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taexual · 14 hours

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sleepwalking ● 24 | jjk

pairing: jungkook x fem!reader

summary: due to unfortunate circumstances, you ended up managing your ex-boyfriend’s band. you thought you’ve both made peace with it, but suddenly he’s very eager to prove to you that first love never dies.

genre: rockstar!jungkook / exes to lovers

warnings: mentions of drugs (not graphic), depictions of smoking, explicit language, SUGGESTIVE THEMES (jungkook is a teasing little shit, there's also a Shower Scene at the end), angst, fluff, SLOW BURN

words: 23k

read from the beginning ○ masterlist

chapter 24 ► soon, you'll be nothing but a memory and i won't keep you company when everything falls apart for you

When you woke up next to Jungkook on your final morning in London, the sun was already high, casting patterns shaped dangerously like his sleeping features on the walls of his hotel room.

You thought you had just closed your eyes two minutes ago, but you felt very well-rested, albeit not fully convinced that you were conscious yet. Jungkook was asleep next to you, your hands still locked together and your bodies so intertwined that it would take at least a few minutes for you to disengage from each other.

Naturally, you thought this was another one of those powerful dreams that would stay with you for the next few days after you woke up because of how much you wished it was real. But then you checked your phone, noticing several missed calls, and your mind finally sobered.

Jungkook stirred when he felt you reach for your phone, and he realised right away that your morning together had ended before it even began.

“I was hoping we’d sleep in,” he mumbled, startling you as you tried to quietly climb out of bed.

Your determination to start working melted at the sound of his groggy, somewhat uncertain voice, and you turned back. His eyes flickered open and met yours briefly before succumbing to heaviness again.

“It seems like we have, actually,” you said, lingering on the edge of the bed, and forgetting, almost, that the vibrating sound in the background of your focus came from your phone.

“It doesn’t count if we wake up and get out of bed right aw—” He paused to yawn, then rolled onto his back, looking at you through half-closed lids. “Sleeping in means we stay in bed, and—well, there are things we could do.”

He struggled to keep his eyes open—clearly, the only thing you’d do if you stayed in the room was actually sleep—but you couldn’t help but smile at his effort.

Just as you were about to respond, Jungkook pushed back the covers and your eyes drifted down to the angry red nail marks on his chest. He met your gaze and followed it downwards, raising his eyebrows before breaking into a grin.

“Hmm,” he mused. You already knew what his next words would be but couldn’t stop him in time. “These are exactly the things I was talking ab—”

“I know,” you finally cut in. “I figured.”

He returned his gaze to yours, cocking a tired eyebrow. “Yet you’re rushing out of bed?”

You lifted your phone and the display lit up with multiple notifications. He noticed, with his breath hitching enthusiastically in his throat, that your eyes were filled with regret. You didn’t want to go.

“Duty calls,” you said.

He looked away and muttered disdainfully, “I’m your duty.”

“Exactly,” you replied, smiling at the childish entitlement in his voice. “Your band is the reason I’m getting out of bed.”

You took your foot off the mattress and stood up properly, pausing as Jungkook groaned—deliberately, of course, to make you think he would say something else and have you stay in the room longer while you waited for him to speak.

To be perfectly honest, though, you didn’t linger in the room because you thought he still had something to say. You lingered because you wanted to stay here until you absolutely couldn’t anymore.

“Okay,” he finally said, looking up at you again. “I promise that our relationship won’t interfere with your career. But I really do wish you’d stayed with me for the rest of the morning.”

It took you considerable effort—and you would attribute this to professionalism when you inevitably started doubting yourself later—to resist the temptation to climb back into bed.

“I wish I could stay, too,” you said—firmly, so he wouldn’t try to persuade you, because you knew that he’d eventually succeed. “But I’ll see you after the show.”

“Before that,” he said.

You nodded. “If we have time.”

“No,” he disagreed immediately. “We’ll make time.”

Your smile grew with affection and warmth.

“Alright,” you said. “I’ll see you a little later then, yeah? Will you be alright for a few hours?”

He exhaled very theatrically. “I suppose I’ll live.”

“Good,” you leaned over the bed to press a soft kiss to his cheek, “I love you.”

He reached out to interlace your hands for just a second before you pulled away again, bringing your knuckles to his lips. “I love you.”

Reluctantly parting from his warmth, you finally left the room, and Jungkook whined quietly to himself before starting his day as well. He knew his uncontrollable yearning would drive him to the brink of insanity even before the band’s rehearsal later today, so he was desperate for company until then.

He took a quick shower, then crossed the corridor to Minjun’s room where Minjun was binge-watching Evangelion, and dragged him outside for a coffee and a cigarette.

It was a beautiful morning: a little cold, but unusually sunny after yesterday’s storm. The rain had quickly become his favourite scent, and Jungkook took a deep breath as it lingered in the air. It was laced with faint traces of wet grass, and there was something else, too. Something woody, yet light, with heavy undertones of you.

He and Minjun settled in the shade outside of the hotel. Jungkook lit his cigarette, then passed his lighter to his friend and looked around.

The garden behind him was impressive. He hadn’t noticed the peonies before, but as soon as he did, he remembered bringing bright pink and gently lilac bouquets for you before your dates. You didn’t have a favourite flower, but he’d discovered that peonies lasted the longest in your dorm room, so he continued to get them for you.

He realised with a sigh that having Minjun here wasn’t much of a distraction, not even when he brought up Sid. Everywhere he looked this morning, he still thought of you.

“Oh, shit!” Jungkook cried suddenly, pushing his cigarette to the corner of his mouth as he spoke. His exclaim distracted the two of them from an anxious discussion about all that had to happen today. “Look.”

Minjun looked at him first, then followed his gaze to the street, where a Volkswagen Beetle was driving by at an extraordinarily slow pace. He wasn’t sure if Jungkook was amused by the car model or its speed.

“Hmm?” he asked. “At the car?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook said, bouncing on the balls of his feet in excitement. “It’s the exact colour of her eyes.”

“Her eye—Jesus Christ,” Minjun groaned, nearly choking on the smoke of his cigarette. “Do you see what I’m doing right now?”

Jungkook did not tear his eyes away from the car as it inched closer to the intersection at the end of the street. “No offence, man, but I really couldn’t care le—”

“I am cringing,” Minjun informed him anyway. “You made me cringe.”

Jungkook continued to watch the Beetle with an alien fascination that Minjun could not understand. He thought that Jungkook looked as if he was reliving some sort of a dream, with this wistful, melancholy smile on his face—or he was stuck in an unfathomable, endless déjà vu.

“I’m serious, though,” Jungkook said after a moment, a deep exhilaration in his voice. “The exact colour.”

Minjun shook his head, half disbelieving, half resigned. He was not a doctor, and he would never claim to have any medical knowledge, but even his amateur eye could recognise lovesickness when he saw it.

“You are so fu—” he started to say, but did not get to the end of this diagnosis that, in his humble opinion, would have perfectly described the state that his friend was in right now.

Jungkook blew out the smoke with a heavy—and violent, too—groan, and it cut Minjun off. “I love her so much.”

“We know!” Minjun said, exasperated. His teeth dug into the filter of his cigarette. “We can tell. All of us. Now if you try to tell me that that cloud over there, above the hotel, kind of looks like her, I swear to God.”

“Please.” Jungkook scoffed but still glanced at the sky. “Clouds don’t look like—oh, you know what, maybe that one over there kind of does. When she wears her hair up, and—”

“I am going to slap you,” Minjun interjected, “if you don’t get yourself together right this second.”

The Beetle had finally turned on the left turn signal as it reached the end of the road next to the two of them. Jungkook lowered his eyes and smiled at the vehicle again.

“I’ve never felt more together,” he said, smoke passing through his lips.

“And I’ve never felt more like a third wheel,” Minjun retorted. “And it’s only you and me here.”

Jungkook grinned dreamily, following the car with his gaze.

“You’re not even listening to me, are you?” Minjun asked.

“Not really.”

He sighed and turned away. “Hmm. Of course not.”

The Beetle finally disappeared down the street and out of their sight. And now, with no new reminders of you in his immediate vicinity, Jungkook realised that he missed you too much to merely stand here, and that the company he had did not matter as long as it wasn’t you. He finished his cigarette in two quick drags and pulled out his phone.

Minjun knew exactly who he was texting without having to ask. And he certainly did not have to ask who had texted him back when his phone lit up not even ten seconds later.

You and Jungkook were both terrible—almost unbearable at this point, really—and Minjun was very glad that you had found your way back to each other. He didn’t think the world could have handled more of the two of you alone.

When you arrived at the venue a few hours later to see Jimin before the band’s soundcheck, you ran into the members of the band outside. They’d gone out after their rehearsal and ended up right in the middle of a commotion outside the building.

The sight surprised you: crowds of people had gathered around the venue, chatting, waving and jumping as soon as they spotted the band. Although this was Rated Riot’s second show in London, it seemed as though twice as many people were queuing outside today.

You kept your distance but stayed to watch the beaming members stop occasionally for an autograph, a selfie, or a quick conversation as they made their way past their fans. You remained vigilant in case anyone in the crowd decided to cause trouble, although it didn’t seem likely. Everyone was just excited.

Just then, right before you got lost in the thrilled faces around you, you heard Jungkook gasp somewhere in the crowd.

Alarmed, you turned around to find him and caught Hoseok’s shocked expression over the back of Jungkook’s head. Someone had unexpectedly wrapped their arms around the vocalist in a very intense hug, taking him off guard. But Jungkook’s surprise quickly turned into appreciative laughter as he patted the person on the back and stepped away, nodding at something they were saying.

Their interaction seemed harmless, but a crowd began to gather around Jungkook and Hoseok, and you were worried about the people pushing each other. You reached for your phone in your jacket to call Mick and alert the security just to be safe, but paused when you overheard the conversation the boys were having with their fans.

“And good riddance!” someone was saying. “We saw that you guys banned Sid from your shows. We’re so glad you’re finally free.”

Excited shrieks of agreement rippled through the crowd. Jungkook turned his head to look at you, leaving Hoseok to handle the fans’ praise on his own while Yoongi and Taehyung signed autographs nearby. When you met Jungkook’s eye, the surprise on his face mirrored yours.

Maggie’s post had made the precise impact you’d hoped for; everyone had seen the blacklist.

We’re so glad you’re finally free.

It occurred to you that neither you, nor Jungkook, nor any of your friends had ever been truly alone with your hatred for Sid, because Sid hadn’t just messed with your lives. He’d messed with absolutely everyone around you. You assumed as much—he was insufferable—but hearing others reaffirm just how much they despised Sid still felt comforting. It felt energising, too.

You’d be finished with him today, finally.

Feeling reinvigorated, you informed Mick to keep an eye on the crowds and headed inside. Jimin had needed your help, but by the time you arrived, he’d already resolved the problem himself. He shuffled you out of the door instead, to fetch him some coffee for “being late to rescue me from the agony of toggling the amps on and off.”

Laughing, you walked back out, making a note to grab a few chocolate-chip cupcakes, too—for Seokjin, because he had looked dangerously pale and wide-eyed when you ran into him at the door as Jimin yelled out his coffee order at you.

You didn’t expect to see Jungkook until the end of his show later that night, and you felt another wondrous thrill in your stomach at the thought: this would all be over by then. You could finally stop dreading what awaited you next. Really, even your upcoming meeting with the lawyers from the label seemed like a walk in the park on a late spring afternoon compared to Sid. You almost couldn’t wait for it.

But then as soon as the band finished their soundcheck, Jungkook surprised you by sneaking into the dressing room where you were working on emails, your forgotten coffee already cold. He stood there, in the very middle of the room, grinning at you until you finally raised your head.

“Oh—shit,” you removed your earpods, “w-why are you here?”

He shrugged his shoulders. A few strands of his hair were stuck to his forehead; he looked as though he’d already performed the first half of the show instead of merely preparing for it.

“Wanted to check in,” he said. “You ready?”

He was asking about Sid, and you placed your laptop on the side table by the couch, making room for him next to you.

“Yeah,” you said. “Still got a few hours to go. Jude hasn’t called us yet, but we’re—we’ll be fine.”

Jungkook sat down next to you. He couldn’t remember the details well, but he assumed that Minjun and Jude had already left for their part of the plan. Now he was nervous to hear that their plan hadn’t even begun yet; what if Jude had a change of heart?

“Yeah?” he asked, despising how many tinges of uncertainty he heard in his own voice. “You sure?”

“Of course,” you said, glancing at the door before turning back to him. “Uh, listen, are you sure you can be here? You have an interview in ten minutes.”

He reclined on the couch and shrugged again.

“Well, I still have ten minutes,” he said. “The guys are busy with their instruments, but I’m good.”

You nodded, and the conversation came to an awkward halt. You wanted to steer the discussion away from Sid, but he was the elephant in the room and he had grown large enough to smother you.

“I’m, uh—I’m thinking,” Jungkook said after a minute, “what if the plan doesn’t work? I know we said we’d do something else, but—I mean, what if the police don’t arrive in time, and Sid senses the trap?”

You hoped it wouldn’t come to that, because there was nothing else you could do to get rid of Sid in the immediate future. If he realised that something was wrong tonight, he’d never lower his guard like this again.

“I—well, I have a Plan B,” you said.

Jungkook was surprised. “Yeah? What’s that?”

You turned away. Really, you did not have any backup plans. You just wanted to stop Jungkook from biting into his lip ring before he ripped it off.

“Remember how we talked about you visiting me in jail?” you said, keeping a straight face. “I’ll just—”

He groaned. “You’re not going to kill Sid.”

“Why not?” you moaned and your exaggerated tone finally elicited a chuckle from him.

“Because I need you with me,” he said.

“Maybe we can make it seem like someone else did it,” you continued, encouraged by the amusement in his eyes. “Is there anyone else you hate as much as him?”

He shook his head. “No one comes even close.”

“Hmm.” You nodded thoughtfully. “Maybe if I just beat him up really bad, but don’t actually kill him, they won’t lock me up for long?”

He was grinning. “You’re not beating him up.”

“I’d be willing to do it for the band, you know.”

“Oh, for the band,” he echoed, draping an arm over the cushion behind you. “Romantic. Makes me feel real special.”

He seemed much more relaxed now than when he first came here, and your heart remembered how to beat again at the sight of his smile.

“Look,” you said, raising your hands, “I even wore extra rings today, for a more long-lasting effect.”

He snorted as you showed him the jewellery on your fingers, and placed his hand on yours, bringing it down to your knee.

“You’re not beating him up,” he reiterated.

“Come on,” you pressed on as he locked his fingers with yours. “You knocked out his tooth, so I have to do something similar. Otherwise, it’s just embarrassing. The girls will never let me live this down if I don’t land one good punch.”

Jungkook started to chuckle—the image of your sharp skull-shaped ring leaving a mark on Sid’s cheek was very satisfying—but then your words sunk in, and his expression soured.

“Wait,” he said, leaning forward and furrowing his brows, “the girls are in on this?”

You frowned in response to his frown.

“Of course, they are,” you replied. “Why are you surprised?”

“I mean,” he looked away, assessing your friends in his mind, “I’m not surprised about Maggie. But isn’t Luna usually more practical in these situations?”

“She’s practical until she’s had enough,” you said. “And she’s had enough.”

“Ah,” he said, leaning back and looking down at your intertwined hands.

He appeared to be considering something as his thumb gently traced the side of your index finger, and you got a frightening thought that you could take down a lot more assholes than just Sid—you could even tie them up and keep them in some mouldy basement—if it meant that Jungkook could sit next to you, humming peacefully under his breath as he held your hand in his.

It dawned on you just then that he wasn’t just your weakness, he was your everything. And you loved him so much that it was dangerous.

“Well,” he finally said, “if I have Taehyung and Rue with me, it might be more fun to visit the three of you in prison. We could make a little road trip out of it.”

You laughed, leaning into him as you did, and he realised that he really only had very few worries left—and none of them were about Sid.

“That’s the spirit!” you said. “I’ll see you in the courtroom.”

He released your hand, so he could wrap an arm around your shoulders and pull you into his chest.

“No, you won’t,” he said, planting a kiss on your temple. His heart stuttered through a few clumsy beats when you leaned into him again, resting your hand on his chest. “I love you.”

You raised your head to meet his gaze, and he realised he was wrong before. The Beetle outside the hotel wasn’t the exact colour of your eyes, not really. But his heart was; it soaked up the shades of your touch and painted itself after you.

“I love you,” you said. “But you have to go back to your band.”

He ignored that and leaned in to touch your lips with his. The quick kiss unexpectedly turned deeper—really, he had no say in that, his impulse control lived a life of its own lately—when he moved his head and tasted the caramel from your coffee on your tongue.

You knew you were on a tight schedule, but you found yourself giving in to him for just a moment. You brought one of your hands to the side of his face, and you felt, right away, what your touch did to him. Jungkook shifted on the couch to reach you better, his kisses growing more urgent, more eager, more impossible and even impractical—and that wasn’t fair, because, with his mouth against yours, there was nothing more meaningful than this in the world.

You pulled back, breathless, but with a smile that imprinted itself right in his mind, and Jungkook nodded, understanding the look in your eyes.

“Right,” he murmured, standing up before he lost his resolve. “I have places to be. Things to do. Would help a lot if I knew what places and what things those were, but, uh—I’ll figure it out.”

Your laughter was light and absolutely captivating. “Maybe your band can help with that?”

“Right,” he said. “My band.”

He lingered, scanning the walls and appearing lost in thought, and your chest was so full from simply being in the same room with him that you couldn’t tell him to go again. Slowly, you stood from the couch and your movement snapped him back to reality. He turned to face you and swallowed before speaking.

“Come find me as soon as the police leave with Sid’s ass,” he said.

“If our plan works, you’ll be in the middle of the encore,” you reminded him.

“You don’t have to jump on the stage,” he said. “Just give me a signal or something.”

“What kind of a signal?”

Your question wasn’t entirely serious, but Jungkook took it very seriously.

“A massive banner,” he decided, “saying ‘we’re free.’”

The image of the fans outside the venue crossed your mind again, and you felt yourself smile. You were certain they would have appreciated the banner as well.

“Hmm. Not very classy, though,” you said.

“When was I ever classy?” he countered. He looked about ready to demonstrate his lack of refinement, and you cut in before he could give any examples to support his claim.

“Alright,” you said. “I’ll just come to the side of the stage and give you a nod, yeah? Then you’ll know we did it.”

You placed a hand on his shoulder as you spoke, and, naturally, he agreed with everything you said.

“Okay,” he replied. “That’s good enough.”

“Yeah?”

“Mmhm. Just be careful,” he added, and you noted with disappointment that his casual demeanour had returned to a more serious tone. “Don’t let him get under your skin.”

You already missed the ease in his voice, and it made you regret that the two of you were in a situation where you could only speak lightly at short intervals before inevitably returning to what awaited you. You could not wait to never bring up Sid again.

“I won’t,” you said. “That spot’s reserved for you.”

His face immediately brightened, and you found yourself mirroring his expression. He stepped closer to you, the shimmering in his eyes fervent enough to send sparks to your chest.

“Hmm.” He reached out to run his fingers over the edge of your jaw. “What other spot is reserved for me?”

You scowled but did not pull away from his touch. “I’ll consider answering that when you sound less like a frat boy.”

He grinned, not the least bit discouraged. “Keeping me on my toes. I like that.”

“You have to go,” you replied, suppressing your smile so as not to encourage him. “The rest of the band is about to start their interview. Yoongi will have your head.”

“Kiss me and I’ll go,” he replied, his voice softer now that his face was so close to yours.

“Oh,” you snickered despite yourself, “we’re not doing that again.”

“We won’t have to if you kiss me.”

You shook your head and gave him a warning look—but then you closed the distance between you anyway. You’ve learnt your lesson from the last time at the park, and there was no point in arguing anyway; it was just you and him here, and you were rapidly running out of time.

Your lips were overwhelmingly soft and he relaxed into your touch in a way that he only could if you were as close to him as you were now. But you pulled back all too soon.

“Go now,” you whispered—not meaning it at all. You tried again, but your words had even less conviction this time, “go.”

He heard you but refused to pull away, his lips finding yours for just one more kiss.

“I’m going,” he murmured, turning every syllable into a slow, gentle caress. “Good luck.”

“You, too,” you replied, slowly pulling back and stopping his heart for a split-second when you reached over to move a strand of his hair from his face. “We’ll be okay.”

Jungkook nodded and stepped back reluctantly. As he made his way towards the door, some unseen force suddenly tugged at his arm, and he stopped. Pivoting on his heel, he returned to you to press another quick kiss to your amused lips—the last last one—before finally tearing himself away from you.

Closing the door of the dressing room behind himself, he abruptly remembered an ancient legend that his grandmother had told him—about Orpheus and Eurydice. And he knew, without any doubt whatsoever, that if he had to walk away from you without looking back so that the two of you could live, you would both perish.

He would always turn back to look at you one last time.

Rated Riot proceeded with their scheduled interviews in the waiting area backstage, leaving you to find another quiet corner, away from the intriguing “most likely to…” discussion that the boys were having right now (just as you walked past them, Taehyung and Jungkook broke into a sudden arm-wrestling competition for reasons that eluded you and the journalist, both).

With about an hour remaining until the doors opened, you managed to email back about half of the people in your inbox. That was how Minjun found you: rocking gently back and forth on the couch at the end of the dimly lit corridor, your laptop balanced on your knees.

“Jude’s here,” he announced, and you felt a dizzying sense of déjà vu before you looked up.

He’s said these exact words to you before. But he seemed far more composed this time, and it soothed your anxiety as you closed your laptop and set it aside.

“Yeah?” you asked, not quite ready to get up just yet.

“Mhmm,” Minjun confirmed. “He said that Sid’s passed out right now, he was out the whole night. Jude’s done everything we asked, and he brought Sid’s phone here with him for us to double-check. I’ve already looked through it, everything’s gone. He, um—he still wants to see you, though.”

“Oh.” You did not like that Sid’s phone was here, and your discomfort finally pushed you to stand up. “That was—that’s good. But what if Sid wakes up while Jude’s here?”

“I know,” Minjun agreed, glancing at his phone to check the time as if he had a timer set for how long Sid would stay asleep. “We have to be quick.”

With a silent nod, you followed Minjun as he led you to an empty dressing room, much larger than the broom closet where he had put Jude last time.

Jude greeted you with an awkward “hi” as soon as he saw you. His voice sounded even smaller in the big room. He looked small, too, but brighter now, more vibrant.

It was his eyes, you realised. He seemed excited.

“Hey,” you replied and noticed quickly that your voice was small, too. “H-how are you feeling?”

Jude’s expression suddenly shifted to one of deep thought. You took note of his trembling hands when he lifted Sid’s phone.

“Nervous,” he admitted. “I brought this for you to see for yourself.”

He extended the phone towards you. You trusted Minjun when he said he’d checked it, but Jude seemed to be seeking your approval as well. You took the device from him, and he informed you that the passcode was “six sixes,” which you found very fitting for the devil incarnate.

You unlocked it, then tapped on the gallery and scrolled through the standard, abstract art images pre-installed on every phone. The generic bright colours were all you found here.

Feeling your heart rate increase already, you opened his Cloud storage. It greeted you with a message that, at this point, could have easily become the title of Rated Riot’s next album: “iCloud Drive is Empty.”

“Okay, that—uh, w-we’re nervous, too, by the way,” you said, your thoughts jumbled as you handed the phone back to Jude. Minjun’s smile widened when your eyes flickered to his; your plan was going smoothly so far. “This is—you did a great job, Jude.”

Jude’s face nearly began to glow. You shrank back, finding his beaming expression discomfiting. It did not look unnatural per se; it just looked misplaced—like someone else’s smile got lost and took temporary shelter on his face.

“I, uh,” he fumbled in the pocket of his jacket, “I also grabbed this.”

He pulled out a set of keys, and you only needed half of a glance to know that they belonged to Jungkook’s Katana. You turned to Minjun again, but he shook his head. Jude hadn’t told him about this.

“Sid had them in his jacket,” Jude explained. “Could you give them to Jungkook?”

You hesitated for another minute before you took the keys from him. And you remembered, suddenly, the first time you’d seen Jungkook with his bike: you were already working together at that point, and he’d arrived on it for a meeting at the company.

He had treated the bike with such care as he showed it to you and the band at the end of the day, almost as if it were a part of him, and Yoongi had pointed out how typical this was. How men—not Yoongi, though, he insisted—constantly grew too attached to their bikes, how they cherished them more than significant others. So, you had jokingly asked Jungkook if the Katana was the love of his life, too. And he’d responded, without missing a single beat, that it wasn’t. That you were.

He’d said it with a smug grin, so, of course, you assumed he was just teasing—because, in your defence, he often was—and you rolled your eyes and didn’t think much of it. But now, holding the keys to his bike that he’d given up, you accepted, finally, that he’d meant it, even back then.

“You did—you didn’t have to get them,” you told Jude, surprised to find yourself breathless.

“I wanted to,” he said. “We’re getting back at Sid.”

You exchanged another glance with Minjun. The two of you had worried that Jude would change his mind once he saw Sid again, but you’d clearly underestimated his desire to finally break free.

“That’s right,” Minjun said. “We are. You’ll, uh—you’ll have to go back to the hotel. Take his phone back to him.”

“I know,” Jude replied, slipping back into his role of a follower. “And then?”

Minjun looked at you, indicating for you to continue. You bit your lip, searching for the right tone to say this. You knew you were putting Jude in a direct line of fire, and you felt a little guilty because you weren’t sure if he even realised it.

“Wait until I call Sid,” you said. You put the keys in your pocket and crossed your arms. “And, I guess, after Sid leaves, let Minjun into his suite. I assume you have the key?” Jude nodded; Sid was passed out, he had no problem grabbing his room key along with his phone. “Minjun will do the rest, but you can—you could help him. We’d appreciate that.”

Jude appeared delighted. He craved appreciation, and you could tell that he received it very rarely.

“I’ll help,” he decided.

For a minute, it seemed like your conversation had ended. But Jude swayed lightly on his feet and played with his fingers, evidently gathering strength for something more.

“By the way,” he finally said, “um, there are cameras in the hotel.”

A quick new surge of anxiety washed over you, and you turned to Minjun, who looked about as stunned as you felt.

“I thought—I thought it was an old hotel,” you said, not quite accusingly but not very gently, either. Your shock prevented you from softening your voice. “Like ours. Ours doesn’t—it doesn’t even have elevators. It barely has bathrooms.”

Minjun felt guilty. He was the one who had assured you not to worry about the cameras. He knew that Sid preferred his accommodation to lack modern inventions—it helped him evade security when he brought questionable companions and dangerous refreshments to his hotel room every other night.

“I thought that’s the sort of place Sid would choose,” Minjun explained apologetically. “He doesn’t like cameras, for understandable reasons.”

“Well, th-they have cameras in the lobby,” Jude said. “And in the corridors. I noticed them when I was coming over here. I don—I don’t know what you wanted to do in Sid’s room, but it—there are cameras at all entrances. Sorry.”

The cameras were obviously not his fault, but you could see how flustered he became to have delivered the news that brought the dark clouds to this room.

“It’s—fuck, it’s not good,” you said, grateful that Jude had gained an impressive awareness of his surroundings seemingly overnight, but still anxious, nonetheless.

Your initial idea was to get Sid arrested and hope that the police would get to his hotel suite eventually. But then Minjun convinced you that he needed to check Sid’s room in advance, and it turned into an important part of your plan.

He insisted that Sid might have hidden the drugs, and he wanted to make them more noticeable for the police to find—in case Sid would bribe the officers, and they didn’t feel like searching through the whole room. Minjun figured that if the police saw questionable white powder as soon as they opened the door, easily visible to any curious onlooker, they couldn’t easily clear Sid of this.

You weren’t sure if Minjun’s idea would be considered tampering with evidence, because the evidence was, technically, already there, but you were uncomfortable with it regardless. Minjun didn’t want to ask Jude to do this, because you didn’t yet know if you could fully trust him. But you didn’t want Minjun to do this, either, so naturally, the two of you had argued about this vehemently.

You felt like having another argument with him right this second.

“Minjun, uh,” you said, “could I speak to you outside for a moment? Jude, would you excuse us?”

“Oh, yeah, of course,” Jude replied easily. You did not want to leave him here instead of sending him back to Sid to return his phone, but you had no other choice—Minjun was already looking for a way around the hotel cameras.

He followed you out of the room, a little puzzled. You stopped at the very end of the corridor, in front of a dusty floor-to-ceiling window, and looked around to make sure you were here alone. People were talking inside nearby rooms, so you leaned closer and lowered your voice when you spoke.

“Alright,” you said, nibbling on your bottom lip, “I don’t think you should go to Sid’s hotel. I think we should let Jude handle it.”

“What?” Minjun replied, clearly frazzled. “I thought we were involving him as little as possible.”

“We were,” you said. “But if we don’t involve him right now, then we have to involve you, and—”

“But I said I’ll do it,” he retorted, his whispers wild. “I said I’ll go to his room and check. That was the pl—”

“Right,” you cut him off. “But we didn’t know there’d be cameras. It’s a small hotel. Even if no one notices you there, they might notice you in the footage.”

Minjun’s solution to this was so quick that it made you wonder if he had thought of this several days in advance.

“Sid’s room is on the third floor,” he said. “I reckon I could climb up there from the second-floor balcony.”

“And how would you reach the second-floor balcony?” you shot back equally as quickly. “You’d have to cross the lobby to enter the hotel either way.”

He thought about it for a second longer and came up with what he personally thought was another great idea. “Maybe there are rain pipes?”

You gave him a long look.

“Minjun,” you said. “You’re not Spiderman.”

He groaned and stepped back to lean against the wall. “Fuck, I’m just—”

“Come on, Minjun,” you urged, growing desperate. “It’s not worth the risk. We have to ask Jude to do this for us. He’s staying at the same hotel anyway. It makes sense for him to be there.”

He turned to look out the window. He didn’t like this. He wanted to be sure. He wanted Sid to get burnt, not merely grazed. And, he supposed, he wanted to be the one who set him on fire.

But, logically, Minjun knew that the only reason he would have to go to that hotel, would be if you still couldn’t trust Jude.

Jude had just brought you Sid’s phone to show you that he’d done all that you’d asked. He brought Jungkook’s keys, too. He told you about the cameras. He was on your side.

Minjun exhaled. It didn’t make sense for him to go there.

“Fine,” he said. “Alright. Fine. Let’s—tell Jude to spread Sid’s shit around after Sid leaves to see you.”

Your heart rate picked up, but you tried to subdue your relief. You still had a long day ahead of you.

“Yes,” you said, turning around. “Okay. Let’s—let’s go back.”

The two of you returned to the dressing room where Jude was still waiting in the same exact spot where you’d left him. He had seemingly occupied himself with watching the walls while you were gone, but the creaking of the door returned his attention to you.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

“Yes, uh—just a quick change of plans,” you said, while despondent Minjun closed the door behind you. “We’re, um... going to ask you to do something else for us.”

Jude straightened and nodded. He looked this close, you thought, to giving you a military salute.

“Anything,” he said.

You glanced at Minjun before continuing. You knew he wasn’t pleased with this change of plans, so you appreciated the reassurance in his eyes even more. He may have been unhappy, but he was on your side.

“After I call Sid, and he leaves,” you said, turning back to Jude, “do you think it’d be possible for you to enter Sid’s room without being noticed by the cameras?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Our suites are at the end of the corridor, bit of a blind spot. The camera faces the staircase.”

“Okay,” you said, taking a deep breath. “Then go to his room as soon as he leaves, and make sure that—”

“The rest of his chalk?” Jude cut in. “I should bring it out of his suitcases, right?”

Minjun turned to you, his eyebrows raised. Jude had never been quick, for as long as Minjun had known him, but his dedication to getting rid of Sid was remarkable. He seemed to have figured out the details of your plan on his own.

Minjun gestured for you to proceed. You’ve decided to trust Jude and there was no way back now.

“Yes,” you said. “It—that’s exactly what you should do. Make sure it’s in plain sight. Not necessarily all of it, just a bag or two—or whatever he keeps it in—so the officers would see it right away. We’re sure Sid will use any means necessary to make the police think we’re framing him, so they might be neglectful. You would help ensure that they do a thorough search of his suite. You’d show them that he’s guilty.”

Jude’s eyes glittered. Minjun was very impressed by your ability to choose the precise words that Jude wanted to hear.

“But don’t touch the bags directly,” he added, and Jude redirected his attention to his friend. “Wear gloves or use a plastic bag to pick them up and throw them around the room.”

You nodded, agreeing, and Jude reflexively nodded, too.

“Okay,” he said, ever as obedient. “I’ll do that.”

“And are we sure that Sid will bring some of his stuff with him here?” you asked, glancing at them both. It would be disastrous if the one time Sid decided to leave his drugs at home would be today.

Minjun was the one to answer you.

“Yeah, he carries his shit with him everywhere,” he said. “If not in his jacket, then in his jeans. He’ll have it.”

Jude raised his eyebrows with the same enthusiasm as before.

“I can check that, too,” he offered. “If he—if it’s in his jacket. If it’s easy to find.”

Minjun turned to you again. Right away, he recognised the distress on your face—not only were you relying on Jude for half of your plan, but you were also putting him at risk. You felt awful. Minjun did, too. But he hated Sid with enough passion to ignore his discomfort.

“Okay,” Minjun took over. “That sounds good. Check his jacket, too, if you get a chance.”

You turned your uneasy gaze back to Jude. You almost expected him to demand something in exchange for helping you, but he kept nodding his head, not saying anything.

He would do this for you because you asked him to. That was how Sid kept him around for so long: by giving orders that Jude felt compelled to follow.

“I’m—thank you, Jude,” you said. “You’re doing a great job. And we don’t want you to go through anything that Sid will have to go through, okay? So, be careful.”

Jude swallowed and nodded once more.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’ll take his phone to him and wait for your call. After he leaves, I will check his hiding spots and bring his stash out. I’ll be careful.”

You shivered at the decisiveness of his tone. You knew that you weren’t playing a prank on Sid, you were actively conspiring against him—but hearing Jude repeat the details of your plan back to you made this feel much more significant. Much more real.

“Yes,” you said. “And leave immediately after, okay? Check out of the hotel.”

“I’ll come meet you a few blocks away,” Minjun inserted. “You can stay in my room at our hotel.”

Jude gave another nod of agreement. The anxiety rising in your stomach was starting to make it difficult for you to breathe.

“Jude,” you said, “you’re doing—you’re a great help to us. I know we’re all a team now, but still. We really appreciate it.”

Jude smiled, and this time, his smile did not look misplaced. It matched the light in his eyes, even if it wasn’t quite sure what it was doing on his face.

“Thanks,” he said. “We’re a team. I—I’m going to go now.”

“Good luck,” you said. “We’ll see you later.”

The moment the door closed and Jude’s quiet footsteps faded down the corridor, you crossed your arms and met Minjun’s exhausted sigh with a similar one of your own.

“Well,” Minjun began, “it looks like we’ll have to rely on Jude a lot more than we originally thought.”

You sighed again. “Yeah. I mean, he seems alright.”

He did seem alright. But Minjun felt an itch under his skin, and he couldn’t make it go away no matter how much he scratched and stretched.

“I still want to go in there,” he said, “and make sure we’re really good to go.”

This alarmed you; you thought you’d already decided to let Jude handle Sid’s suite.

“But—”

“No, listen,” he cut in, “Jude said Sid’s room is in a blind spot. So, how would anyone know which room I entered, even if they did see me in the lobby? Maybe I’m visiting someone else.”

“But why draw attention to yourself?” you argued. “Why make yourself look suspicious?”

Minjun felt ants crawling all over himself; he did not like your questions.

“I just want to be sure we’re good to go,” he repeated, turning away from you.

“We are good to go, Minjun,” you pleaded softly. “Let Jude do it.”

“And what if Sid hid it all,” he still insisted, “and Jude can’t find it?”

“Then you might not find it, either,” you replied. He clicked his tongue, discontented. “I just don’t want you to risk getting caught on the CCTVs there. Jude is staying in that hotel. It’d be easier for him to get to Sid’s room, it’s far less risky. It makes more sense. Let him do it.”

Minjun kept his gaze on the floor, his jaw clenched.

You knew that he wanted to finally stand up to Sid, and it wasn’t your place to intervene. But you were the one who suggested getting Sid arrested, and now you wanted to ensure everyone’s safety and limit their reckless decisions in this plan to as few as possible. Minjun walking past the cameras in the hotel and breaking into Sid’s room seemed reckless. It seemed reckless for Jude to do it, too, but on a lesser scale—this was a risk you hoped you could afford.

“Jude might touch the drugs, too,” Minjun mumbled after a minute. “I don’t know if he’ll realise not to, even if we told him to be careful.”

“Then we can call him and warn him again,” you said. “But I’m sure he’ll be fine. He—he only looks a little dumb, but he’s ready. He wants nothing else to do with Sid.”

Minjun stayed quiet, and you did not say anything, either, allowing him some time with his thoughts. He already knew how risky it would be for him to go to that hotel. He just needed a minute to push his own ego aside and focus on getting Sid arrested, even if that meant he had to stay back and just watch it happen.

“Alright,” he said after a minute. “Yeah, fine. I’ll stay here.”

A deep, resigned sigh followed his words, and you allowed yourself to close your eyes and lean against the door of the room for just a minute.

“Okay, good,” you said. “We—we should be alright.”

You sounded as confident as you could under the circumstances, but Minjun sensed every nervous undertone in your voice.

“Yeah,” he said, twisting the silver band on his index finger. “We should be. You—the more you praised and thanked him, the more willing Jude became to do anything for us. Sid had never given him positive feedback in his life, and you’re giving it all to him in one day. So, I-I think you’re right. He’s on our side. He wants to do this, too. We will be fine.”

You nodded slowly. You hoped you were right because the rest of your plan relied on this.

You were right.

Later that same day, you would learn that Jude had done a spectacular job at improvising. You’d never considered him to be particularly bright until today—actually, that was putting it nicely—but he was Sid’s friend, so he had destructive behavioural patterns ingrained deeply in his brain. That worked in your favour.

Apparently, Jude got worried that Sid would sleep through Rated Riot’s set, and that would derail your plan. So, he made sure that Sid wouldn’t wake up if touched, and strategically dangled Sid’s hand over the edge of the bed. Then, planning his exit, he opened the window to create a draft with the door. Finally, he forcefully dropped Sid’s phone from across the room, and ran out before Sid registered the noise.

The screen of the phone cracked, startling Sid awake. Right away, he noticed his outstretched hand and his broken phone on the floor, and his thought process was very simple: he dropped his phone in his sleep and woke himself up. The window was open, so the wind must have rattled the door of his room at the same time, adding to the noise. That’s all there was to it—never mind that the damage to the phone was far too bad, given the distance from his hand to the floor, and there was no wind outside the window.

Jude’s improvisation proved excellent in another way, too: Sid thought the cracked screen was the reason his phone wouldn’t turn back on, and why it appeared empty once he plugged it in to charge. He thought he had broken it, and he was very unhappy about that.

Jude, meanwhile, was overjoyed. He sent you a text with an innocuous smiley face, and started to pack his belongings.

You received his text and proceeded with your part of the plan.

First, you had to borrow an old flip phone from one of the middle-aged roadies on tour because it was the only device that could fit your prepaid SIM card.

And then, as soon as Ivy started her opening set and Rated Riot gathered in their dressing room for final preparations ahead of their performance, you called Sid.

He answered on the first ring with a word that you did not understand. He didn’t sound sober.

“Sid?” you asked.

“Yeah?” he responded, the sound slightly distorted on the old phone. “Who is this?”

“It’s me,” you said, intentionally avoiding names. You hoped he’d recognise you because you doubted many women voluntarily called him. “Can you talk?”

It took Sid a minute to place your voice, and the line stayed quiet while you waited.

“What—what number are you calling me from?” he asked. That was good. His first reaction was not, ‘why are you calling me?’

“It’s my number,” you said. “Just—I made it private, so—I don’t want anyone to know I’m talking to you.”

The number obviously wasn’t yours, although Sid wouldn’t be able to tell. The prepaid SIM card was meant to ensure your anonymity in case the authorities checked his call history and traced the number back.

“Why?” Sid asked. He didn’t sound accusing or annoyed, merely confused.

“I have something I want to discuss with you,” you said before adding a deliberately half-panicked, half-angry whisper, “but listen, no one can know.”

Sid was obviously befuddled. A long “ahhh” preceded his response before he found actual words.

“What are—what do you want?” he asked, and then, to your horror, he softened his voice. “I mean, to discuss with me.”

You took a deep breath. You were grateful that he hadn’t hung up and instead continued to speak to you in this unbecoming, warm tone, but you still felt nauseous and had to clutch the flip phone to your ear to stay in the moment.

“I—I’ve been thinking a lot,” you began, following the script you had written on a piece of paper that you couldn’t wait to burn later. “Jungkook and I—it—it’s not good. I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m—listen, I don’t want to talk to you about this over the phone. Jungkook can—well, you know, it’s a phone. I don’t know, maybe he tapped it or something.”

There was a minute of silence. You wondered if you’d overdone it, if your hesitation had not sounded natural.

“Jungkook tapped your phone?” Sid asked, sounding incredulous.

“He might have, I—he’s acting very irrationally, and I’m—honestly, I’m realising that I was wrong about you,” you said. You had to pause to close your eyes and calm your stomach. Sid took the silence to mean that you were gathering your strength, and you really were, just not in the way he thought. “Jungkook is—he’s acting crazy. Ever since you posted that picture on Instagram, he’s been controlling everything I do. I can’t—I can’t do this. So, I’m—look, I need your help. I think you’re the only one who can help me get out of here. Can you meet me?”

You held your breath, expecting to wait while Sid considered your request—but he did no such thing.

His response was immediate. “Where?”

The second you heard the question, you knew that Minjun had been right. Sid would come here to see you—but not because you’d asked. He was going to come here purely out of spite for Jungkook.

“Are you in London?” you asked, your voice shaking.

“Yeah,” he replied.

“I’m at The Academy,” you said. “Can you come?”

“I’m not allowed,” he reminded you—exactly like you expected him to. “Jungkook blacklisted me.”

“I’ll talk to security,” you said. “They’ll let you through.”

He fell silent again, and you knew he had a lot to wrap his head around, yet you still worried that you might have been too forceful. But you shouldn’t have doubted this. You’d mentioned Jungkook, and Sid was deaf to everything else.

“Wh—can you just—why do you need me to come there?” he asked, sounding curious, even lazy, but not suspicious.

You supposed the text messages you’d sent him in advance had also helped, like you hoped they would. Now, your desperation to see him seemed more believable.

“I need your help, and I can’t leave the venue,” you explained. “I’m the—you know my job is to stay here. People will notice if I leave. They’ll know something is up. I need—I need you here.” You paused when you heard Sid’s garbled inhale on the other end. Loathing every moment of this, you swallowed, and continued, “Rated Riot are about to start their setlist, so no one will even know you’re here. Please? I—I really need you.”

He did not seem to notice the way you choked on the last words, but he was silent for a very long time, and you began to second-guess yourself again. You couldn’t help it—this was so unrealistic.

You’d hated Sid for as long as you’ve known him. Surely, even if he believed you needed his help, and even if Jungkook was involved, he would laugh in your face and tell you to fucking deal with it on your own.

“Alright,” he said instead and you felt shivers run down your spine. Jungkook was that much of a sore spot for him. “Fine. Yeah. You’ll speak to security?”

“I—yeah, I promise,” you assured him—and you didn’t lie, technically. You had already talked to Mick. “Come straight to the dressing rooms, I’ll be waiting for you there.”

“Alri—” Sid started to say, then stopped abruptly. “What do you want to talk to me about?”

“I can’t tell you over the phone,” you repeated. “I don’t want—no one can know, okay? It has to stay between you and me.”

“Alright. Shit,” he said, encouraged, as it seemed, by this ominous you-and-me. “I’m coming. Wait for me.”

“Okay,” you replied, trying to unclench your teeth. “I’ll be waiting.”

Ending the call, you exhaled and shook your hands vigorously as if that could help you recover from the conversation and stop shuddering.

You felt even more nervous now—if you struggled so much to talk to him over the phone, how would you handle him face-to-face?—but you couldn’t afford to lose your courage.

So many things had to fall into place for you to succeed—Jude needed to run into you in that club in London and Sid needed to leave him alone when he nearly overdosed—and it all felt frustratingly circumstantial. But all that was left now was up to you, and you’ve spent days planning this. You knew what you were doing.

You waited for Sid and paced in the room. Then, remembering suddenly, you pulled out Jungkook’s lighter from your jacket pocket—jangling the keys of his Katana as you did—and burnt the piece of paper with all that you’d written down before your call. The flames were delicate and shy. They disappeared into the air as soon as they finished the job, and not even the sprinklers on the ceiling picked them up.

It took Sid about fifteen more minutes to arrive, and he rounded the corner towards the waiting area while breathing heavily as though he’d run all the way here.

You pressed your palms into each other behind your back to keep your composure. He was wearing a thick North Face jacket, far too warm for this weather, and you wondered if Jude had managed to double-check what was inside.

“That was shit to get through,” Sid remarked once he saw you in the doorway of one of the empty dressing rooms. “Fucking Mick hates my guts.”

You’d warned Mick to be as rude as he possibly could when Sid got here, but you still didn’t like that Sid used his first name. Mick was the guardian angel of this tour; he was the quiet backbone of every concert. You wanted to punch Sid a little just for mentioning him so offhandedly.

“Yeah, he—he takes his job very seriously,” you said. “Thank you for coming here.”

Sid followed you into the dressing room and looked around. He hadn’t seen anyone other than Mick backstage—you made sure he wouldn’t—but he still seemed on edge.

“Are we cool to talk here?” he asked. “You’re not worried about Jungkook overhearing us?”

“No,” you said. “They’re about to go on stage. We’re good.”

It was easy to talk to him when you didn’t have to lie. And it was even easier when Sid asked all the wrong questions. If he had decided to point out that you hated him and asked why you’d changed your mind, you were sure you’d start stuttering again.

“Okay.” He stuffed his hands in his jean pockets while you stood across the room, your arms folded tightly over your chest. “Well, wha—why did you ask me to come?”

“I want to talk to you,” you replied. He could not discern the expression on your face or the tone of your voice.

“About what?” he asked.

“About us,” you said.

His eyebrows shot up and his mouth stretched downwards in an expression of comical surprise. “Us?”

“Yeah.”

His gaze flickered for a minute, drifting away, then returning to you again. He looked unsure of himself, and witnessing him in a similar state of disorientation as Jude had been when he was first here, was extremely entertaining. You almost wished you had a camera somewhere in the room.

“Okay,” Sid finally said, waiting for you to lead the conversation.

“What are you thinking right now?” you asked.

The question deepened his confusion. “Huh?”

“What did you think about just now,” you clarified, “when I said ‘us’?”

Sid frowned and did not reply. You could tell that he was very confused about your different mood, but he was already here, so you did not owe him any more false pleasantries. You just needed to keep him here a little longer: to get a proper reaction out of him in front of your scheduled witnesses, and to give Jude enough time to finish his part of the plan in Sid’s room and check out of the hotel.

“That’s fair,” you said in response to his silence. “You don’t have to answer.”

“I’m—why did you ask me to come?” he asked, glancing behind himself.

The room was hidden from the rest of the waiting area by an awkward corner wall, providing you with enough privacy to leave the door ajar, so it would make sense for Mick and Luna to find you here later, but it also wouldn’t make Sid uncomfortable. He seemed fairly content to leave the door open as he talked to you.

He was perplexed, however. You watched his beady, cockroach-like eyes dart between the window and the couch behind you. He wasn’t sure if he was being paranoid. He didn’t like that you did not look nearly as panicked and vulnerable as you’d sounded on the phone.

“You don’t have to look around,” you told him. “It’s just us here.”

He scoffed, not convinced. “I know it’s not.”

You felt a bubble of worry in the pit of your stomach, but you swallowed it and maintained eye contact. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“You have security everywhere,” he replied.

“I told you I talked to them.”

You saw some of his armour loosen. He was still puzzled by your rigid posture, but now he seemed less inclined to flee.

“Right,” he said reluctantly. “You said you needed my help.”

“I did,” you confirmed. “Can you answer one question?”

He furrowed his brows again.

“Sure,” he said, but his response sounded like a question. He couldn’t guess what would happen next, and he was beside himself. You’ve never seen him fidget like this.

“Why did you come here?” you asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I’ve been texting you the whole day yesterday,” you said. “You didn’t reply to me. Then, suddenly, you did. And now you’re here.”

You already knew why he texted you back when he did; Jungkook had provoked him. But you wanted to hear Sid’s logic. This had been bothering you ever since Jungkook told you about the videos Sid had sent him—the simple why.

Sid wanted to establish his superiority, you understood that much—but why was it so important to him? After all, Jungkook had never posed any serious threat to him until now.

This was not part of the plan, but you figured that since you had to keep Sid here for a while longer, you might as well make the most of the situation.

“Oh, yeah, no, my phone—it broke, the glass cracked, all my shit is deleted,” he said. “I’m trying to figure out how to access my Cloud. I forgot my password.”

“Oh,” you said. “So that’s why you didn’t reply?”

Sid shrugged. “Yeah.”

You narrowed your eyes before quickly adjusting your expression. You may have dropped certain parts of your act, but you were still the worried, confused, and very innocent damsel in evident distress. You weren’t interrogating him.

Sid seemed to read the expression on your face as precisely that.

“Don’t worry, I’m—I would have replied to you if my phone was okay,” he said and you had already predicted that he would say this very thing. It was a standard response for guys like him: I would have replied, but. I would have called, but. I really would have, but.

You cleared your throat and hoped very much that your face would appear relieved to hear this. “Really?”

“Of course,” Sid assured. He was soothed, seemingly, by the hopeful glint he thought he saw in your eyes.

“I just—I have another question,” you said. “Are you here to get back at Jungkook?”

You could have been more subtle, but you did not want to be. Sid wasn’t expecting the question anyway, and his confusion clouded his judgment.

“I’m—why do you think that?” he asked.

“You two hate each other,” you explained. “I thought that was why you came here. Just to get back at him.”

Despite your calm demeanour, you sounded unsure when you spoke, and that helped Sid feel more at ease. He believed you were insecure about his motives. He thought you wanted to hear that he’d come here for you, only you. Not Jungkook.

“Well, sure,” he said. “But—you’re—you know.”

“No,” you said. “Explain it to me. I don’t know.”

“Well, it’s, like—I mean—you said you needed my help,” he replied very concisely.

You sensed what he was trying to convey, and you enjoyed his struggle to find the words for it. It was pathetic, though. You could tell just by looking at him that the emotions he wanted to talk to you about weren’t genuine, yet he still couldn’t put them into words.

He wanted you to think he had feelings for you, so you’d drop your guard. So you’d stop asking questions and come to him, and Jungkook would lose you. But if there was anyone in this building that Sid genuinely had feelings for, it was himself.

“Well, yeah, but you—you posted that picture,” you said, feigning hurt. He’d wounded you and now you doubted his intentions—this way, he couldn’t doubt yours. “And you sent those videos, and—I thought you hated me, too. I didn’t think you’d agree to help me.”

“I don’t hate you,” he said. “This isn’t about you.”

Your overstimulated mind perked up. It finally started to feel like you were getting somewhere.

“It’s not?” you asked.

“Well, it’s a little about you,” he admitted. He chuckled here, too, and you felt a foreboding churning in your stomach even before he said anything else. “I mean, I liked you f-for a short while. Nothing serious. I think I even told you about it.”

“You did not tell me.”

As his awkward chuckling ceased, you caught your mask slipping and blinked a few times, trying to appear less threatening.

“Well, it didn’t last long, so it doesn’t even matter,” he added, glancing around the room.

“Mhmm.” You contemplated various ways to phrase yourself next, hoping that any way would work as long as your voice was quiet and unsure, maybe with an insecure chuckle at the end. “But why did you send those videos? What are you—what’s the reason?”

He closed his eyes and groaned. “How can you ask me that? After thinking that Jungkook tapped your phone? I thought you realised what he’s really like.”

You looked down, needing a moment to recall all that you’ve told him so you could continue to play along.

“Oh, no, I mean—no, I know,” you said. “I see what he’s like, I’m just—I want to know what you were trying to do, and, uh, maybe we can help each other.”

Sid appeared pleasantly surprised to hear this, but his expression quickly morphed into one of his sly grins—the sort that was toxic if you were exposed to it for too long. “Oh, yeah?”

You swallowed; you thought you could already taste the poison on your tongue.

“Yeah,” you replied.

He exhaled and took a few steps deeper into the room, right past your side. You forced yourself to stand still as he approached the window, glanced outside, and then turned back to you.

“It’s my revenge,” he said.

“Revenge,” you repeated, internally cringing at his choice of words. “For what?”

“For you.”

You raised your eyebrows and clutched your arms around yourself tighter. This was what you were waiting to hear, but, at the same time, it wasn’t.

“For me?” you asked.

“And for his band,” Sid added.

You did not reply, too worried about the turmoil you felt inside. The stirring in your stomach had suddenly intensified—as if the outer lining of your organs had begun to peel off like old paint does when it comes in contact with something acidic. You were starting to discover that Sid was toxic to be around in more ways than one.

“He’s got—he thinks he’s the shit now that he’s famous,” he continued. “Now that he’s back with you. He needs to be taken down a notch. That’s all.”

“That’s all?” you asked skeptically.

“Yeah,” he said with a nonchalant shrug. Taking someone “down a notch” seemed to be a regular activity for him.

“And you don’t think that’s a waste of time?” you asked. “I mean, I think we should just leave him be and… you know, move on with our lives.”

“No, that’s not how it works,” he declared. There was a newfound intensity in his eyes, an angry flame of sorts, and it made you realise just how lifeless his gaze had been otherwise. This was truly his purpose, you realised. If he wasn’t making others miserable, he wasn’t really living. “Somebody steps out of line, you need to put them back in their place. Or they won’t learn their lesson.”

You lowered your gaze before you could start shaking your head at his self-assured tone.

“But why does it matter if he learns his lesson or not?” you pushed. “If—if we’re leaving and won’t have to deal with him anymore?”

His lips spread in a dangerous, serpentine grin.

“We’re leaving?” he asked. He sounded thrilled and you wanted to knock his teeth in.

“Well, I would hope so,” you said. You also hoped that the twitching you felt in the corners of your eyes was phantom, and he could not see how much your body detested his presence.

Sid considered this for a second. You could see some sinister plan brewing in his mind.

“Alright. Yeah,” he finally said. “I like the idea of us going away. But it’s still unfair to leave debts unpaid, you know? This shit goes back years. He’s always tried to upstage me. Picture this: on my birthdays, I usually borrowed my dad’s yacht and got all my friends. And for the last few years, Jungkook was spending the whole night at the helm, handing everyone drinks like some Great fucking Gatsby in that book, fucking singing, and just trying to be the centre of attention. It’s my fucking birthday, and he’s acting like the star of the show.”

You had to pause to allow for several bits of new information to sink in. You were surprised, first of all, that Sid knew what a book was. You also learnt that he was so far up his own ass that he could not be accurate if he was gifted objectivity for Christmas.

You had heard a different version of this story from Jungkook. When he told you about these yacht parties, he had emphasised how new these experiences were for him, and how Sid was the one who’d made them possible. He’d used one of these parties as an example of the good moments in their friendship. You could sense awe and subtle gratitude in Jungkook’s words. No malice, no jealousy.

But Sid had evidently felt threatened. Yachts weren’t a luxury to him, they were a regular occurrence. And he felt intimidated by Jungkook’s unbridled joy because he cherished these experiences in a way that Sid never could.

“Oh,” you said after a moment. “I’ve never—I didn’t know about that.”

“Yeah,” Sid said with a childish sneer. “And don’t fucking get me started on what he was like when he was still with you. Never fucking shut up about having to see you. He thought he was some king of the fucking world, thought he was better than us. He tried to make us feel like losers because you chose him. And I knew things were shit for you two because he never told us about anything that you did together. But still, he fucking—his fucking head was the size of the moon. He really thought he was the shit. And then—get this. I said I wanted to be in a band. So, guess what he did?”

You were impressed by how offended Sid sounded as he complained about Jungkook not sharing the details of his relationship with his friends. And you were just as impressed by his perverse interpretations of how Jungkook’s relationship made him feel—he felt left out. He felt jealous and angry. He always had to have more than his friends and now, for the first time in his life, he didn’t.

And you remembered this dream about their own band, too – the conversation Jungkook said he’d had with Sid, Jude, and Minjun on the beach. How Sid wanted to be a bassist, how he owned all of Sex Pistols’ records. You’d thought they were joking until Jungkook brought this up again just the other night. And now you could tell how serious they were just by looking at the scowl on Sid’s face.

“Not to mention,” Sid continued, providing you with all the answers you sought, and looking very pleased as he did. To him, this must have felt like you were already agreeing with him. “Jungkook is the only one of my friends that my mum likes. I don’t know what it is about him. She fucking adores him. Like some stray fucking cat, I swear to fuck. And, of course, every time he’s at my house, he goes out of his way to kiss her ass, and she falls for it every single time. He should have been grateful I even invited him to see me, he should have been fucking kissing my ass, but instead, he was trying to appear like a little angel to her.”

This wasn’t something that Jungkook had mentioned to you before, and you were surprised. You only knew about Sid’s stone-cold mother from what Minjun had told you.

“What do you mean?” you asked. “What was he doing?”

However reluctant Sid might have seemed before, now he looked elated about the opportunity to elaborate.

“He brought her favourite chocolates whenever he came over, he polished her car when we were working on my granddad’s collection—and nobody even asked him to touch her car. He fucking sent her cards on her birthday,” he listed off, scoffing to himself. “And then I got shit for not congratulating her right away, even though I had something planned. For later. He was—he was setting some fucking standard that I had to live up to. And why the fuck should I? I’m her only son. Who the fuck is Jungkook to her? Fucking nobody. He’s a fucking wannabe, that’s what he is. He fucking acts like he fits in with us, but you can take one look at him to know that he never will. He’s nothing.”

You glanced at the window on your side. Sid got something exactly right; Jungkook really wanted to fit in.

He wanted Sid’s mother to approve of him like he wanted everyone to approve of him. He hoped that gaining her acceptance would make him feel more included in their inner circle. He would become Sid’s friend, not just someone Sid hung out with occasionally. They’d be as equal as they could be, given their vastly different backgrounds.

But Sid saw it all as a threat. And he was envious, too. He thought he had to compete with Jungkook for everything, even his mother’s affection. And he was understandably upset because he had the entitlement, the legacy, the money. He had a whole dynasty behind him. Jungkook had nothing.

For a very long time, Jungkook had been trying to come as close to Sid as he could, even though he knew he could never have what Sid had. And now, all of a sudden, Jungkook had so much more: he had the band, a promising career, a devoted fanbase, real friends. He had the girl, too.

And you realised that Sid didn’t want to merely demonstrate that he was better than Jungkook; that wasn’t it. He was obsessed with Jungkook—because he wanted to be Jungkook.

“So you thought those videos would put him in his place?” you asked. “You thought they’d teach him a lesson?”

“That was just for starters,” Sid said, grinning again. “I was going to make sure he lost you first, then the band. And I also have his bike. He would lose everything else on his own. Not that there’s much else to lose.”

You ran your fingers over your chin. You hadn’t had a chance to give Jungkook the keys to his Katana yet, and the weight of them in your pocket was quite pleasant.

“I see,” you said.

“So, what—will we do it?” Sid asked, blowing into his fist and rubbing his palms together. “I mean, he’s already lost you.”

You realised, quite unexpectedly, that you didn’t really want to punch him anymore. He was so deeply miserable already, purely of his own accord, that there was nothing you could do to make him feel worse about himself. You just wanted to get him out of here—preferably in the back of a police vehicle.

“How would—how do you think he’d lose the band?” you asked.

“I’ll post those videos I sent him,” he said easily. “Well, after my phone gets its shit together. His band will fear for their reputation, and they’ll get rid of him. Simple. And then every time he’ll try to sing, I’ll pull up something I have in my gallery. He’ll have to live the rest of his life quietly, without bothering anybody.”

You nodded along as you listened. You and your friends had suspected Sid would do this very thing. And now the thought of him trying very hard to get back at Jungkook after tonight, but failing every time, was very inspiring.

“What are you thinking?” he asked after you didn’t reply.

You looked up at him. “I, um—do you know what time it is?”

He glanced at the obnoxiously large, diamond-encrusted watch on his wrist. You doubted he could tell time that well, and Sid confirmed it when it took him a good fifteen seconds to calculate what each number on the mechanical watch stood for.

“Nine twenty-four,” he said. “Why?”

“No reason,” you replied. You’ve kept him here for almost half an hour at this point. That was as much time as you agreed on with Jude and Minjun; Jude had to have finished by now, ideally with some time to spare. “You came here from your hotel?”

“Yeah,” Sid said. “You want to go there?”

Finally, you allowed yourself a small smile. “I don’t think either of us will be going there.”

His eyebrows gathered into an uncertain frown. “Hmm?”

“I invited you here,” you said, “because I wanted to see you one last time.”

The previous confusion you’d seen in Sid’s eyes doubled. He did not make a move, but you saw him stiffen.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, and you were close enough to see his pupils shrinking.

You were the one to shrug casually this time. “I figured it’d be quite boring without you here.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he replied slowly, his gaze fixed on your face.

Your smile lacked any real sympathy, despite the pitiful click of your lips. “I’m afraid you’ll have no choice.”

“What?” he asked again. You watched him slide one of his hands into his jacket pocket. It must have been reflexive, he couldn’t have known that you knew what he carried there. But you were still glad. You were going to tell the police later that he kept reaching into his pocket anyway. At least now you wouldn’t have to lie.

“I’m just thinking, what else did you bring with you to London?” you asked. Jungkook told you not to beat Sid up, but he didn’t say anything about taunting him. “Something that you wouldn’t mind sharing with the police, maybe? We could have a little Show and Tell.”

You noticed his arm tighten inside his jacket sleeve; he must have clenched his fist in his pocket. “What—what the fuck are you saying?”

He had reverted to his usual manner of speaking, and you felt far more comfortable when he was foaming at the mouth instead of half-whispering just to maintain a seductive tone with you. His real face was slowly coming out. You could already see the fangs.

“Why do you look so alarmed?” you asked. “Did you bring something that you shouldn’t have brought with you, but figured, what’s the worst that can happen?”

His jaw was tight. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, you do.”

He glared at you in a poor attempt at intimidation, and you heard the faint sound of footsteps in the corridor. You knew that Luna and Mick were right there, behind him. He was trapped.

“Is this why you called me here?” he questioned. You doubted he’d sensed the others, because he still looked fairly composed. “You’re trying to—trying to trick me into—into what? Admitting that I do drugs?”

“I’m not trying to trick you,” you countered. “I’m just having a conversation with you.”

He squinted at you. “You don’t need my help, do you?”

You almost laughed at the absurdity of the question; you knew he was slow, but this still surprised you.

“I did, actually,” you said. “And you’ve already helped me loads. Thanks.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” he snapped, finally displaying some of the aggression you’d been anticipating. His hand flew out of his pocket but remained relatively close to the rest of his body. “Y-you—you think you’re going to bust me for drugs? You think this is my first time in a foreign country?”

Your smile was patient.

“You think this is my first time talking to you?” you returned. “You think I spent all these years dealing with your shit and learnt nothing?”

For a very heartwarming moment, Sid’s eyes looked ready to pop out of his forehead.

“The cops wouldn’t find anything,” he snarled, taking a step closer to you.

You shrugged and did not move. “Alright.”

“You’d be the one they question for wasting their time,” he continued, taking another step until he was a mere foot away from you.

“Fair.”

He leaned in closer, each of his words so self-assured that it was a wonder he hadn’t done a backflip yet to prove how absolutely incredible, how untouchable, how totally one-of-a-kind he was.

“You still think you have something on me?” he snarled.

You leaned back slightly to be able to meet his gaze without your vision blurring from the proximity and his awful smell. His cologne was not rich enough to hide the powerful stench of all that he’d consumed before he came here.

“Is this a threat?” you asked. Your tone was calm and you saw the way it made the veins in his neck bulge.

He scoffed. “How is that a threat?”

“I am feeling very threatened.”

“I’m not even touching you,” he retorted. He was a little nervous, you could tell. He thought he could pay his way out of any trouble, but he would still be inconvenienced if you called the police.

“Who’s going to believe you?” you countered. “You reek of liquor and weed.”

“Oh, so you’re going to frame me, is that it?” he asked, raising the pitch of his voice to mock you.

You figured he would think he was invincible until the very end, and you appreciated that his unwavering arrogance would become precisely what brought on his downfall.

“Framing implies I falsify charges,” you said.

He ran his tongue over his upper teeth. “Well, I never threatened you.”

“And I never lied to the police.”

Sid continued to stare at you without blinking. He hadn’t expected to find himself in this situation with you. He hadn’t expected you not to blink, either.

And it occurred to you, with him so close, that despite the act he put on, despite his perpetual sneer, he was truly incredibly insecure. This—standing right in your face—was the most he could do.

“Hmm. I see,” he said. You heard his jacket scrunch as he moved, but you did not look away from the slits in his pupils. “You have to understand, though, if I wanted to threaten you, I w—”

You noticed the movement of his arm out of the corner of your eye and slapped his hand away with the edge of your palm just as he reached to touch your cheek. Sid yelped and recoiled in surprise.

You had underestimated your strength when you were on so much adrenaline, and the dull slap echoed in the empty room. It took him a moment to understand what had happened.

“Fuck—y-you’re the one who just pushed me,” he said, looking at his hand as if you’d drawn blood. “And you’re the one who called me in here in the first pl—”

“Mick!” you called out, cutting him off.

Mick was standing right by the door and Sid did not get another chance to interject before the security guard popped his head inside. He looked at you, then at the increasing distance between you and Sid as Sid crossed the room away from you.

“Yeah?” the guard asked, stepping inside.

“Call 999 for me, would you, please?” you asked, keeping your eyes on Sid as he smirked to himself. “We have a trespasser here.”

“You fucking invited me,” Sid shot back, rolling his eyes. “You told them to let me in.”

“I did no such thing,” you said.

“Y—you fucking called me!” he continued, momentarily thrown off balance. “And you kept fucking texting me, and told me to—”

“I would never call you.”

The unshakeable tranquillity in your eyes as you lied right to his face made him livid. You hoped it would.

“You fucking bitch,” he spat. “I have it on my phone. The messages might be gone, but you called me—”

“Sid,” you said in a voice so indifferent that he stopped speaking and just glowered at you. “You are behaving very irrationally and posing a threat to me and your surroundings. Mick is legally allowed to restrain you until the police get here.”

Mick put his phone away and took a step closer to Sid. Sid took an instinctive step back, closer to you. He appeared so confused, so cornered, that not even his persistent scoffing—a coping mechanism, you started to realise—could help him retain his nonchalance.

“I’m behaving irrationally?” he questioned. “How the fuck am I—”

“Hey,” Luna called from the door. Your heart lifted at the sound of her voice, but faltered when you saw Minjun next to her. He wasn’t supposed to be here. “I heard yelling. Is everything alright?”

“I-I found a trespasser,” you explained. “I feel very threatened.”

“I understand,” she replied, her voice mechanical. Sid looked like he wanted to throw things, then break them when he noticed Minjun. “He is yelling at you and flailing his arms. I also feel threatened.”

Sid’s sardonic laughter gained more volume.

“You’re fucking ridiculous,” he growled. “Did you all plot this together? Do you know who I am? This will never fly.”

“The police are on their way,” Mick told him. “You’re coming with me.”

You allowed him to take charge and moved towards Minjun and Luna; she immediately wrapped a protective arm around your shoulders. The three of you watched Mick grab both of Sid’s hands and dodge a clumsy slap as Sid made feeble attempts to resist.

“You have no fucking idea what I’m going to do to you, Minjun!” Sid cried. “Your family is fucked. They’re so fucking fucked!”

You reached out to touch Minjun’s arm when you saw him swallow back his anger. He glanced at you, then at Luna, and nodded before turning back to Sid.

“I’m sure it won’t be that bad for us, compared to where you’re going,” he replied calmly, forcing Sid to break into another fit of incomprehensible screeching.

Mick guided Sid towards the door, using his full weight to restrain him as Sid writhed in his grip. As soon as they crossed the threshold of the dressing room—where Sid fought violently to break out and cursed Minjun to hell and back several times—Mick pulled him into himself and half-carried him to the security room.

Sid yelled all the way down the corridor, ensuring that there were plenty of other witnesses to his outburst. The venue staff and your tour staff all heard his threats, they all saw him resist Mick’s hold. You couldn’t have planned it like this if you’d tried—and it was mostly due to Minjun showing up. Seeing someone that he considered a mere plaything stand up to him had clearly snapped something in Sid’s brain.

It took the police twenty minutes to arrive, and Sid had not closed his mouth once. You found that you quite enjoyed it; every scream from behind the door of the security room about how he was going to “fuck this place up” and “find every single one of you” and “kill you, you insufferable fucking bitch” sounded very melodious. Even Minjun loosened eventually, enjoying the moment he’d waited so long for.

Despite your efforts to keep the rest of your friends away from this scene, Maggie found her way to you just when the officers entered the venue. She was concerned about the screams she’d heard from across the building, but she was relieved to see you, Luna and Minjun chuckling outside the security room.

“Get it together,” she warned you with a grin. “The police are here. We want them to take us seriously.”

“Can we watch?” Minjun asked, nodding at the security room. One of the two officers had left the door open.

You moved closer instead of replying, and all four of you peered inside.

The space was cramped, but the scene inside the room was beautiful: Sid was on his knees, pressed against the wall, and he looked feral. His hair fell in aimless, overly gelled strands around his face, he snarled and barked at anyone who addressed him, and the younger officer appeared genuinely afraid to touch him for fear of getting his hand bitten off.

The other officer turned around in the meantime, noticing you. He approached, but Sid was yelling so much that the officer could not even ask you for a quick recap of what had happened before they got here. You understood what he wanted anyway, and leaned in to shout your explanation in his ear.

“He kept reaching into his pocket while talking to me,” you said, according to your plan. “I’m afraid he might be armed. We didn’t mention this on the phone so he wouldn’t hear us a-and decide to use it.”

There were no weapons, you were sure. You just needed the officers to check Sid’s pockets with intention, not merely graze over them.

The policeman gave you a nod and turned back to face Sid. The younger officer stepped back, seemingly relieved that he wouldn’t have to touch him.

“Stand up,” the senior officer ordered.

Mick let him go, and Sid jumped to his feet with such angry vigour that he collided with the metal table in the middle of the room. He cursed again and attempted to punch the table in irrational fury, hissing in pain the second that his knuckles connected with the surface.

“I am so happy,” Minjun whispered next to you when Sid leapt in the air in pain. “This is literally the highlight of my life.”

“Mine, too, I think,” Maggie agreed, snickering. “Wish I’d brought my camera.”

Biting back your own laughter, you shushed them so the policemen wouldn’t hear.

“Stop, stop,” the older officer was telling Sid. His voice sounded a little alarmed as Sid clutched his hand and spun around. “You’ll hurt yourself. Stand by that wall.”

Sid continued to mumble profanities under his breath, but he complied. The officer approached, gently kicked Sid’s shin to get him to spread his legs, and began to search through his thick jacket.

He meticulously patted down Sid’s shoulders, then his chest, until he pressed on something—the very something you and Minjun had hoped he would press on—and pulled back with a frown. A light bag, securely wrapped in cling film, tumbled out past the various zippers on Sid’s jacket and landed on the floor.

Across the room, Maggie gasped. Both officers jumped back as if a ticking bomb had fallen out of his pocket.

You noticed that Sid looked surprised, too. You glanced up at Minjun, and he gave you a solemn nod. He already knew that Jude had to rip Sid’s usual inner pocket to make sure the bag would fall out when poked with enough force.

The older officer was the first to react as he yelled at his younger colleague who quickly sprung into action and pressed Sid roughly into the wall, effectively restraining him again. The other officer then pulled out his receiver and spoke into it with such urgency that you almost began to feel uneasy, too.

“That—that’s not mine!” Sid protested despite struggling to speak with his face pressed against the wall. “I don’t know how that—it’s not mine, it—”

The young officer pushed him into the wall harder and said something to him, more assertive now that Sid’s rage was replaced with fear. You couldn’t hear what he said from where you were standing, but you could tell from the way Sid swallowed and quieted down that it was not a phrase of gentle encouragement.

“It’s not yours,” the older officer repeated as he pushed his receiver back into the case, “but it fell out of your jacket?”

“It’s—”

It took Sid two seconds to realise that he was in deep trouble—and another two seconds to make this much worse for himself.

“I was just taking it to a friend,” he said.

You could no longer suppress your smile.

The senior officer raised an eyebrow, then quickly lowered it. He refrained from asking further questions—although he certainly looked like he wanted to—knowing that it would only incriminate Sid more.

“You can tell us at the station,” the officer said, pulling out gloves and tweezers to pick up the small bag from the floor, careful, so the white powder inside wouldn’t spill out, “about whoever you were taking it to.”

Sid noticed the way the officer’s voice changed as soon as he mentioned this friend, and he realised what this must have sounded like.

“I—no. No,” he decided, his panic deepening. He knew that supplying was a much more serious offence than possession. “I wasn’t taking it to anyone. No one paid me. I’m not selling. I was just—”

“You’re going to the station,” the officer repeated. “You can tell us about your friend there.”

“I’m saying I—I lied!” Sid shouted. He sounded frantic, desperate, scared. It was perfectly musical. “It’s not—I wasn’t taking it to a friend. It’s for me! It’s mine.”

“Oh, this much?” Maggie called out.

You were startled by the abrupt sound of her voice. Sid was too, as he whipped his head around, forcing the officer cuffing his wrists to stagger on his feet and push Sid’s head back into the wall.

“Shut the fuck up,” Sid yelled, promptly interrupting the officer as he began to recite his rights to him. “I will fucking—I will kill you—I will fucking kill all of you, I swear—”

“Son,” the older officer interjected sternly, grabbing Sid’s arm from his younger colleague and dragging him towards the door of the room. Maggie pulled you and Luna aside to make room for them to walk past. Minjun stepped back, too. “I’d like to remind you that you are under arrest.”

“Fuck you,” Sid snarled, staring at Minjun.

He glared at him all the way down the corridor of the venue, straining his neck as the officers pushed him forwards, and you followed them outside. Just past the back exit, you and your friends stopped to watch—with immense pleasure—as they took Sid to their car.

“Jungkook will go down with me, you know!” Sid yelled, resisting their attempts to protect his head as they pushed him onto the backseat. “I’m his friend. He invited me!”

You saw his flaring nostrils from afar and you could tell how much he wished that Jungkook stood next to Minjun right now. How much he wanted to get one last reaction out of him, to threaten him with payback like he’d done to Minjun. And you were glad Jungkook wasn’t here to give Sid the satisfaction of being his punching bag one last time.

“Jungkook was the one who banned you from Rated Riot’s shows,” you reminded Sid as he kicked the seat in front of him. “That was why we had to call the police.”

“Your obsession with Jungkook is really unhealthy, by the way,” Minjun added. “Maybe you should work on that before someone realises how jealous you are. That’d be awkward.”

The older officer glared at Minjun, but there was a softness in his eyes that indicated he only meant to softly chastise him for this unnecessary addition.

“You fucking cu—” was going to be Sid’s last choral arrangement, but it was drowned out when the younger officer slammed the door shut.

The officer then walked around the car and got into the driver’s seat, while his older colleague stayed back to talk to you. He told you that he would have taken you to the station as witnesses as well, but he understood how busy you were. When he bashfully admitted that his daughter was actually in the audience of Rated Riot’s show right now, you felt so high that you could have easily floated away.

He pulled out his notebook and returned the subject to Sid, asking you to be quick and concise. He said that things did not look good for Sid either way, but the procedure required him to get your statements.

Your account was very straightforward: Sid had forced his way into the venue, yelling and cursing, and demanded to see you and Jungkook (Luna’s statement confirmed this: “It was frightening,” she’d said, “I thought he was going to hurt someone.”). Then, you called security. Sid looked irrational, almost crazy, and he resisted all of your efforts to restrain him. He threatened everyone, it was so very awful—and not entirely false.

Then, Minjun recounted how he’d heard Sid’s shouts from the smoking area outside, and Maggie told him about hearing the same shouts from the bathroom across the venue.

In the meantime, you shifted your gaze to the police car. The officer inside was stuck listening to a lengthy barrage of Sid’s curses—“fucking pigs, all of you”—and introductions—“do you know who I fucking am?”—but he did not turn his head to acknowledge Sid’s hysteria. You wondered if they had any spare muzzles lying around in the trunk.

The officer emphasised to you that, after the scene Sid had caused, there was little he could do to escape punishment. And you knew that the discovery of illegal substances on his person provided strong grounds for obtaining a search warrant for his residence—where you knew he kept the rest of his supply that Jude had made sure to spread around the room.

And now even if Sid evaded possession-with-intent-to-supply charges, even if he hired expensive legal counsel, even if he tried to bribe the officers and their dogs, too – this was done.

Sid thought he was invincible, he had escaped consequences his whole life. But Jungkook was his biggest weakness, and he was the one who brought the consequences to Sid.

You were dizzy with delight.

Jungkook was so worried about your plan that it lingered in the back of his mind all through the band’s performance. But then he spotted you sometime at the end of the show, smiling at him with the stage lights reflected in your eyes, and he completely forgot what you’d just done. He was just happy you were here.

It was Maggie’s side-hug as she walked past you and seemingly stopped to ask if you were okay that reminded him. And when you looked up at him again, meeting his gaze and nodding, he knew.

Sid was gone. And you were here.

Jungkook came very close to jumping off the stage and kissing you. He would have done it, really, everything else be damned, but the song change kept him in place. Rated Riot did not have many ballads—only two, maybe two and a half if you included the first half of “Haunting”—but the few that they had, came at this point in the show.

He stayed on stage, but he was still too excited to give the songs a proper mournful mood as he kept jumping and smiling into the microphone at all the wrong moments. Nevertheless, the audience greeted his energy with unwavering enthusiasm, and Jungkook thought that this night would become another memory—one of many, lately—that he’d want to stay forever etched into his mind.

By the end of the show, he felt like parts of his skin had caught fire. He was filled with so much energy that he could have walked to Paris right now and performed a show there immediately. He even frightened a few fans with his incessant jumping as the band stayed back for their traditional informal Meet & Greet after the show.

As soon as it finished, Jungkook made his way to you backstage—still breathless, shirtless, sweaty, and ecstatic—and hugged you as soon as he found you, despite your half-hearted protests. He was damp and sticky, and purposefully holding onto you tighter when he heard you complain about it.

Noticing the sight, the rest of the band members piled into the room, hollering war cries and jumping on the two of you in a chaotic group hug. With all five of you giggling and suffocating under each other’s weight, you didn’t notice Minjun and Jude lingering in the doorway.

You were greedy for a minute—maybe two minutes—as you soaked up the band’s bliss and enjoyed the moment before breathlessly telling the boys to go and have fun. They thought you were just saying that so they’d let you breathe, so naturally, they stayed huddled together longer, purposefully torturing you. They tousled your hair when they pulled away, and ran off, seemingly bouncing off the walls of the room as they went.

Jungkook wiped his face with a towel that he’d kept over his shoulder, his smile never ceasing. When you managed to tear your gaze away from his lips, you finally noticed that Minjun was grinning at you from across the room, with an uncertain Jude next to him. Minjun had picked him up immediately after the police left with Sid.

You took a step towards them, but Taehyung accidentally hit a few chords on his bass as he was putting it back into the case across the room—the melody held an uncanny resemblance to Queen’s “Another One Bites The Dust”—and all four members of Rated Riot, in various out-of-tune voices, immediately belted out the chorus, blocking your path with their haphazard gyrations.

There was cause for celebration—like there was every night, but tonight, especially—and you allowed them to pull you into their dance.

Jungkook was still humming under his breath when he led you to the side of the room a few minutes later, eager to learn more about Sid. You motioned for Minjun and Jude to join you, too, and then stretched up on your toes to find Luna and Maggie in the crowding room. They spotted you first and approached, bouncing with excitement.

Jungkook was patting Jude on the back, but the girls pulled all of you into another group hug that sent all of you into a new fit of laughter.

“The show was that good, huh?” Jimin commented, amused by your affection, as he finished setting up the drinks on the table next to you.

You extended your hand to make room, and he snuck into the very middle of your group hug, holding onto Luna and Minjun.

“It was!” you agreed. “We’re celebrating.”

“When are we not?” Jimin replied, readily accepting the glass that Maggie handed him once she broke the hug.

You and Jungkook distributed the rest of the glasses to your little group, and Minjun poured the tequila. Absolutely exhilarated, all of you clicked your glasses together, laughing and splattering your drinks everywhere. You were a little worried about Jude, but Minjun kept his arm on Jude’s shoulder, giving you a nod when you met his eye. He’d watch over him.

You downed your shots and realised belatedly that you didn’t have any chasers. Understandably, the only solution was to wash off the bitter taste with another shot of tequila, leading to a very entertaining rest of the night.

Just a few shots later, Jimin excused himself to find Seokjin. There was another bet backstage about whether you would finally drink after the final show in London—you hadn’t last time—and Seokjin owed him money.

Now, with only those of you who had plotted against Sid left in this corner of the room, the atmosphere darkened just a little. Your adrenaline had begun to wear off.

“Okay, I know we’ve talked about getting him arrested and whatever happens next happens, but I am curious,” Luna said, breaking the weighty silence. “How would it go in court? Hypothetically? Could he still avoid a prison sentence?”

You sighed. “He’s a first-time offender, so probably.”

“But wh—I mean, I actually doubt that,” Minjun interjected. “Considering the amount he has in his hotel room.”

You finished your shot before replying.

“There could be something else that makes the court lean towards a more lenient sentence, though,” you said. “He could—”

Minjun shook his head and cut your pessimistic approach off.

“Mitigating factors are good character, remorse, and proven steps to overcome drug use,” he cited. “Does any of that sound like Sid?”

You nodded, conceding. You’ve read about this together when you first began to plan Sid’s arrest, and Minjun had asked you the same question back then. Only a few extenuating circumstances could have applied to Sid, and even those were a stretch.

“Mental health could be a mitigating factor, too,” Jungkook added. “Sid is, I’m almost certain, insane.”

You raised your head to smile at him. At this point, everyone here knew that Sid was undoubtedly crazy or somewhere thereabout.

“That’s true,” Minjun agreed, smiling, too. “But they won’t release him back onto the streets, then. He’ll be institutionalised.”

“That’s good,” Maggie said, exhaling in evident relief. You hadn’t realised how concerned this change in conversation had made her feel. “I don’t want his ass coming anywhere near us.”

“He won’t be,” you assured. You may have been doubtful about Sid’s future behind bars, but you did not doubt that you’d never see him again. “If this won’t work, we’re all getting restraining orders.”

“Oh, nice,” Luna said, grinning. “We’ll save the officers some time if we all get one together.”

You snickered. “Exactly.”

Luna chuckled and stopped patting Maggie’s back to pour herself another drink. You and Jungkook both extended your empty glasses, too, and Luna playfully rolled her eyes before filling them.

“Honestly, I don’t even care what sentence Sid gets,” Jude said, and he began to stutter as soon as your little group turned to look at him. “I-I just want him to s-suffer a little.”

Maggie, ever as vindictive, raised her eyebrows at him. “A little?”

“For starters,” he clarified.

She nodded, much more pleased with this response, and broke into a lively tale about the positive feedback she received from Rated Riot’s fans after posting the blacklist—as though she was the one who had singlehandedly banned Sid—and the clouds of eerie disquiet above you quickly cleared.

Shortly after that, Taehyung grew bored and came to find Luna—with Jimin lingering by his side and playfully pulling Luna away from him. After Taehyung managed to run off with his girlfriend, Jimin changed his targets and continued his drunken twirling around a flustered Minjun, who kept insisting that he did not dance. Maggie had to pull Jimin away with an energetic pirouette, leaving the rest of you to yourselves.

Just then, Yoongi and Hoseok convinced Seokjin, Jimin, and Maggie to head back to the hotel, which was just a twenty-minute walk from the venue. They were all drunk enough to think they’d have a blast walking there and you had to dispatch Namjoon to accompany them. He was quite tipsy, too, but at least his limb coordination was not worse than it usually was. He’d drag them with him if one of them grew too tired of walking—you knew that one of them would and you gave Yoongi a knowing look before he left.

Minjun, Jude, Jungkook and you were the last people who remained in the dressing room to finish the drinks. You took this time to encourage Jude to tell you about what he did, and he shared the story about breaking Sid’s phone.

Happy and light from the alcohol, Jungkook wrapped an arm around your waist, allowing you to lean into his side as you listened. It was extremely relieving to laugh about everything that you’ve been through today.

“So, we’re done?” Jungkook asked after Jude finished. “This is it?”

You glanced at Minjun just as he turned to look at you; the two of you had developed a special bond over the past few days. Then you turned to Jude, too. Both of them nodded.

“We’re done,” you confirmed. “They arrested him.”

Jungkook’s arm around your waist tightened as he drew you closer.

“And the hotel room?” he asked then.

“It’s all there,” Jude replied. “I took care of it, but I-I barely had to do anything. Sid kept everything literally lying around.”

You nodded, relieved. “Good.”

“Really, Sid was the one who did everything,” Minjun added. “We just… made it more obvious. That still took a hell of an effort, but it’s all over now. Great job, guys.”

He leaned in to pat Jude on the back, and you reached out to give a supportive squeeze on Jude’s arm, too.

“We wouldn’t be here without you,” you told him, happy to notice that tequila had helped Jude’s tanned skin regain some of its glow. “The hard part’s finally over.”

“Fuck yes,” Jungkook exclaimed, perking up. “It’s fucking over.”

He reached out to high-five Minjun, then Jude, and you did the same, smiling all the while. You turned to Jungkook then, but instead of connecting your palms, he wrapped both arms around you and exhaled deeply against your neck. He settled in your embrace, showing no signs of moving anytime soon, and Minjun had to clear his throat, dramatically turning his head away.

Grinning, Jungkook released you but kept one of his hands on your back.

“Let’s head back to the hotel, yeah?” you suggested, and all of them nodded. “We all need to get some sleep. And I still need to take twenty showers in a row to get rid of Sid’s stench.”

Jungkook remained oblivious to his surroundings as he rested his chin on your shoulder. “Mind if I join?”

“Ugh.” Minjun grimaced. “Get used to this, Jude, these two are fucking intolerable.”

Jude snickered at this, and you laughed, too, taking Jungkook’s hand in yours.

“Thank you for everything you did today,” you said, your gaze stopping on all three of them.

Minjun’s expression softened. “Oh. It’s all for a good cause.”

“Yeah,” Jude said. He appeared more certain now, his voice was louder. He lost Sid but found his friends. He’d be alright. “W-we did this together.”

You smiled and turned back to Jungkook. He gave you a quick nod, and you understood. Patting Jude and Minjun on their shoulders as you walked past, you excused yourself to give the three of them a moment alone.

“Seriously, guys,” Jungkook said after you left. Minjun was a little uncomfortable with the intense gratitude in his friend’s eyes, but Jude was extremely touched. “Thank you for this. You’re a fucking rockstar, Jude, shit. And Minjun, thank you for being one of the masterminds behind this. How are you so fucking smart, but friends with us?”

They all laughed at this, but Minjun shook his head while he did, lowering his gaze.

“It was mostly your girlfriend’s plan,” he said. “She, uh—she made sure my ass doesn’t get busted along with Sid, actually.”

Jungkook was beaming. He would never tire of hearing you referred to as his girlfriend. Actually, he would never tire of hearing people talk about you and him in the same sentence, but this was even nicer.

“Oh, don’t worry,” he said. “She’d have also found a way to break you out of prison.”

Jude nodded, agreeing very strongly. “I bet she would have.”

Jungkook chuckled. He never thought he’d see the day when you would become friends with his friends, and he felt a little unsteady on his feet.

This moment here, tonight, felt very different from what he was used to, but it felt right. He hadn’t even realised how heavy the rock with Sid’s name on it had been on his chest, and how light he felt now that it was pushed off. How light he felt now that he was here with his friends. How happy.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he told them.

“We’re glad to be here,” Minjun replied.

Jude cleared his throat and raised his glass. “Fuck Sid.”

It had become their mantra, and Jungkook raised his fist in the air.

“Fuck Sid,” he echoed, grinning.

He wanted to find some additional encouraging words, but he was starting to grow restless, shuffling his feet and scratching his palms. Minjun was quick to conclude that he was looking forward to finishing the conversation and leaving the room.

“Go,” Minjun told him. “Jude and I are going to go out for a smoke. We’ll see you later.”

Jungkook looked very grateful. He would not even pretend to protest.

“Alright,” he said, already walking away. “Save me one, and thanks again! You’re two of the coolest people I know. But she is the first one.”

Snickering, Minjun called after him, “rock on. And stay safe!”

Minjun and Jude could still hear his laughter, even though Jungkook had already left the room in a hurry to find you.

He spotted you by the exit, and as soon as you extended your hand for him to take, he ran the remaining few steps to get to you faster. He gave you a quick peck on the lips, and was about to open the door when you stopped him by pulling on his hand.

“Hold on,” you said. “I have something for you.”

Jungkook was a little puzzled—and very intrigued—as he watched you search the pockets of your jacket. Never, not even when he was dreaming and couldn’t control the signals that his subconsciousness was sending him, did he imagine you pulling out the keys to his Katana.

“Here,” you said. “Jude got them from Sid.”

He heard his friend’s name, and he saw the keys out of the corner of his eye, but his gaze remained locked on yours, as though fearful that this wasn’t actually happening, that perhaps his mind was playing tricks on him.

It wasn’t the keys that he had trouble processing. It was you, giving them back to him.

“I’m…” he faltered, the rest of his sentence never making it past his lips. He tried a different one instead. “Thank you.”

You shook your head. “I’m just the messenger.”

“Well, you could have told Jude to take them back to Sid,” he pointed out, his throat dry. “I think that’s, um—that’s what I would have done.”

Observing his flustered state, you raised an eyebrow.

“Why?” you asked. “Did you change your mind about the bike? Is the paint peeling off, so you don’t want it anymore?”

Finally, his expression lightened, and a tentative smile returned to his lips.

“No,” he said. “And it would still be beautiful even without any paint. It’s what’s on the inside that matters.”

You grinned. “Very gallant.”

He remained hesitant, however, and you raised your palm again to give him the keys. You knew how much effort he’d put into the motorcycle, even though there were moments, when you first came to manage Rated Riot, where Jungkook’s obsession with his bike seemed unhealthy.

Yoongi—the self-proclaimed expert—had said that he’d seen this behaviour in almost all his friends. He was convinced that Jungkook was trying to compensate for something. Trying to fill some void in his life.

You remembered hating these assumptions. They had felt about as dangerous as Jungkook’s casual declaration about the love of his life.

“It’s your bike,” you said to Jungkook now, the keys cold in your palm. “I know how much it means to you.”

He took a sharp breath and shook his head. He did love the bike very much—as much as one could love an inanimate object, and maybe a little more—but he’s come to learn that he would give it up in a heartbeat for the things that truly mattered to him.

“It—it doesn’t mean to me nearly as much as you do,” he said. “I gave it up to keep Sid away.”

You swallowed the bitter taste in your mouth.

“You couldn’t keep Sid away even if you gave up Rated Riot,” you said. “He claims that’s what’s bothering him, but it isn’t. Not really. He just can’t stand the thought that you are bigger than he will ever be.”

“Hmm.”

Slowly, Jungkook took the keys from you, the tips of his uncertain fingers grazing over your palm. He examined the keys for a minute.

“I can put the keychain back on now,” he said. “It looks wrong without it.”

This surprised you.

“What—the “JK” one?” you asked.

“Yeah,” he said. “I had to change keys after I moved to a different apartment, and I put the pendant on these for the time being. It felt right, so I kept it there.”

He lifted the keys as he spoke and you frowned. You remembered the lurid—atrocious, really—pendant that you’d found at a fair and insisted on buying for him because it spelt out “JK” in large, jewelled letters. You were just drunk enough to find the flashy jewels enticing and very amusing.

You’d assumed Jungkook had put it on his keys as a challenge of sorts. It was very ugly and very far out of his usual taste in accessories, but you bought it, and he would rather cut off an arm than turn down a dare. You thought he’d taken it off after you broke up.

“You still have it?” you asked. “It was supposed to be a joke, I think.”

“Of course, I still have it,” he replied, almost offended. When he gave the keys to Sid, he kept the keychain. It was one of his most prized possessions. “It’s cute.”

“It’s huge,” you countered. “It ripped every pocket of every pair of jeans you owned.”

“That’s because they were shit jeans,” he said. “You leave my keychain alone.”

You snickered with a noncommittal shake of your head.

“Fine,” you said. “I’m glad you’ve grown so fond of it.”

“You gave it to me,” he said. “Of course, I’m fond of it.”

He slipped the keys into his pocket and gave you a wink as he did—to let you know that he didn’t mind ripping this pair of jeans, too, once he reattached the keychain. Then he finally opened the door of the venue and took your hand into his, leading you outside.

The hotel was quiet when you returned, but you didn’t have time to wonder where the rest of the Rated Riot members were—you’d have definitely heard them if they were here—because Jungkook pulled you into his room as soon as you climbed the stairs to your floor.

His bathroom quickly turned messy, with your clothes scattered on the cold tiles. Jungkook had the rare talent of figuring out the shower mechanism within a second, and the warm water washed over you as soon as you stepped into the cabin after him. The glass panels on either side began to fog when you slid the door closed.

You knew Jungkook preferred his showers ice cold, but the water right now was scalding hot. He didn’t even ask you about it, didn’t try to negotiate. He simply made this comfortable for you and wrapped his arms around you, his grip unreasonably tight.

Hotel bathrooms, you realised, had become a significant part of your relationship.

“You still have to show me your playlist, by the way,” he murmured, following the path of the water droplets down your spine.

You sighed, feeling his chest move against yours as he chuckled. “What do I have to do to get out of it?”

“Show it to me,” he replied. “And I’ll shut up.”

“You never shut up.”

He laughed again, pulling back slightly to look at you. His hair fell in clumsy ringlets around his face—not wet enough to fully straighten yet—and you needed to remind yourself to keep breathing in, then out. He leaned in, wearing a teasing smile on his face, as if he knew that you’d stop breathing again as soon as he did this, and pressed his lips to yours.

You could taste the liquor that you’d shared backstage on his tongue and felt his warm breath as he exhaled against your mouth. Your touch on his neck was so delicate that he wasn’t fully convinced it was you, and not the stream of water that touched him. He wanted to hold you tighter to really feel you here, and he lowered his hands to the small of your back, gently drawing you closer.

Steam rose from the shower floor, and the glass turned grey from the fog. Jungkook would have been suffering in this heat if he had felt any of it. All he could focus on right now was you, and how you still tasted like a distant dream, no matter how many times he’d kissed you.

The shampoo remained untouched as your fingers explored each other’s skin, jealous of the courageous water drops—they dared to touch everything that your hands longed to reach.

Eventually, he blindly found the bar of soap on the metal shelf behind him, and broke away from the kiss.

Before you could say anything, he instructed quietly, “turn around.”

It took a moment for you to comply—not because of some defiance, but because the tattoos on his arm, when they were peppered with glistening droplets of water, were captivating in a way that they’ve never been before.

He rubbed the soap between his palms and massaged your arms and back, lathering the foam on your skin. His touch was slow and careful, although not particularly calculated as his hands kept wandering to every soft part of you. Every single one of his caresses seemed to cleanse something from your skin that mere water could never wash away.

A soft sigh passed your lips as his fingers followed the traces of bubbles on your navel, and you forgot everything that you were still supposed to do today. By the time he leaned in closer, his chest pressed against your back as he ran his hands over your collarbones, your chest, and your stomach, you forgot everything you’d done before today, too.

You realised, as you felt his breath against your neck, how calm you felt. How absolutely at peace—and how much you’ve waited for this. How much you wanted these moments to stay frozen in time, just yours and no one else’s, surreal and dreamlike even as you lived through them.

Jungkook noticed your closed eyes, and whispered softly, “are you okay?”

You hummed. “I love you.”

He felt your heartbeat under his fingertips. He felt the way your words echoed in his chest. And he realised that he was stupid to think he’d already experienced every human emotion in his life, because these sensations in his stomach were new. They felt like scattered branches of fir trees. Like the sharp edges of young pinecones. They stirred within him like a forest of evergreen trees: vibrant, timeless, and beautiful.

You’ve opened something inside him that he didn’t realise had been closed. And you’ve closed everything he regretted opening. You were every breath he took, every scent he smelled, and every flavour he tasted. You were every beat of his heart.

He did not think he could ever adequately express the depth of everything you made him feel.

“Thank you,” he said, because he couldn’t not say anything, “for everything.”

You turned in his arms, a little confused about his abrupt gratitude. Jungkook swallowed hard, his gaze locked on yours.

“I can’t—I don’t know how to say what I feel,” he admitted. “You change my life every day. Maybe that’s all there is to it.”

The look in his eyes as he said this reached something very deep inside you—something that had been waiting for him every day for the past seven years, and all the years before that.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and rested your head on his shoulder.

“I love you,” you said again.

“I love you,” he replied, pressing his forehead to yours.

You felt his chest move as he breathed, and you closed your eyes again. You knew now that this was your safe space.

Contrary to Jungkook, who needed company to drown out the noises in his head, you were very fond of your solitude. Being alone with your thoughts provided you with a sense of security that you could never find with other people—because, as much as you loved them, they were still other people.

Jungkook did not feel like other people. He felt like you, as much as you felt like you. And right now, with the water running from his skin to yours, you felt calm. Easy. Solid, but serene.

He was your safe space.

“I have a meeting with the executives when we get to Paris,” you whispered, your words barely audible over the running water. “And—also the law team.”

He stilled in your arms for just a moment, then his fingers went back to their race against the water on your lower back.

“They set a date?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you said. “The day after tomorrow, before your first show in Paris. Nine in the morning.”

“Oh.”

Taking a deep breath, you said, “I’m going to tell them we’re together.”

He pulled back a little and waited until you lifted your head so he could look at you.

“Okay,” he said. “Are you sure?”

The question was painful. You made a mental note to show more confidence when you gave him the answers that he wanted—because these were the answers that you wanted, too.

“I’m sure,” you affirmed.

He nodded, running the tips of his fingers over the ends of your hair. “Should we—um, do you want to—”

“Let’s meet after,” you said, answering his half-question.

“Yeah? Coffee?” he asked.

You nodded. “Definitely.”

He leaned into you again, inhaling the smell of the lilac-scented soap on your neck as his arms found their way back around your waist, and he hummed against your shoulder.

“You know…” he murmured. “If I had your playlist, it’d be easier for me to wait until your meeting was over.”

Your cheeks stretched before you could stop your smile. “What playlist?”

The circles he was tracing on your back turned teasing, chaotic. He felt you squirm at the tickling sensation.

“Don’t play dumb with me now,” he whispered. “Give me the link.”

You pulled back and squeezed his forearms to get him to stop moving his hands over your sides.

“Say please?” you said.

The request took him a little off guard, but his surprise quickly shifted into an impressed grin.

“Hmm,” he said. “Is that how you want me? On my knees and begging?”

You shrugged, trying to fight against the fog from the shower as it began to gather in your head. “I do sort of like the image of that.”

“Please?” he said—right away.

You watched him for a second, your chest alight with flames, and you decided that with the subtle curve of his lips and the sparkle in his eyes, right now was the most beautiful he’d ever looked. It wouldn’t last, though. You were sure he’d take your breath away again tomorrow.

“Mm, I’m not convinced,” you said. “Say it with your chest.”

He poked his cheek with his tongue, giving his head a slight shake. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“I know.”

He shook his head again, then took a deep breath and pouted his lips.

“Please let me listen to the playlist you made about me,” he said, making sure to keep his voice devastated. “Please, please, plea—”

“Alright,” you said.

He was already about to start arguing, but he closed his mouth and grinned instead.

“Oh,” he said. “That was easy.”

You gasped, but the offence that barely appeared on your laid-back features made him chuckle. Stepping back, you gave him a look that was only stern in theory—there was no serious substance in the soft shade of your eyes.

“Don’t make me change my mind,” you warned.

“You can’t,” he replied, pulling you back into him. He seemed to know no other way: you were very close, and his hands were free. Naturally, he was going to reach for you. “You made a promise.”

You frowned. “When?”

“When you got into this shower with me.”

Your brows furrowed further. “I didn’t promise you anything.”

“You did,” he insisted. He was grinning mischievously and his eyes were narrowed—you could guess what he would say next.

You still bit, “alright, what did I promise?”

He looked triumphant.

“To be with me for the rest of my life,” he said.

You clicked your tongue, but your expression was luminous despite your attempts to hide it.

“That has nothing to do with my playlist,” you said, deliberately looking away. “And I don’t remember promising that.”

“Hold on,” he said, turning his head to meet your gaze, and gently lifting your chin to get you to look at him again. “You have objections?”

You had absolutely no objections and he could tell as much from the sparkling in your eyes. But you weren’t going to make this easy for him, and he expected as much.

“I mean, what if you have a change of heart?” you said. “And then having me around for the rest of your life starts to feel more like a curse? Although that’d be fun for me, I imagine. I’d love to mess with you. But it wouldn’t really be fair to you.”

He found the suggestion ridiculous. His heart had your name engraved on it in golden letters. There was no situation, as long as you were with him, that he’d find unfair.

“Unless hell freezes over tomorrow,” he said, “I’d say your odds are good.”

The corners of your lips twitched. “Yeah?”

He nodded. “Having you with me will always be a blessing.”

The clumsy cartwheels of your erratic heart forced you to look away again, and you tsked, making his smile widen with each disapproving shake of your head.

“You know, you say things sometimes,” you said, “and I know you know exactly what you’re doing.”

“Really?” His voice was exuberant. “Are you swooning for me, then?”

You grimaced. “I wouldn’t call it swoo—”

“Getting weak in the knees?”

“I don’t get weak in the knees.”

“No?” he teased. “But I’m literally holding you up right now.”

You glanced down, as if to check, and took a moment before raising your head again.

“That’s—for different reasons,” you said, and remained, very comfortably, right in his arms.

“Different reasons,” he repeated thoughtfully. “Such as?”

You did not spare him a glance. “Maybe I just enjoy having you so close.”

His grin was so proud, so radiant that you could see it without looking at him. It was loud, too; it drowned out the sounds of the shower and all sensations of the hot water on your skin.

“Oh,” he said, drawing you closer to his chest in one remarkably swift motion. “Now you’ve done it.”

You craned your neck to meet his gaze. “Done what?”

“Now I’m never letting you go,” he said, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. “Literally.”

You chuckled softly and allowed him to drown you in his touch. It didn’t matter anyway—you couldn’t breathe very well unless you felt him next to you.

“That’s hardly possible,” you teased. “We’re very busy people.”

“I’ll make it possible,” he said. You remembered having a similar conversation with him before, but he had significantly more confidence in his voice now. “We got Sid fucking arrested. Everything else is easy. I can figure out how to keep you right next to me for every second of every day for as long as we both live.”

You were a little concerned that so many years had passed since you met, and the butterflies in your stomach only seemed to grow larger, bolder, and much more restless with every passing day.

“I still don’t think that’s possible,” you replied quietly, “but I don’t mind seeing you try.”

“Good,” he said, lifting his head to look at you. “You know I’ve never lost a single challenge I’ve accepted.”

You lifted one eyebrow, amused by his claim.

“Technically,” you said, “you lost the bet to Sid.”

“Oh—” the syllable got caught somewhere in his throat. “Fuck.”

He looked almost appalled, and he suddenly felt a little nauseous, too.

“Too soon?” you asked. Your lips twitched as you fought back against your laughter.

He dug his teeth into his lower lip and wrinkled his nose. “Yeah, maybe a bit.”

“Oh, no,” you whined. “Should we avoid talking about it? Is this a taboo topic?”

He watched your theatrics and realised that anything that didn’t kill you really did make the two of you stronger, because he had convinced himself that he’d never survive the aftermath of the bet—and now you were teasing him about it.

“No,” he said. “No, you’re right. In the grand scheme of things, I’ve done far stupider shit to have you with me again, so we should be able to joke about this.”

“Exactly,” you agreed, grinning. “At least you didn’t get a concussion this time.”

Jungkook didn’t think that not having a concussion was what made this better. Although, to be fair, he hardly remembered anything after the forgotten kettle fell on his head while he was trying to plan a date night for you—but really, you were more hurt by his pain when he told you about it years later than he was in the moment it happened.

“I hurt you, though,” he said slowly. “That’s worse.”

You gave a firm shake of your head.

“It wasn’t the bet that hurt me,” you said. “But you fixed every problem that did. We actually put one of them in the back of a police car tonight. And you and I learnt how to talk to each other in the process. Look at us now.”

He felt his heart pick up speed, but he was still hesitant to agree. He didn’t think he’d ever have the right to make the first joke about the bet, however harmless it could seem years from now.

He nodded slowly. “Hmm.”

“Next step is learning how to shut up,” you added.

Looking up from the tiles of the shower floor, he took a moment to register the playful glint in your eyes.

“Is—is that supposed to be directed at me?” he asked, squinting.

“No, I meant that in general,” you replied. “But if the shoe fits…”

He scoffed, sliding one of his hands down your arm to intertwine your fingers.

“Oh, if the shoe fits,” he repeated. “Alright. Did you go to Jin’s school of comebacks?”

“I did,” you played along. “And graduated with honours.”

He nodded. “I can see that. Teacher’s pet much?”

“Very much.”

His grin was criminal, and you wanted nothing more than to feel it pressed against your lips.

“Well,” he said, bringing your hands to his shoulders and pulling you closer, “I do enjoy it when you listen to me. And when you do what I tell you.”

“Hmm.” You ran your tongue over your lips, and he was thoroughly infatuated with the look in your eyes at the moment. “That implies you’re the teacher in our relationship.”

“Am I not?”

“You haven’t taught me anything.”

He snorted, dignified. “I’ve taught you plenty.”

“Name one thing you taught me,” you challenged, but you were smiling at him, and he struggled to keep his train of thought when he looked at you.

“I—well, I taught you to play guitar, didn’t I?” he said.

You frowned, baffled by his interpretation of the word “teach.” You remembered the nights when Jungkook tried to learn guitar, and you were forced to listen to him whine about how there had to be something wrong with him—because, of course, if he couldn’t immediately excel at something, that had to mean that he was the problem.

“Is that what you think you were doing when you were learning it yourself?” you asked. “Because not only did you break all six strings, but the neighbours started banging on the radiators, and we—”

“Okay, okay,” he interrupted. The night you were talking about wasn’t his best, but he’d improved considerably since then. “I also taught you how to fight.”

“And then forbade me from punching Sid,” you countered. “Doesn’t count if I can’t use it.”

He rolled his eyes. You waited for another example, even though he was notoriously terrible at teaching others—to be fair, he rarely ever had to learn things himself; usually, they really did come naturally to him—but Jungkook stayed quiet for a few minutes.

“Well,” he finally said, “I taught you how to stop running from your feelings.”

“You—” you stopped your instinctive rebuttal and took a moment to look down and calm your heart instead. “Okay. Yeah. I suppose you did teach me that.”

“That’s right,” he said, happy to finally gloat. “Be a good student for me, and kiss me now.”

You looked up, distracted but amused. “Oh. Is this assignment going to affect my final grade?”

“Mhmm. It’s worth 75%.”

“Hmm. So, I have to put in some effort, I guess.”

He nodded while his hands roamed on your skin absentmindedly. “Might take you all night to finish it.”

“I don’t know...” you said. “I was never very good at pulling all-nighters.”

“Maybe that can be something else I teach you,” he murmured, close enough to touch your lips with his own as he spoke.

You whispered back, “maybe,” and he chose to reply by finally pressing his lips to yours.

He kissed you like he would countless times in the future, and the teasing promises of forever seemed to solidify inside you, like invisible tattoos that ran across your souls. And you remembered, because how could you not, about the first kiss that led you to this moment.

It was seven years ago, at the end of your second date, after you got back from the carnival where he claimed to have asked you to be his girlfriend. He had whined about not being able to walk you to your door after your first date—you were both wet from the rain, and he wasn’t allowed into your dormitory—so you snuck him in this time.

But he got too nervous in the end – he walked you to your door, hiding his trembling hands in his front pockets, and said goodbye to you, all while nearly suffocating from his anxiety. He’d already started to walk away, but then stopped abruptly and turned back. You were still standing there, watching him, your hands not reaching for the door handle. You looked like you knew he was going to turn around.

He reached you in two quick strides and connected your lips with so much force that your back hit the wall. He cupped your cheek with one hand and placed the other one on the wall behind you—and your breath never made it out, losing its way somewhere in his mouth. You’d kissed him back, your body trapped between the wall and his chest, and you thought you’d never feel quite as dizzy as this again.

Years later, in the shower of his hotel room in London, Jungkook kissed you again and again and again, and his lips still made your breath hitch, still made the room spin out of control.

He kissed you and every single time, the feeling of his lips on yours made your head feel light. He kept one of his hands on your cheek, the other one on the wall behind you—like that very first time—and you remembered wishing, seven years ago, that the night wouldn’t end. That he would stay, with his lips locked on yours, his touch warm and silky.

You remembered counting, too, how much time was left until you inevitably had to say goodbye. It had all felt so dramatic back then, so temporary. There was so little time, and so much you still had to do, so much you still wanted.

Tonight, the edges of the sky outside the small, shaded bathroom window were turning red; the sun was rising.

You counted again – there were five minutes left in this night, and you already had everything you wanted.

chapter title credits: bad omens, “feral”

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hellfirenacht · 2 days

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Wing Man Part 10

Fic Summary: Steve ‘the Hair’ Harrington is your best friend, and is constantly striking out. Sick of this, you two make a deal; you’ll wing man for each other. Hooking Steve up with dates is easy, but he finds himself struggling to find you a date. At least, until Dustin starts talking about his new cool friend Eddie.

Chapter Summary: It’s no longer Halloween, but the ghosts from yours and Eddie’s pasts are coming back to haunt you.

5.7 Words

(1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9)

You had always heard the phrase “speak of the Devil and he shall appear”, but you didn’t think that line was supposed to be so literal.

You and Eddie starred in shock as your shared connection stood in front of the two of you, smiling at Eddie as if he were an old friend. If Chris noticed any animosity in your faces, it didn’t show. Either he was oblivious, or you and Eddie were good at hiding what you two were feeling right now.

“I thought I saw you in the lobby earlier.” Chris said, walking over to the two of you, ruining your moment together. “I didn’t think you were one for the theater since you never did come and see the Spring play that I worked so hard on.”

Eddie looked weirded out by this, to say the least.

“Sorry, I was busy trying to finish the campaign that you started.” Eddie said. “I didn’t exactly have time to go.”

Well, you were really in the middle of this now. You shifted slightly closer to Eddie, looking over Chris. He was almost unrecognizable from his school photos and how you remembered him on that day. No longer the pale and scrawny kid with the constantly pissy face, Chris was actually smiling and it was honestly off-putting. He looked more tan than he had in school, but there was a faint orange tint to his skin that looked unnatural under the yellow lighting of the marquis.

A fake tan. That’s what it had to be. Chris was sporting a fake tan for his role as Rocky.

You should have been Riff Raff. Or not here at all. You thought to yourself.

“Are you still mad that I left Hellfire?” Chris asked. “That was four years ago! Plus, I handed everything over to you, didn’t I? You got to finally be the Dungeon Master, and I got to find something I enjoyed. I think it’s a fair trade.”

Eddie still didn’t seem impressed, but kept his mouth shut. Chris turned his attention to you.

“I’ve seen you before.” he said. “You come here a lot, don’t you?”

You blinked in surprise. There’s no way you would have missed him if he came to this show a lot, right?

“Yeah, how did you know?” you asked slowly.

“I’ve been running tech for the show since March.” Chris had a smug look on his face that made your stomach churn. If he was working backstage, that would make sense why you hadn’t seen him before. “And I got to be Rocky for this run. What did you all think of the show?”

“The movie was fun.” Eddie offered, and you had the feeling that he was trying to decide if he should be honest or to let go of what happened four years ago.

You, however, were more willing to be honest in the moment. “I’ve seen better performances.” you said bluntly. “The movie was fine, but I expected more for the Halloween showing. Half of the shadow cast was completely different than before and they didn’t seem to know their cues. Also, what happened to the Virgin Sacrifice?”

Instead of being off-put, Chris just laughed and shrugged. “There’s been some recent changes to the theater management.” he explained. “It caused a bit of a commotion and there were some disagreements. Unfortunately, things like this happen in live theater. A lot of the cast bailed on the show at the last minute.”

That made sense, as much as it disappointed you. If there was an internal problem with the company running the show, it would end up bleeding out into the performance. You felt your annoyance calm down a little. It’s not like Chis was the one to run the show into the ground.

“Well, It’s been nice seeing you again.” Eddie said, as his hand slipped into yours again, “We have to get going, it’s getting late.”

You gave Chris a half-hearted wave and a goodbye, but then Chris started talking again right as you two were turning around to leave.

“Just so you know, auditions will be opening for the shadow cast.” He said. “We’re skipping the next two months to get the show back on track. In case either of you are interested.”

You froze in place for a moment and Eddie noticed and dropped your hand. You turned around to look at Chris, wondering if he was being serious right now.

“Auditions are never open. Even for the understudies.” you said. “I heard that you needed to know someone on the inside to even have a chance at auditioning.”

“Well, we know each other now, don’t we?” he asked with a smile that had too many teeth for your comfort. “I can get you an audition, if you’re really interested. I think you’d be great on stage.” Chris was looking at you up and down, as if considering you. “I can see you as a great Janet.”

“I’ve always wanted to audition.” you finally admitted. “I’ve been wanting to be a part of this show since I started coming here.”

Chris dug into his bag and pulled out a card for the theater, and scribbled down a date and time on the back. “This is when we’re holding auditions. It’s invite only.” he said. “I’ll put in a good word for you, if you’re serious.”

You took the card, looking it over. Maybe you and Eddie had been a little hard on the guy. Chris was right, it had been a long time since he was in high school, and people change. You changed. It’d be pretty hypocritical of you to brush this off completely. Everyone here was an adult, right? And this was something you’d wanted for years now. Could you really just pass this up?

“I’ll be there.” you said, without thinking, and when Chris offered his hand, you reached out and shook it. “Thank you.” you added.

Chris winked at you and said goodbye to Eddie and turned to leave, leaving you and your date alone outside the theater. By now, almost all of the movie-goers had left and the parking lot was nearly empty save for a few cars.

“Holy shit.” you said, turning to Eddie when Chris was out of earshot. “I did not expect to run into him tonight. Or ever again.”

Eddie let out a small sharp breath that could have either been a laugh or a sigh. “I thought he just disappeared off the face of the earth when he graduated.” His eyes drifted to the card you held in your hand; the same hand that he had been holding on and off all night. “His hair grew out a lot.”

“Yeah, I think it’s even longer than yours now.” You agreed, tucking away the card into your own bag and turning to fully face him again now.

The mood between you two had shifted from what it had been before Chris interrupted the two of you. Whatever moment the two of you were about to have had passed, and as much as you wanted to kiss Eddie, it wasn’t the time. You didn’t want to force anything after the moment had been ruined.

Dammit, Chris. Why couldn’t he have shown up before the movie started? Okay, maybe you were still able to feel pissed at the guy.

“Come on, I’ll walk you to your car.” Eddie said, and this time you reached out for his hand instead. Chris might have cockblocked your first kiss with Eddie, but you weren’t going to let him completely ruin the night. You didn’t miss the slight squeeze of his hand as you led him towards your car.

“I know I totally trashed the performance, but I did have a lot of fun with you tonight.” you told Eddie. “Other than him showing up, I really did like spending time with you.”

“Next date, it’s gonna be just us.” he said. “No chaperones and no Chris-es.”

“So, you want to go on another date with me?” you asked, thinking that maybe the moment wasn’t as ruined as you had thought.

“I’ll call you this weekend.” Eddie promised.

He leaned in, and you closed your eyes. Warm lips brushed against your cheek, and you tried not to feel too disappointed. It was still something, after all. The two of you hugged, and you breathed in the faint smell of cigarettes, leather, and popcorn.

“Not if I call you first.” you said, finding that line was starting to be a small inside joke between the two of you. You hoped that there’d be a lot more shared jokes together in the future.

You got in your car, and made your way home. Despite the small hiccup, you were starting to feel more confident about the future. Things were going well with Eddie, and you finally had the chance to do something you’d had your heart set on for years now.

Moving forward wasn’t so bad.

Eddie was torn on how tonight went. You had fun, and you said that you had fun with him. He had been ready to lean in and plant one on you to make this feel more official but then Chris just had to show up and ruin the night. As usual.

It might not have been as bad if he hadn’t started talking about auditions and that was what made Eddie’s stomach twist. You had been mentioned enough times that this was something you had always wanted to do, and Eddie admired that a lot. He loved that you wanted to be on stage like that, and if you were in the cast he was sure that he’d show up for you, just as you had been showing up for Corroded Coffin.

But Chris had been the one to make the offer to you with his new muscles and hair that was longer than Eddie’s. Eddie didn’t want to feel jealous, and most of him felt like the two of you had bonded enough over talking shit about the guy that there was no way you’d had an interest in him.

So why did a smaller voice in the back of Eddie’s head feel like this was starting to crumble already? You had talked about changing and being different since you had been in school, and Chris looked different and had pointed out that he had graduated almost four years ago.

“You aren’t at Hawkins High and these aren’t children.” you had said when he had been taking in the site of so many people who looked and dressed more like him.

You hadn’t meant anything by it, Eddie was sure of that. You didn’t seem like the type to put someone down for what they were or weren’t able to accomplish. That still didn’t change the fact that he was a 20 year old still in high school, while you and Chris were out in the real world working and living on your own. Presumably. Eddie didn’t know where Chris was living and didn’t care to.

It was pretty late in the evening now, and he found himself wishing he could call Ronnie right now. Actually, he was starting to wish that he had talked to her earlier, had listened to her and taken her more seriously a few years ago.

Three more stupid credits and I’m out. That’s what he’d told himself since September when he walked into school for his sixth year in high school. He could coast through most of his classes, and he just needed to push through until June.

1986. That was going to be his year. He just needed to get through the rest of 1985 first.

Just as Eddie was about to go and crash in his bed the phone rang. You were the only one who would be calling him this late, and the knot in his stomach only tightened. You hadn’t been judgemental to his face about his education (or lack there-of) but what if it did matter?

He didn’t think you’d just up and drop him because Chris Morrison of all people showed up with his stupid long hair, offering you something that you wanted so badly. Right? Then again, Eddie hadn’t exactly been the best at communicating with you at all, and he had disappeared on you more than once without notice. Chris hadn’t hesitated with giving you a way to contact him.

Expecting the worst, Eddie tried to remain calm as he reached the kitchen.

“Hey.” Eddie said into the phone, “Get home safe?”

“Eddie?”

That voice wasn’t yours. The last time Eddie heard that voice, Eddie had been covered in blood and soot in Police Chief Hopper’s office. Her voice had echoed so loud that Hopper had even flinched as she cursed him out for ruining a chance for both of them.

“Paige?” Eddie asked in disbelief, as if he were talking to a ghost.

For fuck’s sake, Eddie this isn’t something we can just reschedule I know this was your shot this was my shot I stuck my neck out for you I know I’m at the police station What did you do? No room for a little tarnish, huh? Don’t be an asshole I’ve been an asshole all along, I’m just the last person in Hawkins to accept it Fuck you.

“I’ve tried calling you a few times but you weren’t home.” Paige said.

“You could have left a message.” Eddie’s voice was colder than he meant it. First Chris, and now Paige. What sick prank was the universe playing on him today?

“I figured you wouldn’t call back if I did.” Paige said, honestly.

The clock in the kitchen read that it was late in Hawkins and not quite as late in California, assuming that is where Paige was. He wanted to hang up the phone, leave her on a dead end line, just as she had done to him almost two years ago.

Don’t be an asshole. He told himself. What had happened between the two of them had been the perfect shit storm of events. Eddie had flown, reached out towards the sun, only to crash and burn. He had been reminded of what it really meant to have Munson attached to his name.

Eddie had been the one to fuck up, not Paige.

“I probably wouldn’t have.” Eddie admitted.

“Are you going to hang up on me now?”

Eddie paused. “No.”

“Good.”

“You know it’s... really late.”

“I know. I probably should have called you in the morning but I thought it was worth a shot calling tonight. Besides, it’s not like you have school in the morning.”

He didn’t, but that was only because he was planning on skipping tomorrow because he’d been out so late tonight.

Eddie’s mind went through a rolodex of anything that Paige Warner would want to talk to him about after all this time. Was she wanting to finally know how he ended up in holding? Had her brother told her about how he was now Freak King Supreme in Hawkins? Shit, did he have an estranged child with her that he didn’t know about? They had always used protection but shit happens and who could blame her from hiding a kid from a guy who she had to bail out of jail and had no money-

“I’m sorry.” Paige said. “For how things ended between the two of us. A lot happened after you called and I couldn’t bring myself to talk to you after.”

Eddie blinked and stared at the faded wallpaper of the kitchen, trying to make sense of the apology. She was apologizing? Why?

“I....” Eddie swallowed. “I think I should be the one apologizing here.”

“Oh, you definitely owe me an apology, too.” Despite her words, there was no bite behind it, no malice. “But I’m offering up my apology first as an olive branch.”

How come ever since that night at the Palace Arcade, everything had started being so weird for Eddie?

“What exactly are you apologizing for?” Eddie asked as he rubbed his face, the evening was starting to catch up to him now.

“For blowing up at you at 4 am when you needed help.” Paige said.

“It’s.. It’s fine. I deserved it.” Eddie leaned against the refrigerator and slid down. His gaze drifted up to the popcorn ceiling of the trailer’s kitchen, picking out constellations in the flaky white plaster.

“Maybe, but I should have heard you out after I had cooled off.” Paige said.

“So, you’re calling me in the middle of the night two years later just so we can talk about what happened?” Eddie asked.

“Not completely. I’m calling because I want to give you a second chance.”

“Uhhh.....” Had Eddie heard that correctly?

“A lot happened with WR Records after you bailed on the audition.” Paige continued. “I don’t want to go into details over the phone, but the short version is Corroded Coffin might have another shot.”

Oh, it can get weirder.

“Wait, what? Really?” Eddie sat up straight, gripping the phone with a grip so tight his knuckles were turning white.

“I’m coming back to Hawkins for a few weeks. I’ll be landing in a few days, and I want to meet up with you to give you more information.”

Corroded Coffin might have a second chance. Not just Eddie, but his band. When Paige had managed to get Eddie the original audition, she had said that only he would be the one to go to L.A. to play for all the suits in the business. They were only interested in Eddie, not Corroded Coffin. Eddie was real.

“You mean, my whole band?” he clarified. “Not just me?”

“Don’t get too excited.” Paige said firmly. “This isn’t nearly as nice of an opportunity as last time. But it is an opportunity. I want to meet up with you alone first to go over the details and explain what’s going on.”

“Why just me?”

“Because you’re the selling point, Eddie. You always were.”

Real. I saw it that night at the Hideout. I saw it years ago at the stupid talent show. You get up there and whatever you play, it’s raw. It’s life or death. And people can feel it.

Had you felt it? Eddie thought back to the two times you had shown up to see him play, you’d looked up at him with an excitement that he’d only ever seen from the rest of his band. Eddie could count on his hands the number of people who he could say were fans of his. Paige had been the first to look at him like he was someone while he was on stage, but she wasn’t the last.

“When do you land?” Eddie asked.

“Early Saturday, but I’m spending time with my family for the next few days.” she said. “I’ll call you and let you know when we can meet up.”

“Yeah.. yeah alright. Sounds good.”

Did it?

“Alright, I’ll talk to you later Eddie. Good night.”

“Hey, Paige?”

“Yes?”

“...Thanks. For bailing me out back then. I don’t think they would have released me if you hadn’t.”

“Just don’t do that again, ok?” Paige said. “And you can give me a proper apology when we meet up.”

Eddie nodded, and then realized he was on the phone and she couldn’t see him. “Okay. I’ll be there.” he said.

The dial tone wasn’t as aggressive as it had been that day in Hoppers office, and this time Eddie didn’t slam the phone down on the receiver. Instead he opened up the fridge, stared hard at the six pack of beer, closed the fridge without grabbing one, and went back to his room. He kicked off his shoes, and shrugged off his clothes, and fell face first onto his bed.

Eddie tried to sleep. He tossed and turned for hours, replaying the events of the night over and over and over again like a bad movie. Seeing you, watching the movie, almost kissing you, Chris showing up, Paige showing up. How could so much happen in the span of less than three hours?

Paige wanted to talk to him about Corroded Coffin. Eddie was the selling point. There was no way that WR Records was still interested in him, if they were she would have said so and not even brought up the rest of his band.

Shit, what would the rest of the band even say? Only Jeff had been around for the original demo recording that they had all done together. Dougie had left after that year, Ronnie passed her position off to Gareth.

Face stuffed into his stained pillowcase, he started creating a list of unanswered questions. Why was Paige showing up now? Why was she reaching out to him? Why is she giving Corroded Coffin another shot? Why did Chris have to show up tonight? Could you be attracted to Chris now that he had long hair and wasn’t the scrawny asshole he was in high school? Why did Dustin suggest him to hook you up with? Why did you agree? Why did he care so much that you didn’t remember him? Why did Steve also keep showing up? Why didn’t he kiss you? Wait, did Paige still want to kiss him? Okay, that one at least had to be a no.

Eddie gave up on sleep when his uncle came home, and heard the faint snoring coming from the pull out couch in the main room.

With sleep no longer an option for him for the time being, Eddie dug out his notebooks and instead focused on the mountain of song lyrics and notes from over the past few years. With his guitar slung over his shoulder and unplugged, he would be able to work without disturbing Wayne’s sleep.

Each silent chord and tab that Eddie played whispered through his bedroom. He mouthed along to the words on the pages, his voice occasionally slipping through the cracks as he figured out the rhythm of the lyrics. Playing guitar cleared his head, music always brought everything to the surface one way or another, even if he didn’t realize it.

As he focused on a specific riff, his fingers and wrist moved over and over in a constant rhythm. Even when he messed up, he didn’t stop the movements of his fingers as they slid along the strings. It was easy, it was challenging, it was meditative. Eddie could finally focus.

Paige Warner wanted to see him again to discuss Corroded Coffin. Paige was an ex. Sort of. It had been implied that they were going to make it official when he moved to California with her. They were even going to move in together, even if they would have separate rooms. Roommates who sleep together.

Anyone with half a brain wouldn’t just up and admit that she was an ex girlfriend. Business or not, Eddie was going to have dinner with an ex.

If he were still the same shitty 18 year old from two years ago, he wouldn’t have thought it was a big deal. Eddie would have had no problem going to see her, and it wouldn’t have even crossed his mind to tell you. But now, as a less shitty 20 year old, he couldn’t do that. You deserved to know who he was going to see if the two of you were going to go on another date.

He was also going to have to come clean about a lot more than that if things became more serious. That was something that Eddie was dreading. If he told you about Paige, he’d have to tell you about their history together. Telling you that he and Paige had slept together was easy, but what about the rest? How could he explain that she bailed him out of jail after he’d been arrested because a cop was shot on his lawn after two drug mules had burned his house down because Munson and Junior had stolen five pounds of weed from a reefer truck?

Eddie had only told the whole story to one person, and that was Reefer Rick. He hadn’t even had the heart to tell Wayne everything that had happened that Spring out of shame for everything that he’d done. Even Ronnie had been kept in the dark about what happened.

The sun slowly came up, and his guitar and notebooks were bathed in a warm golden light that contrasted the chill of the beginning of November. Eddie hung his guitar back up and gathered his notebooks, setting them aside for a later time. He laid back down on the bed, and closed his eyes. He decided that the next time the two of you talked, he would be honest about who Paige was and what their main history was. It wouldn’t do anyone any good to dump all of his family trauma on you at once when things were only just starting out.

It was kind of funny. Eddie had never set out to be anyone's boyfriend. It had never been a priority with him. Even with Paige, he had definitely found her attractive but aside from seeking her out to ask for her help with getting signed, she had been the one to make any move for anything more to happen. He’d been fine with that at the time, but after spending time with you...

This wouldn’t be easy, but he told himself he wasn’t going to run anymore. When he woke up, he’d call you and tell you exactly what was going on and who he was going to see. Anything about his police record could wait for now.

With that thought in mind, Eddie was able to finally pass out.

It was well into the afternoon when Eddie finally woke up again. He pushed through the grogginess and showered, dressed, and shoved a can of instant pasta into his mouth as he flipped through the limited channels on tv.

About two hours went by before he remembered that you had today off. You’d mentioned that to him during one of your many long phone calls, and he about smacked himself in the head when he realized it. He’d been sitting around and waiting for you to get off work, and you hadn’t even gone in today.

Eddie held the phone in his hand, his fingers hovering over the dial pad hesitantly before forcing himself to push the digits that would connect the two of you again.

You answered on the third ring.

“No Hellfire today?” you asked.

“Not this time, everyone bailed out early for fall break.” Eddie said. “We did our Halloween special yesterday.”

“Tell me about it?”

Eddie felt himself nearly melting into a pile of goo at the words. You always asked about his campaigns and his band, taking an interest in a way that no one ever had before. There was a lot that he had to tell you, but.. He could at least give you this before he gave you the real reason why he called.

You listened as he told you about how the party went up against a pumpkin creature that had been attacking the town. It was a module he had made himself, and that he’d been working on for the past month between the main story of the campaign. You laughed and gasped at all the right moments, sealing the idea that Eddie was going to make a one-shot for you specifically to play. He couldn’t wait to help you make a character and add you to his table.

Assuming you would even want anything to do with him after what he was about to tell you.

“Sounds like a Scooby Doo episode.” you said, as he finished his tale.

“More like Goober and the Ghost Chasers.” Eddie smiled, taking his usual seat in front of the fridge.

The two of you talked, and it was far too easy to get lost in all of the conversations that he had with you. Every time he told himself to suck it up and tell you who he was planning on seeing, you’d ask him something and the two of you would be off on another tangent.

But then Eddie found his opening, and it was time to talk.

“I’ll be at the Hideout again next week.” you said. “I��m really looking forward to hearing that song you keep hinting at. How many original songs are you hiding from me?”

“We have almost seven by now, but no one wants to hear them.” Eddie lied, knowing full well there had been at least one person before who did.

“I want to.”

Two people.

Fuck, he needed to tell you.

“So... speaking of Corroded Coffin,” he said carefully. “We actually almost had a chance to audition for WR Records.”

“Hole shit.” you gasped into the phone. “What happened? I would have thought any record company would be tearing down the door to get you to sign with them. Or, oh, were they too mainstream? Did they want you to sell out? Change everything about you? Did you tell them to shove it, and that you wanted to make real music?”

Eddie couldn’t help but snort into the phone, suppressing a laugh. “Nah, we uh... well we made a demo tape and sent it in, and they wanted us- me. They wanted me to audition.”

“Just you...?”

“Yeah.” Eddie picked at a loose fray in the tear in his jeans. “They didn’t really like Corroded Coffin, but they did like me. But I blew my chance, and never made it to the audition.”

“Shit, Eddie... that sucks.” you said sympathetically. “What happened?”

Eddie was quiet for a moment as he tried to figure out how to explain to you what happened.

“Eddie?” you asked after he didn’t say anything. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to get into it.”

“I fucked up.” He finally admitted. “I did something stupid, and it stopped me from making it to California for the audition. That was two years ago. And last night I just got news that Corroded Coffin might be having another shot at something.”

“Wait really? That’s incredible that they still want to talk to you! And you said it was for the whole band this time? Not just you?”

“I don’t think it’s WR Records this time but a talent scout found me and is wanting to talk about Corroded Coffin?”

“There was a talent scout at the Hideout?”

“No.... my uh.. My ex.”

The silence between the two of you was deafening. For a few seconds, the world went completely still, and silent. Eddie always hated silence.

“Oh.” you said after a while, and Eddie could tell you were trying to process what he had just said. “So your ex wants to talk to you about your band?”

Your voice sounded neutral, almost too casual, and Eddie hated that too. “She- Paige- she was the one to give Corroded Coffin a chance. She paid for the demo herself, sent it to her boss, and got the audition slot for me. But I fucked up, ended up locked up for a few hours, and everything fell apart.”

Eddie wished that he could see your face, would you look at him with sympathy? Disgust? Would you suddenly look at him like everyone else in town?

“That sounds like a lot.” You said.

“Not gonna ask me what I was in for?”

“Do you want to tell me?”

“...Not yet.”

“Are you on some sort of list?”

“No.”

“Did you kill someone?”

“I don’t think I’d be let out if I did.”

“Good point. Alright. Then I’ll trust you that you’ll tell me when you’re ready.”

Trust. You trusted him. When was the last time he had anyones trust?

“Paige wants to give Corroded Coffin another chance.” Eddie said. “She wants me to meet up with her to give me details. I don’t know what she’s planning on offering but-”

“She bailed you out of jail and is offering you something you always wanted?” You asked, and he could hear something in your voice that sounded almost like defeat. “You should go. It’s clear that the two of you have a history that you two need to work though. And if she’s offering you and Corroded Coffin a chance, you have to take it, right?”

The way you said ‘right’ made him wonder if you were asking something more than just his current situation.

Why was it that every time you two started to find your footing together, things slipped up? How could things constantly be so weird with you when this should have felt easy? What force in the universe out there kept dangling good things in front of Eddie just to take them away as a cruel joke?

“Right.” Eddie said, sounding just about as sure as he felt about this. He didn’t even know what this was.

“Look, I don’t know what happened between you two, but it sounds like it’s complicated and you two need to talk about it.” you said. “Just let me know what’s going on after, okay?”

Eddie knew what you really meant. Let me know if this is going anywhere or if you’re going to get back with your ex.

That was a thought he didn’t even want to entertain. It already seemed to be impossible that Paige wanted to talk to him again, let alone date again.

“I will.” He would. “I’ll let you know when we’re meeting up and what she says.”

“I have my audition next Saturday.” you added. “And Robin and Steve and I are going to have a movie night later this week to hang out. But, I’ll still be at the Hideout if you all are still playing and not signed by then.”

You were joking with him, and he took that as a sign that maybe he didn’t completely fuck up.

“We’ll be there.” Eddie said. “I guess I’ll see you Tuesday then.”

“See you Tuesday, Eddie.”

With the phone hook back on the receiver, Eddie took a deep breath.

Just when things are starting to get good, huh?

a/n:

Dividers By: @strangergraphics

Tag List @k8loo @terrormonster55 @sp1dyb0y1008 @crocwork-clockodile @ali-r3n @mxcheese @josephquinnschesthair @gagasbee @peaches-roses-sins @witchwolflea @vintagehellfire @royale1803 @cumslutforaemond @prestinalove @browneyedgirly93 @perpetualmess @thebook-hobbit @cultish-corner @grishaversecaptivated @sortagaysortahigh @halialex1119 @siriuslysmoking @huffledor-able541 @pookiesnatcher @eddiesguitarskills @browneyes-8288

#nacht fic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #wing man

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senawashere · 2 days

Text

We're on this together...(Chapter III):

Bradley Bradshaw x Fem!Wife!Reader

Summary: Sometimes life can get rough but no matter how often and how much people hurt eachother,loving someone is never a waste.

Warnings: MAJOR SMUT (MDI), infertility,mentions of miscarrige,mentions of hospital,mentions of getting pregnant,mentiones of ivf.Use of alcohol,arguing,use of bad languange. Mostly angst.

February 14 2022.

"Roo, don't stop."

Bradley speeds up his body, hiding his face in his wife's neck, where he makes sure to leave purple marks and bites as you wrap your arms around his shoulders and cling to him, wrapping your legs around his waist.

He's touching your weak spot and he knows it, grinding himself against you every time he moves forward, causing you to let out little moans and arch your back, digging your nails into his skin.

Bradley didn't stop, ignoring the ache in his muscles. His endurance was better than a normal person, for God's sake, because he was a military pilot, but this "love making" had become painful, boring and no longer felt special for him.

He definitely missed the times when you both were younger and he could go for hours without getting tired, but he wouldn't trade his gift for anything, when he finally married the love of his life he had grown old like everyone else, they weren't those horny college kids anymore. But sometimes he still wishes they were.

His wet kisses against your jaw distracted you, ypu let out a moan from your throat and felt your orgasm getting closer and closer.

He moved his head down to kiss and lick your breasts, and you buried a hand in his hair, tugging at the strands. He kisses above your heart like he always does.

It's late at night, everywhere is quiet and only the sound of their bodies can be heard, they are completely intimate, silent but telling each other everything.

"I'm so close..." After a while he mumbled quietly, his voice hoarse. "Baby."

With that sound, you tightened around him with a reflex you can't control.

When it comes to Bradley, his whole body responds. “I'm close too, fuck.” He said, leaving kisses on your cheeks.

"Please, fill me up,baby."

And with that, Bradley cums inside you.

It's short, but it takes your breath away and pleasure fills your body in the way only his body does. Your juices paint his walls white and it doesn't take long for him to cum too.

You cling to him, you don't want to let go, so you kiss his face and breathe deeply.

Close to three minutes pass and he pulls away from your body to talk, but you're already asleep.

It's the fifth time they've done it in a week and it's only Thursday, he thinks about the last time they made love this long and this often.

And he didn't know if it was because he was desperate for your touch or because he just wanted to have a baby, but he missed talking to you.

Bradley misses you.

He is missing his one and only wife.

March 12 2022.

As you finished throwing two negative test in the trash, you receive a call from Blake ,Jake's wife. You pick up the phone while passing by your empty bedroom.

“Hello, Y/N?” Your friend's voice rings out.

"Hello." You replie, unable to fake a happiness that isn't there anymore.

"How are you sweetheart?" She asks and you are in your classic voice when you say 'I'm fine'.

"Is Rooster with you?"

You looked away from your laptop when you heard her question. "I thought he was with Jake?"

"Mhm, no. And he's not returning our calls either. Jake and Nat has called him multiple times,they were going to ask him if he wanted to come to Hard Deck."

That's when you started to worry and after a quick goodbye, you hung up the phone.

It's eleven o'clock at night, where is he?

The door opens just in time and you quickly walked towards Bradley, who placed his keys, jacket, and shoes on the shelf without looking at you.

"Blake called, where were you?" You ask, crossing your arms.

“I don't want to argue right now, Y/N.” he mutters, moving past you towards the kitchen, opening the fridge and drinking a bottle of beer under your gaze.

"Who said we were going to argue?" Your sarcastic laughter echoes in the room. "I just want to know where my husband was."

"I was at Javy's, God, calm down." Bradley replies, fed up with your behavior, and you look at him confused. You stood in front of him.

"'Calm down?'"

He lowers his head and frowns. "Yeah, you've been... insanely sad lately."

You laugh in disbelief, feeling the anger gnawing at your body.

"Maybe I'm not upset, maybe you're too calm."

Bradley doesn't even look at you and walks towards the home office, but you,his wife, follow in his footsteps, looking for answers.

“What am i so calm about, Y/N?” He asks with his back to you and pulls out notes from his notebook to start writing. "My job is very stressful these days, I don't know whether I will go to deployment tomorrow or in a month, and I don't want to leave you alone in this situation. I'm not calm at all."

“Even though we've been trying to have a baby for months,almost a year without success, you seem pretty calm, like you – don't mind.”

The empty bottle falls onto the table with a hard clatter and you slowly turn to look into his eyes. His face is serious and you can see that his dark hazel eyes are dark and slightly watery.

You're both hurting when it comes to the baby.

"Do you seriously think I don't care?" He slowly walks towards you and you swallows dryly, knowing you touched a soft spot for him. For both of you. "This is destroying us and you know it."

"Don't say that, nothing can destroy us." You interrupt him by grabbing his hand, you feel your eyes aee getting watery and your throat is feeling hurt, but Bradley lets it go.

"These last few months- I..." You wrinkled your nose, feeling the tears forming in your eyes.

“I've been nothing but a sex toy to you, all i do is fuck you to get something, we don't talk anymore, we don't cuddle anymore, it's like I married a ghost. I miss you and you don't realise that. I just don't know what you want from but i am so tired and sick of it."

“Bradley…-” You whispered in surprise. Not expecting any of this.

“I want everything back to the way it was before, I want my best friend, my wife,my everything, my soul back. It feels like we're only going backwards and you don't love me anymore." One single tear drop is falling from his eyes to his now reddish cheek.

You stutter, bursting into tears in front of him and closing your eyes, allowing the yourself to cry against his chest to hug him.

You both hold each other tightly and let go after holding on for a long time.

Bradley was having a terrible time too, and you didn't notice because you were too busy trying to make your "dream" come true.

"I'm sorry,baby. I love you." You hold his cheeks to look into his eyes and nods as the tears continue to flow. "Baby, what I did was so selfish."

"It's okay,my love. It's kind of funny how short our arguments are." He smiles, caressing you soft cheek and kissing the tip of your nose. "Just...promise me something."

"Everything." You respond immediately.

"We'll see a doctor."

Oh god.... I love him and i think she is too🥹🥲

I'm tagging people who might be interested:@ohtobeleah @sebsxphia @callsign-fox @greenorangevioletgrass @teacupsandtopgun @roosterforme @floydsglasses @lyn-js @its-dee-lovely @its-the-pilot @friedchips94 @hardballoonlove @topguncortez @bradshawsbaddie @shanimallina87 @djs8891 @themusingofagothicsoul @promisingyounglady @the-romanian-is-bae @mamachasesmayhem @jessicab1991 @iefitzgerald-blog @charcole-grey @waterriseslew @desert-fern @eternalsams @promisingyounglady @els-marvelvsp if you are not comfortable please tell me!!

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violetasteracademic · 2 days

Note

Yesterday I came across a Gwynriel comment on a pro-Elriel post that said: “I like Azriel. Which is why I want him to find his mate.”

I’ve always found this Gwynriel/Elucien rhetoric ironic because they’re making it clear they don’t actually like Azriel. Because if they like Azriel, wouldn’t they want him to find LOVE, first and foremost? SJM has mentioned multiple times that a mating bond is not equivalent to romantic love, and yet Gwynriels, especially, only ever argue that they want Azriel to find his mate.

I’ve found that this is the biggest differentiator between Elriels and Gwynriels/Eluciens: Elriels want Az to find happiness. We want him to find LOVE—whether it’s through a mating bond or not. The emphasis is always on LOVE.

To be honest, it took me a really long time to think through this, because I have SO many things to say on the topic! But in the interest of keeping this concise (false when have I ever kept things concise), and addressing this issue head on, we are going to go ahead and say yes, sure, maybe SJM is a "fated mates only" author (even though some of my favorite SJM couples are not mates) and that has no bearing on whether or not Azriel and Elain are still likely to be endgame.

It comes down to active and inactive storylines, as well as facts from the books versus ideas and theories of what could be true.

Throughout her multiverse, Sarah has told the "Fated Mate" story in a variety of ways, and she continues to tackle it in new ways. We have had faked mating bonds, villainous cosmic interference with mating bonds, bonds that were revealed slowly, bonds that snapped quickly, bonds that solidified over oceans before two people even met, two people literally just *deciding* they are mates and making it so, and mating bonds where the pairs were miserable and not well suited, and they lived in misery until they died.

Prythian is the only world in the multiverse where there is even a conversation about the female being able to reject the mating bond. Those are the rules set forth in Prythian. You cannot ignore them. If Elain doesn't want Lucien, she gets to reject him. Them's the rules. This isn't even an *option* or mentioned on the other worlds. Prythian is the only one where, time and time again, we are reminded that there are many unhappily mated pairs. Rhysand's own parents were miserable. So miserable that Cassian thought the mating bond was all lies and bullshit for over 500 years, until Rhys and Feyre, for the first time in his centuries of life, proved him wrong. (ACOFAS, Chapter 2.)

Narratively, Prythian has set up and established a mating bond rejection. No other SJM world has. More than that, Feyre questioned why Lucien and Elain were paired together, and seeing Elain be placed with Lucien even though Feyre thought Elain and Azriel would be a better fit made Feyre realize how lucky she and Rhys were to be mated *and* in love. Directly comparing Elain and Lucien to Feyre and Rhys further proved how special Feysand was.

Then Azriel questions the Cauldron, asking if it could be wrong. (again, the second time this question has been asked in regards to Elain and Lucien specifically.)

Now, in HOFAS, the most up to date publication, that narrative continues as we discover the Asteri pooled their power into the Cauldron to make it serve their will. (HOFAS, Chapter 25) This answered Feyre's question; Who are the powers that decide to force people who don't like each other to be mated and create the most powerful offspring? (the Asteri, because they need to eat their souls for sustenance and gain control of the world) And of course Azriel is the one watching this all unfold and learning this information. Azriel questioning the Cauldron has now been laid out not only in ACOSF, but the last two books Sarah has published. These are the facts that will set up the next book, just as Feysand and Nessian were set up in previous books.

Feyre and Rhys were already tied together in book one. We knew, heading into book two, that Feyre and Rhys had connected. They trusted each other. And while their bargain was not consensual, she chose to go to him when he called through her bond of her own free will, because they had developed a connection. We head into book two knowing exactly where things were headed. She has an interesting/developing relationship with Rhys, and she is guaranteed to see him again. This sets up the "Ordinary World" (I've made a few posts on the hero's journey book structure SJM follows, more on that here) for book two. By the end of ACOTAR, Rhys and Feyre are in an active storyline together that picks up in ACOMAF.

Nesta and Cassian had their entire plot laid out in A Court of Frost and Starlight. Cassian is dealing with Devlon and the struggle to get Illyrian females training. He describes the Blood Rite, and muses on what the one from the upcoming spring will bring. Nesta is in her alcoholic I hate my family era, and Cassian is fighting to get back what occurred between them during the war. The kiss they shared, and the willingness to die together. And they are both fighting like wildfire. By the end of ACOFAS, these are active storylines. Everything discussed about or between them in ACOFAS picks up and comes to pass in ACOSF.

Whether you want them to be together or not, the active storyline in ACOSF and HOFAS is between Elain and Azriel. Questioning the Cauldron, fighting their feelings for each other, and the tension between them escalating was their story in ACOSF. People who argue the bonus chapter ended their story are factually incorrect. Because as of this day, in this year 2024, Azriel's "What if the Cauldron was wrong" storyline CONTINUED in House of Flame and Shadow.

Azriel stood there and learned first hand how the Cauldron had been corrupted and warped by creatures who came to Prythian in search of sustenance, and, as previously mentioned, "pooled their power into the Cauldron so that it would work their will." (HOFAS, Chapter 25) They then "protected their interests" by turning the Cauldron into a killswitch, ensuring it could never be destroyed and that their will could continued to be enacted on Prythian or the world would cease to exist.

So, these are the active storylines when Azriel and Elain wake up in Prythian today (thus setting up the Ordinary World in the three act structure) that expand upon the previous two books:

Elain and Azriel have feeling for each other.

Azriel's feelings for Elain are so strong that he questions the Cauldron, and is willing to fight to the death over it.

Azriel has learned that the Cauldron was completely corrupted and fucked up by an evil species that used to rule over Prythian, and now rules over Midgard, and eats souls by churning them through a "soul meat grinder for food." (HOFAS, Chapter 16)

Azriel has learned that all of the Dread Trove items were created by the Asteri in the Cauldron, the same beings that warped the Cauldron and turned it into a kill switch to ensure power over their world. (HOFAS, Chapter 24) Only the Archeron sisters can wield the Trove, and are protected from it being used against them.

Azriel learned that Truth-Teller and the Starsword were also made in the Cauldron by the Dusk Court ancestors to destroy the Asteri. Currently, only Azriel can wield both Truth-Teller and the Starsword. Elain can also wield Truth-Teller. (Possibly Nesta as well, but Elain used it to travel through shadows while Nesta used it to cut off a head.)

All Cauldron Made items, both for and against the Asteri, are now in possession of the Inner Circle along with the knowledge that they need to discover what they can truly do, and to find the hidden cache's of magic stored in their world.

Elain has stated that she is a member of the Night Court and will do what is needed to serve it.

Elain is reacquainting herself with her powers, and is ready to be used to locate and wield Trove items.

Elain has feelings for Azriel.

Azriel has feelings for Elain.

Here are inactive storylines:

Elain using her sight to deal with Koschei, which is what I understand to be the largest E/ucien theory at play tying Elain to the BoE. Elain has not been involved in the Koschei storyline since ACOWAR, nor does she have an active storyline with Lucien besides shrinking into herself when he is around, not speaking to him, and not liking his presents.

Lucien however, is involved in the Koschei storyline as of ACOSF as it pertains to Vassa. He stares at the sea, as if setting his target on Koschei, (ACOSF, Chapter 7) and is living with Vassa and Jurian. This is what is active for Lucien. Nothing else. Any possible storyline for him outside of this is theory and speculation does not exist yet.

Gwyn does not have an active storyline at the end of ACOSF. "Gwyn, despite the Rite, had returned to living in the library. Gwyn had said she might leave for Nesta and Cassian's mating ceremony in three days." (ACOSF, Chapter 80) Her story as a Valkyrie completing the Blood Rite with Nesta has resolved and she has not presently been tied to anything else. Any ideas on how she might have a plot created are theories and speculations, but she is inactive.

Elain and Azriel are both active regarding the Trove, the Star-Sword and Truth-Teller, their feelings for each other, and Azriel is personally so propelled forward in being the Cauldron's number one hater that if a mating bond were to suddenly snap between him and Gwyn in his current headspace, he would not just forget about Elain and the dark damage done to the Cauldron and would likely not entertain the bond without more information.

If Sarah wants to make Azriel and Elain fated mates, she will. She has done everything under the sun with mates and will do more. She can do whatever she wants with magic. But you have to understand that the next book will start, as Sarah always structures it, with the "ordinary world" picking up where the last books left off. And it left off with Azriel and Elain, the fight against the Cauldron, their feelings for each other, and the reveal that all Trove items as well as the Dusk Court and Starborn heir items are now in the Inner Circle's possession, to be wielded by the sisters and Azriel alone.

And yes, as mentioned by @enigmaticexplorer we want Azriel to find love. He already has found it with Elain. Now it's just a matter of if Sarah chooses to make them mates, or if they say to hell with mates because we chose each other. Either option is great in my book!

#elriel #pro elriel #elain x azriel #elriel endgame #elriel supremacy

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hungermakesmonsters · 3 days

Text

(Once Bitten) Twice Shy

Chapter Six

Plot summary : Desperate to get away from your controlling family, you take a job in New York as a wealthy vampire's blood source. A million dollars awaits if you can make it through a year, but life with Billy Russo is not going to be as simple as you think.

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R Chapter Rating : R

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] Smutty behaviour in a semi-public place. All chapters will contain mentions of blood. Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story.

Word Count : 4.7k

A/N : I think I've finally sorted the tagging issue.

CHAPTER ONE | CHAPTER TWO | CHAPTER THREE | CHAPTER FOUR | CHAPTER FIVE

MASTER LIST

Chapter Six

It felt like you were in a daze, like the night before had just been a fever dream. You’d almost been willing to write it off as a dream before you saw a note in your kitchen from Billy, telling you that the leftovers from dinner had been put in the refrigerator for you. There was no telling if he’d brought them through himself or if he’d had the maid do it, but you appreciated the gesture nonetheless.

After your usual morning routine, you headed to the library to finally return Billy’s copy of Dorian Gray, exchanging it for Jane Eyre, another book that you’d never been allowed to read growing up.

By the time Billy emerged at sunset, you’d finished the leftovers and you were sitting on the sofa, with your nose buried in the book and your stuffed beagle on your lap. You’d even put tonight's blood in his thermal travel mug, hoping to keep it warm for him.

“Good evening,” he said as he joined you on the sofa, eyeing his travel mug before turning his attention to you and smiling all the more when he noticed the stuffed toy. “I hope I’m not interrupting the two of you.”

“Not at all, me and Bill were just reading.”

“Bill?” He laughed. “You can’t call him Bill.”

“But he’s Bill the Beagle,” you told him, biting your lip and trying your damnedest to stifle your own laughter. “It’s too late to change it, he’s used to it now.”

The both of you sat for a moment, trying to fight back the laughter but it didn’t last. You cracked first and, soon enough, the pair of you were laughing at the ridiculousness of it all. Just the sound of his laughter had you smiling. It was nice, precious even. It was only then that you realised that you didn’t hear him laugh very often, at least, not properly. He seemed happy, honestly happy with no hint of smugness.

“Is this for me?” He asked, reaching for the mug.

You nodded, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious at how much thought went into the gesture. “I just thought…”

“Thank you,” he offered, obviously sensing your discomfort and not wanting to force you to finish the thought. After taking a slow drink, his attention turned to the book on your lap. “So, what are you reading now?”

“Jane Eyre,” you answered and caught a questioning look from him. “What?”

“Nothing, it’s just very... apt.”

“Is it?

“I wouldn’t want to spoil it for you,” he answered. Then, a beat later, he changed the subject. “I’d like to ask you something; I’m throwing a party here next month, and I’d very much like you to come. It’ll mean taking you for a new dress, of course, but -”

“A new dress?” You repeated, barely keeping up with all the information he was throwing your way. “But I already have so many.”

“I want you to have something special, something you picked for yourself. And it means an evening out of the penthouse,” Billy explained. You didn’t need to answer, he could tell just from the look on your face that you wanted to. “We can go on Wednesday.”

“Okay,” you smiled.

“Great, now that that’s settle, what do you want to do tonight?”

You fell silent, wondering if it was a trick question, if there was an expected answer. It’d be a lie to say that some part of you wasn’t hoping for a repeat of the night before, but you couldn’t say that.

“We could watch something?” You offered and Billy almost seemed taken aback by the simplicity of the suggestion. “Just - you know, because we talked a lot last night and I haven’t exactly done anything interesting today...”

“If that’s what you want to do,” he shrugged.

“We don’t have to, if you’d rather...” you trailed off, cheeks starting to warm.

Billy reached for you, fingers ghosting your cheek as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “No pressure or expectations, remember?” He told you softly. “If you want to watch a movie, we can watch a movie, okay?”

The only response you could give was a meek nod before quickly excusing yourself. When you returned a couple of minutes later, you had a blanket and a bowl of popcorn, explaining to Billy that they were crucial for a TV night. He nodded while fighting back a laugh and you realised that, while you’d been out of the room, he’d been and grabbed a bottle of wine and two glasses.

“Why don’t you find us something to watch?” Billy asked, handing you the remote.

And then began five minutes of mindless scrolling through Netflix, watching trailers, and trying to find something that you’d both enjoy.

“What about this one?” You asked, lingering on Black Sails, a show that caught your attention because it was about pirates and you’d been interested in pirates ever since you’d secretly read Treasure Island as a child. “It’s a series but... well, we’ve got all year, right? Maybe we could watch TV together more often?”

For a moment, he just looked at you, the smile on his lips growing, like you were offering him far more than the occasional night in front of the TV.

“Okay, let’s watch some pirates,” he agreed, filing the two wine glasses and handing you one of them.

When you’d chosen the show, you’d thought that you’d be able to watch and talk but, within five minutes, you were hooked.

It wasn’t long before Billy was awkwardly reaching across, trying to steal your popcorn, prompting you to edge closer and closer until you were pressed against his side. You were so caught up in the show that you barely noticed Billy draping his arm around you or the way your head had ended up resting on his shoulder.

One episode finished and another started, then another. You made little comments to each other, but after the popcorn and wine were gone, you were mostly silent. There was more sex and nudity than you’d expected and you felt your cheeks warm every time. If Billy noticed, he was nice enough not to say anything about it. But, aside from that, you were enjoying it; you were enjoying the whole night. It was nice. And Billy seemed to be enjoying it too.

“Oh, now I see why you’re watching this,” Billy joked when a particularly muscled and shirtless pirate appeared on screen. You pulled a face. “What? He not your type?”

“I don’t have a type,” you confessed, playfully nudging him with your elbow.

Billy retaliated by nudging you back and things seemed to escalate from there. You gave him a shove and he pushed back, his hand discovering a ticklish spot on your side and, once Billy realised you were ticklish, it was game over. You squealed as he started to tickle you, laughing and pushing against him but, somehow, you ended up on your back with him above you. The tickling continued for a moment, but it soon turned into kissing.

“What is it about you?�� he asked softly. “How do you make me want like this?”

Before you could answer his lips were on yours again, the kiss more eager than the last. He pressed closer, his hips between your thighs, and you soon felt the increasingly familiar press of his erection against you. A soft sound slipped from your lips and into his, your heart hammering in your chest.

“The things I want to do to you,” he muttered, lips pulling from yours to your neck, kissing and sucking, leaving little marks in your skin. “The ways I want you,” he continued. “I’d ruin you. I’d make you feel things you’ve never felt before.”

It sounded insane but that didn’t stop you from wanting it, craving it.

Your hips pushed up against his while your fingertips pressed against his spine, holding him against you. A loud moan spilled from your lips when he pressed back, causing your body to tremble, your back arching against him of its own accord.

His head lifted from your neck, his dark eyes looked down at you, his jaw tense.

“I want to make you mine,” but this time it wasn’t Billy’s voice, it was something closer to the way he’d sounded that night in the kitchen when he’d been hungry.

Every fibre of your being suddenly tensed, your heart stuttered and your breath caught. Your eyes were wide as he leaned to roughly press his lips to yours, his tongue dominating the kiss. His hips pressed down against yours again, grinding his clothed cock against you.

“I want to make you scream my name.” He growled before sinking against your lips again.

The whimper that escaped you next wasn’t one of pleasure, it was shock and, if you were honest, a little bit of fear. But that little sound seemed to be enough to snap Billy out of it.

His lips pulled from yours suddenly, and he buried his face against your neck. He was still and silent for a few seconds. All you could hear was your own panted breaths and the echo of your pounding heart in your ears.

The shock lingered but the fear was quick to dissipate. He’d stopped. You hadn’t even had to ask him to. He’d stopped the moment he realised that you were uncomfortable, even though you could still feel how unfulfilled he was.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered against your neck, then again; “I’m sorry.”

Your mind was racing, between this and the night in the kitchen, you didn’t know what to think. He’d been hungry that night - at least, that was the excuse you’d given for his behaviour, but now it was starting to seem like it might be something else entirely.

“Are you -” you dared to quietly ask, “- okay?”

“No,” he answered and that one broken syllable shattered your heart.

Without hesitation or pause to think, you started to run your fingers through his hair, wanting to soothe whatever it was inside of him that was hurting. You heard him take an uncomfortable breath, but you didn’t stop.

After a few minutes, he finally started to relax a little.

“It’s okay,” you muttered. “You didn’t hurt me.”

His head lifted slowly and the look on his face caused your stomach to knot.

“I could have,” he told you, looking almost sick at the thought.

Finally, he moved, pulling away from you and sitting up, his head in his hands. You followed suit, sitting beside him, giving him a moment of silence to think.

But that silence quickly felt deafening and you felt worse for the part you’d played. You hadn’t expected the things he’d said and they’d unsettled you a little, but that was all. You weren’t used to men being so forward and borderline aggressive about their desires. But he’d stopped. He hadn’t done any of the things he said. He hadn’t hurt you. He certainly hadn’t forced you into anything.

“You could hurt me right now,” you stated. “You could’ve hurt me last night, or that night in the kitchen, but you didn’t. And I don’t think you will. I get that I’m fragile and weak, and that worries you, but -”

“I don’t think you’re fragile or weak,” he told you, lifting his head and fixing his gaze on you. “You’re not either of those things.”

It was your turn to drop your gaze, cheeks warming as you shook your head.

“Hey, look at me,” he said, and you did as he asked. “You being here is proof that you’re not

weak. Taking this job, being stuck here with me for a year, there’s nothing weak about any of that.”

Your head shook again. “You don’t understand. You were right, I am running away. I’m here because I wasn’t strong enough to do anything else.”

“Everything you’ve done since you got here - standing up to me, the night you helped me, that was reckless and dangerous. It was brave.” He told you, not giving you a chance to argue. “So, no, it’s not because I think you’re fragile and weak. It’s me, I...” he sighed, “I told you, control is an issue for me.”

Cautiously, you reached for him, taking his hand between yours and holding it tight.

“I didn’t even have to ask you to stop, Billy,” you told him softly. “You stopped yourself before you took things too far. You were in control. And I - I don’t know, it’s not like I was scared, I’m just not used to things being that... intense.” You watched him swallow awkwardly and decided to cut him off before he could speak. “Why don’t we rewind this episode and finish watching?”

He gave an uncertain grumble and you reached for the remote, winding back the last fifteen minutes of the show, back to the last thing you remembered. Sitting back, you grabbed Bill the Beagle and pulled your blanket back up over your legs, and when Billy finally sat back, you snuggled into his side again. And, eventually, he wrapped his arm around you again.

The rest of the night passed without incident. Your eyes started to close and, for a few minutes, you even drifted off. Billy woke you with a gentle kiss on the forehead.

“Bedtime, sleepyhead,” he muttered softly, and you reluctantly agreed, stifling a yawn as you got to your feet. “I should see you briefly tomorrow, but I’m needed in the office pretty early.”

Nodding, you headed for your rooms, saying goodnight before leaving him.

True to his word, the next day you saw him at sunset for a few minutes on his way out. On Tuesday, he was almost late leaving because he pulled you into a hot and heavy makeout session in the kitchen that seemed to suggest he was frustrated about not getting to see you. But then Wednesday rolled around, and it was time for Billy to take you dress shopping.

The moment you stepped into the elevator with him, he took your hand in his and kept hold of it all the way down to the parking garage below the building, leading you to his car and opening the door for you. You’d never been in a Rolls Royce before, and you caught Billy smiling as you looked around the car in wonder as your fastened your seatbelt.

It wasn’t a long drive to the dress shop - a large boutique affair, filled with bespoke pieces as well as off-the-rack gowns and dresses. And, while you’d been in fancy dress stores before, you found yourself taken aback. Usually at times like this, you’d have your mother at your side, and she always had an idea of what you were supposed to wear; what colours were acceptable and how much skin a decent woman should show.

“Mr Russo, it’s a pleasure to see you again,” one of the assistants said as she approached.

You watched as she approached Billy and he kissed her cheeks in, what you could only describe as, a Parisian fashion. He introduced you and she took a step back, looking you up and down. Next to her you felt more child than woman - she was obviously a vampire, with perfect skin and hair that fell in natural tight ringlets, framing her face. She was another example of the stunning women who seemed to gravitate around Billy.

But it was her looking at you in an appraising way that really caught you off guard.

“Your pictures really didn’t do you justice,” she remarked and you quickly looked at Billy for clarification.

“Hannah picked your wardrobe,” he explained.

“Oh.” Suddenly you found yourself looking down, thinking about the outfit you’d put together - jeans, a blouse and boots - wondering what the person who’d chosen all the items thought of how you’d decided to wear them.

“Why don’t you have a look around, see what speaks to you?” Hannah offered.

Billy gave a wave of his hand, indicating for you to do just that and, slowly you started to move towards the racks of dresses. It wasn’t long before you were looking at the sorts of dresses your mother might have picked for you; a-line dresses that showed a hint of your waist and with necklines high enough to cover any and all cleavage. You could practically hear her voice in your head telling you how no respectable man would ever want you if we went around showing too much skin.

While you looked, a bottle of champagne was opened and two glasses were filled; one for you and one for Billy. He kept hold of your glass while you looked around.

You pulled one dress out and looked at it front and back. It was like every other dress you’d had since you’d started to grow into your figure. It felt safe but boring, like it wasn’t really you but what you thought was expected of you. But you weren’t that person anymore - at least, you were trying not to be.

“If you don’t mind me saying, with your figure, I’d suggest something a little more fitted, something with some slink.” Hannah offered.

“Slink?” You repeated, looking at Billy, wondering what he thought.

“I think you’d look lovely in a slinky dress.”

“Can you help me choose?” You asked Hannah. “I don’t know where to even start.”

Rather than the expected look of judgement, Hannah just smiled. “Of course. Why don’t you and Mr Russo go sit down and I’ll put together a collection for you to try.”

“That would be brilliant, thank you Hannah,” Billy answered for you, handing you a glass.

Fifteen minutes later, you were in a fitting room the size of a small bedroom, looking through a whole rail of dresses. You started with a black dress, but hated it the moment it was on, then you half pulled on a short red dress but decided that you couldn’t stand the colour. Then you started to rummage through the rail again.

Your attention was quickly drawn to a silver number, and finally you understood what Hannah had meant by slink. It had thin spaghetti straps and a neckline that plunged to a couple of inches above your belly button, and a slit running up one side from ankle almost right to your hip. Even the back of the dress hung low.

You pulled it on and looked at yourself awkwardly in the mirror. Because of the way the dress was cut, you had to remove your bra to get a real idea of how the dress was supposed to look. You stood on tiptoes and turned this way and that, not sure what to think.

“How’s it going?” Billy called from outside.

You stayed silent for a few moments before sighing. “I don’t know,” you called back.

“Need a second opinion?”

You poked your head around the door, the awkward discomfort on your face drawing a sympathetic smile from Billy. He waited a beat before getting to his feet, you felt your cheeks warming as he approached you. You remained hidden behind the door, not sure you wanted him to see.

“I look ridiculous,” you pouted.

“Are you gonna let me see?” He asked, a hint of laughter in his tone. You shook your head and he gently pressed against the door with his hand. “Come on, let me see.”

For a moment more, you held the door in place before finally stepping back and letting the door swing open so he could see you. When he didn’t immediately say something, you took another step back.

“You hate it.”

“What? No, I’m speechless,” he told you, stepping forwards, closing the gap between you. “You look amazing.”

“I feel like a kid playing dress up.”

He kicked the door shut behind him as he stepped into the fitting room, his gaze roving up and down your body. Clearing the distance between you, he placed his hands on your hips, turning you to face towards the mirror.

“Look,” he instructed in a low voice, spoken into your ear, and you did as you were told, looking at your reflection. “You only feel like a kid because that’s how you’ve let people see you. But that’s not what I see. I see a sexy, elegant woman. I see curves and tits that get me hard, and it kills me that you don’t realise how amazing you are.”

His lips pressed to your neck before you could respond and your breath caught, watching your reflections.

Whether it was his words or the way he was touching you, he made you feel more confident, like you really could wear the dress and not be seen as ridiculous. You pressed against him and felt his cock against your hip, and that felt like all the proof you needed that he meant what he was saying.

His hands began to move, one pressing against your stomach while the other moved to rest over your racing heart. You took a breath, filled with a sort of wanting that only he seemed to bring out in you. Not giving yourself a moment to second guess, you reached behind him, palming his erection through the fabric of his dark jeans.

“Can I -” you started quietly, voice little more than a whisper, cheeks starting to heat. Billy stared at you in the mirror, expectant but patient, letting you find the nerve to finish. “Can I touch you?”

He smirked at you through the mirror as he undid the fastenings of his jeans and pulled his cock out. Your eyes widened, watching everything through the mirror because you were too embarrassed to look down. Billy took your hand in his and wrapped it around his shaft, and you started to stroke him slowly. And, when your gaze dropped, you found Billy’s fingers beneath your chin, urging your head up.

“Don’t be shy,” he muttered in your ear, his breath catching as your thumb brushed over the tip of his cock. “See how amazing you look right now, taking what you want?”

You bit your lip, watching his reflection, seeing the way his jaw went slack as his breathing got heavier in your ear. Once he was certain you weren’t going to look away, his hand moved from your chin to your breast, slipping beneath the fabric of the dress.

“You look so fucking good in this dress,” he groaned, returning his lips to your neck, “so confident and sexy. You’ve got no idea what I want to do to you right now.”

His hand moved, slipping one of the thin straps down your arm, causing the front of the dress to fall, exposing your breast to him. Your hand faltered for a moment, cheeks burning hotter.

“Don’t you dare look away,” he husked in your ear, his eyes meeting yours in the mirror. There was a seriousness about him that sent a shiver down your spine despite the smile on his lips.

Your hand started moving quicker as his cold hand moved to grope you again. And, finally, you started to see it; when you looked at your reflection, you didn’t see the shy, embarrassed girl, you saw the woman who had Billy Russo, desperate and groaning, in the palm of her hand. You felt almost powerful, filled with a kind of confidence you’d never been allowed to feel before, and it was all thanks to Billy.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he grunted, face pressed against your neck. Your hand moved quicker as his body started to tense. “Oh, shit...”

You felt him twitch in your hand and watched him come undone. It was a beautiful sight, even if you did go straight back to feeling embarrassed once it was over.

“Are you going to try any of the others?” He asked, pulling the strap back onto your shoulder and straightening the dress, before tucking himself back into his jeans.

“I don’t think I’ll like any of them as much as I like this one.”

“I don’t think I will either,” Billy agreed, smirking at your reflection. “Why don’t you get changed and we’ll have Hannah help you find some shoes.”

You nodded and Billy pressed one more kiss to your neck before pulling away from you. He left to speak to Hannah and, for a moment, you couldn’t even move. You kept your eyes on the mirror and the woman that was staring back at you; was that really you? Could you be the confident woman who took what you wanted? Eventually your gaze dropped, realising that Billy had managed to get cum on the mirror.

That got you moving.

You quickly, but carefully, dropped the dress and started to pull your clothes back on when, suddenly, the door opened and someone stepped in.

“Sorry, I -” you started to speak but stopped the moment she lifted her fingers to her lips.

“We don’t have a lot of time,” she explained in a hushed whisper. “My name is Agent Madani, I’m with Homeland Security, and I believe you’re in danger.”

“What? I -” you took a step back, head shaking.

“Are you being kept against your will?”

“No, I - it’s my job, I -” you didn’t get to finish.

“Your parents believe that you’ve been kidnapped,” she sounded almost confused at the revelation you were there of your own free will.

“No, I left home. It was my choice,” you told her. “They don’t know I’m here, do they?” Your voice quickly turned frantic, trying to make sense of what was happening. Surely your parents wouldn’t have been able to get Homeland to look for you.

“No, they don’t know yet -”

“Yet? They can’t know at all,” you pleaded. “Please.”

“Your parents aren’t why I’m here,” she continued quietly. “Has Russo said anything to you about the other women who’ve worked for him?”

“No, I just know that they quit because they didn’t want to work for him anymore,” you tried to explain, your mind racing.

“Three of them are missing. All presumed dead,” she told you. “Each went to work for Russo and haven’t been seen since.”

“Billy wouldn’t, he’s not -” you stopped abruptly, noticing her eyes finding the mess Billy had left on the mirror and obviously putting the pieces together. When she looked back up, you could barely hold her gaze.

“Have you seen anything suspicious? Has he tried to feed from you without permission?” She asked. “Is he forcing you to sleep with him?”

“No - no, nothing like that. I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you told her, so confused by everything she was trying to tell you.

“You need to be careful. He can’t know that we’ve had this conversation. He’s dangerous -” a noise outside the fitting room seemed to spook her, “- I’ll be in touch again soon. Don't worry, I won’t let anything happen to you.”

And, then, just as quickly as she’d appeared, she left.

Your mind was reeling over everything she’d said. It seemed insane, ridiculous. Billy had been nothing but kind to you, nothing but careful and considerate. You couldn’t imagine him hurting anyone. There had to be some other explanation.

You must have been taking too long because, soon enough, Billy appeared at the door again.

“Are you alright? You’re not having second thoughts about the dress are you?” He asked with that soft smile that caused butterflies in your stomach.

“N-no, sorry... I guess I just got distracted,” you told him, deciding not to mention Madani to him, not knowing how he’d take it.

“Come on,” he offered you his hand, “Hannah’s picked out some shoes for you to look at.”

There was something about him in that moment, something about the way he was smiling at you that made you want to believe the best in him. After all, you’d met monsters before, and Billy Russo just didn’t seem to fit the bill.

Grabbing the dress, you took his hand and let him lead you across the store to look at shoes. Agent Madani was nowhere to be seen and, for that evening at least, you decided to try and forget all about it. Tomorrow you’d be having lunch with Karen, maybe you’d be able to find out something then. But, in that moment, you were content to hold his hands and look at shoes, trying to forget the stain on an otherwise amazing evening.

End Note : Dun-dun-duuuuuunnnnnnnn. I have nothing to say because I don't want to potentially spoil what I've got planned. But, yeah, I decided that reader and Billy should watch Black Sails together because it's been showing up on my dash a lot and it's an a+ show if you haven't seen it already.

As always, thanks so much for reading (and also thank you so much for all the new followers) I've really loved all the feedback from this fic and for my last fic, and you've all just been wonderful.

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged in future chapters! If tagging doesn't work for some reason (aka Tumblr being dumb) I post most Fridays around 7:30 gmt. (I think I've found a way to get tagging to work properly again, please let me know if it doesn't tag you.)

Tag List : @vaguekayla @thdcre @rensolodriver @house-husband-of-castlemurdock

@snowkestrel @danzer8705 @noortsshift @aoi-targaryen @lincerad

@vxnity713 @readerinsertsaremyguiltypleasure @dreadfulxives18 @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @glamourbabe17

@sweetserendipity65 @damagelove @strangerfromketterdam @a-starrynightwith-u @readingabouthim

@countryday @weepingwitchofthewest @broadwaybabe18 @bunnygirlwriter876 @oliviaewl

@rosey1981 @benbarnesprettygurl

#billy russo #billy russo x reader #billy russo x female reader #the punisher #billy russo fanfic #billy russo imagine #(ob)ts ff

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dudeitiskarev · 2 days

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Maybe Someday | Ch. 8

A Spencer Reid mini-series

Pairing: Spencer Reid x female reader

Chapter summary: feelings come to light and neither knows how to handle it.

Word count: 1.8k

Tags/warnings: mention of reader’s abortion, regrets, love confession *gasps*

Author’s note: this part was so a bit tedious to finish because they just didn’t want to talk about their almost kiss and nothing felt right. I had to grab them each by their ear and sit them in a room and force them to talk 🤭

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | SPENCER MASTERLIST

You’d come to his place to address the big elephant in the room. Instead, you got slapped in the face with memories.

Henry was the kid that was born the day you had an abortion. He was a beautiful and kind little human who managed to turn your very exhausting day into a lightweight.

When you held him, he’d caressed your cheeks and nose with his tiny fingers. It helped him fall asleep and you couldn’t help but wonder what your life would be like right now if you hadn’t gone through with the procedure (what would make your baby fall asleep so soundly).

You wouldn’t have Spencer, that’s for sure. Which was enough reason to know it was the right choice. But you wondered, how much you wondered...

The front door opened and you jumped, trying your best to gather yourself before Spencer made it next to you.

“Hey,” he said, sitting down. “You okay?”

You nodded, looking at him. “I miss Henry already,” You said through a small laugh.

You missed your baby. What could’ve been. What could still be.

“Yeah, he has that effect on people as soon as he leaves,” Spencer gave you a lopsided smile.

You’d healed since then but that didn’t mean you’d ever forget and you had too many emotions playing with your body right now. Your throat was too tight to even swallow properly.

You cleared your throat. “I think I’m gonna go now.” You stood up, wiping your sweaty palms on your pants and reaching for your purse.

Spencer mirrored you and stood in your way. “Sorry, I didn’t think of it when you said you wanted to go.” He gulped with guilt. “Henry triggered memories, didn’t he?”

You smiled. Of course, he’d noticed.

“It’s fine, it’s not your fault.”

“It is, though.” He raised his brows. “I insisted you’d come in.”

“No, I should’ve called before showing up. I just wanted to ta—“You bit your tongue right away and looked away “It’s fine. Don’t worry.”

“Talk about what?” He searched for your eyes.

You took a deep breath, raising your brows. “Nothing, it’s silly.”

“You can talk to me, you know?”

No man has ever been so soft-spoken to you about everything, always, all the time. You wished he had the power to make himself tiny so you could put him inside your pocket and carry him with you forever.

“I know, but… you haven’t mentioned it so I don’t think I should either.”

Spencer stared and his chest rose as he took a deep breath. “Is it about how we almost kissed?”

He’d probably been thinking about it more than you.

You huff a small embarrassed laugh, raising your brows. “About that day, yes.” Spencer didn’t respond, giving you the window to talk about what’s been keeping you up at night these past two weeks. “I… I got very emotional,” you began, moving your hands and using them as a second language in case words turned blurry. “You made me very emotional by showing up out of nowhere with perfect gifts and perfect things to say and I guess I got carried away with my feelings.” You brought one palm to your chest. “Not that I didn’t mean what I said but after, what happened after is what”—you chuckled at the memories that were still so damn vivid—“I cried and we hugged very closely and—“ you clasped them together. This was going terribly already. “I think it made things awkward between us. I mean, we barely talked for like two weeks and now I’m making it more awkward but… I needed to address it.”

You ended up so out of breath you were lightheaded. But you didn’t sit down. You wanted to run. Disappear. Become dust. But he was still in your way.

“Yeah.” Spencer raised his brows, nodding. “Yeah, I guess I got carried away too?” He gulped and his voice slowly faded as he added, “Not that I didn’t mean any of it either.”

You took a step closer and placed your palm over his upper arm. “You’re my best friend, Spencer.”

His arm twitched at your touch and his gaze softened, his brows pinched together ever so slightly and his honey-sweet voice came out so pained it began to shatter the ice surrounding—protecting—your heart as he said, “I don’t want you like a best friend.”

Oh, this was not how it was supposed to go.

“Spencer,” you breathed out, taking a step back and saying the first thing that came to your mind. “You’re… you’re getting the wrong message.”

“Am I?” He took half a step closer.

He was making it so hard. To stay put. Stay away. And right now, more than ever, a strong warmth welled in your chest.

“I would’ve kissed you if Noah hadn’t shown up,” he said. “And I know you would’ve kissed me, too.”

Something inside you cracked. It was the ice around your heart melting.

“We would’ve kissed.” He lifted his hand and caressed your cheek with the back of his curled fingers.

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean… anything.” You shut your eyes in an attempt to dodge his touch.

It was getting so, so warm inside you.

“It does to me,” he replied.

So warm.

“I’m in love with you,” he bluntly confessed, raw and straightforward.

Your breath hitched and the air in your lungs was gone. The man you loved, loved you back.

You couldn’t help but laugh a little.

So, so, so incredibly warm.

“I love you,” Spencer said. “I know you. I know who you are, and I love you. Just like that. I love you.”

You opened your eyes and caught the plea in his eyes.

“Say you don’t love me and I promise you”—he begged, cradling your face with both hands—“I’ll try my hardest to make it go away if that’s what you want. Just say you don’t love me back and I’ll… make it stop.” You couldn’t move or breathe or talk or do anything at all. It sounded like a prayer. Like he was talking to an all-powerful being, begging for an answer. “I know you have feelings for me too. I know you do, you wouldn’t have said all those beautiful things if you didn’t.”

You wrapped both of your hands around his wrists to tear yourself off his touch. But you stayed there, hands clutching. “I’m not good for you.” Your voice barely came out.

“Don’t… say that.”

“I have nothing to offer, Spencer I… you deserve someone that—”

His eyes darkened and his tone changed as he said, “Why won’t you let me in?”

Because the last time you did—letting in a man by saying ‘I love you’—he got you pregnant then left you. You’d realized soon after that it was attachment disguised as love. And deep down you feared this might be it, again.

“I need… a moment.” You let go of his touch and walked past him on your way to the door.

“Where are you going?” He walked behind you.

“Home.” You turned the knob and opened it. “I… I need to think, Spencer.”

“No!” He slammed the door shut with his whole palm. “Just talk to me, damn it!”

You flinched by instinct, but even his loud voice was filled with care.

“Sorry, I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to—“ he brought one hand to his mouth. “I don’t know what—“

“What do you want me to say?!” You matched his tone. It was all about to come out now. It was brewing within you. The love. “That I love you too?! That it terrifies me to love you this much.” You closed the gap between you two and pointed a finger at yourself. “Good things don’t happen to me. And you are the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I don’t want to do anything different because I want to keep you in my life. Like this. This far away. Forever.”

Spencer held your face tenderly and scanned your probably wrecked features. “You don’t have to do anything.” He begged. “You don’t have to do anything differently at all. Please.”

The hurt in his tone was like a ton of needles wanting to get through you.

“I’m scared,” You murmured. “What if—

His forehead was glued to yours now. “I won’t go anywhere. And I won’t let you go away ever again. Just… let me in and we’ll figure it all out together. Just don’t walk away. Don’t leave me. Please,” he said, his voice just above a whisper.

He sounded so scared. All you could do was nod with guilt, licking your lips. “I won’t. I promise.”

He then fell silent. Only your shaky breaths separated you. Your foreheads glued together, his hands cradling your entire head, almost, and your hands clutching his waist. Hearts beating for each other.

He’d said he loved you and you admitted loving him back, and neither was doing anything about it.

“I… I still have to go home,” you broke the silence.

“I know.” His lips were hovering over yours, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he added, “Just let me… have you this close a little longer. Let me—“

He cut himself off by leaning. His lips grazed yours ever so slightly yet he didn’t kiss you, as if there was a magnetic force keeping your lips from touching properly.

“Spencer,” you murmured.

“Hmm?”

“Just kiss me already.”

“I’m trying I—“

You yanked him by the nape of his neck and pressed your lips together. It was harsh, but he was taking too long. His hands traveled down your sides to your waist and pulled you closer into a tight hug as the kiss slowly became a real one.

He let out a dark sound as he parted his lips, changing the pace. Took charge and the earth stopped spinning. This was your only world right now, in his arms and his lips and his hands burying into your body.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and stood on your tippy toes as if you couldn’t be any closer. You wanted him closer. You wanted to crawl inside his skin. Be a part of him and let him have you whole.

He abruptly pulled away to catch some air, panting against your lips.

“I need— I’m getting too eager, hold on.” He pressed his forehead with yours again.

You swallowed, trying to regulate your breathing but your thoughts came out loud. “God, Spencer. I didn’t think you’d be such a good kisser.”

You were still levitating.

“Uh, thank you?” He sort of laughed.

“Would you kiss me again?” You asked, searching for his eyes but he had them shut tight. You missed his lips already. You needed to keep kissing him until it all became real.

“Right now?” His voice came out slightly high-pitched.

“Or in a billion years. I can wait.”

You’ll wait for him forever and would relive your life a thousand times if it meant you’ll have this again.

He laughed a little. “You don’t have to wait that long.”

YAYYYYYYYY they finally stopped being so stupid 🤭

From now on everything is even more fast paced. There’s only 2 chapters left 💖

Thank you to everyone who’s been following this little story so far. I see you and I appreciate you all so very much 🥹🫶💖

#spencer reid self insert #Spencer Reid #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x fanfiction #spencer reid x y/n

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howmanysideblogscanihave · 2 days

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Arguments I hate, in no particular order

Elain can’t have Azriel’s babies. Azriel knows this and still thinks about her every night. Still would get on his knees and beg for her. Still questions his whole religion for her. I don’t think this man puts any value in whether or not she can bear an Illyrian baby. Also Nesta could still change Elain in the future, does it really matter.

Elain has a mate, she’ll always be tied to her mate. They’re not even tied together now! Neither Elain nor Lucian care to be around each other in the books. She seems to be doing just fine without him and falling for someone else despite being “tied to her mate”.

Azriel will leave Elain for his mate/he just wants a mate. Again, this man said fuck my religion, I want Elain. Also if he just wanted a mate, why go for someone who has one?

Azriel’s shadows hate Elain. The same shadows that are ready to attack when he’s worried about Elain? The same shadows that helped him out with giving Elain her solstice gift? The same ones that checked that she made it to her room? The same ones that lit up around her? Also, they don’t always disappear when she’s around. They’re literally there in the bonus chapter to help Azriel with the gift.

Elain loves flowers/sunlight/sunshine/gardening so she can’t stay in the Night Court. So what, all of those scenes of her gardening in the Night Court, sitting in the sun in the Night Court means nothing? All of the things she supposedly will have to move to Day/Spring to do she currently does in the Night Court. Also she can’t even tend a garden in Spring.

Elain doesn’t look good in black so she doesn’t belong in the NC. Since when does Cassian’s opinion on fashion mean anything? Also, last I checked there was no dress code in the night court.

Elain would be happier outside of the NC. She would be happier away from her two best friends, her sisters, her nephew, her life? Move somewhere she doesn’t know anyone? What logic is this?

There’s no way anyone who thinks these things have actually read all of the books.

#elriel #elain x azriel #pro elriel

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munsonsmixtapes · 2 days

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can i request eddie and reader moving into a new place together?🥺🤍

This is such a cute idea! Thanks so much for the request, lovely!

Eddie x gender neutral!reader

It initially started out as a drunken suggestion that was the result of too many margaritas. Eddie was a very emotional, sentimental drunk if he had too much and this was one of those nights. He was getting very mushy, telling you just how much he loved you and wished he could never part from you and that’s when he got the idea.

“We should move in together,” he suggested, maybe a little too loudly in the bar that didn’t have many people since it was so late.

“Yeah,” you agreed just as loudly and Eddie shushed you as the others gave you rude looks. “I’d love to live with you.”

After you both had sobered up, you had thought about moving in together a lot. You had discussed it at length and decided to get a whole new place to start fresh. You found an apartment complex not that far from Hawkins so the two of you could still be close to Wayne and he planned to visit all the time.

On moving day, Steve, Robin, Nancy and the kids helped the two of you out which made the job go by so much faster. By lunchtime, the truck was empty and you sent everyone home so you and Edie could take a much needed nap.

You just needed some time alone and there really wasn’t anything they could do since all of the hard work had been done. So, with that, you and Eddie headed inside your own apartment, boxes and furniture filling up the place and held each other in your arms, looking at each other with so much love.

You headed into the room your now shared and the two of you collapsed onto your bare mattress, ready for a well deserved nap. Eddie grabbed onto your waist and pulled you to him, his forehead pressed against yours. You tangled your legs together and pressed a kiss to his nose before letting out a contented sigh.

“I love you,” you told him, stroking his hair and he grinned like he always did when you said those words to him.

“I love you too,” he replied, his eyes getting all misty. “And I can’t wait to start this next chapter with you.”

“I can’t wait either,” you said and not long after, both of you drifted off to sleep, thinking about nothing but each other and your future together.

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x gender neutral reader #eddie munson fluff

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jeridandridge · 2 days

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For Lovers At Night part 3

Buckle up. Angst is coming next chapter. Pt2

The flames are stoked and Melissa cannot put the fire out. There’s a burning warmth in her chest that feels like a warm hug from someone she hasn’t seen in a long time. In the back of her head she thinks it’s the part of herself she’s missed for so long. The kiss wasn’t just a kiss, no, it felt right. The feeling of her in another’s arms gave her a nervous excitement she’s sure she’s never felt before in her life.

Once back home and settled for the night, Melissa cozies up in her bed with the book you’d given her. Ready to read it once more she studies the words realizing that from your very first conversation she’d been smitten with you and you with her. There was an immediate connection that she couldn’t deny.

Meanwhile, you sit on the couch, eyes on the tv as your fingers brush over your lips lightly with a ridiculous grin. The intimacy that quickly took over you and Melissa was so immediate and easy. That’s why for the next two weeks you and Melissa text and talk on the phone whenever you have a free moment. Everything comes so easy when it comes to her and you couldn’t be more thrilled when one night she’s able to come over.

Opening the door you reach out for her hand, the redhead coming in hot kissing you soundly right away as you both back into your apartment. Hands trail up to soft curls pulling her closer in the dim light of the doorway. “Hi,” you let out a breathless laugh resting your forehead against hers. “Come in,” smiling you bring Melissa into your apartment once more, fingers loosely entangled.

“This is the highlight of my week.” Melissa admits as she gets comfortable, happy to be with you.

“Well I better make it worthwhile then.” You tease popping open a bottle of wine, two glasses on the table in front of you. Giving a generous pour you hand Melissa a glass before you lean back, hand on her leg. “This might sound ridiculous but two weeks without seeing you is too long.”

Melissa rests her hand over yours mindlessly playing with your fingers. “Calls aren’t enough, hon?” She teases in a low voice leaning in closer to bring her lips to yours again in a series of soft slow kisses.

Humming you rest your hand on her Jean clad hip wanting to close all the space between you two. “They’re not,” you let out before pulling her into a longing kiss, her tongue swiping your bottom lip asking for permission you happily grant.

Feeling like a teenager making out on a couch you can’t help but grins against Melissa’s lips as you gently cup her cheek. “The last time I fantasized about making out with a hot teacher on my couch I think it was my 10th grade English teacher.”

The redhead lets out a laugh not bothering to move away from you. “Another fact about you I’m not surprised by, it explains the bookstore and everyone downstairs in it.”

“Yeah about that, I took the night off. I won’t have to go down there.” You inform her.

“You took the night off just to see me?” She asks with a small smile, still somewhat shocked every time you do something for her.

“I gotta admit, I kinda like you.” You tease. “So I put my main guy in charge for the night.”

In the month you’ve known Melissa you’ve realized that the bar isn’t high. Her ex husband treated her so poorly that even the most simple action made her happy. You planned on going above and beyond for her.

Melissa bites her bottom lip smiling at you.

“So, this could be considered a date.”

“I’d like it to be a date,” you grin looking at the gleam in her eye. It’s been a month of getting to know each other and flirting, now you wanted to act on the feelings you had for her and feelings she clearly returned.

“If this is a date we have to do it right.” Melissa gets up finding her way to your stack of records in the corner. Bending over she flips through them, pulling out a Bowie album. Putting it on the player she turns around holding her hand out to you.

“Dancing and dinner?” You beam happily getting up, your arm wrapped around her shoulders for her to lead. “You’re gorgeous, smart, funny, and you dance? I shouldn’t even be shocked.”

“You’re a sweet talker, hon.” She chuckles keeping her hand on your hip, guiding you along with the beat of the song.

Looking between your bodies you watch her hips sway to the bass, the fabric of her jeans clinging to her just right. Pulling her even closer you brush your lips together in a featherlight kiss, practically teasing her as you feel her front flush against you. Hands move lower and lower, eventually finding her ass. In a heated moment you feel teeth sink into your bottom lip pulling a small moan from your throat.

As the record plays in the living space the sound fades as you walk the redhead backwards towards your bed hidden behind the divider wall. Breaking away for a moment with a staggered breath you see flushed cheeks and dark eyes looking at you. Ring clad fingers tip your chin down pulling you in for a kiss that says she wants this as much as you do. Trailing your fingers up her sides they glide across warm skin under the hem of her shirt as the taste of her tongue invades your mouth. She tasted sweet, a taste you were growing to crave.

Pulling back for a moment you meet her eyes just long enough for her to nod before you’re pulling the fabric of her shirt above her head, tossing it aside. Red curls lay against milky skin and you’re mesmerized by the sight in front of you. “Gorgeous.” You let out in a whisper. Your hands go back to her hips as you both stumble to your bed. In another searing kiss Melissa wraps her arms around your neck pulling you into a warm embrace of intimacy and curiosity. Holding yourself up you break the kiss moving your head to kiss her jaw, her neck, then between her black lace covered breasts.

Fingers thread through your hair as you kiss her skin, Melissa’s breathing already growing heavy as she lays beneath you. “I haven’t done this in a long time.” She lets out in a low voice.

“Do you want me to stop?” You whisper lifting your head to meet her eyes.

“God no,” she shakes her head moving her fingers through your hair.

Dipping your head down you place soft kisses across her chest eventually moving back to unbutton her jeans. Pulling the fabric down she shimmies with your movement getting out of them. Laying there in nothing but her bra and underwear she realizes you’re the first person to see her like this in a long time. Being oblivious to her thoughts, you trail wet kisses down her torso looking up beneath hooded eyes as you settle between her legs. Melissa lays her head back, gasping with closed eyes when she feels you touch her over her undies. Rubbing your fingers over sensitive nerves in slow circles you tilt your head kissing her inner thigh.

Above you Melissa lets out a staggered breath reaching out a shaky hand to hold the fingers that are wrapped around her thigh. “Keep going, Amore.”

You don’t need to be told twice. Intertwining your fingers with the redheads you use your free hand to push her undies aside. Heart pounding against your ribcage you curl a finger into wet folds drawing a gasp from the redhead as your tongue matches the speed of your hand.

“Oh cavolo, è bello.” Melissa whimpers squeezing your hand.

The sound of her climbing towards pure ecstasy gives you a drive that pushes you to go faster, your tongue flicking and curling as your forearm starts to ache from the action. Inserting a third finger her legs start to twitch against you, her cries growing louder.

“Cmon, baby. Let go for me.” You encourage lifting your head to kiss her thigh with sticky lips. The sound and smell of sex fills the room as Melissa finally lets herself feel free. Melissa comes undone trembling as she keeps ahold of your hand. Moving back up her body you wipe your mouth with the back of your arm as you lay beside her.

“That was,” she pants still seeing stars.

Letting out a breathless laugh you lean over kissing her shoulder, your fingers drawing patterns on any bit of exposed skin you can reach. “And I didn’t even take your bra off.” You tease, Melissa’s hand coming over to playfully swat your ass.

She lays there in a giggly, euphoric bubble realizing that you were caring and wanted her to feel good. It was foreign to her up until this point. Shifting to lay her head on your shoulder she realizes this isn’t lust she’s felt. This is love.

Laying there with Melissa against your side you turn your head to meet her eyes, the sparkle still there, her lips kiss swollen. Leaning in you gently rub your nose against hers with a dopey lovesick smile.

“I don’t feel like sleeping tonight.” Melissa whispers.

“Then,” you whisper playing with her hair, “Let’s not sleep.”

Melissa grins tipping her chin to meet your lips again, her hand cupping your cheek.

“You uh, you called me Amore.” You grin keeping little distance between you two.

The red head shrugs with a grin tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. “Do you not want me to?”

Kissing the redhead once more you shake your head. “You can call me whatever you want.”

#abbott elementary #lisa ann walter #Melissa Schemmenti #Melissa Schemmenti x reader #Melissa Schemmenti imagine

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anyarose011 · 3 days

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One More Reason to Control Myself {Angus Tully x Reader}

Summary: Angus Tully knows she's hiding something. Why else would she lie about where she was the morning of Christmas Eve?

Part 5 of ?? (Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4)

Warnings: Swearing, period typical sexism, and mention of exploitation of a minor.

We get an Angus POV chapter, motherfuckaas!! I had fun writing from his perspective while also giving him a little more backstory as well. Also, considering I want to try and eliminate the Y/N effect, anytime there's a she or her (italicized) it's you, dear reader. Shoutout to me forgetting there was a character named Danny in the movie, so I have to cover my ass for naming the creep "Daniel". Also, part 2 of an Angus/Reader coded song (what do you mean it breaks my heart? No it doesn't!)

Word Count: 7.1k

youtube

“So, why’d you miss supper last night, and why is little miss Jane Bennet missing breakfast now too?”

That was what Mary asked Angus and Paul Hunham at Christmas Eve breakfast. Mr. Hunham glanced around, trying not to show his nerves, but failed. “Oh, we went into town on some uh, school-related business. As for my daughter…I do not know; she wasn’t there when I woke up, have you seen her, Angus?”

He shook his head. “Nope.”

Mary hummed. The door opened, and in came Danny, the janitor who, even in the below freezing temperatures of winter, somehow almost had a smile on his face. Carrying in a mop and bucket, he greeted. “Good morning, everybody.”

“Good morning,” Mary pointed to the kitchen. “you can go on in and fix yourself a plate.”

He nodded. “I just saw something funny. I walked into the gym, and someone had vomited in there.”

Angus stilled as he drank his orange juice. Mary looked at him and Mr. Hunham, and the two of them looked at each other.

“You don’t say,” it was Paul who spoke first. “I don’t know anything about that.”

“Yeah, me neither.” Angus answered loosely.

“No, uh, I’ll look into that right away. Thank you.”

Mary raised one of her brows. “I see how it is.”

Danny shook his head, walked over to Angus, and placed the bucket and mop by him before walking away. “You’re out your mind.”

Angus sighed, fiddling with the eggs on his plate. It had been a week of a frozen hell for him (perhaps not so bad…he made a friend. A friend who, despite there being billions of nerves in the body, she still managed to get on every single one of them; yet, he knows he does the same to her). Still, as Christmas Eve was supposed to be a time of excitement for the holidays, Angus Tully felt nothing of the sort.

He had no idea if it was because he was getting older, or because his father wouldn’t be there after Christmas mass, carrying him out of the car when he pretended to fall asleep.

Maybe it’s because he didn’t live in the same house anymore where the Christmases he used to love took place…

Fortunately, his moments of wintertime dread were gone once the doubles doors from the outside were opened. He watched as Mr. Hunham’s daughter entered, pulling off her gloves and unwrapping the scarf that was brought up over her hair and around her neck.

“And where were you?” Mary was the first to interrogate, sitting beside Angus, still smoking her cigarette.

She smiled, approaching the table. “Out.”

“Out where?” Her father then questioned.

Chuckling, the girl pulled out a chair by her father and sat down, taking an orange of the fruit basket, peeling it. “Just on a walk. I gotta clear my head from you people sometimes.”

Mr. Hunham shook his head, not necessarily shocked by her response, but still bewildered. “Clear your-? How long were you out?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I think I woke up around seven-thirty, read for a bit, then went out. So…maybe eight? Not for long, that’s for sure.”

Angus knew she was lying. He didn’t mean to peek into her room when he woke up (genuinely he didn’t, no matter what anyone says). Even though Mr. Hunham decided not to wake everyone up at the crack of dawn since Angus was the only holdover, the boy’s internal clock wouldn’t let him sleep in. So, the first thing he needed to do was go to the bathroom, and as he passed by the doorway to her room, she wasn’t there.

He didn’t think anything of it until he was eating breakfast at eight-thirty, and he still didn’t see her.

“I see.” Her father furrowed his brow, but then shrugged, going back to lunch. “Well, please at least eat something other than fruit.”

She took the whole bowl. “But it’s the candy of the good ol’ days.”

“And what are the good ol’ days?” Mary huffed,

“Ancient Rome and Greece,” she popped a grape into her mouth. “also when women had less rights than they do now.”

Angus snorted, trying to then cover up his amusement with a cough. He didn’t find women not having rights funny (please believe him), it was just unexpected of her to say. Still, he felt all eyes on him, and refused to meet any of them as he picked up a piece of bacon.

He likes to think Mr. Hunham’s daughter was smiling at him when she stood up. “Fine, I’ll get real food.”

She went to the kitchen to grab a plate, and Mary hummed. “Never thought I’d see that girl ever be happy this early in the morning.”

Angus finally looked up. “She usually isn’t?”

Mary smirked, placing her cigarette between her lips. “I don’t think you’d last a day with her if you were both ten.”

There was nothing else to do after Mr. Hunham lectured Angus for an hour about the aqueducts in Rome. What was usually two and a half hours was only one, since the teacher claimed: “I’m feeling a little generous because of the season.”

Not because he wanted to drink alone in Dr. Woodrup’s office reading mystery novels (Don’t be ridiculous).

So, that brought Angus Tully back up to the infirmary, to do what, who fucking knows? He glanced into the other room and saw Mr. Hunham’s daughter laying on the middle bed, reading. When she looked up, sensing his presence, he instinctively hid behind the corner.

“You don’t have to be creepy anymore.” She spoke with the sarcasm he knew so well. “We’re friends, remember?”

Angus, playing it cool, entered the room, leaning against the wall. “Who says I was ever creepy to begin with?”

“I did.” She placed a bookmark in her book before setting it down and sitting up. “And you know, ordinary people just enter a room; they usually don’t bother checking.”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “maybe you’ve convinced me there are ghosts here and I just want to be safe?”

Not because he was hoping she was in her room and had a reason to go talk to her (Don’t be ridiculous).

She rolled her eyes yet smiled anyway. “Took you long enough to figure out I’m always right.”

“I said ‘maybe’. What’re you reading?”

“Just now or in general?”

“Yes.”

She held up The Two Towers. “You ever read Tolkien?”

Angus sat on the spare bed across from her. “I read The Hobbit my freshman year; one of the only books I liked reading in school.”

His eyes fell to the stack of books on her nightstand. Little Women, Sense and Sensibility, Giovanni’s Room, andThe Count of Monte Cristo.

“You’ve read all of these?” He couldn’t help but ask.

“Yeah.” She then pointed to The Count of Monte Cristo on the bottom. “Well, I actually tried to read this one when I was fourteen but got bored with it; I’m trying again.”

“Right after you reread everything else?”

“Shut up.”

She tried to sound serious, but he watched as she turned her head to try and hide her smile. He wasn’t ashamed to show her his. Angus’ eyes went back to the stack of books, and he took out Little Women, flipping to the first page.

“‘Christmas won’t be Christmas without any presents.’ Grumbled Jo.” He read aloud, then looked up from the book. “Now I know why Mr. Hunham calls you that.”

“Are you saying I’m selfish, Fitzwilliam?”

He shook his head, going back to reading. “No, you just complain a lot.”

She scoffed. “Just wait until you meet Amy. I love her, but I’m glad I don’t have sisters.”

Angus’ didn’t respond, his eyes trailing over the words on the pages. He didn’t truly know why he kept reading; whether it was out of boredom, or perhaps he was already hooked on the story, he would never tell.

“Wait,” he heard her. “are you still reading?”

“Damnit, you made me miss my spot.” He glared at her.

She already knew he didn’t mean it (that much). Still, the girl giggled, laying back down on the bed and opening The Two Towers, going back to her own reading. They were like that for ten minutes perhaps? It was a strange time that went by fast and slow. No, Angus Tully wasn’t even doing this to think of what to say to her, he was genuinely engrossed by Louisa May Alcott.

Then, it was when he was more than half-way done with the first chapter, that he asked. “Where were you this morning?”

She looked over at him. “I’m guessing you hate the book?”

“Don’t change the subject.” He sat up. “And no, it’s actually tolerable.”

“Tolerable for it being written by a woman?” She sat up as well. “And for your information, I just went to the woods. What, were you worried about me or something?”

“Maybe…I don’t know, maybe.” Were the only thoughts behind his eyes, but his mouth moved differently.

“No. Wait, you’re walking around the woods, and you’re calling me creepy?”

“What’s so creepy about walking around the woods by myself?” She questioned. “If there was someone following me, then they would be creepy, dumbass.”

“I’m just saying, I don’t know anyone who spends their time frolicking through the woods for fun.”

“You didn’t really know anyone, but neither did I, so we’re even.” She stood up, going to the window to look out of it. “I also prefer frolicking through flower fields, but this isn’t the best season for that.”

Angus hummed. “Yeah, I noticed.”

He debated on asking her why she was out there for an hour and a half; if she was in the woods, or if she was even outside. Just as he was battling with himself and wondering how to ask her without her biting his head off, he saw her tremble.

“Are you okay?” Was the first thing he asked.

“Come over here.” She commanded without looking at him.

He stood up immediately, and as he was halfway to the window, she giggled; a sound he had heard before but…not like this, somehow. Angus stood beside her at the window and watched as Mr. Hunham walked on the sidewalk by the quad, stretching.

“Look at that sad, little man.” She tisked.

Angus asked without looking away. “You talk about your dad like that?”

“You would too if he was yours.”

“Point made.”

They watched as the teacher picked up a stray football on the ground, and with perhaps the worst technique ever, threw it. Both she and Angus, as if her father would see them in the window, backed away from it, laughing at the absurdity.

“I almost feel bad now.” She said through her enjoyment. “That’s a lie, I don’t.”

Her honesty only caused Angus to laugh even more, and he can’t remember when the last time it was he had ever laughed this much. Especially over something so stupid.

“Well, it’s obvious he didn’t play football in high school.” He said.

“Yeah,” she nodded. “he’d go on and on about being president of Latin and Chess club.”

That’s where Angus’ amusement ceased. Even if it was at his own expense, he didn’t mind it at all since he could see just how wide her smile could get.

“Angus Tully, don’t tell me-.”

“-What’s wrong with Chess club?”

“I knew it!” She pointed at him. “You nerd!”

“You’re the one that knows all of Roman history and mythology like the back of your hand, and you’re calling me a nerd?!” He teased.

The girl snorted, crossing her arms. “Not all of it.”

“Yes, you do.”

“So why have I lost to you twice now?”

“I just got lucky.”

“Uh huh, sure.”

“I’m serious!” He tried to brighten the strange air that settled in the room. “Your dad didn’t drill it into you for nothing.”

“Yeah, you’re right about that.” She hummed, sitting back on the bed. “So, you’re good at chess?”

He shrugged, taking a risk and sitting next to her (with about two feet of space of course). “I guess so. My…my dad taught me how to play, and I never beat him.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He chuckled, nearly losing himself in the memory. “I was like nine when this snowstorm hit, I was out of school for almost a week, and my dad and I just played the whole time.”

“So, you played without bathroom breaks, and you still didn’t win?”

“Okay, smartass.”

She smiled. “My dad tried teaching me chess and he beat me every time too.”

“You still play?”

“Hell no.”

“Why not?”

“I always cussed at my him whenever I lost, so probably not a good idea to keep going.”

Angus snickered. “How old were you?”

“Seven.”

“You were cussing at seven?”

“He was an asshole!”

“Yeah, I’ve met him.”

It was almost horrifying how her face dropped at his comment. One where it was like the words themselves shocked her. Then, before Angus could fully register what had just happened, she was laughing.

“Sorry,” she shook her head. “I’m just imaging what you looked like as a kid.”

He tried to laugh it off with her, but that odd tension crept its way back in. “I was weird.”

“So was I. You should’ve seen me when I was twelve, my father drilling Roman knowledge into my head, proclaiming how, if I wanted to be better than all of the boys in my class, I had to work for it.” She grinned. “It’s like he tried to make me a small version of him, which was impossible from the start.”

Angus nodded, not exactly knowing how to respond. “Yeah?”

“Of course.” She shrugged. “Well, he doesn’t mean to, but I feel like he sometimes forgets I might want to wear ribbons in my hair, put on makeup, girly things like that that I almost called stupid, but they’re not. But could you imagine it? My father wearing makeup and…okay, he doesn’t have much hair for ribbons, but you get it.”

“I do.” He smiled.

She nodded, and they fell into another beat of silence. It was almost a competition as to who would speak first, and in the end, she surprisingly lost. She stood up from the bed.

“I uh…I promised Mary I’d help her in the kitchen.” She walked backwards. “You’re more than welcome to keep reading my ‘tolerable’ books written by women.”

Angus hummed, trying to shake off her abrupt exit. “Yeah, I got nothing else better to do. Maybe I’ll meet you downstairs and keep harassing you?”

“Yeah sure.”

With that, she turned on her heel and scurried out of the infirmary. Angus always found her to be strange; from the moment she stepped into Mr. Hunham’s classroom in September, to her just then. Still, it was a strangeness he couldn’t help but be intrigued by. Not the same as how a scientist would study a foreign species but…he had grown quite fond of her.

He already had a liking for her that first day he met her (despite her harsh and course attitude towards the others in class). Not a liking enough to have it be a crush per say (he was still annoyed with her). Then, the whole catastrophe of him being stuck with her over Christmas break only added fuel to a fire.

A fire that has both warmed and burned him all at once.

What kind of shit was he going on about? He read half of a chapter from Little Women, and now look at him!

Not knowing what else to do with himself, Angus slid The Count of Monte Cristo out from the bottom of the stack of books. It had been one of his favorites as a kid; ironic in both a sense that he read it as a child, but also his mother of all people recommended it to him. Before he could even flip it to the first page, he saw a small gap in the middle as if there was a bookmark. He opened it and found a letter; an already opened letter.

Angus’ blood ran cold at the sight of it, and as he took it onto his hands, he turned it over. It was addressed to her, and the stamp was a toy train. He had only gotten a glance at the first letter when Teddy stole it, and he recognized the stamp.

Sighing, it almost felt like the envelope was burning in his hand as he hunched over himself. He could’ve read it…it was right there, and it was already opened so it’s not like she would’ve ever known.

But he would’ve. And he knew there was no going back if he read whatever Daniel wrote to her, and even if it wasn’t bad (how could it not be), then he knew she’d be able to sniff him out like a rat that he’d read it.

Wait…Daniel…Danny…The janitor.

“Shit!” Angus hissed, almost falling off the bed, then sprinting out of the infirmary and running blindly though the school he has gone to for months.

He ran outside without a jacket on, looking around for Mr. Hunham. When he already saw his fingers beginning to turn white in a matter of a minute, he ran back into the school and navigated the halls as if he were a bat out of hell.

It took him quite literally running into Mr. Hunham for him to finally stop.

“God almighty, Mr. Tully!” He gasped. “What is the meaning of this?!”

Angus, trying to catch his breath, said. “Mr. Hunham, I have to tell you something.”

Immediately upon noticing his distress, the teacher’s harsh demeanor and voice dropped. “Well…alright, what is it?”

“Can-.” He looked around, feeling suddenly exposed in the hallway. “Can we do this somewhere else?”

“Sure, sure.” Mr. Hunham nodded, looking around as well until his eyes landed on the first door he saw. “Let’s uh, is there fine?”

“Yeah.”

They both entered into a classroom that neither had been in before. It was smaller in size, more than likely meant for honor’s classes, but it looked like it hadn’t been dusted since the beginning of the year when parent’s would visit. When the door was shut, Mr. Hunham turned back to him.

“Now, what’s going on?”

Angus said her name. “Someone’s been sending her letters.”

“What kind of letters?” He asked, his face a mix of confusion and even a hint of denial.

“I…” Angus looked down at the one he had in hand and held it out to the teacher. Mr. Hunham took it, slipping his reading glasses out of his pocket. Angus continued. “Someone named Daniel sent her one days ago, Kountze stole it and read it aloud to everyone back in the woods. I think it’s Danny, the janitor.”

The moment he said ‘Daniel’, he’d already seen Mr. Hunham’s entire demeanor change. He saw him visibly tense, as he read the letter what must have been a million times. As time stood still in the dingy classroom, the teacher swallowed thickly.

“You said she got another letter a few days ago? Where is it?”

“I don’t know.” He shook his head.

“Mr. Kountze read it aloud, what exactly did it say?”

“I…” Angus paused, trying to remember just what was written so he wouldn’t miss a thing, “He asked her to send a picture of herself to him, and wished her a Merry Christmas. He sent her thirty-five dollars too; did he send more?”

Mr. Hunham shook his head, obviously bewildered at the amount of money. “No, he didn’t. Mr. Tully, did you even read this?”

“No.” His response was instant.

“Why not?”

Angus’ eyes trailed to the side, somehow finding the blank chalkboard much more appealing than Mr. Hunham. To be honest, anything at the time was more-.

“Angus,” His voice was stern, but not mean. It was enough to catch the boy’s attention, but not enough to scare him. “I need to know what you know, so we can help her.”

He took a deep breath. “Teddy made a joke that she…she…has pictures of herself in a skin mag.” It was absolute hell to watch Mr. Hunham sigh, so Angus looked away as he continued. “She didn’t say that she did, but she didn’t deny it, and I didn’t want to know whatever creepy shit Danny sent-.”

“-First off,” Mr. Hunham interrupted, rubbing his face. “this isn’t Danny the janitor.”

“How do you know?”

“Daniel,” He tried to say the name like he was a historical figure and not someone who made his skin crawl away from his body. “was...a family friend of some sort. That is all you have to know about him.”

Angus nodded, but couldn’t ignore the tightness in his chest, and how his stomach began to tie itself into knots as he asked. “Why did he stop being a family friend?”

“I said that’s all you have to know about him.” He said with more of a bite, then calmed himself. “I’ll speak to her about this the next time I see her, and rest assured, I won’t mention you.”

“She’ll know it’s me.” He shook his head. “I found it in one of her books when she left the infirmary after we talked.”

Mr. Hunham clutched the letter in one hand while removing his glasses with the other. “Regardless of details I cannot share with you, this little incident should not effect on how you view my daughter-.”

“-It doesn’t! I just-!” He lashed out unexpectedly at even the assumption of him finding any shred of blaming her for what was happening to her. “I just…I want her to be okay. That’s it.”

The teacher all but froze at his response, it is apparent that he was not expecting him to say that. Still, after regaining himself, he nodded. “You’re a good man for doing this, you know that, right?”

Angus scoffed, shrugging. “I don’t think she’ll talk to me ever again.”

“She may not,” he nodded. “but she also might. I won’t force her to do either. Again, thank you for letting me know.”

“Sure.”

The two of them walked out of the classroom in silence, and with Mr. Hunham’s “See you at dinner?” and his student’s nod, Angus Tully was left alone again in the grand halls of the school.

A fate that has somehow always caught up with him ever since he got there.

Angus read the same Popular Mechanics magazine three times over since he found it the night he was the only one left behind at Barton, and he’d gotten sick of it after the second time.

So, with nothing else better to do, and with it starting to get dark, he went down into the kitchen, where apparently everyone but Danny was, helping Mary cook. Including her. She was washing vegetables in the sink while Mary was preparing a roast, both of them laughing at someone one of them said. Mr. Hunham was just at the table, peeling potatoes like his life depended on it.

“Mary.” Angus greeted, smiling at her. Mr. Hunham’s daughter immediately turned back to the sink upon seeing him.

Mary looked up. “Speaking of…”

Deciding to ignore the strange tension in the room (He has a knack for doing that, doesn’t he?), Angus’ eyes traveled around until they landed on a dish beside him. “Oh, brownies? God yes, I want all of these.”

“Ah, ah!” Mary scolded when he took one. “Just take one. The rest is for the Christmas party tonight.”

“What Christmas party? There’s a Christmas party?” He said her name. “Did you know there’s a Christmas party?”

She didn’t turn around, and only responded with. “Uh-.”

“-Yes, at Miss Crane’s house.” Mary interrupted her. “She and I are only going for a little bit, show our faces, and say we were there. Well, she might stick around since her little friend is there. You know, Miss Crane said she invited you too.”

Angus furrowed his brows, looking over at Mr. Hunham. “I want to go to the party.”

He stammered. “She-she didn’t mean it. We were just making small talk.”

Mary shrugged. “If you don’t want to go, don’t go. I’ll take him.”

“Mary can take me.” Angus reiterated.

“No, that’s not how it works.” Mr. Hunham raised his voice a hint. “You’re under my supervision.”

Angus frowned. “So, your own kid isn’t under your supervision, but I am?”

“Don’t even think about pulling me into this.” The ‘kid’ in question shook her head, not even turning around.

Still, he scoffed, bringing his eyes back to Mr. Hunham. “Okay, maybe it’s fine for you to sit around here and read books all day,” he turned on his heel, beginning to walk out. “but I’m losing my goddamn mind, Jesus!”

“Hey!” Mary yelled at him once he threw the brownie across the room. “Watch your mouth, young man! Not on Christmas Eve.”

Angus ignored her, storming off back to the infirmary. He didn’t even make it to his room and a bed to dramatically throw himself on and scream into a pillow. He rested his back against the wall before sliding down it. Now sitting, his shoulders still tensed at what just happened. He’d been stuck in the school for a full week, only being able to go out when he dislocated his entire shoulder.

Who the fuck did that piece of shit think he was for holding him captive?!

Closing his eyes, he thought back to what Dr. Gertler told him. Sure, the guy was a quack, but once or twice he actually had a few things that helped him. Angus breathed in, counting to four, held it for three, then released it for another four.

He repeated that until he felt the tension (mostly) fall away from him, and there was even a hint of calmness in his head.

Which was then lost when he opened his eyes, and she was peeking from around the corner.

“Jesus!” He gasped, and she immediately hid. Once his heart stopped beating so damn fast, he said. “Okay, now who’s being creepy?”

“…Me.” She said after a moment’s silence, still hiding.

Sighing, rested his head against the wall. “I’m sorry I yelled earlier.”

She finally showed herself, standing in front of him now. “I don’t think I’m the one you should apologize to but thank you. My dad said you can go to the party with Mary and I.”

That got Angus to sit up taller. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah, but he’s going with us, so it won’t be that fun.” She joked.

He snickered along with her, before asking. “What about dinner?”

“We’ll probably just have it at Miss Crane’s. We’ll just have a nice lunch or something tomorrow instead of tonight.” She explained before walking into her room.

This was what caught Angus Tully off guard. She wasn’t exactly acting like her father had just confronted her about the letters, she was being too nice to him…so did she know it was him? She had to; or was he just overthinking it and getting in his own head (Something he did frequently)?

“When are we leaving?” He asked.

“In an hour!” She yelled, her voice somewhat muffled. “So, get on it, Fitzwilliam.”

“Anything you say, Amy!”

He ran off before she could storm after him (like he assumed she would), and went back into his room, which had darkened quite a bit. He went to his bag and took out the razor and shaving cream that he had only opened a few times since the beginning of the semester. He shook the can and applied the cream to his face before bringing the blades of the razor up to shave.

There was honestly no need to. It’s not like he even had “sawdust under his nose” as one would put it when talking about the mustache men would try to grow after watching Top Gun, which didn’t exist at this time, but that’s beside the point.

Even so, as he wat attempting to shave what was not there, he heard a knock, and her voice asked. “Are you decent?”

“Yep.” He answered, not even bothering to glance at the hall of lockets she had knocked from.

She came into his eyesight and stood so close to him in the mirror that he could feel the heat of her skin on his. “Move over.”

“Why?” He scoffed playfully, yet still did so.

It was only then he noticed the small makeup bag she had in her hand, and she placed it on the sink before opening it and taking out a sponge and small jar of liquid that matched her skin tone (it was foundation; he’d heard the word before but didn’t know it was that until perhaps a year later).

“The lighting’s better in here.” She answered, getting close to the mirror and dabbing the liquid on the sponge and upon her face.

Angus took a second (and only a second, if he took any longer she’d yell at him) to look at her entire self, and saw that she was wearing a dress. A dress that he would never have imagined on her. Her hair was almost the same as always...but there was something more to it he couldn't quite verbalize.

She was still herself, and it was silly to Angus Tully that it took a different dress and perhaps some makeup (something he’d hardly see her wear) to realize just how…just how…

“You look…” His mouth trailed off faster than his brain before he could stop himself.

After finishing her foundation, she took out a powder and brush. As she applied the powder, she glanced up at him through the mirror, a smirk on her face that was holding back a laugh. “Yeah?”

He couldn't call her ‘pretty’ (both because she’d never talk to him again, and that would be belittling her), and he couldn't call her ‘beautiful’ (she just wouldn’t talk to him again period; and he’d probably be scaring her off). So, apparently, the best thing he could think of in a limited amount of time was-.

“-Like a girl.”

Oh, how attractive it was to open one of the windows and jump out of it. If it wasn’t the fall that would kill him, it would certainly be freezing to death in a foot of snow.

Instead, to his surprise, while she momentarily scowled at him (as she should have), she giggled. Shaking her head, she said. “I would say you look like a man, but there’s nothing about you to prove that.”

As his heart began to beat again from her apparent lack of offense, he took the towel off the rack and wiped the residue cream off his face. “Oh yeah? What am I then?”

“A boy.” She set down the brush and took out a small tube of liquid, shaking it. “A tall, little boy.”

He snorted, walking away from the mirror when her gaze became just a little too much. “You said you were friends with Miss Crane’s niece?”

“Yes.” Her tone changed somewhat (or was he just overthinking it).

“Do you think I could-?”

“-Should I put on eyeshadow?”

He blinked. “Huh?”

“You know,” she turned over her shoulder. “the color that goes on the eyelids?”

“I know what eyeshadow is. I’m not that big into makeup, so I don’t know.”

“Really?” She teased. “You aren’t into makeup?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She turned back to the mirror, opening the tube. “Nothing.”

Angus’ eyes scrunched as he smiled at her playfulness. “Well-.”

“-Shut up.” She interrupted him.

He scowled. “Huh?”

She had the pen (it was eyeliner; he actually knew what that was) hovering over her right eye, and she was glancing at him again through the mirror. “I’m doing the most important part, and it’s the one I’m horrible at, so I need complete silence.”

Angus Tully merely nodded, looking away. He didn’t know how long she took, but she knew she was finished when he heard her gasp.

“I did it!” He looked back and saw that she turned to him with the biggest smile on her face, and blackened wings kissing the corner of her eyes. “I did it!”

He could only nod. “Yeah, it looks good.”

She grinned from ear to ear before turning back to the mirror, setting down her eyeliner and getting out an eyelash curler. “Could I ask you a question, even though you’ll feel stupid afterwards?”

“Do your worst.”

“Why ‘Amy’?”

Angus felt safe to smile at that. “Does that bother you?”

“Why, on God’s green earth, would you say I was like Amy?!”

“Well,” he shrugged. “it pisses you off, that’s the first reason. Second is…she grew on me.”

She scowled, turning to look at him. “Oh yeah? How so?”

“I mean…you made her out to be so annoying, and someone who complains a lot which, yes she does. But she’s funny, and she sticks to herself like Jo does, but…I don’t know, I just like her.”

Her face fell for the second time that day; but not like it did that afternoon when he made a joke about her father. No, this time, he knew it was because she truly didn’t think he would say anything like that.

And, for the first time since he’d known her, she almost looked shy.

Something he thought would be the thing that terrified him the most that entire Christmas break.

So, when she didn’t respond, and wanting to disrupt the awkward silence, he then asked. “Wait, why was your dad so against going, but now he’s fine with it?”

She looked back at the mirror, looking at him through it. “Besides the fact it wouldn’t be fair that you’d be stuck here while I’d go, he has a crush on Miss Crane.”

Angus snorted. “Figures.”

She shrugged. “I kind of always knew. I mean, she’s worked here for five years, but I think he only started liking her last year. I’m also not sure what he’s more afraid of; how I’d react to him liking someone after Mom died, or him just liking her period.”

“And how do you feel about it?”

“My mother’s been in the ground for six years.” She decided to take the eyelash curler back in her hand, then brought it up to one of her eyes. “We still visit her of course. She wasn’t selfish either, and it’s been so long, so I don’t think she’d mind. Besides, I’m going to technically graduate next semester, and I don’t want to be stuck here, but I also don’t want him to be alone. Mary’s really his only friend so…yeah, I think I’d be okay if he was with Miss Crane.”

Angus nodded. At first, it felt almost invasive and even wrong for her to tell him all of that so effortlessly. But…he leaned into it the more she went on. She’d been vulnerable with him before (whether she thought it or not, she had been), but this time…it wasn’t a huge confession, it was just a simple conversation.

“I don’t…” He found himself saying.

He didn’t what? What was he going to say? Something about his father? His mother? It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her something.

She took the curler away from herself and turned to look at him. Her eyes…her damn-no, they weren’t damned; they were kind, gentle…but still he felt damned just as she looked at him in a way he hadn’t ever seen her look at anyone before. She was waiting for him to say something.

Say something.

She hadn’t said a word, hadn’t done anything but stare at him, but he was suddenly twelve again. Angus Tully, with his hair that was just beginning to have out of place curls, walking into his parent’s room at two in the morning. He woke his mother up, who gasped when he touched her. After she calmed down, she was appalled to see him crying.

It wasn’t a bad dream, it wasn’t because something had happened to him at school; he didn’t know what was making him weep, but he was doing it anyway.

He could barely say anything, he babbled like a baby learning to talk, and all he could get out was “I don’t know, I don’t know.”

His mother tried her best (he liked to himself that), but she could only say “I can’t help you unless you tell me what’s wrong.”

Didn’t she hear him? He didn’t know.

Even now, at seventeen, he didn’t know what to say to her.

“I don’t know how you can use that.” He glanced at the eyelash curler.

She furrowed her brow upon the change in tone. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, it looks like a torture device.”

Scoffing, she looked back to the mirror and curled the lashes of her other eyes. “You’ve just never tried it before.”

“And I never will.”

She looked back at him once she was finished. “Are you scared?”

“No, I just don’t see the reason to.”

She shrugged. “I think you’re scared.”

“Am not.”

“Okay, then let me put mascara on you.”

He scoffed. “You’re kidding.”

“No.” She shook her head. “If you’re not scared then you’ll let me stick something in your eye. You don’t have to wear it to the party, but I think it’d be fun.”

Angus was at a loss. She was a good actress, so how was he supposed to know she wasn’t messing with him? Well…he didn’t; he just had to trust her. To be fair, he had been weird around her this whole time, so…

“I’m not doing the torture device, just the makeup.”

Her face lit up, and she took the mascara out of her bag, setting everything else inside of it. “Get over here.”

He followed, leaning against the wall by the mirror. Suddenly, as he stood in front of her, he was nervous. It wasn’t the first time he was (whether that was because of her wit, her confidence, or even her meanness), it was because it was just her.

“How uh,” he stammered. “how are we doing this.”

“Lean down first of all, fuck why are you so tall?”

“Not one of my favorite qualities.” He joked, pressing his hand against the sink for support as he lowered himself slightly.

“Meh,” she shrugged, unscrewing the cap of her mascara. “girls usually like tall guys.”

His heart flipped. “Yeah?”

She froze momentarily before continuing. “I guess. Elise told me.”

“Right.”

“Okay, close your eyes. You’re going to want to open them when you feel something touch your eye, but I promise you, you don’t want to do that.”

“Sounds good.” He closed his eyes, waiting for the feeling of discomfort. He could feel the heat of herself hover around him, but the pain from the mascara never came.

He heard her sigh. “This isn’t going to work.”

Angus opened his eyes when he felt her draw away, and he saw her sit on one of the beds. She titled her head. “Come here.”

He didn’t know if his heart was still or was going to beat itself out of his chest. Obviously, he sat by her before but…he had to be closer to her. Angus did his best not to make a big deal of it, but he felt like he was almost watching himself outside of his body as he sat beside her and closed his eyes.

“Do you want to know what my mom called me when I was younger?”

She was trying to distract him and he knew it. “Sure.”

“Ever heard of Orpheus and Eurydice?”

He tensed but soon relax when she rested her hand on his cheek; it felt like she was burning him, but the way that he felt whenever he had a fever. Somehow…it was comforting. Breathing shallowly, he answered. “Greek? Kind of.”

“Well,” he cowered away a little when he felt something brush his eyelashes but kept calm as she continued. “where my father loved Roman history and mythology, my mother was more into the Greeks. They’d go back and forth debating on which was more influential, and that was more so how they became friends. She…before I was born, she talked about naming me Eurydice because it was her favorite story. My dad was obviously against it, so that was a no. So, that’s when she’d just call me Eurydice at home a lot, just to piss him off which was funny.”

Angus hummed, paying attention to her words, but having to bite his tongue to keep himself grounded from losing himself within her touch. “What’s she like in the story?”

“Not much to her.” She moved onto his other eye. “Well, what it gives us anyway. I always had my mom tell me their story, and Eurydice kept changing. It was always who I was like growing up.”

“Really?”

“Really. I was shy around the other kids when she first told me-.”

“-You, shy?”

“Shut up, I’ll mess up your eye if you make me laugh. But yeah, so Eurydice was quiet and shyer. Then, when I’m like nine, I’m a bit more outspoken, angrier even, so she became that.”

He didn’t move his head, scared that he’d mess her up. It was then, after she stopped speaking, he could feel her breath on his face. Her hand was still warm against his cheek, and he found himself leaning into it more and more. He had not felt this sense of peace since…he couldn’t recall.

“Done.”

With one word from her, she took her hand away and he opened his eyes. She was still so close to him, and while he saw her smiling at what he assumed had been her work, it was him staring at her that made it drop. Still, she didn’t look frightened nor upset, she was just…looking at him.

The moment his eyes dropped to her lips for only a second, it was all over.

He’d thought about it, of course. He wanted to. But…like with everything about her, he froze.

She didn’t.

“You…” She stood up from the bed, straightening the skirt of her dress. “you should probably wash that off after taking a look.”

Angus didn’t have time to respond before she grabbed her makeup bag and ran off. He just sat there, trying to process if he was waiting to wake up from a dream, or if it had been in fact real.

When nothing happened, he sighed heavily, getting up and walking towards the mirror. His eyes looked different, and he felt weird. He could not tell if it was from the makeup, her, or both. Still, what he did know, was that he made a fool of himself.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

#angus tully #angus tully x reader #paul hunham #the holdovers #mary lamb #Youtube

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