long necklace — the one she got for herself after her first paycheck — follows the movements of her lungs, and the big, golden pendant is this close to get lost between the swells of her breasts. 

Fuck. Heat rushes through his body, and his breath gets stuck in his throat. 

He can't make her uncomfortable, though. He can't let her know the thoughts that keep crossing his mind every time he looks at her body. He can't even let her know he (sometimes and unwillingly) glances at her body. Fuck no. He can't be inappropriate.

He can't, under any circumstance, cross that line with her. 

He just can't.

He clears his throat and forces himself to focus on her face, then. Taking in her infuriated expression first, and then her puffy cheeks, and then her smudged makeup… 

And then her red eyes… 

And then her washed-out stare… 

He drops his shoulders, then exhales through his nose. 

Here we go again… 

"What did he do now?"

She opens her mouth, then closes it. And Harry's seen that same reaction so many times before that he already knows she's changing her mind about the kind of answer she wants to give him. That she will somehow deflect the truth. And that she will once again try to protect that fucking son of a bitch. 

"I just…" Gianna says, and shrugs. "I just hate him." 

Harry stares at her for a moment, then tilts his chin down and looks at his feet. Ok. Maybe not what he expected her to say, but still… He shakes his head and laughs, and the sound comes out of him as humorless and exhausted as he feels. 

"Right," he offers, because it's the only thing he can come up with. 

Is it possible for him to feel concerned about her, but also extremely annoyed at her? Because he can swear he is. 

Gianna's big pleading eyes and cherry pouty mouth have always been some of his biggest weaknesses, but he promised himself he wouldn't do this again. He promised he wouldn't interfere anymore. He promised he would let her go. And he promised he would move on. 

"I do, Harry," she insists. "I truly do."

He nods, then takes one hand out of his pocket and rubs one finger under his nose. Whatever. He really isn't in the mood for this drama. Not again. Not tonight. Not when he has finally decided to move on and is supposed to be on a date instead.

"You texted," he says, dropping his arm and lifting his head to face her again. He hides his hand inside his pocket again, secretly wriggling his fingers and trying to get some of his tension off his body. "Thought something happened to you."

She looks away from him, then shrugs. Her hand falls from her hip to hang by the side of her body, and she tilts her chin down, staring at her fidgety fingers. 

Harry notices the moment she swallows hard, as if burying her emotions down her throat, and his entire body goes cold. 

Gianna isn't happy, and she hasn't been for such a long time. And at the end of the day, it kills him to see her like this. It kills him to see her so sad. It really does. He wants to take her pain away, he wants to hold her, and he wants to protect her. And yet he can't. Not how he would like to, at least. And he doesn't know how to help her anymore. He doesn't know what else he can do. Or what else he can say. He's already tried everything and, to be honest, he feels as if he has completely run out of options. As if he has failed her. 

He's powerless, and he's useless. 

And he's also really fucking lost. 

"I hate him," she finally says, glancing at him and repeating herself. Ignoring his attempt to change the subject. 

And for a moment, Harry can swear he sees a flicker of certainty inside her. He sees it, and he feels it.

Maybe… 

Yeah. Maybe she finally means it. Maybe this time is actually different. 

Maybe she finally realized that fucking son of a bitch isn't worth a second of her day and she's finally going to—

No.

Harry looks away.

He'll just never learn the lesson, will he?

"I mean it."

"Right. Ok, then."

"Ugh," Gianna grunts, then clenches her teeth. "Stop saying that!"

"Saying what?" he asks, walking to the bathtub. 

"Right," Gianna mimics. 

Her attempt to imitate his voice and accent is endearing, and as he sits on the edge of the bathtub, he also purses his lips to hold back a smile. 

"It's truly annoying," she adds. "Especially when you say it like that."

He places his elbows on his knees and tilts his chin up, looking at her. 

Her arms are crossed, and she is glaring at him again. 

Harry shrugs. "Like what?"

Gianna shakes her head and looks away—first at the floor, then at the sink. It takes her a moment to sigh and shrug, and when she finally speaks, her voice is only a weak whisper. "Like you don't believe in me anymore."

And just like that, Harry's entire body softens. 

He didn't mean to make her think that. He didn't mean to hurt her or to be mean to her. He didn't mean to make her sad. He just… He just can't understand the situation. He just doesn't know what to do about it, and he also doesn't know how to bring it up to her anymore.  

There is nothing in the world he wishes more than for those words to be true. For her to actually hate that fucking guy and leave him for good. So of course he wants to believe her, and he would if he hadn't heard the same story countless times before. But what good getting his hopes up for nothing, once again, would even do? 

"Gi…" Harry says, stretching one arm to poke her knee. She flinches away, and he sighs. "Gi, c'mon, look at me."

"No." 

He leans forward, stretching both of his arms now. When he still doesn't reach her, he lifts his bum a little and groans, then finally grabs her waist and pulls her closer. "Just come here."

Gianna doesn't fight him, letting him guide her until she is standing in front of him and in between his knees. Still, she doesn't look at him, keeping her arms crossed under her chest and focusing on the yellow curtain to his left, instead. 

Truthfully speaking, her stubbornness is usually one of the traits Harry enjoys the least, because it tends to make her act like a grumpy, annoying little girl. On the other hand, it is also one of the things he envies the most about her, because it drives her forward to achieve whatever she wants — like when she plays it in her favor to get interviews or exclusive content for the magazine she works at. 

Besides, Gianna isn't perfect, Harry knows that. And he doesn't expect her to be. So he humors her childish behavior sometimes. Like right now, when he's determined to bury himself inside her eyes. Tilting his chin up, dropping his head back and straightening his back just to look at her. Searching for her sight even if she won't give in and share it with him. 

"Gi," he calls, as careful, soft, and tender as he can be. "Hey… I'm sorry, ok?" 

She bites her lip, and shrugs. 

And because she's also old and mature enough to act like an adult, he doesn't hold himself back from trying to put some sense into her. 

"You gotta understand where I'm coming from, yeah? We've been here before, and—"

"I know, but—"

"No, you don't know, Gi. So let me say this." 

She sighs, but peeks at him through the corner of her eyes and nods.

It is more than enough for him, and he gives her a half-smile, placing the tip of his fingers on the side of her knees—just to hold her somehow, just to make sure she won't run away from him before he can explain himself. 

"We've been through this thousands of times, and I fucking hate when you still stay with him every single one of them. Because I hate the guy."

"I know sometimes you don't like him, but—"

"Gi, no. Listen to what I'm saying. I don't like that guy from work who chews too loudly and makes boring jokes. But Miles? I'm telling you I fucking hate him." 

Gianna drops her shoulders, and her arms fall to her sides. 

"Harry…" She dips her chin down and draws her eyebrows together, finally fully looking at him. "But that's… I mean… He's my boyfriend."

A new kind of heat flushes through his body, and Harry tenses. 

Is she being fucking serious right now? 

Is she actually going to defend him? 

Is she going to stand up for him or something?

He closes his eyes for a second and clenches his jaw, taking a deep breath and trying his best to keep himself together. 

He can't do this anymore. He can't keep running in circles. He can't keep dodging the truth just to protect their friendship. Mostly because, at this point, he isn't really protecting any of them anymore. 

"I know," he says, blinking his eyes open and meeting her gaze one more time. "I know he is. But you're my best friend and I love you, and I hate the way he treats you. I hate that we can't see each other without it turning into a fight between you two. I hate that he won't support the things you love. I hate that he's always tricking you into changing your mind about things. I hate that you're always sad because of him. I hate that he's always making you cry. So yeah, Gi… I know he's your boyfriend, but I hate him. And I'm not sorry for that."

For a long moment, there's nothing but silence between them. Music and people are completely muffled by the walls and the closed door, almost making it easy to forget there is even a party going on out there. 

Harry sits there patiently. Watching her. Waiting for her. 

And Gianna watches him back. Attentive. Curious. Puzzled. Thoughtful. Scanning him with those beautiful, big, meaningful eyes. Standing right in front of him, between his knees. So close that, if he faced forward, he would only need to lean a couple inches to kiss her body. And she smells heavenly, too, like she always does when she's wearing that same perfume — fresh, captivating, sexy. 

The woman of his dreams, embarrassingly as it may sound. And embarrassingly as it may be.

"Is that…" she murmurs, so quietly she really doesn't mean for anyone but him to hear. "I mean, is he the reason why you've been avoiding me these past few weeks?" 

He closes his eyes for half a moment, then looks back at her. "You noticed, huh?"

"You thought I wouldn't?" 

"I don't know." He shrugs. "Wasn't trying to make it obvious." 

"Well, it sucked, okay? One morning I even cried listening to you on the radio." 

Harry tilts his head, and pulls the corners of his mouth into a smile. "No you didn't."

She rolls her eyes, holding back a smile of her own. "Trust me, I wish it was a lie." 

"Ugh." He dips his head down for a moment, rolling his shoulders before looking up again. "'M sorry, Gi."

"Yeah…" She crosses her arms once again, pressing them against her stomach and clenching her hands into fists. "I'm sorry, too."

She looks away, and he taps the tip of his fingers on the back of her knees. Already missing her undivided attention. 

"What happened, Gi?" he carefully asks. "How long have you been hiding here?"

"I… I don't know. An hour? Maybe more…" 

Harry sighs. "Gi… C'mon."

"I know." 

"You see how insane it is, right?" he asks, staring directly at her just to observe her reaction. To make sure he isn't pushing too much. To make sure he's actually helping her, and not making it worse. "Hiding in someone's bathroom for over an hour while he's out there throwing a party for people half his age?"

She closes her eyes, then bites her bottom lip and nods. 

She knows. 

She actually knows.

Whatever happened this time, it finally woke her up. It finally made her see it. 

He drops his shoulders, scanning her face. 

Then why is she still here? Why does she keep waiting around for him? Why does she keep putting herself in this position? Over and over again? What is so special about this fucking guy that is worth all the pain he constantly puts her through? 

And most importantly, what is it going to take for her to finally realize that she deserves so much better than to be treated like… This?

What can he do to help her? What's left for him to try? If he's run out of ideas, if he's said everything he could say to her, what difference can he still make? 

Maybe… 

No. 

A thought creeps in, but he doesn't want to acknowledge it. He doesn't want to engage with it. 

Although he should, because it is a new idea, and it is something he hasn't tried yet. It includes being honest, not filtering his thoughts just to make sure she won't end up hating him, and stop playing safe. It also forces him to finally take a chance, and to finally stop holding himself back. 

It's too risky, though. Especially right now, when she's so vulnerable and still dating the guy. 

Ok… So maybe not the entire truth, then? Maybe just the facts she needs to hear to break away from whatever curse that asshole spread on her. 

And he can try that. He did it just minutes ago, when he told her how much he hates the guy — and that seemed to work more than fine so far, right? 

Yes. 

Ok, then. 

He slides his tongue between his lips, and rolls his shoulders. And then, keeping his eyes on her, he finally says, "Gi, you deserve a lot better than this." 

Gianna doesn't seem to react, although the way her breasts suddenly pop up into his eye-line suggests she's holding all the breath in her chest. 

He insists, then — mostly because he knows she's actively listening to him, but also because he can't allow his fucking hormones distract him from what's really important right now. 

"You deserve to be treated so much better than the way he treats you."

She stays still, frozen in front of him. 

So he places his hands on the back of her knees and gently squeezes her. Briefly, though. Just one time. Just to make sure he gets her attention when he asks, "You know that, right?"

Gianna shrugs, then. And Harry catches the moment her bottom lip trembles. And how her breath quivers when she exhales. 

"Hey," he says, squeezing her again. "Sorry, love. Don't wanna make you cry."

He's crossing the line. 

He shouldn't touch her like this. 

He knows that. 

Even if it's an innocent hold on top of her clothes. Even if she barely notices it. Even if it means nothing to her. 

Because he notices. He feels her body under his palm, and he feels the way her flesh sinks when he digs each one of his fingertips to get her attention.

And he notices how she fits perfectly into his grip. And now he can't stop thinking how there isn't even an inch of her body he doesn't want to squeeze and feel just like this, but also way, way more.

"I'm not—It's not…" Gianna says (or tries to say). 

Harry blinks, and loosens up his craving fingers. 

Gianna shakes her head and opens her eyes, looking at him again. "He didn't look for me, y'know? I've been here all this time and he didn't… Not even a text." 

Harry doesn't know what to say to that, so he brushes his thumb up and down once. Trying to comfort her. Trying to sooth her. Trying to remind her he is there, and he is listening to her. He is taking care of her.

"Something could've happened to me and he just… He just doesn't care at all."

He repeats the movement of his fingers one more time, and when she still doesn't seem to mind or be bothered by it, he repeats it again. Over and over. Drawing small, tiny circles on the back of her knees. 

"'M sorry, love." 

"I hate him."

And this time, Harry genuinely believes her.

"Me too," he says, keeping the steady stroke of his thumbs.

"He's just so fucking stupid." 

"He is. Most fucking stupid guy I've—" 

"And he broke up with me!" 

Harry shuts his mouth. 

What?

He did what?!

"It was so… Humiliating…" Gianna laughs, painfully, shortly and bitterly. And then the first tear rolls down her cheek, and although she quickly wipes it off, it's like she can't stop the next ones from following the exact same path. 

Holy shit.

"Gi," Harry whispers.

She shakes her head and looks down to his chest, or maybe to his thighs, or just to anywhere in between them that doesn't include his eyes. She sniffs once, and, amidst new tears, she finally shares with him the one thing she's been avoiding to face the entire night. 

"I don't… I don't even know what I did this time. Honestly… He came early to set everything up, so Crystal gave me a ride and… And then when we arrived he just… I just went to say hello to him… I didn't… He just broke up with me, H… Out of nowhere, and in front of everyone." 

Jesus Christ. 

There are suddenly a lot of things to unpack. 

Too many things to point out. Too many things to ask. 

Questions. 

Yes. 

So many questions. 

Hundreds of them.

But the first one he blurts out is, "Crystal is here?"

Gianna sniffs, rubbing both hands on her cheeks, and nods.

"Angela too?"

"Yes." 

Harry frowns. "Well, and where are they right now?" 

"I don't know."

He can feel his muscles twitching. The urge to crack his knuckles and run after those two little b—

"Were they there when it happened?"

Gianna nods.

"And do they know you're here? Did they at least try to reach out to you?" 

"I don't—I don't know, H…" she murmurs, dropping her arms to her sides and fidgeting with her fingers. "And to be honest I don't care… I don't want to see them… They'll tell me it was nothing… That he didn't mean it… And then they'll say I should forgive him and I just… I don't… I can't…" 

Harry shuffles on the bathtub, and suddenly he's awfully aware of how much he'll, sooner or later, regret sitting there for so long. Still, right now, as he leans just a little bit closer to her, that's definitely the least of his worries.

"You can't forgive him, Gi," he pleads. "Not this time. Not after all this."

"I know… I know I can't… I just…"

She shakes her head, and Harry twitches his fingers around her knees. Digging them slightly, begging her not to stop. Not now. Not after all the progress they've made. 

"What? Tell me… I'm here, yeah? I'm listening." 

She takes one hand to her forehead and rubs the tips of her fingers from one side to the other. As if trying to slide the words out of her brain. 

"I'm just… Scared."

"Ok…" Harry tilts his head, searching for her eyes. "Scared of what, love? Of him? Because you know I'll never let—"

"No." She shakes her head. "I'm not scared of him… It's not—Ugh… Look, I don't want to keep doing this anymore, okay? I really don't. But I'm… I'm scared I'll end up calling him anyway… And I know I shouldn't, I know that, but I… I mean, I don't know… I just… I don't know…"

"Ok, just breathe, yeah?" He moves his thumbs up and down again, foolishly hoping his touch will be enough to soothe her. 

"I don't want to be that girl," she says, then takes a deep breath in, and lets the air out through her mouth. "I swear I don't." 

"Ok… That's—"

"I'm scared I'll be, tho. And I don't want to. I don't—" 

"Gi, hey… Listen to me."

She stops talking, and she also glances back at him. The look on her face is so scared, though, that it makes Harry's chest hurt. 

He sighs, and asks. "Why would you call him, tho, hm?" 

Gianna shrugs. 

"If you don't want to… And if you're saying you know you shouldn't… Why are you so scared you'll call him anyway?"

"I don't know…" 

She looks away again, and Harry notices that, unlike him, the only way she can get the words out of her mind is if she isn't staring at him. 

"It's just what I did every other time before… He'll break up with me, then I'll get lonely at home and call him. And then he'll—" 

"Wait." Harry frowns. "Just... Hold on a minute. This isn't the first time?"

She looks down to the floor, and shakes her head.

"How many times did he break up with you?"  

Gianna laughs — humorlessly, tirelessly, unwillingly. 

"Please don't make me answer that."  

Harry freezes for a moment, and cautiously watches her. He examines her. Studies her. Trying to find any of the sparks she's usually radiating off her. Or any traces of joy. Or at least some peace in between everything that's happening. But she's just so sad. And she also looks so ashamed, and so scared, that he just… He can't do it anymore. 

Honestly. 

It's beyond whatever he can handle right now.

So he squeezes the back of her knees and pushes her closer, then leans in and places his head against her belly. 

He closes his eyes, and sighs. 

Holly shit.

Harry doesn't want to be dramatic, ok? So he'll never admit this out loud, but this shit physically pains him. It just does. He can't grasp his mind around the fact that getting into fights with her, making her cry, and diminishing her ideas wasn't enough for that fucking asshole. That he still needed to mess around with her feelings, and that he got away with it for so long that she now believes she'll end up crawling back to him no matter what. 

He also hates the fact that he never knew "breaking up" was a common thing between them. That Gianna wasn't just forgiving all the childish and fucked up things Miles did, but that she was actively calling him up and asking to go back to him. And he doesn't blame her for that, ok? He doesn't. He loves her. So he just… Y'know… 

He just… 

"Fuck," he murmurs, clenching his teeth. "That fucking son of a bitch."

Gianna breathes in, and Harry feels the way her stomach slowly fills up with air, moving his head along with it. And then she exhales out, heavily and through her nose, and her stomach empties again, and Harry's head follows the movement again. 

"I'm sorry, H," she murmurs, too. "I didn't—"

He shakes his head, burying his forehead on the fabric of her overall, and lifts his hands slightly, just an inch above the back of her knees. Being mindful to not overstep, but also deeply struggling to contain himself.

"Please don't apologize," he says, intentionally keeping his voice down. "You didn't do anything wrong." 

She places her hands on the back of his head. Softly and gently. Almost like she's unsure of what she's doing. 

"It feels like I did, tho."

"You didn't. I promise you didn't."

Gianna doesn't seem to have an answer for that, and she also doesn't seem to know what to do with her hands. Tapping his hair as if she's trying to figure out where to put them. 

Harry brushes his thumbs up and down, just like before — although he's now hesitantly venturing himself on the back of her thighs, and that embarrassingly feels way more dangerous and thrilling than whatever he did with (or to) any other person up until then. 

And it seems to have some sort of effect on her, too, because she relaxes underneath him. Her muscles seem to loosen up, and she finally drops the weight of her palms on the back of his head. 

Next thing he knows, Gianna's already threading her fingers through his hair. Running her nails over his scalp, and entertaining herself while fiddling with his curls. 

Harry smiles, and slows down under her touch. His breathing follows the rhythm of her hands, and his heart is loud and heavy, but it doesn't seem to squash his chest anymore. It's not painful anymore. 

Time goes by unnoticed. And it's like the world around them doesn't even exist anymore. 

It's good. 

And it's new. 

And it's peaceful. 

And it's refreshing. 

So much so that, when Gianna speaks again, even the pain and the sadness in her voice sound lighter. 

"I hate myself for calling him," she says, keeping up with the strokes on his head, "and I really don't want to do it again." 

Harry nods. 

"I'm scared I will anyway, H…"

He squeezes her once, just to let her know he's listening, and then he rummages through his brain, trying to find something useful to say. 

He can't say he understands her fear, because he isn't sure he does. What he knows is that he always struggled to say no to Gianna, and that no matter how hard he tried he was never able to let her go. But he can't compare both situations, can he? After all, she never played with his feelings, because she doesn't know about them. Miles, on the other hand, was pretty much aware of the relationship they were in. Miles knew what he was doing, and Miles actively chose to string her along. 

So, no, it is not the same thing. 

On top of that… Harry can't imagine her calling him out of nowhere. Not when she's so sure she doesn't want him anymore. Not when she's so sure she hates him.

Unless… Well, is she still in love with him? Is that why she thinks she'll go back to him? Because she loves him so much that she'll miss him? 

No… C'mon… She doesn't. 

Does she? 

Shit.

Certainly, it's not his place to answer that, but it doesn't feel like she's in love with the guy. It feels like she's used to being with him, but because she doesn't know anything better. 

Besides, he's never seen her so determined to put an end to the relationship. This is the first time he's seen it written all over her face. It's also the first time she's called him because Miles broke up with her, and the first time she even told him it happened. So how… How can she still be so unsure of herself?

Harry pulls away and blinks his eyes open. Adjusting to the bright cool light, and also searching for her eyes. 

Gianna slides her hands off his hair and rests them on his shoulders. Holding herself onto him while she tilts her chin down and meets his stare. 

"I know you said you called him every other time before, but… Did you also feel like this the other times?" 

She frowns, and it's enough for him to already know the answer. Still, he waits for her, and lets her come to a conclusion on her own.

"I don't… Think so? I mean, no. It feels… Different this time."

Fuck yeah it does.

Just look at them!

Harry wants to chuckle, but he knows he can't, and he knows he shouldn't, so he breathes in deeply and shrugs. 

"So maybe this time it will be different, yeah?" he asks, then takes a chance and drags his palms another inch further up on the back of her thighs. 

Gianna takes a tiny step closer to him, and he's more than happy to take that as a little victory. 

"Maybe… But I don't know if I have so much faith in myself." 

"Why not, Gi? If you know he's such an idiot, and you know you don't wanna go back to him, why do you still think you will?" 

"Because I'm that stupid, H. Because apparently I can't—"

"Stop," he says, and squeezes the back of her thighs

Gianna gasps softly, and widens her eyes. 

Shit.

Although Harry always tries to be gentle, he knows his grip ended up being tighter than he originally meant to. He can feel it on the way his nails are digging into her flesh, and on the way he's also flexing his arms. 

Part of him wants to apologize and put some distance between them before she can do it herself. Before she realizes what's happening and tell him to fuck off. 

The other part, though, knows it's too late to go back from whatever he already did tonight, and that so far the truth is the only road that seems to be actually taking him somewhere. 

So Harry straightens up his back and keeps his hands in the exact same place, firm and steady. 

He doesn't take anything back, nor pretends it isn't actually happening. 

"I can't let you do this to yourself, ok?" he says. "Because you're not stupid." 

Gianna blinks. 

"You're the most fascinating woman I've ever met," he adds, because now that he's started he doesn't think he'll be able to stop himself anymore. "You're kind, and smart, and creative, and funny." 

He loosens up one hand and pulls it away, but only to take it up to her face and brush his thumb under her eyes. 

"You're so beautiful, Gi," he says, cleaning some of her smudged makeup. 

"So, so beautiful…" He strokes her cheek, and then under her other eye. "That you're just… You're breathtaking."

She blinks again, and again, and again. As if trying to absorb the information not only through her ears, but also through her eyes.

And Harry likes the way she's listening to him, the way she's leaning closer. The way she's softening in front of him. He doesn't know what it means, but he knows he likes it. So he keeps going, choosing to only stop if she asks him to.

"And you're constantly blowing my mind, for whatever reason." He drops his hand again, placing it on the back of her thigh, where it feels they belong now. "Your ideas, your point of views, your actions… Everything, Gi. Everything you do is just… Amazing. You are amazing."

She flickers her eyes around his face, and Harry gives her time to do so. He waits for her. Brushing his thumbs up and down. Subtly caressing the back of her thighs.

"I don't… I don't know what to say." 

"It's ok…" He smiles. Softly. Fondly. "You don't have to say anything." 

Gianna shrugs. She picks his t-shirt between her fingers, fidgeting with it while still watching him. 

"Kinda feels like I have to. I mean, those are… Y'know… Really nice things to say about someone."

"I know. Yes." He smiles bigger, and nods. "Want me to say them again?" 

She rolls her eyes, but it's easy to catch the way her mouth tries to curl into a smile as well. Or the way some cheerfulness brightens up her face. 

And there she is again… 

Harry tilts his head, hooked and charmed by the way she looks. By the woman she is. 

Chest warm and fuzzy. 

Head over the moon. 

Pathetically in love. 

"I think very highly of you, Gi." 

"You do?"

"Mhmm… You should know that by now." 

She drums her fingers on his shoulders, and he brushes his thumbs on the back of her thighs. 

"This is… I mean…"

"What?"

"Ugh." She groans, throwing her head back and glancing at the ceiling. "I don't know. I'm just really confused right now." 

"Oh. It's... It's ok," he says, eyes suddenly too focused and mind too distracted. 

Her neck is pretty, isn't it? And her skin looks the sweetest, softest place he could lay his lips on. 

Harry swallows. 

He looks down, and meets her chest — which only makes it worse. 

Fuck. 

He closes his eyes, and shakes his head. 

When he looks at her again, she's thankfully already facing down and staring back at him. Making it easier for him to talk again. 

"Don't wanna confuse you right now," he says, then clears his throat. "It's not the right time to reveal all of my thoughts about you,  anyway." 

"All of your thoughts about me? What—How many do you have?"

Harry chuckles. She's so fucking cute.

"Not today, yeah?" 

She narrows her eyes. "Harry…"

He shrugs. "Look, all you need to know right now is that you're not stupid. And I know you're scared, but this time you have me by your side, yeah? And I won't let that son of a bitch hurt you again. Ok?" 

"I appreciate that, but you don't have to—" 

"Gi. Ok?" 

She sighs.

"Okay."

"Good."

A beat of silence echoes between them. 

Gianna and Harry fill it by staring at each other. Consciously ignoring the fact that time is ticking by. And also ignoring the fact that, although they probably should feel awkward by whatever is going on right now, they actually don't feel awkward at all. 

And then clattering and shattering thunder from downstairs, and Gianna and Harry jolt. They both turn their heads to face the door, waiting for something to happen. And when people seem to erupt into desperate cheering and yelling, they both turn again, and look at each other. Again.

"Do you think it'll be okay if I spend the night at yours?" she asks. "Most of my things are at Miles' and I… I don't know. To be honest I don't want to spend the night at my place." 

Harry nods. "Yeah, of course. You can sleep back at mine."

He rolls his shoulders, then tilts his head to one side, and to the other.

"Do you think it'll be ok if we leave this place right now, tho?" he asks, brushing his palms up and down the back of her thighs, then sliding them to gently tap the sides of her legs. "Can't stand this place anymore."

"Yeah." Gianna smiles, and squeezes his shoulders. "We should go."

"Great." He squeezes her legs, and brushes his thumbs in wide, slow circles. "Good."

She nods and slides her hands down his shoulders, letting her fingers brush down his chest. "Mhmm…"

"We'll go, then." He spreads his legs even wider and nudges her forward, holding her legs tightly while forcing her to take a step closer. 

"We will." She draws her hands back to his shoulders, fully holding onto him. "Whenever you want to."

Harry closes his eyes and leans forward, pressing his face to her stomach, and then a kiss on top of her clothes. Without pulling away, he groans against the green fabric, then murmurs, "You're not making this any easier for me, y'know?"

Gianna chuckles, allowing her hands to timidly explore his back. "I swear to God I have no idea what's going on right now."

He pulls away, tilting his chin up and looking at her. "We'll have plenty of time to figure it out. But right now, let's just get the fuck out of here. Please."

"Okay," she says, and smiles, but doesn't make any attempt to actually move.

"Ugh." He grabs her waist and pushes her off, standing up and stumbling along with her feet as they both step away from the bathtub.

She bites her lip and giggles, and it honestly takes absolutely everything inside him to not kiss her right then and there.

"C'mon," he says, finding her hand and holding it tightly. "Let's take this back to mine." 

Hiii :)

Someone sent me a request back in 2022 and I came up with 85% of this. Then last week I decided to finish it and finally post it (always better late than never, huh? hehe).

There are soooo many things I have in mind for this one, so many things I haven't explored yet, and so many things that I intentionally left unanswered... But for now, this right here, is all I have, and I wanted to share it anyway :) I'm basically just challenging myself and my overthinking, so let's hope I don't regret it lol.

ANYWAY, thanks for reading.

Dani.

[victoria-grimesss]

Call the Doctor, I'm in Love

masterlist

->Paring: Johnny ‘Soap’ MacTavish x Medic!Fem!Reader

->Words: 2.9k

->Warning: fluff & angst, mentions of injury/wounds

->Summary: Soap has a big ol crush on you, he’s not sneaky or quiet about it. Here are the many times he’s fantasized about you and the one time you answered his dreams.

->A/N: a little something because I love Foap!

Johnny ‘Soap’ Mactavish is a pretty guy, a hunk if you will and he knows it. He has no troubles with the ladies and is highly experienced but he always feels like he’s lacking something, someone. Until you came along, pretty new medic. You’re his favorite. He always goes to you for a patch up even waiting for medical help until you come back from break. Johnny is a saint, he is a patient and giving man. 

But he wants you, desperately. He’s got a big fat crush and he’s not quiet about it. The 141 is exhausted hearing about what you did today and that Soap thinks you looked dreamy today, stitching up his arm. He saw you look at him a little extra that means you want to be with him right? They can’t wait until you either reject the poor fool or take him on a bloody date. Here are the times poor Mactavish has swooned over you:

The 1st Time: Your Introduction

Soap has found himself head over heels for you. He first saw you in the medical tent after him and an enemy went headfirst over a steep rockwall, he was fine of course, seems like that guy can bounce back from anything, you had nursed him back to health and he was done for. Your caring words and gentle hands were all he wanted now. And imagine his surprise and excitement when you became the team's new task-force medic.

“Alright team I hope you read over the file, we got a new member to our team. She's going to be our medic but don’t worry she can hold our own on the field. She’s reliable and damn good at her job. We’ve had too many close calls lately and I don’t want anyone dying of something that could have been prevented.”

Price ends his introduction and you greet your way around the room, everyone is nice enough for tuff military men. You find yourself sitting next to John, or Soap, or sometimes Johnny depending on who you ask. He’s a good looking guy, as are the rest in the room but you have a job to do so you don’t plan on messing up your place on the team by intermingling with one of them.

“Aye lass, do you carry one of those stethoscope things around with ya?”

He’s leaning on one arm, checking out the equipment you had brought with you.

“I usually keep it in the office, why is something wrong?”

You’re looking him over for anything obvious but nothing sounds any alarm.

“Ah no, it’s just my heart… it’s acting funny, beats a little faster when you come around.”

He’s smiling and you laugh not expecting a bad pick-up line but seems like he’s that kind of guy.

“I see. Well might want to try working on your cardio then that’ll improve that heart rate of yours.”

He pauses, thinking of what to say next to lure you in.

“You like bars doctor?”

“Not particularly..”

“Would ya mind joining me, I hate drinking alone.”

You smile, amused.

“Why not one of the other boys, someone you’re more familiar with.”

You’re looking into your bag and he drops his head lower so you’ll look him in the eyes.

“I’d like to be more familiar with you bonnie.”

You stop and put your hands on your hips pretending to think.

“Well I’m not so interesting, just a doctor after all. I’m sure Gaz would love to join you, you two seem the best of friends.”

He seems a little discouraged when you don’t play into his game but he looks at the small smile that plays on your lips and knows he’s just gotta keep trying. You won’t shake him off that easily.

—

The 2nd Time: The Flu Incident

Flu season. Your favorite time of the year, your inner monologue drips with sarcasm as you scrub your hands raw for the sixth time today. It’s late afternoon and the sun dips over the horizon as the rooms are casted with a honey soaked orange glow. The murmurs from the outside hallway peak your interest and you dry your hands and exit to the hall.

“I told you MacTavish I can help you just as easily as any other nurse or doctor, just come into my office and we’ll get you fixed up.” 

An older more seasoned nurse has her hands on her hips, gaze pointed at Soap with a motherly disapproved look at her face. You step out of the room tossing the paper towel into the bin.

“Troubled patient?” 

Soap lifts his head at your voice and he smiles, voice nasally and strained.

“Ah there ya are bonnie, been waiting for you. Think you can fix me?” 

“You’d be in better hands with her you know? Unlike me she knows what she’s doing.” 

Your tone is playful and Johnny stands weakly, hand on the wall.

“Yea but you’re my favorite, can’t feel better unless it’s you.”

The other nurse is called away shooting you a good luck look with her eyes, no doubt happy to not have to deal with the sickly man.

“Alright Johnny whatever you say. Let’s get you to a bed.”

“You’re a real saint hen.”

You place a steady hand on his back leading him to the bed in your office, away from the overflow so he can hopefully get some rest.

“Alright Johnny go ahead and lay down I’ll get your temp and let’s see if we can break that fever alright?”

He groans as he lays down obviously dealing with joint pain from the flu, it’s a nasty one that’s hit the base this time.

You run a washcloth under cool water, grab your thermometer, and sit next to him making sure he’s comfortable. You take his temp and frown, 

“Give it to me straight doctor, am I going to make it?”

He grips your hand dramatically and you laugh while patting his hand.

“I think you’ll just scrape by, it’ll be close though.”

“Oh thank heavens. Guess you’ll just have to take extra close care of me right?”

He’s giving you those stupid puppy dog eyes again as you place the washcloth on his forehead and place the back of your hand on his cheek to feel the temp there as well.

“I guess since I’m part of your team now I’ll have to make sure you live, so yes. I will take extra good care of you.”

You smile at him softly, you don’t like seeing anyone sick but sick Soap reminds you of a kicked puppy.

You miss the way his eyes shine up at you as you chart his info. How the thoughts in his head are those of you and him on dates, what ring he will propose to you with, where you’ll honeymoon and various other daydreams he has swirling around. He would do anything for you to be his, he would capture the stars for you.

You get up from your chair to put his info into the computer and he looks at the sad flowers on the side table, shriveled and needing to be tossed.

“These flowers aren't lookin so good.”

You glance over and frown.

“Oh yeah, it’s been so busy lately I haven't had a chance to replace them yet.”

He hums and you walk back over to him and give him some painkillers and electrolyte drink mix.

“Take these and get some rest please, it’ll do you good.”

He sits up, eyes on you as he takes the pills, handing you the little cup back.

“I’ll get you some new flowers, take you out too.”

You’re facing away from him, a smile gracing your features.

“Johnny, I-”

“You don’t have to say yes now lass, just please, for the sake of my well-being think on it.”

You move over to him and dab the cloth onto his cheeks and cool down his pulse points, heart growing slightly as you reply.

“Sure Johnny, I’ll think about it. Now sleep, doctor's orders.”

He sleeps quietly next to you as you finish your charting. The sight of him so calm warms your heart and it scares you a little bit, you wouldn't want to throw off the balance of the team or make any weird power dynamics by falling for him but he makes it harder and harder. 

The next week fresh flowers are left on the side table.

—

The 3rd Time: Award Ceremony Ball

Dressed to the nines each of you are. A very successful mission rewarded the whole team with a variety of medals and everyone was looking very nice all cleaned up.

Your dress was a floor gown with a slip up the leg and your back was exposed, the dress felt so silky and it was nice to not be covered in blood for once. Although you did manage to spill some kind of fancy jam on it and you were frantically dabbing at it with water when you were interrupted with Soap meeting up with you.

“Well don’t you look nice.” 

He’s lively tonight, eyes bright with optimism after the job and sporting brand new chest candy to show off.

Your eyes drift up from the new stain on your dress to him and he, well he looks damn good. A new pink scar graces his jawline but it looks good on him, he can wear scars well.

“Thank you, you clean up well yourself too.”

“Ah bonnie don’t make me blush now.” 

The rest of the team is chatting at a nearby table, Price is nursing a short glass of something dark, Gaz is going to town on the amazing food, and Ghost is engaged in conversation with the two of them.

“You wanna head back to the table?”

You offer, he shakes his head and offers his hand.

“I ask the fine lady to a dance.”

You blush, never asked to dance before, the ballroom floor filled with experts, couples swirling to the melody in the air.

You stew on it for a moment, and put your hand in his.

“Ok but if I fall you fall with me okay?”

“Always.”

Your hands are intertwined, one of his is on your waist and yours is on his shoulder. You both try to copy what the others do and the messy dance combined with the flutes of champagne you both consumed makes for quite the site. The mess of bumping feet and unsteady movements.

“For a sergeant you’re rather uncoordinated MacTavish.” Your laugh is light.

“I didn’t go to fuckin dance school, certainly didn’t learn this in the marines that’s for sure. What, did they teach this in medical school?”

“Does it look like they did? I can stitch up a bullet wound but lord help me I can't dance for shit.”

You bump into him again and his grip tightens slightly.

“I got ya bonnie.”

He could be living in a dream right now, you in such a pretty dress adorned in your well deserved medals, him with his. You’re gripping his shoulder and he’s got you in his arms, he can smell your perfume and see the small hairs out of place as the two of you spin but he loves it all the same. He wants it all the same.

“Johnny. Can you hear me?”

He blinks harshly, really sinking back in. You’re not his right now, he can’t take you back to his place after this and kiss each part of you, unzip the dress and let his fingers graze over the skin that's revealed to him. Watch how you move under the moonlight as he touches you just as he imagined. Not yet.

“Yea?”

“I said I think Gaz just devoured his fourth bowl of that dip I wanted to try.”

“Must be good then, should we head over before he finishes it all?”

You laugh and agree.

“Thank you for the dance MacTavish, you made me feel less silly for not knowing what I’m doing.”

His eyes sparkle at your admiration.

“I’m always happy to help.”

—

The 4th Time: Yes

This mission could not have been more fucked up. Shrapnel flies and bullets whiz by. The air is cold but your body is so hot, on fire from the adrenaline. 

The coms are staticy and choppy but you can make out the team. 

An undercover mission with Soap had you outside a pretty nice villa at dusk. It was meant to pose as a couple on a retreat to gain intel from an organization nearby but all hell had broken loose. You're cornered and Soap had been down to three bullets and you at two until you were able to take down someone else and gain the upper hand.

Communication with the team was hard, they had sent for backup now you just had to wait.

And Soap is shot.

He has taken a bullet for you and you’re frantic. 

“Fuck Johnny, shit.”

He grimaces as you rip your bag off of your back to grab for first aid. It’s not enough though, you had to pack light and it’s not enough.

“Stupid ass job, told them to find a way to get more equipment.”

You’re more muttering to yourself, ripping things out of the small bag you were allotted to patch him up.

“You’re cute when you’re frustrated.”

Johnny laughs and it sends him into a coughing fit, the bullet is in his side. You pray it hasn't done permanent damage but the gravel in his cough scares the hell out of you.

“Hold on Johnny, I’m gonna get you fixed up alright, just stay still.”

A bullet nearly misses your head and he shoots back hitting the guy before clutching his side again.

“You think that’s all of them?”

“Fucking hope so, I need- I have to clean it.”

He’s strong, so strong and sweet and kind and nice and charming and you can’t lose him. 

Not when you know you want him now. That you need him now. 

“Gonna lift your shirt ok? Just watch your breathing.”

“Aye, not even going to take me to dinner first.”

Your eyes are blurry as tears slip down, first one the two.

He wipes them away, his blood smearing onto your face and you choke back a sob.

“C’mon bonnie, don't cry. I hate seeing you cry.”

His voice grows weaker the more he speaks and you beg him to stop, but he rambles. 

He talks about how each morning he wakes up to see if you’re up yet. He waits for you at the gym, always goes to you when he feels unwell, gushes to the rest of the team about you when you’re not around. 

He flirts openly with you and what a fool you’ve been to not reciprocate fully, to reel into him.

The needle breaks his skin and his eyes grow heavy, the blood is still flowing freely and you almost feel it rushing out of you as well.

“I’m so sorry Johnny.”

You stitch and wipe and repeat. It’s a gaping wound and it makes you sick seeing it on him. 

You’re so focused on stitching him you don’t notice when his eyes close. His breathing is shallower now. 

Your eyes race around his face, head now slumped to the side.

You wipe the wound, it’s not good but it should be ok. Heavy on should.

Your hand, coated in blood cups his cheek, shaking.

“Johnny?”

You move his head, it's heavy in your hands and your breathing hurts now.

You get closer, enough to press his forehead to yours and you inhale his smell. 

You hold cloth to his wound to try to stop the bleeding and you whisper promises to him if he will just pull through. 

Your lips are so close to his that when your tears roll down your face they roll off your nose onto his lips.

The hand that cups his cheek feels his pulse on his neck and it’s quiet and slow. It’s so silent here now.

“I’m so sorry Johnny. I love you. Fuck I love you so much I just didn’t want to mess anything up. Please don’t leave yet. 

You lips touch his softly, like if you pressed any harder he would shatter.

“Could have- could have told me all that before I was dying yea?”

He laughs weakly, his smile cracking the corner of his lips. You cup his face fully now, careful to remove your hand from the wound but you applied enough pressure by now the blood has coagulated some. 

“You mean all that?” His eyes are heavy but he still looks at you with that same shining he always did.

“Yes, god yes. I just didn't want to mess up the team dynamic but I don’t care anymore, you just have to pull through alright then let's go out.”

“I like the sound of that.”

Blades of the helicopter sound nearby cutting through the silence.

“Just hold on Johnny we’re gonna get you patched up. Then I want to see you in that suit again.”

“Anything for you bonnie.”

—

He recovered well with you by his side of course. You dressed his wound properly and gave him a kiss to make it heal faster he would say. Then two weeks later he showed up in a suit with flowers at your office door. The rest is history, but the team is much happier not listening to Soap’s rambling about you but they are happy nonetheless.

[stllmnstr]

champagne problems: part two

pairing: jake sim x f reader

genre: enemies to lovers, rich kids au, fake dating au, college au, angst, fluff

part two word count: 33.2k

part two warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption, jealousy, a kiss or two, my incessant need to make sunghoon a figure skater in everything I write, family drama, use of the american (usa) university system

soundtrack: boom - dpr live / bad idea! - girl in red / blood on the floor - kuiper / calico - dpr ian / comme de garçons (like the boys) - rina sawayama / lust - chase atlantic

part 1 is linked on my masterlist for now!

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

The second son of a wealthy family, Jake Sim has gotten used to always standing in the shadow of his older brother. From grades to girls to talks of becoming future CEO of the Sim Corporation, he’s no stranger to coming in second place. So when an opportunity arises for Jake to finally have the one thing his brother can’t and best him once and for all, he knows he’d be a fool not to take it.

There are only two problems. The first is that the thing his brother wants so badly isn’t a thing at all. It’s you, semi-estranged daughter of the Sims’ closest and most long-standing business partner.

The second is that Jake Sim can’t fucking stand you.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

PART TWO

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Jake Sim has been staring at his philosophy homework for the last twenty minutes when a stack of pastel pink papers slides across the table towards him. 

“What is this?” Much like most interactions he’s had with you, your sudden presence at Jake's favorite coffee shop is entirely unexplained. Hell, he’s not even sure how you found him here. He’d ask, if he thought you’d give him a straightforward answer. 

But Jake knows better at this point. So with a grumble, he takes out his headphones instead and prepares for a conversion that will probably put him in a worse mood than he started it in. 

Sliding down into the seat across from him without an invitation or the courtesy of an explanation, the only thing you say is, “You know, I really am starting to get a bit worried about your future success.” Nodding at the stack of papers you’ve just put on the table in front of him, you add, “How are you a third-year business major that still can’t recognize a contract?”

“I know what a contract is.” Jake defends, eyeing the papers warily, reaching out to pick them up. “But usually they’re not printed out on pink paper.” Really, who do you think you are? Elle Woods? And where did you even get this stuff? Jake doubts that this shade of pink cardstock came from the shelves of your local office supply store. Bringing the paper up closer to his nose, he levels you with a disbelieving look. “Hold on, is this paper scented?”

“Don’t put your gross nose on it! That paper is custom ordered.”

Of course it is. “Why the fuck did you print out a contract on custom ordered lavender-scented paper?”

You have the audacity to look affronted. “You should be thanking me.” With half a mind to snatch it out of his hands, you instead tell him with a glare, “Lavender is a very calming scent and probably the only thing stopping me from strangling you right now, y’know, since this entire thing is your fault.” 

Setting the papers back on the table with a little more force than necessary, Jake isn’t in the mood to play your favorite game of beating around the bush.“What entire thing? What kind of contract is this?” 

“I’m so glad you asked.” Your tone says otherwise. “Since someone’s loser brother couldn’t keep his mouth shut, just like I predicted, and someone’s mother found out about someone’s unfortunate use of the B word–”

“Hold on,” Jake’s brow creases in confusion. “I never called anyone a bitch–”

“Boyfriend,” you clarify, cutting him off. “I figured we better lay out some ground rules. You know, if we’re really gonna go for this.”

“Go for what?” Jake is still lost. “It’s just a family dinner–”

Shaking your head, you paint a perfect picture of disappointment when you tell him, “Your lack of foresight is astounding. Truly. Forget econ, I’m surprised you managed to pass classes that involve basic logic or any kind of critical thinking skills.”

Across from you, Jake does his best to close his laptop screen inconspicuously, keeping his untouched philosophy homework hidden from view. 

Then he returns, “And you don’t think you’re overreacting? Like, at all? What do we need a contract for?” Not that the lavender-scented abomination looks particularly legally binding to begin with. “Like I said, it’s just dinner–”

“For now,” you interrupt. “It’s just dinner for now. But two days ago, it was just a fundraiser, and to the best of our families’ knowledge, you were just my plus-one.” Giving him your best fake smile, you add, “And like the person at this table who has an IQ higher than a goldfish predicted, things are already getting messy. This,” you nod to the contract, “will help us clean them up before James or my mother realize that everything about you and me is nothing but one big lie.”

Jake sighs. Tries to defend himself even though he knows it’s futile. “Look, how was I supposed to know that my brother would open his big mouth to my mom?” And it really is just terrible luck all around – that James couldn’t keep a secret, that he chose to divulge it to the one person that actually cares about Jake’s love life and not just its potential effects on the family business. 

In fact, in Jake's opinion, his mother cares a little too much. The messages that started Sunday morning haven’t stopped since then. It’s a big part of the reason why his phone is currently face-down on the table that separates the two of you. Jake is not about to let you see anything that could potentially inflate your ego any more. 

His mother, however, seems to have other ideas. Right now, his message thread with her looks more like a one-sided fan club.

Mom: I can’t wait to meet her! I remember her as a little kid. It’s been so long since I’ve seen her. Mom: Does she have any dietary restrictions or allergies? I’m starting to put together the menu for this weekend. Mom: Does she prefer white or red wine?  Mom: Never mind the last message. I’ll just pull out some of both.  Mom: I just stumbled across a recent picture of her. Wow, she’s even more beautiful than I remember! I hope you’re treating her well.  Mom: Can you send me your apartment address again? I want to mail you something. Mom: Oh, and what’s ___’s favorite kind of cookie? Mom: Forget it. I’ll just give them to you this weekend to take with you. 

Suppressing a wince, Jake decides to put his mother’s incessant prying to the side for the time being. Right now, he needs to build the most bulletproof defense of his intelligence and common sense as possible before you keep shooting holes in it. But contrary to his beliefs, you’re not here to argue with him about where the blame for your unfortunate situation lies, at least not for the most part. 

You tell him as much. “I’m not here to yell at you about how this is all your fault.”

Jake raises an eyebrow, lips flat. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“Don’t worry,” you assure him. “I got my anger out already. Your picture’s right in the middle of my dartboard.” Across the table from him, you smile sweetly, imitate throwing a dart directly at the center of his forehead. 

Jake can’t tell if you’re kidding or not, and somehow that’s more unnerving. 

“So what, you don’t need to hear me say that everything’s my fault? You’d rather get it in writing instead?” Jake glances at the forgotten contract. Suddenly, a wave of panic crests in his mind. “If you’re trying to sue me–”

You roll your eyes before he can finish the empty threat. “Again, that’s not what this is for.” Looking at the papers, you tilt your head, considering. “Although it’s not too late for an amendment…”

Jake cuts that train of thought off as quickly as he can. “Okay, what exactly is it for then?”

You don’t miss a beat. “Like I said, just like someone with more than two functioning brain cells predicted, your little slip of the tongue made things messy. So if I’m gonna save your ass and pretend to be your girlfriend in front of your family this weekend, we’re gonna need some kind of written agreement about how this is going to play out. Think of it as an agreement, something to outline the…” you pause, weighing your words, “expectations on both of our ends.”

A contract. A fake dating contract. It’s all Jake can do not to burst out laughing. He’s trying to egg you on a little, piss you off and push your buttons like you’re so good at doing to him when he tells you, “Y’know, it’s kind of funny how seriously you’re taking this.”

You don’t understand how he can be so blase about it all. Sure, maybe the contract was a little overkill, but the two of you are about to start pretending to be dating, to be a couple, in front of your families. It’s not something that you’re willing to walk into blindly. 

“Really? I think it’s kind of funny the whole reason I’m in this mess is because of you.” Suddenly, there’s a reignited fire in your eyes. Jake almost regrets his taunting. “In fact, I think it’s absolutely hilarious–”

“Okay, okay,” He can sense a losing battle when he sees it. Not wanting to rehash your argument from earlier or put himself at the center of any more dartboard target practices, Jake surrenders. And then he frowns. Reaching for the stack of papers again, he scans the first page. Trying to make sense of all the legal jargon and stylized formatting, he’s hesitant when he glances at you and slow to admit, “To be completely honest with you, I’m actually not that good with contracts–”

“Oh my god.”

“So, do you think you could go over the highlights for me?”

“You are absolutely insufferable.”

“I’m sorry,” Jake intones flatly. “Are you talking to me or the mirror you spend five hours a day looking into?”

You kind of have to hand it to him. Ever since your run in with his brother, his insults have been landing a lot better. That one was actually pretty good. Not that you’d ever admit it. 

“Anyway,” you glare instead. “The highlights.” Nodding to the contract you spent most of last night writing up, you explain, “The first page is just basic contract language. The actual content of our proposed agreement starts on the second page.”

Following your explanation, Jake sets the first page aside, makes quick work of skimming the second. Or at least he tries to. It proves a difficult task, however, when he gets a little caught up on the very first line. 

“Really?” You’re not quite sure what kind of expression is on his face when he looks up at you. It’s an odd mix of shock, disbelief, and perhaps, if the sudden flush on his cheekbones is anything to go by, embarrassment. “Rule number one is no kissing?”

Across from him, you just rest your chin in your palm. “I know I’m crushing your dreams and all, but don’t be so surprised.”

Jake’s glare is easier to read this time. “That is not what I meant. It’s just… I don’t know.” It seems so obvious. He didn’t think you’d feel the need to actually write it out like he’s about to start trying to plant ones on you every hour of the day. “It’s not what I was expecting.”

“I mean, I don’t know how family dinners work at your house, but mine usually don’t involve makeout sessions between courses.”

“Exactly,” Jake returns. “It hardly seems like something we need in writing when it’s more than easy to avoid.”

Still, you don’t back down. “Don’t blame me for erring on the side of caution. We’re pretending to be a couple in front of your brother. And we both know that you don’t exactly make the most rational decisions when he starts  pushing your buttons, boyfriend.”

The use of the pet name is intentional. It’s a reminder that Jake can’t be trusted where his older brother is concerned. Not when in the heat of the moment, he would say or do just about anything to get under James’ skin in the same way James has been getting under his for the last twenty-one odd years.  

“Point taken.” Jake can’t exactly argue that one. 

And in all honesty, Jake kinda feels like he’s getting off easy, at least with you. Not that he would ever tell you that. 

He’s feeling apprehensive about this dinner, yes, and now about being legally bound to you, but he supposes things could be a lot worse. For starters, you’d been much easier to convince than he initially thought. He wasn’t sure what kind of bribes would work on you, how he was going to get you to keep up the facade he started for one more dinner. 

Maybe, he thought,  he would be able to leverage your phone number against you in a new way. He could promise not to pass it along to James, but only as long as you did him the solid of playing the part of his girlfriend, this time at a dinner with his family. 

But that felt a little too much like blackmail, even for him. So instead, he had told you the truth. 

Listening to the phone ring after clicking on your number, it was all Jake could do not to throw his phone across the room in anticipation of your rage. But then you answered, and it all came spilling out. 

He told you that James could not be trusted with secrets but could absolutely be trusted to do everything in his power to ruin Jake’s life, even if unintentionally. He explained how his mother was now unfortunately involved, that your initial plan to just mention each other occasionally and claim that things fizzled by the time the clock struck midnight on New Year’s was no longer viable. 

You had remained completely silent for a long pause. Too long. Jake was suddenly very grateful that he took the precaution of having this conversation over the phone. Mostly because he was pretty sure if he tried to tell you face-to-face, you would cause him actual bodily harm. But instead of threats or curses or even sarcasm, Jake had listened as a long sigh came through the other line and then–

“Yeah, my mom has been asking me about you too.” Much to his shock, you were resigned to the fact, not angry at the news. And you had told him, “I’ll come to your family dinner. Just let me… Let me think about the best way to go about this.”

Less than twenty-four hours have passed since that phone conversation, and Jake shouldn’t be as surprised as he is that your idea of the best way to go about this is printed out for him on custom pink lavender-scented paper.  

Deciding to leave the kissing debacle alone for the moment, he reads through the rest of your so-called rules. With more of an idea as to what to expect, nothing shocks him quite as much as the initial line. 

He reads the second section wordlessly: Both parties will do everything in their power, to a reasonable extent, to maintain the image of a false relationship in the presence of family members and those with immediate connections to them (including, but not limited to employees, business partners, etc).

The third section covers another base: Friends and other acquaintances of both parties are not to be informed of the arrangement. Neither party is under obligation to maintain the lie of relationship with friends or acquaintances unless deemed necessary to maintain secrecy of the relationship. 

Jake glances up with a furrow in his brow. You clarify before he has the chance to ask, “Basically it’s saying that you don’t have to lie to your friends and tell them that we’re dating, unless they get suspicious or start asking. Just don’t tell them we aren’t. And absolutely do not tell them about the contract.”  

Jake nods, moves to the next line. 

Neither party may involve themself in a romantic relationship of any nature with another individual for the duration of this contract. Both parties are to avoid to the best of their ability any situation in which it could be interpreted that they are in a romantic relationship of any nature with another individual for the duration of this contract. 

“So essentially just no dating other people?” Jake asks. 

“Right.” You nod. “And try to avoid getting into situations that make it look like you might be dating someone else. I’m not gonna make you agree to stop hooking up with people or anything.” You look mildly ill at the mere proximity of Jake and the term ‘hooking up.’ “Just, y’know, be discreet about it.”

Jake looks up at you. “I’m not hooking up with other people.”

You cringe. “Thanks, but I really don’t need the gory details of your sex life. Do you understand the rule or not?”

Jake nods. “Yeah, I get it.”

“Great,” you move the contract aside, setting a new stack of papers down on the table. Also printed on pink paper, this pile is considerably thicker. “That’s about it for the contract, then. This,” you gesture to the new set of papers, “is for you to memorize.”

Jake would be a little less wary if it didn't look as dense as an encyclopedia. “What is it?”

“A list of everything a real boyfriend should know about me.” Jake waits for you to finish the joke, to land a punchline, but you’re entirely serious when you add, “Think of it as your ___ cheat sheet. I’ll need one for you too, of course. Preferably in the next couple of days so that I can get it down before dinner this weekend.” 

Hesitantly, Jake picks up the first page. Scanning over yet another meticulously formatted document printed on – he sniffs again – yep, lavender-scented paper, Jake privately thinks that this may actually come in handy. If nothing else, he’s sure he could reference it for some of his mom’s questions instead of needing to guess at your responses. 

It’ll help with the basics, at least. Jake is pretty sure you wouldn’t have bothered to include things like your favorite kind of cookie in there. 

But then he glances again at the stack of papers, and more specifically, how how thick it is. He looks a little closer at the page in his hand. Single spaced. He flips it over. Double sided. 

Looking over the back of the page in his hand, he forces himself to actually read some of what you’ve written. He doesn’t get far before he’s leveling you with a disbelieving look.

“Is this a prank?”

You have the gall to look confused. “Not even a little bit.”

Jake wants to tear his hair out. Because what the actual fuck? “I really don’t think anyone is going to ask me about your third favorite shade of Dior lip oil–”

“They might. And think of how suspicious it would be if you got me one as a Christmas gift or something and the color washed me out.”

Across from you, Jake’s eyes just widen. And then he’s weighing your words. 

Despite the ridiculousness, your argument does raise a point. Albeit not the one you intended. 

“Christmas gift,” Jake repeats slowly. As of now, you’re already over halfway through fall semester, which means the holidays will be approaching in just a couple of short months. Suddenly, they seem a lifetime away. “Does this contract of yours have an end date?”

“Oh, right.” Reaching for the contract again, you turn to the final page, lay it on the table in front of Jake. “Feel free to propose something else,” you offer, “but I put the termination date as January first of next year. I figured that we could use this arrangement to get us through all of the inevitable holiday parties. My family always hosts a giant one on New Year’s Eve, so I thought we could go to that together and then call it off the next day. What do you think?” You turn to him. “Too long?”

Jake discards your insane list of personal preferences for the time being and picks up the last page of the contract. At the bottom, he locates the verbiage in the final section, just above the two blank signature lines neither of you have filled yet. 

This contract will be terminated as of January 1 of the coming year. 

Jakes stares at the date for a moment. It feels odd to see an expiration date on your relationship, regardless of the fact that it’s all a facade. Seems strange to be starting something with the sole intention of ending it. But he can hardly voice those feelings, so instead he taunts, “You wanna be stuck with me that long, huh? Just can’t get enough?”

Your lips flatten as you reach for your phone. “I will literally text your brother right now.”

“Nice try,” Jake calls your bluff. “You just told me that you didn’t want your mom knowing that you lied about dating me either.”

“No,” you correct, dangling your phone between your fingers. “What I said was that I want her off my back when it comes to my dating life and who I spend my time with. It wouldn’t matter even a little bit to her whether that’s you or James. In fact, she would probably actually like him bet–”

“Whatever.” If Jake is suddenly sulking, he figures that no one needs to be aware of it. “I know you like me more than him.”

“Incorrect. I hate him more than I hate you.”

Jake stares at you blankly. “Is there a difference?”

“Obviously,” you scoff. 

“Whatever. You’re still willing to tolerate me until New Year’s.”

“Is that actually high praise to you? Do we need to start working on your self-confidence too?”

Insult aside, Jake supposes that your deadline does make sense. Although family obligations are intermittent in nature, it would be nice to have a go-to plan for every event and dinner and interaction with his older brother that he’s forced into between now and the New Year. 

Honestly, the thought of having you at his upcoming family dinner has made Jake’s steps the last two days feel a little lighter. If anything, he thinks that you’ll be a great distraction for his father. Something to talk about besides the gory details of Jake’s many failures. 

It’s a chance to be impressive in the eyes of his family, even if only in some small capacity, even if only until New Year’s. 

A moment later, Jake warily eyes the pen you hand him. “Let me guess, pink ink?”

“Obviously not.” You roll your eyes. “How would that show up on pink paper?”

So Jake’s signature is written on the first dotted line of the contract with the matte black ink of your shockingly normal ballpoint pen. Moments later, your name joins on the second line, right next to his. 

And it’s as if something shifts in the air, as if something suddenly feels a little heavier, slightly more weighted. The following silence that passes between the two of you feels like a finale of sorts. The end of something and the beginning of another. 

Looking at the boy across from you, it feels strange to say that for all intents and purposes, even if they’re fabricated, you’ll be dating him until the New Year. Showing up on his arm and laughing at his jokes and filling in the quiet moments with little displays of affection, practiced bouts of intimacy. 

It’s weird. It’s daunting. It’s not something you have any clue how to navigate, even if the contract gives you a false sense of security, of control. 

You break the moment by glancing at the clock that hangs above the front door of the coffee shop. Suddenly, your mind is elsewhere. On the other part of your original agreement. “Your first tutoring session is tonight, right?” Jungwon mentioned it to you in passing. 

“Yeah,” Jake nods. If his voice has an odd sudden hoarseness to it, you’ll both ignore it for now. “Why?”

“What time are you supposed to meet him?”

“Six-thirty.”

A second glance at the clock confirms, “It’s six thirty-five.”

“Shit!” Jake is suddenly frantic, panicked as he rushes to repack his bag and salvage what’s left of a good first impression on his tutor. 

It hardly registers when you remind him, “Don’t forget to make me a cheat sheet of things I should know about you!” Already halfway out the door, the only acknowledgement you get is a half hearted nod. 

Frowning at the mess of papers in front of you, scattered from Jake’s hasty exit, you make quick work of rearranging your newly minted contract in the correct order. 

“Men,” you whisper, to no one in particular. Even though it doesn’t land on the ears you want it to. Even though Jake is too far gone to hear it. 

…

Instead, what Jake hears a handful of minutes later, is a less than friendly reminder from the librarian at the front desk that the university library is a quiet area and that running is strictly prohibited. Still out of breath from the way he just bolted across the entire campus, all Jake can offer her is an apologetic nod. 

He pulls out his phone to double-check the brief message thread between him and Jungwon, to confirm the exact location of their first tutoring session. 

Yang Jungwon (Econ Tutor) [3:02 pm]: Study room 103 on the first floor

After that, there are only two other messages – one being Jake’s hasty, misspelled apology for being nearly fifteen minutes late, to which he received:

Yang Jungwon (Econ Tutor) [6:41 pm]: No problem! I’m here

After navigating his way to the reservable first floor study rooms, Jake finds himself in front of Room 103. Suddenly, a wave of self-consciousness sweeps away any adrenaline fueled by his lateness. Any lingering annoyance brought on by a conversation with you. 

Should he knock? Is there a certain etiquette to this? How embarrassed should he be that the person waiting for him with both better punctuality and significantly better grades is two years his junior, according to the sparse information you gave him?

In the end, Jake decides it would be weird to knock and chokes down all his other uncertainty. Opening the door slowly, he nods at the boy already inside. 

“Hi, Jungwon?”

If his tutor is at all put off by Jake’s lateness, he does a great job of hiding it. Jungwon is all smiles when he says, “That’s me. You must be Jake.” Jake is still stuck halfway in the door like he wants to hold onto the opportunity to bolt, just in case he needs it. Jungwon picks up on some of his hesitation. “Come on in.”

Jake does so quietly, setting his stuff down as he slides into the seat across from Jungwon. As he pulls out his laptop, Jake glances at his tutor. All smiles and friendliness, the oversized hoodie he wears looks comfortable enough to fall asleep in. Altogether, he kind of reminds him of an overeager puppy. Or at least he would, if his features weren’t so distinctly feline. 

“Sorry again for being late,” Jake mumbles, opening a Word document. “I completely lost track of time.” More like his time was completely overtaken by someone that does a great job of consuming all his senses and sends his mind spinning sideways, but Jake can hardly say that. 

Just like he did over text, Jungwon doesn’t appear bothered in the slightest by his tardiness. “It really is no problem. I’m glad you found the room alright. It’s kind of like a maze back here.”

He’s being nice again. It’s a single hallway with a handful of clearly labeled doors. But Jake isn’t one to look kindness in the mouth, especially when he’s still sitting on a pile of discomfort. Instead, he figures it’s as good a time as any to express his gratitude. 

“Thanks again for doing this, and for keeping it on the down low. ___ mentioned that you’re great at econ.”

Across from him, Jungwon shrugs. “I’m good with numbers and data and stuff like that. And I had to get good at studying pretty quick, since I’ve been on academic scholarships since middle school.”

That tidbit swirls in the air for a moment, falls through the room like a bad premonition before settling uncomfortably in Jake’s gut. It makes him wonder, makes him question a lot of things. 

What would he be like, Jake wonders, if his family name wasn’t a safety net, a security blanket in its own right? If he had to fight to earn things like the university admission letter he took for granted?  Resented, even, since it was yet another choice made for him by his father. 

Would he be like Jungwon, tutoring older students for extra cash? Forgiving people when they’re late and convincing himself that years of staring at math problems until his eyes felt like sandpaper is the same as being ‘good with numbers and stuff like that’? 

And Jake is assuming, of course. Maybe Jungwon is just good with numbers, has a natural inclination for economics. 

But the only thing Jake has ever had a natural inclination for is doing what he’s told and then blaming the world around him when he hates himself a little for it. 

All at once, he feels like an observer in his own life. An external force that does nothing but shake the snowglobe and wait to see where the dust settles, where everything lands. 

But his self-prescribed identity crisis is not Jungwon’s problem, and Jake is at least self-aware enough to know that any hardships in his life likely pale in comparison to Jungwon’s. It’s not like measuring misery has ever done Jake any good, and it feels unfair for him to be jumping to conclusions and stacking their lives against each other when all Jungwon is doing is trying to make conversation. 

So Jake decides to save the psychoanalysis for a sleepless night and is nothing but neutral when he chooses to reply to the first part of Jungwon’s comment, “Well, I’m grateful that you’re willing to help me. I’m kind of a disaster when it comes to econ.”

“So I hear,” Jungwon smiles, and Jake thinks that maybe him and Jungwon will get along just fine, whether they have the common ground of economics or not.  “Don’t let ___ tease you too hard about it, though. I used to help her, too. Back in high school.”

And if Jake was trying to stop himself from feeling sorry for Jungwon, he doesn’t have to try for very long. He suddenly thinks friendship will be a very hard thing to form. Mostly because he has the distinct sense Jungwon is reflecting on your high school days together rather fondly. Maybe a little too fondly. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Jungwon nods. “I’m a freshman, so I’m a couple years younger than you guys,” he sighs like it’s a terrible thing to be and Jake has never been more appreciative of his own birth date, “but she’s been friends with my older sister for years now. ___ was always pretty good at most subjects, but physics gave her a run for her money, so I helped her a bit when I could.”

It makes sense, he supposes. Jungwon was your physics tutor, so you knew you could recommend him with confidence. With all your first hand experience. 

“You two are close, then?” Jake hates the way he sounds almost defensive. Hates the way he doesn’t recognize the odd feeling that’s beginning to swirl in his gut unpleasantly.

“We’ve definitely gotten closer,” Jungwon nods. Jake doesn’t think he’s imagining the sudden flush on the younger boy’s cheeks. “Especially since I started university here. My sister decided to get her degree abroad, but ___ and I have still stayed in touch even without her around as the middleman, y’know?”

“Right,” Jake agrees. To what, he’s not sure. He has no idea if you have the same feelings towards your relationship with Jungwon, if you’d corroborate the fact that the two of you are getting closer, if your cheeks would get a little color in them while you talked about it. 

It strikes Jake then that he really doesn't know anything about you. At least not anything substantial. And while the dictionary of personal details you’ve compiled is still sitting in his bag, he doubts it will divulge things related to relationships. Things he’s suddenly curious about. 

He can at least feel confident in the fact that you’re not currently dating anyone. He wouldn’t have just signed a contract if you were. But that still leaves a lot of gray area, a lot of questions. 

Are there any recent exes he should know about? Messy situationships that would be glad to land a few punches on him if word of your supposed relationship were to accidentally get out? 

Jake has no idea, and even less of a clue as to how to find out. But he doesn’t like the way those uncertainties settle in his gut. And he doesn’t like the way Jungwon says your name. 

Jungwon must mistake Jake’s sudden silence as passion for fixing his grades, because the next thing he says is, “Sorry, I kind of went on a tangent there.” His apologetic smile does nothing to quell the riot in Jake’s mind. “Anyway,” he opens his laptop. “Economics. I figured we could start by looking at the upcoming assignment to see which parts are trickiest for you and go from there.” Glancing at the older boy, he asks, “Or did you have a different idea?”

“No,” Jake shakes his head. “That sounds good to me.” And he shouldn't say it, but, “I’ve got plans this weekend, so I’m hoping to get as much of this done as I can before then.”

“Oh,” Jungwon asks. It’s more of an effort to be polite than genuine curiosity. “Anything fun?”

Jake shouldn’t. Not considering the conversation you just had. Not considering the contract he just signed. 

“I don’t know. I can’t decide if I’m more nervous or excited.”

He really, really, shouldn’t. But–

“I’m taking ___ to officially meet my parents.” 

The way Jungwon falters is barely perceptible. Jake only notices because he’s watching for it. 

Jungwon’s brow creases for a moment, putting the pieces together until he realizes that they definitely only fit one way. “You two are dating?”

Jake tries not to be offended at the shock in his voice. “Is it that surprising?”

“I mean, kind of.” Jungwon is still reeling a bit. “When she mentioned that you were looking for a tutor, she said you were just a friend.”

And now Jake has to think of how to play his cards here. He needs to tread carefully, choose his words wisely. There are too many ways he could back himself into a corner, accidentally tell a lie he can’t talk his way out of. That’s probably, definitely, why you made the point of saying the two of you should leave your friends out of the arrangement entirely. Should only divulge the details if they start poking around first. Which Jungwon was definitely not doing. 

Ultimately, Jake decides to leave his explanation as vague as possible, hoping that the less he reveals, the less Jungwon will be able to poke at it until his lie crumbles and leaves nothing but the truth in its wake. 

Shrugging, he says, “We’ve been keeping it pretty quiet. You know how rumors can be.” They can catch fire at the first sign of wind. Can spread before there’s any chance of controlling them. Kind of like the one he’s single handedly spreading right now.

“Oh,” is all Jungwon says. And despite himself, Jake does feel kind of bad for the kid. He feels even worse when Jungwon finds his smile again a moment later and adds, “Well, I hope it all goes good for you. ___’s a great girl.”

But all that guilt is pushed to the side when that odd, unpleasant feeling at the bottom of Jake’s gut releases a little bit of tension, heaves a giant sigh of relief. 

“Yeah,” Jake nods without thinking. In his mind, he sees a gold dress, a black marker, his name in your handwriting. There’s a sliver of truth there, albeit a small one, when he agrees, “She is.”

…

Saturday night puts you back in the passenger seat of Jake’s car, a sense of deja vu overcoming you as he navigates out of your apartment building’s parking lot and onto the highway. Although this time, he did manage to avoid an argument with your doorman. Mostly because Jake Sim is now a name on your list of approved visitors. 

And there are more differences to be found. Tonight, you’ve traded your evening gown for a pair of dark wash jeans and a sweater that Jake insists his mother will love. The aged bottle of red wine you brought as a gift for his parents has a bow wrapped around its neck where it sits on the back seat of Jake’s car. 

If nothing else, Jake has to applaud your insistence that you not show up as an empty-handed guest. Your commitment to the facade is truly admirable, even if it is motivated by the contract you keep safe and sound in the top drawer of your desk. 

And finally, as opposed to the drive to your family’s fundraiser, this commute is far from silent. 

“Good,” you nod, praising Jake’s most recent answer. Despite his initial protests, he did his studying. And if his string of correct responses is anything to go by, you seem to be a subject he has an easier time grasping than economics. Or perhaps one he simply has more vested interest in. “And my top three favorite colors are?”

“One,” Jake answers seamlessly. “Gold, but only if it’s 24 karat. Two, the exact red of the Hermès Satin Lipstick in shade Rouge H. Three is pink. But not hot pink. You like softer shades, like baby pink.” Like that damn contract. 

“Nicely done. My major is?”

“Pre-law,” Jake fills in. “But you’re still undecided on if you’ll attend law school after graduation.”

It’s a tidbit that he finds mildly interesting. He’s not surprised that like him, like James, you’re following in your parents’ footsteps. As the daughter of ridiculously successful lawyers, it’s a career path that makes perfect sense for you. 

And the compassion also has him thankful for the partnership between your families, which has undoubtedly done you both some favors. First, Jake suspects that a few under-the-table deals have likely funded more than one of his childhood family vacations. And second, it adds credibility, at least from an outsider’s perspective, to the relationship the two of you are faking. 

He does wonder why you’re undecided on law school, though. If law is your field of choice, it seems like a natural progression. Not to mention that as third-year university students, the two of you are running out of time for indecision. Jake is well-acquainted with this particular reality, but it strikes him as out of character that you are as well.  

From the outside, at least, you’ve always been an image of perfection to him. Someone who has it all together, who has a ten-year plan and the actual conviction to see it through to the end. Unlike him, who’s still grasping at straws where all matters of his future are concerned. 

A fact that he’s reminded of when you say, “You know, I didn’t exactly have high hopes, considering your academic track record, but that was perfect.” You shift in your seat, preparing for a challenge. “Okay, your turn. Quiz me.” 

Your work has been undeniably easier. As opposed to the multi-page, double sided, single spaced abomination you handed him a few days ago, the Jake Sim cheat sheet still sitting on your night stand was nothing but a small assortment of facts that fit on a single sheet of paper. 

But now, the subject of your major takes Jake from thinking about your future to thinking about the classes you’re currently taking. Which makes him think of something he hasn’t been able to let go of since his first tutoring session a few nights ago. Instead of cooperating, he hands the reins to what’s been weighing on his mind. “Are you taking any physics classes?”

“Ugh,” you groan. “You were doing so well. And you literally just answered that one. I’m a pre-law major, remember?”

But Jake needs to know. Doesn’t quite have the room to think about anything else right now. “Just answer the question.”

The glance you give him is scathing, but you can sense that he’s not going to let it go until he gets his answer. “No, I’m not taking physics.” Jake hates the way that odd feeling in his gut makes a sudden reappearance, hates the way it unclenches at your response. “I haven’t since high school. I hate that stupid subject.”

Still, he can’t stop himself from offering, “Well, if you ever do–”

“Did you listen to anything I just said?”

“I was pretty good at it in high school.” He’s only kind of lying. He was pretty decent at it, at least the times he bothered to finish his homework. 

“... Okay?” You still don’t see a point to this sudden detour in the conversation. 

“So I could, uh, I could help you out. If you ever have to take it for some reason, I could help with your homework and stuff.”

“Right, because the first person I would go to for homework help is definitely Mr. I Failed Economics Twice.” Jake can hear the sarcasm. He thinks to himself, a little miserably, that if you were actually picking someone to go to, it would probably be the same person tutoring Jake now. Your old physics tutor from high school. 

Jake will pretend that the way that makes his blood pressure rise is only because he’s worried Jungwon won’t have as much time for their sessions if he picks you back up as a client. 

“Don’t hold econ against me. They’re entirely different subjects–”

“Whatever.” You cut him off. “Who gives a shit about physics? Just quiz me.”

Jake wants to press it. He really does. Wants to ask his real questions, which have a lot less to do with physics and a lot more to do with a certain econ tutor, but it’s not like you’d entertain his curiosity there either. So he relents. “Fine.” Trying to remember what he even wrote on the sheet he gave you, he starts with, “My major is?”

“Business.” Slightly quieter, you mumble, “A questionable choice, if you ask me.”

“Hey!” Jake protests. “I didn’t add any commentary to your ridiculous answers.” And some of them had been ridiculous, indeed. “I mean, seriously. You made me memorize your five favorite necklines.”

“Clearly not, since you put sweetheart and off-the-shoulder in the wrong order.”

Jake just blinks. How are you a real person? “You are actually the most annoying person I have ever met.”

The dig rolls right off your shoulders as you return one of your own. “That’s hardly even an insult, considering the size of your social circle. It’s not my fault you don’t get out much.”

“It’s like you want me to kick you out on the side of the highway–”

“And show up to your family dinner without me? Yeah, sure.”

“Besides, you know that means you’re admitting to being more annoying than Heeseung–”

“On second thought, the side of the highway sounds nice. Feel free to drop me at the next mile marker.”

“Yeah?” Jake taunts, glancing down at your choice in footwear. Another pair of heels so tall he’s impressed you can walk at all. “You think those shoes would be comfortable to walk home in?” Taking one hand off the wheel, he leans over menacingly. “In fact, why don’t I break them in for you now–”

“Okay,” you push back at him in a way that’s probably unwise, considering the fact that he’s driving. “Okay. No extra comments from me.” You mime zipping your lips with your finger. “You’re a business major. End of answer.”

Jake doesn’t believe you for a second. But after pausing to send you a withering glare for good measure, he continues anyway. “Sport I played growing up?”

Much to his surprise, your answer is genuine, concise. “Soccer.” And correct. 

“Pets?”

“Just a dog. Layla.”

As the road stretches on in front of you, back and forth quizzing takes you all the way to his parents’ house. As he pulls into the long driveway, Jake spares a glance in your direction. You wear an expression he hasn’t seen on you before. 

It confuses him a little, worries him even, until he realizes–

“Hold on. Are you… nervous?”

“What about it?” Even visibly tense, your gut reaction is to deny, to make excuses. Finally, you admit, “It’s been a while since I’ve met anyone’s mom.”

Jake almost considers telling you that he’s pretty sure she’d redecorate one of the guest bedrooms and put your name on the door if she thought you’d like that, but decides against it. 

“Hey,” he reaches for your hand instead, interlaces your fingers. “My mom will love you.” In fact, she probably already does. “It will be just fine.”

Jake supposes that divulging just one of her many messages from this week couldn’t hurt. Besides, he’s half afraid you’ll actually run back down the street the two of you just drove up if he doesn’t give you some sort of confidence boost. “She’s really excited to meet you. That cheat sheet of yours actually came in handy, because she asked me what your favorite kind of cookie is. She’s sending us back with a box of homemade snickerdoodles tonight.” What Jake doesn’t mention is the fact that he’s never been big on cinnamon. 

“Really?”

“Mhm. So there’s no need to wor–”

“What about your dad?”

“My dad is…” Jake trails off, searching for the right words. “He’s a businessman. In a lot of ways, he’s difficult. And very set in his ways, which makes him particular. But on the outside, he’s easy to get along with. He wants to make a good impression on people. And even if he didn’t, you really don’t have anything to worry about there either. His biggest concern is always how things will reflect on the company, and you’re pretty much as perfect as it gets in that regard.” Pausing for a moment, he adds, “And we both know my brother’s kind of obsessed with you.”

And he really did set himself up for it, he realizes, the second you turn to him with a wink and say, “Must run in the family.” Jake won’t even argue with you on that one for now. His mission was to get you out of your head and back to your usual self. The version of you that he knows and occasionally tolerates. The version of you that could probably win an Oscar for playing the role of is fake girlfriend, if you really put your mind to it. 

So before you can start to linger on your worries again, Jake steps out of the car. Makes quick work of walking around the front to open the passenger side door for you. 

When he offers you, and outstretched hand, you take it. This time, it’s you that initiates the interlacing of your fingers. Glancing at the expanse of the home in front of you – although mansion may be a better word for it – you take a deep breath. 

“Ready?” Jake echoes your words from your family’s fundraiser just a week ago. 

You’re a little less confident this go around. “As I’ll ever be.”

Jake, too caught up in his attempts to soothe your frayed nerves, forgets to warn you that Layla can be a bit of a jumper, especially with new people. Sure enough, the first person to greet the two of you as spoon as he turns the doorknob is his favorite family pet. Honestly, Jake is a little more concerned about the bottle of wine in your hands than anything. 

Especially when, just as he remembered a little too late, Layla makes quick work of giving you an overexcited greeting. 

When he does finally manage to get her mostly off of you, he’s relieved to note that the alcohol is unharmed. With a bit more trepidation, he lets his eyes wander up to your face. It’s a safe bet, he thinks, that someone with five favorite necklines isn’t a fan of obnoxious furry greetings.

To his surprise, however, the only expression he reads is pleasant surprise. 

“This is Layla?” You ask. Jake nods, still a bit strained from the way he’s preventing Layla from trying to lick at your face and leave paw prints on your jeans. 

But that’s not what you’re thinking about. No, you’ve suddenly been transported to an unfortunate forty-five minutes wasted in a restaurant all on your own. The catalyst of all of this. 

Because Layla is the same dog you saw while doom scrolling James’ social media profile. You thought she was cute, back then, sandwiched between gym selfies and other photos more telling of James’ awful personality. 

But now, looking at the way she almost seems to smile while Jake scratches her behind the ears, wraps her up in a big, warm hug, you think you just might like her even more. 

You’ve never seen your fake boyfriend look at anything with so much… fondness. It’s palpable, all of his pent up love, as he lets some of it loose to shower Layla with it. Everything about him is a little easier, a little more relaxed. You can see it in the set of his shoulders, the absence of tension in his jaw. 

Most of all, you see it in his smile. Bright, warm, genuine. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him wear that expression before. It suits him, you think, as you reach down to give her a greeting of your own. 

“Hi, Layla,” you smile, reaching down to pat her on the head. 

And if that makes Jake turn to look at you with a little too much fondness, you’ll assume it’s just lingering remnants of his reunion with his favorite girl. Layla, that is. 

You’re pretty sure the two of them could spend hours just catching up, especially when Layla turns onto her back in a silent demand for tummy rubs, but a voice from a nearby room cuts it short. 

“Jake?” A distinctly feminine voice calls. “Is that you?”

“Well,” Jake gives Layla one final pat for good measure, turns his eyes to you as he stands. “Shall we?”

You don’t mean to be, but you’re nervous again. This is his family, his space, his mother. Not only are you a stranger here, but one that’s been invited under false pretenses. There are too many things to fuck up, too many ways you could send this evening spinning sideways by accident. 

Here in the entryway, with just you, Jake, and Layla, things feel peaceful, simple. You know that just a few steps in the direction of his mother’s voice will turn that calm in your chest upside the head. You’re not ready for it. You’re not. 

You don’t respond to Jake’s invitation, but he reads your hesitation all the same. 

“Hey,” he whispers, all the hard edges gone from his voice as he steps a little closer. “She’s gonna love you.” Again, his hand finds yours, slides his fingers through your own and finds little resistance on your end. 

She. You don’t know how he knows, when you haven’t told him, but it’s true. You don’t care all that much about pleasing his father and even less so about making a good impression on his brother, but his mom… 

You care. You don’t know why, but you care. 

And you don’t know how, but Jake knows. 

You hope his words aren’t empty reassurances as you let him tug at your hand, pull you a little further into his home, wrap you a little more inextricably into the threads of his life. 

His mother waits for you in the living room. A head or two shorter than her youngest son, she has nothing but a smile for him as she pulls him into a hug, reaching up to wrap her hand around the back of his shoulders. 

Your hand is still linked with his. The angle makes it somewhat awkward, but neither of you is quite ready to let go. 

Looking over his shoulder, her eyes settle on you. Breath suddenly stuttering in your chest, your knees feel a little wobbly underneath you. 

Jake won’t let you fall. As soon as his mother releases her embrace, he’s tugging you closer. He undoes the bind of your hands only to wrap his arm around your shoulder, pulling you into his side. 

“Mom,” he introduces, smiling. “This is ___,” eyes locking with yours, he adds , “my girlfriend.” If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was proud of the fact.

And then his mother is looking at you. Really looking at you. It’s hard not to wither under her stare, hard not to brace for the results of her inevitable appraisal. But where you expect to see scrutiny, judgment, disdain, you only see a smile. A warm one. A real one. 

“It’s lovely to meet you,” she says, and you almost have the feeling that she means it. 

Remembering yourself, your role for the evening, you give her a smile of your own. “It’s lovely to meet you too.” You hope your voice is more steady than it feels. “You have a beautiful home. Thank you for inviting me to it.” Remembering the bottle of wine still encased in your hold, you hold it out towards her. “And this is for you.”

“Oh,” she beams, accepting the gift. Reading the label, she admonishes lightly, “You shouldn’t have. How did you know this is my absolute favorite?”

Glancing at her son, you admit, “I may have had some help.”

“Well at least one of us got some guidance.” She leans towards you, pulling your arm into her own and leaving Jake behind the two of you. “Tell me, what do you prefer? White or red?”

“Usually white.” 

Jake rolls his eyes at your answer, or rather, the brevity of it. According to the stack of papers you made him memorize, your real answer is…

Chardonnay with poultry, sauvignon blanc with seafood, pinot grigio with dessert, pinot noir with red meat (unless it’s ribeye, then cabernet sauvignon)...

But it does make him smile, the way you fall into step at his mother’s side so naturally. The way she makes you flush when she gives you yet another compliment on your hair or your outfit or your beauty. 

Even the protest dies on his lips when he hears her whisper a little too loudly, “And how do you put up with him when he’s in one of his moods? You know, the one where he gets all cranky and can’t be reasoned with at all.”

At her side, you just giggle. Jake would be lying if he said he didn’t think it was kind of adorable. 

He likes it, watching you and his mom together. Watching her light up at the chance to finally have a pretty girl to fawn over. His mother loves her sons – Jake has never doubted this for a moment – but there’s a certain kind of connection that only comes with a daughter. 

It’s a shame, he thinks, that your own mother is in the habit of squandering it with criticism and shame and admonishment. 

Watching the two of you now, Jake isn’t sure if he’s ever seen his mom enjoy herself more. When the three of you reach the dining room, she insists that you take the seat directly across from her. Even in her excitement, she won’t let anyone fill the seat next to you except for your boyfriend. 

It’s sweet, the way she dotes on you. And Jake is content to just watch, for the time being, hoping you and her both enjoy it as long as you can. 

Until New Year’s, that voice in his head reminds him. And suddenly, even with the back half of a semester in front of him, the holidays don’t seem so far away. 

The conversation only dies down slightly when his father and brother enter the room. Even in the comfort of his own home, his father strikes an imposing presence. He’s not cold when he introduces himself to you, reaching out an arm for a firm handshake, but there is no extra warmth embedded in the action either. After sending his youngest son a nod, he takes his seat at the head of the table. 

James doesn’t bother with formalities. Sliding down next to his mother, he’s already a little smug when he says, “Hi Jake.” Pausing, he glances towards you. “___.”

“James,” you return, smile significantly faker than it was moments ago. 

Jake is debating how worth it it would be if he kicked his older brother under the table when the first course is brought out, interrupting that train of thought. 

After passing the first set of dishes around and filling your plates, his mother is the first to pose a question. To test your thorough preparation for the evening. 

“So,” she asks, taking a sip of wine. “How did you two meet?”

And it’s such an obvious question. Such a painfully straightforward inquiry and yet somehow, too wrapped up in getting a contract signed and memorizing each other’s fun facts, it’s something the two of you completely neglected to cover.  

You both freeze, absence of a mutually agreed-upon backstory making you look like twin deer in headlights where you sit next to each other. 

A beat passes. Two. 

You say, “a mutual friend” at the same exact moment he says, “a class.”

Passing each other panicked looks, you smooth things over with a shaky, “A mutual friend in our class.” After a steadying breath, you add, “We have a mutual friend in our class, and he introduced us.”

“Oh, how nice.” Jake’s mom smiles. Turning to her youngest son, she asks, “Which friend was it? Someone I know?”

“Heeseung,” Jake nods, just as you say, “Sunghoon.”

This time, Jake is the one to cover your tracks. 

“My friend Heeseung and her friend Sunghoon know each other,” he explains. “I guess it’s technically two mutual friends, since we met through them.”

“And all four of you are in the same class together,” Jake’s mom is still beaming. “That’s awfully lucky. What a coincidence.” 

“You could say that again,” James mumbles under his breath across the table, decidedly less enchanted by the false tale of your first meeting. And considerably more suspicious. His eyebrow is arched when he asks, “What class did you say it was, again?”

Your brain scrambles only for a second. “Econ,” you answer quickly. Jake’s struggles aside, you figure that it's your best bet, considering that at least two of the four people you’ve listed are actually in that class. 

The glare that strikes the side of your face from Jake’s seat is frigid enough to kill a houseplant. 

“Econ,” James echoes flatly. And then something a little sinister enters his eyes. His spine straightens, poised for offense, when he directs to you, “I hope Dr. Kang isn’t as much of a hardass as he was when I was in school.”

You open your mouth to reply, probably to bite back with something along the lines of the class actually being rather easy, or you having a stellar rapport with Dr. Kang.

But Jake spots the trap before you can fall into it and cuts you off just as quickly. “It’s Dr. Jeong, actually.” He’s not glaring at his brother, but there’s no extra kindness in his stare. “I’m sure you remember, since you always say that he was your favorite professor.”

“Oh.” James’ eyes slide to his little brother. “That’s right. My mistake.” But his words make you think the switch in names was intentional bait, not a lapse in memory. Bait you almost fell for. 

Before you can let the implications of that sink in, Jake’s father directs his attention towards you, speaking for the first time. “You’re a business major, too, then.” It’s not exactly a question, even though he doesn’t know for certain. Even though he’s wrong. But men like Jake’s father don’t get to where they are by asking questions. They get there by making assumptions and talking over everyone else in the room until wills bend to their whim and reality is what they’ve made it. 

Still, Jake’s voice is steady when he corrects, “No she’s a pre-law major.”

Something flashes in his father’s eyes, but he says nothing. 

His mother, on the other hand, passes her youngest son a look. “I think ___ can speak for herself.”

It’s under his breath, but just a little too audible for comfort when Jake argues, “Not after I just had to memorize–”

“The entire case with me!” The sudden volume of your outburst rings awkwardly in the air. Adjusting your voice, you add to your explanation, “We got a crazy complicated case assigned in criminal law a couple weeks ago.” If the elbow nudge you give Jake is a little too hard, no one bats an eye at the way he winces slightly. “I’ve been talking about it so much I’m sure Jake has practically memorized it.”

Jake’s father hears what he wants to. Picks through the pieces of what you say and paints his own picture. “It’s nice to see a young person so dedicated to their studies.” No one at the table misses the way his eyes slide over to his second son. “And the family business by extension. I’ve always liked your parents,” he nods to you. “And they’ve been excellent partners. You’re going to law school, then, I assume? After you graduate.”

Jake can practically see the answer you typed out for him, words stamped in his brain from the amount of times he forced himself to look over them. My major is pre-law, you’d written in a font that’s almost as high maintenance as you. I’m considering attending law school after finishing undergrad, but I’m still undecided. 

But then he hears you say, “That’s the plan.” 

Jake can’t quite help the way he glances over at you, a question on his face, written all over his features. The two responses can’t hold true at the same time. 

One of your answers, either the one you typed for him or the one you’ve just given his father, is a lie. If the way your shoulders round slightly is any indication, he thinks the packet you gave him must be the real one. 

But as his father nods at you approvingly across the table, you just smile at Jake. Then you shake your head slightly, almost imperceptibly. He reads it as you intend it – a silent signal to move on and act as if nothing’s amiss. A nonverbal request to just let it go. 

Across the table from the two of you, his mother is the one to speak next, to divert the conversation from one area of dangerous territory to another. “James tells me that you two were together at your family’s fundraiser event.” Like Jake considered earlier, it’s all you can do not to kick him under the table at the reminder. That gossipping little shit. “You’ll have to pass on my apology to your mother that we couldn’t make it. But I have to say, I’m surprised the two of you decided to announce your relationship by attending together.” She frowns, but there’s a lightness in her tone that tells you she’s not mad, not really. “And I still can’t believe you made me hear it from your brother!”

Jake, thankfully, handles that one with ease. “We’ve been keeping things pretty close to the chest these last few weeks.” He glances at you fondly, and you have to applaud him. From the outside, you think it must look quite genuine. “We just liked each other.” Under the table, he takes your hand back in his. You assume that he’s just caught in the moment, forgets the fact that there’s no way for his family to see the display of affection. “We wanted to see where things would go.” Turning back to his mother, he adds, somewhat apologetically, “It was never meant to be some big announcement. Of course, I would have told you, Mom, when we did actually announce our relationship.” Jake lets his eyes fall on his older brother. “If someone hadn’t beat me to it.”

You can see the way James’ hackles rise, and so can she. 

Sensing the potential for another argument to brew, his mother cuts in again, smoothing over the tension. “Well, what’s done is done.” Turning to you, she smiles. “And we’re very happy to have you here, ___. I hope my son is treating you well.”

Jake isn’t sure how you manage to do it without grimacing, without turning up your nose at the lie, but you assure his mother, “He is.” And your smile looks almost genuine. “The very best,” 

Jake isn’t the only one that seems to think that you mean it. Across the table, his mother swoons while James crumples a little. His father just looks mildly disinterested, if anything. 

And those expressions remain steady for the rest of the evening, more or less, as you and Jake take turns spinning tales of the early days of your romance. He divulges the details of the outfit you were wearing on your so-called first date (a top with a sweetheart neckline, not off-the-shoulder), and you supplement with a tall tale of the time Jake saved you from getting soaked to the bone when he showed up outside of your lecture hall with an umbrella after a torrential downpour began out of nowhere. 

After a while, even his beaming mother can only handle so much sappiness, and she begins the end of the evening by excusing herself, referencing an early morning tomorrow as her reason for leaving. After giving you both one final hug, she bids you both goodnight. His father follows soon after, sans hug, leaving the table to take an urgent business call. 

In an effort to escape James and his wandering eye, Jake is quick to excuse the two of you moments later, whispering some half hearted excuse about giving you a tour of the house. To his credit, he does actually lead you around a handful of rooms on the first floor, but the tour is cut short by the time the two of you go up the stairs and step out onto the outdoor balcony on the second floor. 

The cool autumn air is refreshing, washes away lingering anxieties from a few close calls, a handful of narrow escapes from certain fiascos. From keeping up your hastily constructed lies for an entire evening.

For long minutes, the two of you are content to say nothing at all. And Jake isn’t uncomfortable in the silence, but after a while, he still searches for something to fill it. Something to get a conversation going. Something to see where your head's at. He finally settles on, “I can’t believe we forgot to come up with a story of how we met.”

He half expects you to say something scathing. To use your wit to insult or blame him for the lack of foresight, but you don’t. Instead, you exhale. And then you agree, somewhat amused, “Me neither.”

“I think we did alright, though,” Jake reasons. He hates to admit it, but, “That cheat sheet idea of yours came in handy, after all.”

Again, he doesn’t get the sarcasm he expects. “No kidding.” And then you’re the one looking for ways to keep the interaction flowing. Something to fill the silence. “Your mom seems nice.”

“She is,” Jake nods. And he knew she would like you just as much. “She’s the person I’m closest to in my family.”

“Mm,” you hum. You can see why. She’s warm in a way that your own has never been. But it’s not like Jake exactly got dealt an easy hand when it comes to family members. You mean it when you tell him, “Your brother still sucks.”

Jake just laughs. “And I wouldn’t hold my breath for that to change anytime soon.”

A half smile pulls at your lips. It’s replaced by a small frown when you suppose it’s time to comment on the last guest of the evening. “You were right, in the car. Your dad is… intense.” It’s not like you exactly hit the jackpot of parental relationships, but you can’t imagine it’s easy for Jake to have a father like that, to have grown up with those expectations, those scrutinizing eyes, weighing on his shoulders. 

Instead of responding, Jake just looks at you for a moment. His eyes trace your profile, committing details to memory, as you look out at the night in front of you. And then he says, “Can I ask you something?”

You sigh. You’re still not looking at him, but you can sense the sudden sincerity in his voice. “Aren’t you going to anyway?”

Jake shakes his head even though you can’t see it. “I wouldn’t have asked for permission if I was going to anyway.”

A moment of silence rings in the air. And then, “Okay.”

Jake isn’t sure what you’re referring to. “Okay, you agree or okay, I can ask?”

At that, you turn to look at him. “Both, I guess.”

Jake meets your eye, considers the best way to ask what’s been weighing on his mind for the better part of the evening. “When my dad asked you about law school,” he starts, “why did you tell him that you’re planning to go? You wrote that you still aren’t sure on the paper you gave me.”

You only pause for a moment. “It’s what he wanted to hear.”

“What?” There’s no evasiveness in your words, but Jake is still looking for clarity.

Sighing, you elaborate, “Your dad didn’t want to hear about my indecisiveness when it comes to the future. He wanted to hear about the plan I have. One that would make sense to him. So I told him what he wanted to hear.” Breaking eye contact, you look back out at the stars. “Sometimes, it’s just easier that way.”

But Jake still has one other question. He might be pressing his luck, but he asks anyway, “Why haven’t you decided? About law school, I mean?”

Your gaze lands somewhere in the distance, somewhere it might take light years to reach. “What do you want to hear?”

For the second time, Jake asks,“What?”

It’s ironic, almost, how easily you’re able to rifle through his insecurities, his inner thoughts. “What do you want to hear? Something that will make you feel better about having questions about your future? Something that will make you believe you’ll have everything figured out soon?” The stars blink above you, and you ask him again, “What answer do you want to hear from me?”

Jake realizes it then, under the glow of fading moonlight, why you’ve always been an image of perfection to him. It’s not accidental, but it’s also not entirely honest. Perfection, he realizes, is your identity of choice – it’s what you think other people want from you. So you construct it, you practice it, you create it. And then you give it. You let people do what they want with it. 

But Jake isn’t asking about your future career plans because he’s trying to feel better about himself. He’s not trying to stack up your lives next to each other and see how his compares. He’s not trying to put cracks in the exterior you’ve worked so hard to maintain.

But he does want a glimpse of what’s underneath.  

So when he answers, he opts for a third option. “The truth.” Above you, the moon glows. “I want to hear the truth.”

If it catches you off guard, you recover quickly. You’re not sure what it is about this moment that has you wanting to spill your guts, but you can’t remember the last time someone asked. The last time someone cared.

So you tell him, with all your honesty, “I don’t want to go to law school. I never have. My mother has made it clear that that’s the expectation, though. So I can’t decide how willing I am to estrange myself completely. To potentially lose what’s left of our relationship.”

Jake listens. He hears you. He gets it. “What would you do?”

It’s another answer that comes easy, even though the question hasn’t been asked by anyone in a long, long time. “Architecture.” Your smile is small, but it’s real. “I had a great aunt who was an architect. And she always used to tell me, when I was kid, that the secret is to put a little love into everything you build. It doesn’t have to be actual buildings, of course. That was just her thing, y’know? The thing she could always put a little love into, even on the hard days.” You sigh. “Truth be told, I don’t hate law. It’s interesting, and I’m good at it. But it’s not something I’ve ever been able to put a little love into.”

You turn to him, words still ringing in the air. You ask, “What about you? Was business always your calling?”

If you can give him the truth, Jake supposes he ought to return the favor. “To be honest, I have no idea. It was never a question. It was always a given that I would study business and take on some kind of role in the company.” He turns over your great aunt’s words in his mind. “But I don’t think it’s something I have any love for. Not even a little.”

“So what would you do?” You echo his question back to him. “If you could do anything?”

Jake’s answer comes less easily. “I don’t know.” You raise an eyebrow. “I really don’t. To be honest, I don’t even think I could tell you most of the other majors that are offered at our university. It’s always been business. It’s what my whole family does. Even Jay, my closest friend, is a business major too.” Jake realizes how odd that must sound, but it’s true. “It’s all I really know.”

“Hm,” you muse. He can see the wheels spinning in your brain, the beginning of an idea. “Maybe it’s time for you to find your thing, then. Somewhere to put your love.”

“Yeah, right,” Jake scoffs. He doesn’t think that’s possible, and especially not at this point. “I may not ever be the CEO, but I still don’t want my dad to disown me. And besides, we’re in our third year. Not exactly the best time to change my major.”

“Yeah,” you agree, but Jake can tell you still haven’t quite let it go. “I suppose you’re right.”

This time, when the silence between you returns, you let it linger. With nothing but the pale glow of the night sky and quiet whispers of the wind, long moments bleed into each other. You take it all in, let it all wash over you – the stillness, the chill of an autumn breeze, the presence of the boy at your side.  

And it’s a long time before either of you moves again. 

…

At this point, Jake really should be used to ominous, slightly threatening messages from you. Still, he can’t help but stutter a bit when he checks his phone after another tutoring session with Jungwon the following week. 

Without any family events looming on the horizon, you and Jake have had a few days to yourselves without any fake dating facade to follow. Aside from the white lies Jake slips Jungwon every now and then, he hasn’t seen or mentioned you since e dropped you back off at your apartment after dinner at his parents’ house last weekend. 

His thoughts, however, are an entirely different matter. No matter where he is, what he’s doing, they have the very annoying habit of always straying back to the same scene. A moonlit balcony. A cool autumn breeze. The most scraps of truth he’s ever been given from you at once. A thousand misconceptions shattered and reconstructed all in a single moment. 

Still, Jake’ not quite sure how to interpret the message that greets him, other than as a very direct threat. 

You [7:48 pm]: Meet me at the far end of the quad next to the library tomorrow at 2:45 or I’m telling your brother we broke up and I have uncontrollable romantic feelings for him

Jake [8:02 pm]: Should I be scared?

He’s not reassured by your reply.

You [8:04 pm]: :)

So Jake is standing on the far end of the quad, beside the library, the next afternoon at 2:42 when he sees you approaching. 

The first thing you do when you finally reach him is swat at the baseball cap he’s wearing, knocking it askew. “What are you, a frat boy?”

“It’s sunny,” Jake defends, fixing his hat. Something you’re well aware of, if the obnoxiously large sunglasses balanced on the bridge of your nose are anything to go by.

“You know,” you tilt your head, giving it a second thought. “The hat might be kind of perfect, actually.” Deciding to divulge the reason for your message, you tell him, “I need you to come somewhere with me.”

“What?” Jake balks, suddenly thrown by the lack of details. He needs a little more warning than this, if he’s expected to play the role of your boyfriend convincingly. “Is this,” he leans in close, waits for a group of students to pass by before he whispers apprehensively, “a contract thing?”

“No,” you shake your head. “I mean, don’t like, start hitting on other girls in front of witnesses or anything, but we don’t have to act like a couple.”

Now, Jake is even more confused. “Then where are we going?”

Never one to give in easily, all you say is, “You’ll see.”

Jake crosses his arms over his chest. “I’m not going anywhere with you until you give me more information.”

“I literally have James’ phone number in my favorites.”

He holds his ground. “And I have the right to know where you’re taking me!”

“Ugh,” you roll your eyes. “Fine. We’re going to the Student Union Building.” A multipurpose building in the center of campus, it’s a typical place for events that are too large to be hosted anywhere else. Which really doesn’t give Jake much to work with.

“Why?” His question is slow, suspicious. 

“My god.” You throw your hands in annoyance. “I’m going to have to start paying Jungwon double if this is how annoying you are when you have a question about something. Just come with me,” you reiterate. “You’ll see what we’re doing soon enough.”

“But–”

It doesn’t matter, you’re already grabbing his hand in yours, more or less dragging him through the quad towards the Student Union Building before he can get his protest out. Jake’s eyebrows are still creased in confusion when you pull him through the front doors and he sees the unusually large crowd of people inside. 

Then, he sees the banner hanging from the ceiling. His lips flatten into a thin line. 

“Absolutely not.” But you’re already behind him, blocking his exit and pushing him towards the makeshift check-in counter. 

“Hi!” The student employee greets, far too cheerfully in Jake’s opinion. If she notices the way your knuckles are white around his arm, holding him in place, she doesn’t comment on it. Jake pulls his hat down further over his eyes. “Are you two here for the Explore Our Majors event?”

“Yep,” you beam. And Jake is actually going to kill you. “I’m in my third year here, but my friend Ja–”

“Jacob,” Jake intercedes. 

“Right.” You spare a glance at him. “My friend Jacob.” You’re still way too excited when you lie, “He’ll be a freshman soon, and he’s hoping to look around and see all the different programs that are offered here. Do we need to go in a certain order or anything? Or is there somewhere we need to sign in?” 

There better not be. Like hell is he putting the name Jake Sim on a sign-in sheet for a major exploration event for freshmen. It’s not like his father has time to poke around at things like this, but his claws and connections run deep where this school is concerned. And Jake imagines he would be less than pleased to find out his son is wasting his time doing something so frivolous. Or something that could signal any kind of disinterest in the future that’s been laid out for him, his eventual place at his father’s company.

“Nope,” she smiles. “Each major has its own table, and majors are grouped by college. So all the STEM tables are over there, for example,” she points over to where a group of high school seniors are flipping through pamphlets. “You can just wander around as you like and chat with the people at the tables. There’s a mix of students and faculty. Oh, and each major should have a pamphlet you can pick up too, if you’d like.”

“Great,” you grin back. “Thank you.”

Again, if she sees the way you practically have to yank Jake by the arm to get him to move, she doesn’t comment on it. But once you’re out of earshot, he does lean down to hiss in your ear, “Why the fuck are we at the Explore Our Majors event for incoming freshmen?”

“Why do you think?” Your voice is entirely too loud. He has half a mind to slap his palm over your mouth to prevent you from spilling his secrets here in the middle of the Student Union Building’s largest event hall. “We’re finding you somewhere to put your love.” The large group of girls that walks by do a double take and then proceed to take turns shooting him death glares. 

Jake panics. “Would you stop saying it like that?”

You roll your eyes, paying the group of girls and his worries no mind. “Don’t knock my great aunt. Anyway, where do you want to start? Should we go over to the STEM tables?” Pausing to consider, you ask, “Or is your performance in econ more indicative of your math and science skills in general? We could look for liberal ar–”

“I just told you this weekend that I was good at physics.” It may have been a white lie, but who’s keeping track? 

“Oh, right.” You nod, eyes already searching for the table in question. “Should we go there, then?”

“No,” Jake shakes his head immediately. “I was good at it.” Questionable. “But I didn’t really like it.” A lot more true. 

“Alright,” you agree. Spinning to look in the other direction, you take him with you “Humanities it is. Or we could always go the fine arts route.” You turn to look at him for a moment, assessing. “You know, I feel like you would actually be a great dancer. You have the face for it.”

“Has that ever made sense to anyone you’ve said it to?”

“Wouldn’t know.” You shrug. “You’re the first.” Trying not to read too much into that, Jake lets you pull him along until you’re standing in front of a table with a rather gaudy ‘Journalism’ banner hanging on the front. 

“Hi,” you smile at the students standing behind it. Jake pulls his hat down a little further. You don’t know a whole lot about journalism other than the basics, but you’re pretty sure they’re also in charge of student media on campus. “You guys run the student newspaper, right?” 

Picking up a pamphlet, you nod as the boy behind the table answers brightly, “Yeah, we do.” He’s proud when he adds, “Our last issue was one of our most read yet. We ran a really great article on the front page about the importance of understanding how economic trends affect our daily lives–”

Delicately setting the pamphlet back down on the table, you glance at Jake before apologizing to the overeager boy, “I’m sorry, but I think Jacob and I are gonna head to the next table.” 

ANd then you’re dragging him along again.

“Okay,” you turn to Jake once you’re out of earshot, “So that’s a veto for journalism. What about other kinds of writing? You point to a table a few rows away. There’s the creative writing table.”

Jake shakes his head. “Even discussion board posts are like pulling teeth.”

“Noted.” Your jaw sets with a little too much determination for his liking. “Minimal writing it is, then.” 

The two of you pass several more tables in the same fashion, Jake shutting each one down before you have a chance to so much as grab a pamphlet. 

There’s history, but who cares about dead people? English, but he’s seen the career outlook and he’d rather not study unemployment, thank you very much. Sociology, but he already lives in society. Why would he waste his time studying it?

Finally, you point out a major that he doesn't have anything scathing to say about within the first five seconds. “Graphic design,” you nod towards the table a few spots away. “That could be interesting.”

Jake hates to admit it, but he kind of thinks so too. He does think visual design is pretty interesting, and marketing and advertising have always been some of his favorite aspects of business. He’s about to say fuck it and fully embrace Jacob the incoming freshman when he notices one glaring problem. The graphic design table is set up right next to the business table. 

A nonissue, really, except for the fact that students are helping to run this event. And as you drag him closer, Jake realizes with mounting dread that he recognizes one of the faces spending an afternoon trying to convince high schoolers that choosing a business major will change their lives for the better. 

He turns to make a break for it before you can reinforce your grip on his arm and physically drag him with you, but it’s too late. 

“Jake?” he hears a horribly familiar voice call. “Is that you?” Turning around slowly, he knows he’ been caught. Jake kind of wishes the ground would open up and swallow him. The only thing he wants to do is melt into the floor. 

“It is you,” Jay says upon closer inspection. And because you seem so hellbent on making his life even more painful, you pull him with you until the two of you are right in front of his best friend. “What the hell are you doing here?” Jay asks him. “You said you had a date.”

Butting in on the conversation, your smile is entirely too smug when you turn to Jake. “You said what now?”

Glancing at you, Jay’s eyebrows furrow as he tries to connect the dots. “You were telling the truth? Dude, that’s even worse.” Jay looks at you almost like he’s trying to apologize on behalf of his friend. “You’re not exactly wine-ing and dining her, here.”

“Hi,” you introduce, extending a hand. Jay shakes it warily. “I’m ___. Jake’s…” you search for a good term to use, and finally, with a private smile, settle on, “plus-one.”

“To an Explore Our Majors event?” That clears up none of Jay’s confusion. He turns back to Jake. “What the hell? Are you going on dates with incoming freshmen–”

“This is my third year,” you interrupt again. “We’re just looking around.”

“Hold on,” Jay pauses, a flash of recognition crossing his features as he studies you for a moment. “You’re the ___ that Jake was trying to get a phone number from for his brother, right? Is that what’s going on? Are you making him do a bunch of stupid shit like this to get it?”

You shrug, glancing at Jake. “You could say that.”

Jake has to give it to you. You’re a lot better at beating around the bush, at avoiding giving straight answers about the nature of your relationship, than he is. Jay looks more confused than anything at your evasiveness. If James were to somehow hunt him down and inquire about the validity of your relationship, Jake is positive that his friend would have absolutely no idea how to answer. 

A reassuring idea, other than the fact that Jake is also sure Jay will be hunting him down after this to get the real story, since he couldn’t get it from you. Targeting the weaker prey, a classic strategy. 

“Anyway,” you build yourself an out. “We’re gonna go check out the graphic design table.”

You tug at Jake’s wrist, but he stands his ground this time. Thoroughly embarrassed and done letting you pull him around, he tries to back you into a corner with one of your tricks from the fundraiser. “We should get going, actually,” he argues pointedly. “Look at the time. We don’t want to be late for…” Unfortunately, he’s still no better at coming up with excuses, “that thing.”

You roll your eyes at the obvious trick. “Don’t worry.” Your smile is sugary, but your eyes flash with warning. “I canceled it. Let’s go.”

This time when you redouble your efforts to drag him to the graphic design table, he has no choice but to follow, a little miserably. Behind the business table, Jay has zero idea what to make of what he just witnessed.

As the students at the graphic design table start their spiel, Jake is glad at least one of you is paying attention. You nod along enthusiastically while the student representative talks your ear off about the pros and cons of various online photo editing programs, asking well-timed follow-up questions as you expertly skim the pamphlet you’re handed simultaneously. 

Jake, on the other hand, still coming down from the mortification of being caught, is suddenly a little caught up in the way your hand is still wrapped around his wrist. A light pressure he could easily work his way out of. But despite himself, he’s having a hard time coming up with any motivation to do so. 

Distantly, he concentrates on the sensation. Your skin is soft, warm. The gentle pressure of your fingers is a tether to you. And in this moment, it’s a reminder that out of everyone in his life, you’re the first to be so obnoxiously concerned with what his interests are, where his passions lie. 

Despite his rightful protests against attending this event, he can read your intentions behind bringing him here. And it would be a lie if he said he didn’t appreciate them, just a little. 

At this point in his life and academic career, he feels a little bit like a toddler you’ve thrown in a pool to try and teach to swim. It’s hard for him to tread water, to keep his head above the waves, when the solid ground he’s used to is suddenly replaced by new matter entirely. 

But if Jake is sure of one thing, it’s that he won’t drown. How could he, with the lifeline of your arm still reaching out towards him? With the steadiness of your fingers still wrapped around him? He thinks you just might save him too, if you saw him drowning. Would pull him in and teach him to float on his back. To work with the water instead of against it. 

To swim, even when the water gets rough. 

At your side, terms like visual communications and web design and typography all blur together. And Jake’s focus is still narrowed in on the pulse point on his wrist, the way his heartbeat is entrusted in your unwavering grip.

…

Jake has a well-practiced routine for checking his econ grade whenever results of a new assignment or exam are posted. 

First, he makes sure that anything fragile or breakable is out of his reach. Then, he lights a scented candle. Setting the new one he just bought a few days ago on his desk, he checks the label again. Lavender Dreams. It’s all he can do not to laugh, a little miserably. Well, he supposes, thinking back to your words a couple of weeks ago, time to find out if lavender is actually calming. 

Third, he makes sure he has no other important plans for the day. Nowhere else to be, nothing to do that he can’t show up for in a ruined mood. Because that is usually what happens during this little ritual of his.

Finally, his last step is to look up at the ceiling of his bedroom, imagine the sky above it, and whisper one, desperate, “Please.”

Then he sits at his desk and opens his laptop to greet his fate with a grimace and a racing heart. Today, Jake follows all the same steps until he’s navigating to his university’s learning management platform. He clicks on the Econ tab, slowly releases a breath he wasn’t meaning to hold. 

His shoulders tense at the notification of a newly inputted grade that pops up, the icon begging for his attention. He inhales deeply, letting the smell of lavender enter his nose and hopefully work some magic in his nervous system. 

Maybe he should adjust his ritual, he thinks, mouse hovering over the new grade notification. Maybe he should start burning incense or something, cleansing the air of any bad energy before he looks. In his indecision, his finger slips, presses, clicks. 

And Jake doesn’t quite have time to screw his eyes shut before the number flashes on his screen. 

Oh, he is so fucked.

So, so, so, terribly, absolutely, completely fucked. 

It shouldn’t be a surprise at this point, that the score of his latest homework problem set is a–

Wait. 

Jake opens his eyes, just barely, peeking at the screen again. 

82.

Jake pauses for a moment. His eyes open completely. His brow pulls down in confusion. 

82. He double checks to make sure he’s seeing the grade correctly, that the numbers haven’t somehow been reversed. 

They haven’t. 82. It’s his real, true, honest to god score. It’s a B. A low B, but that’s still the highest econ grade Jake has seen since his third round of the syllabus quiz.

Oh my god. Oh my god. 

Jake kind of doesn’t know what to do with his body, with all of the extra energy he suddenly has. In that moment, he thinks he could do anything. If Jungwon were here, Jake thinks he might actually kiss him on the mouth. 

82. It’s not enough to save his grade, not yet. But if it’s a trend that continues, Jake Sim just might finally pass econ. 

He goes to text his tutor the good news, to confirm their next session, but finds that Jungwon has beat him to it. Fingers still slightly shaky from the excess of nerves, he reads the new messages. 

Yang Jungwon (Econ Tutor) [7:03 pm]: Hey, I saw that the latest homework grades were released. Lmk how you did!

Yang Jungwon (Econ Tutor) [7:04 pm]: Also, sorry to do this kind of last minute, but I’m not gonna be able to meet you at our regular time tomorrow. We could reschedule if there’s another time that works for you? Or we could just wait and meet again next week. 

Frowning, Jake reads the message again. He’s still riding the high of a B- and is reluctant to do anything that might prevent it in the future, including missing a tutoring session. 

Jake [7:10 pm]: Is there any way we could still meet tomorrow? Maybe before our usual time. 

Jake [7:10 pm]: And I got an 82! You’re actually a lifesaver

Yang Jungwon (Econ Tutor) [7:12 pm]: That’s great! 

Yang Jungwon (Econ Tutor) [7:12 pm]: I’m sorry, but I don’t think tomorrow afternoon will work either. I’m going to the university skating competition to support a friend

Yang Jungwon (Econ Tutor) [7:12 pm]: You probably know him actually. Him and ___ are good friends too lol. It’s Park Sunghoon

Jake rereads the message, sighs. He supposes it makes sense. He can’t really fault his godsend of a tutor for wanting to support a long-time friend at one of the most important competitions of his season. Still, Jake’s a little slammed this week, and the thought of missing a tutoring session is enough to sober him from the thrill of his latest assignment grade. 

Park Sunghoon. Jake has only met him once – in search of you, or rather, your phone number – and he doubts Sunghoon remembers much of that interaction. Jake doesn’t really know anything about him, other than the fact that he’s rumored to be one of the best skaters to come through this school and that he’s apparently good friends with both you and Jungwon–

Wait. 

Oh no. Oh no. 

Jungwon can’t go to Sunghoon’s skating competition tomorrow. Because Jake is almost positive you’ll be there too, is pretty sure you and Jungwon are probably going together. If there’s a flare of jealousy in his gut, he’ll ignore it for now. He has bigger problems.

Namely, the fact that Jungwon is under the impression that you and Jake are dating. Officially dating, since he knows that Jake took you to meet his family this last weekend. Quite seriously dating, if the lovesick expression on Jake’s face every time he talks about you in front of Jungwon is anything to go by. 

And the sole reason Jungwon is under that impression is because Jake couldn’t keep his big mouth shut. Because he essentially told him, flat out, that the two of you are very much enjoying the honeymoon phase of your relationship. 

Still working in a cloud of panic, Jake leaves Jungwon on read for the time being and sends a message to you instead. 

Jake [7:17 pm]: What time is Sunghoon’s thing tomorrow? I’ll pick you up

You [7:18 pm]: ??? 

You [7:18 pm]: What the fuck?

Before he can think of a reply to type, Jake’s phone screen is overtaken by an incoming call notification. One that he knows better than to ignore, even as something in his shrivels a little. 

“Hello?” He answers, wheels in his brain spinning as he tries to come up with some sort of explanation on the spot. 

You don’t waste any time. “How do you even know about Sunghoon’s competition? And what do you mean you’ll pick me up?” On the bright side, you don’t sound angry, at least. Just very confused. 

“Jungwon mentioned it to me.” Jake decides he can at least be honest about that. “He had to cancel our tutoring session tomorrow.”

“So what?” Even through the phone, Jake can sense your exasperation. “You thought you could squeeze in some econ notes at the athletics center? My god, you are so persistent about the worst things. Leave poor Jungwon alone.”

Poor Jungwon. Poor Jungwon. 

Jake’s tone is a little less even when he clarifies, “No, it has nothing to do with econ. I just want to come with you. To, uh… to support Sunghoon.” It’s a weak explanation, even to his own ears. 

“You don’t know him.” Your voice is flat.

“We’ve talked,” Jake argues.

“You’ve had one conversation. He thought your name was Jacob.”

“Which turned out to be a very useful alias for me.” At the event for incoming freshmen you dragged him to unwillingly. “I owe him one.”

There’s an extended silence on your end. 

Jake begs a little more. “I let you drag me to that stupid event last week. You know, I had to run, actually, full on run, away from Jay the other day so he couldn’t ask me about it. Just let me come with you tomorrow.” 

You hesitate. “I might, if you tell me why you want to go so badl–”

“Fine,” Jake sighs. “You caught me. My secret passion in life is actually figure skating. I didn’t start training young enough, so now I have to live vicariously through–”

“You are so fucking annoying” But it works. “Fine.”

“Fine, as in, I can come?” Jake knows better than to sound too hopeful. 

You refuse to answer him directly. “Be at my apartment by four-thirty tomorrow. If you’re even a second late, I’m leaving without you.”

On the other line, Jake lets his fist fly into the air in silent celebration. Into the receiver of his phone, he says calmly, “Great. I’ll pick you up, then.”

You hang up without bothering to respond, and Jake returns Jungwon’s message. 

Jake [7:26 pm]: Let’s just plan to meet next week for tutoring. And thanks for the reminder. You kind of saved me again, actually. I’ll see you tomorrow at the competition

Sighing, Jake sets his phone down. 

For the moment, the crisis is averted, at least partially. But Jake knows he’ll have his real work cut out for him tomorrow. As he turns it around in his brain, the celebratory feeling in his chest slowly begins to morph into dread. 

How on earth is he going to sit through an entire evening with you and Jungwon without the illusion shattering one way or another? It feels like an impossible task. 

But then he takes a long inhale of lavender-scented air, looks back at the proud B- still displayed on his laptop screen. If he can pull that off, he thinks he just might be able to do anything. 

…

It’s a confidence that Jake is finding hard to rediscover the following afternoon. Just after three, every ounce of self-assuredness Jake has ever had is slowly draining from his body as the clock ticks closer and closer to four-thiry with every passing second. 

Standing in front of his mirror, Jake can’t decide how he feels about the black button-down he’s wearing. Is it too much? Not enough? 

He knows he’s probably overthinking it, but he’s about to spend an entire evening sitting with you and Jungwon, watching Sunghoon. If you don’t think he looks at least a little good in comparison, something in his pride is going to be very, very wounded. 

On the other side of his bedroom door, Jake can hear Jay poking around in his kitchen. After a few days of successfully dodging him, his best friend finally snuck his way into his apartment under the guise of delivering a package. Still a little terrified to face him and the questions he’ll inevitably ask, Jake has been hiding in his room since his arrival. 

He curses the situation now. If nothing else, Jay could at least provide a set of fashion-forward eyes to help him choose his outfit of the evening. But that would also involve explaining where he’s going, which would only send Jay’s suspicions about you and Jake skyrocketing. 

Unlike you, Jake is not particularly well-versed in avoiding leading questions. In fact, he regularly does the opposite, if his interactions with Jungwon are anything to go by. 

Somewhat regrettably, he decides he’ll have to use his own intuition for this one. 

That turns out to mean that Jake spends the next forty minutes trying on half of his closet, pulling out shirts that he hasn’t seen since middle school and watching the pile of rejected options pile up on his chair as uncertainties pile up in his gut. 

Finally, he lands on the black button-up he was wearing originally and decides to make the disaster of his room a problem for later. Glancing at the clock, he realizes with a bit of dread that he needs to head out soon if he doesn’t want to miss your threat of a deadline. But then his eyes land on the small handful of ornate bottles on top of his dresser, and he suddenly has a new problem. 

Running low on both steam and time, Jake decides that facing whatever Jay has in store for him is better than trying to make this last decision on his own. So he scans that array of bottles, picks his two favorite scents, and opens the door to his bedroom slowly, doing his best to delay the inevitable inquisition. 

Stepping out warily, he sees that Jay has moved from the kitchen to the living room and is currently snacking on a sandwich he made with whatever ingredients he found in Jake’s fridge as he watches something on the TV. 

“Hey, Jay?” Jake calls out, a little hesitantly. 

“What?” Jay doesn’t even turn to look at him. “Oh, you decided you’re talking to me again?”

“I’m sorry,” Jake searches for a feasible explanation for his avoidance. Finding nothing solid, he settles with the classically vague, “I’ve been busy.”

“Doing what? Training for a marathon? I can’t believe you actually ran from me–”

“I realized I forgot my computer at the library,” Jake lies. “I wanted to go back and grab it before it got stolen.”

“Whatever.” Jay doesn't buy it for a second. But he is eating Jake’s food, so he figures he owes him a little. “What do you want?” 

Jake moves to stand next to his couch, careful not to block Jay’s view of the TV and annoy him further. Tentatively, Jake holds out the two bottles of cologne. “Which one of these smells better?”

Jay sends Jake a look of disbelief, sets his sandwich down on the coffee table. “Do I look like a fucking Macy’s employee to you?”

“Just help me out,” Jake pleads. “Please,” he adds for good measure.

Jay stares at him blankly for a moment longer. “Well, it depends,” He finally concedes. “The Yves Saint Laurent has more of a causal vibe, and the Giorgio Armani feels like you’re trying a little harder, like you want to be impressive and you don’t care if people know that.” 

And then he takes a closer look at Jake. At the way his hair has been perfectly styled to look just the right amount of intentionally messy, at the outfit he’s wearing. 

“Hold on, what are you so worked up about?” Jay’s eyes narrow in on his shirt. “And is that Prada? It’s four in the afternoon on a Thursday. Where the hell are you going?”

“Nowhere,” Jake replies too quickly, already beginning to retreat to the safety of his bedroom before he can be questioned further. 

Jay turns in his seat, eyes following Jake accusingly the whole time. “You’re meeting ___, aren’t you? What’s going on between the two of you anyway? Why are you being so weird?”

Jake pretends not to hear his friend, closing the door behind him and he looks for his coat in the mess of his room. Finding it, he pulls his arms through the sleeves. Stopping at the mirror, he gives himself one final once-over before turning to leave again. Right before he does, he pauses, weighs his options as he weighs Jay’s advice. And then he reaches for the bottle of Giorgio Armani, sprays it twice for good measure. Before he can psych himself out again, he heads for the front door. 

He almost makes it, too, but before he can slip out, Jay asks him one last question. “Just answer this,” he bargains from his seat on the couch. “Are you meeting ___?”

“None of your business” is the only answer he gets as Jake leaves his apartment, quickly closing the door behind him to cut off any other opportunities for Jay to catch him in a white lie. 

And when Jake arrives at your apartment, he has seven minutes to spare. Sending you a message of his arrival, he makes his way to the lobby to greet you. 

“Mr. Sim,” your doorman nods coolly. 

“Elton,” Jake returns, equally as frigid as he reads the middle-aged man’s name tag. 

Thankfully, you don’t keep him waiting long. You make your way down to the lobby before Jake and your doorman have the chance to exchange a few more choice words.

Despite the initial turmoil and the current state of his bedroom, Jake is more than pleased with the clothing choices he landed on for the evening when he sees you. 

It would be hard to claim that the two of you are matching, exactly, considering how simple both of your outfits are. But as he watches you approach him in a black sweater and light jeans, Jake likes the way it almost looks as if the two of you did it by accident. Synced up so well that even your closets align without you meaning to. 

And he likes the way it looks like the two of you go together, two pieces of a matching set.

Giving your doorman one last parting wave, the walk to Jake’s car is short. He doesn’t offer to pull the car around this time, mostly because the white sneakers on your feet are a lot more conducive to walking that your heels for the fundraiser a couple of weeks ago.  

“I assume we’re heading to the Ice Sports Center,” Jake says, putting the car in reverse as he backs out of his parking spot. 

“Yeah,” you nod. Much to his relief, you’re not projecting any annoyance. At least not yet. “But we’re picking up Jungwon first.” 

“What?” Jake balks, suddenly reminded of the awful tightrope he’s about to be walking all evening. The way he’s somehow supposed to keep Jungwon thinking that the two of you are enamored with one another without you finding out that he divulged the nature of your fake relationship to your friend. 

Mistaking his apprehension for annoyance, you shake your head. “You’re so mean,” you accuse. “First you invade our evening and then you complain about picking him up? The poor guy already has to put up with you all night. The least you could do is spare him an Uber ride.”

Jake suddenly has another bone to pick. “First of all, why do the the two of you even need an evening–”

“Because I never get to see him!” A bit dejectedly, you add, “Between classes and tutoring and his internship, he never has any free time.”

Jake wonders, somewhat vindictively, if he could start requesting additional tutoring sessions. Burn up whatever remnants of time the kid has to dedicate to you. 

Instead, he relents. He’s not going to win any favor from you by doing anything to Jungwon. Not that he needs your favor, of course. Not that he even wants it. 

So Jake just asks you to give him Jungwon’s address and plots it into his phone’s GPS without another complaint. But as the estimated arrival time begins to dwindle, so does Jake’s confidence that he can pull this evening off. 

With just a few minutes to go, he decides that honestly might be his only way out of this mess. 

Turning to you slowly, he says, “So, I kind of have to tell you something.”

You groan. “I hate the way you just said that. Please tell me I’m not also going to hate whatever it is you’re about to tell me.”

Jake hesitates, “I mean, I can’t predict the future–”

You read his guilt like an open book. Flatly, you ask, “What did you do?”

Jake is quick to go on the defensive. “Why are you assuming it’s my fault–”

You’re not in the mood for his evasiveness. “What did you do?”

It comes out all in a rush, sounds like one long word as Jake lets the truth spill out. “I might have accidentally told Jungwon that you and I are dating.”

Somehow, you understand just as well as you would have if he enunciated clearly. Your voice is dangerously low. “How, pray tell, did you accidentally tell your econ tutor that you and I are dating?”

“It just came out, I swear!” Jake tries to dig himself out. “You came up somehow, and I mentioned the dinner at my parents house. One thing led to another, and now he thinks that we’re dating.”

You’re still livid, not accepting his threadbare explanation. “I could sue you, you know. You signed a legal document agreeing to not tell our friends and acquaintances anything about our agreement.”

Jake calls your bluff. “That thing is not legally binding, and you know it. Besides, the wording on that part is so vague, I’m sure there are a million loopholes. No judge would uphold that in court.”

“Oh, so now you’re a contract expert–”

“Look, I’m sorry,” Jake interrupts, deciding that neither defense or offense are likely to get him much of anywhere. Maybe an apology will do him one better. “I know we agreed to not get our friends involved, but it really wasn’t on purpose.” It kind of very much was, but he figures you don’t need to know that. “I just… Can we pretend, just for tonight?” It sounds reasonable enough to him. After all, “It’s no different than what we’ve done so far–”

“Yes it is,” you argue. Your fury has evaporated slightly, now just simmering in his passenger seat. But Jake still doesn't get it.  “Jungwon is my friend. He knows me, the real me. I’m not trying to keep up appearances around him. I don’t want to lie to him, and especially not about something like my relationships. Especially because he’s going to think that I’m the one that’s been lying to him about it.” The more you say, the worse Jake starts to feel. “I told him you were my friend.”

It wasn’t about you being embarrassed of Jake or not wanting Jungwon to think that you would ever consider dating him. It was because Jungwon is one of the few people that gets you, that really gets you. It’s because he’s one of your few real friends, someone you don’t have to lie to. Someone who accepts your truths as they come. 

“I know.” For the first time, Jake’s short-sighted solution to his jealousy doesn’t feel so satisfying. He hadn’t considered this, the potential fallout on your end. How you would feel about lying like this to someone that you’re genuinely close to. All he can say is, “I’m sorry. I know I fucked up.”

You just give him a long look, silence building between the two of you as you weigh a million responses on your tongue and let all of them die, one by one, before breathing life into any of them. 

“I…” you finally say. “It’s whatever.” It’s not. Jake can hear it in your tone of voice, can read it in the way your lips twist. “Let’s just do it,” you agree to his original request. Jake isn’t sure why he can’t find it in himself to feel good about it. “Let’s just pretend for tonight.” 

Jake doesn’t know what to say, can’t find the words to remedy the situation. Still, your name is a quiet whisper on his breath. He feels like he’s begging, pleading. For what, he’s not entirely sure. 

You just shake your head, looking out of the windshield. “We’re here.”

And you are. Jungwon, completely oblivious to your conversation, is all smiles where he waits outside his apartment building, sending you and Jake both a friendly wave before jogging over to the car and sliding into the back seat. 

“Hey Jake, ___,” he greets, unaware of the stifling tension he’s just walked into. “Thanks for picking me up, by the way. You have a really nice car.”

And Jungwon is so nice, Jake thinks. So nice and considerate and genuinely pleasant to be around. Things that he controls, things that Jungwon wakes up every day and decides to be. Things that make you like him, want to be his friend.

Things that Jake, as he glances to where you’re still nursing your wounds in his passenger seat, understands with a sickening realization that he has not been. At least not to you. 

And Jake could pin the blame on a million different excuses. His father or the tight constraints of his life or the way he feels like nothing has ever really belonged to him. But when he looks at you, at your hurt, he knows that his lack of consideration for your feelings is all of his own doing. 

Jakes turns back to Jungwon for a moment, tells him, “No problem. I’m glad we could all go together.” And then he puts his eyes back on the road ahead of him and makes the decision to take a little more ownership of the things he can control. To do his very best to be a little better. To try, really try, to put a little love into the things he builds.

So Jake doesn’t protest, when you arrive at the ice rink and slide down into the middle seat, next to both him and Jungwon. Doesn't let the unpleasant feeling that rises in his gut when you give Sunghoon a massive bouquet of flowers and a warm hug after his program do anything but simmer. Doesn’t make his feelings your problem, a fire for you to put out. 

When he excuses himself to the bathroom, he tries not to let the imagined possibilities of what you and Jungwon might be talking about in his absence make him do something stupid. 

Besides, everything he’s thinking of is far off the mark anyway. 

As soon as he’s out of earshot, Jungwon turns to you and smiles. “You and Jake, huh?” He nudges you with his elbow. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me. Actually,” he amends, “I can believe that. What I can believe is that you lied.” The accusation is light, teasing. It still hits you like a sucker punch. “You said you two were just friends.”

But your hurt feelings won’t help you here, and you have tracks to cover. Jake didn’t tell you what he told Jungwon, not exactly, so you’ll have to do your best not to unravel any of the lies he’s already spun. 

“It’s new,” you try to explain, thinking of something that would make sense, that would wound Jungwon the least. “I haven’t really told anyone.” You mean it when you say, “But I am sorry for lying.” You wish you weren’t doing it still. You wish you could tell him the truth.

“Fine.” It’s an apology Jungwon accepts easily, even if he pretends to hold onto it a little longer. “You’re forgiven. But only because his car is really nice.” And then, “He’s good to you?”

“Yeah,” you echo the same words you told his mother a handful of evenings ago. “The best.”

“Good.” Jungwon nods. If there’s wistfulness there, it’s overtaken by his genuine desire to see you happy. “You deserve that.”

You’re not sure why you feel like crying, why everything about this conversation, this situation, suddenly feels so wrong.

“Thanks, Wonie.” You melt a little at his earnestness, the childhood nickname slipping out with your fondness. This is what you were afraid of, what you wanted to avoid. It’s not fair for him, not okay with you that Jungwon is wasting his sincerity on a lie, a false relationship. It’s hollow when you say, “That means a lot.”

Whatever reply Jungwon has dies on his lips as Jake finds the two of you again, slides back into his seat. As the rest of the evening passes, your lingering hurt starts to make room for something else. You’re not sure what to make of how undeniably easy it all is. How natural it feels to be sat in between your childhood friend and your fake boyfriend, trading jokes and smiles and stories that take no effort and make the time fly by. 

When Jake finally drops you back off at your apartment a few hours later, your anger is mostly gone. And unlike him, you were never particularly good at physics, but you do remember the conservation of mass – how things can change and transform but are never truly destroyed. In the absence of anger, you’re not entirely sure what emotions are beginning to overflow in their stead. 

But when Jake whispers, “Goodnight” from the driver’s seat of his car, it’s a sentiment that’s easy to return. 

…

As the month just before the holidays tends to do, the rest of the semester passes in a blur of late night study sessions, half-finished assignments, and a concerning amount of caffeine. Both of you slammed with responsibilities of your own, Jake hardly even sees you in those last few weeks. Instead, the promise of the holidays and your family’s upcoming New Year’s Eve party are threats that loom on the rapidly approaching horizon. 

This, then, is a small time apart from each other before your fake-dating responsibilities kick into full gear. Before they eventually as soon as the clock strikes midnight on the last day of December and your contract dissolves just as the year does. 

And at this point, that’s a concern for the future. Right now, Jake is too busy trying to pass his classes to have any brainwidth left to worry about other things. Namely, his econ term paper. The hours that he spends alone with his laptop, forgetting to do much of anything else, veer towards a number that is more than a little concerning.

But thanks to his sessions with Jungwon, a report card without any Fs is looking like an actual possibility for him this semester. So Jake doubles down and presses onwards, goes hours and sometimes even days hardly talking to anyone, just to make sure that every last detail, every last word, is as impeccable as possible. 

And a few weeks later, just as the first half of December draws to a close, Jake finds himself back at his desk, lavender candle lit, pleading with invisible deities as he opens his laptop to check his final econ grade. 

He lets one breath pass. Another. 

Slowly, he opens one eye. 

And there it is, on the screen in front of him. His final econ grade. 

73. A solid C. A fucking C. 

He did it. He actually did it. On his third go around, Jake Sim passed econ. And that alone calls for celebration. 

It’s nearly the first time he’s seen you since Sunghoon’s competition when you and Jungwon show up at his apartment by surprise with a custom ordered cake the next day. 

Predict THIS trend, Wall Street, the royal blue icing reads. Jake Sim passed econ!!!!!!

And then it really is the end of the semester, and the three of you are parting ways for winter break. With nearly a month of rest from studies and schoolwork, you and Jake finalize the details of your last two public appearances as a couple. 

The first is set to be at Jake’s parents’ house. It’s not so much an event as it is the two of you exchanging gifts, making sure that there are witnesses around to corroborate your affection. And the second, of course, will be the New Year’s Eve party at your family's home. 

The timeline gives you about a week to finalize your gift to him, something that has proven to be much more difficult than you were hoping. Despite your suggestion that the two of you just pick out your own gifts in advance and say that they’re from each other, Jake has insisted on going the traditional route. On surprising you. 

So when you show up at his family's home a few days before Christmas, a small red gift bag in hand, it’s with a bit of trepidation that the present inside will fall flat of whatever expectations your fake boyfriend may have. 

Moments later, with the glow of the fireplace casting a cozy glow on his living room, Jake holds a self-warming coffee mug in his hands. 

You feel a bit foolish as you reach for your rehearsed explanation, cite the one time he’d complained about his coffee going cold before he had the chance to drink it. But Jake insists that he loves it, assures you that he’ll put it to good use. 

And when your turn comes to open his gift, you do your best to ignore the slight shake in your fingers as you untie the bow on the small jewelry box he hands you. 

Sliding the lid off, it’s all you can do for a moment to stare. 

“Oh.” The golden chain of the necklace is delicate, fragile. But it’s the charm at the center that has you suddenly breathless. It’s a tiny, intricate outline of a house, the same shimmery gold as the chain. The color he memorized as your favorite. And in the center of the miniature home is an impossibly smaller outline of a heart. “Oh.”

Your soft words ring in the air for a moment as your fingers hover over the gift, unmoving.

Mistaking your lack of feedback for distaste, Jake is quick to explain, somewhat sheepishly. “It’s, uh,” he scratches at the back of his neck. “It’s supposed to be like what your great aunt said. Y’know, ‘put a little love into everything you build.’ If you don’t like it, I can–”

You shake your head. “I love it.” It makes your gift to him pale in comparison. The truth rattles in your brain a little too harshly. You got him a coffee mug, and he got you this. Something so obviously wrapped up in thoughtfulness and care and affection. But comparison is the last thing on his mind. 

“I… You do?” His uncertainty is still written all over his face. “You don’t have to just say that. Really, it won’t offend me if–”

“Jake,” you look up at him, put your hand on his chest. Physical touch is the only way you can think to stop his rambling. “It’s perfect. I love it. I really, really do.” Glancing back down at his gift, you smile. His eyes are suddenly wide, from your sincerity or your touch, you’re not sure. “Help me put it on?

Jake nods, swallows audibly. You retract your hand from his chest, let it fall back to your side as you hand him the jewelry box. Carefully, delicately, intentionally,  he takes the necklace out, lets it dangle between long fingers. 

And then he’s moving to stand behind you. The sudden heat of his body is a lure for your senses, a focal point you can’t pull your thoughts away from. 

“I…” He breathes, words suddenly a little strained. You feel the warmth of his words along the length of your spine, deep in your bones. Settling somewhere in the pit of your stomach. “Could you move your hair?”

It makes you feel vulnerable, when you acquiesce to his request, exposing the bare skin of your neck as you pull your hair to the side. “Is that better?” It’s barely a whisper. He hears it regardless. 

“Yeah,” Jake returns, just as airy, just as flighty. “That’s perfect.” 

And then his fingertips are ghosting the edges of your collarbone, skimming the sensitive skin of your throat as he places his gift around your neck. You don’t think you imagine the tremble in his fingers while he fights with the clasp for a moment, drawing in a shaky breath as he finally snaps the mechanism into place. 

“There.” He exhales and it travels over your exposed nape. 

Letting your hair fall back into place, you take a steadying breath before turning to face him again. 

You mean it when you say, “Thank you.” 

Jake takes it in, all of it. The moment. The proximity. You. Warning bells are sounding in his mind as his gaze travels from your eyes to the bridge of your nose to the slight part between your lips. 

He wants it, he realizes. In this moment, there is no doubt in his mind. There’s nothing, in fact, but his desires, his wants. And what he wants is to feel your exhale against his own. To lean down and close the distance and let his fingers trace the skin of your throat again, for real this time. Without the excuse of a necklace. 

He could, he thinks. It’s a rule you both signed your agreement on, but what are rules, he reasons, if not things to be broken? And he thinks that if he kissed you, you might just let him. It’s a theory that he’s desperate to test, almost as desperate as he is to learn the exact taste of your mouth when it’s not trading insults with him. And he was never one to let hypotheses remain in limbo for long. 

There’s heat in his gaze and desire in his bones when he leans down, just a fraction of an inch. 

Your eyes widen. Your breath stutters. Under your skin, your heartbeat races. 

You say nothing. 

And then he’s inching closer. Slowly, steadily, until he’s right there, so much closer than he’s ever been. Invading your senses and mingling your exhales and clouding anything coherent left in your brain. 

His exhale ghosts across your lips. Your eyes flutter shut, and you’re nothing but a slave to sensation. 

It won’t be him that breaks the spell. Resolve slipping with every passing heartbeat, it won’t be you, either. 

In the end, it’s neither of those things. Instead, it’s the shrill ping of an incoming notification that has the two of you springing apart, cheeks flaming, heat of the moment settling in your chest like a shock from a live wire with nowhere to put all of its excess energy. 

“I…” Jake can barely breathe, much less form words. He still wears his desire in his eyes, his want across his lips. It’s a miracle he even manages to say, “I better check that.”

“Right,” you nod, as if he’s asking for permission, as if it’s in any way under your control. But you’re scrambling to fill the burning silence, to redirect whatever is still simmering in the air. “Yeah.”

Jake nearly stumbles over his own feet as he takes a step away from you, pulling his phone off the coffee table. You avert your eyes as he skims over the notification, hoping the heat in your cheeks will fade from sheer will alone. 

Glancing back at him, you notice the way he’s still reading the notification. Notice the way his brow is furrowed, 

Without really even meaning to, you ask, “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Jake nods, but he still looks unsure. His eyes are still on his phone screen. “I think so.”

You raise an eyebrow at the vague qualifier, and he sighs before he continues, “Apparently someone submitted an anonymous plagiarism claim on my econ term paper. It went to the dean, and they’re running an investigation to make sure it’s my original work. That was just the department head letting me know that they’re proceeding with the investigation and will reach out again if any additional action is needed on my part.”

“What?” You balk, earlier tension replaced with one of an entirely different sort. You’re still stuck on his first sentence. “Plagiarism? How is that possible? You spent literal days working on that stupid paper. Even Jungwon said he couldn’t believe how much effort you put into it.”

“Yeah.” Jake shrugs. “I know. That’s why I’m not really that nervous.” His expression begs to differ. “I mean, I know that I didn’t plagiarize my paper, so I’m sure the investigation won’t be able to find anything.”

Still, it can’t feel good. Not when it took him so long, so much concentrated effort to finally pass. Not when the relief of it all is now stained with the accusation that looms over his head, no matter how much it lacks in credibility. 

“Is there anything I can do?” You offer.

“No.” Jake shakes his head, won’t make you bear the weight or the worry of his burdens. “I’m sure they’re just going to run some more in-depth comparisons to past papers. I really don’t think I have anything to worry about.”

“Okay,” you concede, a little hesitantly. But it’s a worry that lingers, even as the afternoon ticks by. Even when Jake’s mother arrives home and wraps you up in a big hug. Even when she slips you another box of homemade snickerdoodles, this time wrapped up with a bow. 

It’s a worry that lingers when you say your parting words, wishing the two of them a Merry Christmas and telling your fake boyfriend that you’ll look forward to seeing him on New Year’s Eve. 

It’s a worry that you have no distraction from until you’re on your way out, and your least favorite Sim sibling catches you at the door. 

“Merry Christmas, ___,” James smiles, all pretenses and no sincerity. Despite his words, it’s like he’s begging for a fight when he asks, “Are you enjoying the holidays?” 

If his mother weren’t in the next room over, you might just take it upon yourself to wipe the smug grin off his face. Preferably with an uppercut. 

“Oh, you know,” you shrug, forcing a cordiality you don’t feel. “It’s the same as every year. Good but busy.” It’s more than a little vindictive when you add, “Your brother did get me the most thoughtful gift, though.”

“Did he?” James muses. He doesn’t rise to the bait as much as you’d hoped. “Looks like little Jake is all grown up. Seems like it’s a good Christmas for him too. Miracles all around. He has a girlfriend to spend it with.” Pausing a moment, he tacks on, “And I heard he even passed econ, too. It was about time.”

“Well we can’t all be stuck in our ways forever.” You smile. It’s a polite, family friendly way of letting him know you still think he’s a raging asshole. 

But if James is miffed, he doesn’t show it. You don’t like the way his satisfied grin doesn’t falter either, not even once. “No,” he agrees as you turn your back to him, leaving him behind as you walk out the front door. “I suppose we can’t.”

…

Christmas morning is an uneventful affair at your house. There are gifts, of course, ones that your mother watches you open expectantly. 

The jewelry box that sits in your hands is reminiscent of just a few days prior. A fleeting touch that leaves your collarbone scalding. A similar gift that you wear around your neck now. 

But lifting the lid on the present from your mother, the differences are stark. 

A pair of silver hoop earrings, beautiful in their own regard and undoubtedly expensive, but silver has never been your color. It’s something you wish she’d remember, something you thought she might know, after twenty-one long years. 

You thank her, words echoing hollowly in the vast expanse of your living room. 

On the table next to you, your phone lights up with a notification. 

Jake [9:23 am]: Merry Christmas, ___

You think it might be your favorite gift yet.

…

It’s three days after Christmas when you wake up to a series of texts from Jungwon.

Wonie [8:12 am]: Hey ___ did Jake ever work on his econ term paper with you? Like at your place or anything?

Wonie [8:12 am]: He asked me not to get you involved, but I’m getting really worried. This plagiarism claim isn’t going away, and he needs as much evidence as he can get that it was all his work

Despite the way your sleepiness usually lingers in the morning, your friend’s messages have you immediately feeling alert.  

Scanning the texts again, the whole thing really is such an awful twist of luck. Jake finally, finally passed econ and after turning down his brother’s proposal from months ago, he did it as a result of his own efforts. Jake might not have ever worked on his paper in your presence, but you know he didn’t plagiarize it. You can pay testament to the way he was practically a recluse the entire last three weeks of the semester, only ever taking breaks from that damn assignment to occasionally eat, sleep, or bathe. 

And it’s so bizarre, you think. Jake mentioned to you that everything blew up because of an anonymous accusation. It’s not like his paper was caught by some online plagiarism checker. No, someone intentionally went to his professor and claimed that the work was stolen. Someone who wanted to start this fire and watch Jake struggle with the flames. 

It makes no sense, none at all. Who on earth would–

Your train of thought cuts off abruptly. Alone in your childhood bedroom, you know exactly who would do that. 

And, one Google search later, you know exactly where to find him. 

…

You’re not exactly surprised that the Sim Corporation building is up and operational during the holidays. If anything, the employees’ end-of-the-year burnout works to your advantage as you sneak right by the secretary at the front desk, bypassing the appointment system that must surely be in place for the CEO-to-be. 

The elevator ride is slow. Agonizingly slow. And you should be using this time to think, just like you should have been doing on the drive here. You should be figuring out which cards you can play and how exactly you’re going to make Jake’s weasel of a brother admit to what he’s done and retract his idiotic, completely fake accusation against his younger sibling. 

But the only thing your brain has room for right now is rage. And as the elevator ascends, all your anger can do is heat further and further, releasing steam until it’s boiling over, clouding your judgment and making you see red. 

When the elevator finally lets you off on the thirty-sixth floor, your strides eat up the ground until you're standing in front of the door you’ve been looking for. 

You don't bother to knock. 

Unsurprisingly, James Sim’s office is as completely devoid of life and personality as its owner. Covered floor to ceiling with the stark furniture that wouldn’t look out of place in an upscale Ikea ad, there are little to no personal touches, no hints of anything that might make you think James has any kind of redeeming qualities. 

And the only acknowledgement your least favorite Sim brother gives you behind his desk are two slightly raised eyebrows. 

“___.” He jots something down on a notepad in front of him. Probably writing a reminder to fire the secretary that let you up without notifying him. “To what do I owe the pleasure”

You’re in no mood for games. “Cut the bullshit.”

James’ pen pauses. He glances up at you.“I’m afraid I don’t–”

You won’t hear it. “I said, cut the fucking bullshit, James. You and I both know exactly why I’m here.” Your chest is already heaving as you list your demands. “Back the fuck off from Jake, retract your stupid plagiarism claim, and let him enjoy the holidays in peace.”

James doesn’t give you the courtesy of acknowledging anything you just said. Instead, he demands firmly, “Break up with him.”

“What the fuck?” You’re not sure how it’s possible, but your annoyance multiplies tenfold. How dare he assume he has any say in your relationship, anything at all related to you or his brother. “Why would I listen to anything you tell me to do?”

“You want me to retract the claim,’ James echoes evenly, enunciating so slowly it’s patronizing. “Okay, fine.” He lays his hands out in front of him as if he’s offering some generous, benevolent deal. “Then end the relationship.”

You wonder how much damage it would do if you throw the chair sitting next to you at his head. “Are you actually threatening me right now?”

“Not a threat.” He shrugs, all too nonchalantly. “Just a deal.”

Your strides eat up the ground between the door of his office and his desk. Laying a palm down on the surface in front of you, you point an accusatory finger in his face. “Listen here, you little shit. You and I both know damn well he wrote every word of that term paper on his own, so I suggest you listen to me and back the fuck off while I’m still asking nicely, or–”

“Or what? Hate to break it to you sweetheart, but between my brother and I, there’s only one person Dr. Jeong is likely to believe.”

“What are you, a cartoon villain?” Even this angry, his stupidity is astounding. “You still need evidence. Which you don’t have. Because he didn’t plagiarize shit, and especially not from you.”

James doesn’t falter. “Interesting that you mention that, actually. You know, I asked Dr. Jeong about you as well, and he said you’re not a student in his class.” Despite yourself, your features slacken slightly. “I thought that was odd, considering that’s how the two of you said you met. There are a lot of things that don’t add up about the two of you, actually.”

There’s a threat there, when he meets your eye and says, “So it kind of seems like you know already, that evidence isn’t just found. It’s made. And Jake’s term paper is different from the one I submitted, yes, but I also have a copy of what he submitted on my personal computer. It’d be pretty easy to ask my secretary to adjust a few timestamps here and there. To make it look like it was written years ago. Stolen by the younger brother that’s always been horribly jealous of me.”

“What the fuck is it to you if he passes econ?” You still don’t understand why he’s doing this. “You graduated university three years ago. Your life is here now, in this office. You’re in the process of becoming CEO of a multi-billion dollar company. Seriously, don’t you have better things to waste your time on? I mean, this is what most people call ‘peaking in college’ and usually try to avoid–”

James reveals his motivation with two small words. “Why him?”

But you still don’t get it. “What?”

“Why him?” he repeats, and it sounds so, horribly, terribly jealous. “Like you said, I’m older, smarter, more successful. So why him?”

“Are you joking?” It’s all you can do to not drop your jaw. All of this because you never let him take you on a date? When it’s his fault he missed the first one? The sheer audacity of it all is astounding. “First of all,” you refute. “I did not say any of that. And second, if that’s actually all you have to say about yourself, then put that shit in your Tinder bio and see where it gets you. I have no interest in hearing it.”

James won’t let it go. “That’s not an answer.”

“Why do you even care–”

“Why him?” He won’t stop, not until he gets his answer. 

“Because I like him.” It’s spilling out before you can stop it, before you can give it permission. “Because he’s kind and funny and he listens to me and cares about what I have to say. Because I’m more than just a sum of my parts to him, and the last thing he cares about is my social status and how it stacks up against his. I’m not some tool to impress his parents or a topic of conversation to brag about with boys at Sunday morning golf.” All of the things you’re sure would be a part of any kind of relationship with James.  Because no matter what role he’s given in his father’s company or what grade he passed econ with, Jake is capable of something James never has been. “Because he treats me like a person.”

Across from you, James simmers with barely controlled rage. With the truth at his feet, he has nothing left to do but be angry with it. Destroy what he can in the wake of his fury, like a toddler throwing a tantrum. “Break up with him.”

“Wh–”

“Break up with him, or I swear to god I will submit plagiarism claims to every professor he’s had in the last three years.”

It’s a threat you know he’ll make good on. It’s a battle you’re afraid he’ll win, no matter how fake all of his so-called evidence is. And it will all be your fault. You will be the reason that Jake has to take econ again, and that’s only if he isn’t expelled on plagiarism claims. You will be the reason his father hands him another round of disappointment. You’ll be the reason Jake ends his day with a little more shame to tuck away and revisit on a sleepless night. 

And you were always on a timeline, anyway. This relationship was one that always came with an expiration date, even before it began. 

It should be easy to concede, given the stakes, given the alternative. You’ve known since the beginning that the rapidly approaching New Year would be the end of it all, that you and Jake would become entirely separate entities again in just a handful of days. Still, you have to force the words out through gritted teeth, “Give me until New Year’s.”

James scoffs. “I don’t think you’re in any position to be making demands–”

“I’ll do it.” You double down, agreeing to take Jake’s fate into your own hands. “I’ll end things. Just… just give me until New Year’s.” You can do it, you think. It was inevitable anyway. “And retract the claim now,” you stipulate. “If I go back on my word, you can resubmit with all your evidence once next semester starts.”

Across from you, behind his desk, James weighs your offer. He must sense the finality in your tone, the determination in your gaze. “Fine,” he finally says. “You have yourself a deal.”

You don’t take his outstretched hand, don’t seal your agreement with a handshake. He’ll have to trust your word.

It makes no difference to him. His smile is smug when you turn to leave. You hope his satisfaction burns on the way down. 

Your drive home is slightly blurry. Partially because of the rain that has begun to fall. Mostly because of the tears that gather at the corners of your eyes and threaten to fall. You won’t let them, but they cloud your vision anyway, demand your attention. 

That night, a message from Jake lights up your phone just as you’re sitting down for dinner. 

Jake [6:57 pm]: Good news! The whole plagiarism thing turned out to be nothing. Just got an email from the dean that they’re dropping the investigation. I’m officially freeeeee from econ (again)

If nothing else, you have to give James credit for efficiency. And it should feel like a war won, a job well done. But staring at the message on your phone, the only thing you can think of is how soon New Years is. How little time you have before you’ll have to say goodbye. 

…

There’s never much to do, in that liminal space between Christmas and New Year’s. Minutes and hours and days blur together as the end of the year passes by, preparing to give way to a new one. 

Jake, giddy with the recent resolution of his econ grade and desperate to get away from the stifling atmosphere of his family home, tries to fill some of that time by spending it with someone he’s starting to realize he cares a lot about. Contract or not. 

First, he sends you a message asking if you’ve been ice skating this winter yet. He does his best to only be a little hurt when your rejection comes quickly, claiming in your response to have another obligation that day. Second, he invites you to drive around and look at holiday lights with him. When you tell him you already have other plans, he passes another lazy afternoon alone instead. Again, it’s a little hard not to dwell. A little hard not to let it sting. And by your third rejection – this time to take Layla on a walk with him – his hurt starts to give way to suspicion. 

But it’s not like you can avoid him forever, not with your family’s annual New Year’s Eve party quickly approaching. The last big event before the termination of your contract, you’ve been counting on him to spare you from your mother’s scathing comments and attendees’ hushed wonderings about when you’ll find yourself a boyfriend. 

And then it will be a new year, a new semester, a fresh start. As the clock strikes midnight, the end of your contract. 

Privately, Jake is a little relieved that it will be over so soon. That he won’t have to keep up pretenses any longer. That he won’t have to stick to your rules. 

He’s not sure when it happened, not exactly. Somewhere between all the bickering and arguing and fighting, but he’s come to enjoy the way you swept into his life like a hurricane and set up a home for yourself right where his heart is. 

He hopes you’ll stick around long after the ink on your contract has dried. He hopes that the two of you will get a chance to figure out what exactly those feelings between you are without worrying about how they look from the outside. How they’re perceived by James or your mother or his father. 

So Jake will be patient if he needs to be. He’ll accept your excuses, real or not, and look forward to seeing you on New Year’s Eve, relishing the fact that it’s the last time his presence at your side will be based on a lie. 

And when New Year’s Eve finally comes, he adjusts the tightness of his tie, looking at himself in the mirror. 

Midnight, he thinks. It will be here soon, quicker than he knows. And all the emotions that he’s been tucking away, all those little moments between the two of you that have fizzled and sparked and ultimately ended in nothing, will fade away with it. 

In their place, he thinks the two of you just might manage to find something solid, something real. 

…

Halfway across the city, in your childhood bedroom, you turn to Sunghoon. “What do you think?”

“Yeah,” Sunghoon nods appreciatively from his seat on your bed. “Your fake boyfriend is gonna pee his pants.”

“Gross.” Your nose scrunches. “Why would you say it like that? And stop calling him my fake boyfriend.”

“Why?” Sunghoon ignores your first question. “That’s what he is, isn’t he?”

And that, you think, is another reason why you didn’t want your friends getting involved in this little scheme between you and Jake. But Sunghoon’s flight home was canceled due to inclement weather, and you weren’t about to make him spend New Year’s Eve alone. The only problem with him spending it at your family’s party is that he needs to be well-versed in the lies you and Jake have been spinning for the last couple of months to keep the last few hours of your fake relationship believable. So, a mimosa and an explanation of a contract later, Sunghoon is privy to all the gory details. But the last thing you need is reminders of that. 

Reminders of him. Reminders of what you’ll have to do in a few short hours. So you redirect the conversation. 

“Really?” You look at yourself in the mirror again. “Do you like this one better? Or should I wear the red dress?”

“No, definitely that one.” Sunghoon shakes his head. “It looks really good. And everyone knows that black is better for New Year’s anyway.”

As you give yourself another once over, Sunghoon raises an eyebrow. “Why are you so nervous, anyway? Trying to impress your faux beau?”

“Stop pretending to know French,” you threaten. “or you can actually be homeless for New Year’s for all I care.”

“C’mon,” Sunghoon sighs, ignoring the bluff. “You look great. I think so. You mom will think so. Jake’s definitely gonna think–”

“How many times do I h–”

“So stop worrying so much, and let’s head downstairs.” Sunghoon stands from your bed, nodding towards the door. “I’m sure he’ll be here soon, anyway. Do you really want to leave him to the mercy of your mother?”

Point taken. You absolutely do not. With one final swipe of lip gloss, you’re pulling on your heels. It’s just in time too. Barely is the second one strapped on before the message from Jake pings through. He’s here. 

“Is that him?” Sunghoon holds his arm out for you, jerks his chin towards your phone. “Shall we go save your man from the she-devil?”

You don’t even bother to correct him, to reiterate that Jake is most definitely not ‘your man,’ as you hook your hand around his elbow, letting him pull you out of your room and towards the stairs. 

At this point, Jake is not unused to the extravagance of your family’s events. But as he enters your childhood home, he can’t help but be a little floored. It’s a house that would be impressive in its own right. Spacious and luxurious down to every last detail, the place practically screams wealth. But tonight, it really outdoes itself. 

The black and gold decorations shimmer just the right amount – enough to catch the ambient light beautifully without being garish. Every available surface is impeccable, covered with drinks and food and decor so lavish it would be almost laughable if it weren’t so impeccably done. 

Jake strains his neck over the crowd of equally done-up party guests, tries to peer around all the gowns and evening wear until he finds the figure he has memorized. He thinks he might see your mom, over chatting with a group of attendees, but no matter where he looks,  he can’t seem to locate you. 

Not until he glances at the spiral staircase on the outskirts of the room, does a double take at where you make your way down the ornate steps in an evening gown. It’s the same inky, midnight black as his suit, hugging and flowing and cascading in all the right places. Letting his gaze linger, he would have a hard time keeping his jaw closed if it weren’t clenching so tightly. 

He doesn’t mean to let it happen, the flare of jealousy that starts deep in his gut and spreads the length of his spine like a disease. But he can’t help it. Not when you look like that, not when you’re making an entrance and you’re not alone. No, you’re walking down the stairs accompanied by, on the arm of, Park Sunghoon.

Jake decides then and there that he hates figure skating. The glass of champagne in his hand suddenly feels awfully breakable. 

But then you spot him too, and some of the tension simmers, brightens, turns to something else entirely. When your gaze lands on his, your wide, genuine smile is almost enough to set him at ease. Almost. 

Cutting through the crowd, you and your unwanted chaperone make your way over to Jake. 

“Hi,” you breathe. Your hand is still on Sunghoon’s arm. 

“Hi,” Jake returns. He can’t take his eyes off it. 

Gaze darting between the two of you, Sunghoon is the one to gently but firmly remove your grip from his elbow. If it’s any consolation, you hardly seem to notice. 

Still, Jake’s shoulders are unnaturally tense, something Sunghoon takes note of. He just rolls his eyes. It’s not like either of you are looking at him to see it, anyway. 

Finally, after the silence lingers a little too long, he says to Jake, “Yeah, you don’t have to do that around me.”

“Do what?” Jake spares him only a momentary glance before letting his gaze rest on you again. 

“The whole overprotective, jealous boyfriend thing.” Sunghoon calls his game in two seconds flat. “You’re pretty good at it, though. I’ll give you props for that.”

That grabs Jake’s full attention. “What are you–”

“I know about you and ___’s contract. Don’t worry,” he mimics pulling his lips shut like a zipper. “Your secret is safe with me.”

Jake looks to you again. “You told him?” He can’t decide if it makes him feel better or significantly worse. 

You shrug. “I wasn’t sure how else to make sure he didn’t blow our cover tonight.” Besides, you add silently, how much damage could it do? After all, it’s our last night. 

Sunghoon glances between the two of you again, decides he does not want to be a part of this particular interaction any longer. “I’ll see you two later. I’m gonna go check out the hors d'oeuvres.” Turning to leave, he claps a hand on Jake’s shoulder. “Your girl could probably use a glass of champagne.”

Sunghoon makes a beeline for the kebabs, and then it’s just the two of you. And Jake might be hesitant to follow advice from your friend, but he grabs a glass from the next waiter that passes anyway, hands it to you seamlessly as you offer him a quiet, “Thanks.”

It’s easy, just like always, to fall into your routine. His hand finds the small of your back, and you lean into his embrace just the right amount. You can tell it’s working, that the guests you mingle with are charmed by how smitten the two of you seem, that everything you do makes them reminisce on their own long passed days of young love. 

Even the brief conversation with your mother is painless as she offers a stilted compliment for your dress and wishes you both a happy semester ahead. 

But you can’t quite get your smile to reach your eyes, can’t quell the anxiety swelling in your stomach as the night marches on and the clock ticks closer and closer to midnight. 

Jake can sense your unease, your trepidation, but he has no idea what’s causing it, can only guess at what has your eyes darting around the room like a mouse watching for a cat. 

Incorrectly, he wonders if it’s the crowd that’s getting to you, the chaos of so many bodies all in one space. Trying to offer a reprieve, he asks if there’s anywhere quieter the two of you could go. 

It’s not exactly what you’re looking for, not the solution you need, but you still lead him to the second floor, out onto the balcony that overlooks your backyard gardens. It’s similar to the place you and Jake ended your night at his family dinner a handful of weeks ago. 

Even away from the crowd, the lines in your bare shoulders are tense, fraught with unvoiced worries. The inevitability of the end. 

The music is fainter out here, but the rhythm is still easy to track. Jake thinks you just need a distraction. So he holds out a hand in invitation. “Dance with me?” He asks. 

You shouldn’t, not when it will only make all of this worse. Not when there are no eyes out here, no one to convince you that you’re still just pretending. 

But resistance has always been futile. And you can’t find it in you to say no. 

Under the glow of this year’s last bit of moonlight, you intertwine your fingers with his, let him draw you close as he wraps your hands around the nape of his neck, links his own across the small of your back. 

It’s not dancing, not really. Not as the two of you draw nearer under the pretense of staying warm. Not as your bodies barely move through space, just swaying slightly, in time with the harmonies that spin and twist and crescendo and fall below you. 

Jake knows better than to press his luck. But the day is dying, and so is your contract. What are a few minutes anyway, in the grand scheme of things? 

Leaning closer, he lets his forehead rest against your own, noses millimeters apart. “It’s almost midnight,” he whispers. The end of it all. The start, he hopes, of something entirely new. Something that belongs only to the two of you. In just a few moments, he’ll get to let his desires lead his actions, not the agreement he signed his name to.

“Mm,” you hum in agreement. He feels where it vibrates in his chest. 

“Ten,” he hears the crowd inside chant in unison. The countdown has begun. The New Year is nearly here. 

“Nine.” He pulls you a little closer, hands pressed a little tighter to the small of your back.

“Eight. Seven. Six.” You sigh, and it’s lost somewhere against the skin of his throat. 

“Five. Four.” One of his hands begins to move, traces the length of your spine, finds a new home against the curve of your jaw. 

“Three.” Using the gentle guidance of his thumb, he angles your face, just slightly.

“Two.” Around you, the world holds its breath. The two of you do the same. 

“One.” And then he’s closing the distance, lips against yours as exclaims of “Happy New Years” are lost somewhere in the wind. 

He may have brought you here, but you’re just as greedy, hands around his neck pulling him down further until the angle has you reeling. His mouth parts against yours, and you’re not quite sure if your eyes are open or closed. You’re seeing stars either way. 

Jake pulls you closer, and it’s not enough. He’s desperate for it, for something, for closer, for more. It’s everything that he imagined. Countless times in the darkness behind closed eyelids in the privacy of his own thoughts. It’s a million times better. 

He can’t focus on anything, can’t do anything but feel, give way to the shape of sensation. He wants to let his senses drown, wants to die and be reincarnated back into this moment just for the chance to live it again. Wants to wash away anything that isn’t tethered to sensation, to the urgency in his gut, to you. 

The first in a series of fireworks lights up the sky behind you. The booming echo has you jumping in your own skin, giggling against his lips at the irrational fear. Jake thinks this must be heaven. He must have died doing something wonderful, and this must be his eternal reward. 

Your amusement lasts moments longer before he’s doubling down, pulling you in again until you’re both well and truly breathless. Lip gloss a mess on both of your mouths, chests heaving as you finally break for air. The space between your bodies is miniscule, meaningless. In this moment, you’re a single entity with nothing but the desire for more. 

Fireworks continue to burst behind you as the sun sets on the contract that bound you together. His hands are still pressed against the small of your back, and you think the fabric of your dress must be nothing but a figment of your imagination. The only real thing is the heat of his skin on yours. 

The sound of your name whispered against your skin is something you’re afraid you’ll remember for a long, long time. He sounds desperate, where he repeats it. Pleading. Longing. 

But the fireworks are a symbol of a new year. An expiration date on an agreement. A deadline on a deal. 

Jake whispers your name once more, and you savor it for just a moment longer. Then, you carefully disentangle yourself from his grip. Most of it, at least. The hands against your back allow you space, but don’t stray from your spine. 

Still encircled in the arms of feelings that were never given the chance to take flight, you try to turn blows into kisses by whispering them softly, “I think we should end this.”

It’s presumptuous, on your part, to think that there is anything to end. You feel a little ridiculous saying it when you both signed your agreement long months ago. But your head is still spinning and your heart is still hurting. This is what it feels like, you realize. To mourn for the future. To grieve all of the what ifs and maybes and almosts. 

Across from you, Jake stokes your fears. “What? End what?”

“This.” You sigh. You can’t look him in the eye. “All of it. It’s officially the New Year now. We can stop going to things as each other’s plus-ones. The fake dating. Everything.” You’re rambling now, but you can’t help it. You’re afraid that if you stop to think, you’ll propose something else entirely. Something you know you can’t have. Something that will only ruin everything Jake has worked so hard for. “We can tell our families it was mutual – fizzled, like you said.”

Jake releases his grip on you, severs that last bit of connection. It takes every ounce of your willpower to bite back your tears. 

“Woah, slow down.” His brow creases in confusion. His words are still gentle; he still handles you with care. “Where is this coming from?”

“I just…” You trail off, doing your best to find steadiness in your voice. “This was our agreement. And it’s served its purpose. Besides, it’s a new year, you know? No point in starting it off with lies.” No matter how much he searches for it, you’re still avoiding his gaze.

Jake’s cheeks are flushed – a combination of things. The taste of champagne that’s fading on his tongue, replaced by something sweeter. The gentle midnight breeze. The aftermath of a kiss that he still wears on his lips. “I…” Suddenly, he finds it very difficult to breathe. “That’s all this is to you? A lie?”

And you wish he would just let this be a clean break, would stop pressing, stop making you say things you don’t mean. But you need him to believe it. That this is well and truly done. “I mean, we got what we wanted, didn’t we? You passed econ, and I got my mother off my back for a bit. This was the date we agreed to end things on. It doesn’t make sense to keep dragging things out.”

Jake is suddenly unsure of many things, and most immediately, himself. He’s not sure how to explain it to you, here on the balcony, with the bitter taste of something that stings all too much like rejection sitting heavy in his throat. That he’s pictured it a million times. You and him, together because it lets you both breathe a little easier, because it feels a little bit like coming home. Not because of a contract or your family or his brother. 

He doesn’t know how to tell you that every time he goes to a cafe, he marks a mental note to ask you what your favorite kind of coffee is. Doesn’t know how to tell you that every time he passes the corner table on the third floor of the library or the Student Union Building, the only thing he sees is your face. 

Doesn’t know how to thank you for helping him pass econ, for being the boost of confidence he needed to finally stand up to his brother for once, for making him think that he might not be as much of a failure as everyone else seems to think he is. For believing in him.

He doesn’t know how to thank you for being in his life, for making it a little better. For putting a little love in the parts of him that he thought would always be consumed by anger and bitterness and resentment. 

Doesn’t know how to tell you that it’s not just a contract to him. Not just a lie. That it hasn’t been for a long, long time. 

Instead, he listens, motionless while you whisper, “Thank you for tonight.”

He knows your voice is wavering. He knows your resolve is crumbling. But he doesn’t know why. 

So he watches, still unmoving, as you turn to walk away from him. Left alone on the balcony with no company but the stars, Jake Sim has nothing but a million regrets and the horrible, irrevocable feeling that he’s done something terribly wrong. 

…

“You look terrible.”

“Thanks, Sungoon.” Your voice is flat, no energy for any real malice. Sarcasm, though, you can muster. “You really know how to make a girl feel good.”

“I’m just saying.” He’s still looking at you like you’re a particularly unsightly piece of roadkill he narrowly avoided colliding with. “Would it kill you to do something about those dark circles? I don’t know, maybe, like – and I’m just throwing out ideas here – sleep?”

You’ve tried. You have. But no matter what you do, rest can’t seem to find you easily these days. And aside from that, it’s the moments just before sleep that you’ve started to fear the most. In the dark, with your eyes closed, the only thing you see is the confusion, the unmistakable hurt on Jake’s face as you walk away from him for the last time.

“Look,” Sunghoon sighs, suddenly serious. “It’s just… I’m a little worried about you, to be honest. Did something happen on New Year’s? With you and–”

“I’m fine.” You cut him off. The last thing you want to hear is the sound of his name, the reminder of what you’ve done for the sake of preserving his future. “I’m just tired, really.” You try to smile, and it’s far from convincing. “It’s been a long few days.”

Sunghoon wears his doubts as plain as day, but he won’t press the issue for now. “If you say so.” He does need you to take care of yourself, though, at least a little. “At least come eat something.” Suddenly grinning, he whispers, “I snuck in some instant ramen behind your mom’s back. C’mon, we can go make some. We can even get fancy with it, if you want. I’ll fry you an egg and everything.” He’s pulling out all the stops, a testament to how terrible you really do look. 

But it works. Or it’s enough to get you out of your room, at least. Stomach grumbling, you’re about to tell Sunghoon to make it two fried eggs when the two of you are intercepted by your mother on the way to the kitchen. 

“Oh,” she intones, taking in your appearance. Her eyes travel from your sweatpants to your t-shirt to your lack of makeup, disapproval apparent in every glance. “You look…”

“Save it,” you grumble, not in the mood to be ridiculed. 

Pushing past her, she stops you again. “Hold on a minute. I have a question for you.”

You take a deep breath before you turn back to face her. Might as well get it over with. “Yes?”

Smoothing her hair, she tells you, “Your father and I are hosting a banquet to celebrate the firm’s most recent acquisitions. It’ll be the last weekend in January. We’d love it if you could come.” 

You suppress the urge to roll your eyes, not seeing where the question was anywhere in there. To you, it sounds more like a demand. 

Sensing your reluctance, she adds, “You’d be welcome to bring Jake, of course–”

“We broke up,” you inform flatly. At your side, Sunghoon stiffens. 

“Oh,” your mother says again, not missing a beat. There’s very little sympathy when she adds, “Well, I suppose that’s probably for the best. Don’t you think so? I mean, you’ll be so busy with law school applications soon, it’s probably better to not have a boy around to distract you.”

You don’t bother to dignify that with a reply. Instead, you turn your back to her, fully this time. Altering your course, you set your footsteps on a path towards the garage instead of the kitchen. “I’m going for a drive,” is the explanation you throw over your shoulder. 

When Sunghoon tries to follow, you just shake your head. “I want to be alone.”

“But–”

“Please.” 

There must be something desperate in your features, because Sunghoon only nods, doesn’t argue further as he watches you climb in the driver’s seat of your car. He’s still standing there, concern apparent on his features as you open the garage door behind you and reverse your car out of it. 

It’s been a long time since you’ve done this, driven without a destination in mind. Your playlist blares through the stereo, loud enough to drown out any thoughts that threaten to cross your mind, to consume you, to send you spiraling. 

It’s not until long minutes later, when the first drop of rain hits your windshield, that you even notice the way storm clouds gather menacingly above you in the sky. 

Whatever, you think, turning on your wipers and increasing the volume another notch. You’ve navigated worse. If anything, it’s a perfect match for your temper, for the way emotions swell and churn in your stomach. 

Mindlessly, you let nothing but intuition guide your way, turning down streets you’ve never seen on nothing but a whim and the desire to escape, even if just for a little bit. The rain continues to pour, and the storm clouds darken in time with your mood. 

By the time you do start to recognize some of the scenery around you, it’s already too late. And you’re not sure where to place your blame. Fate, your subconscious, the way you can’t seem to let him go? No matter where fault lies, you’re suddenly perfectly aware of your location. 

Mostly because you’ve been here twice in the span of a month. Because you’re only a handful of blocks, at most, from Jake’s family’s home. 

The realization makes you quick to pull over. The best course of action, you decide, is to plot your course home in your phone’s GPS, since clearly you can’t be trusted to wander. It’s in the middle of searching for a better signal that you see it. A flash of movement outside your window.

It’s hard to be sure, through the thick sheets of rain that fall from the sky. But then you see it again, see her again, and you would know that dog anywhere. 

“Shit.” Turning to scan the backseat of your car, you find neither a jacket nor an umbrella. Nothing to shield you from the wrath of nature outside. But it’s not like you can leave Layla alone in a storm. Gritting your teeth, you set your resolve. And then you open the car door, stepping outside into the rain. 

It’s the kind of downpour that’s unforgiving, that soaks you to the bone as soon as you’re in it. Hair sticking to your face and already so cold you think you might start shaking, you start Layla’s name, hoping it carries over the wind. 

“Layla!” It’s all you can do to hope she hears you over the storm. You lose her for a minute. Bringing up your hand as a makeshift visor, you force your eyes to focus. When you finally see a flash of tan again, you know it’s her. The relief is short lived. Frustrated, you watch her turn to run in the opposite direction. 

“Layla!” you call again, this time louder, so much so you’re sure your voice will be hoarse tomorrow. From the way rain soaks your clothes, you’ll no doubt be nursing a nasty cold along with it.Thankfully, though, your beckoning does the trick this time. At the sound of your voice, Layla spins around, makes a beeline straight towards your familiar figure.

“Layla,” you chide once she’s at your feet, still grinning at you like the two of you aren’t absolutely soaked through and freezing. “C’mon,” you open the back door of your car to let her inside. “Hop in.”

She does so without an argument, and you slide back into the driver’s seat just as soon as you shut the door behind her. Putting your car back into drive, you set your wipers to full speed and drive straight until you see the turn a few roads down, the one that you know leads straight to his house. 

Still, you pull over again a few houses away, hesitating. 

“Sorry, Layla,” you turn to the dog in question. She just tilts her head at you quizzically. “I’ll get you home. I just…”

Don’t want to see him. Don’t want to look at him and face his anger, his resentment, his bitterness. Surely those are the only emotions he has left for you. Besides, it would be nothing but disastrous if his older brother were home. James would assume that your presence in his home means you’ve neglected to uphold your end of the deal and as such, has no reason to honor his. 

There’s a lot of damage to be done here, if you don’t go about it wisely. 

Turning back to the dog in your backseat, you point at her house in front of you. “You can make it home from here, right?” Again, Layla offers nothing but the slight perking of her ears. “Your house is right there,” you point again. “Just go up to the front porch and whine or scratch at the door and they’ll let you in, alright?” You give her a scratch behind the ears for good measure. 

You know Layla likes it, know that it’s her favorite place to be scratched. You know it because you watched him do it a few short weeks ago. Suddenly, you wonder if he’s noticed that she’s missing. If he’s frantic, going crazy trying to find her. 

A new sense of urgency motivating your actions, you turn back to Layla one last time. “Alright, girl. I’ll watch from here. I’m gonna open the door, and I want you to go straight home, okay?” 

She wags her tail at you, and that will have to be confirmation enough. 

Opening your door, you slide out of the car first. You hold your arm above your head as a makeshift shield from the rain, but it’s of little use. Reaching for the handle of your car’s back door, you’re about to send Layla home on a wing and a prayer when a voice behind you calls out your name. 

At least you think that’s what you hear. You can’t quite tell, over the sound of pouring rain, the whistling of the wind. Still, you turn with trepidation in your gut. Rightfully so, when you peer into the car that’s just pulled over next to you and lock eyes with no one other than Jake’s mother. 

She repeats your name, this time a little more frantic. “Oh my god,” She exlaims, taking in your appearance. “You’re soaking wet. Quick, follow me home and we’ll get you warm and dry.”

“That’s okay,” you try to explain over the story, “I have Layla, actually. I saw her wandering a few blocks over, and I–”

“Layla? Oh my goodness.” Concern and gratitude color every word. “Thank you, ___. I’m sure Jake is going crazy. C’mon,” she reiterates. “Follow me, and let’s get you both inside.”

Not bothering to wait for a response, she rolls her window back up, driving away with the clear expectation that you follow. And it’s not like you have any other choice, not really. You can hardly drive away with her dog. And it’s not like you can let Layla out now, not when she’s seen you.  

So, hoping against all odds neither Sim brother is home, you climb back into your car and follow her command. 

“Oh my god,” she repeats when you pull into the driveway behind her, letting yourself and Layla out of your car. “You two are absolutely soaked. C’mon, quickly,” she ushers you towards the front door. 

Opening it, she steps inside first. 

And of course luck is not on your side. You hear him before you see him. “Mom,” he sounds panicked, horribly on edge. “Have you seen Layla? She’s been missing for almost an hour and I can’t find her anywhere. I called James, but he left on a business trip this morning.” He doesn’t leave room to breathe. “I’m worried she might have gotten outside–” 

Your rescue doesn’t remain a mystery for long. Layla bounds through the front door, jumping on her favorite sibling, wet paw prints staining his jeans as her sudden movement forces the door open wider. Reveals you. 

Relief washes over Jake’s features as he greets his dog just as affectionately, and then he glances upwards. He takes one look at you, soaked to the bone and shaking from the cold. Any other words he had die on his lips. 

“___ found her, actually,” his mom explains, reching behind you to usher you in fully and shut the door behind you. “A few blocks over, you said?” She clarifies, turning to you. 

Eyes not leaving Jake’s, you just nod. 

His mother glances between the two of you, your frozen, shocked stares. The tension is palpable, and she senses it as well. 

“I’m going to go get Layla dried off,” she offers. “Jake, why don’t you help ___ find a dry set of clothes.” Shuffling past the two of you, she brings Layla along with her. 

And then it’s just you and him. 

Both of you stand there a moment longer, neither of you saying anything.

When you do break the silence, it’s at the same time. “Are you okay?” Jake tries, just as you say, “I’m sorry.”

Another beat of silence passes between you. 

Jake nods towards you. “You go first.”

“I’m sorry,” you try to explain, words feeling jumbled as you give them life. “I was driving and I saw Layla all alone, and I didn’t know…” That you’d be here. That I would run into your mom. That it would hurt so much to see you again. You don’t know what exactly you’re apologizing for, but your presence feels like an intrusion. 

Jake begs to differ. “Don’t apologize.” He shakes his head. “I should be thanking you. I was worried out of my mind thinking I might never see her again.” He’s talking about Layla. You know he’s talking about Layla. But his eyes don’t leave you once. 

It feels like a moment that could stretch into forever, you and him. Masking your hurt, hiding wounded prides. Standing inches apart and the distance has never felt greater. 

The spell is only broken when you sneeze, an immediate reminder of the circumstances that brought you here. Of the fact that you’re trembling like a leaf in his entry way, soaked to the bone. 

It's enough to spur him to action. “Come on.” He jerks his head towards the staircase behind him, voice and features still carefully guarded. “ I’ll get you some dry clothes.”

You could argue, but you don’t see a point. Not now. Silently, you follow him, all the way up the stairs and down the hallway to the last door on the left. When he opens it, there is no doubt in your mind as to what this room is. 

It’s his. It has to be. You know it, from all the little pieces of himself he has on display. Pictures of him in his youth with friends that smile just as big and brightly as he does. Soccer trophies, a drawing of Layla done before he had well-developed fine-motor skills, a picture of him and his mother at the beach. 

All at once, you wonder what it would have been like to discover him naturally. How long it would have taken you to uncover all these little parts of him, one by one, if any part of your relationship had been given the chance to be real. 

And then you notice the mug sitting on his nightstand. The self-heating one you gave him for Christmas. There’s nothing special about it, and it’s not particularly attractive, design-wise. It’s practical. Almost impersonal. He has no reason to keep it displayed like this. Part of you wants to swell with unshed tears. The other wants to run and hide and face your shame alone. 

But Jake is already rummaging through a drawer, and a moment later, he turns to face you with a pair of gray sweatpants and a matching hoodie. 

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes preemptively, and you hate the uncertainty that lingers between you. The awkwardness. All the stilted pauses and unsure silences that were never there before. You hate that it’s your fault, that you have no clue how to fix it. “I’m not sure how they’ll fit.”

“That’s okay,” you shake your head, ignoring the way your heart stutters suddenly at the thought of wearing his clothes. “They’ll be dry. I appreciate it.”

“The bathroom is through there.” He nods towards the adjoining room. “There are clean towels under the sink, too, if you want to dry your hair or anything.” Pausing, he adds, “Take as long as you need.”

Nodding, you walk into his bathroom, shutting the door behind you. You know he meant it, when he told you to take your time, but part of you is hesitant to linger. Somehow, this space feels even more private, even more intimate than his bedroom. Again, you feel like an intruder. An unwanted presence in a place that’s entirely his. A place you lost the right to be when you struck a deal behind his back and took his future into your own hands.  

Sighs mingling with regrets you can’t voice, you trade your rain-soaked clothes for his dry ones. You look at yourself in the mirror, and then you tuck the necklace he gave you out of sight, underneath the collar of his gray hoodie. 

A minute later, you emerge from his bathroom slightly self-conscious and significantly drier. Across the room, Jake looks up at you. You watch as he swallows audibly, eyes tracing the planes of your body swallowed by his borrowed clothes. His throat bobs before he tears his eyes away. 

“I should…” Again, you hate this tension between you, this uncertainty. “I should go. Thank you for the clothes. I’ll wash them and give them back once the semester starts–”

“What happened?” Jake couldn’t care less about your upcoming laundry plans. You can keep his sweatshirt and sweatpants and whatever else you want from him forever, as far as he’s concerned. Instead he’s still stuck on–

“New Year’s Eve. I thought…” He shakes his head. “I thought things were… good between us.”

And you could continue to be evasive. For his sake, you probably should. 

You could continue to make his decisions for him and decide to preserve his econ grade instead of whatever unnamed feelings might still linger between the two of you. But, the quieter parts of you whisper, that would make you no different from anyone else in his life, from the people you’ve encouraged him to break free from. The people that have molded his decisions and guided his path with a heavy hand all in the name of doing what’s best for him. All because they think they know him better than he knows himself. 

You don’t want to do that. What you want, here in the privacy of his bedroom, in the comfort of his borrowed clothes and the legacy of his youth, is to tell him the truth. You want to let him do with it as he sees fit. Taking a deep breath, you make your decision. 

And then you brace yourself for his anger, the outrage he’ll surely have at your explanation. “Your brother–”

“My brother?” Jake’s face falls, misreading things entirely as he jumps to premature conclusions. But it’s not like he’s grasping at straws. Jake isn’t blind to the way James has been gloating more than usual as of late. To the way his mood started improving right around New Year’s Eve. And he assumes the worst. “Oh. Okay.” Jake is trying to smile, but his features are completely wilted when he says, “I guess he got that second chance after all, huh?” 

“What?” Your lips twist in disgust as the implication sinks in. “No.”

“No?” Now, Jake just looks confused. 

“No,” you reiterate. “Look,” you sigh, “I figured out that those plagiarism claims about your econ paper came from him.”

Across from you, Jake’s jaw drops as it sinks in. “James was the one who…”

You nod, lips tight. You still can’t believe it either. “I went to his office to confront him about it, and he told me he’d retract the accusation, but only if..”

Jake’s eyes are imploring. You have the feeling he already knows the answer. “Only if what?”

“Only if I promised to end things between us.” And there it is. The truth. Cold, hard, ugly, and Jake’s to interpret as he will. You brace for impact. 

Jake is silent for a moment, shocked into stillness. And then, “He what?”

Your smile doesn’t reach your eyes. “I can see why you have such a hard time getting along with him. He’s kind of the worst.”

“Wait,” the wheels in Jake’s mind start to spin. “Did you tell him, then? About our contract and everything?”

“No,” you shake your head. “He never realized our relationship wasn't real. I just asked him to give me until New Year’s. I told him I would break up with you then, as long as he retracted the accusation.”

Jake takes a step closer to you. “And he agreed?”

You nod. 

Jake pauses.Takes another step. “Why did you ask him to wait until then?”

There are a million things you could say, a million ways you could answer.

Because I couldn’t stand the thought of another New Year’s alone. Because the thought of being at a party hosted by my mother without you at my side made me want to crawl out of my own skin. Because I’m selfish. Because those butterflies in my stomach have a habit of making me do stupid things. Because everything I told your brother in his office that day was true.  

You can’t give him all of it, but you can at least offer scraps of your honesty. “Because I wanted to spend my New Year’s with you.”

Jake says nothing, but his feet are moving. Each step brings him closer and closer to you. It feels a bit like it’s playing out in slow motion, delaying the inevitable. You move backwards until you run out of places to go, until he’s crowding you against the door of his bathroom, invading your space and demanding all of your attention, your focus, you. 

There’s no hesitation this time around, not when he leans down, cupping your chin in one hand to adjust the angle to his liking.

“Wait,” you breathe, lips a hair's breadth from his own. “What about your brother–”

“Fuck my brother.”

And then his lips are on yours. In the sanctity of his bedroom, in the aftermath of revelations. It’s the second time in the span of a week, and it already feels familiar. A little bit like coming home. 

His palm finds a place to land against the sliver of skin exposed just about the waistband of your borrowed sweatpants. A shiver traces the length of your spine, this time not from the cold but from the unbearable, unmistakable heat that threatens to boil over with every touch of a fingertip, every ghost of a caress. 

When you pull back for air this time, you don’t use the moment to shatter what’s just beginning to build between you. For real this time. Instead you say, “You’re really good at that, you know.”

“Thanks,” Jake grins, still a little breathless. “I could use some more practice, though.”

And who are you to deny him an opportunity for improvement?

…

epilogue – one year later. 

“This looks pretty cute on you, you know.”

“Do not touch it,” you hiss, swatting Jake’s hand away from your graduation cap. “Do you know how long it took me to bobby pin it into place? You’ll rip out half my hair if you try to move it around.”

“Okay, okay. Sorry.” Jake raises his hands in mock surrender, puts them as far as he can from your immaculately done headwear. 

Unlike you, he’s dressed in jeans and a button-down. But it makes sense. After all, the only person celebrating a milestone today is you. Jake doesn’t find that he minds so much. He just submitted his final project for Advanced Typography a few days ago, and he received stellar marks on it. The best in his section, actually. Not to mention that the class has been one of his absolute favorites so far. 

Besides, his time will come soon enough. In another year or two, it’ll be his turn to have a graduation cap bobby pinned to his hair. And he thinks a Graphic Design diploma will lead him to much happier places than a Business one ever would have. Even if it does come a year or two behind the schedule he once cared a lot more about. 

For starters, it won’t let him or you fall into any more ridiculous traps set by his brother ever again. Turns out, things like photoshop and other image-altering softwares leave traces. Ones that Jake is now excellent at detecting and could use to easily work his way out of false plagiarism accusations the future may throw his way. 

Straightening your graduation gown, your eyes land on something behind Jake’s shoulder. There’s a crowd today, as to be expected at a graduation ceremony, but you’ve always been good at finding what you’re looking for. And even better at finding what you’re avoiding. 

“I think I see your family,” you nudge Jake. Even his father is here. Mostly, you suspect, because you never bothered to correct his assumption that you’re heading to law school after this. Next to him stands James, lips twisted in permanent disdain, no doubt dragged here against his will. 

Still, you propose, “Should we go say hi?” The only reason you suggest it is because you also see your second favorite Sim (and first favorite on the days that Jake is particularly annoying). Hand blocking the sun and eyes wandering, you can tell that his mother is looking for the two of you. 

Jake keeps his back to them, steps in front of you to block you both from their sight. “No,” he denies flatly. “My brother is still weirdly obsessed with you.”

You wink, nudge him as you tease, “Must run in the family.” It’s an echo of a past conversion and rings even more true this time around. 

“C’mon,” you grab his hand, tugging him along. “I promised your mom a picture. I’ll ignore him. Trust me, I’m good at it.” Glancing down at your feet, you reconsider. “Actually, I’ll step on his foot. These heels weren’t just made to look good, you know. They’re actually a pretty decent weapon if yielded properly.” 

So Jake relents, lets you pull him along. Towards an interaction he doesn't really want to have but knows he will come out of just fine. Towards a future that’s full of uncertainties and doubts, but is his alone to forge. 

He doesn’t know what life will look like in ten years or five years or even just one, but he knows that he likes the way it feels when he does his best to put a little love into everything he builds. To let it swell and overflow until it touches the world around him and smoothes over lingering remnants of the bitterness and resentment and anger that never did anything but make him miserable. 

And Jake likes the way it feels when you smile at him. He likes the way it feels when your hand is wrapped up in his own. 

And for now, he thinks that might just be all he needs. 

...

outtake – sixteen years ago. 

At the age of six, there is a lot you don’t know about the world around you yet. 

For starters, you don’t understand why it’s only grown-ups that get to drive. It seems awfully unfair that you’re always relegated to your car seat in the back when the front seems much more exciting, especially considering the way your mom is always yelling at the other cars. 

You’re also not sure why she always makes you wear itchy dresses whenever you go to places with a lot of other people. After all, your princess nightgown is way more comfortable, and you like the way it feels against your skin. But no matter how many times you begged, your mom still put you in one of those awful, scratchy dresses tonight. And by the time she finally finishes her first round of mingling at your family firm’s annual charity fundraiser and lets you sit down in the seat next to her for a brief break, you’ve already been poked and prodded by people you don’t know more times than you can count. 

Which is saying a lot, since you just learned your numbers up to one hundred last week.

And you’re really not sure what your mom means when she leans over to your father and whispers, “I think this could be the start of something extremely profitable. A contract with the Sims, exclusive rights to represent them legally, I mean, that’s huge.” 

You scratch at your shoulder. That’s the itchiest part of your dress. Your mom leans a little closer to your father. “I know you don’t like to, but suck up to him a little tonight, if you have to. And if he invites you to golf, you must say yes. We absolutely cannot blow this opportunity.”

At six, your interest is still a flighty thing, and grown-up conversations you can’t understand are usually quick to lose it. It’s not long before your eyes are wandering for something to entertain them, something to hold your focus. 

Finally, it settles on a boy halfway across the room from you. He’s small, just like you. You wonder if he’s six, too. If he can also count to one hundred now. 

Head tilting, you watch as he reaches for one of the delicately balanced centerpiece bouquets sitting on a table in the middle of the room.

“Jake,” you hear someone call, that edge of worry only mothers can manage clouding her voice. “Don’t touch that, sweetheart. It’s fragile.”

“Fragile?” The boy repeats.

“It could break easily,” she explains patiently, pulling his hand into hers as she guides him away from the fragile centerpiece. If he is six, you’re definitely smarter than him. After all, you already knew what fragile means. 

But watching his retreating back, you wonder some more. Wonder if he was made to wear an itchy outfit tonight too, wonder if he’s ever gotten to drive a car or if all mothers are thieves of fun, just like yours. Wonder if he also hates coming to these things, if people pinch and prod at him too. 

“Jake.” You try out his name, just to see how it feels in your mouth. 

Momentarily distracted by the reminder from your mother to keep your voice at a whisper level, you lose him in the crowd.

Jake, you think to yourself. Most of all, you wonder if he would be your friend. 

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

THE END.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

note: THANK YOUUUUU for reading (seriously, this is so ridiculously long. oops). it is (mostly) edited, but by someone who just spent basically 48 hours straight writing 25k words, so you may have to be a little gentle with me in that regard for now. apologies for any grammatical errors or weirdness.

if you enjoyed this, I would love to know about it!! comments, tags, reblogs, and asks are treasured and motivating and so, so appreciated.

as always, thank you again for reading! all my best to you ♡

[heizours]

BREAK UP

summary. asking the genshin men “what would you do if we break up?”

tags. gn! reader, grammatical mistakes may occur

cw. just a mild curse (childe’s part), call signs, and none ig, pls let me know if i forgot something

feat. diluc, venti, childe, scaramouche, ayato

INTRO.

Really, it was just a hypothetical question, and you had no intention of seriously initiating it in the first place.

But, this question has been itching in your mind for the past few days, and you were genuinely curious what would be the reaction or response you will get from him.

Without further ado, you made your way towards him as you tap his shoulder. He didn’t even get the chance yet to turn around and face you, but you’re already here opening your mouth to speak.

“What would you do if we break up?”

DILUC.

He immediately stops whatever he was doing at that moment, before slowly turning around to look at you.

No, he is definitely not searching for a hidden answer that you’re using this question as a gateway to leave him. No, he is definitely not a millisecond away from bringing you to a private corner to ask you if he did something very wrong and come talk about it.

But, seeing the curious look you’re putting up in front of him made his suspicions decrease for a mere moment. Besides, how could he not respond to that question when you’re already probably thinking of leaving him right now? With that, he gave his answer in the most persuading way he could come up with.

“As much as I hope for that moment to never come, I’ll try to listen and understand whatever your heart wishes. Though [Name], if there comes a time that it does happen, I want you to know that I and my heart will always remember someone like you. You loved me and understood me when I felt that no one did.”

His answer didn’t fail to give you the amount of butterflies you’re receiving right now, and the possible events where there is a chance you can leave him are now at the very back on your mind. Because, who in their right mind would even leave the Diluc Ragnvindr? Only a fool would do that. Suddenly, you were snapped out of your thoughts when Diluc gently grabbed the both of your hands and brought it closer to him.

“..Now, it’s my turn. Any idea why would you suddenly ask me that, love?”

VENTI.

Oh dear, he would act that the it doesn’t faze him in the tiniest bit, but he’s actually getting nervous on why are you suddenly pinning him this query out of the blue.

He turns around to face you, while continuing to be cheery as he always do but, if you look and scoot a little closer there is a glint of worry and concern washing over him. 

“Oh windblume, who said that I am leaving you? Kidding! But, before I give my answer, may I ask the reason for it?”

Really it’s just his way of confirming if you have plans of leaving him after this event, or you’re question stands as nothing but a harmless one. As you responded that it’s something he doesn’t need to worry about because you’re just as interested as he is, he felt the wind of relief washing over him. 

In any situation, Venti could stay calm as he can but if it would be anything associated with you, he couldn’t help but feel this gut twist in fear. The bard laid his head on your shoulder to give you the answer you’re looking from him.

“Well, we can never guarantee how much time could a person stay in our lives, but if there comes a time it happens between us, I’ll continue to protect, reach and guide you along the wind. You were the first in all my firsts, and I’m willing to make you as the last of my lasts.

CHILDE.

‘Oh shit’ is the first thing that comes into his mind, ‘Don’t tell me they’re planning to..’ is the second thing that comes into his mind, and ‘But what if it’s a joke?’ is the last thing that comes into his mind before warily facing you.

Tries to take the situation lightly and calmly, and he almost succeeded if it wasn’t for his body language. His confidence and outgoing personality he always shows you slowly vanishes, as nervousness was written all over him.

He kind of acts like a boyfriend who’s overthinking and reflecting on his past actions and words, because why would you suddenly ask him something like this, if you aren’t affected right? Yes, he definitely suspects something is wrong. Regardless the amount of suspicion you are giving him, he obliged to your query.

“It’s quite expected that I’ll have a hard time if that happens, because if I could compare you to something significant to me, you’re like my life source, my home, my rest and my peace. Even if we will remain apart for the mean time, I’ll come back to court you again and again just so you can be with me one more time.”

After hearing your statement related to the suppositional question that it’s completely harmless and you had no intention of commencing it, Childe’s uneasiness morphed into relief as he engulf you in a tight hug but not crushable to crush you.

“I’m thinking that someone had bribe you into this...”

SCARAMOUCHE

He scoffs, not before giving you the most nastiest side eye you’ve ever seen. Though, do not be fooled by his demeanour because there is more to that than what meets the naked eye.

At the back of his mind, something tells him that 50% of that is true that you’re planning to leave him after this and another 50% tells him that it is partially false as you’re just being inquisitive.

Questions his what ifs and it just continues to pile up countlessly, until it comes to the point where he has to vigorously shake his head to snap him out of it. He takes a quick look at you, before fully facing you while his arms are crossed.

“Who put that silly little question in your head? I’ll make sure they would be the ones to leave.”

As he saw you frantically waving in the air that it’s no one else but you who put that question in your head and that he doesn’t have to answer it, he couldn’t help but lightly smile. Sure, most of your antics can annoy him but you’re the only person who can deem him tolerable, and it can be said as the same for you. He let out a sigh, before mumbling something that is only for your ears only, as the heat rises up to his cheeks.

“We won’t break up, and I’ll make sure of that. Even if we do, I’ll just come tailing back to you. You’re such an idiot for thinking that I would do that...Stop it with that smile will you?! Ugh, just come here.”

AYATO.

Raises an eyebrow at you in confusion, then that confusion switches to concern as the scrolls he was busy putting on work was now long gone. He looks up at you who’s simply standing there as if the question isn’t affecting you one bit.

Is someone bad mouthing you? Is someone pressuring you? Did they do something? Who forced you into this? Whatever it is, Ayato is determined to find out what’s the root of this question.

Dating Kamisato Ayato is not a joke, for goodness sake he is a leader of one of the most influential clans in Inazuma, so when the public found out about his relationship with you, of course there will be a pressure and a certain inconvenience given to you.

“Why so sudden with this darling? Is there a problem? Would you like to talk about it? I do not know where is this coming from, but I can assure you that we will find a way to fix it.”

Seeing the surprise look on your face, and the way you sheepishly told him that you were just being nosy about it was enough for him to connect the dots. Good, nothing bad happened and you’re perfectly fine, that’s all that matters to him. But, going back to your question, he smiled at you with a glint of refusal in his eyes before answering.

“I am confident that me or you won’t leave this relationship, even though my work serves as a distraction, that reason alone will not stop us from loving each other. If it does happen in the future and you gave me a valid reason for it, I shall perhaps let you go but that doesn’t mean I will also stop loving you.”

[ghostgirl101]

Hi!! Loved your post about Oliver Quick being obsessed. How about Farleigh being obsessed with you 👁️👁️👁️

Dating Farleigh Start Would Be Like This...

A/N: Pffft his face here is a whole mood 😭 I got a similar request for Felix too, so he's next 🙃 Dating headcanons coming right up, with a side order of freaking obsessive, naturally:

⚜️• I don't know what to say about this guy that isn't already shown in the pic 😏 he's a cocky, rude, arrogant flirtatious player who takes every opportunity and advantage to use to his best. Once something's caught his attention, it'll play on his mind and he'll get to it in his own way, because that's the Farleigh Start we know and love.

⚜️• You'll meet him at Oxford, maybe hanging out around his friends with Felix and the rest, maybe not. I think he'd be very much drawn to someone who's not like the girls he sees always running after Felix or trying to make him jealous when they don't have his attention. You be you, and when he uses a very bold and seemingly smooth line on you, give him a look of amusement and slight confusion, and he'll be stunned that you didn't fall all over him for his charms like he's used to.

⚜️• Farleigh just watches you leave for a solid minute in bewilderment and intrigue because the guy got kicked out of every school because of how he is, but apparently, you're not that easy? This is new...?

⚜️• Don't think Farleigh's just some rich prick playboy who has to pick on the smarter kids to stay in college though, because he's surprisingly smart, which wouldn't be a first guess based on the way he acts around people and mocks anyone who isn't anywhere in his circle of friends and social class with Felix. If you saw him reviewing essays and stuff with Oliver and the teacher near the beginning of the movie, you can see he knows his terminology and how to study to get good enough grades in class. The only reason he kept getting kicked out of schools was for messing around with the teachers. It's not like Farleigh's stupid, not at all, but there's no way he's going to work harder than he has to... which isn't that hard at all.

⚜️• So when he saunters over to you yet again with his familiar arrogant smirk and charm, offering you a drink while his eyes unsubtly trail up and down your figure in intrigue, and you smile in amusement and casually turn him down... 😑😐 (his face) and then realises that okay, he might have to work harder than he usually does, because there's something about you that's made him curious, Farleigh has to rethink for a second before trying to get you to tag along with him and his friends more often.

⚜️• If Felix doesn't ask you over to Saltburn for the holidays, Farligh will nag at him to do it, with seemingly no other reason than "you're hot" and "why not have a new face?" and whatever else he thinks up on the spot that's half earnest and true, and also because a big manor out in the country with private gardens is just the perfect place to take this person he's been mildly obsessing over for the past while to draw them in... Felix, say yes now, because boy won't take no for an answer.

⚜️• During the course of your stay and hanging out around Farleigh, you'll come to realise that he's actually not a total jackass and snob that fools around with any girl he thinks is hot enough. His ties with the Cattons are pretty fragile and complex, and there's a lot more to him than he'll ever really show. There's a lot of pressure in fitting in and matching Saltburn's aesthetic and definition, but if you're someone who's not completely used to all the wealth and standards and makes him feel more relaxed and accepted without a facade everyone seems to wear, you'll see more and more of what makes Farleigh, Farleigh.

⚜️• So well done to him for discovering that there's more to an aspiring relationship than just the sex and passion, there's communication and actually getting to know each other too 👏

⚜️• As you get properly closer, you'll see that the dude gets ridiculously jealous when any other guy or girl shows an interest in you that goes past platonic in his eyes. He's started arguments and fights before about lesser things, so don't think he won't tense up and his eyes won't narrow into an annoyed glare at whoever it is that's taking up too much of your time. Farleigh will probably finish it off by humiliating them in some way, smirking in amusement from his seat as he watches his efforts pay off, and shrug with a faux innocent look when you call him out on it.

⚜️• If Oliver Quick happens to be Felix's guest at Saltburn too, Farleigh's jealousy levels and possessiveness will spike too, along with a hint of protectiveness. Since he basically thought right from the beginning that there was something weird about Oliver - maybe not to the realistic point that's revealed, but enough to not have one friendly or lighthearted word for him - Oliver going to you for friendship or most likely something more will only motivate Farleigh to exclude him as much as he can from the rest of the group.

⚜️• I feel like Farleigh would grow to quickly love what it means to be in a committed and official relationship, when before he turned his nose up at the idea of being restrained to only one person instead of a fling, and not having to worry about telling each other things that go too deep. It seems to all come naturally with you, and he loves it; being a loud and gleefully obnoxious supporter when you're doing whatever club or sport or anything at all with half a crowd watching from the sidelines. Proud, smug boyfriend right in the front row taking an unnecessary amount of photos to put up on a wall in his room.

⚜️• Farleigh makes simping look good. 😎

⚜️• He'll take advantage of the money he gets to buy you as expensive things as he can get, smirking proudly when he remembers you talking about something you like to get you. Farleigh can absolutely be romantic if he tries, mostly when you're alone and he makes sure he's the first one to tell you he loves you, it'll be surprisingly heartfelt and sweet and vulnerable, and then you've officially, one hundred per cent, seen Farleigh Start for everything he really is, which isn't all bad at all.

⚜️• Big-time pda, and if you're not into that, tell him now, right now, because he's fairly shameless and won't think twice before showing off to his friends by making out with you at uncalled moments, or being more subtle and sweet by having his arm naturally around your shoulders when you're watching a movie or at some social event. Big handholder as well; walking to and from class, alone, in public, doesn't make a difference to him.

⚜️• His jealousy factors into his affection outside sometimes, not that he doesn't trust you, but Farleigh definitely isn't the only player around, and when you're at Saltburn with Felix, he might find himself being frustratedly insecure that you'll be drawn to him because... well, it's Felix, and everyone loves Felix. So when you show that you're not interested at all and it's Farleigh you're dating, duh, he'll chill out a bit after being clingy for a day or two.

⚜️• I will say that even though I don't write smut, it's gotta be obvious that you'll have more than enough going on behind closed doors, because it's Farleigh, and he likes you a lot, so... yeah, brace yourself 😏

⚜️• All I'm gonna say, though, is watch out for Oliver Quick, who's most likely watching it all with that familiar longing and envy of having such a close and strong relationship with someone beautiful and unique, who seems to fit in with the rest of the family just by being you. He's going to. want it, really want it, and whether he gets it or not is a matter of luck and dark fate.

[blingblong55]

Happiness-Simon "Ghost" Riley

photo credits: @ave661

Part 1

---- F!Reader, angst, divorce, ex-husband!Simon, dad!Simon, happy ending ----

A/N: I owe it to heal you so...here it is, second/final part

It's been two years. Two years of missing his laugh, the warm blanket he would cover you in, the little whispers when he was sick and you were there to baby him. If you see him pass his new girlfriend, you see yourself kissing him. Does she whisper sweet nothings when he is anxious? Does she make herself a fool just to see him smile? There is happiness after him, yes but there was happiness because of him. Happiness, what a cruel world.

"Where is Daddy taking you?" "Daddy wants to surprise…" your son says her name and each time you hear it, your heart and mind block her. "…so he is taking us to the park," your son is so innocent.

By noon, the girl that you swear you're kind to arrives holding his hand. "Ready, buddy?" Simon asks and carries his son. Why must they look like a perfect family? Did you and him ever look like that?

"Bye mummy!" your son waving as he walks out with his father. "Bye, sweets," you fake that smile.

As the door closes again, there it is, that funny feeling and all you can do is drink wine and look at old photos. That white dress, the same one he swore vows to, the same one you wore as you two danced in an empty kitchen. Sleepwalk by Santo and Johnny played as he whispered how in this life, you were his person. If only then your heart knew the lie those words held.

You tried to move on, but every guy that you talked to or were set up with was compared to him. No smiley face after the text? Simon would do it. The new date didn't hold your hand when crossing the street? Simon made sure to hold it and went past that, Simon parked close to the restaurant, just so your heels wouldn't hurt you.

Dirty dancing in crowded kitchens, whispers during dinner with friends and kisses that felt like renaissance paintings, that is what Simon gave you and now, he gives it to her.

"Marry me, marry me for all I've got and I swear this world is yours, my world and heart are all yours," his desperation presents. "I'll marry you if you marry me," you smile and he laughs. His strong arms wrap around you as he spins you around the room. "Oh my love," he says when he kisses you.

Ten at night, Simon and your son at the door, "We're home!" your son runs to hug you and you smile, hugging him back.

A flashback runs to you.

It's a secret ceremony, two people, one backyard, two rings and two vows. "I always asked myself why me? I met you in a crowded street, a busy lane and there you were. Two years of understanding you, all your problems, all the nightmares, understanding that heart of yours and….here I am. I swear on all I've got that no one will ever replace you, no one can." You wipe tears away as you read. "I have no idea what the future holds, I'm a mess and…you love me. It must be a curse to love me and you bit the apple. You're a mess, I love you and it's a blessing to love you, I'll kiss you to wake you up."

In those pale brown eyes of his, Simon finds tears that run down. "I want to be the girl you always dreamed of and every day, that's what I'll try to be." ---

"Mummy?"

"Huh, oh yeah. How was it?" You ask Simon. "Not long enough," he kisses your cheek as he walks inside. "Where is she?" "Home, I dropped her off." He answers and walks upstairs. Simon Riley, the same man who has you looking for all the poisoned apples, waiting to give that kiss his lips need.

Eleven at night, little one asleep, Simon hugging you goodbye and as he pulls away, you keep him there. "Don't leave, I'm tired of playing strong," you whisper and his heart shatters.

Was this not what you wanted? He forced himself to love someone new and yet, you were there, begging with those eyes of yours for him to listen to the silence of pleas. Those big arms of his, wrapping you in a blanket of home.

"…I broke up with her, that's why she didn't come with us," he confesses and in that moment, that tunnel with the light at the end appears again. "What?" you pull away and he nods. "I can't love her like I do you. I feel like I'm cheatin' on her each time my mind wanders to you. I compare her to you. She doesn't make me laugh, she can't do it."

"Simon-"

"It's not like I dated her for long and she understood, that and she also wants her ex-husband back," he laughs at the irony.

"I'm not asking that you take me back, that all goes back to how it was before but what I am asking is that you give me Friday at 6 pm, dinner at our favourite place, on me." There it is, that smile of his. His dimples show when he sees your eyes go wide.

"I don't know-" "Dinner on Friday, 6 pm and I swear you'll love me until we are old and grey," a young Simon Riley once told you. You were just 23 and he 26. Looking at it now, it's funny how life works. Date nights, always at the same shitty restaurant you both grew to love, always a Friday at 6 pm, always tulips, always a kiss on your hand because he loved how you blushed.

He hated change, he hated how he never saw himself celebrate your 12th anniversary and he hated how he missed you dancing in the kitchen, that white dress on you and how he kissed your body on every anniversary since the first time he called you his wife.

Traditions, those never seem to end.

2 years later, one secret renewal of vows, one backyard, two rings, two vows and three hearts, four if you included that baby girl in your belly.

Simon Joseph Riley and the obvious beauty of his missus R/N Riley. Spring, flowers, the giggles from your son and the warm laughter of your husband and you serving lunch with that big belly of yours. "Boys!" you call out.

He bit the apple, you kissed the poisoned lips and now live in a dream with the perfect little family.

Tags: @insert-some-username-you-like @pricesugarwife @sagebarness @bunnyharp @liyanahelena @ghostslillady @sagebarness @unicorngirly1 @bbyfimmie @alilttlemischiefmaker @aethelwyneleigh27 @pokiona @trgraves-valx1f0r @ryosuku @undercover-smutlover @polios04 @insanitia @thychuvaluswife @josephquinnschesthair @goldenmclaren @moonsua1 @rvivienner @iruzias @frazie99 @idklols @saoirse06 @vampsquerade @juneonhoth @tiredmetalenthusiast @jinxxangel13 @enarien @Simonssweetgirl @luvecarson @willowaftxn83-87 @nobodys-coffee @strawberrychita

Join my TagList

[studentinpursuitofclouds]

Can I request some Bachelor/Bachelorett's of your choice asking the farmer to be their partner at the flower dance? It'd be cute if they could ask us instead of the farmer always taking the initiative

Bachelors/ettes of my choice? Hmm, since it's my choice here, I've chosen.... All SDV marriage candidate :D

Thanks for the ask, dear anon! Enjoy! 🫰💕

_________________________________________

SDV bachelors/ettes asking Farmer to be their dance partner at the Flower Dance:

SDV bachelors:

Alex:

Alex tries to make Farmer's question sound casual.

Something like, "Hey, I'd like to ask you to be my dance partner, but if you say no, that's okay, it won't hurt me in any way."

(He can't fool himself, It will make him sad if Farmer says no).

So the athlete almost jumped up on the spot with joy when Farmer agreed. But he tried to play it cool.

"So, shall we go and take our place on the dance floor?"

Alex was so happy, and started to get a little nervous not to mess it up.

Elliott:

"Farmer, my friend! I've been preparing for this celebration for a couple of days now, and I would be immensely happy if you would honoring me of agreeing to be my dance partner."

Elliott hopes the invitation wasn't too pompous. Otherwise, the writer was already worried he'd ruined everything.

Maybe Farmer already had a partner and Elliott with his speech made them feel pressured and awkward?

But Farmer's smile and nod of agreement said otherwise.

"Really? Oh, delightful! Then let's go rehearse our moves before the festival starts." Words can't describe how happy Elliott is.

Sebastian:

Because Sebastian doesn't really like dancing in public, asking someone to dance is a big step for him.

No, for real. Farmer must be a very dear friend to him (or maybe something more), if the local emo stepped out of his comfort zone to ask them to dance.

And his efforts paid off - Farmer agreed without delay.

Now, even the spring sun and heat will not spoil Sebby's mood.

Sam and Abigail start teasing Sebastian a little bit (affectionate) that he'll now have a silly smile on his face all day long.

Sam:

Sam is simply the epitome of a golden retriever who can get anything he wants with his charm alone. (Sam doesn't realise it himself, but still).

And even though he's a little nervous, it doesn't hurt his charm at all.

"Hey, Farmer. I've been thinking... Would you be interested in becoming my dance partner? If you don't mind."

Look at his puppy dog eyes, warm smile and slightly pink cheeks. How could you say no to him?

Here, Farmer didn't refuse either.

"Super! Thanks a lot! Let's take our positions then, we're about to dance!"

Harvey:

It took Harvey about fifteen or twenty minutes to gather the will to dare to ask Farmer to dance.

It seemed like an easy task for a doctor, but his throat was immediately dry and his heart was pounding frantically in his chest.

"Farmer, I was wondering if you'd like-" "To dance with you? Sure thing, Harvey!"

Well, that was easier than he thought. And why was Harvey getting worried over nothing?

Now, the only thing left for him to do was to wait for the dance to start and hope Harvey didn't step on Farmer's foot out of excitement.

Shane:

To be honest, Shane didn't dare ask Farmer for fear of rejection.

But eventually Jas intervened, telling Farmer that "uncle Shane wants to talk to you" ("Jas!").

Well, since the conversation is already inevitable, Shane has to ask them.

"Do you want to be my dance partner?" "Of course, Shane, I'd love to!"

The heck, what... Why was it so easy?

Now they're both dancing, he can't believe it! Shane is pleased.

(In the background, Jas smiles at her uncle and Farmer as they both walk to the dance floor).

SDV bachelorettes:

Leah:

Probably, of all the candidates present, Leah is the calmest. Why make something up when you can just ask them straight out?

"Hey, Farmer. If you don't have a dance partner, we can dance together."

The artist was quite okay to take no for an answer.

Still, glad that Farmer agreed to her request.

"Cool. I'll get us a good spot so we don't bake directly in the sun while dancing."

Honesty and calmness are key to her success.

Penny:

Yoba, give her strength and courage...

Penny was embarrassed to even look in Farmer's direction, let alone start a conversation with them.

Someone she knows should help nudge her to ask Farmer (Emily or Maru).

The young teacher was so nervous, she didn't even notice that Farmer smilingly agreed to her offer to be a dance partner.

Wait, what? She heard everything right? They said yes?

Oh well... then Penny went to get prepared (get prepared mentally not to faint from happiness).

Abigail:

"Ugh, stupid Flower dance... Mum made me wear this dumb dress again..." *notices Farmer* "Hey, Farmer~ Do you have a dance partner already?"

Abigail isn't really shy, to be honest.

Won't ask Farmer directly about dancing, but her hints are impossible not to recognise.

She was terribly relieved that Farmer agreed and immediately grabbed their hand, dragging them towards the dance floor.

Abby hopes her mother wouldn't think that she liked dancing now, or Caroline would want to take her to aerobics later.

Maru:

Maru was still practising her speech to Farmer from a day ago. She was really hoping that they would agree to dance with her at the festival.

That doesn't change the fact that even though she was prepared, Maru was a little nervous for fear of rejection.

Still, until you ask them, you won't know, right?

When Farmer approached her on their own, Maru finally asked them.

The young inventor's fears were in vain: the Farmer said yes immediately!

Oh, she couldn't wait to take her place to dance with Farmer!

Emily:

Emily is just overjoyed! A beautiful day, a beautiful atmosphere, a beautiful forest... The spirits are favouring them today.

Oh, there's the Farmer! She immediately ran up to them to ask them to dance.

The blue-haired girl was too excited to even think about the fact that Farmer might refuse her....

But that wouldn't happen, because Farmer agreed without hesitation!

Emily, even more overjoyed, immediately took them to the dance floor, letting them rehearse the dance together before festival starts.

Haley:

"Farmer. I'm you want, I might dance with you~"

Haley doesn't know if her charm will work, since last year she refused to dance with them. Yeah, awkward...

So she won't be surprised if they turn her down. But will be surprised when Farmer immediately agrees.

"Great! Then we need to rehearse to make everything perfect. I've already been Flowers Queen for a few years, I don't want to give up the title."

Haley doesn't care about the title anymore, she's dancing with Farmer! Hee hee~