#honestly therapy for me these days is just sitting down at an internal conference table and letting the unhealthy part of my brain run wild

[watercolor-wings]

Laying here trying to convince my anxiety ridden monkey brain that just wants to move out that moving out with a partner requires two yesses and even if the documents can still be submitted until midnight the decision has already been made and I'm not going to wake my girlfriend up to talk about it again when she has already stated that she's too anxious to move right now

[anna-justice]

Partners - Upstead

Summary: My take on 8x03 (be ready for some deep analysis and feelings!!)

Warnings: fluff, angst, jay halstead having 27 anxiety attacks

Requested: Yes! #25, “I’m not leaving.”

…

“You catch that?” Jay asked his partner as they exited the interrogation room. 

Hailey gave a quick nod, “Yeah, he knows something. He’s good at pretending he’s not scared though.”

They rounded the corner, picking up their pace to head back to the bullpen, “Hey, Upton.” Both of them turned to face the resident desk sergeant. Hailey immediately noticed the package in her hand, she grimaced internally. “Not just calling me anymore. Now the feds are sending me packages for you.”

Hailey took the package off her hands, keeping her face as neutral as possible. She could feel Jay’s gaze on the back of her head. “Thank you.”

“You’re gonna have to rein this in at some point, not that I don’t like being your mail lady.” Trudy said dryly.

“I know.” Hailey said, wanting out of this situation as fast as possible. “Thank you.”

“Uh-huh.” With that she left from the same way she came from.

Hailey looked down at the package, smiling softly. This wasn’t the first package she had gotten and of course she was flattered, but she wasn’t sure the bureau was the best place for her. “The feds?” Jay asked, pulling her out of trance. Hailey grimaced again, this is not how she wanted to tell him. 

A few minutes later, Hailey sat at her desk. All too aware of Jay leaning over her, his hands braced on her desk. (It didn’t matter that his own was less than three feet away, it never had.) He was attentively watching their boss, but she was too focused on him to even hear what he was saying. She distracted herself further by going back to typing on her keyboard, but Jay had other plans. “What did the feds want?”

Hailey took a deep breath, sitting back in her chair. She stared forward for a second. The irony of the situation wasn’t lost on her. She remembered why she got the permanent spot in intelligence in the first place. She remembered how stand-offish and lost Jay was at the beginning. She remembered all the times he asked Voight if he had heard from Lindsay, how his face fell when he finally realized she was never coming back. Even if Erin was a ghost now, she wasn’t always. “It’s a job offer.” She grinned at him. Even if it was a hard no, the feds still were fighting for her.

Jay didn’t miss a beat, “Well, that’s good. Where at?” 

Hailey held her breath for a second, “New York.” She said, reluctantly. She looked up at him, hoping to catch whatever feelings he was trying to hide. 

“Cool.” Jay said. They smiled at each other and then Jay high tailed it out of there. He felt like his chest was going to explode. There was this feeling in the pit of his stomach: fear, dread? He had no idea, but it rivaled the way he felt the whole time he was overseas. 

In the span of ten minutes, he felt like he had been transported back three years. As many times as he told himself that Hailey was not Erin, and that he and Hailey were not him and Erin, he couldn’t help but worry. If you look at the facts, it’s clear. Hailey told him she was leaving, she didn’t disappear in the middle of the night with no goodbye. She didn’t ignore his phone calls and clean out their once shared apartment all by herself. Erin did. 

Hailey pulled him out of the dark whole that it caused. She pushed him to go to therapy, she made him talk about his PTSD, she got him help. She was his partner, his best friend. As happy as he was for her, and as sure as he was that she would excel there, he wasn’t ready for that to be over. He wasn’t sure that he could handle it, no, he was sure he couldn’t. He would go with her in a heartbeat. Even though New York City was one of his least favorite places in the world and his entire life was in Chicago, he would drop everything and go with her. She was the biggest part of his life now, what would be left for him here if she was gone?

Hailey watched walk away from her desk, he was only across the room, but he was too far away. How could she ever handle 800 miles?

…

Hailey stood leaned against the wall in the conference room, Jay in front of her, hunched over a chair. She wouldn’t lie, part of her felt stupid about not taking the job. It was the opportunity of a lifetime, but nothing would beat the feeling of a foot chase in -6 degree weather in Chicago or an interrogation with Jay. And that moment only reiterated that.

“And as I have said, I’m not asking any questions. I’m just giving him the info.” Hailey stifled a laugh. “We learned that there was a woman inside that house, so clearly, we’re missing something.” 

The lawyer jumped in quickly. “He’s got nothing to say.”

Jay started again, “Look, Truman, you’re gonna get booked on your warrant at the end of the day, so we don’t have to release you in 48. We can keep pressing-”

“All right, this is enough.” The lawyer interrupted.

Hailey locked eyes with the suspect, staring him down in an almost empathetic way while Jay continued to lay out the facts. “You’ve got motive, no alibi, you were in the area. You see how easy I can make it that you and your girl, you go for a little joyride, you’re looking to settle some scores, you entered the house and slaughtered everyone inside?”

“I’d never step foot inside that house.” Truman said, his lawyer pushing him back into his seat. 

Hailey took a step forward, it was her turn. “You would never step foot in that house?” She looked at Jay before locking in on him. “Why’d you say it like that, you would never?” She leaned on the table, getting a little closer to him. Her gaze was intense, but her approach was a little softer than Jay’s just a few seconds before. 

Jay watched Hailey lean across the table, happy to let her take over the questioning. She was so good at her job, and anytime he got to watch her, he savored every moment. She made him a better cop. 

“This little girl,” Hailey said, pulling out photos from the crime scene and laying them out in front of him. “Watched her mother get killed in front of her. Her whole family was murdered in front of her.” She took a breath, he couldn’t bear to look at her. She knew she was close to cracking him. “This tiny kid has to deal with those moments of violence for the rest of her life.” Her tone became more aggressive as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Look at me. You said you would never step foot in that house, and I’m guessing that’s because of retribution, because of Benny?”

His lawyer tried to hold him back, but Truman continued. “It’s not because of Benny. I would never step foot in that house because of her.” He pointed to the picture of McKayla, Hailey looked down, confused along with Jay. “She’s the reason why. She’s protected. I go near her, I end up dead.”

Hailey looked back at Jay, somehow the whole situation was more confusing than when they started. But, even so, they had gotten the information they needed. Hailey left the room with a million questions, but she was satisfied. They were so good together. 

…

After a long few days, Jay and Hailey sat at a bar that wasn’t Molly’s at a bar table by the window. They both had their hands on their beers, resting on the table. If either of them reached out any further they would be touching. “All right, let’s do this.” Jay said, chuckling. “Just rip the bandaid off.” Hailey laughed. “What did the FBI offer you?” On the outside he was joking with his partner, on the inside he was praying that she didn’t care enough about it to tell him.

“Hmm, okay.” She said, looking down at the table. She smiled genuinely, “Joint level task force, with the HIG. All interrogations, all high-level targets.” 

Jay trained his eyes on the table, “Sure, sure, sure, sure. That sounds awesome.” Hailey laughed out loud and Jay shrugged, you couldn’t tell by his smile, but he was losing hope. “Is it good pay?”

“It’s great pay.” Hailey shook her head, “Honestly, it makes me a little embarrassed about what we get paid.”

Jay smiled at her, “Well, you’d probably be really good at it.” He couldn’t look at her, because he was being serious. He knew she would be good at it, but she would have to be good at it in New York.

“Yeah, maybe. I don’t know.” Hailey said, shrugging.

“You liked it out there, right?” Jay asked.

“Uh…” Hailey trailed off as the waitress set down their check. “I don’t know if I like it. I think it was just what I needed at the time.” She explained.

Jay nodded, “Okay, but you don’t need it now?” And even though those were the words that came out, it felt like he was asking her something else.

“No, why? You think I need it?” Hailey asked immediately and Jay laughed. “Are you trying to tell me I should take it?” And even though those were the words that came out, it felt like she was asking him something else.

Jay sucked in a breath. “No, uh…” He stared at the table, trying to find the words to say what he knew he wanted to say, they never came. “I’m saying it’s a good job for a good cop.” He was being serious, and honest and genuine. But he wasn’t saying what he needed to say. He smirked at her, just for a moment, but enough for Hailey to catch. He stood up with the check, but Hailey grabbed his attention as he turned back.

Hailey stared at his then empty seat, slightly frustrated. He just didn’t get it, and as much as it scared her, she needed to spell it out for him. Her shoulders met her ears and she talked quickly, “You could tell me you don’t want me to take it.” She shrugged, shaking her head, obviously trying to make the heavy statement a little lighter. “It was an option.”

 Jay opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He was at a loss for words. He shook his head, smiling. He wanted to tell her how much he needed her, he wanted to tell her how much he wanted her to stay. But, an opportunity like she had been given didn’t come around everyday, and he refused to be the thing that held her back from what she wanted to do. “I want you to do whatever you want to do.” He looked her directly in the eye and for the first time all night, said exactly what he was thinking. “I’m just practicing self preservation here.” 

Erin. Was all Hailey could think, it was all she could think about all day. She refused to walk away without at least some closure, for both of them. She sucked in a breath. “The agent on the phone said the only reason a good cop doesn’t take a job like this is ‘cause they’re scared.” She finally got the nerve to look at him, because she was, she was so scared. “Implying that I was afraid of change and that I wanted to stay here where it’s safe…” And didn’t she? She didn’t want things to change, she felt safe in Chicago, with Jay. 

“So, he’s a dick.” Jay deadpanned, causing her to laugh. He sighed when finally saw the pained expression leave her face. 

They both laughed for a moment, locking eyes. “I don’t think that’s why I don’t wanna take it.” Hailey let her gaze fall, his green orbs too much for her to handle. She took a breath, “I don’t want to take it because of you.” She confessed. 

Jay stared at her, his brain all together stopped working for a second. All he was aware of was her soft smile and how fast his heart was beating.

Hailey watched his face fall and she wasn’t sure if it was fear or shock, but she knew it was too late to back track. “I’m better, with you as my partner.” Partner, they both had such a love/hate relationship with that word. At this point it felt like a cop-out. “You know, you, 21, Voight. I know I’m better here.” She shrugged, looking down and back up at him. “So, I’m not gonna take it.”

Jay fought the urge to smile, his emotions were all over the place. “You sure?” He asked, and he wasn’t quite sure he was asking her. It could have meant so many things. Was she sure about not taking the job or was she sure about him?

“Yeah.” She said almost immediately. 

The waitress returned with the paid bill, reminding the two that the earth was still turning. And they weren’t the only ones in it. Jay quickly put his card away and Hailey stood up, pulling on her jacket. It felt like so much had changed between them, but really nothing had. 

Jay looked at Hailey, concerned, she looked sad almost and he was worried he had caused it. “He wasn’t really wrong though, was he?” She looked up at him with glassy eyes. “You gain something, you give something up.” He was right, but she didn’t care. She would give it all up if it meant gaining him. 

Jay had only seen Hailey cry two times before then: the night McGrady was killed and the night they fought Booth. Both of those times he wanted to kill the son of a bitch who hurt her so bad, but right now, he was almost sure it was him. “Maybe but, not always.” 

Hailey looked at him and was hit with a wave of something indescribable. She couldn’t pretend anymore, she couldn’t just be his partner. They were so much more than that now. In a span in three seconds it felt like the last three years of her life replayed for her, and she remembered everything. The way he fought to be her partner and actually going to therapy, the way he defended her against Booth, the way she felt when he was shot that night in the parking garage, the way it felt to see him after she was kidnapped, the way it never felt with Adam. The way he tackled her to the ground in that van, completely careless with his own life for her sake, how hard it was to imagine not working beside him. How hard it was not being his partner, how hard it was finding him that day in that room. The way she cried for him in the waiting room, the way she kicked herself everyday for not telling him how she felt. The way he fought for that woman, the same way she wished someone would have fought for her. How much she missed him while she was in New York. She remembered everything. 

She groaned, this was it. “It’s been a long time…” She looked away, she couldn’t take it, wiping a stray tear from under her eye. “Since I saw you as just my partner.” 

It hit Jay like a semi truck, he couldn’t believe what she was saying. He had no idea what to say, so he didn’t. He took a step forward, his heart clenching at the sight of the disheveled girl in front of him. He captured her lips with his, lifted her up off her toes so she could reach. Her arms found her way to his neck, one sliding slowly down his chest. They both thought they were dreaming, they had both wanted this for so long. 

After what seemed like forever, they both finally pulled away. Hailey blushed, Jay’s gaze hot on her face. She shook her head, “No way, I’m not leaving. Definitely not now.” 

Jay laughed, “Is that all I am to you? A piece of meat?” 

“Would you be offended if I said yes?” Hailey smirked.

“Not at all…” He sighed out, leaning down to kiss her again. This time, letting his hands get tangled in her blonde ponytail. 

So there they stood, making out in a bar where no one knew them or their history. They weren’t colleagues, they weren’t best friends, they weren’t partners. They were just Hailey and Jay: they were everything.

…

A/N: I loved writing this so much. I think I’ve watched the episode a million times and this just seemed more fun than posting an analysis! Let me know what you think! Thank you for reading! <3

[quant-um-fizzx]

This is When

Pairing: Steve x Reader

Summary: Reader has liked Steve from afar and, when an opportunity finally arrives, her efforts to be what she thinks he wants have consequences.

Prompt: I don’t know what you want from me/So careless in my company/Oh, if all that you say is true/There’ll be no getting over you (Tearing Me Up – Bob Moses)

Word Count: 6700 (yikes.)

Warnings: Unrelenting Angst. Reader makes poor choices, consistently. This starts several weeks before Endgame, so expect there to be character death mentions. Referenced Steve x Peggy. Mildest smut.

The bad guy isn’t always so easy to spot. A villain, the very last person you expect.

Steve stands, looming larger than life over the disused conference table. Five years of recently unearthed dust still visible on the far corners. Brittle paper rustles as he unfurls an antique, camel-colored map, apparently routing modern comparatives. It’s just him, a screen, and some papers. Despite that, the room feels full, fit to burst. You opt to leave before it does. Turn tail, spin on the ball of your foot, and leave him undisturbed.

“Nope,” you say, pursing your lips and shaking your head as you return to where Nat sits, legs up and feet crossed on her table across the compound.

“No?” She says, surprised and speaking a little slowly around a mouthful of peanut butter. “He won’t do it?”

Your face scrunches up; eyes close not wanting to see her reaction. “No, uh...nope. I sorta couldn’t ask him to.” It sounds more like a question. One eye peeks open while the rest of your face probably looks like you’ve sucked down a crate of lemons.

She plops her half sandwich down dramatically, makes a show of brushing crumbs. “You know,” she begins, eyes twinkling, “I once watched him microwave a can of tomato soup. In the can.”

“I fail to see how that’s relevant here.” It was probably right after he first came to this century, too, you think defensively on his behalf.  

“I’m just surprised you’re intimidated.”

You scoff. “I am allowed to be intimidated. For crying out loud Nat, he punches aliens.”

“I punch aliens.” Her eyebrows lift in challenge, enjoying this too much.

How long has it been? Years since you met him once in passing. Never any real interaction. He may not even recall your name. Sporadic appearances in heavily-crowded rooms, and no mutual dealings before...well, before half of everything went to Hell.

Not much opportunity now, he lives off-site, always gone leading therapy groups and the occasional mission. Still, every time the past few years you’ve heard Nat mention he’s come around the all-but-deserted HQ, butterflies.

Lost in thought for a moment longer than innocent, you spot Nat smirk knowingly.

This is when you decide shit needs to change. Steve Rogers needs to notice you.

“Fine!” You head back out, arms waving near your head in mock surrender.

Striding up behind him in the conference room, you clear the nerves from your throat and, from the subtle flex near his shoulder blades, it’s clear he knows you’re there - that someone is there - but he’s unfazed. He certainly doesn’t notice you. Being unnoticed by Steve Rogers is a skill you’ve unwittingly, unwillingly mastered.

In fairness, he notices you as much as he would most everyone else that’s left. No one’s exactly sneaking up on history’s greatest soldier.

You suspect it’s more of an instant evaluation and subsequent, triaged dismissal: Nondescript person. Location appropriate attire. Behavior within expected parameters. Sufficient security clearance relative to location. Threat level low.

Surely, you’re no threat at all, to him. To yourself...jury’s out.

“Captain Rogers?” You step across the table from him.

He looks up, briefly. Enough to be courteous but remains focused on his project. “How can I help you?”

Suddenly, your lips dry despite the strawberry Chapstick they’re always coated in. “Nat wants me to find out if you’ve made a decision about helping escort the groups next week?”

He leans slightly and braces both arms on the table. Not looking up, he sighs out, “I want to help, but trotting out Captain America doesn’t seem like the way to do it.”

Without thinking, you say, “Hadn’t really been looking for a super soldier to take a bus load of orphans to the museum. Just Steve Rogers: Certified Driver’s License holder.”

A ghost of a smile. He looks up. “Fair enough. Count me in.”

As you leave, practically bouncing from this positive first real interaction, you call over your shoulder, “Though, after you’ve tried to wrangle 150 kids for lunch, that superhero bit might not seem like such a bad idea.”

You hear a faint laugh as you exit.

“You know,” Nat says, right after you tell her Steve’s decision, “I used to suggest dates to him all the time.” She looks wistfully out the window, to a past more than a world away. “He never bit. Maybe that was for the best back then. I was just throwing out names. Trying to get him out.” She says that, but takes a beat. She knows, we both do, that’s not quite it. Not to get him out. It was really trying to help him fit in. “But, yeah, never seemed interested. Made me promise to stop. Stop suggesting. Stop having women bring him coffee, bump into him in the elevator, what have you. So, I promised.” You watch her twist the plastic bag around a loaf of bread and shove it to the back of the counter. “Now, I’m not so sure.”

You look over to the doorway that leads back toward the conference room he’s probably still in. “That seems like a good thing. Probably making him uncomfortable for the sake of a few dates.”

“True. They were good people, not good matches.” She shrugs, a small hitch - one that you only recognize from logging hundreds of hours around her - shows she’s only feigning casual. Quite suddenly, you understand this is a dead-serious talk. “I never regretted making him that promise until you came along.”

You swear you hear an actual record scratch.

“Wh-? What on earth would make you say that?” You look down at your faded t-shirt and - oh, you hadn’t noticed - threadbare yoga pants. Your standards have devolved into If It’s Clean, It Gets Worn. You know your hair’s in disarray, face bare. Not exactly Steve’s button downs and starched jeans.

“C’mon, your ability to adapt? That might be an actual superpower. You both operate on the same compass. Don’t know how to stop putting others first. No compromise. When I saw your letter to Secretary Ross bullet-pointing everything wrong with his stupidass Survivor Mandates? An admin who commits career suicide by telling off the Secretary of State?” Nat shakes her head. “That’s right up there with airport rumbles and jumping outta planes without a chute.”

You really don’t know what to say to that.

Of course, you’d fantasized something happening between you and Steve. Look at him.

Plus, he’s a good guy. THE Good Guy. The Embodiment of morals and decency.

Your room currently has several drained Jameson bottles, at least three weeks’ worth of dirty laundry, a fist-sized hole in the wall from when you received your first reply from Ross, and simply scorchingly filthy porn on an incognito tab. (As a precaution, you’d searched a few vanilla sites too, hoping if anyone ever went snooping through your browser history, they’d be satisfied with that and not dig deeper to find the banned-in-several-states stuff.)

You were more likely to listen to Steve Miller or, heck, even Roger Miller, than Glenn Miller.

You’re convinced you’d turn him off in a heartbeat. Based on what you know of him anyway. A lot can be discerned reading about his life and choices. He is just so closed off - red, white, and blue brick walls. So much in the past.

None of that matters though. It doesn’t matter if you never actually get his attention in the first place.

Looking past Nat at your reflection in the window, you have to wonder how you’d keep it if you ever got it.

Honestly, maybe you shouldn’t even try. Life is barely hanging on. People are either so broken they don’t function or so good at compartmentalization that they don’t move on and just keep trying to resuscitate it, to maintain it.  

“How’s your housing proposal coming along?” Nat breaks you out of your thoughts. “Is it too much? You’re already doing that food program revamp plus the international incident monitoring.”

“Nah, I got it.” You have to. You want to. Anything you can do that allows Nat time to track down her best friend and maybe, just maybe, someone will find a way to bring everyone else back, too.

The skeleton crew that remained at Avengers HQ after Wakanda, after Thanos, had drifted away within weeks. All with broken families and lives that needed stitched up, pressing wounds that demanded them more. All but you and Nat.  Nat had no one and you had no one worth going to. You’d been just another worker bee before, trying to make things right, doing the best you could for the best people so they could actually accomplish things.

Life is full, brimming with grey mourning and chalky despair, and you really don’t need a distraction. Even if it’s as amazing as Steve Rogers.

You almost convince yourself that’s true.

**

The outing goes smoothly. All kids accounted for and - it shouldn’t be the highlight, but it is - Steve has spoken with you most of the day. Usually about the kids and their needs. Interspersed, he asks where you’re from. Who you lost. Where you were when it happened. All the sorts of things everyone has learned to ask so they don’t trigger a breakdown.

“Who did you lose, Steve?” It’s common knowledge, but you ask anyway.

He seems surprised to hear the words. Waits a beat before answering. “This time it wasn’t everyone.”

Near the end of the day, outside the giftshop, you spot him deep in conversation with a rather pretty guide. She scoots a little closer every few moments and he allows it. Her hair is brown, soft waves pulled back in a barrette. Dark red lips. Neatly tucked uniform, pencil skirt.

Huh. Okay. He is very much in the past. Even further than the rest of us.

This is when the idea hits. It’s all at once, a lightning strike forcing it to life.

On the way home, you stop by a drug store and make a solitary purchase: semi-matte, red velvet lipstick.

**

You’re determined to focus on work and not go chasing after him or concoct schemes to run into him. You’re not some errant child running after him like he’s a clanging ice cream truck. You are a mature person with goals and obligations and willpower and if you’ve recently developed a raging interest in the 1940’s, well, that’s pure coincidence.

You are not going to seek him out.

You cave two days later.   

Container of freshly baked (by someone, not you) cookies in one hand, you find yourself waiting for a break in a VA meeting he leads. A curious smile pulls at the corner of his mouth when he spies you leaning against the doorframe.

“Well, let’s take a break. Back in five?” He jogs up to you, eyeing the cookies.  “What’s this?”

“Oh,” you say, holding them up as if you’d forgotten they were there, “These old things?” While you speak, you notice his gaze go to your dark lips. His brow furrows slightly, then back to your eyes. “I just thought maybe your group would like treats?” Suddenly, you feel silly. As if you’ve mistaken combat veterans for kindergarteners in need of snack time. “Do you serve refreshments?”

His rare smile is blinding. “We do now.” Grabbing the cookies, with one last glance that doesn't quite reach up to your eyes, he returns to the group.

As you turn to leave, he calls after you, “Wait, let me introduce you. Please, stay. We’re almost done anyway.”

You position yourself at what you hope appears to be a respectful distance for the remainder of the meeting.

He’s very good, you realize. Gets everyone to open up, encourages them to share and then to move on. Somehow managing to come across as opening up, but never revealing more about himself than any history book contains.

After, he thanks you again.

“It was nothing really. Happy to do it.”

“You baked and came all the way down here with cookies for people you’ve never met?” That isn’t accurate, but you don’t correct him. “I wouldn’t call that ‘nothing.’”  He rubs the back of his neck. “So...I should probably see you home safely.”

Trying to seem not-ridiculously overjoyed, you shrug. “I made it here on my own. I can probably make it back.”

“You stay at HQ, right?”

“Sure do.” “You don’t, uh, have anyon—anywhwere, some place in the city?”

No, you don’t. You shoot your shot. “That’s a story. Wanna hear it over coffee?”

He tilts his head. “Yeah, I could do that.”

Until 2:00 a.m., over cold coffee, you end up talking about pretty much everything except any real details about yourselves.

After you slide out of the booth to leave, he appears deep in thought, runs a finger over the lipstick smudge on your cup.

**

Three days after shared coffee, and roughly eight hours of big band and WW2 research, you paint your lips and slide on a skirt for the first time in years.  

Steve is due at HQ today and, though you don’t know his mission, you are going to find a reason to be in his vicinity.

“Hey, lady,” Nat whistles, “are you trying to seduce your way past Ross’s assistant? Because that skirt might do the trick.”

You run your hands over invisible wrinkles, “Something like that.” You hope Steve makes an appearance soon, because you’ve been so preoccupied that going there had slipped your mind.

“It wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain ca-”

“Shh!” You cut her off as Steve enters. He nods to you. Your cheeks warm as his eyes follow down your skirt.

“Wheels up in 10, Natasha.”

“Think we’ll be back before dinner?” Nat teases.

He gives a withering look. “Maybe dinner next Thursday.”

Now or never. “I was going to make chicken fricassee soon. I could, maybe, do it when you both get back?”

Nat looks at you as if you sprouted two heads. “Uh, sure? Not gonna turn down a home cooked meal.”

Steve follows her lead. “Not sure Romanoff has ever completed a mission report without Chinese take-out, but we can give it a go.”

Nat elbows him and exits, still looking at you through narrowed eyes.

Figuring out how to cook in a few days shouldn't be that hard.

**

It was that hard.

You end up baking a ham instead. The air swirls in brown sugar and cinnamon. Nat, winking, invents a reason to leave immediately with her apple crisp.

Steve watches the common area door shut behind her. “You know, for a spy, she isn’t very subtle.”

“True.” You shrug, busying yourself putting leftover ham slices on rye bread that you’ll insist he take home later. “But maybe there’s no place in this world for subtlety anymore.”

He looks at you, the lipstick you’d touched up earlier, your hair pulled back. Nods softly.

“Steve, would you like to go on a date with me?”

This time he nods a little harder. “Yes. Yes, I would.”

**

Steve’s schedule is only open on the many days you give dance lessons at the orphanages. After some shuffling, you get them postponed.

It takes a few tries, but you start to get the hang of this new look.

Little things at first. Subtle. Small. Glossy clear lips exchanged for matte red. A knee-length dress here and there. Belts to accentuate your waist.  

You try doing your hair differently. It seems somehow too much. Too obvious. Too...her. You know about her, everyone does. You know who she is. It’s a present, tangible thing, his love for that remarkable woman. And she was remarkable, utterly deserving of Steve, if any woman is. Or, was. They’re far beyond star crossed lovers, displaced by glacial ice and merciless march of time.

But you’re right here and, determined.

You can hear the echoes of your grandmother and countless wise women, “Don’t change yourself for any man.”

Oh, but Gram, Steve Rogers isn’t just any man.

At your third dinner, a band plays standards. Several couples get up to dance. You drop hints like rainfall. “Sorry, I...I don’t dance.” He shifts in his seat uncomfortably.

“Oh. Oh, that’s okay. I don’t really either.”

**

His place is spartan. Walls dull grey, painted in longing. A few framed sketches. Stunning, beautiful. He says nothing when he notices you linger on the one of her the longest. It’s gone, tucked away somewhere, the next time you come over to cook dinner.

A few weeks in, over potato soup that turned out pretty good even if you were craving sushi instead, you begin to wonder if you’ve miscalculated this whole thing. You’ve held hands out walking. Hugs linger a little longer. Nothing more. Stagnant.

Maybe he just...can’t. Move on. Move on. Move on. Decade-long mission. Try to move on. Make the best of it. Going through the motions, a caricature of himself, of who he’s supposed to be.

Maybe that’s what you admire the most about him. He just keeps getting back up. It’s not that he won’t break - he seems so very, very impossibly unbroken. Too stubborn from a lifetime of fighting that he won’t surrender tethers to his past.

Whatever it is, or isn’t, you can’t stay away.

Sometimes, he eyes you skeptically.  When you’ve done perhaps too much, channeled a smidge more housewife than prudent (and you do question why you’ve taken this tact but he keeps seeing you so you barrel ahead) when you’ve silently, voluntarily rearranged and back-burnered your own work and interests.

“It’s not that I don’t appreciate it, but you really don’t have to go to all this trouble,” he says one evening, setting the table.  

“Oh, it’s no trouble.” It is. “I enjoy doing this for you.” I enjoy doing things for you, but not so much this. “Besides, what else would I be doing?” Cleaning my apartment that I never let you see for many reasons. Actually completing projects. Wearing stretch pants. Work.

He sets a plate down. “What would you like to be doing?”  It’s an innocent enough question, asked innocently enough. It’s only you that makes it feel more like I find it hard to believe you want to be doing this.

This is when you realize you’ve convinced yourself these changes are improvements.

Surely, he - who stands eye-to-eye with gods and monsters, who observes the world from a vantage point that quite literally no one else has - wouldn’t be interested in your mundane, day-to-day work. Not the minutiae of clerical work, grant proposals. Wouldn’t endure your ironic love for hair bands that is pretty light on the irony or backtrack on that whole no-dancing rule.

He’d definitely be leaving a Steve-shaped exit hole in the wall sprinting in the opposite direction of the porn you haven’t peeked at in weeks.  

You venture another look. His face is earnest. You recall something you’d always meant to do.

“Well, I think shelters want people to come pet the cats.” Oh, god. What if he hates cats? “Dogs, er, dogs and cats. Animals.” Smooth.

He smiles, a little wider than you could’ve anticipated, and resumes placing silverware.

“If you’re free Saturday, let’s go.”

The questions start again during dinner. Having things done for him, his disquiet is palpable, like his skin itches and stretches over knitting wounds. Forgotten scars busted open.

“You do realize it was never like that for me, right?” He says. “There wasn’t pot roast on the table and a newspaper waiting for me. I grew up in the Depression. It was a mug of hot water instead of tea and getting sent to bed so early we didn’t notice we’d missed dinner.”

You had realized that. You hadn’t realized he knew you were catering specifically to him.

“This is how my grandparents raised me. I miss that sense of home, that sense of...comfort?” You fiddle with a spoon, your reflection elongated, distorted along its curve. “Steve, just because you didn’t get it, doesn’t make it right.”

His head draws back, taking you in. An unreadable look in his eye.

“I know you didn’t get what you deserved,” you chew the words, “back then. I just want to help you get it now.” Fidgeting, words feeling too...accurate. “Or, the closest thing to what you...we deserve.”

His hand covers yours, wraps fingers together, entwines. Gives you a tailored version of his VA coaching. Tells you that the world is what we make it. That it can be good and right. That he knows you’re holding back, holding something back, but admits he is, too, that he isn’t sure he knows how not to anymore. “Please,” he starts, squeezes your hand gently, “what aren’t you telling me?”

Slipping your hand out from under his, missing the warmth immediately, you start without thinking. “You’re here and I’m here and making the best of it. Have you felt…” you stop for a moment, realizing something you hadn’t let yourself think before, “...have you even felt real in years?”

The back of his chair squeaks as he leans back against it. Concedes. “Not very often.”

“I’m tired of it, weary of just getting by. Aren’t you, Steve? What are our lives for, if not for something better than just seeing if we can make it to another sunset?”

This is when you think it’s all gone to Hell. Maybe you’ve overstepped.

Wordlessly, never taking his eyes off you, he folds his napkin, pushes his chair back, stands up and comes directly over to where you sit. Bending his knees until he’s at eye level, he runs his hand along the side of your face, thumb tracing your skin, and slowly, slowly places his lips on yours.

You can’t help the smile that overtakes you mid-kiss.  He pulls back and smiles, too, color in his cheeks.

It’s all very sweet and proper. Nice.

Then you notice the slightly darker tint to his eyes and you, for lack of a better word, lose it.

“C’mere.” You grab his collar and crash your lips to his. His eyes fly open and you almost laugh but you use this element of surprise to propel yourself out of your chair and twist until he’s flat and you’re straddling his chest.

Hovering an inch above his pleasantly, openly shocked face, you breathe out, “Wanna start living in the moment, Mr. Rogers?”

He does. Three times, all the most polite missionary orgasms in history. No complaints. You do a No-Shame-At-All-Walk back to HQ the next day.

**

It’s gradual, but somewhere along the line, he starts talking to you. Really talking. About his mom. Drawing. Losing Bucky again. And again. The Strike Team’s betrayal - his team for over a year - acute and somehow still raw.

Days become mutual, together. Not alone. The kind of unalone so stark and bright, like daybreak rain, that it highlights how alone you’ve both been. Like you’d hoisted the cellar door and crawled out of its dank depths.

One night, a man from his groups doesn’t make it. Car wreck.

“Go, Steve. It’s okay. They need you.”

“It’s strange now,” he sighs. “To have death come suddenly, in such a… normal way.”

“Us normal folk don’t often get epic send-offs,” you joke, lamely. Apologize with your eyes. His brow tightens like he didn’t really want to contemplate that.

“The group wants to grab a few drinks,” he says. You know he means you’d be bored, since this version of you doesn’t drink. “I don’t know how long...” His voice is the slightest tinge hopeful.

“Just go,” you say softly.

You wait at his place. Answer overdue emails, start to catch up. Feel more like yourself.

Sometime after midnight, you fall asleep on top of his bedspread. Later, he slips in, curls up around you. Tucks you below his chin. He smells of soap and something distinctly Steve. You stir and turn to him, palm flat on his chest, press a soft kiss above his heart.

“You stayed.” He kisses your fingers.

“Of course,” you say, sleep-slurred.

Before sunrise, he buries himself inside you, tilts your hips, angles in. It’s slow sweat and sweet, limbs tangled and swallowed breaths. Holds your face, hands woven in your hair as he rocks in you. Never says a thing, his tongue curls into your mouth, pushes your secrets back in.

And you fall a little further each passing night. It feels foreign, but warm. Like remembering something you never really knew.

What should be joy is horror. You’ve never been more scared. Even when you’d watched everyone on your bus disintegrate, driver’s hand gone to soot.

Late one weeknight, you burn the ever-loving shit out of your hand on the stove. A string of creative curse combinations leaves your mouth for a full forty-five seconds. It’s all very incongruous with the frilly apron and (useless) oven mitts.

He looks gloriously scandalized before laughing until his eyes water.

He takes you bent over the island and it is anything but polite. Positively revels in you. Reveals spots you didn’t know you had. You scream his name.

Ragged breaths behind your ear. “You’re so close...I want it.” His words push you over, as you clench he loses rhythm, follows.

Panting, pressed against cool granite, confessions carved into stone, you hear yourself whisper how much you love him.

He has propriety enough to act like he didn’t hear you.

**

This is when it gets awkward. Two steps forward, three miles back.

You barely speak the next day. And the next. Then, it’s the most days without seeing one another since this whole mess started.

On day four, you slide out of your sweats and into a dress, paint on your face, and go lean on his apartment door to wait for him.

Being alone with one’s thoughts is never a great exercise, but certainly not for someone who has been play-acting for a few months. Mentally, you scroll through all the deadlines you’ve missed.

Nat’s voicemail replays in your head. “Hey, I know you might think this isn’t my business, but you’re my business and those kids are my business and, frankly, Steve is my business. You’ve lost perspective and, again, frankly, I didn’t think you’d be like this with him. Please call me. Or, come to work. Both. Both would be good.”

You look up at the ceiling and breathe out. An unblinked tear escapes.

You miss Steve approaching. “Hey, are you o-” he starts, then chews his lip for a moment.  “We need to talk.”

“I’m not so sure we do.” You stare blankly at the walk ahead. “I think I’m just gonna go.”

“Is that what you want?” “It’s what you want that’s at issue here.” Another traitorous tear slides down your face. “I know I’m not genuinely what you want.” “Damn it,” he huffs, mostly to himself. “Just come inside. We shouldn't do this in the hallway.”

You move off the door and he goes in, pulling you in at first, then looks to where he holds you and drops your arm as if burnt.

“Sorry.” “You don’t really have anything to be sorry for Steve, except maybe avoiding me for a few days.”

He runs his hands over his face. “I just don’t think I can be what you need. I thought I could, but I just don’t think I’m...capable of that anymore.”

“Capable of what?” You know. But you need to hear him say it, to rip it off like a bandage left too long, gauzy fibers soaked, enmeshed with tissue. If you finally hear it, then you can...you don’t know.

“Oh, shit, this sounds so bad. I want to. I want to love you. There are moments when I think I could, that it could happen, but it just...doesn’t.”

This is when you break.

No rebuttal comes. Your mind sparks but fades. You can’t help but try to hang on, dig in, your fingers clawing at the dirt. “It’s okay, Steve. I didn’t mean t-” “It is definitely not okay! None of this is okay. I don’t want to hurt you or waste your time.” He shakes his head. “I can’t ask you to compromise like that.”

“The whole damned world now is nothing but compromise and it sure as Hell didn’t ask.”

“We’re better than that,” he says, frowning. “We deserve real.”

“Are ‘we’ better than that? You...you are. Me? I don’t know.” You try to laugh but it just chokes off. “The planet used to be stuffed with twice as many people and most of us - I sure as Hell was, weren’t you? - were very much alone.”

He sighs. Brushes a tear from under your eye. “Part of me...part of me is always going to be someplace else.” This isn’t news. You blow out air slowly. “How I feel isn’t going to change whether you feel the same or not. I don’t want you to send me away because you think you know better.” You aren’t crying anymore. You’re mad. “I want to be with you, regardless.”  A blind rage, mostly at yourself. Probably all at yourself. “It’s my choice and I damned well think you’re worth it.”

His face is genuinely stunned.

**

You both really do try. Make the best of it.

Things change though.  

Resigned that, whatever he feels, it’s not love. It’s affection adjacent. If a thin line exists between love and hate, then it’s a thick metal girder between love and like.

You double down. Desperate, every word rehearsed, every aspect honed to perfection. Let me have these pieces of you in exchange for pieces of me.

In the throes, one night, you hear him stop himself from saying it. He doesn’t mean to, you know it. He can’t help himself any more than you can. It’d be fighting oceans and tides and lightless moons.

On your knees, in stockings and red-lipped, before him. “Peg-...Pe-...Please...don’t stop.” The pain squeezes your heart, musculature seeping between its dead, cold digits. You swallow it down along with him.

On top of you, wrapped up around you, his hoarse puffs beside your ear. They all sound like the beginning of her name.

They all are.

You could pretend it’s your name, a name for what you’ve become. Placeholder. Placebo. But even that’s not accurate. You’re pure medicine scorching through his veins. You’re this century’s super serum, burning up under the hot lights and sterile space a Stark made for him. You’re on fire, searing away trying to be what you think he needs - but, he didn’t need anything to be good, never did - all the while, over the chaos, Peggy shouts to stop.

You signed on for this.

Because you faked it so well, you’d fooled yourself.

Messy. Misaligned. Reckless love.

You take to crying in the shower. Searching every piece of you, you don’t know what more you can change or give or swap out like spare parts, to finally, finally, be enough/real/alive.

In the fogged mirror, you look. Truly look. A collection of cobbled together bits and limbs. Someone else’s lips and hair and clothes. All yourself and your work amputated.  A zombie pantomime of by-gone ideals and remembrances.  

You wipe away the fog again. There, smeared and broken among the watery trails, it is all too obvious why he cannot love you. You do not love yourself like this. A monstrous visage, the good parts ignored to decay, just a stitched-up collection of dead things.

He catches you crying sometimes. Swears to leave you for good and you beg him to stay. Every time. Holds you tight to his chest and whispers he’s sorry and promises to stop hurting you because he cares, he really cares, but you don’t think he knows exactly who is to blame.

He is late getting to his place one night so you start the record player. Sway, arms wrapped around yourself as Billie Holiday sings “You Go to My Head.”

On the refrain, Steve comes up behind you. Places his lips gently on your shoulder, runs his hands down your arms.

“Dance with me, Steve,” you say, facing away. Hold yourself a little tighter.

You hear his short gasp.

“God, please give me this, Steve. Please, just dance with me.” You didn’t ask, but I gave up everything for you.

Wordlessly, he turns you and draws you to him. Sways until the notes fade away.

**

Your heart might not beat for a solid minute when the words “Time Travel” first come up.

It’s the end. Steve doesn’t realize what he’s going to do, but you do. Given half the chance, there’s no doubt.  

“Hey, Doll.” He pulls you into his chest. “It’s going to be okay. This is what we do.”

You nod against him. No doubt they will be successful. Mutely, you pull out of his embrace. You cannot leave fast enough, this place where all these gods and angels stand.

Your last mistake is not going to your room.

While the solitary bird flits around where you sit in the courtyard, a concerned Steve overrides security to get into your quarters to comfort you.

When you get to your room, Steve is there. Looks so out of place, like a dog on its hind legs. His face is flat, eyes cold. Silently, he turns your digital photo frame toward you. Each photo stripping away another lie. A photo of you with your parents, another in your toe shoes, two at recitals, tongue out and drunk at an Ozzy concert. Not one looks like you now. Not one.

Jaw squared, he looks to the kitchen where printouts of old recipes litter the counter.

“Steve,” you say, starting to reach for him. He puts a hand up. “Steve, let me explain.”

“You know,” his voice is steel, “I didn’t go out with you because you reminded me of the past. I went out with you because you asked me.”

“Steve, I just wanted to…wanted to…” “You wanted to what? Read about me in a textbook and try to be - what? - fake it? Ugh, God.”  He rolls his eyes, body half-twists away.

“It’s not like that.” Except, it is.

“It’s not? Oh, well then please tell me. Enlighten me. Because from where I am right now, it sure fucking looks like you took things you thought were special to me and just, what? Wore it like a suit to manipulate me?”

Near numb, you shake your head.

“It worked...it worked so well and you let me feel guilty about it!”

The shame pushes your legs out from under you. “I just wanted to make you happy.”

“Me? You can try to tell yourself that. No, you did this for you.” Holds the picture frame in both hands, the colors reflect in his eyes as they change. Under his breath, he says, “I don’t even know you.”

Steve nails you with his gaze. “Do you even realize what you’ve stolen from me? What you guilted me into? What I saved and I can never get back?”

Billie Holiday echoes in your brain. The song, the dance. Like a miracle, you hate yourself more.

You are carved down, scoured out, brittle bones bleached in the sun.

He shakes off his anger slightly. “I knew you were holding back, but this?” He points to a stack of work you’d let languish. Detailed housing plans, nutrition guidelines, research and half-complete presentation charts. “I can’t understand why...why wouldn’t you include me in this? Were you scared of not being enough? Too much? Of being you?” He sighs out. “Everyone can have those thoughts, that’s understandable. But, you didn’t trust me with you.”

You desperately reach for him, hold his arms. “I do trust you. I do.”

He scoffs. “The problem is you let me care about someone who doesn’t even exist. Who never existed. You kept “you” secret from me while I opened up to you. You think I let anyone else ever know how fucked up I feel?”

He looks at you in a way you never wanted. With grief.

“Damn it - Goddamn it all. I let you in.” I expect him to punch the wall, but the air just leaves him. He deflates. Smaller than ever seemed possible.  “I fucking let you in.”

**

Everyone comes back. Except Nat. All you have left is her voicemail.

There’s no more times together. Nothing.

It’s always been beautiful, pulsing nothing.

Bleeding out every pore.

In a makeshift office miles from decimated HQ, you bury yourself in her projects and try to resurrect your own until it’s time for Tony’s memorial.

You’re not sure why you’re going. Apart from Tony hiring you, you don’t really know anyone else there except Steve. But, Tony gave you a chance and, while you’ve mucked it up spectacularly of late, you go to honor him as best you can.

You try to stay in the shadows, so you’re surprised Steve finds you nonetheless. Even more surprised he tries.

Looking out over the water, he asks, “Are you going to be okay? Did you find a place to stay?”

“Yes.” No and yes.

“I’m so very sorry Steve. I just wish, I just wish…”

“Don’t, okay?” He blows out a sigh. Hands in his pockets. “If you didn’t trust me, I could work to make you. If you didn’t trust yourself, I’d help you learn to. But you didn’t trust either of us and there’s nothing I can do about that.  And that’s a damned tragedy.” He turns and starts to walk past you.

“Steve! Steve wait!” You cringe, your voice echoes over the serene lake. He keeps walking.

“Steve.” You sniff. “Please.” He takes a huge gulp of air and turns partially toward you, staying in profile. Shaking his head softly, jaw askew, he lifts his hands and lets them fall as if to say, “What do you want from me?”

“Can we just try again? Start over?”

How did we meet? How did we meet back when I was real?

“Steve, I’m...I’m so sorry. You’re right. I was more than guarded, I was trying so hard to be good for you. I took what I knew and what you showed me and tried so hard to mold myself into what I thought you’d want. I know that was so stupid now. But I know you. I know you! And I just want a chance for you to know me. I...I...I like metal bands and R&B. I’m a cat AND dog person. I used to tap dance. There’s photographic evidence! They let me back on the orphan program and we’re using it as a template for veterans.  I have yelled in the face of the Secretary of State. More than once. My grandparents didn’t raise me but I spent summers with them.” You choke back more tears. “I am actually a bit of a pervert. That’s who I am. I screwed up. I just want a chance to show you ‘me.’”

You cough and through blurry vision it almost looks like he starts to reach for you. Then, his arm pulls back.

“But what I felt - what I feel for you is so real. I’m absolutely in love with you, Steve Rogers.” You wipe your sleeve across your wet face. “I know I screwed up and I hurt you and I have no excuses, but I am b-begging you to give me a chance. Just let me start over.”

He doesn’t move, still looking out over the lake.

“Steve, please, I just want to show you who this girl really is.”

“She sounds amazing,” he says, toneless. Walks past you toward the platform where a case full of gems and a magic hammer wait.  “I wish I could’ve met her. I would’ve loved her.”

This is when you know. You’re the bad guy in your own story.

[bigbanggot7stories]

Across the Hall Part 3

I hope this is okay to read. I hope y'all enjoy!

 ---

The small café was attached to the building I lived in, and if you didn’t pass by it every day, you probably would never notice it. I had been meaning to stop in over the week I had been in Seoul, but I didn’t have a chance with all of the office preparation and moving I had been doing.

I look a deep breath before opening the loud door, bowing at the owner sitting at the front counter. Jiyong and his friends were the only people at a table in the back of the room, so I made my way over to the group after mentally preparing myself for the worst.

“Hey,” I spoke softly, hoping to only gain the attention of the man I was intending to see.

Before Jiyong could open his mouth, however, the woman sitting next to him spoke up.

“Not to be rude or anything, sweetie, but he’s just here to have a good time with some friends. It would be really cool if you’d just let him be.”

I’m sure I looked like a deer caught in the headlights with my mouth slightly open as I looked over to Jiyong and Tae Hee. The singer’s manager chuckled a little and spoke first.

“It’s okay, she’s the fan from America. We’re just going to talk to her for a quick minute,” he said, motioning for Jiyong to get up as he stood from his chair.

As I followed the two out into the street, I could hear conversation resuming behind us.

“That girl needs a clue.”

“Yeah, but he did take her on the rest of the tour. He probably got her hopes up.”

“Probably, but did she really think he’d want anything to do with her after? He told me he stopped talking to her because he really didn’t thin—“

The door shut with a thud behind us, cutting off all access to the conversation inside. I put my hands in my coat pocket, slowly teetering on my heels as I waited for the men before me to speak.

“Y/N, listen. I know we had a lot of fun together, but I need you to delete my number. I think it’s best we just pretend we don’t know each other, y’know? I told you we would never be serious, and I let this go on a lot longer than I should have,” Jiyong said, his face cold and blank.

“What…? I mean I get that you don’t want to be serious, I didn’t either, really, I just thou—“

“That’s it, though. I shouldn’t have even let there be a chance of a thought in your mind. Before you showed up today, I thought if I just ignored you, you would eventually go away. I didn’t think you would leak my number or anything, so I just left it alone. But I can’t do that anymore,” he vaguely explained, creating more and more questions in my head.

“I don’t really understand, honestly…”

“It means—just give me your phone,” Tae Hee interrupted, ripping the cellphone out of my upturned hand. Jiyong looked at the ground as he took a step away from me to allow Tae Hee to delete his contact information from my phone. I silently nodded my head, waiting to have my phone returned to me as the tears welled up. “Oh, and sign this.”

I hadn’t noticed the documents he handed to me with my phone before we moved outside, causing a look of confusion to take over my features.

“What is this?”

“What does it look like? It’s a contract. It basically says you can’t make any allegations against Jiyong or anyone around him in any way, shape, or form. You can’t tell anyone about the time you spent together, or we will sue you for everything you have. And if you don’t sign it, we can still sue you for defamation, by the way,” Tae Hee spit out.

“I’m well aware of that, Thanks. Let me just read over it really quickly.”

“Why don’t you just sign the damn thing? I just told you what it meant.”

“She never signs anything she doesn’t read first,” Jiyong spoke up, painfully reminding me that this was, in fact, a real situation I was in.

I sighed as I signed both copies, cradling the courtesy copy to my chest as I took a step back from Jiyong and his manager.

“I’m sorry it had to come to this, Y/N. Truly.” Jiyong said, each word digging further into my chest.

“It’s okay,” I waivered, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from crying. “I just want you to be happy, okay? Don’t let being a superstar take you down. You’re good, Jiyong.”

Jiyong nodded, sucking in his cheeks before opening his arms for a friendly hug, but I bowed quickly and rushed back up the stairs before he could take a step closer to me. If the past eight months felt so much like a fantasy, there were no words to describe the hurt and pain I was feeling in that moment.

For the first time since meeting Jiyong, I felt as though I had made the worst decision of my life. I could imagine my parents mocking me from across the ocean with their ‘I told you so’ and ‘you should have listened to your daddy.’ I felt so untrustworthy, like I had no business even running the company I was newly placed in charge of. I felt as though I wasn’t good enough, like I hadn’t spent eight months successfully convincing myself it didn’t matter the status difference between us.

I had tried so hard to put some distance between us in the beginning, and it was only after Jiyong constantly reminded me he liked me that I opened up. It took a lot of reassurance to get so close to him, and now I felt everything was a lie. After all, who would want to be with someone like me?

--

It took an entire weekend of tears to pick myself up and make my way back to my studio. I still wasn’t okay by far, but the therapy that came with designing and keeping my brain occupied was enough incentive to get me out of my apartment.

“You have a big meeting today, by the way.” Mi Na rattled off my schedule for the day. “It’s high profile. YG Entertainment, artist music videos. It’s supposed to turn into a partnership, but this particular meeting is for one artist. I’m not sure which artist, they didn’t tell me, but sales and the former executive team has been working on this partnership for a while. Rumor has it, the news of our lead designer becoming CEO sealed the deal with YG.”

She wiggles her eyebrows at me, making me roll my eyes and chuckle.

“Well, I hope that puts this meeting to a good start. I guess we’ll have to schedule another meeting later this week about the partnership. Get with sales and my project team to set a date for that. Also, do you have the brainstorming and vision page for this meeting? I could do a few sketches while we’re waiting on traffic if you don’t have anything else.”

“That’s about it for today. And yes, here’s what was submitted to us when the meeting was set up last month.”

Mi Na handed me a file folder full of the client’s detailed vision. It was lengthy, but there was more room for creative direction than the three pages of notes suggested.  Abstract. Lots of color or none at all. Psychedelic or something out of the ordinary. Uncomfortably pleasing to any type of person. Something to lure in my audience. Sexy.

It was a long list of demands, but they were vague. It was projects like these that challenged me, and I absolutely loved it. The rest of the ride to the studio was full of sketches and not of Jiyong.

--

The studio was fast paced by the time we arrived. Interns rushed about, cleaning every surface they could find and making sure everything was perfect for our high profiled guests’ arrival. I was excited; this was my first official client meeting as CEO, and if the rumor was true, my work had been gaining the best kind of recognition. I quickly made my way across the lobby area into the open work room where my work in progress pieces had been neatly organized to frame the large conference table brought in from the main office. In hopes to create a more private environment, it was suggested we use my studio, which I found a good idea for such a high-profile partner.

As soon as I had set my sketch book down on the conference table and asked Mi Na to bring me next year’s catalog, the furious environment around me seemed to come to a halt. My employees rushed to the foyer to stand in a single line, and I checked myself over in a large mirror that helped separate the galley room from the lobby. I hoped the red pant suit I had chosen for the day showed more confidence than I truly had in that moment, even if I silently wished I had chosen a white top instead of the black blouse I had under the blazer. Shrugging, I silently followed along, standing just inside the doorway to greet my client.

First, Mr. Yang entered with a small group of assistants and managers all clutching pads of paper and cellphones. Both employees and leaders bowed to each other before I extended my hand to shake Yang’s hand.

“Good morning, Mr. Yang. I hope it was easier for you to find us. My name is Y/F/N. I’m the new CEO here, but I am still acting as lead designer for the time being. I’m looking forward to working with you.”

“Ms. Y/L/N, it is a pleasure to finally meet the person we’ve heard so much buzz about. I’ve seen some of your work. I’m looking forward to working with you as well. I do want to sit down and talk with you about a future partnership sometime this week, if that is at all possible,” the man warmly greeted me back. He was much more personable than I had anticipated.

“Yes, I believe my team has come up with some dates for you, and we can get that squared away at the end of today’s meeting. I understand today we are concerned with a particular artist? I’m sorry, I wasn’t given a name.”

“Ahh, yes, he should be here any minute actu—oh, here he comes,” Yang interrupted himself, turning towards the opening door. “This is Kwon Jiyong, I’m sure you have seen him in BigBang as well as his solo activities as G-Dragon.”

In that moment, I was sure all of the oxygen in the room had been sucked out the door as I locked eyes with the one person I was sure I would never have to be in close proximity of again. I felt as though I had taken a sucker-punch to the stomach, and I couldn’t believe my eyes or ears. Jiyong’s face mirrored my thoughts, as he was surprised to see the person who he thought he had broken all ties with. Quicker than it came, however, it was gone, and he and Tae Hee were greeting their superior. His entourage was a little larger than Yang’s, consisting of his manager and most of the friends he had been with at the café the week before.

I saved some face quickly, and I put on a warm smile to greet my new guests.

“Y/N,” Jiyong spoke first.

“Jiyong, nice to see you.” Hot damn, this was hard.

“Oh, so the two of you have already met?” Yang intercepted.

“We met in America during my tour. I had no idea this was the company you were working for.”

“Oh, yes. I’ve been the lead designer here for a couple of years behind the scenes, and now I am the new CEO. Like I told Mr. Yang, I am looking forward to working with all of you.” I tried to keep my distance from Jiyong. The last thing we needed was for Yang to find out our relationship with closer than professional.

“Sorry we are a little late, by the way. Tae Hee missed the street on accident,” Jiyong spoke, earning a small glare from his manager.

“It’s okay, we can get started now. I hope you don’t mind, we decided to move the meeting here to my studio for some more privacy and to help with creativity. I have a few works in progress around the galley room, if you’d like to take a look at them before we really get into the business stuff. I like to take more of an interactive approach when doing these vision meetings, so I hope you are all okay with a little unconventionality.”

“We’re an entertainment company, Ms. Y/L/N. I hope we can deal with a little unconventionality every now and again,” Mr. Yang pointed out, causing my mood to lighten. If I only had to interact with him, this meeting would be smooth sailing.

As the group moseyed around the room, I wandered to the small kitchen area in the corner of the room underneath my open office to grab a cup of coffee. Mi Na followed me in, excitedly grabbing at my arm.

“You know him, and you didn’t think to tell your favorite assistant?”

“Mi Na,” I started, removing her hand from my arm. “It’s not something I can or want to talk about. This is a professional relationship, and I intend to keep it strictly that.”

I finally made my way to the conference table, where most were settling into their seats.

“I apologize, I forgot my coffee in the kitchen this morning. If any of you would like a cup, there’s plenty in there. I sometimes get into my work here and end up staying here instead of going home, so you might find anything in there,” I laughed. “Anyways, I wanted to start today’s meeting with introducing myself and my methods of designing first, so everyone understands where we’re going. I know you guys submitted a vision sheet with some other brainstorming attached, and I do have a few sketches I did in the car this morning from it, but I would really like to know more about what you have in mind. Would anyone like to elaborate?”

“I think the very basic point is that I would like something different. I’d like to experiment with materials and designs that surprises the audience. Something that’s one thing in one perspective, and another thing from a different perspective,” Jiyong presented. His friends and colleagues also elaborated on his ideas, showing me just how abstract and out of the ordinary he wanted to go.

“So like optical illusions, almost, right? Have you seen the body paintings where people are painted into scenery?”

“Oh, yes, I love those,” Jiyong commented, earning a few sounds of agreement from the rest of the people around the table.

“What if we did something with that. We could take different aspects of your life and portray them in some sort of scenery or graphic and essentially ‘paint’ you as you are today into that. We could take or even create some all white furniture and project the images onto a white backdrop. This way we can show some contrast between the image and you, and you can be a little more interactive with scenes,” I suggested, feeling a little more confident with the pleased look on Yang’s face.

“I think that’s a great idea, Ms. Y/N. It’s a little more on the abstract side like you wanted, isn’t it Jiyong?”

“It’s a good idea, don’t get me wrong,” he started, landing a hit to my confidence. “But I want to see what other options we have.”

“Of course,” I agreed. “This is just one idea. I always think it’s a good idea to create as many designs as we can with a positive spin, then hitting it with the negatives to squash the flaws. Please, let’s keep brainstorming.”

As the meeting continued, I could tell Jiyong was more and more pleased with my opinions and ideas, forcing his smile back into my thoughts. I wanted to show him my talents, and I hoped he would see that I was doing just fine on my own.

After hours of collaborating and bouncing ideas off of each other, it was getting later in the evening and our meeting was coming to an end. As we wrapped up, Yang stood to address the rest of us.

“Ms. Y/N, thank you so much for sharing your time with us today. I am so very pleased with your ability and ideas that I think we have much to discuss on making a deal later this week. I have an important dinner I can’t miss with my wife, but I insist everyone here go for drinks and dinner on me. Jiyong, make sure Ms. Y/N does go and that she doesn’t pay for a thing. Thank you again. Goodnight everyone.”

Everyone stood to send off Mr. Yang, and chatter quickly consumed the room. Before long, Tae Hee approached Mi Na and me to let us know of the small restaurant Jiyong had picked out and how to get there. Seeing there was no way out of it, I unwillingly followed my assistant to our town car.

--

After a couple rounds of drinks, I was feeling a lot better about being out in a large group with Jiyong. Luckily, his friends made it easier to not have direct communication with him, and I was thankful for their interest after today’s meeting. I was soon able to laugh freely and I almost didn’t even notice the glances Jiyong sent my way throughout the evening.

All of that freedom, however, was soon replaced with dread as a I received a text.

From: Unknown number

Meet me outside in five. Use the back door by the restrooms.

I knew exactly who the text was from, but he didn’t so much as glance my way as he stood to inform everyone of his cigarette break. I was surprised his entourage let him escape without a chaperone.

I tried so hard to stay in my seat, but the alcohol and the growing curiosity got the best of me. I excused myself to the ladies room after anxiously waiting five minutes and made my way to the back exit. Once I was five feet from the door, however, I was suddenly pulled into a nearby closet with the door closing and locking behind me.

Like muscle memory, my mouth instantly moved with the familiar one attached to the body that slammed into mine against the closed door. One hand pressed flat against the door next to my head, the other trailed down the side of my body, finding my hands to place around his neck. His kisses were needy and he soon was lightly biting my bottom lip to make room for his tongue. Without giving it any thought, I let him in, moving my hands to his hair to pull him even closer to my body. In fact, I was sure I couldn’t make a single coherent thought as his hands wrapped around my waist to pull my lower bottom closer to his.

“Are you sure you didn’t know it was me coming today?” He asked, moving his kisses down to suck small circles along my jawline. “You know my favorite color is red.”

His voice pulled me out of the moment briefly, letting me realize what our situation really was.

“Wait, wait Jiyong,” I said, pulling him back slightly to look over his face. “What are you doing? You said you didn’t want anything to do with me.”

I started to drop my hands, but Jiyong pulled them up above my head, attaching his mouth to my neck once again.

“Can we forget about that for a few minutes? Please,” his voice muffled against my skin.

I was about to object once again, but the harsh suck to the spot where my neck met my shoulder pulled me back into the moment of pure lust. I let out a low moan as he loosened his grip on my hands, allowing them to fall once again to his hair.

“Shhh, baby, we don’t want anyone to hear.”

He caught my lips in his once again, temporarily distracting me from the hand trailing down my front side to dip beneath my trousers and panties. The moment his finger ran along my slick slit to circle the sensitive nub at the top, I gasped and my hips buckled towards his hand.

A chuckle resonated from Jiyong’s chest as he rested his head on my shoulder again. He lightly peppered the sensitive skin, paying close attention to the two fingers he slowly inserted inside of me. Once fully inside, he only shallowly pistoned his digits, leaving me shamelessly grinding my center against his hand. He pulled his fingers from my dripping core to tease my entrance before slamming them back into me, picking up speed.

His fingers expertly worked me over, and my climax was quickly building. Before I could say anything, Jiyong moved to circle my clit with his thumb, gently coaxing me to my high. I clung to his shoulders as I felt my lower stomach begin to tighten, and he tightly pressed his mouth to mine to swallow my gasps and moans as I twitched and came into the palm of his hand.

He slowly pulled his hands from my pants, locking eyes with me as he wrapped his lips around the two of his fingers he had just used to fingerfuck me into oblivion. I couldn’t help but to let out a small wine at the sight of the beautiful man in front of me sucking my juices off of his own hand.

“Sweet, just like I remember.”

I almost rolled my eyes when I was swiftly moved to the side of the small room to a desktop where my pants were swiftly pulled down and off my legs. Jiyong was quick to place himself between my legs, pressed his jean-clad bulge against me. I hadn’t noticed how hard he was before, and my body wasted no time in reaching out a hand to palm him through his jeans. He let out a low groan, biting his bottom lip as he looked down at my hand between our clothes bodies.

I used my free hand to grab his face and pull his lips to mine, letting the alcohol and the moment take full control over my mind and my body. Jiyong helped me undo his pants to allow me to slip my hand beneath his briefs, but even that didn’t last long. He continued to assault my mouth as he pulled my hand from his pants, quickly pulling his length out and searching his pockets for a condom. He waisted no time in slipping the condom on and pulling my panties to the side, but he pulled away from the kiss to watch my face as he placed his tip against my entrance.

Knowing well he wanted to watch me as I took him whole, I tipped my head back to give him a better view of my face. It was something I had noticed over time, and when I asked him about it, he had admitted to loving the way my face scrunched up and contorted when he fucked me. Especially when I was still sensitive from the last orgasm.

How beautiful I looked.

I gasped as he finally nestled himself fully inside of me, pausing before pulling out completely and slamming right back in. It felt so good, but the pleasure mixed with the unreadable emotion glazing his eyes as he searched my face quickly became too much for me to handle. Without a word, I slung my arms around his body, placing my cheek on his shoulder and my hand in his hair.

A confused tear slipped down my cheek, undoubtedly hitting his shoulder, as my breath hitched with pleasure when Jiyong picked up his pace. The pleasure mixed with the heightened emotions was so intense that my second high was approaching faster than I thought it would.

“Ji, I can’t hold out much longer,” I choked out, pulling at the ends of his hair.

“Please, baby. Please just a little longer,” he whispered, pulling my legs around his waist before wrapping his arms around my body and nestling his face into the crook of my neck.

He slowed down his movements to give me a little room to breathe, barely grinding his hips into mine. I instinctively clinched around him, earning a soft moan. He suddenly seemed to have a change of heart, reaching down to pull my knees up to my chest. The new angle forced me away from my hide out spot and my wet face was on full display as he began to plow into me harder than before.

Jiyong fumbled for a slight moment as he locked eyes with mine, but he quickly recovered as he averted his eyes to where our bodies connected. Soon, my climax was seconds away, and I was internally relieved when I felt his hips stutter. Jiyong quickly circled my clit as I shook with my high, only cumming seconds later himself.

For a minute, we both allowed ourselves to catch our breaths while still clinging onto each other. My legs felt like they would fall off any moment, and I was afraid my face would once again betray me.

As quick as the moment had come, it was gone. Jiyong was able to pull himself away and clean himself up, tucking himself back into his pants and leaving the closet before I could get my pants halfway up my thighs. When the door closed behind him, it took everything in me to hold in the tears and control my breathing. I was disappointed, both in him and in myself for allowing it to happen.

What did I expect? He had told me he didn’t want anything with me. Of course this was just a quick fuck, and we would never speak of it again. Maybe it was a final hurrah fuck, and I needed to control my emotions, too.

After this, I would not let myself succumb to that type of weakness again.

After this, I knew I had to put my walls up for good.

FINALLY have this edited! I’m so glad I got this done. It looks SO much better. I’m hoping to work on the next chapter tonight as well as some of my other neglected stories/requests. Sorry it has taken so long!

Thanks for reading!