#clutter busting

[tidymalism]

Core 4 aka the 4 box declutter method has been making the rounds on TikTok lately. Here's how it compares to other popular decluttering approaches like Swedish death cleaning, the Minsgame and Konmari.

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[usalock]

tea time with usalock and kumaris 🫖

more photos! i'm really proud of this one :>

[istherewifiinhell]

v the results still dire but im happy to see ppl in the notes join my crusade

[uraniumglassgirl]

just had the most embarassing binding of isaac run imaginable dont even look at me

[connorsui]

Hi! Can I ask for a Sylus fluff, where he gives the reader his bank card for her to go shopping, and he expects a bill to be at least $10,000, but all he sees is about $100. So he asks her if she bought everything she wanted, and she says something like "yeah, there were such good discounts, I didn't spend too much, did I?"

And man is just ಠ⁠益⁠ಠ GIRL GO SPEND MY MONEY I WANT TO SPOIL YOU

My beloved @lalaluch I cannot explain to you just how much fun this was to even imagine but let alone even WRITE 🩷 like I was losing my mind trying to bust out my Google docs to even make this. But my sickness was literally getting to me that all I could do was imagine--but anywhoo now that it's finally done I hope you all enjoy it ✨️

p.s: I hope this sickness finally leaves me because it be making me internally cry on the inside ...I pray for prayers lol 💅🏻

BUDGET QUEEN

It had taken weeks of gentle coaxing, half-joking remarks, and the occasional exasperated sigh before you’d reluctantly agreed. You had this stubborn streak, an insistence on independence that both irritated and fascinated him. But today, you’d finally caved.

“You’ll take it,” Sylus had said that morning, slipping the sleek card into your hand, his fingers brushing against your palm. “No arguments. No excuses.”

You had sighed, rolling your eyes. “Fine. But I’m not going crazy with it?!”

He had only smirked, knowing full well you would—and knowing full well that he wanted you to.

And now, hours later, he awaited the results.

Sylus leaned back in his leather chair, his crimson eyes flicking lazily over the documents cluttering his desk. A rare break in his usual chaos had him sipping on his usual drink, savoring the brief quiet. That was until his phone buzzed. He set his glass down and checked the notification, a message from his bank popping up.

He expected it—he wanted it. You had finally caved to his insistence after a literal month of convincing and taken his black card to go shopping. He’d envisioned the inevitable message all morning, something like:

One-hundred million spent at Celine and The Row’s combined?

Or perhaps?

Fifty million at Loro Piana?

You’d mentioned their beauty and elegance more than once.

Nevertheless, the man wanted indulgence, excess—you deserved it, after all.

Instead, the message read:

$157.45 at… Assorted Stores.

Sylus stared at the screen, unblinking. Surely, this was a mistake. He refreshed his balance multiple times. Same amount. He checked for pending transactions. None.

“…What?” he muttered, his irritation simmering beneath the surface. He slammed his phone down, crossing his arms as he waited for you to return.

Minutes later, the front door opened, and you walked in, humming happily, two bags dangling from your arms. You looked utterly content, your warm smile sending a pang through Sylus’s chest. He didn’t want to ruin the moment, but he had questions.

“You’re back,” he said, leaning against the doorframe to his study, watching you set the bags down in the living room. His towering presence cast a shadow over you, his white hair catching the light, giving him an almost otherworldly aura.

“Yup!” you chirped, rifling through the bags. “You wouldn’t believe the deals I found today! It’s like the universe knew I had your card!”

Sylus squinted. “Deals?”

“Yeah! Everything was on sale! I even had coupons for some things. Oh, and this boutique downtown was having a clearance event! It was amazing!” You beamed at him, oblivious to his growing disbelief.

“Clearance? ..…How much did you spend?” he asked, his voice neutral. Too neutral.

“Um…” You frowned, pulling your phone out to check. “About a few hundred, I think? Oh, wait—like one-fifty! I didn’t spend too much, did I?” You tilted your head, as if genuinely concerned.

Sylus stared at you, his expression shifting to one of incredulous disbelief. His red eyes seemed to glow, and his lips pressed into a thin line. It was the look of a man deeply offended. Not by you—but by the principle.

“…That’s it?” he asked, his voice sharp but measured, as if he were trying to comprehend an alien concept. “One-fifty?”

You blinked up at him, a little confused by his tone. “Well, yes… I mean, I didn’t want to waste your money—”

“Waste my—” He cut himself off, running a hand through his snowy hair. He took a deep breath, trying to keep his composure. “Sweetheart,” he said slowly, “do you have any idea why I gave you my card?”

“To… buy some stuff?” you offered, suddenly feeling like you were missing something obvious.

“To spoil you,” he emphasized, stepping closer. “To treat you like the queen you are. To shower you in luxury. And you—” He gestured to the modest shopping bags on the floor, his voice taking on a dramatic edge. “—come back with clearance items?”

Your cheeks flushed. “But… I didn’t need anything expensive! I found good deals, and I thought—”

“No.” Sylus leaned down slightly, bringing himself to eye level with you, his crimson eyes boring into yours. “Listen to me, love. I don’t care about the price tag. I want you to have the best. The fact that you’re this thoughtful is adorable—don’t get me wrong—but next time…” He paused, his voice dropping into a softer, more commanding tone. “…I want to see receipts that would make the average person cry.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“I’m not.” He straightened, towering over you again, his arms crossing. “Do you know how much money I make? How much I’ve set aside specifically to spoil you?”

“I can guess?…”

“Clearly not if you’re spending less than a casual dinner out on everything.” His voice was calm, but laced with unmistakable disapproval.

Then, with a breath, he softened—only slightly. “I just want to see you dressed in diamonds,” he corrected, stepping closer, his towering frame casting a shadow over you. “To watch you slip into golden heels that make you shine like the goddess you are. To drape you in silk and velvet, to see you standing before me in a dress that costs more than a car and still doesn’t compare to your worth.”

Your lips parted slightly, caught off guard by the sudden weight in his words.

“I gave you my card,” he continued, voice lower now, intimate, “because I want you to indulge. To spoil yourself the way I ache to spoil you. Because you deserve to walk into a store and not think—just watch and admire”

Your throat went dry.

He lifted his hand, fingers brushing over your wrist before tracing upward, his touch featherlight against your skin. “I want to see you try on jewelry without looking at the price tag,” he murmured. “I want to sit back and watch as a saleswoman fumbles to put a necklace around your throat because her hands are shaking too much from the sheer amount of wealth wrapped around you.”

His gaze dipped lower, lingering on your frame as he exhaled through his nose. “And instead… you bring me deals?”

Your heart pounded, a mix of amusement and something else entirely stirring in your chest. “I didn’t think I needed to spend that much—”

“You don’t need to,” he interrupted, thumb ghosting over your jawline. His voice was softer now, but no less commanding. “But I want you to.”

Your face heated.

“Next time, I’m going with you.”

“What, to make sure I spend enough?” you teased.

“Yes,” he said, dead serious. “And to carry your bags. And to remind you that you can have whatever you want.” His red eyes softened slightly, and he tilted your chin up with two fingers. “All I want is to see you happy. No discounts required.”

You smiled at his sincerity, warmth blooming in your chest. “Okay, fine. Next time, I’ll go a little crazier. Maybe five million?” you joked.

Sylus groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Woman, you’re going to be the death of me.”

You laughed, reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck. “You’re so dramatic, you know that?”

“And you’re too frugal for your own good,” he shot back, pulling you into his arms. His voice softened, turning almost playful. “But I guess I’ll just have to teach you how to spend properly.”

“Looking forward to it,” you said, grinning against his chest.

Sylus sighed, resting his chin atop your head. As much as he wanted to spoil you senseless, he couldn’t help but love your thoughtful, practical side. It was part of what made you you—and he wouldn’t trade that for anything.

Still, next time… he was definitely making sure you left the store with at least an entire closet filled with designer bags.

For his sanity—and yours.

[socialtownie]

now renting: mini build dump!

townsquare terrace apts – 2 units google drive | patreon

playtested

cc included / build cc required

packs used: for rent / horse ranch / growing together / high school years / snowy escape / eco lifestyle / discover uni / island living / seasons / city living / get together / get to work / werewolves / realm of magic / parenthood / vampires / laundry day / everyday clutter

bridgecreek apts – 4 units google drive | patreon

cc included but not required

packs used: lovestruck / for rent / growing together / high school years / cottage living / eco lifestyle / discover uni / pets / seasons / city living / get to work / werewolves / vampires / get to work / outdoor retreat / laundry day / toddler stuff / backyard stuff / perfect patio stuff / bust the dust

tou: • don't claim as your own • don't put behind a paywall • please give credit if using publicly

important: place lot as a residential first + furnish, then make into a residential rental and move sims in – this makes it so your game won't be on an infinite loading screen when trying to load the lot

[dustbunnyforsims]

Spring Cleaning (Gift)

Spring Cleaning Trash Can ( Functional )

6 Swatches

Located in Appliances -> Miscellaneous

Spring Cleaning Broom ( Functional )

10 Swatches

Located in Appliances -> Miscellaneous

Requires Functional Broom Mod by @mizoreyukii

Base Game & Bust the Dust Kit Compatible

Spring Cleaning Broom ( Decorative )

10 Swatches

Located in Decorations -> Clutter

You can find all our content in Build & Buy Mode by searching "Dust Bunny"

All LODs // Custom Thumbnails // HQ Mod Compatible

Conversion // Do not recolor or convert // Do not re-upload

DOWNLOAD

Connect with us at: Instagram I Pinterest Board I Tumblr I Patreon

[simkoos]

it's finally here! 😭

for MONTHS i've been constantly editing, rearranging, and using all my brain cells trying to make this build as accurate as possible! while its not perfect, i'm really happy with how it turned out and it pretty much serves its purpose. i hope y'all enjoy it, thank you for being patient. ❤️🤍❤️

(shoutout to my testers @cinamun & @nucrests!!! i appreciate the thorough feedback and suggestions!)

important info:

lot type: retail

lot size: 40x30 (originally placed in evergreen harbor)

required EP's: get to work, get together, city living, cats & dogs, eco lifestyle, highschool years, growing together

required GP's: outdoor retreat, my wedding stories

required SP's: kids room, movie hangout, cool kitchen

required kits: bust the dust, blooming rooms

uniforms:

target uniform by me (included in the zip)

cc included (very cc heavy sorry lol 550mb) all credit goes to the cc creators below!:

target collection (signage, ads, etc)

retail store collection (shelves & display)

target 'exclusive' items

aroundthesims | bessy | brainstrip | brazenlotus | brujah | budgie | caroll912 (tsr) | charlypancakes | felix | goldsim | harrie | janjumjam | kiwisim | kkb | leafmotif | lot51 | max20 | myshunosun | nickname | nynaevedesign | oni | pandasama | peacemaker | picardsims | pickypikachu | pictureamoebae | pierisim | porphyria | ravasheen | scodeeyodee | sixamcc | soloriya | severinka | sooky88 | srslysims | syboulette | taurusdesign | thecluttercat | tuds | tukete | veranka | wondymoon

cc not included in zip:

functional blender

flicbuster

xml injector (required for brazenlotus' voidcritter pack)

optional mods:

everyday clutter kits become functional

bathroom clutter kits become functional

vehicle replacements

air fryer

download on patreon

[recursiverabbit]

Belated happy new year's! I haven't updated this fic in ages 💀 but I do very much remember that this exists! I ended up rewriting the upcoming chapter from scratch... so, uh, my new year's resolution is to finish and upload that chapter by the end of this week! That's good enough of a resolution, yeah? No? Ok, fine, I'm also looking to publish a Bloodborne fic as well as an Ornstein follow-up to A Flame's Consequence sometime this year too! Is that too much on my plate? I have NO idea 🥰 On another note, my Marvel Rivals addiction is getting bad. I'm already on the road to becoming a Whale, please send help-

Fandom: Dark Souls (Video Games), Dark Souls III Rating: Mature Relationships: Darkmoon Knightess/Dark Sun Gwyndolin Characters: Dark Sun Gwyndolin, Darkmoon Knightess, Company Captain Yorshka, Pontiff Sulyvahn, Oceiros the Consumed King, Champion Gundyr, Dancer of the Boreal Valley Additional Tags (mind the tags): Pre-Canon, Mild Sexual Content, Canon-Typical Violence, POV Alternating, Emotional Manipulation, Y'all can especially thank Sulyvahn for the latter tag and the CCNTUAW tag, Sulyvahn is a terrible person, Oceiros is also a nasty person, Unhappy Ending, Dark Souls: Prepare to Cry Edition Series: Part 2 of A Flame's Consequence (& other related stories)

Summary:

When Lord Gwyn's lastborn is suddenly deemed king of the gods, he finds himself inheriting the remains of an abandoned kingdom. With hardly any godly subjects left to lead and the First Flame being in the hands of a human kingdom, Gwyndolin must face an uncomfortable truth if he wishes to usurp control over the Flame and restore the influence of the gods: humans are the solution.

~

Once, a kingdom of the moon rose from the ashes of a kingdom of the sun.

Or: Irithyll's inception and its early relations with Lothric explored.

~~~

Or!: Can Gwyndolin stop being a jerk to people before Sulyvahn unleashes his tyranny? Let's find out~ (I already know the answer to this, but I'm still scared for what's to come)

((But yes, I'm back to writing more depressing stories to chuck into my Dark Souls universe 💙 This one's definitely worse than A Flame's Consequence in that regard))

[tidymalism]

A 30 day minimalism game can be a first step to help you start decluttering, minimise your belongings and lean into a bit of minimalism.

Take the minsgame challenge yourself. It’s easy and fun!

➡️ Subscribe to my free monthly newsletter, the Minimal Monthly. Get all the latest blog posts from Tidymalism plus curated bonus content delivered straight to your inbox. Woot. 🤓

[illbegottenfaith]

in sweetness (inspired by robin by t. swift)

visiting theo's childhood home grants you a deeper understanding of his inner workings (theo nott x reader)

a/n - I haven't genuinely loved a piece of writing like I do this one in a loooong time, I'm aware of how it strays away from the conventional flow/storyline of fanfic but I feel like that's what makes this so special! this is kind of the backstory of Theo I have in my head for pretty much any fic I write, regardless of the tropes/au's involved.

tropes/warnings - love?? hurt/comfort, angst, happy ending, friends to lovers

word count - 2.7k

In their third year, Theodore Nott broke the nose of his then-teammate Mattheo Riddle. The fight had broken out on the Quidditch pitch after a practice; over what, no one could remember, least of all the boys themselves. Mattheo had said something undoubtedly incendiary in that arrogant, goading voice of his, and Theo had lunged at him, knocking the pair down. The brawl had come to a surprisingly quick end once he had decked the stockier boy in the face.

Years on, most people put it down to a culmination of red-hot emotions and pubescent testosterone. But it was more than that. Even then, you found the incident more telling than most others. Friend or foe, Theodore Nott never hesitated to exact justice by his own means, as he saw fit.

Perhaps it was his only means of control in a world that had treated him unforgivingly all his life.

You put down the photo of a bloody-nosed Mattheo sitting next to a busted-lipped Theo in the Hospital Wing, a photo taken to commemorate, as Blaise Zabini cheerfully put it, 'Baby's first fistfight.' You are standing in Theo's bedroom in his childhood home while waiting for him to return. You wanted to surprise him, but as his aunt had told you, he had popped out to drop by some old friends in the area. Still, she said that he would be returning soon and that you were welcome to wait in his room.

Looking around at every little photo, artifact, and piece of evidence of the years gone by feels like you are watching him grow up in front of your very eyes. And just like his life, something about the room feels disjointed and unharmonious. Other than a few obligatory photos or trinkets, most of the room appears sparsely decorated. The air feels heavy, as if it carries an unbearable silence even when he is home for the holidays.

There are posters of some vaguely familiar professional Quidditch players decorating one wall. Looking at the years printed in the corner, you glean that they must have been from before you met Theo. Although a layer of dust now sits on the untouched but otherwise pristine posters, it's clear that they were once highly beloved by their owner.

You see something similar in the rest of the room - different phases of his life cluttered different corners of his room. It was as though the room itself never changed; rather, he learned to grow in whatever space was left. You tilted your head up. There, hanging from the ceiling above his bed, appears to be a slightly misshapen, dusty baby mobile made of flimsy, plasticky dragonflies. It looks handmade. It sticks out like a sore thumb in what is otherwise a tidy room.

You wander over to the window on the other side of the room. You pick up another picture frame, this one containing a photograph of a toddler Theodore at the very windowsill you were standing in front of, taken from the garden just outside his window.

Back then, with a face that small, his dark curls seemed to overwhelm his tiny stature. He was laughing with a twinkle in his eye which he seemed to have lost over the years, unabashed with a face overflowing with love for whoever was behind the camera. You peer through the crooked window and imagine him scrambling up, not yet three feet tall, towards the photo-taker who humoured his nonsensical babbling with the forgiving kind of maternal patience. What had she looked like? Did she have his hair? His nose? His dry wit? His temper? His unexpected, if endearing, touchy side? It was a fragmented sort of picture in your head, but it was better than nothing.

You look back at the photo and your heart twinges with regret. Theo didn't talk about it much, but you knew he had lost her when he was very young - far too young. This had to be one of the last few moments when he was blissfully unaware of the horrors that waited for him in the real world. And even after that, how could he have anticipated just how much worse things could get? You bite your lip. No, you decide, he had no idea.

After the Quidditch pitch incident, unlike his newest best mate, Theo's penchant for violence was short-lived. Yet his ruthless efficiency remained almost cutthroat - whatever Theo wanted, he got, everyone else be damned. In fact, he hadn't really understood what it felt like to care for someone else until he met you.

With your round, trusting eyes and irrationally lovable affectations, you had somehow wormed your way into his otherwise cold, distant heart, and there you stayed. Your friends hadn't held back on the teasing, especially in the early days, but you couldn't bring yourself to care when an electric kind of thrill would run through you as he'd duck his head oh so slightly to better hear whatever spiel you had chosen to grace him with between lessons that day over the din of the moving staircases and their unfortunate victims. The electric thrill of having a friend, of course.

But that didn't stop you from noticing how his past seemed to hold him back, as much as he liked to pretend otherwise. With his father's less-than-exemplary background, you saw him struggle to not follow him down that same path. After all, how did one break free of the only world they've ever known? Sometimes you could feel his frustration, as if he felt stuck or stagnant. While everyone else busied themselves with orchestrating life plans as graduation grew nearer, Theo seemed woefully encumbered by the one thing he could never rid himself of, shackled by the chains of his lineage.

You had picked up on this the time he had come down with a bout of the flu. "Maybe I should take your temperature again," you had said, anxiously looking at his wan face as his skin burned the back of your hand.

"I'm fine, really," he had repeated, as he dragged your hand down to his chest, eyes lidded. "I'll sleep it off."

You had pressed your lips into a thin line, highly conflicted over how much you wanted to argue with a clearly sick patient. Your other hand had drifted to his scalp as you had distractedly started raking your fingers through his hair. Theo's lips had parted as he sighed in relief, melting further into his pillow.

"Just...just stay. For a while." His eyes had been fully closed by then. "I get the worst dreams when I'm sick."

You had run your thumb along your clasped hands. "What do you dream about?"

Theo had paused. "Terrible things," he had said after a moment, in a pleasant, light voice, as if you were merely discussing the weather. "Terrible things that I can't change."

He had no idea.

The least you could do was let him feel free when he was with you. You knew just what to do to tug a smile onto his face, no matter how reluctant, on the greyest of days. It helped that it didn't take much for you to amuse him. It wasn't always easy, keeping spirits high enough for the both of you, but you managed. Anything to make his life a little brighter, a little sweeter.

And so the time he spent with you only served to further mellow him out, soften his sharp, unrelenting edges. His bloodlust moulded itself into something kinder, something that didn't itch for retribution for every wrong-doing or misdeed. A compassion that presented itself in the oddest of ways - like the time you had found Theo entertaining one of the toddlers from the annual gift donation drive in the Slytherin common room over the holidays. Your eyes had nearly fallen out of your head when you had seen him sitting cross-legged on the floor, highly engrossed with a bunch of plastic dinosaurs.

You had shot Mattheo a mystified look as you walked by, and he had shrugged from his place on one of the armchairs. But you had noticed how the crossword he had allegedly been pouring over had gone slack in his hand. Clearly, he had been just as intrigued as you were.

"I thought you never liked playing with toys," you had started, fixing a lock of hair falling into Theo's eyes as he looked up at you. He had looked so earnest as he put the toys down that you had had to fight the urge to laugh - not at him, but at how disconcertingly happy he looked. Why, Theo would have mocked anyone who looked half as delighted any other day of the week.

You had let your thumb run along his cheekbone. Perhaps it was an unintentional reclamation of the childhood he had been robbed of.

"I didn't. But maybe I just needed more time." He had glanced back at the child crudely now scribbling in his sketchbook and winced. "Erm, fourteen years more time."

You had nodded, trying to be more discreet about your staring at the smear of dirt you had just noticed on the side of his face. He had no idea. Over Theo's shoulder, you had frowned questioningly at Mattheo. Sand pit, he had mouthed back at you.

"You always were slow on the uptake," you had murmured. Something must have shown in yours or Mattheo's expression because he had started glancing between the two of you, gingerly touching his face.

"What? Is there something on my face?"

"No," the both of you chorused.

"I don't see anything on your face. Mattheo, do you see anything on Theo's face?"

"Not a speck," Mattheo had agreed, nonchalantly returning to his crossword. You had tapped Theo's face, making him flinch.

"You need to stop being so obsessed with your looks. Vanity doesn't become you."

And before he could catch on - as he was dangerously close to, if that suspicious frown of his was any indication - you excused yourself to put your coat away. Neither of you had wanted to snap Theo out of whatever weird trance he was in. A moment like that deserved to be preserved.

Standing in Theo's room, you suddenly felt claustrophobic, overwhelmed by memories you hadn't given a second thought in years. There was so much tragedy written in every crack in the wall. How did Theo bear it? Did he simply not see it?

You walked out of the room and explained to Theo's aunt that you were just heading out for a bit of fresh air. If she noticed how upset you looked, she didn't comment on it. Once you left, you started walking very quickly very blindly, anything to put as much distance between yourself and that house of horrors.

Eventually, you walked until there was nowhere else to walk, ending up at an old, slightly grimy playground. You sat on one of the swings, replaying those scenes you couldn't seem to move on from. The pallor on Theo's face as he shivered from that fever. The blood-soaked rag he had held to his mouth to stem the flow of blood. The grit that had decorated the side of his beautiful face. You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn't hear the leaves crunching under the footsteps that approached you.

"Oh, my days," a familiar voice crowed from behind you, "is that Y/N L/N I see before me?"

You froze. He must have spotted you on his way back. You couldn't bring yourself to turn around to face him just yet.

"You're in my spot, you know," Theo continued smoothly. "That's the best spot on the swing set right there."

Reluctantly, you glanced behind to see Theo standing behind you, wearing a thick denim jacket, his teasing expression slightly shadowed by his stupid hair that was always falling into his stupid face, and all you can think is, he has no idea.

As soon as you turned, his face softened into something more concerned.

"Are you...crying?"

You brushed a hand against your cheek and realised he was right. You sniffed, turning away from him. Theo moved to kneel in front of you almost immediately, gently clasping your elbows when you refused to meet his gaze.

"Are you hurt? Did someone hurt you? Who hurt you?"

You shook your head. "No one hurt me."

Theo stared at you unrelentingly. There it was, the bloodlust. "What happened, cara mia?"

"Nothing," you said unconvincingly. "I was waiting for you at your house but I wanted a bit of fresh air."

"Was it my aunt? Did she say something? Honestly, the things she says about my hair -"

You laughed through your tears abruptly, and you could see Theo relax fractionally at your smile. You bit your lip hard enough to almost draw blood. Anything to stop the crying.

"No," you were saying, "your aunt was very sweet. She let me wait in your room."

"Okay."

"And there were -"

"- magazines?"

You frowned at Theo, who looked unreasonably panicked. "You have magazines in your room?"

He hesitated for a moment, before delicately clearing his throat. "No, of course not. So what did you see?"

"Pictures. From years ago."

"Oh, yeah. What about them?"

You stared back at him, fidgeting restlessly. How could you explain why you were suddenly so upset when you didn't fully understand it yourself? The pictures in his room were nothing revelatory - in fact, wasn't that why it was so heartbreaking? You knew what his life had been like, and you knew how it had shaped him. But maybe something about seeing unflinching proof of it firsthand made it all the more unbearable.

And then you started bawling again.

"I just -" you choked out, "you had such an awful time as a kid- no mother, a good-as-dead father -"

Theo had this strange look on his face like he was desperately trying not to laugh.

"Y/N," he was saying gently, "they're just pictures. And all that was such a long time ago. I'm fine." He grinned. "Really."

You glared at him. You had half a mind to shove him away.

"Well, I'm not fine. How do you expect me to turn a blind eye to your hellish childhood? When are you going to get it through that thick skull of yours that I care for you and I love you and it hurts to think about all those years you spent unloved?"

That sobered the both of you fairly quickly. After all that, Theo had the audacity to blink at you like some half-wit goldfish.

"...what?"

You pressed on impatiently. "You have to understand," you muttered through gritted teeth, "I cannot help but wish you didn't have to deal with - with any of this. Year after year, I see you trying so hard, trying your best even with all the odds stacked against y- and you're amused. Honestly, you're impossible. I'm baring my heart, sobbing my fucking lungs out, and you look like you want to laugh."

"It's just..." Theo shook his head as he trailed off, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. "I haven't thought about any of that in a while."

His eyes crinkled, and suddenly the runt of a boy from the picture and the long-legged nineteen-year-old in front of you were one and the same.

"I don't feel unloved." He dragged his thumb down the vein in the crook of your elbow, all while looking at you like you were the most precious thing he'd ever seen. "Not anymore."

Your hand crept up until they were holding his face. He stiffened slightly, not like he wanted to pull away, but like he didn't know what to expect. You leaned forward, brushing his nose against yours, feeling his warm breath tickle your face. He wasn't pushing you away. If anything, his grip on your elbow turned more vice-like as his eyes fluttered close.

Maybe you misread his signals. Maybe he'd hate you for this afterwards. But you couldn't bring yourself to care at the moment.

A sweet memory to balance out all the bitter ones his home held.

[fleuraliasave]

*OUTDATED NEW VERSION AVAILABLE HERE*

❤ Version 7.0 Fleuralia Save File ❤

Download link down below (please read entire post before installing)

This save file uses all EP’s, GP’s (not Journey to Batuu), SP’s and most of the kits (Country Kitchen, Blooming Rooms, Incheon Arrivals, Retro Fit, Industrial loft, Moonlight Chic, Little Campers, Pastel Pop, Everyday Clutter, Bathroom Clutter, Simtimates Collection, First Fits, Desert Luxe, Modern Luxe, Poolside Splash, Book Nook, Basement treasures, Greenhouse Haven, Pastel Pop and Bust the Dust).

What’s new in this update?:

Chestnut Ridge and Tomarang have been completely redone, added multiple new lots, updated other lots and provided make-overs for the households.

Added new households (when living in world; with jobs, friends, preferences etc).

Added rental lots in multiple other worlds outside of Tomarang (Brindleton Bay, Henford-on-Bagley, Britechester and more).

Spooky Fall Festival has been moved to Chestnut Ridge (bigger with haunted house ride). The old lot in Brindleton Bay has been changed into a cemetery.

Current Status of Worlds:

Finished worlds: Willow Creek, Oasis Springs, Newcrest, Magnolia Promenade, Windenburg, San Myshuno, Forgotten Hollow, Brindleton Bay, Del Sol Valley, StrangerVille, Glimmerbrook, Sulani, Britechester , Evergreen Harbor, Mt. Komorebi, Henford-on-Bagley, Tartosa, Moonwood Mill, Copperdale, San Sequoia, Chestnut Ridge (NEW!) and Tomarang (NEW!).

Finished vacation worlds: Granite Falls and Selvadorada.

Finihed other lots: Hospital, Science Lab and the Police Station.

To be updated: the Magic Realm, will either be included in a future update or on the gallery (OriginID: fleuralia)

What do you get with this save?:

For my save file all lots are either completely new builds (almost all) or renovations, ofcourse created by me. Exceptions: I have added the official builds for the releases of the Paranormal SP by Dr Ashley and the Dream Home Decorator GP by Deligracy to this save, since I thought they deserved a spot. These two are therefore not my own creations, credits are given in the description to Dr Ashley and Deligracy. Mt. Komorebi, Henford-on-Bagley, Tartosa, Moonwood Mill, Copperdale, San Sequoia and Chestnut Ridge lots are largely created by GameChangers. Most lots have gotten smaller updates, others are completely new builds by me.

All the townies had make-overs plus I added new families to spice it up a bit. Some of the townies are made by other creators, who are given credits in the description of the household. All the townies in the different worlds have a story, some include sentiments and adjusted relationships to the story.

Added plenty of community lots to give your Sims something to do (YAY!). Almost every world has one restaurant, but it also includes festivals that represent the four seasons (park lots) and a fully functional shopping street in Magnolia Promenade (toy store, bridal store and more).

I have added rental lots so you can go on vacation in more worlds. For example in Sulani, Willow Creek and Windenburg.

Other details:

As mentioned at the beginning, this save uses almost all packs (except Journey to Batuu and some kits). This means that if you download it without owning or installing most of the packs a lot of objects will disappear from the save, but if you are not bothered by this you can still download and play in it.  

I disabled the autonomous fame gain and neigborhood action plan voting/environmental changes, you enable them again in the pack settings menu.

I would love to add some households in this save created by all of you! Add your household under the hashtag #fleuraliatownies in The Sims 4 Gallery, you can add a storyline and world in the description but thats not obligatory. If I respond on your creation it means that I have incorporated it in the save for the next update.

Sadly every game update comes with a lot of bugs. I suggest before reporting problems in the save to me, to check on forums if its related to a general bug/glitch or to mods (if you use them).

Questions and supportive feedback are always welcome, you can reach me here via a comment on this post, an ask or through a DM 😁

How to make it work in your game:

Download the save file from the link below.

Drag it in your saves folder under: PC/Documents/Electronic Arts/The Sims 4/saves.

Change the numbers if you already have a save with the same name.

It should now show up in your game as: Fleuralia Save Version 7.0.

DOWNLOAD (SFS) / Alternate (GD)

!!Don’t re-upload or claim as your own!!

Future updates will follow after each pack release (if it includes a world). The time the update will be uploaded after each release depends on how much I have to change and on my work schedule around that time.

Last but not least, enjoy and till next time! XX

Fleuralia

Feel free to support me ❤️: Ko-fi account

[scealaiscoite]

.☽༊˚ a hundred assorted prompts

¹⁾ raspberry lip gloss

²⁾ pajama bottoms

³⁾ a silver lighter

⁴⁾ fresh honey

⁵⁾ flushed cheeks

⁶⁾ a fogged-up mirror

⁷⁾ the imprint of a belt buckle on skin

⁸⁾ helium balloons

⁹⁾ a broken cocktail glass

¹⁰⁾ old playing cards

¹¹⁾ chipped green nail polish

¹²⁾ a brown leather wallet

¹³⁾ bullet holes in a wooden wall

¹⁴⁾ seashells lined up along the curve of a spine

¹⁵⁾ beaded curtains

¹⁶⁾ pomegranate seeds

¹⁷⁾ a carabiner heavy with keys

¹⁸⁾ fresh-cut orchids in a pottery vase

¹⁹⁾ vending machine cigarettes

²⁰⁾ an out of date map

²¹⁾ a creaky wooden gate

²²⁾ a minifridge stocked with budweiser and paracetamol

²³⁾ snapdragons growing between pavement slabs

²⁴⁾ smudged yellow eyeshadow

²⁵⁾ slept-in braids

²⁶⁾ library books that’ll never be returned

²⁷⁾ a pink-tiled shower

²⁸⁾ a honeybee on a linen shirtsleeve

²⁹⁾ burnt popcorn

³⁰⁾ watching an eclipse from bed

³¹⁾ a black lace bralette

³²⁾ a tattered patchwork quilt

³³⁾ blue raspberry bubblegum

³⁴⁾ a rusted fishing rod and a dried-up lake

³⁶⁾ the taste of whiskey on someone else’s lips

³⁷⁾ rose-scented candles burned down to the wick

³⁸⁾ crescent-shaped coffee stains on a wooden tabletop 

³⁹⁾ odd socks 

⁴⁰⁾ a loose thread on a jumper sleeve

⁴¹⁾ warm sheets on cold skin

⁴²⁾ amber-tinged perfume

⁴³⁾ gold jewelry 

⁴⁴⁾  a calloused palm against a soft cheek 

⁴⁵⁾ a busted headlight

⁴⁶⁾ sunrise from a jail cell

⁴⁷⁾ hand tattoos that weave around fingers

⁴⁸⁾ coconut shampoo

⁴⁹⁾ a doorbell sounding in the middle of the night

⁵⁰⁾ ladybugs crawling across a headstone

⁵¹⁾ grass stains on blue jeans

⁵²⁾ a loaded saddlebag

⁵³⁾ a dusty wine cellar

⁵⁴⁾ a bikini top draped over a bedpost

⁵⁵⁾ snow in july

⁵⁶⁾ dirt-red mountaintops

⁵⁷⁾ goosebumps in a heatwave

⁵⁸⁾ an empty dinnertable

⁵⁹⁾ a fresh manicure and bruised knuckles

⁶⁰⁾ zombie movies

⁶¹⁾ bitten lips

⁶²⁾ dark eyes full of tears

⁶³⁾ a soft cast in summertime

⁶⁴⁾ stale coffee in paper cups

⁶⁵⁾ frozen peaches on a black eye

⁶⁶⁾ acrid smoke

⁶⁷⁾ bound hands

⁶⁸⁾ animal tracks

⁶⁹⁾ unwound vhs tapes

⁷⁰⁾ cartoon plasters

⁷¹⁾ lipstick marks on shirt collars

⁷²⁾ silver bangles

⁷³⁾ sharing a coat in a downpour

⁷⁴⁾ fields with grass at waist-height

⁷⁵⁾ daisy chains up to your forearm

⁷⁶⁾ rolled-up shirtsleeves

⁷⁷⁾ the smell of bleach in a dark room

⁷⁸⁾ a shared sleeping bag

⁷⁹⁾ a new haircut

⁸⁰⁾ swimsuit tanlines

⁸¹⁾ perfume clinging to a pillow

⁸²⁾ lollipops dangling between lips

⁸³⁾ a badly-timed grin

⁸⁴⁾ old books

⁸⁵⁾ tongues stained from slushies

⁸⁶⁾ waking up in a hailstorm

⁸⁷⁾ dying sunflowers

⁸⁸⁾ colourful sunglasses

⁸⁹⁾ the last pew

⁹⁰⁾ tall, rattling windows in a storm

⁹¹⁾ six missed calls

⁹²⁾ sticks of incense burned down to the last

⁹³⁾ bunk beds

⁹⁴⁾ matching sets

⁹⁵⁾ ruined mascara

⁹⁶⁾ a boxing ring

⁹⁷⁾ stained glass windows

⁹⁸⁾ fairy forts

⁹⁹⁾ a cluttered bedside table

¹⁰⁰⁾ a hangover in the evening

[starlightkyo]

𝑺𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒓𝑶𝒄! 𝒙 𝑹𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒓𝑶𝒏𝒚!

"Mmph- babe stop," Ramona whined as Ony's face was nuzzled in her neck. She was in the bathroom putting the finishing touches on her look, and he was being a nuisance.

He sucked his teeth, unlatching his arms from around her waist. His posture straightened, standing tall over the shorter woman. The height difference evident in the mirror.

"Why you tryna leave me?" he grumbled, hands claiming her hips.

She softly chuckled, lips curved into a slight smile "babe i'm coming right back."

His brows furrowed, "nah, you gon be gone all night."

She erupted in giggles that filled the room.

Ony wasn't smiling though, lips still pressed into a thin line.

Once Clover's laughter ceased, she shook her head in denial. "Now you know I don't stay out long. The moment i'm ready to leave and they not, i'm calling you." She shrugged before glossing her lips.

Ony knew she was right, just wouldn't give her that satisfaction.

The sound of him sucking his teeth again, was more subtle. He went to stand against the counter with arms crossed. Eyes steadily watching Ramona admire her own beauty.

How could she leave him for hours when he wanted to smoke, cuddle, fuck?

She then held up two different earrings from him to choose from. She liked having his input sometimes.

"Okay which one?" she asked eagerly.

"Neither" he answered dryly.

Ramona bust out laughing. Her chest rumbled as she cracked up for a few seconds.

Ony's expression didn't change which only made her cackle more.

He watched as she took humor in his pain, finally calming down with a dramatic sigh. She settled on a pair and put them on while chuckling.

He was too funny.

"You're really maaad, that's crazy" she smiled. "You know you can come with me?" she said in a 'duh' tone.

"I'm chillin'"

"Okay then, chill until I get back" she joked.

After spraying perfume over herself, she examined all the clutter on the counter. Makeup, hair products, styling tools, perfume, etc.

"Babe can you clean this up? I gotta put my heels on" she sped past him and into their bedroom before he could object.

But she did heard him suck them teeth for a third time.

She sat at the end of the bed, putting her heels on as Ony tediously organized her mess in the bathroom with an attitude. It was further agitated by her expensive scent that lingered in the air, overtaking the smell of product and heat.

Her phone buzzed on the spot beside her; she glanced at the screen to see it was her bestie saying she was outside.

Ramona stood up, snatching her phone and purse. "Alright babe!" she finger waved to Ony before quickly leaving out the door.

The club was packed per usual on a Sat night, folks from wall to wall intoxicated and/or gassed. The bass from the speakers thumped hard, damn near vibrating the room. Ramona and her crew had a section upstairs, overlooking the club below.

Every move they made was being recorded by fans, surely to be posted online.

By now Ramona was a few shots in, feeling tipsy and less tense. Her and her friends proudly sang or rap the songs that blared through.

A time was being had.

Suddenly she felt her phone buzz, seeing texts from poor Ony suffering back at the house. Her absence was really weighing on him.

imu bad

2:37am

im in da clouds w/o u💔

2:37am

im bored bby

2:40am

She pouted reading the messages. Part of her wanted to get back into her mans arms, but another part of her wanted to stay out.

sooon baee

2:42am

For some reason she felt guilty not wanting to leave yet. He had that effect on her since they were practically glued to the hip.

Regardless, she put her phone away and enjoyed the rest of her night. More shots were taken; hookah was being puffed, and ass was being thrown.

It was a vibe.

Her and her crew didn't leave out until an hour and 30 mins later, now seated at an empty Waffle House.

Ramona's head was spinning as she tried to eat her food. Her eyes were hooded, constantly shutting as sleep crept up on her.

"I miss my man" she muttered while eating her pecan waffle.

As her friends teased her about being lovesick, she facetimed Ony. It didn't take long for him to answer, part of his face being in frame. He was in bed, clearly high.

"Wassup baby" he mumbled deeply.

"I miss you" she slurred cutely, a lackadaisical smile followed.

"Then bring yo ass home, I been missin' you."

"I wiiiill."

He looked behind her, recognizing the background. "What yall at waffle house?"

She nodded, her lids closing as she hummed in response.

Ony chuckled, "you gon be knocked out when you get back. Shit I been fightin' sleep too."

"Then to sleep" she murmured with her eyes still shut.

"Nah, not yet. I'm waitin' on you."

Ony was at the front door to pick up Ramona, her legs snapped around his waist as her head buried in his neck.

He carried her all the way up to their master bedroom, sitting her on the bed.

He removed her clothes until she was in her bra and thong. Ramona was sleep ridden, plump lips mumbling incoherently as she slightly swayed side to side.

Ony chuckled at her drunken stupor, "gon get under them covers ma."

She sluggishly did as told, slipping beneath the duvet until only her bundles were peaking out. Within seconds she'd dozed off.

After discarding her clothes in a bathroom hamper, Ony got in bed beside her. Once the lights were off it wasn't long before he succumb to sleep as well.

[brittle-doughie]

The Caramel Choux Conundrum (Ovenbreak)

You were napping back at home, Taurus Cookie laying on top of you in a sleep too when ominous knocking stirs you awake.

“Y/N Cookie? Are you home? I’ve been trying to reach you for days now about coming to visit the Cuckoo Town Square!”

You jolted up as much as you could when hearing that voice and hearing that particular location. This action stirs Taurus Cookie awake as she sits up on your lap with a yawn.

“Sooo…sleepy…..”

“Taurus Cookie, stay quiet for a second. She might hear us…”

“I heard that! Excuse me! It’s a wonderful morning outside, a perfect time to talk about when you’ll be visiting!”

You close your eyes and lean back with a resigned sigh, accepting the situation for what it’s about to become.

“Ohhh….is she…a bad Cookieeee?”

“No, but she’s pretty scary when it comes to the Town Square.”

“Scary….?”

“It might seem rude to enter without your permission, but I might not get another opportunity to see you at home, so I’m coming in!”

The two of you snap your heads to the door as she tries to open it, but the lock (you thankfully had) barred her from pushing the door open, you and Taurus expressing soft sighs of relief.

“I had hoped it wouldn’t come to this, but I made invitations already! It’s a good thing working out is in my schedule! Please do come by the square, it’s livelier than ever!”

Without warning, she starts punching at your door, her strength means the wood gave way easily to a hole in the door, allowing Caramel Choux to peek in through it.

“No need to be shy! The town square residents are welcoming Cookies!”

She moved away to now reach her hand in for the door knob on your side!

“We need to go now! Come on, Taurus!”

“Okay…!”

The both of you hurry to your bedroom, you catch a glimpse of the front door being thrown open right as you closed your bedroom door and locked it.

“I’M COMING IN, Y/N COOKIE! I even brought welcome gifts!”

You could barely breathe for a moment before you hear running followed up immediately with Caramel Choux busting a hole through your door with one punch, reach for the door knob.

You yelped and jumped back from this sudden action as Caramel Choux opens the door in seconds as she slowly walked up to your sat form, trying to fruitlessly scoot back from her.

“I am terribly sorry about your doors, you should come down to the town square and we can have them fixed for you! No coins necessary!”

“LEAVE THEM ALONEEEE!!!!”

Taurus Cookie jumped in the air behind Caramel Choux Cookie, her sole visible eye blazing red as she raised her hammer above her head, ready to swing it down on Caramel Choux.

“Taurus, NO!”

She swings her hammer down….

…only for Caramel Choux, without looking, to reach behind her and grip the hammer’s handle, stopping Taurus Cookie’s momentum entirely as her rage turns to shock!

Then she turns to Taurus Cookie, her smile still remaining and unbothered.

“Whaaaa….huhhh….?”

“Would you like to come to the town square too? We’re always welcome to any Cookies, even constellations!”

She throws Taurus Cookie at you, the both of you falling into a clutter as Caramel Choux’s shadow looms over you, her smile never changing as she hands you an invitation.

“I’m looking forward to your visit soon! I’ll have a welcoming party to celebrate!”

“….O-okay.”

“Ughhhh….so dizzyyyyy…”

You were beyond horrified after what just happened and hesitantly took the invite.

“That’s wonderful! See you soon, okay?”

You watch as she finally leaves, humming to herself as she walks out the door. Once you were sure she was gone, you pass out along with Taurus Cookie.

You needed to invest in some metal doors….

[chogiwow]

hold me, heal me | jake sim

pairing: jake x gn!reader (ft. jay's cameo)

wc: 9.1k+

genre: angst; sickfic; hurt-comfort

au: exes to lovers

warnings: both mc and jake are emotionally constipated for most part of the fic, jake is sick, mentions of food, yn is a sort of brusque caretaker, mentions of nudity, kissing and making out but jake is still sick ew but that’s on being in love ig, jake also contemplates murder (it's just my attempt at humor), not proofread 

a/n: i’m sick atm so yayyy :d anyway, busted this out in one sitting idek what happened

one.

jake contemplates ignoring the doorbell, the very sound of it making him snort out in mild annoyance. the weighted blanket around his frame feels warm, his feet peeking out against the soft kiss of the spring breeze.

he smells kind of mouldy, like a day-old dusty bookshelf, his fingers sport a fine sheen of oil when he rubs it across his face and his lips feel too dry. the bell rings again – he contemplates a silent murder this time.

against his will, he finds himself dragging his body out from under the comfort of his toasty blanket, sniffling and letting out a violent sneeze and somehow that hurts his throat. still, he persists, stumbling across the cool tile floors of his tiny apartment, heaving his body in his feverish state and unlocking the door with a heavy sigh.

the frown on his face drops too quickly – and again, it is against his will. not that he’s complaining this time around, because it’s you. you’re standing there; even after he blinks his eyes and squints at your face, you’re still standing there. it’s you. and he had just contemplated your murder not even minutes ago – he suddenly wants to apologise.

jake doesn’t know what to say. his throat is scratchy, thick with the remnants of sleep and sickness, but even if it weren’t, he’s pretty sure words would still fail him.

because you’re here, and he doesn’t know why.

his feverish brain scrambles for an explanation – maybe you forgot something here (impossible, you never leave things behind), or maybe you’re lost (equally impossible, you know your way around his place better than he does), or maybe you’[re here to finally cut him out of your life forever (uh, probably possible).

jake swallows. his throat protests, burning raw.

“you look disgusting,” you say, finally breaking the silence.

wow, you’ve really outdone yourself. maybe you’re taking the ‘just friends’ part a bit too literally, but even so, you won’t say that to any friend of yours. but this is jake, your ex – your ex you met again after a year not even two months ago, your ex who you had a long deep talk not even two weeks ago, your ex who, in said talk, spilled his guts out for you (literally and figuratively) over a late night drink, your ex who reluctantly promised to stay friends with because he would do whatever you told him.

jake exhales a short laugh, the sound raspy and strained. “glad to know i’m still leaving an impression.”

you roll your eyes, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. there’s something tight in your chest, something uneasy about the way he looks – pale, sweat-damp, like he’s been marinating in sickness for hours without bothering to take care of himself. which, knowing him, is probably exactly the case.

“you haven’t eaten, have you?”

jake, stubborn as ever, lifts his chin. “i had a banana.”

you glance past him, into the dim apartment, where his couch is buried under a heap of blankets, and his coffee table is cluttered with an empty cup and what looks like an unopened packet of instant ramen.

“right,” you deadpan, stepping forward without waiting for an invitation. he moves aside automatically, like he’s too feverish to even pretend to stop you.

the air inside is warm, a little stale. you wrinkle your nose, setting the plastic bag down on his kitchen counter before turning back to him.

“you look worse than i thought.”

“you mentioned that already,” he mutters, rubbing his temple. “why are you even here?”

that question. you expected it, but it still sits heavy in your stomach.

“i was in the neighborhood.”

jake gives you a flat look. “you don’t live anywhere near here.”

you press your lips together. fine. he’s not going to let you get away with that one.

“i heard you were sick.”

this is a truth. honestly, it was your precious weekend after a long week of gruelling workload, you were planning on staying in and commit fully to the homebody tag you proudly wore like an honor, but ever since getting an urgent call from jay – who was the usual caretaker in your friend group – informing you in a voice filled with worry that he was out of town and somehow jake had ended up sick and how he couldn’t be there and how jake wouldn’t let anyone take care of him anyway, you had ended up pacifying your friend that you would drop by at his place.

jake lets out a slow breath, leaning against the doorframe. the way he looks at you makes your throat tighten – like he’s trying to decipher something, trying to read between the lines of what you’re really saying.

he won’t push, though. he never does.

instead, he just nods, running a hand over his face. “well. that explains a lot.”

you arch a brow. “like what?”

“like why i thought i was hallucinating when i saw you at my door.”

your lips twitch, but you bite back the urge to smile. “maybe you are.”

jake hums, as if seriously considering that possibility. his feverish eyes flicker over you, lingering like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he blinks too long. you can’t blame him. this – being here, stepping into his space again – is uncharted territory, and neither of you know what to do with it.

you clear your throat, turning away before the weight of his gaze unsettles you too much. “sit down,” you say, already moving toward his tiny kitchen.

jake doesn’t argue. he trudges back to his couch, collapsing onto it with a groan. he watches you from beneath his blankets, eyes hooded with exhaustion.

“you don’t have to do this,” he says after a moment. his voice is quieter now, almost careful.

you pause, rummaging through the bag you brought. “i know.”

it’s the truth. you don’t have to be here. you didn’t have to spend your saturday trekking across the city, picking up soup from that overpriced place he likes, remembering that he doesn’t like ginger in it, showing up at his door despite every logical reason not to.

but here you are.

you hear him sigh, long and tired. maybe he understands that arguing is pointless. maybe he’s just too sick to fight you on it. either way, he doesn’t protest when you kneel in front of the coffee table and open the container of soup, letting the steam curl into the air.

“eat,” you tell him, pushing the spoon toward him.

he looks at it, then at you. “you’re kind of bossy.”

“you’re kind of impossible.”

jake chuckles, though it quickly turns into a cough. he takes the spoon from you, fingers brushing against yours for the briefest second. it doesn’t mean anything. it doesn’t.

you tell yourself that as you watch him take the first sip, his shoulders sagging as the warmth settles in his chest.

“better?” you ask, voice softer than you mean for it to be.

jake doesn’t answer right away. he just looks at you, something unreadable in his fever-glazed eyes. then he smiles, small and a little lopsided.

“yeah,” he murmurs. “better.”

jake eats slowly, his movements sluggish from the fever. you sit across from him, arms crossed, watching the way he cradles the bowl in his hands like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered. it’s strange – being here again, in his space, close enough to remember how he used to lean against your shoulder whenever he was sick, how he always got clingy when he had a fever, how he used to–

you stop the thought before it can go any further.

“you’re staring,” jake mutters, glancing at you over the rim of his bowl.

“i’m making sure i keep up my end of the promise i made to jay. seriously, you can't still be this childish, refusing to even go to a hospital. what do you expect, that you’ll just get better if you rot in a bed for a few days without anyone to look after you–”

your words are harsh, you can feel them scratch your throat with their thorns, but they come out of a place of genuine concern and mild bewilderment at jake’s stubbornness. so you hope that at least a few of those thorns get stuck in your throat, for his sake at least.

“what about you?”

you blink at the interruption, lips parted midway forming your sentence. jake notices, shoving a mouthful of soup that burns his tongue before explaining.

“when you were in japan, you lived alone too. what did you do when you got sick…or, was there someone to take care of you?”

it's easy to pass off the quietness with which the question comes out to his raspy throat, but it does  nothing to soften the sudden drop in your stomach that resounds like a gong in your ears.

“how did you know i lived alone?”

i asked jay.

“jay told me.”

jake blows on his next spoonful of soup, waiting patiently for you to answer. did you have someone to take care of you?

you hesitate for a moment, caught between the truth and something easier.

“no,” you finally say. “i took care of myself.”

jake hums, like that answer is enough. like it doesn't leave a hole in the conversation. you expect him to drop it, but then—

“that must’ve been hard.”

you exhale through your nose. “it was fine.”

“liar,” he says, not unkindly. he sets the bowl down with a quiet clink, watching you with that same unreadable expression. fevered, but sharp. "you always hated being sick. said it made you feel helpless."

the words come from somewhere too familiar, a piece of history you thought had been buried. because he’s right. you did say that – once, a long time ago, wrapped up in his sheets with a fever of your own, curled up against the warmth of his body as he pressed a damp towel to your forehead. you hated it, the vulnerability of it all, the way it made you feel like you couldn’t move forward. jake had laughed back then, brushing the hair out of your face, promising you’d get through it together.

but there was no together anymore.

"excuse me?" your voice is sharp, defensive before you can stop it. but jake doesn’t flinch, doesn’t backtrack. he just keeps looking at you, feverish but steady, like he’s seeing through every wall you’ve built.

“you hate being alone,” he says simply. “you always have.”

your fingers curl against your palm, nails pressing into your skin. the room feels too warm now, the scent of soup thick in the air, pressing against your ribs. you don't know if it's his fever or yours, but suddenly, it feels like you can't breathe.

“i got used to it,” you say, and it’s meant to sound indifferent, like a shrug. but it doesn’t. it sounds tired.

jake watches you carefully, then sets the bowl down on the table with a quiet clink. his fingers trace the rim absentmindedly. “doesn’t mean it stopped hurting.”

you push yourself up, dusting imaginary lint off your jeans. "i’ll get you some water."

jake doesn’t stop you, but you can feel his gaze following you as you move around his tiny kitchen, familiar in ways you wish it wasn’t. your hands know exactly where to reach, where the glasses are, how the faucet squeaks if you turn it too fast. it’s ridiculous.

and he wonders what you might have gone through yourself. here, he had the safety of his friends, a reliable, if not burdensome indulgence for him. one call, and he was sure one friend or another would drop by if he was sick.

you however, had been all alone in a new country. new job, new people, new place, an unfamiliar language and no friends to call upon. did you let yourself rot in bed too? he wanted to ask you so much, but he still didn’t feel like he had the right to pry into your life yet.

it’s been a year since you broke up, two months since you met again, two weeks since you had that conversation – one where he admitted things you weren’t sure you wanted to hear, and you promised things you weren’t sure you could keep.

and now you were here, refilling his glass like no time had passed at all.

jake watches you carefully, his fever-flushed face softening in a way you don’t quite know how to deal with. his gaze lingers – not in the sharp, teasing way he would look at you, but in a quiet, searching way, like he’s seeing something in you he hadn’t noticed before.

placing the glass on the table, you make a final attempt at saving yourself. you’re not sure what you need saving from, jake is the one who’s sick, if anything you have the upper hand here (again, you don’t why you  need a upper hand in the first place), but jake’s sudden intervention had rattled you nonetheless. the way he kept on seeing through you like he knew you better than the back of his hand, even when all your cards were tucked safely in your han and the table in front of you was empty. 

“it’s not like i had a choice.”

“yeah,” jake murmurs. “i guess not.”

a silence settles between you, neither awkward nor comfortable, just there. you could fill it with something light, something inconsequential, but the weight of the moment keeps you still.

jake sets the bowl down on the table, leaning back against the couch. his head tilts slightly, exhaustion tugging at his expression. “you should’ve called.”

you frown. “what?”

“when you were sick,” he says simply, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “you should’ve called me.”

a bitter laugh rises in your throat before you can stop it. “right. because that would’ve been appropriate.”

jake doesn’t flinch, he just looks at you, steady despite the fever dulling his edges. “i wouldn’t have cared about “appropriate.”

you open your mouth, then close it again. because what can you even say to that? you hadn’t called him. of course, you hadn’t. it had been a year. a whole year of learning how to exist without him, of burying old instincts, of teaching yourself not to reach for your phone when something reminded you of him.

but now, sitting here, watching the way his fingers twitch like he wants to reach for you, you wonder if you ever really unlearned any of it.

you exhale, shaking your head. “just finish the soup, jake.”

his lips twitch, barely a ghost of a smile. he doesn’t argue.

maybe it’s the fever, or maybe it’s just him, but he doesn’t stop watching you. even as he eats, even as the warmth returns to his face, even as you sit there, pretending this is normal.

you don’t look back at him. you can’t.

because something about this – about being here, about taking care of him again – feels too easy. about the way he so easily manages to remind you of the past despite yourself, how he easily manages to look past you, through you, at you with those same kind eyes you had fallen in love with all those year ago. and you don’t know what to do with that.

so you do what comes to you naturally when your mind is crumbling on itself. you move, you work, you take action. you make yourself busy.

shrugging off your jacket, you push the sleeves of your shirt up and rummage through another plastic bag. pulling out a packet of fever reducing medicines, you pop one out of its pellet and hand it to jake.

“have this, then go to sleep.” there’s determination in your voice, you’re already planning out what to do, “i’ll clean up here and check on you later, so just go get some rest and don’t worry too much about it.”

jake doesn’t want to argue, but he doesn’t want to waste his time sleeping when he knows you’ve already made up your mind to stay in his apartment for the time being. also, he doesn’t want to make you clean up after him.

“wait y/n, you don’t have to clean up–”

“jake, for all i know, you’ve been marinating in your own sickness for two days straight,” you deadpan, already picking up the leftover dishes off his table and striding towards his kitchen, shaking your head at the sinkful of old dishes, “go to sleep, i’ll wake you up in a few hours and you can take a shower then. i’ll change your sheets while i’m at it too–”

you ramble off about the list of things you’re mentally taking note of and it makes jake dizzy. this is a side of you that is new to him. it’s like you’re giving him no chance at making a move. he sees you deal out your cards, it’s so clear to him, but he feels powerless right now, your back facing him like a sturdy wall.

he follows the line of your shoulders, the tension taut in them as you continue with your work, your hands moving on their own as you rinse dishes and rearrange the kitchen, though you’re not really seeing any of it. the soft clink of plates against each other fills the quiet room, but your mind is miles away.

behind you, you hear jake shift on the couch, a low sigh escaping his lips. it’s soft, the kind of sigh that says more than words ever could. you try to focus on the task at hand, but every time you move, you feel his eyes on you. it makes your skin feel too tight, your thoughts too loud.

you hear his footsteps receding as he makes his way to his room, the sound of his movements getting muffled the further away he moves. he doesn’t shut the door behind him, instead, getting in bed and letting himself be lulled into a sleep with the sound of your own movements in the kitchen. and it feels unreal.

jake is half certain that he would wake up and realise that this had all just been a fever dream, that he had indeed been hallucinating your figure, tat he had conjured up your voice from the depths of his memory, that the frown on your pretty face had been his karma – even in his dreams, you were upset at him. and for a while he tries to stay awake, fighting his heavy eyes and the soreness in his limbs and the weight of the blanket over his frame. 

you hear the soft creak of the bed, the rustle of sheets. it’s a quiet reminder that jake is still there. that he’s still so close, even though you’ve tried to keep your distance. he’s not the one who’s avoiding you anymore. you are. and every moment you spend not looking at him, not addressing what’s hanging between you, it feels like a crack getting wider.

a distant groan from the bedroom snaps you out of your thoughts. jake. his voice, thick with the fever, is a reminder of how everything is spinning out of control. you pause for a moment, eyes flicking towards the hallway, your heart tightening in your chest.

you didn’t call him when you were sick. you didn’t need to. you couldn’t. but right now, you’re here. you’re standing in his kitchen, pretending you’re not trembling with every second that passes, pretending you’re not dying to check on him. to feel something, anything, other than this cold distance you’ve forced between you both.

but you simply dissociate. your movements grow more mechanical as you tidy up, but you know that you're running from something. running from the truth, from the flood of emotions that threaten to break the fragile dam you've built. the truth is, you’ve been avoiding him for so long – maybe longer than you even realized – but the cracks are showing now, and it's making everything harder than it needs to be.

you try not to think about the past, the things you’ve buried, but it’s impossible. because here you are, again. taking care of him. watching him. being drawn to him despite everything that should keep you apart.

the silence stretches, only the sound of water and cutlery keeping you company. if you strain your ears, you could probably hear the laboured breaths in the bedroom. 

the glass in your hand feels heavier now, like it’s a vessel for everything you’ve kept inside. you’re holding it with too much force, fingers tight around it, but you don’t want to let go. you’re afraid that if you do, the dam will break. that all the words, all the thoughts you’ve buried so deep, will flood out and you won’t be able to stop them.

two.

somewhere in the middle of a restless sleep and the sense of a lingering presence, jake finds himself being shaken awake.

there’s a gentle pressure on his arm, squeezing his skin comfortingly and coaxing his eyes to flutter open. his head feels lighter this time around, weighed down by a damp cloth that feels like a balm across his skin, but its the hand around his arm that he really zeroes in on the moment he’s up.

so you hadn’t been a fever dream after all. that means you had been upset at him in reality. well, that’s a concern for later. all he registers is that you hadn’t left. yet. 

“hey,” your voice is tentative, just like your fingers curling around his arm as if you’re afraid you’re going to startle him back into consciousness, “you should get up and take a shower, i ran you some hot water”

your voice, it’s so quiet and sweet. your fingers graze against his skin when you remove the towel off his and run your fingers across the long strands of hair across his forehead – he shivers. your forehead puckers into a frown, palm flattening against his head again. a small sigh escapes his lips, the feeling so welcome, he lets his eyes fall shut again, but you move your hand again and all jake feels is the emptiness lying heavy against his skin.

jake blinks slowly, the sleep still clouding his vision as he processes your words, the absence of your touch a sharp contrast to the warmth you’d left behind. he swallows hard, pushing himself up with effort, the weight of exhaustion still clinging to him.

the cool air from the window brushes against his damp skin, and he can hear the soft rustling of the room as you move around, no longer hovering. you’ve given him space, and yet, he feels more crowded than ever by the silence between you two. the quiet hum of the room is deafening.

his hands reach for the towel you’d left behind, the fabric still warm from the contact with his skin. he presses it to his forehead again, and for a fleeting moment, he thinks about how this small gesture – this simple act of care – might have been enough if he hadn’t messed it all up.

when he shuffles into the bathroom, you're already there, standing at an awkward angle away from the showerhead as you twist and turn the knobs, one hand under the water to test the temperature.

“just a sec, it’s a bit too hot right now,” you barely glance at him as you continue with his ministrations. and jake? he’s honestly still too tired to want to read into your actions but that doesn’t mean his chest doesn’t twist in a weird way.

once you’ve determined the right temperature of the water, you move towards jake who’s leaning with his head against the bathroom tiles. the room itself is tiny, a two-by-two metre cubicle that feels too crowded with the both of you inside. jake sniffles, raising his arms in a pathetic attempt to take his jacket off but he’s obviously unsuccessful.

you don’t even spare a reaction, naturally moving to help him, maneuvering one arm out of his jacket, then the other. and it’s with this same instinct that your fingers reach for the hem of his shirt too, ready to pull it over his head but you stop at the very last second, almost abruptly, it gives you a whiplash.

instantly your eyes meet his. he’s already looking at you and unfortunately you can read his emotions all too well.

the shower runs in the background, steam curling up into the air, and you both stand there for a moment, hesitating. part of jake wants to stay lost in the haze of exhaustion, to let you take the call and help him take his shirt off. but another part – the part that knows you woldn’t dare unless he pushed you – wants to step forward with his arms stretched out, telling you to take it off for him.

jake swallows again, this time louder, his throat dry. he could let you take over, could surrender to the care you’re offering, let you guide him through the motions. it would be easy to let go, but there’s something about the way you’re looking at him – something raw and real – that makes him second-guess.

“i… i can do it,” jake says hoarsely, his voice quiet and rough, like it hasn’t been used properly in too long. his hands hover, reaching up toward his shirt but faltering at the last second. you see him pause, the conflict in his eyes, and for a split second, he wishes he could pretend it was just the exhaustion talking. but it's not. it’s more than that.

you stand there, frozen, hand still poised just inches from his chest, the tension between you two becoming almost suffocating. but despite the silence, there’s an unspoken understanding that lingers between you, a fragile thread that hasn’t snapped yet.

finally, you take a step back, releasing a quiet breath as you straighten up. you glance down for a moment, biting your lip, then look back at him with a mixture of resolve and something softer. "you should... you should take care of it yourself," you say, your voice a little strained, as though you're holding something back.

jake wants to argue, to tell you it's fine, to just let him lean into whatever you've been offering. but instead, he stays quiet, his gaze not leaving yours. he takes the final step toward the shirt, the fabric slipping off easily, but for some reason, the act feels heavier now. the weight of the decision, the weight of what it means to ask for help or not.

your eyes avert on their own, catching but a momentary peek of his naked skin. this shouldn’t be that weird, you shouldn’t be this flustered. you’ve seen him like this before, hell you’ve seen and done much more than this before, but that was then. this is now – you’re taking care of your sick ex who you’re just friends with.

you wish there was a guidebook for this sort of situation.

you swallow hard and try to keep your voice steady when you speak. "i’ll get you something to eat after," you say, your voice almost too soft, barely reaching him over the water.

there’s a pause. a beat that feels like it could stretch on forever.

"yeah," jake murmurs, his voice low and tired. "thanks."

you can’t quite tell if he means it, if it’s just the exhaustion talking, or if it’s something more. you don’t ask. the weight of his answer is enough. he’s waiting for you to leave before he can get into the shower.

almost against your will, your gaze flickers to him – just a quick look, a fleeting glance. and it’s enough to leave you breathless for a second. his back is to you, but you can see the way his shoulders tense, the curve of his spine, the way condensation already starts setting, dampening his skin with a thin layer of mist from the shower. 

you wish you could stay; it's a thought that startles you and embarrasses you. but it's also a thought that sobers you up in an instant, startling you out of your reverie and making your feet finally move. the door shuts behind you with a soft thud, but you don’t hear the soft click of the lock turning.

the moment the door clicks shut, you press your back against it, letting out a breath you didn't even realize you'd been holding. your hands are trembling slightly, and you quickly clasp them together, squeezing them tight to keep the unease from showing. you force yourself to breathe, to steady the racing thoughts in your head.

you’re just friends now. that’s what you promised, that’s what you agreed on. but why does everything about this feel so far from simple?

the faint sound of the shower running leaks through the thin walls. a knot tightens in your stomach. you press your palms against the door, the coolness of the wood grounding you for a second. this is supposed to be temporary, you remind yourself. just a few more hours, a couple of days at most, and you’ll both go back to your separate lives. you can’t afford to let yourself slip back into this space. not now.

jake stands still in the shower, the hot water cascading over him, though it does little to wash away the frustration building inside. his thoughts race faster than the droplets falling from the showerhead, each one a sharp reminder of how easy it was to slip back into this. the moment you stepped into the apartment, everything shifted. even though you'd kept your distance, it didn’t take much for him to feel the pull again.

he shuts his eyes tighter, pushing the water away, wishing it could drown out the thoughts swirling in his head. why? why was it so easy to let you back in? how did you always know the right thing to do? 

then again, he had always blindly believed you back when you were together, trusting your decisions like they were the bible itself. maybe that had been his downfall in a way, when he had reluctantly but respectfully agreed to the breakup. thinking about it now, you were wrong. you had been so wrong, and he had resented you for it. he had resented himself for believing you just because he was in love with you and he realised not much had changed, because he had let you fool him again by making him promise to be just friends with him. even after a whole year of repenting, resolving and regretting, it had been that easy for you to crumble him in your hands – all because he still loves you.

and he thinks that is reason enough to let himself be wavered by you – your imploring eyes, your worried lips, the frown on your face, the plea in your voice – he’d give in to you and your demands any day and every day.

but he doesn’t think he wants to. right now, standing under the warm water you had run for him, it enraged him a little how he had just stood there letting you do your thing while he waited. no, in fact, its not the waiting that set him off, he would wait for you for however long you made him, it was the way you had such an easy say in his life. how you could just do something, and he wouldn’t question it.

why should we remain friends?

he should have asked you that rather than agreeing along with you. you had given him no logical reason, but he had sensed the emotionally turbulent place it had come from, so he had left it at that. but now he wants to know. now he wants to know why you should remain just friends? why would you be here taking care of him when he’s sick? do you not still love him?

your voice from earlier lingers in his ears: i’ll get you something to eat after. the way you said it was soft, almost like a promise. but he can’t help but hear the unspoken words between the lines. it wasn’t just about food. you were offering something more, but you were hiding it behind the guise of something mundane. you were offering care, but you were also offering distance.

jake grips the edge of the shower, knuckles white as he exhales sharply. the water no longer feels comforting. it’s just another distraction. another way for him to bury his feelings.

"god," he mutters to no one, his voice barely above a whisper. "why do you still do this to me?"

he’s angry. angry at the situation, angry at himself for still caring, for still wanting you in ways he shouldn't. and yet, underneath the anger, there's an ache – a yearning that refuses to be ignored. he wants to reach out, to pull you back, to make you see that he still matters. that they both still matter.

but instead, he grits his teeth, trying to keep the heat of his frustration contained. no more waiting, he thinks. no more pretending.

when the water runs cold, he steps out of the shower, his body shivering slightly, but it’s nothing compared to the chill creeping under his skin. he pulls a towel around his waist and stares at his reflection in the foggy mirror. for a second, he barely recognizes the man in the glass. the person he used to be – the one who thought everything would just fall into place after the breakup, the one who convinced himself they could both move on – feels like a stranger.

but he’s done pretending now.

jake pulls open the bathroom door and steps into the hallway, the soft hum of the apartment the only sound. he doesn’t have a plan, but he knows one thing for sure: he’s not going to let this go without asking the questions that have been haunting him. not anymore.

you’re sitting on the couch, your knees tucked under your chin, a blanket draped over your lap. you’re only half paying attention to the television, head peeking up every so often to check the pot of soup boiling over the stove. the sight almost makes him turn back. almost makes him halt in his steps and rethink what he’s about to do. does he really want to break this moment?

i mean, he could retreat now, disappear into the quiet of his thoughts, and then return to let you serve him the warm cup of soup. he could play it off, pretending not to read too much into it, maybe even use the moment to ask about your time in japan. you'd tell him about how much you loved it, carefully sidestepping any mention of the loneliness you’d carried with you, dodging his prying questions with practiced ease. after that, you'd clean up again, hand him the fever-reducing pills, and tuck him into bed. he’d wake up feeling better, and you’d finally leave. and when you did, things would go back to what they were before. just friends. just the way it had always been.

and then you’ll keep being ‘just friends’.

but he doesn’t. instead, he walks towards you, his footsteps steady despite the whirlwind inside him. his naked torso feeling the brunt of his actions as the cool breeze pricks his skin.

"you’re not going anywhere, are you?" the question slips out before he can stop it, his voice rough. he’s barely even aware of the way his heart pounds in his chest.

you look up at him, surprise flickering across your face, but it doesn’t last long. you meet his gaze, steady, cautious, before they trail along the path of his body – his naked body, save for the towel around his waist. what the fuck.

"jake," you start, but your voice falters, unsure of how to navigate this new situation, “i’m right here, so can you please go put something on, you’re gonna get sick again if y–”

but he’s not going to let you hold back. not anymore.

"no," he interrupts softly. "i need to know, right now. why are we still pretending?"

three.

the room holds its breath, the tension almost tangible in the quiet after jake’s question. for a moment, neither of you speaks. your eyes flicker between him and the door, as if you could somehow slip out of this without answering. but you know you can’t. not anymore. not with the weight of his question hanging between you.

he’s let you convince him to put on clothes for the moment, but he refuses the bowl of soup you set in front of him.

“answer me y/n, i’m not eating anything until you answer my questions tonight.”

you can already feel a headache creeping up your neck. you sit on the other end of the couch, burying your head in your hands and letting out a weary sigh. jake had picked the worst time to be his stubborn self again.

you clear your throat, trying to regain control of the situation, but your voice feels small, fragile. “jake… i – i don’t know what you want me to say.” you stand up slowly, hands still gripping the blanket around you, though the warmth of it feels distant now. “you’re sick. you should just rest.”

but jake doesn’t look sick. not in the way he did when you first found him, feverish and weak, barely able to sit up. he sits across you now, your bodies separated by just a few feet. there’s a fire in his eyes, something raw and insistent that makes it hard to breathe.

“you’re avoiding the question,” he says, his voice low but firm. “why are we still pretending? why are you really here?”

“where is this coming from? i thought you were fine with me being here–”

“yeah, i was sick and barely in any condition to argue with you.”

“oh. oh, so now that you’re feeling better you think you can–”

“i can what?” jake’s voice is still raspy, but it's firm. it rattles you. jake has always been the more emotional one in your relationship whereas you took the reign of being the logical counterpart. yet now, you can’t find yourself coming up with anything close to a logical explanation.

you hesitate, the words swirling in your mind but never quite making it past your lips. his question cuts through everything you’ve been holding back, and you feel exposed, raw. this isn’t the same dynamic anymore. jake’s eyes bore into yours, his frustration simmering just beneath the surface, and you can’t look away.

“i – i don’t know what you want from me,” you stammer, your voice barely above a whisper. “i thought... i thought we were just getting through this. i’m here because i care about you, jake. i always have.”

jake’s jaw tightens, and he takes a step forward, his presence looming over you. his gaze doesn’t soften; it only grows more intense, more insistent.

“no,” he says quietly. “you’re here because you can’t let go of whatever we were, but you're too scared to admit it. you’re scared of what happens next, scared of how things might change if we stop pretending.”

the words hit harder than you expect. you recoil slightly, trying to maintain your composure, but the tension in the room feels suffocating, like you’re drowning in the weight of your own fear. you can feel your pulse in your throat, each beat hammering against your chest.

“i’m not pretending,” you murmur, but even to your own ears, it sounds hollow. “i’m... i’m just trying to make sure you're okay.”

jake doesn’t let you off the hook. “and what about you? what are you doing, huh? what about what you need?” his voice cracks just a little at the end, the vulnerability slipping through. you’ve never heard him sound like this before, and it shakes you to your core. the certainty in his eyes falters for just a second, but when he speaks again, it’s like he’s trying to bury it. “i can’t do this anymore. i can’t be the one who’s always waiting for you to come back, for you to decide if i’m worth it.”

you flinch. his words strike deeper than any physical blow could. he’s right, in a way you’ve been refusing to face him. you’ve been holding him at arm’s length, never fully letting him back in, always waiting for something – anything – that would make it easier to walk away without feeling like you’re suffocating. but jake’s not giving you that luxury anymore.

“what the hell are you even saying jake,” your temper rises now, you’re not sure if its the way jake deems the way you regard him or whether it's the truth of everything he is hitting you with all of a sudden, “you are worth everything i have ever put my life upon, don’t go around making me the bad guy. i have never deemed you any less than what you deserve, and you’ve always deserved the best.”

these words are unfiltered and sound almost childish in your ears. gone is the grace with which you pride yourself in forming sentences, now everything you’re saying sounds like some third grade rendition of a love letter. you burn in embarrassment and anger, because in the end, jake has reduced you to this state.

but jake doesn’t regard it as such, if anything, he’s gotten you to finally talk.

“what are you afraid of?”

you look at him, your throat tight, and suddenly, it feels like everything is crashing down. it’s always been easier to lie, to hide behind excuses, behind the safety of distance. but with jake right in front of you, his question still lingering – for the first time, you can’t push it away. you can’t hide from it anymore.

“what am i afraid of?” you repeat the words softly, like a question to yourself. but deep down, you already know the answer, and it terrifies you.

“i’m afraid of what happens when we stop pretending,” you confess, voice cracking. you can’t look at him as you say it – can’t bear to meet his eyes, because everything you’ve been burying under the surface comes spilling out in the form of this one fragile truth. “i’m afraid that if we really look at this... at us, there won’t be anything left to hold on to.”

jake’s silence is deafening. you risk a glance at him, only to find him staring at you with something close to heartbreak in his gaze. his lips press together, and for a moment, you think he’s going to say something, but then his chest rises and falls with a sharp breath, like he’s swallowing everything he feels.

“you think... you think that if we let go, we’ll be nothing?” his voice is quieter now, almost lost. but there’s still that fire in it, just softer. “is that what you really believe, y/n? that everything we had means nothing if it’s not perfect?”

you wish you could say something, anything, to make this easier – to make him understand. but it’s all coming out now, too much and too fast.

“i don’t know what i’m doing, jake.” the words tumble out, helplessly, just like the tears that start rolling down your cheeks, “i... i don’t know how to stop being afraid that we’ll just break again. that i’ll break, and i’ll hurt you, and then there won’t be any coming back from it.”

you hesitate, taking a shaky breath, and the real reason – one that’s been buried so deep for so long – slips out before you can stop it. “i was so scared of losing you, jake. but i realized that if i kept holding onto you like that maybe i’d end up suffocating you.”

jake’s jaw tightens, and you watch his expression shift. you don’t know if he understands completely, but something flickers in his eyes. you think about the time you walked away, the way you chose to close off instead of facing the fear of losing him to your own need for control. the thing you were so afraid of – the thing that led to your breakup.

“the thing is,” you continue, voice cracking, “i wanted us to be this perfect thing, but i couldn’t let go of the part of me that was terrified. i kept pushing you away. and then... when we finally did break up, i thought i was saving us both from more hurt. but all i was really doing was hurting you.”

jake’s hand inches towards you, afraid that you would pull away before he could reach you. when his fingers finally find yours across the couch, he holds on firmly. you don’t pull away.

“i thought you just didn’t need me anymore. that you were pushing me out, choosing to shut me out because you didn’t want to deal with the mess of everything we were.”

he looks at you, and it’s like his eyes are pleading for you to see it. “but i was just trying to be there. for you. i tried everything i could, y/n. you wouldn’t let me in. every time i pushed, you pulled back. and in the end, i felt like i was nothing but a burden to you. that was why i stepped back...because i thought it was what you wanted. i thought i wasn’t enough.”

the truth of his words settles like a weight in your chest, heavy and sharp. the weight of his hand on top of yours feels burdensome, but then his fingers start caressing your skin, thumbing circles across the soft flesh of your wrist.  and then you realize: all that time, while you were protecting yourself from the pain of losing him, you were pushing him into a corner, suffocating him with your need for control. and it destroyed the connection you had – your walls went up, and his came down.

“you thought you weren’t enough?” you whisper, the tears keep rolling, “i’m sorry. i was so scared... scared that if i let you too close, i’d lose myself in you. i needed to keep control, jake. but i never wanted to push you away like that. and i... i didn’t see how badly i was hurting you until it was too late.”

jake now turns to you entirely. all his yearning oozes out of him desperately, maybe it’s because you’ve finally had this talk, but he can feel the tiredness returning in his limbs, finally relieved. he expects you to completely push him away, but he reaches out regardless and maneuvers you with gentle hands across his lap.

“if you know now that you hurt me, take responsibility for it.” he says, letting you ease yourself in his hold. you’re hesitant at first, but with every stroke of his fingers across your cheeks, you settle down and let him wipe your tears away.

he buries his face against the crook of your neck and it's a feeling you don’t realise you’ve missed. the sigh that tumbles out your lips is just a testimony of you finally giving in to this feeling.

“jake,” your voice is a silent whisper, “you’re still sick, you shouldn’t be–”

but whatever it is that you think jake shouldn’t be doing is suddenly a thought flung right to the back of your mind when his lips meet yours in a silent plea. just the soft touch of his chapped skin against yours. it ends as abruptly as it starts.

“fuck,” he curses, slightly out of breath even though he hadn’t done much, “you’re right, i’m sick, i shouldn’t be kissing you–”

oh but who cares. it’s just a mild fever, so what if you fall sick too?

you’re pressing your lips against him too, shutting him up with a kiss that he surrenders himself into despite his own protest against his sickness. because you’re here, in his arms, kissing him like that's all you’ve wanted to do. and for once, jake doesn’t complain, because you’ve never kissed him like this before. you've never shown him just how starved you are for him. and he understands this feeling, he’s felt this way for you forever, but he’s also slightly dumbfounded at the way you hold him tight and kiss him breathless.

he feels dizzy again, but not for anything in the world is he going to stop you right now. he simply latches on to you tighter, pulling you impossibly close and moves his lips with yours, letting you bruise his own.

you both finally pull away, breathless, eyes searching the other like you’ve been lost in the dark for too long. the weight of everything that’s been unsaid, everything that’s been holding you both apart, is still there, but now there’s something else. a sense of clarity, an understanding that feels so fragile, like the first light breaking through a storm.

jake presses his forehead to yours, a soft laugh escaping him as he steadies his breath. “god, i’ve missed you like this. i’ve missed us.” his voice is low, raw with emotion, and you feel that familiar pull in your chest again – the one you’ve been trying to ignore, trying to convince yourself isn’t real. but it is. it always has been.

you pull back slightly, still tangled in his arms, your heart racing. “jake, i... i don’t know how to fix all the damage i’ve done. i don’t even know if i deserve to ask for another chance... after everything.”

his eyes soften, his thumb gently brushing over your lips like he's memorizing the way they feel against his skin. “y/n,” he says, his voice steady and sure now, “you don’t have to fix anything all at once. we don’t have to pretend like everything’s perfect, because it’s not. but i’m willing to try again, if you are.”

your chest tightens at his words, the weight of everything still hanging between you, but it feels like the first step. it feels like a chance to rebuild, even if it’s not easy, even if it takes time. he’s offering you the space to breathe, to come to him when you’re ready, but with no expectation that you have it all figured out. 

“i’m scared, jake,” you admit, your voice trembling. “i’m scared i’ll push you away again. that i’ll hurt you again.”

he shakes his head, a small, reassuring smile playing at his lips. “you won’t. not if we face it together.”

you feel a strange sense of calm settle over you, like a weight lifting off your shoulders, even though the future is still uncertain. but for the first time in a long time, it’s not so terrifying. maybe because you’re not facing it alone.

“can we... just take it slow?” you whisper, your fingers curling into his shirt. “can we rebuild this, piece by piece? i don’t want to rush it.”

jake smiles, despite the sudden dull thudding in his head.

“you’re asking for slow after you just kissed me like that?”

you know he’s teasing you, you feel the warmth flush your cheeks but before you can reprimand him, his hand moves to the back of your head, pulling you in for another gentle kiss; this time slower, deeper, like he’s memorizing the way you feel against him. when he pulls away, there’s a look in his eyes that tells you more than words ever could.

“slow’s fine with me,” he murmurs. “we’ll do it at our own pace. whatever it takes.”

you bury your face in the crook of his neck; it feels like home.

“thank you,” you whisper, even though you’re not entirely sure what you’re thanking him for yet. for understanding? for being patient? for loving you despite everything?

you don’t know. but you’re grateful.

“i’ll make it right, jake,” you say, your voice muffled against his skin. “i’ll find a way to make it right.”

and for the first time, you truly believe it.

epilogue.

a week later, you’re sprawled on the couch, tissues scattered around you, feeling miserable. jake walks in, grinning, holding soup and medicine.

“you really went for it, huh?” he teases, setting the soup down. “kissed me, and now you’re sick.”

you groan. “you didn’t have to kiss me back so passionately.”

jake laughs. “what can i say? i had to make up for lost time.”

you roll your eyes but can’t help smiling. “well, it’s your fault. i was fine until you—"

“don’t even try to blame me,” he cuts in, sitting beside you. “we both know you loved it.”

before you can retort, jay pops his head out from your kitchen, shaking his head. “you two seriously couldn’t wait a week to not get sick?”

you throw a pillow at him. “shut up, jay.”

he grins. “i’m just saying, you couldn’t have waited at least a week, or at least till he got better? are you guys animals, did you have to make out right then?”

you groan and pull the blanket tighter around yourself. “jay, please, you’re killing me.”

jake chuckles, clearly amused by jay’s teasing. “i’m sure it was worth it.”

jay raises an eyebrow. “it better have been. you’re both out of commission now. y/n’s got the cold, and i’m stuck being the responsible one. like i don’t have enough to deal with.”

you glance at jake, still leaning into him for comfort, and say in your best innocent voice, “you could always leave, jay. let us suffer in peace.”

jay gives you a mock glare. “oh, i see how it is. i come over to check on you, and now i’m the bad guy.”

jake smirks, clearly enjoying the banter. “you’re lucky we didn’t need you to play nurse. we’ve got it covered.”

jay rolls his eyes dramatically, then turns to leave. “fine. but if you two are going to be in here swapping germs and cuddling like an old married couple, don’t say i didn’t warn you.”

before he can disappear completely, you call out after him. “hey, jay?”

he pauses at the door.

“next time, bring actual medicine. not just your sarcasm.”

jay grins, tossing a playful wink over his shoulder. “can’t help it, y/n. it’s what i do best.”

with that, he’s gone, and the silence between you and jake is comfortable, warm. you look up at him, giving him a half-smile.

“i guess it’s just us then?”

jake kisses your forehead gently. “just us.”