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the-insomniac-emporium · 3 years

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Serenade (Daniela Dimitrescu/Reader) Pt. 9

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T for language + mentions of sensitive topics Warnings: Referenced past abuse. Does not go into detail. Notes: Longest Serenade chapter yet at 4k+ words! Bit of angst, majority is fluffy fluffer fluff though. Next chapter is maximum h*rny, with two versions depending on reader, uh, equipment. EDIT: Forgot to put title, like dumbass. Past Chapters: Pt. 1: Nocturne, Pt. 2: Overture, Pt. 3: Accelerando, Pt. 4: Toccata, Pt. 5: Poco a Poco, Pt. 6: Elegy, Pt. 7: Harmony, Pt. 8: Obbligato

Chapter 9: Berceuse

(Berceuse: A lullaby. Generally slow and undulating.)

One moment you’re playing the piano, lovingly demonstrating a song you’d like Daniela to learn, the next you’re blue screening as she places a teasing kiss to your neck. It takes all of your willpower to keep playing, improvising a way to end the song right then and there. Then you’re turning to Daniela, eyes wide, blushing hard. She’s giggling. When she regains her composure, you give her a confused expression.

“I’m pretty sure this is the first time you’ve made real eye contact with me all morning. What gives?” She asked, frowning slightly. Awkwardly rubbing the back of your neck, you avoid her gaze, doing little else than proving her point. This frustrates her, and she lets out an aggravated sigh. I should probably tell her what happened, you think, dreading the idea. Still, the two of you had been making an effort to communicate better. What kind of partner would you be if you didn’t tell her about her mother’s intervention?

“Okay, okay… I wasn’t sure how to bring this up, but if I’m being this obvious about it anyway…” You started, trailing off anxiously. In response, Daniela places one of her hands over yours, giving you a reassuring squeeze. Though your face somehow gets even redder, the action gives you the courage required to continue. “I had another progress update meeting with your mother yesterday. I was worried, since this was the first one where you weren’t present, but I didn’t- I mean, er… Fuck it, she knows you’re interested in me. Doesn’t think we’re already together, thank God, but she told me, and I quote, that my response should be ‘swift and uninterested’. What are-” before you can finish you’re cut off by a loud groan, followed by your girlfriend cradling her head in her hands. Yeah, you think, this is about what I expected.

“Of course she did! I can’t have anything nice,” Daniela snapped, having gone from ten to sixty real quick. You’re just glad that she wasn’t taking it out on the piano. “How would she even know about us? I only stare at you when she’s not looking!” Oh? Since when did she stare at you? Certainly if Lady Dimitrescu had noticed, you would have as well?... Then again, the few times where all three of you were in the same room usually involved you working while they chatted or ate together. Still, the idea of Daniela making heart eyes at you from across the room was enough to make you blush again. “Look, she’s probably making some assumptions. There’s no way she knows as much as she thinks she does, at least not about us. So let’s just be careful- ugh, I sound like Bela- and otherwise keep doing what we do. Alright, songbird?”

“If you’re sure, then so am I. Let’s try to focus on our lesson for now, though,” you replied, doing your best to sound confident. Hoping to add in a little reassurance, you give Daniela a quick peck on the cheek. Unsurprisingly she ‘dodges’, instead kissing you on the lips, but you hardly mind at all. When she pulls back she’s got a huge grin on her face.

“Lesson now, fun later, got it. Speaking of later… You and me, inside the library, right after lunch. I’ll tell mother we’re going over theory and key recognition, but really-” she leans in close, mouth barely an inch from your ear “it’s a date. Don’t worry about getting caught, I’ve already made sure that neither Bela nor Cassandra will interrupt.” Your heart skipped a few beats at her suggestion, and you had to admit… you were beyond excited for this. When was the last time you had gone on an actual date? Years ago, just a month before you left your hometown and moved to the village. That had been a date you’d spend the rest of your life regretting… then again, it was what made you leave in the first place. And if you hadn’t left, you’d have never met Daniela.

Maybe it hadn’t been that bad after all.

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Four minutes past one in the morning, you shuffled nervously towards the library, with note cards in hand. Even if you weren’t really going to help Daniela study, you wanted to be prepared in case you bumped into anyone along the way. After all, this was the night shift, when most of the servants were up and about, accomplishing any tasks deemed ‘too noisy’ to be done while the manor occupants slept. Thankfully, the fact that lunch had just finished meant a fair amount of workers would be busy cleaning up the dining hall. In the end, you only passed one other servant, but it was the only one you hadn’t felt confident about running into: Daphne.

Despite your long-standing friendship (having known each other in the village, and being brought to the castle within the same week), you had yet to tell her about your relationship with Daniela. Which by itself wouldn’t have been too bad, if not for the fact that she could tell you were hiding something from her. This had, understandably, put a damper on your friendship. From her perspective, there was nothing you shouldn’t be able to tell her. Even you weren’t sure if you should be more honest, all things considered. There was no way she’d ever tell someone else about your situation. But if one day you got in trouble for lying to Lady Dimitrescu… and somehow someone figured out that Daphne knew too, well, she’d be just as fucked as you, if not more so. After all, there was a chance that Daniela’s affection for you would lead to a lighter punishment. Not that being exiled into the forest was much better than being flat out killed.

So when you saw Daphne heading towards you, you tried to get by with a simple smile and a brief wave.

“Aren’t you even going to say hi?” Daphne asked, tone stiff but filled with disappointment. It catches you off guard, to the point where you drop your note cards. Immediately you’re squatting down, gathering them up, taking the excuse not to look at your friend. She doesn’t move to assist, instead pausing in the hallway to watch you. “We were supposed to stick together, you know? But it’s like becoming Lady Daniela’s little plaything made you think you’re better than the rest of us. Better than me.” That last part was barely more than a whisper, and you freeze in place, hand still hovering over one of the cards. “I shouldn’t have said anything, it doesn’t matter. Just try not to get yourself killed, alright? I don’t want to be the one to clean up your corpse.”

“Daphne, wait, please!” You said, finally moving to your feet, blocking your friend’s path. When she looks at you, you can just barely make out tears in the corners of her soft blue eyes. “I’m sorry, really. I… I can’t tell you what’s going on because I can’t risk getting you in trouble. You’re my best friend, Daph, and I don’t want anything happening to you just because I was doing something reckless.”

“Do you really think I don’t know what’s going on between the two of you?” Daphne questioned, with a bitter laugh. She’s shaking her head in disbelief, even as you stare at her, shell shocked. “Maybe the others haven’t caught on yet, but I’ve seen the way she looks at you, and I’m not oblivious to the way you talk about her. I figured you’d tell me eventually… It’s been weeks, though. More than that, I mean seriously, don’t you think I’d go down for you in a heartbeat? There was a time where I was sure the two of us would do anything for each other, ride or die when the dying part was a guaranteed end to all of this. Something tells me that’s not the case anymore.” Now she refuses to meet your gaze, instead staring down at what few note cards still lay on the floor.

“That’s still the case, I promise. It’s hard enough to look past what our employers do to strangers. If they hurt you? I’d never dream of forgetting, let alone forgiving them,” you explained. It’s enough to make her look back up, but she’s far from smiling.

“If that’s the case, maybe I’m looking at the wrong signals. But I’ve got to go, and I assume you do too. Take care,” she said, before slipping past you as quickly as she can. Then you’re left to gather the last of your note cards, mind whirling. Cruel as the thought may be, you hoped that this wouldn’t ruin the mood for your date. The best your mind could do to cope was focus on one thing at a time…

————————————

“Are you sure this is safe? I can’t even remember how many times I’ve been told to keep this door shut, under the threat of, you know, losing my life,” you called out, hanging out in the doorway. Beyond you by a few meters was Daniela, who twirled about with laughter, reaching out to catch a few falling leaves. This was the entrance to the garden, as far as you could tell. Not to be confused with the vineyard, which was larger, as well as on a completely different side of the estate. You had never been to either, seeing as only a select few servants were allowed to leave the manor. If Daniela hadn’t made it seem like you’d be staying in the library, well, you probably would have protested a little, regardless of how badly you wanted to go on a real date. Even when you had met up with her, she hadn’t told you any details, just laughing and asking you to follow her.

“Don’t be a baby! We’re still a few weeks away from autumn, and besides, you’re here with me! What could possibly go wrong?” Daniela asked, sending you a cheeky grin before dashing off into the garden proper. For a moment you’re left on the threshold, a picnic basket in your arms, wondering what the season had to do with your safety. Then you sigh, figuring that it couldn’t be that bad. Hadn’t your girlfriend mentioned this to Bela, anyway? Certainly the responsible older sister would have stepped in if something genuinely dangerous had been suggested? Well, you hoped as much, at least. With that in mind you close the door behind you, then dashed towards where Daniela had gone. Even as you round the corner, you don’t see her, and suddenly you’re nervous as hell. Before you can call out to her, the sound of rustling leaves catches your attention. Suddenly something jumps out at you! “Rah! Gotcha, babe!”

Ah, of course it was your girlfriend, clearly pulling a leaf from Cassandra’s book. You playfully smack her arm in response, trying to ignore the way your heart pounded. Humorous intentions aside, she had legitimately scared you, and you had nearly dropped your basket in response. Before you can say as much, Daniela’s hooking her arm in yours so she can pull you further into the gardens.

“You’re lucky you’re so fucking cute, firefly,” you muttered, a tad grumpy now. Most of your irritation was false, however, intended to tease your girlfriend. For a moment she doesn’t seem to realize that, and she stops in place. Once her eyes meet yours she understands what’s going on. Then she’s grinning, sticking her tongue out at you, and continuing down the path. Soon enough you’re approaching a paved brick circle. All around it, minus where it meets the walkway, are various flowers in bloom. Past the flowers are bushes, and past those are trees, whose branches provide a canopy for the circle. “Wow… and I thought you were pretty,” you teased, admiring the view.

As soon as the words leave your mouth, Daniela lets out an offended scoff, before taking the basket from you. Wordlessly she opens it up to grab the blankets within, spreading them without sparing you a glance. Now it’s your turn to wonder whether or not her anger is just a joke. Hoping so, you help her smooth out the blankets, making sure the two of you have ample space to spread out. At one point both of you reach for the basket at the same time, and she just grabs your hand instead, squeezing it. Next thing you know she’s pulling you down onto the blankets, rolling on top of you.

“Come here often?” She asked. Then, unsurprisingly, the two of you kiss. Both of your arms wrap around her waist, holding her as close as you can. One of her hands cups your cheek, the other resting on the ground to support herself, for ‘optimal makeout angles’. It’s a minute of bliss before she has to pull back for air. Instead of pulling away entirely, she shifts down a notch, resting her head against your chest. “Mmm… so comfortable. I could just… fall… asleep…” Daniela murmured, pretending to be sleepy. You can’t help but laugh, chest obviously shaking in as you do. “No! Pillows aren’t supposed to vibrate.”

“Are you sure about that?” You asked, only laughing harder.

“They don’t talk, either,” Daniela replied, huffing as she does. When you keep laughing, she rises to a sitting position, much to your disappointment. “So you have chosen death? So be it. I’ll just eat these candies myself, then.” With that said, she digs into the picnic basket, retrieving a bag of chocolates. Pouting, you reach out to try and yoink one away from her. Rather deftly, she pulls them away, sticking her tongue out at you before tossing a couple in her mouth. Determined, you surge forward, trying to catch her off guard, only to (somehow) end up face down in her lap. “Exactly like I planned, songbird. Now get comfy, alright?”

One of her hands trails fingers through your hair as you semi-awkwardly roll over. Now you’re facing up, watching your girlfriend practically inhale a few pieces of chocolate. But now she seems more inclined to share. She plucks one more from the bag, offering it to you by holding it in front of your mouth. Gladly you open up, and she drops the chocolate, before giving you a small ‘boop�� on the nose. Both of you laugh, then, a sound that sparks warmth in your chest. This was… nice. Relaxing. Not only were the two of you allowed to be as open with your affection as you wanted, it was the first time in ages that you had actually been outside, able to enjoy the sunlight.

Several minutes pass by like this, with Daniela feeding you (and herself) candies, both of you taking time to appreciate the scenery. Eventually the bag of chocolates becomes close to empty, and you see your girlfriend have an ‘oh crap’ moment.

“I was going to save some of these for you to smuggle into your quarters, damn it… guess you’ll just have to refuse to share, babe,” she said, shrugging a little. Then she sets the bag aside, now devoting both of her hands to playing with your hair. “Guess I’ll just have to find something else to keep my tongue occupied. Know any volunteers?”

“Hmm… I would, but it’s reeeaaaaaallllllly comfortable down here,” you teased in reply. Suddenly her hands are taken out of your hair, and you can just barely see that they’re positioned on her hips. She’s pouting at you, very similar to how you’ve seen her mother do, yellow eyes betraying her mischief. What exactly did she have planned?

“Really, songbird? I take you out, give you a wonderful place to rest, hand feed you chocolates… and you won’t even kiss me? When was the last time you even got to do something like this?” She asked, perking an eyebrow. The question is innocent enough. The answer, however, is not. Even with your head in her lap, you cannot fight off the brief sense of panic as your mind flashes into the past. It takes a deep breath, a few blinks, and a reassuring touch from Daniela for you to calm back down. “Songbird?... Hey, hey, it’s okay, I didn’t- I don’t know what happened. But we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, we can just…” She trails off, sounding unsure of herself, and you feel a pang of guilt. Was it finally time to come clean?... Yeah, yeah it was.

“It’s fine, I promise. I just… I need to sit up for this,” you explained, begrudgingly rising out of her lap. But she doesn’t let you pull away entirely, a hand guiding you to sit right up against her. Then she gently wraps an arm around you. Leaning into her touch, you rest your head on her shoulder, closing your eyes for a few seconds. “It’s kind of a long story, firefly… But this has happened often enough that I need to tell you. At least part of it. So, well… When I was younger, I, uh, I read a lot of romance novels, watched a lot of movies. Not even the good ones, really. And I didn’t- I couldn’t think through them. Couldn’t analyze it the way I needed to. So I didn’t get a good grasp of what a healthy relationship looked like. My, uh, my folks weren’t keen on demonstrating one for me, either…

“Before I came to the village, I was, well, uh, the thing is you might not like this part? And you’re not gonna like the next part, either. Just… listen to the end, please,” you pleaded, waiting for an acknowledgment before continuing. “I was engaged, as in to be married, to a woman I had known for most of my life. We were neighbors, and had gone to school together, and everyone thought we were the cutest couple. Hell, for the longest time I thought that. We weren’t, though. She was-” Daniela tenses a bit, though remains silent- “manipulative, sometimes aggressive. Anytime there was an argument, she made herself into the victim, told me that I was crazy. She wanted to make all the decisions about our relationship for me, and I just… I didn’t question it. Not even after she proposed, when my only reason for saying yes was because we were in public, with friends, and she clearly assumed that I’d agree. I tried to tell her that I wasn’t ready, that maybe we were going too fast, but she tuned me out.

“I didn’t even think about running until our final date. That was the first, and the only, time that she ever… that she ever-” a few tears spill from the corners of your eyes- “got physical with me. She’d broken things before, for sure, but I never thought she’d hurt me.” Daniela rubs your back gently, her breathing a little shaky. Evidently she hated hearing about this as much as you hated talking about it. Somehow that made it a little easier to talk through. “The next day she had to work early, so I just packed up my things, went over to my parents’ house and told them what happened. For once they actually agreed, if you can believe it. Told me to get the hell out of town, said that they’d deal with my fiance, and our relatives, so that I didn’t have to worry about anything when I came back. It was less than a full day before I drove away from everything I had ever known, promising my folks that someday I’d be back. Didn’t settle down until half the continent was behind me, not ‘til I was here at the village.”

There were a couple moments of silence as Daniela waited to make sure you had finished talking. Then she’s kissing the top of your head, shaking a little more noticeably now, murmuring reassurances that you can’t quite understand. Again you lean into her touch, indescribably thankful for her comforting presence. Fuck, you think, I probably ruined the date… so much for spending quality time with my lil firefly. When the silence breaks, it does so softly, slowly, a careful opening rather than a forceful push.

“Why would you give me a second chance? After what I did to you?” Daniela asked, voice barely audible, her head still resting atop yours. It’s not the response you expected. Not in the slightest. You pull away slightly, to look her in her eyes, heart aching at the tear stains on her cheeks. Even though you want to give her an answer that will bring her peace, your mind draws little more than a blank. Why had you given her a chance? You had wanted to be with her, without doubt, even before Cassandra and Bela intervened. Even after every time that she reminded you of your past…

“I-I don’t know. Maybe I haven’t learned anything from what’s happened,” you started, uncertainty clear in your tone. “Or maybe it’s because you looked… regretful. You didn’t enjoy what you did, and I saw it in your eyes. And… and then you did something about it. If you hadn’t shown remorse, or if I genuinely believed that you might do something like that again, we wouldn’t be here right now. I mean, in that case your sisters probably would have killed me for turning you down, but that’s not entirely relevant right now, is it?” You’re rambling a little, stuttering over your own words. Still, somehow it makes Daniela laugh, and relief floods your chest. Soon enough you’re curled up against her once more.

“Hey,” she said, after a minute of comfortable silence. “Thank you for showing me what romance is supposed to be.” Then she’s leaning in for a kiss, and you’re responding eagerly, unable to stop yourself from smiling. This time it’s your hand that runs through her hair as you pull her in as close as you can. To your surprise, she does pull away a tad earlier than usual. But there’s a grin on her lips, and she looks satisfied as hell. “Definitely more of that, soon. There’s just one more thing we have to do, to make this date perfect, you know? I may or may not have, kind of, written you something? You’re not allowed to laugh, though!”

“When have I ever laughed at you?” You asked, teasing, literally laughing as you speak. In response, Daniela scowls, making a point to look away in feign protest. “Joking, joking… I’ve just, you know, never had someone write me something before. Kinda don’t know how to react, really. Other than blushing real hard-” which you were doing- “and trying to play off my excitement with humor. But I promise I won’t laugh, even if you start with something like ‘roses are red, violets are blue’ or end with something like ‘just us in bed, doing the do’. Please tell me that’s not what you wrote, though?”

“Now that you mention it, maybe that should be what I recite. Sounds exactly like the sort of thing that would get me laid,” Daniela joked, rolling her eyes at you. Then she’s tugging a loose piece of paper out of the picnic basket, unfolding it to reveal a well-worn surface and hand-written text. She hesitates for a moment, glancing up at you, before taking a deep breath. When she speaks it’s clear just how nervous she is. But with every line she gains a measure of confidence, by the end acting her usual confident self.

Step from the shadows, weary corners of my mind Encased in old thoughts, brought into new life Like ashes rising from tombs housing the divine

Spinning webs as I descend, from the cradle of heaven From the dead I have risen, blessed be the gift I’m given Only from your haunting call do I embrace living

Catching the corners of my lips turning up All my years I’ve felt, but never this much Quietly writhing, begging for your softest touch

The pursuit of unintentional romance left abandoned Whispering love-locked tales to be consumed Sweeter than every facade I have ever imagined

Come closer now, into my arms, heart embraced Trailing fingers over scars, sewing lines traced Tell me love, “we shall last until the end of days”

At first, all you can do in response is stare at her, expression filled with affection. Inside your chest your heart was racing, and you couldn’t remember the last time you felt this warm. Reaching out, you take one of Daniela’s hands in your own, grinning as soon as her gaze meets yours. Both of you are blushing rather hard. Then she sets the poem down, eyes never leaving yours for even a second. You try to stutter out a few words, but find your tongue tied, and so you settle for placing your forehead against hers. The two of you stay like that for a few loving moments. When you part, it is only to come back together, this time in a tight hug.

“One helluva date, yeah?” Daniela asked, looking incredibly proud of herself. You can’t help but nod enthusiastically in response, honestly happier than you had felt in years. “Well, I will have to let you get back to work soon, unfortunately… but we have a few minutes, at least. Besides, having to part will only make tonight all the more sweeter.” At that you pause, confused, tilting your head to the side. Realizing that she must have gotten ahead of herself, Daniela blushes before elaborating. “You, me, my room. Tonight, right after your shift ends.”

You could hardly wait.

#daniela dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu x reader #resident evil: village #re8 village #please tell me if the poem is any good #seriously pleaaaaaaseeeee #or just tell me what your favorite line from the whole chap is #that's always what I want to know #feedback wise

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ssahotchhner · 3 years

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i’ll crawl home to her (LRPD part two)

PART ONE

hello again! thank u all again for paying attention to my first work! this has been a lot of fun for me to write the last few days. please feel free to send me any requests. if anyone was curious, the title of the first part was the title of a song by hozier, the title of this part is taken from another hozier song: work song (: i hope you guys like it and thank you again for reading!! pairing: hotch x reader

words: 7k

warnings: again, usual cm stuff, rape mention, kidnapping, knives, guns, bombs, cursing, some smut

chat with me!

You’ve been laying on your hotel bed, staring at the ceiling for hours. You thought you’d be sad, upset with yourself, but instead you’re angry. After you’d been stewing in it for a while, you stand and leave your room, ignoring the digital clock at your bedside that tries to remind you it’s nearly 2AM.

You storm all the way down the hallway until you’re outside Aaron’s door, knocking aggressively with no reprieve until the door opens. You ignore the feeling in your stomach at seeing him shirtless with pajama bottoms hanging low at his hips, his hair mussed from sleep. You feel a pang of guilt at waking him. You storm past him before he can invite you inside.

“Take back the suspension, now.” You demand, spinning to face him.

He slowly closes the door, “Agent, it’s 2AM. Have you slept?” He looks you over, answering his own question, “You haven’t slept in over 48 hours, we can talk about this in the morning.”

“Why are you punishing me for something I didn’t do?” Angry tears entered your eyes.

Hotch looks exhausted as he pulls a shirt over his head and sits on the edge of the bed, “I’m not punishing you--”

“Well it sure feels that way. What, you couldn’t stand to be around me, working with me anymore because of the other night so this is how you get rid of me?” The tears overflow, pouring down your cheeks, “Is that it then?”

He shakes his head sadly, “You know that’s not true.”

“Then what?!”

He takes a breath, “I can’t have you working in the field right now knowing you lied during your psych eval and you know that. You put yourself and the team at risk when you’re out in the field, keeping things from all of us.” You start to protest, but he holds up a hand to stop you, “When we get back, you can go through another evaluation without lying. And then, if you pass, you can have your gun and badge back, no questions asked.” You’re quiet and he has to ask, “Why did you lie?” He can’t hide the hurt in his voice, “You could’ve told me.”

Your face crumples, “I lied because I didn’t want you to look at me like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like a victim. Like damaged goods. Broken.”

He finally stands to come over to you, “I’ve never thought that, not for a single moment. I think you’re incredibly brave, stronger than you know.” He takes your face in his hands and gently tilts it up until you’re looking at him and brushes away your tears with the pads of his thumbs, “This doesn’t change any of that.”

You push him away and his arms fall to his sides again, “Then why do you keep treating me like an inconvenience?”

He decides now he should finally be honest with you, “Because the way I feel about you scares me, it’s inappropriate and I don’t know how to handle it. Haley’s the only woman I’ve ever been with, I don’t know how… I didn’t know if you even wanted me.”

You manage the smallest of smiles, “Thought you were supposed to be a profiler.”

He smirks and looks down, relieved that you’re finally, finally not upset with him, “I’m not good at profiling when it comes to you.”

“Well?” You ask and he looks back up at you again.

“Well, what?”

“Aren’t you going to ask me?”

“Ask you what?”

You smile, “If I want you.”

He smirks again, his brown eyes looking you up and down as he walks to you until he has you backed against a wall, “Do you want me?” He whispers in your ear, his breath against your skin sends chills down your spine.

You can only nod as he pulls back to look at your face and then his mouth is on yours. Soft and gentle at first, but then as his hands explore your body, his lips become needier, more insistent. You moan softly when he begins kissing and biting your neck, hands traveling lower until he’s rubbing you over your pants, “Is this okay?” He sounds so calm and in control, unlike the breathy mess he’s made you.

“Yes,” You say and bring his face back to yours.

He pulls away to look in your eyes, “I can stop, if you want.”

“No.” You say quickly, “Don’t stop.”

So he carries you to the bed, carefully removing your clothing as he kisses you all over. Soon, you’re both naked and he lays on his side, pulling away a bit as his eyes roam over you. “What’s the matter?” You say.

He shakes his head and runs his fingers along your shoulders, “Nothing, you’re perfect. I just want to look at you.”

You smile and run your hands down his chest, then back up to his shoulders, pulling yourself closer to him. “We can go slow,” You murmur and then slide a hand between his legs as he nearly gasps, “If you want.” You pump him once, twice, and he’s practically growling at you, quickly flipping the two of you so he’s kneeling between your legs.

He slowly pushes himself inside you, burying his face in your neck. You feel his smile against your skin when you moan with pleasure at being filled up. He thrusts slow and gentle, his eyes locking on yours, half to make sure you’re still okay and half for his own pleasure. It’s bliss watching how your mouth parts open that little bit, your eyes practically rolling to the back of your head. Everything you do drives him absolutely crazy. Watching you and hearing the sound of your moans that he had imagined so often when he was alone is what sent him over the edge, and just like that you think it’s over. But just moments after finishing, he slides out of you and whispers, “Your turn” before his face disappears between your legs.

All you can really think as his mouth makes quick work of you, digging his fingers into your thighs and sneaking glances at you, is how you’re ever going to be able to work with him again without thinking of this. It’s that sight, the sight of your boss, normally so dominant, submissive to you now as he lays between your thighs, has that knot in your stomach unraveling as your back arches.

Once you’ve ridden out your high, he climbs back up next to you. You both lie on your backs, out of breath next to each other. When you both catch your breath, Aaron immediately pulls you to him until most of your body rests on his chest. He presses a kiss to your forehead, “I can’t tell you how long I’ve thought about doing that.” He says.

You smile, “Me too.”

“Really?” You can tell from his tone you’ve fueled his already inflated ego.

“Yeah, Aaron, everytime you roll up your sleeves, or shoot a gun, or wear a bulletproof vest,” You let out a low whistle and he laughs. You smile again, “I’ve missed making you do that.”

You’re both quiet for a while and you would think he was sleeping if not for the way his fingers kept stroking your arm, “Aaron?” You say after a while.

“Hm?”

You hesitate, knowing that once you say this you can never go back. But, you spit it out, “I love you.”

His hand stills on your arm and the silence feels so loud, you can hear your own heartbeat, “You should get some sleep.”

You’re glad for the darkness so he can’t see the pain on your face, or notice the way your heart shatters. You have no right to be upset, you know this, and yet… You turn away from him and you feel the bed shift as he does the same. And once his breathing evens out, you dress and sneak out to head back to your hotel room. You think he’s asleep, but he’s not. He’s too busy beating himself up for not saying it back to you when he knows he feels it.

Quickly, you pack your suitcase all while brushing tears from your eyes. You book your own flight home, not able to bear the jet ride home. Not only had you been suspended, but you’d been so vulnerable with your boss and he had rejected you.

You send a quick text to JJ to let the team know you won’t be on the jet and ignore all the texts that follow asking you what’s going on. Aaron doesn’t bother contacting you. Why would he? He knows why you’re not here.

He’s quiet and resentful the entire plane ride back and everyone knows better than to ask him what was wrong.

***

When you get back to your apartment you immediately head for your bar cart, pouring a heavy amount of tequila over ice and chugging it back. You knew halfway through you would regret it, but you finished anyway. Then, you carefully locked your door and headed to the shower.

***

“Maybe we should go check on her.” Penelope was telling JJ and Emily two days later at the bullpen. “She’s still not answering her phone.”

Aaron feels incredible guilt overhearing this conversation. He had eventually tried to call you as well to no avail. He was starting to get worried, but he wasn’t sure if he should be the one to go. It would be better if the rest of them went.

“What happened with the two of you that night?” Rossi comes to stand next to Aaron.

“Nothing,” He lies, “She’s still upset about the suspension I suppose.”

“I know she went to talk to you that night, Hotch.” He adds at Aaron’s look, “She’s not the only one on this team with insomnia. She didn’t leave again for hours and then she bought her own plane ticket. What did you say to her?”

He sighs, “It’s not so much what I said, but what I didn’t say.”

***

There’s a knocking at your door, you think. It’s hard to hear it over the record player that’s blasting the saddest songs you know of. But, sure enough, definitely knocking. You have half a mind to bury yourself under your weighted blanket and go back to sleep. You’re sure it’s Penelope’s voice you hear outside though, and how could you ignore her?

Reluctantly, you drag yourself out of bed and to the door. Swinging it open, you see Penelope, JJ, and Emily, standing at your door with takeout and several bottles of wine. There’s also a vase of red roses which causes you to frown, “Roses?”

“Oh, not from us,” Emily says quickly, “They were just sitting out here when we got here. Can we come in?”

You wish you could say no to them, but you know it’s your own fault that they’re here. After all, you hadn’t answered anyone’s calls or texts for two days. You step aside and they file in. You pick up the vase of flowers and bring them inside. They’re wilting a bit, meaning they had probably been waiting outside for you for at least a day. You set them on a table, knowing your colleagues are watching you closely and pluck a card from the flowers.

I’m sorry. -A

Wordlessly, you toss the card on the table, pick up all the roses and plop them in the trash. Nobody says anything and you pretend to ignore Penelope as she puts new water in the vase and then carefully takes the roses out of the trash and back in the vase. “Hotch?” JJ asks as you climb back in bed. Emily turns off the music.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” You say quietly.

“That’s okay,” JJ says, sitting on the edge of your bed, “Can we talk about why you’re not at work, then?”

“I’m suspended, you guys know that.”

“Hotch said if you did another psych eval you could come back.” Emily says.

Penelope has scooched herself next to your head and tries to run her fingers through your hair, “Oh, honey, when was the last time you brushed your hair?”

You swat her hand away, “I won’t pass another psych eval.”

Penelope gets off the bed to find a hair brush. “If you tell us what really happened… with Bobby Tiller…” You flinch when JJ says his name, “We can help you through it.”

Penelope’s back and starts gently working her way through your tangles. You sigh, “Penelope can’t handle hearing about that kind of stuff.”

“If it’ll help you, yes I can.” She says quickly.

You frown, “Garcia--”

“I know what you guys deal with everyday. What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t let you guys unload on me about it every now and then?”

You squeeze her hand, she was so good. “I’ll need some wine first, then.”

***

“A sexual sadist, where would he keep them?” You murmur to yourself, “He’s stayed in his comfort zone this whole time,” You make a circle on the map around the places where the victims were taken and then dumped, all within a five mile radius, “He needs somewhere no one would hear their screams…” You take out your phone and dial Penelope, “Garcia, can you triangulate the location of the last three body dumps and tell me if there’s any sort of abandoned building in the middle, maybe a church? A warehouse?”

“Can I?” The sound of her rapid typing fills your ears, “Y/N, you wound me so.”

You smile, waiting for her answer. “Bingo, you genius girl. There’s an abandoned factory right in the middle, sending you the address now.”

You’re already grabbing your coat, “Don’t tell anyone, Penelope, but you’re my favorite person on this team.”

She laughs, “Should I call you some backup?”

“No time,” You’re running to the SUV outside the police precinct now, “I’m the closest, everyone else is spread out. If I wait for them, the other girls will die.”

“Y/N, you can’t go there by yourself, I’ve seen those bodies, those victims--”

“Garcia, I’m fine, I can handle myself, just tell the team where I’m going.” You hang up before she can argue further, plugging in the address she gave you to the GPS in the car.

***

Aaron’s phone rings on his way back to the police department with Derek in the passenger seat, “Garcia, what’ve you got?”

“Sir, I’ve just sent an address to everyone, you have to go there now.” The panic in her voice has Hotch immediately making a U turn without question.

“What’s going on?” He demands as he drives, turning on his sirens.

“Y/N figured out where he’s keeping the girls, she left without backup,” Both Derek and Aaron visibly tensed at this news, “I told her I’d call backup and not to go without it, but she insisted there wasn’t time.” Garcia was nearly on the verge of tears.

“You did what you were supposed to do, baby girl, we’ll go get her.” Morgan reassures before Hotch hangs up and immediately calls you.

“Y/L/N.” You pick up on the third ring. You had considered letting it go to voicemail, knowing Hotch was going to order you not to do what you were about to do and knowing you were going to disobey him.

“I’m ordering you to wait for backup before you go in there.”

You sigh, “You know if I do that, they’ll die.”

“They might still die and you’ll just be another body to add to the pile.”

“Or I might get there in time.”

“This is not a request, it’s an order, agent. We’re on our way.”

“Would you wait?”

“Excuse me?”

“If it was you sitting outside where there might be two girls still alive inside, would you wait?”

He’s quiet for a moment, “I don’t fit his victimology the way you do.”

“I don’t recall ‘armed FBI agent’ being included in the victimology.”

“Don’t do this.” His voice is a desperate whisper and it’s almost enough to get you to stop.

“Just drive faster.” You say and take the phone away from your ear, hearing your boss yell your name until you hang up.

But you didn’t make it to the girls. He was waiting for you, you didn’t even have a chance. He came up behind you only moments after you hung up with Hotch and hit you hard enough on the head to knock you unconscious.

He had your hands tied and packed you away in his pickup truck, driving away long before Hotch and Morgan arrive on the scene.

“Hotch!” Morgan yells, as Aaron’s running back from the building. You weren’t inside. Morgan shakes his head when Hotch meets his eyes, “He’s got her.” He says resolutely, pointing to your badge, gun, and cellphone that lay in the dirt by the tire of your SUV. “She didn’t even make it inside.”

Aaron’s head is spinning, only moments away from losing control. He has you. “Hotch, keep it together, we’ll find her, okay?” Morgan says quietly.

“Don’t tell me what to do, Morgan!” He shouts, “A sexual sadist has her right now--”

“And you’re wasting time letting your emotions get the best of you, man! Come on now, look-- LOOK!” Derek directs his attention to the dirt road, “He couldn’t have gotten far with her, look at the tire tracks. Let’s go, we’ll call the team on the way.”

They drove only two minutes before they couldn’t decipher the tire tracks anymore, Hotch bangs on the steering wheel, cursing before dialing Spencer, “Reid, where else would he go? He knew we were coming, where would he bring her?”

“I-- I don’t know, somewhere he’s familiar with, he could have had a backup location, it has to be nearby. If he knows we’re coming he knows he won’t have a lot of time with her, he’d want it to be close so he could--”

“That’s enough boy wonder, call us when you have an address.” Morgan says, taking the phone from Hotch and hanging it up. “She made the choice to go, she knew what she was doing. She’s smart, she’s resourceful, she’s gonna make it.”

Hotch ignores him, only drives further. His knuckles turn white with how he’s clenching the wheel, just barely keeping his anger in check. If he has to find your body, he doesn’t know what he’ll do.

***

When you wake, you’re only aware that you’re being carried. You do a quick assessment while pretending to be unconscious and find your hands tied. The weight of your gun is missing from your hip. You’re still outside, you can tell from the wind and the sun, but you won’t be for long. Your guess is this will be your last shot to escape.

You count to ten and then you roll from his arms. You’ve surprised him and you’re able to kick up at him once you’ve fallen, hitting him in the groin. With your hands tied, you struggle to get to your feet, but you do and you run like hell, looking for a road.

Your head still hurts from where he hit you and you’re dizzier than you would like, so eventually he catches up to you again. You can no longer deny your human instincts and you scream, hysterical as he tackles you. “Aaron!” You yell, “I’m here! Help!”

To your horror, the unsub only laughs, “Will you shut the hell up?”

And then he chokes you, not to kill, but to get you unconscious. It works. And then he drags you to the bunker.

***

“If this call isn’t to tell me where she is, I don’t want to hear it.”

“Hotch, we talked to the unsub’s parents, they talked about an abandoned bunker just a mile south of where he was holding the girls. He used to go there when he was a teenager, probably to do drugs or kill animals.”

Hotch is already swinging the car around, “Give me an address.”

***

When you wake again, first everything’s only white. Then, you see his face.

“I can smell the fear on you.” He smiles.

You manage to keep your face neutral. What would Emily do? Hotch? Spencer? “I’m not afraid of you.” You manage, and to your own surprise, your voice doesn’t shake.

“You know what I am,” He traces a knife along your face, “What I’ve done to those women. You more than anyone… You should be terrified of me.”

“Sorry to disappoint.”

“That’s alright, sweetheart.” He rips the buttons of your shirt loose and you try not to flinch, “We’re just getting started.”

***

“Morgan, take the back, I’ll take the front.” Hotch orders, “Prentiss, you’re with Morgan, Reid you’re with me. Let’s go.”

From the profile, they all knew he was planning on being caught. He would come quietly. All they could hope was that they got to him before he finished his final job. You.

They entered quietly, but they could hear soft crying deeper in. Alive, you were alive. Hotch and Spencer carefully cleared each hallway until they got to the room you were in. The unsub had you pulled to his chest, your clothes ripped and barely covering you. You were whimpering, tears shining on your cheeks and it took Aaron absolutely everything not to abandon protocol and tackle him.

Instead, he points his gun steady, “Bobby Tiller, it’s over, drop the knife.”

“Why?” He says, smiling, “Why shouldn’t I kill her in front of you?” His smile widens, “You’re Aaron, aren’t you?” He laughs now, “She cried out for you. Outside. Where were you, Aaron?”

Aaron’s restraint is hanging by a thread, he tries not to let this information get to him. “I said put it down!” He yells.

At that moment, he sees Morgan and Prentiss coming in from behind, guns raised.

“I bet it would just destroy you to watch me kill her, I can see it in your eyes. Wouldn’t that be a fun way to go out? I would win.”

“You haven’t won anything, you either die here or you rot in jail.”

“Exactly, which means I have nothing to lose by killing her.” He was done talking, was about to slit your throat when a shot rang out from behind. It was Morgan and he had hit Bobby square in the back.

You fall forward, hyperventilating a bit as Spencer rushes to you, pulling you into his arms and telling you it’s going to be okay. Hotch watches you, but keeps his distance, careful not to let the enormous relief he feels show except in the way his shoulder slump forward. “I need a medic.” He relays to the backup that’s on its way here and then he walks out of the bunker, letting Morgan and Reid help you out.

On the plane ride back, he sits by you as you look out the window, “Are you alright?”

You spare him a glance and then gaze back out the window, “I’ll be fine.”

He’s quiet for another moment, not wanting to ask what he has to ask. “Did he…?”

“No.” You answer quickly. “He didn’t have time.”

A small victory, he knows, but a victory nonetheless, “You’ll have to undergo a psych evaluation before I can allow you back in the field.”

“I know.”

“Take at least a week off and then we’ll schedule the evaluation and if you’re cleared you’re welcome back whenever you’re ready.”

You nod, “Okay.”

He lets a few minutes pass before he says anything else, “Was he telling the truth? Did you call for me by name?”

You shrug indifferently, smiling, but he can hear the tears in your voice, “I knew you and Derek were probably nearby. We were still outside and I could see the road. So I tried. That’s all.”

He chews the inside of his cheek, fists clenched beneath the table between them, “I’m sorry.”

You’re already shaking your head, “Don’t do that. You got to me in time. It was my decision to go inside.”

He nods, “And if you hadn’t shown up, those girls would be dead.”

You manage a smaller smile. Bobby Tiller had had to abandon the other girls when you showed up so Morgan and Hotch were able to call them an ambulance before they left to find you. “I know.”

“I would have done it.”

“Hm?”

“You asked me before you went if I would’ve gone in alone. I would have.”

You smile again, but your eyes are sad, “I know.”

***

“But he did, rape you, didn’t he?” Emily said quietly.

There were silent tears streaming down both yours and Penelope’s faces. You nod, “Yeah. It didn’t last very long, but yes he did.”

“Did he… Did he torture you the way he did with the other women?” Emily has to ask, has to know if you’re hiding anything else from them.

You’re already shaking your head, “No,” And at Emily’s insistent stare, you repeat yourself, “No, I swear. He held me at knifepoint while he did it which, you know, cut me a little bit,” You rub at your chest, though the shallow cuts had long ago healed, “But I swear, he didn’t have time for much else before you guys found me.”

“I’m so sorry you went through that,” JJ reaches out and squeezes your arm.

You shrug, “It’s alright. It was my choice to go in there alone, I knew what might happen.”

“That doesn’t mean you deserve what happened.” Emily says.

“I know.” You nod.

Penelope’s been quiet since she finished brushing your hair, now just mindlessly running her hands through it, “How have you just been functioning as usual since you came back after that?” Her voice shakes and you feel terrible for exposing her to this.

You squeeze her hand and shrug, “You just… learn to adapt. I knew you were all watching my every move. I didn’t want anyone worried about me and so I made sure they had nothing to worry about. Until this case.”

“What happened in the interrogation room that had Hotch so shook up?”

“Well,” You sighed, “I played the role of potential victim, made him like me, forgot he was uncuffed and egged him on until he tried to strangle me.”

“Yeah, that’ll do it,” Penelope chided.

“You could pass another psych eval.” Prentiss said, “You seem to be coping better than most people.”

“I have nightmares.” You admit, “It’s why I don’t sleep on the jet anymore. I don’t want any of you to see that.”

“We’ll help you through,” JJ says, “If you want to come back you should come back. The team needs you.”

You scoff, “You guys don’t need me.”

“Excuse me, fairy queen of the universe, but you don’t get a say in that.” Penelope tugs on a piece of your hair.

“We miss you.” JJ says sincerely.

You sigh, “Okay. I’ll, uh, go see Hotch tomorrow.”

“There will be black SUV parked here if you haven’t gotten your butt in the office by 10AM, understand?” Penelope teases.

“Yes, yes, now everybody out of my apartment so I can sleep.”

The girls laugh on their way out and when you close the door you sigh and lean your back against it, only to see the roses sitting on your table again. You chew on your lip for a moment before shutting off all the lights in the apartment and climbing into bed. You would deal with Hotch tomorrow.

***

You ignored the whispers of your colleagues as you walked into the bullpen, marching straight into Hotch’s office and closing the door behind you. The smell of his cologne filled your nose the farther you walked into his office. You tried to ignore the memories it triggered.

He looks up and for a moment he looks like he’s seen a ghost.

“Y/N.”

You smirk, “Bet you thought you got rid of me.”

“You cut your hair.”

It was true, you had decided to give yourself bangs in a fit of insomnia last night. You thought they looked cute, “Nothing gets by you, unit chief.”

He hasn’t cracked a smile this whole time and he still doesn’t, “If you want to transfer to a different unit, I can make that happen.”

You’re shaking your head before he can finish, “Regardless of whatever happened between us, this team is my family. I don’t want to work anywhere else.”

He watches you carefully, “Then it’s time for your psych eval, I can have someone meet with you in an hour. In the meantime, I’m sure the team’s missed you, you can go chat with them.” He looks back down at his work, not waiting for you to leave.

“Thank you for the flowers.”

He looks back up, “I thought you maybe threw them away.”

“I did, actually, Penelope took them out of the trash. So on my table, they stay.” He almost laughs. “What are you sorry for, Aaron?”

His jaw clenches when you say his name. “For your suspension, for humiliating you in front of your colleagues, for crossing a line with you that I never should have even toed.”

You nod slowly, “So you regret it. What we did.”

Hotch glances out the window of his office, making sure no one’s around, “I… regret hurting you. Not what we did.”

“Spencer thinks you’re in love with me, you know?”

He frowns, “Does he?”

“He said you lost your mind when I was taken. I told him you would act that way had any team member been taken, but he insisted that it was different.”

“Is that all, agent?” He says after staring at you for a moment, dismissing you.

“Yes, sir.” You swallow, “That’ll be all.”

And just like that he’s back to his paperwork. You try to tell yourself it doesn’t bother you, but your heart aches all the same as you leave his office and head towards your colleagues. Spencer is the first to run to you, making you smile as he crushes you into a hug and catches you up on everything you’ve missed. Everyone talks to you for a while, but then they soon get back to work. “Did you talk to Hotch?” Emily asked when everyone had gotten back to their work.

“Yeah. We talked.” You say flatly.

“I don’t like that tone.”

You shrug, “Maybe he doesn’t love me or maybe he’s not ready, but he won’t tell me which, so. It doesn’t matter, it’s probably better this way.”

Emily doesn’t tell you, but she’s noticed that since you left his office, SSA Aaron Hotchner hasn’t stopped watching you. He was definitely in love with you, it was just a matter of time before he admitted it.

***

You passed your psych eval and practically skipped to Hotch’s office to get your gun and badge back. When he saw you walk in, he immediately reached into his desk drawer to retrieve them for you and placed them on his desk. “I’m thinking about requesting a transfer.”

“Hotch, I already told you, I don’t want--”

“Not for you, for me.”

You pull your hand away from your gun and badge as if you’ve been burned, “You can’t.”

“It’s irresponsible for us to be working on the same team together like this.”

You shake your head, “If anything we make this team better for it, you can’t…” You let out a shaky breath, “I swear, Hotch, I’ll never cross that line again if it means you staying--”

“It’s not you I’m worried about.”

The world seems to sort of tip on its axis, “What are you talking about?”

“Do you even understand how difficult it is to be in this room with you right now and not touch you?”

You stare at him as if you’ve never seen him before. Slowly, you sink into the seat across from his desk, “Hotch, you can’t leave. The team needs you.”

“They’ll be just fine without me.”

“I need you.” You’re staring at his desk, unable to meet his eyes after the admission, “Please don’t take away one of the only things in this job that help me to cope with what we see everyday.”

He’s quiet and you risk a look at him. He’s watching you and you swear he’s looking at you tenderly, but it’s only for a moment before his usual stoic mask falls back into place, “I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you, agent. JJ should be briefing us on a new case soon, you should go get resettled.”

You debate staying, arguing with him until he promises to stay, but you know from how vulnerable he’s been with you already that you’re on thin ice. Reluctantly, you take your badge and gun and leave his office.

***

You’ll admit it, you’re distracted as JJ debriefs you all in the conference room. This time, it’s a serial bomber and you hate to say it, but you’re relieved to not be dealing with a sexual sadist again. Bombs are Morgan’s specialty, so he speaks through most of the debriefing.

“Everyone, get your things together. Wheels up in twenty.” Hotch says before leaving the room.

“Y/N.” You look up to see Derek watching you, “What’s going on now?”

You tense at the hint of annoyance in his voice, but he should be annoyed. Yours and Hotch’s personal relationship has thrown this team for more than a week now. You clear your throat, “Hotch is thinking of transferring out of the BAU. Because of me.”

The room goes still, “He can’t.” Reid says first.

You can’t meet any of their eyes. This was all your fault.

“I’ll talk to him.” Rossi says quietly and leaves the room.

“If it comes to that, I’ll resign first.” You try to assure them, “I won’t let him step down.”

“We need both of you on this team.” JJ said firmly.

You nodded, but you knew it wasn’t true. Aaron was more essential to the BAU, it wasn’t a secret. He knew everyone’s strengths and weaknesses better than they did. His authority was able to demand respect and admiration, while also being a friend to everyone here. He couldn’t be replaced.

Rossi and Hotch sat in the back of the jet, voices low as they argued back and forth. The rest of the team pretended to not eavesdrop, but you were just watching Aaron. He was stressed, more than normal when working a case. You hated that you were the source of that. You wish you could drape your arms around the back of his shoulders, squeeze them, kiss his temple, promise him it would all be alright.

But he didn’t want that. You shift your focus to the window on the jet.

***

When the house exploded in front of you and Morgan, you kept running until he grabbed you, “Stop, stop! They’re gone!”

“They could still be in there!” You scream and fight against him, but he’s stronger than you.

“They’re gone, Y/N.”

You angrily push him off and walk in the other direction, feeling the need to break something. There were kids in that house.

“What the hell was that?” Hotch is fuming when you and Morgan come back to the precinct, but his anger is directed at you. The entire room goes silent, all eyes on the two of you.

“Hotch, back off.” Morgan warns.

“You should’ve gotten there in plenty of time, what happened?”

You glower at him, not in the mood to be humiliated again in front of everyone, “We got there as fast as we could, the bomb went off earlier than expected.”

“There were children in there.”

“You think I don’t know that?!” You yell now, your angry tears finally spilling over, “What, do you think I wanted this to happen?”

“Y/N, enough.” Morgan whispers harshly.

“You’re out of line, agent.” Hotch is calm again and it makes you feel crazy, how he can so quickly turn off his emotions.

You shake your head and walk by him, “This is bullshit.” You mutter.

You expect him to continue yelling at you, but instead he puts a forceful hand on your back and ushers you into a private room, “Is there a problem, agent?” He asks once he’s closed the door.

“Me?” You raise your eyebrows, “You want to know if I have a problem? You’re the one who attacked me for no reason as if I don’t feel shitty enough already for not getting to that family fast enough.”

“Why did you tell them about the transfer?”

“Oh,” You nearly laugh, “Oh, is that what this is about?”

“It wasn’t your place.”

“Oh, it wasn’t? What was it you said to me about keeping things from the team? It puts us all in danger.”

“This is not the same and you know it.”

You scoff and throw your hands up in the air, “Well, lesson learned, I guess you shouldn’t tell me things anymore. Can I go now?”

He’s watching you with his arms crossed. He knows he should apologize, but he can’t bring himself to. He nods and you leave the room, slamming the door on the way out. He watches Prentiss reach out to you and you brush her off as you storm out of the precinct. He wishes he would stop doing things to upset you, but for some reason he can’t seem to stop himself.

***

You avoid him the rest of the day and after finally calling it a day at nearly midnight, the team heads back to the hotel. You spend the night making coffee and going over the suspect list when there’s a knock on your door.

You open it without checking the peep hole, thinking it has to be Spencer or Emily, wanting to talk about the case. Instead, Aaron stands at your door. His suit jacket and tie are missing, but otherwise he’s still in his work clothes. “May I come in?”

You take a step back and wordlessly allow him inside before closing the door behind you. “You should really check who’s outside the door before answering.”

“Did you come here to lecture me, sir?”

He glances around the room, “You should be resting, not working on the case.”

“Yes, well, someone reminded me today what a terrible job I’ve been doing so I’m trying to make up for it.”

His eyes dart to yours and you think you see shame there, “I didn’t mean what I said earlier, I’m sorry. I know you’re doing your best--”

“Well obviously, my best isn’t enough.” He opens his mouth to argue, but you stop him, “Do you need something, sir?”

He sighs and shakes his head, looking at the floor, “It’s… driving me insane being around you and knowing how we left things.”

You sigh and turn away from him, “I don’t want to talk about this, Hotch--”

“Please stop calling me that.” He says breathlessly.

The desperation in his voice makes you turn back to him, “Aaron,” You say slowly instead, “I shouldn’t have said what I said to you, I understand now that you don’t feel the same and that’s fine, I can deal with it--”

“The problem is that I do feel the same and I have felt that way for longer than I care to admit.”

You frown, “Then… why?”

“I don’t want to ruin your career and I worry that this would. You’re a woman in the FBI, there are men in the bureau who would… tear you apart for being romantically involved with a superior.”

“So what? I’ll prove them wrong. It wouldn’t be the first time a man in the bureau underestimated me, but you know that.”

He sighs, “Yes, I remember when you applied to the BAU. You were from Hostage and Rescue, the only woman there at the time and they practically benched you. But you knew you were more than capable.”

“I’m not afraid of them, Aaron. Now say it to me.”

He steps close to you, his proximity overwhelming all of your senses, “Are you absolutely sure about this?”

“I’ve never been more sure.”

“In that case,” He brings a hand to your face and you lean into his palm, “I’m in love with you.” He gives you that small smile, the one where his eyebrows relax for once, out of their permanent scowl.

You smile, but you don’t answer, giggling a bit when he leans in to kiss you. “I like the new hair, by the way.” He says between kisses.

You hum contentedly as he runs his fingers through it, “I love you, too, Aaron.”

He stays in your hotel room all night and this time, neither of you sneak out in the middle of the night.

***

You and Aaron aren’t overly affectionate in front of your colleagues, but they notice the change between you immediately as you board the plane. When you sit next to him while still in discussion with Emily, he looks at you and smiles. And then, when you finally fall asleep on the jet, your head rests on Aaron’s shoulder. If your colleagues look under the table in front of you (they do) they’ll see Aaron’s hand resting on your thigh.

Emily is shaking her head at Aaron while you sleep, “What?” He asks without looking at her.

“Nothing, I’m just happy you guys finally figured it out.”

“Agreed,” Spencer interjected, “I was beginning to think you’d kill each other first.”

Aaron simply chuckles and kisses your forehead when he thinks no one’s looking. “Hotch,” Morgan says and Aaron looks over, “I know you’re my boss and all, but you ever hurt her we’re gonna have to fight it out, you understand?”

Hotch only smiles again, “I would expect nothing less.”

Nobody notices how you’re also smiling, quietly faking sleep as an excuse to cuddle up to Aaron.

#criminals minds #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner fanfic #hotch x reader #hotch imagine #hotch fluff #hotch angst #hotch smut #mine

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kaylans-imagines · 3 years

Text

0. i hate her

pairing: peter b. parker x fem! reader

synopsis: in which y/n hates everything about peter parker, especially the way she can’t really hate him

↳ loosely based on the movie with the same title

warnings: cursing, fluff, a generous amount of angst, peter's an asshole, y/n's an asshole, familial death, incarceration. i don't know if there's more.

chapter warnings: cursing, starts off slow, flash.

series masterlist

*gif credits to the rightful owner*

The brisk air of the changing seasons accompanied Peter as he made his way to the school entrance from the train stop. His headphones sat snuggly inside his ears, playing a song that made the usually lonely journey to school less so. Ned didn’t take the same route as he did, so he had no one to talk to or make the trek to school less boring. He didn’t mind it; it gave him time to think and even finish school work. Still, sometimes he wanted someone by his side so he could discuss whatever was on his mind that day or ask questions whenever an assignment didn’t make sense.

The long ride to the school did give him time to people watch. There were times when he would deduce who could be a possible threat. Other times, he would simply look at people and try to figure out their stories without actually talking to them. The old lady who brought her cat onto the subway had severe separation anxiety caused by her estranged son. The man with exhausted eyes who looked like he was on the brink of passing out on his seat had a newborn daughter at home. And Peter was just trying to get to school, along with the other teenager on the subway. He didn’t talk to him, they were on entirely different wavelengths, but there was an understanding between the two of them. Whenever they saw each other, they would nod their heads in greeting. They would always sit one seat away from one another, and if the other was running late, they would wait.

He made his way up the stairs and towards the school, turning up the volume as a way to tune out the sounds of high school that he hated. The cheery rhymes that left the sounds of the cheerleaders to the arguing of students over who was right; he hated them before the bite, and he especially despised them now that he had hypersensitive hearing. Sighing in annoyance, he looked both ways before crossing the street only to rush forward as a car came barreling down the road.

“I swear to god, Y/N!” he heard her sister, Juliette, shriek, “we almost killed him!”

“But we didn’t. If you’re going to complain about my driving, then you can take the bus, Jules,”

“You almost killed someone!” Peter heard her exclaim. He could feel the way Y/N rolled her eyes.

“It’s only Peter,” she stated, making eye contact with him through the rearview as she let students pass, “who cares if he gets slightly scuffled?”

“You have literal issues,” Julie gasped. The car sped down the road, leaving Peter alone with a slightly elevated heart rate and irritation laced in his bones. It was the first day of school, and he nearly got run over. And by his ex-best friend turned enemy at that. He couldn’t wait to complain to Ned.

Their dynamic had changed, and Peter blamed her. They became friends because of Y/N’s grandmother and May in kindergarten. They were two birds of a feather until halfway towards seventh grade when Y/N became snippy and ruined what Peter thought was their perfect friendship. They drifted apart, and he blamed her for it breaking apart. He watched as she became someone he didn’t know anymore and left him behind. He just didn’t think it was fair for her to act self-righteous when she ruined their relationship.

“You okay, Pete?” Ned questioned as he fell into step with Peter, who was fuming with irritation.

“Yeah, just almost got run over by Midtown’s resident ice bitch,” he gritted. Ned nodded in response. He was friends with both Peter and Y/N once upon a time. Still, after everything she had put them through and the abrupt way she ended their friendship, he sided with Peter and subsequently lost a friend. He figured it was for the best. He wasn’t as resentful as Peter was—his friendship with Y/N hadn’t been built in kindergarten—but he still didn’t appreciate her actions.

“Oh,” he nodded in understanding, “are you okay at least?”

“Yeah, but it did sorta ruin my mood,” Peter confessed. He was having a pretty good morning until his reflexes were put to the test. He woke up on the right side of the bed and had time to eat breakfast with May before she went to work. The walk towards the subway station was nice; he said hi to everyone he usually greeted and even got a muffin from the lady with the three-year-old daughter. Then the subway wasn’t as busy as it usually was, so he wasn’t squashed next to the man with the foul body odor and could actually sit down. All of that happiness came crashing down the second he saw her in her car, looking unapologetic for nearly killing him and then dismissing her sister for chastising her.

“Well, get happy, my arachnid friend, because I heard some exciting news,” Ned smiled, poking him on the arm as they walked to their first class.

“What?”

“You’re top of our class, which means you’re a shoo-in for valedictorian,” Ned said excitedly. Peter grinned at that. All of his hard work would finally be noticed and celebrated. He had been working on greeting his class for four years, doing extracurriculars, and taking on extra projects for grade boosts. Sometimes he even stayed after school to help his teachers grade papers or help the librarian sort the books back into their respective spots on the shelves. It would all be worth it in the end after he finally reached the goal he had set for himself his freshman year.

There was a snag in his plans. While he may have been top of his class, that didn’t mean that he couldn’t be pushed from his place. Y/N Y/L/N was the smartest girl at Midtown. She was everything he wasn’t. She was popular—if the excessive amounts of clubs she was part of were any indication. She was social—everyone talked about the interactions they had with Midtown’s princess. She was everywhere, and nothing Peter was. She was the head of the planning committee, and everyone knew that any school party planned by Y/N Y/L/N never disappointed. Peter couldn’t compete. He found peace in knowing that he was slightly better than her at academics.

The two continued walking in silence, content with the atmosphere they had created after finding out that Peter would finally have something go his way for once. He figured it was the least the universe could do for him. He had lost both parents before he could make memories with them, then he lost his best friend, and then he got bitten by a spider that changed his life; for better or for worse, he didn’t know. Being valedictorian wouldn’t take away the hurt the world inflicted on him, but it would make him feel somewhat better.

With a skip in his step, he walked into class with a grin so large, he didn’t think anything could bring him down. Of course, he thought wrong. His English teacher had to make a day he felt he could turn around into one he wished would end faster.

“It’s about time you all had a project—the topic of discussion, poetry. You will be partnered up and tasked with reading and creating your own poems by the end of the month,” she paused, waiting for her class to stop looking at one another and whispering amongst themselves, “I’ve already chosen your partners, so it would do you all some good to stop getting your hopes up and listen.”

With that, the high schoolers shifted in their seats and gave their attention back to their teacher. She was good at pairing up students who were cordial with one another and worked well together. Friendships usually sparked from her partnering, sometimes even relationships. So Peter, and the rest of the class, weren’t as annoyed as they wanted to be. They knew she wouldn’t let them down. Peter waited eagerly as she listed off students who would be working together. He hoped he got paired up with someone who matched his work ethic or someone he got along with.

“Peter Parker, you will be with Y/N Y/L/N,” and just like that, he hated English class and lost all faith in his teacher. He looked across the room to where the said girl was seated. She was writing in her planner—Peter was sure she was planning Ms. Ingrid’s death—but she looked up when her name was called. She turned her head and met Peter’s eyes, unamused and bored. She shook her head and looked at her planner once again. Peter took that as a sign to do the same and focus on anything other than his rising anger.

Peter watched as everyone moved to meet their partners, many of them happily talking to one another. He was stubborn. He decided that if she wasn’t going to make an effort to push aside whatever hatred she had towards him and talk to him for the sake of their grades, he wasn’t going to. He was going to sit in his seat and read a poem from the packet his teacher had handed out. Just because he had a lousy partner didn’t mean his grade had to suffer. He would complete the project by himself if he had to.

“Mister Parker, last I checked, you were to be working with Miss Y/L/N,” Miss Ingrid quipped as she walked to Peter’s desk with a teasing smile.

“Actually, Miss, I was hoping I could talk to you about that?” He asked. He liked Miss Ingrid. She was understanding and compassionate, and she didn’t talk down to her students as if they were children.

“Something wrong, Peter?” she asked, concerned. Peter felt bad. He knew he was petty, and his favorite teacher didn’t need to be pulled down to his level. But he couldn’t bring himself to work with someone who didn’t want to work with him. That usually meant he was left to do the work by himself and watch the other person still get credit. It infuriated him so much he would rather do the project himself from the start.

“Yeah, um, I can’t work with Y/N,” he muttered, smiling at her with an embarrassed smile. Peter admitted it sounded stupid and childish when said aloud, but he had his reasons.

“And, pray tell, Peter, why not?”

“I just don’t think we would work well together,” he confessed. Seeing the look on her face, Peter was quick to defend himself more, “and I just don’t want to do the work for someone else and have them get credit for doing nothing. So, if it’s alright with you, Miss Ingrid, I would like to work on this on my own.” He was practically begging. Hoping she would agree.

“I’m sorry, Peter, but this is a partner project. To lessen the workload,” she sighed, “besides, I don’t think you have anything to worry about with Y/N; she’s very good at doing her share.” She stood up with those final words and tapped the table before standing up and sending him a smile. He sighed, putting his head down and looking at his desk in annoyance. He looked up when a book landed on his desk. Closing his eyes to keep himself from exploding at whoever shattered his tranquility, he was met with eyes he used to find joy looking into. Now, he never wanted to look into them ever again.

“We’re partners. I don’t like it, you don’t like it, but we have to do it otherwise, our grades will plummet, and you can’t afford that if you want to be valedictorian. So, we’re going to push our difference aside for this one project and do it, so we never have to talk to again,” she said curtly.

That left no room for argument, which caused Peter to nod his head in agreement. She was right; he couldn’t afford to lose the one thing he was looking forward to being. Sighing deeply, he motioned for her to sit down and opened the book she threw on his desk. She took a seat beside him and opened another poetry book, focusing on the words written on the paper and trying to plan their poem out. They had to get a good grade; she didn’t want him to blame her for something else.

Despite his annoyance and hatred towards her, he couldn’t help but glance up from the book he was reading. Of course, he had seen her around, it was hard to ignore one of the most known girls in the school, but he had never taken the time to admire her. His anger and betrayal kept him from doing so. She still had the same gleeful look in her eyes and the confident aura around her. Time had done her well. She had lost her kidlike features, and it was evident that she had matured. He would be a liar if he said she wasn’t pretty, and even that didn’t truly justify it.

When the bell signaled the end of class, Peter quickly grabbed his belongings and left the classroom. He didn’t stop to wait for anyone, much less Y/N. Their only interactions would be in the English room, a controlled space where she couldn’t kill him for so much as breathing in her direction. Walking towards his locker, he heard the noises of people as they navigated the busy halls of the school. Stopping at his locker with a sigh, he leaned his head on the cool metal. The day had been long, and he shrill had six other classes to go to.

A tap on his shoulder made him pick up his head. Y/N stood in front of him, bouncing on her feet as she played with her fingers.

“You left before I could ask when you can meet up. The faster we get this done, the faster we can stop being around one another,” she quipped. “I’m free on Friday after school.”

“I’m not. I have the Stark internship,”

She rolled her eyes at his response, “okay and? We need to get this done so we can go back to never speaking to each other. I’m sure Tony Stark will understand that you need to take one day off to do a school project.”

“Not happening. I don’t know if you know this, but you’re not worth losing the internship over,” he jibed. He missed the look of hurt that flashed on her face. She shook her head and scoffed.

“Well, we need to get this done. Either we work on this stupid project on Friday, or we’re both failing,” she reminded before walking away. Peter groaned and banged his head on the now open door. He ignored the looks he got from his locker neighbors and kept his head buried in the empty space. Friday’s were the days he went into the Avenger’s compound and actively worked in the lab with Tony after he finished his Spider-Man duties; the last thing he wanted to do was infect the compound with her hatred and bad vibes.

He didn’t want to invite her, but he had been working on something with Tony for the past two weeks that he needed to finish. He figured he could get some work done while someone gave her a tour around the facility—probably Steve. He was easy to convince—then he would work on the English project with her and beg father time to go faster. She was right; the quicker they finished their work, the faster he could go back to hating her. With another groan, he picked up his head and closed his locker, rushing after Y/N and grabbing her by the wrist when he caught her before she slipped into her next class.

“Friday. We’ll meet after school in the parking lot and go to the Avenger’s facility. You can drive, right?” she nodded and pulled her hand out of his grip, glaring at him.

“Don’t ever grab me like that again,” she sneered, “but fine, whatever. I have to drop Jules off at home first though, is that gonna be a problem, Peter?” He knew she wasn’t asking him.

“No, whatever,” she nodded curtly and walked in, not sparing him a glance. He shook his head and walked away. Anger seeped into his bones, and annoyance clouded his head. The following weeks were going to be torture. He just knew. There was nothing worse than being forced to work with someone the person despised.

“Hey, Penis Parker!” there are worse things, apparently. He breathed out through his nose and turned around, meeting his eyes. He knew if he ignored Flash, he wouldn’t give up. He was relentless, and his voice sounded like nails on a chalkboard.

“What, Flash?” he ground out. Flash skidded to a stop beside him with a sick smile on his face.

“I heard from a little birdie that you were partnered up with Midtwon’s resident Princess,” he started.

“Yeah, so?” he questioned. He wanted out of the conversation as soon as possible. He didn’t want to talk to his bully about his enemy. That didn’t sound like a fun Tuesday.

“So, you can help me,”

“One, why would I help you with anything?” he questioned, “and two, I’m going to regret asking, but what could I possibly help you with?”

“Because I have something you might like, and you’re going to help me get Jules Y/L/N to go to the Fall Dance with me,” Peter paused in his step and furrowed his eyebrows.

“Okay, so what does that have to do with me being partners with Y/N? Can’t you just ask Jules?”

Flash snorted, “you’re an idiot, Parker. You don’t just ask the Jules Y/L/N out, okay? Everyone knows that Y/N tells her every negative thing about the guys at Midtown to keep her uninterested and that they’re always together.” He stated.

“I’m still not sure where I fall into this or what you could possibly offer me in return,”

“I’m glad you asked,” Peter rolled his eyes but continued listening, “if you can get Y/N to, I don’t know, fall in love with you so she eases off her ‘I hate the men at Midtown’ rhetoric, then I can swoop in and take Jules to the dance without a hitch.”

“And what do I get in return?”

“Two hundred bucks does wonders for the poor, no?” Flash snarked.

“Three hundred, and you’ve got yourself a deal, Eugene,” Peter smirked. Flash blinked in anger but nodded his head anyway, reaching his hand out and shaking it. Flash walked away and left Peter in the empty hallway, rethinking everything he had agreed to. It was cruel and harsh. Sure, Y/N had stopped being his friend and became a bitch towards him, but he would be playing with someone’s feelings. Then again, three hundred dollars could help May with the bills, and it would be retribution for all the shit Y/N had put him through.

He was going to do it, and he wouldn’t allow himself to feel guilty for it. Because it was her, and she deserved to feel some of the pain she had put him through.

join peters taglist

masterlist

taglist: @jackiehollanderr @multiholland @hommyy-tommy @visualhollands @wicked-starlight-collector @coni-martina @dummiesshort @nearlydanger9 @selenitawars @slytherinbth @misshale21 @y0ungandfuckingdumb @livinglifethroughfanfic @racheldon @popluckbih @ephemeral-limerences @tomshufflepuff @petersasteria @justafangirlduh @jayhlstead @just-a-littlebit-of-everything @savcks @sahi-raa @xeniarocks@hunnybunimdun @lou-la-lou @aussie-holland @parkerpeterparker2004 @adayasgeorgia @organicpurplepants @sadxaries @bagelofthelord @marlenetough @xxxxdelenaxxxx @racheldon @itsallyscorner @quaksonhehe @slutforsr @stillfindingmyway @determined-overthinker @chipot-lol @alwaaaysadream @tomsgf @thesunflowergirl @Heyitsmeyabitch2004 @noonelikesori @ bxby_riah @woopwoopwoop222 @marauders-whore @Sarcasticallywitty15 @cutesparker @saraintherain @okaybestfriend @lehmehgeh @joyleenl (if your name is crossed out, its bc i couldnt tag you D: lmk if you want to be taken off the general masterlist or have any name changes ;D)

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dropsofletters · 4 years

Text

avenue of tears

— summary: listening to the latest album of the living daydream that is the drummer jeon wonwoo isn’t quite the best idea when, supposedly, it’s written about an ex. missing him to bits, she decides to plug in her earphones, and get lost in the words written by him, for her, perfectly put together to describe what was once broken…but can now be healed.

— title: avenue of tears — pairing: jeon wonwoo x reader — genre: drummer!au ; podcast host!au ; friends to exes to strangers to lovers!au — type: fluff ; angst ; drama ; humor ; suggestive ; romance — word count: 19,796

For the first time in her life, she can say she is happy while having a sore-throat.

Well, there have been other good times in her life that have included such a symptom—the after-effects of a concert, the times in which she really believed the vocalists of the bands she loved would end up looking at her and falling in love, or when she screamed out of joy, whether on amusement park rides or from pure happiness. Having a voice is enough of a gift; saying and speaking out our thoughts, the most divine of talents that one can possess. Using that voice for the first time in her own podcast is a blessing.

Though, no amount of throat-clearing can get the staff backstage to open up some space for her to walk in. In some parts of her life, being talkative does not compare to being loud, and this is one of those moments she wishes her throat wasn’t dry and in the need for tea, simply to shout to the slow walker in front of her just so she can get to her boyfriend faster. Perhaps, feel the roughness of his calloused fingertips rub against her palm when they hold hands, and he gives her one of those lazy smiles that beg for her to give him a kiss.

The room has gray walls, and around four bands have gathered in the same space. She smells everyone’s deodorants mingling together, and she doesn’t know if the stench is favorable or she’d rather not smell anyone at all, even if it’s not an unpleasant smell. Masculinity exudes from every band, lacking the female character that should exist in rock by now, but someone’s bleached blonde strands of hair, long enough to reach that person’s waist, remind her that there is a representative of female power in this giant gig for small bands.

The vocalist of Wonwoo’s band.

The chopped strands of her hair are, thankfully, long enough to welcome the rotten pair of scissors she uses before every show, not standing split ends, and also not standing the way she calls out her real name. You see, one year ago, the vocalist would’ve been called Eunkyung, with pretty straight hair in chocolate brown, curves covered in small sprinkles of ink, sporting a little black dress of a nice day, but that’s far from the case. Now, Eunkyung has taken up the name Love, an ode to what she hates the most, cutting her hair like she cuts the men out of her life, sporting leather pants and chains falling from her shoulders, cheeks hollowed in absolute distaste of the place she finds herself in, but quite enjoying the bottle of beer she brings up to her mouth.

“Eunkyung!” She calls out again, waving her hand in the air but not getting a reaction. Instead, she stops on her tracks, the sole of her boots barely lifting from the ground as her eyes scan the room. Eunkyung stands out because of her hair, but it’d be difficult to find Wonwoo’s dark head of hair. “Love!”

With the bottle of beer perched up between her rosy lips, Love lifts her hand in the air to greet her, trying to call her over only to stop her ministrations. The little ounces of oxygen left in her lungs ask to remain on her chest before she passes out, her white boots probably dusty by the amount of people who have stepped on her.

Love moves in between the groups of people, pushing people away with a force that could barely be contained in her tall body, never once letting a single droplet of beer fall on the floor. Just when she reaches her, Love wraps her fingertips around her wrist, tutting her name out in a raspy tone, perfect for the edgy tune in the new band. “Shit, what are you doing just standing there? Could’ve gotten your shit stolen.”

Her hand absentmindedly cradles the back pocket of her jeans. Her phone is still there, thankfully. “Sorry, didn’t know I was dealing with prisoners and not with rock enthusiasts.”

Love chuckles at that, now much different from the person she used to be, tattooed up to her neck, flowers blooming on the thin skin. If she looks from close enough, she believes her jugular palpitates against the dark ink. “Here, they’re about the same.”

Once they reach the corner the band had taken up, she finally gets a glimpse of people she has met. In Wonwoo’s apartment last year, for example, when a list of names had been written on a whiteboard and each sounded worst than the last. A man with a burgundy and green beanie sits with his bass on his lap, thin legs parted and yet, seemingly thicker because of his baggy pants. His head is thrown back, as if the chatter around him doesn’t distract him from his thoughts, looking ahead at the ceiling as if there’s something interesting on there. She really does look up, just in case Hansol has found the secret to life in that damned white ceiling.

The bassist doesn’t seem to be paying attention when she directs the question towards Love. “What did he smoke?”

Love finishes her beer in one go, patting her hand against Hansol’s leg before taking a seat on it. The two childhood friends had been the ones to start this whole band ordeal—and to be quite honest, it’s all thanks to them that Wonwoo got the guts to be in a band. Love’s Midnight may not be doing quite well right now, but it will someday. “Vernon didn’t smoke a thing. If anything, I’m the one looking for a smoke.”

“Weed’s bad.” Hansol, or by his stage name Vernon, says from his spot as he finally concentrates on the conversation at hand. His brown eyes seem gentle, even when his dark eyebrows join in a frown. “You’re gonna fuck up your voice.”

“So what?” Love asks.

“We don’t have a vocalist, then.” Hansol continues, pushing her off his lap to put his bass back inside its case, rubbing his sweaty palms against his black pants. “And we don’t have anyone to back you up. My singing is not as good. Andy’s singing is shit and Wonwoo sounds mysterious when he sings, but put him on the front of the stage and he’s going to black out.”

At the mention of her boyfriend, she can’t help but feel a smile creep up her face. Wonwoo was supposed to only be her little cousin’s drum teacher, a little part-time job he had to keep the dream alive, but one of those times her aunt couldn’t make it, she was asked to drive the little boy to class. There, Wonwoo captured her attention, and just before she left with regrets, she had slipped a paper with her number onto his palm.

And he had called.

And now, seven months later, they’re there. Coexisting in the same world, uniting their loose threads, and living out of it.

Well, he’s not there.

“Where’s Wonwoo?” She asks, resting her hands inside the pockets of her jeans, and a little grin appears on Hansol’s face at the mention of his name.

“He’s—”

Hansol’s deep and tranquil voice cuts short when an interruption comes through in the shape of the shortest of the band, purple hair done a mess and yet, matching with the hickeys trailing up his neck, doing his best to conceal it with the thick choker around his neck. Andy, the band’s guitarist, whose innocent features bring him just about any lover to his side, thinking he understands them, listens to them…but he’s a player.

And a damn good one, too. “Twenty bucks and I’ll tell you where he is.”

“Twenty bucks and you shut up.” Her tongue is witty enough to reply, and the sound of familiar laughter stirs her heart alive. When her hands spread on top of Andy’s shoulders, pushing him to the side to look for Wonwoo, she sees him nearing them, perhaps accompanying Andy in the process, black hair falling upon his forehead in sweaty strands, framing his elongated face, rounded ears, enigmatic eyes and tender, thin lips.

He gets closer, enough to wrap an arm around her and make her feel the coldness of the chains on his leather jacket, as dark as the rest of his outfit, but she knows the red shirt underneath is the tank top she bought him not too long ago. “Don’t give him your money. He’s a scam.”

“Girls don’t say that.” Andy shrugs, crossing his arms over his chest and gently rubbing the hickeys on his neck.

“I doubt they get to tell you anything at all.” She answers, twirling on Wonwoo’s arms until he’s hugging her completely, his taut chest breathing in and out, meeting hers in the middle. “There’s only so much you can know about someone while having sex.”

“Listen—”

Love stands up from her spot to wrap her arm entirely around Andy’s shoulder, smiling wickedly at the people in front of her. “Instead of arguing with our two lovebirds and the reason why our love songs are good, why don’t we look for a blunt?”

“Be careful out there.” Wonwoo conquers, lifting one of his eyebrows as if to question Love’s actions. The woman simply chuckles, already dragging Andy away for her.

“The only difference between a cigarette and a blunt is social norms, Wonwoo.” Love complies, clearly talking about the smell of cigarettes that breathes out in the aftertaste of the cologne and mint in him. He picked it up not too long ago, and hasn’t been able to get away from nicotine since then.

Hansol, once again too lost in his own world, doesn’t seem to notice—or mind—when her lips meet his in one of those brief dances of excitement, a smile barely able to conceal itself on her face when she looks into his glistening eyes. “How was the gig?”

“Tiring.” He answers, tugging at the collar of his leather jacket. “Love insists we have to look edgy, but this make me sweat buckets.”

“It makes you look hot.”

A tinge of pink creeps up his ears, smiling widely when he moves her from side to side. “What’s with all the love today? You’re awfully happy.”

How not to be so when she’s with him? Awakening to the sound of his fingers pattering against the counter of his kitchen, mumbling out the lyrics of the songs he is always writing. Wonwoo is not only a dreamer but a dream, a sight to look at and a potion inside her stomach. If she could, she’d throw up hearts at the mere mention of him, but the impossibility only further explains her infatuation for him. Love, love is this.

“Well…” She trails her voice, just at the same time that her hands take place by his abdomen, toying with the fabric there. “Did you listen to the podcast today? First episode early in the morning. Not a lot of people tuned in, but twenty is more than nothing, right?”

His black hair covers the darkness that looms over his eyes, lips faltering that smile to instead part delicately. Even his body moves away at the mention of the podcast, little droplets of sweat intensifying on his neck. “T-The podcast was today?”

A sigh leaves her before she could stop it. Forgetfulness is not his thing, but it seems to be today. “Yeah. I told you today before you went out to practice.”

“Shit, sorry.” Wonwoo lets his hand hover on her cheek, lips leaning forward to join hers, but she can’t even purse her own to meet him, leaving him with her blank expression instead. “I went to the gym after practice, and then I was too busy to actually listen—”

“You decided to go to the gym instead of listening to the podcast I have been working so hard on?” Nights spent listening to her favorite albums, preparing topics and asking Minghao to help her achieve the best quality in sound. Publicity done just about everywhere, asking her close friends and family to listen. Twenty people had listened, and none of them was Wonwoo. Her boyfriend.

“It was a mistake.” He whispers, like the boyfriend he is, not forgetting to pour all his emotions out in the pout of his lips. Giving her another kiss, she wants to stay angry, let the pits of hell stay inside her, but his eyes glimmer as if he means it when he promises: “Maybe, next time I will listen, okay?”

Maybe. A relationship should not be gray; it’s either black or white, it’s yes or no, never an in-between. Never a maybe.

But she takes it, because Wonwoo is just the type to say things without thinking. His ‘maybe’ may mean ‘certainly’.

His ‘maybe’ may mean ‘I’m sorry’.

Or it just is meaningless. Not ‘maybe’ at all.

###

Pen to paper. Cigarettes to lips. A mess done person, or a person done a mess.

The press has met the man that she has loved for over eleven months, and yet, she feels like each article that gets out about Love’s Midnight just makes her know the people in the band a lot less. This thought crosses her as her feet come in contact with empty bottles of soda, thrown across the floor of the hotel room they rented for their first real gig. Wonwoo’s cigarettes have been his lover for the night, as well as his lyricism notebook, but Andy seems to be having other ideas in the cheap room next door. It may be just some hooker, but something in her gut tells her that the lack of Love on the afterparty gives her an indicator of who it may be…

The reaction is long gone when she closes the door behind her, sporting her best dress—the one Wonwoo always talked about, the one that had his eyes lingering on her legs a lot longer than necessary, unable to keep his hands off her waist whenever she used it. The attention from him was well received, and yet, it was lacking tonight. The lonesome yellow of the lightbulb in front of them flickers, her heels click against the tiles on the floor, and he doesn’t even pull away from his notebook, humming out the notes to the song he is writing. At least, he’s not the one with the hooker.

But, what kind of thought is that?

It’s not the kind of idea she’d normally have about Wonwoo. Her Wonwoo, all rock songs but soft heartened words. Yet, with each passing month of his newfound stardom, she sees him less. Feels him less. Talks to him in ways that feels as though he is a stranger, and not the kind that wants to meet her. Definitely not the interested strangers they were in the past, the reason as to why they fell in love.

The lighter in between his fingers basks the cream walls in a faint light, the first smoke of the cigarettes leaving his lips and then, he keeps his hand up, a little bit twisted to keep the ashes away from his notebook. She moves closer, the back of her thighs meeting the edge of the bed when she calls out his name. Nothing. Wonwoo feels like nothing these days.

There, in a pretty dress, and yet not of his liking, pushing the pink fabric to fit more of her body, like a woman in her honeymoon. Insecurity latches to each portion of her uncovered skin, clearing her throat to catch his attention as she rests her extended palm on his back.

The toned muscles seem to welcome her touch, but his face remains stoic, hair standing out in various spots, dark eyes packing worries inside his heart. “Wonwoo?”

“Baby, I’m busy.” Annoyance exists in his tone, though it’s almost imperceptible. These days, all his feelings seem to be this way—happiness is the same as sadness, as annoyance and worry. Wonwoo is just a blank canvas, and she can’t seem to paint him. “Can’t seem to finish writing this song.”

“Maybe, it’s just not a good song.” The words don’t come out in the way that normally would. He has been talking about this song for three days, maybe it’s about time he drops it. Maybe, it’s time for them to drop this strange silent treatment between them—

“What?” Finally, he looks over his shoulder, his lips barely wrapping around the cigarette before each blow of smoke is thrown her way with his words. “What do you mean the song is not good? You haven’t even heard it.”

“If you can’t write it, it’s because you’re not inspired for it.”

His eyebrows raise up at that, taking his notebook in between his finger and stomping his cigarette against the bedside table, perhaps leaving it for later. He turns on his back, on the verge of becoming silent again, when he stops tapping his pen against the notebook. “What do you know about music anyways? It’s not that easy to write a song.”

A laugh escapes her nose, because she’s not half happy at the man in front of her. “The podcast I have, the one you don’t listen to, talks about music and I have a minor in something music-related. Isn’t that enough for you?”

“I listen to your podcast.” Wonwoo defends, letting the notebook rest on his taut abdomen as he lifts his hands to rub at his eyes. “I just don’t have enough time to listen to you talk for more than an hour—”

Her legs can’t seem to stay still then, standing up from her spot on the bed and making sure to pull her dress as far as possible. Somehow, being looked at by Wonwoo at this moment feels absolutely horrendous. Earlier this afternoon, she would’ve loved to have his hands all over her, his lips mouthing the things he loves the most about her. Right now, he’s impossible. “Isn’t that what a boyfriend should do? Listen to his motherfucking girlfriend?”

“I listen to you, oh my God!” He throws his head back, covering his face with his hands before sighing. “Babe, you’re being irrational. You come in here and tell me my song sucks, and now you’re making this about our relationship?”

“Well, you were the one that told me I didn’t know anything about music.”

Wonwoo stops for a moment, uncovering his face to look at her with what seems to be despair. “Then, I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” Her heels click harshly with each step she takes towards him. “You can’t just say sorry like you’re bored. Saying sorry has to be meaningful.”

“That’s just how my voice sounds.” But she knows that’s not the case. Deep, tranquil, that’s his voice, but that doesn’t mean it’s not meaningful. That doesn’t mean he can talk to her in a way that feels as though he has never loved her.

“No, that’s not how your voice sounds—”

“Babe—”

“Wonwoo.” She closes her eyes tightly, kneeling to take the empty bottles of soda in between her hands. “Who are you and what did you do to the man I fell in love with?” The question is rhetorical and not meant to be answered as she continues: “You’re messy and uninterested, this is not—”

“Maybe, if you let me speak, I’d be able to tell you what’s wrong with me.”

“Oh, so there’s really something wrong?” Far too entranced in her anger, she crosses her arms over her chest. “Is it me? Am I the wrong thing in your life?”

“When you get like this, maybe.” Wonwoo conquers, standing up and taking the resting empty bottles of soda before sighing. “Hey—”

“No. Repeat that.”

“Give me a break.”

She takes him by his arms, then, his tank top moving with the motion as she makes him turn towards her. Tired eyes to tired soul. One for him. One for her. “You really want me to give you a break? Because I could totally leave you if that means you being happy.”

Wonwoo has always been a selectively silent man. His lips don’t part unless necessary. He loves being a listener, not a talker. She wishes he would’ve stayed silent that night, but he didn’t, instead frowning deeply as he pushed his body away from her. “I can’t be with someone who doesn’t listen to me. So, maybe, it’s better if we give each other a break, don’t you think?”

She has to scoff, pulling her dress further down her thighs as it had ridden up, yet not once breaking eye contact with him. “Why call it a break? Why don’t we just break up and that’s it? Call it fucking quits so you can go fuck some other chick that actually listens to you, baby boy?”

“Don’t talk to me like that.” He answers, shoulders rising and falling as he gets closer to her. “Don’t talk to me at all if you’re going to be like that.”

“Well, tough luck. That’s just how I am.” Her voice drops a few octaves, pushing at his chest to get him away from her. His eyes seem to change, then, ever so present in his feelings, burning through him when he calls his name and tries to reach for her, but she is halfway through the room when his skin barely grazes her.

“Baby—”

“Don’t you fucking touch me. Don’t you talk to me. Don’t look for me. Don’t…” Her voice breaks then, breathing out slowly when her hand comes in contact with the handle of the door. “Don’t, Wonwoo. Just don’t.”

“Hey, sorry, you know I love y—”

“Don’t.” She whispers, loud enough for him to hear when she opens the door. Why is that, even when the air in the corridor feels fresher than the one basked in cigarettes in this room, she feels more suffocated when she leaves?

Right, because she never listened to him.

And he never got to talk honestly to her.

###

“Listen, you’re a podcast host. I think you should really leave the coffee aside and go for tea and honey.”

One of the biggest wonders in this world is how in hell Minghao’s blonde strands of hair seem to be soft even when he dyes it continuously. The other wonder is how such a sweet voice like his seems to have the pointiest of remarks just at the tip of his tongue. Perhaps, that’s why Minghao is the tech of her podcast, and not a host to be exact. He’d be far too honest about the newest releases in music. What she’d call ‘something different yet not tasteful’, he’d call it ‘absolute garbage taken out of the trash, eaten by a dog, and then thrown up onto the floor’.

But hey, that’s just Xu Minghao.

Twirling on his chair, he writes something down on their shared document for this week’s podcast, two years on the run and yet, doing better than ever. Thousands of listeners check up each week, either on YouTube or on Spotify, to tune in and talk about the newest music dropped into the world. Mostly rock, but she doesn’t forget some other genres if they catch her attention enough.

He runs his fingers through his hair, leaning back on his seat and parting his jean cladded legs, fixing the plain yet expensive t-shirt resting on his slender body before she responds. “Get on with your life, Hao. If I don’t drink coffee, I could totally die.”

“Stubborn as ever, I see.” Minghao tuts, lifting his cat-like eyes from the screen just as he clears his throat. “Your kidneys are the ones dying.”

“As long as it’s not my vocal cords, we’re fine.”

“You’re not going to die because of lack of caffeine. That’s just stupid.” Yet, his eyes keep concentrating on the screen, organizing both good and bad albums to talk about, maybe a sprinkle of singles here and there as not to make the podcast too long. However, just as the straw of her iced coffee meets her lips, Minghao’s face stands out in their office setup, widening his eyes at what he sees on the screen. “You’re going to die because of this, though.”

Exaggerations are not his thing. That’s why he is so poised even when the audio cuts off, or when her voice breaks. Nothing impresses him, nothing leaves an imprint on him, so her body moves to his side before he could completely finish his sentence. “Why? Why? Why? Why would I die?”

Minghao doesn’t let her look at the screen of his laptop, instead reading out the title of the article he read online for her. “Love’s Midnight has released a new album after their one-year hiatus. The drummer, Jeon Wonwoo, surprises with his songwriting skills in their new project: Valentine. The release date is next week and…” Minghao turns to her then, eyebrows lifted as he inspects her features. “Apparently, it’s an ode to a past lover.”

It’s been two years since she opted to never hear those names again. Love’s Midnight. Jeon Wonwoo. Even Eunkyung, Hansol and Andy had been completely eradicated from her thoughts.

Valentine, perhaps because they had gotten together on February, but what are the odds of Wonwoo actually writing a song about her? An album, at that? He had never reached out, not by hand, not by text, not by a single call. Wonwoo had dissipated after a few missed calls, as if he had given up, and it was for a cause.

“Well, we’re not talking about their album next week.”

Minghao shakes his head harshly enough for a few strands of his hair to jump at the motion. “We have to. Love’s Midnight has been huge for the past two years,” The lack of her in their lives must have been the reason of their success. All friends of hers, now nothing in comparison. “And with the departure of Andy and the entrance of lady-killer Hoshi into the team, we better have all the fangirls tuning in for our podcast.”

Andy. The innocent features, short height, the banter in between them. She had not even gotten to know he had left. “Why did Andy leave?”

“Ooh, messy stuff.” Minghao conquers, not one for gossip, but one for knowing it all. “Love and Andy were dating since the start, right?” Now, that’s not the story she knows—Andy and Love were pals for lust, but they were never really a serious thing. “They broke up. Andy departed because of how difficult it was to be around her, and that was it for them. That’s why the hiatus happened, but now Hoshi joined them.”

“Who’s that Hoshi dude?”

The tech turns to his laptop, writing down the name quickly on the search before an image popped up in front of them. Pierced ears, rounded cheeks and sharp eyes, all highlighted by makeup on his cheeks to make him glisten like the sun, the thick eyeliner matching his leather jacket and his pushed back hair full of gel. He seems to be blonde in that picture, but in the one next to it, his hair is darker, playing guitar on stage with Love, who’s singing in the microphone. Skinnier than ever, with her eyes hollowed out and yet, the smile never leaves her face.

“I see,” She starts, pushing her body away when she sees a glimpse of Wonwoo with his hands up in the air in the back, ready to smack his drums again. “We’re not talking about them, though. I don’t care about anything Jeon Wonwoo can write.”

But her heart picks up just at the mere sight of him. Would he be alright? His health, fine? His lungs still working perfectly or is he still in the way to addiction to nicotine? Does the loneliness still haunt him at times in the middle of the night, or has he found someone else already?

“Don’t be like that,” Minghao states, rolling his eyes at her. “It’s just an album, and you haven’t listened to their music in a while. It was two years ago, I’m sure it will be fine.”

“What if it is about me?”

The question haunts her, makes her feel insecure in a way that she hasn’t felt in a while. Maybe, she fears to know what he really wanted to say—the regrets or the acceptance, the things he felt. If it made him happier or sadder. If he, to this day, hasn’t been able to love someone equally as much as her, because she knows she can’t. No man can compare to the fluttering feeling that came with him. “It’s just a few songs. I think not all of them are about you. Besides, it can be any past lover…and I’m sure you weren’t Wonwoo’s first girlfriend.”

Not his first love, and definitely not his last. A sigh leaves her lips as she crosses her arms over her chest. If she spoke about his album, maybe she’d prove to herself that he was wrong. Music exists in her blood, she acknowledges it as part of her, and he can’t tell her that she doesn’t know what she’s talking about anymore.

“I’ll give it a listen once it drops out.”

With a dizzy smile on his features, Minghao claps his hands in excitement. “Well, look who made you agree to something for the first time in his life.” Sending his two thumbs his way, he chuckles. “This guy.”

###

Being the center of attention has never been of his liking. It’s not the thing Jeon Wonwoo is known for, but it’s the thing their publicist wants him to do.

Flashing lights end up all over him, makeup-less and yet, not caring that he is showing every imperfection on his skin. He cares about what he has to say, though, to take out the buried memories of a past love just for the sake of an album, or for healing. The documentary they’re doing about Love’s Midnight, however, is another ordeal he can’t seem to understand. Not quite feeling connected to the camera in front of him, the white background, the staff that gather as if they want to listen to him. They don’t.

Hansol is somewhere by the corner, getting his makeup taken off for his own interview—people want it to be realistic, or so they say. Somewhere around the room, Love is singing at the top of her lungs—not reaching those notes that had once been the point of her knowledge, but still sounding like an angel sent from heaven. Hoshi is the only one nearby, seated with his legs crossed, looking at Wonwoo in understanding. Not equally as introverted, but somehow capturing the essence of dread in Wonwoo’s soul.

He shrinks into himself, each curvature of his muscles hidden by his posture, though the tank top on him does nothing to conceal what he knows will get him compliments, but never too meaningful. He sends a smile to one of the staff members that passes by him, fixing the lights one last time and asking him to take off his glasses. He does, never the type to say no.

“So, Wonwoo…” The cameraman says from his spot, learning his questions like the palm of his hand, and no amount of preparation and knowledge could’ve prepared him for the question thrown his way. His mind knew it was going to happen, but much like a teenage student in high school, he didn’t prepare. “What’s this album about?”

Her.

It’s not a ‘what’, it’s a ‘who’.

It’s his February 21st, his little memory in a pink dress, his ode to the drums, the reason why he sometimes touches the piano in hopes of composing a song. The only smile he can’t seem to remember perfectly, from the shade of her lipstick to the way her lips felt against his. The little smile she gave him after their first kiss, the way she called out his name, the only ode he has been able to give to the world…his memories of her.

“It’s about love, heartbreak, healing. All of the like.” He says, clearing his throat soon after, only to watch the cameraman move his hands, instructing him to say more. His eyes close for a second, letting out a breath that mingles with an uncomfortable laugh. “It’s about someone I loved dearly. Someone I don’t want to forget.”

“What did you love about them?”

“Pardon?”

“What did you love about them?” The cameraman asks, and Wonwoo has to lean back on his seat to capture the gasp that was about to leave his lips. He was never one to say it much—those three words that would have otherwise made her feel better. She’s talkative, he’s not.

What did he love about her?

Was it the love that she made him feel? Was it the movement of her hips, the shape of her lips, the way she spoke about her issues as if the world was falling down on her? Was it her enthusiasm, her happiness—?

“That everything about her made me want to be a better person.” His head nods once, twice, trying to further convince himself that it’s okay that he doesn’t have her. She’ll always exist in his music, in his rhymes, in his handwriting as he gives another poem to her—another melody to cherish her. “She was the only woman I ever imagined myself loving for a long time.”

Yet, he can’t clean up the mess they made. Can’t return to the avenue they left abandoned because it had taken too long to get to their goal. With one last breath, he hears another question:

“Care to explain some songs to us?”

But the words never come to him. They didn’t back then, they don’t now.

###

Okay, an album. She has listened to thousands of those, maybe even millions. It shouldn’t be an issue for her to sit down in front of her computer, plug in her earphones, and just let the melody of Love’s Midnight songs fill her eardrums with absolute bullshit. Cheesy love bullshit that never happens.

But this is not yet another album.

This is an album about her.

Minghao could be right, though. What are the odds of Wonwoo actually remembering her, much more in the form of lyricism? This thought is what has her pushing her earphones inside the laptop, sighing deeply as she presses play. The introduction shouldn’t be that difficult to listen to, and the artwork is simplistic, something of the like of a sunset merging into artwork in its abstract form. It feels romantic, but it isn’t about her.

The first song changes it all.

The first track of nine has Love’s strong vocals, reaching her high notes like they are part of her voice, slow and steady with that edge of slow rock, a plea for a lover to trust them even when they don’t seem to be showcasing their truest intention. A fool, the song speaks about over and over again, blaming themselves for not being able to point out their realest feelings to their lover.

The bass is heavy on the second track, and Hansol—Vernon, in this case—hasn’t lost a single ounce of his talent to fame. Metaphors speak about Wonwoo’s growing love for literature, grieving the end of a relationship and cladding it in pride. A man who can’t seem to understand the finalization of his relationship, covering it with more wrongdoings, and yet, begging for another yesterday, another chance. Something that has her tightening her hand against her heart, listening to Love’s voice dragging feelings through the pits of hell.

The third track is the one she likes the least, and it’s the one that seems to be the most about her. Talking about smiles, laughter, reminiscent of times much happier and yet, mixing a sound that she would’ve never imagined from Wonwoo’s band. It feels like she is walking on the streets of Madrid, waiting for a lover, letting the Spanish guitar pull her in only to dizzy her. Far too happy. Far too difficult to understand with their bitter ending.

The fourth track feels like him, enough for her fingers to hover over the space bar to pause it a few times. Slow, steady, and the pain of the break-up is felt through every single note. Loneliness haunting, drowning and drowning him into this pit of nonexistence. Love’s voice seems to fit every feeling, and she wonders if it’s just her amazing way of portraying sentiments, or it’s common for people to go through so much pain.

Fifth track, and the echo of it makes her feel even lonelier in her room, leaning back on her gray bed and fluffy pillows to close her eyes lightly. Drunken feelings, it speaks about, a man in the middle of a party with the smell of smoke clinging to him, speaking his feelings into the microphone as if they come directly from his heart, remembering how his life seemed to be easier, much easier when it was simpler. The minimalistic whisper coming from Love’s voice indicating: “I’m good, what about you?” in such a broken tone has her sending a weak smile to the air.

She’s not half as good as he is.

Insecurities seep through the sixth track, and her back cracks by the time she moves again, wanting to hear this from up close. This past lover comes haunt him in his dreams, and he only wonders if they’re happy. The sixth track is far more commercial than the rest, reason as to why it doesn’t surprise her it’s the one, they dropped with a music video she has yet to see. The allegories indicate that this lover, maybe, has found someone else, and the thought alone makes them sleepless. Insomniac. Saddened.

Huh, wouldn’t even surprise her if Wonwoo was the one that found someone else. Each of her dates have ended in her going home without a single kiss, not wanting to have anyone but him.

The seventh track shows Wonwoo’s talent by the drums perfectly, upbeat and coming directly from the 80’s, Love doing her best to portray the meeting of two lovers and the immediate chemistry between the two. A pink dress is mentioned, and the only thing she can do is purse her lips together.

Fuck Xu Minghao.

Fuck him for making her listen to this motherfucking album.

Fuck that pink dress that she keeps in her closet.

The piano on the eighth track takes her breath away, far more heartfelt than anything they have ever done—far more mature than anything she would have imagined from Wonwoo’s little band. The fear of losing someone, one last goodbye, the speech through a break-up. It speaks about turning and twisting, about running out of things to say and saying the worst ones. Tears gather by her vision when she hears that female voice speaking all the pain, she has gathered in her heart for only four minutes. It feels like a lifetime.

Getting Wonwoo to sing for her was difficult. It’d have to come after long conversations, when he was really tired, or when she couldn’t sleep. His voice in the last track was unexpected, so much that she wouldn’t even be able to recognize his voice if only she had not listened to it for almost a year of her life, every single day. His deep tone breathes out words of wanting someone back, but not knowing if he should trust his heart or his brain. Starting slow and then building up to a pop beat, it’s a nice song to snap fingers to, yet, she can’t bring herself to do anything but stare at the screen.

He’d still try for her, he says. In some point of his life, or when he wrote this song, he wanted her back.

He’ll always want her back with him.

And it’s with that thought that she closes her laptop, breathing out harshly at the same time that she texts Minghao.

To: Hao.

I hate you for making me listen to this album.

Track number three sucks ass.

Yet, her fingers hover over the search bar, letting the line tickle the write surface with its glow before she is writing down his name. Jeon Wonwoo, but with an addition—girlfriend, she wants to know who this could be about if it’s not about her—

The first pictures that pop out break her heart in a million pieces only to deliver it across the world as a souvenir. Wonwoo is getting out of a party with some model by his side, long dark hair cascading down her back, a little black dress cladding her elongated body, shiny legs in display as a shy smile creeps up her red lips.

Want you back my ass.

Maybe, it’s this model he is missing.

###

Blue lights bathe his skin in its sinful glow, seated by the entrance of a bar. Their usual spot packs people as if they’re the box of cigarettes on his coat’s pocket, one long stick of nicotine dangling from his lips only to be lit up by someone else. Some of the people gathering around him, perhaps, or the femme voice that has been asking him personal questions for the past hour. Short answers have escaped him, but seeing how risqué they are getting and how uncomfortable he is, he can’t bring himself to care.

Tonight, he’s supposed to celebrate the release of Valentine, his newest album. The happiest night of his life, it must be, but it’s far from that. Droplets of champagne pour from the ceiling, cheers being heard as yet another electronic song plays in the background. Eunkyung is lost in God-knows-where, Hansol has embarked in a conversation about the universe with a group of college students, and Soonyoung is dancing as if he doesn’t have a care in this world. He probably doesn’t, and that’s the dream.

It feels weird. Earning money and success from his sentiments should make him feel better—narcissistic in a way that fuels his ego, but only makes him feel as though the headlines are eating him alive. With each person that nears him, he feels more faux. A product, nothing more, nothing less, enough to be dismissed when he stands up from his spot, blowing out smoke into the condensed air. Some bump his side, staining the expensive leather of his coat, but the conceptualization passes him by quickly. At least, he gets to feel something.

Footsteps are heard beside him by the time he opens the door to the bar. If he’s lucky, he may get to go to his apartment, smoke another cigarette, and head to bed quickly. However, just when the black, sleek door slides from his fingertips to close it down, the flashes of cameras attack his features. Each regret is highlighted by yet another paparazzi throwing themselves at him as they ask the same old questions. The only thing that people seem to wonder about him.

“Who was Valentine about? Please, tell us the details!” One of them screams directly to his face, the microphone grazing his bottom lip and making him stumble back. He tries to smile, but the beam falls down by his fakeness.

“Wonwoo, over here!” One of the shortest interviewers says, waving his hand in the air to capture his attention. “Was it about Eunji?”

Right, Eunji. His publicist would love if he simply said it was about her.

The woman comes in the shape of a goddess, and the tremor of her voice brought a distraction for one night. A distraction, compliments that are void, words that did not have to have meaning, and the frustration of not being able to move on. Eunji said she understood—she, too, had been going through some kind of heartbreak and the relief was needed, but each text that came after said events went directly through his head and towards the deleted pile. One night was enough.

Blowing the air of his cigarette in the air, his mind desires to give the paparazzi what they want. Be the good boy he has always been in a band of people who have stood out for their unique qualities, but tonight, when it’s about her and the success tastes like blood and iron on his tongue, he doesn’t want to be who he used to be.

Jeon Wonwoo, did everything to be one of the most well-known drummers of the year, and ended up alone in the process.

“It’s just for someone, let me be.” He whispers, pushing through the seas of people with his bodyguard trailing right behind him. One good thing comes from fame, but just as he is getting away from the bar, the clicking of cameras still following along with the words from the paparazzi, he hears a lively voice cut through the air with worry.

“Wonwoo, what do you think you’re doing? That’s bad publicity.” Soonyoung speaks quickly, brushing his blonde hair away from his face to showcase his reddened face. The honesty must come from being a bit tipsy.

“Sorry.” It’s the only thing he can bring himself to say, because he knows it’s bad publicity, but isn’t it bad enough that people have been speculating about the muse behind his album? And none of the suppositions are right.

“Stop smoking and look at me for once.” Soonyoung indicates, and Wonwoo parts the cigarette from his lips for a second, quirking one of his eyebrows as they walk together. “What is going on with you?”

“I’m about to become a million seller by exploiting my past relationship and I’ve been getting more attention than usual in the process.” The night seems to swallow each and every single one of his worries, leaving him with a sigh. “I think I’ve just had enough.”

“That’s what happens, dude!” Soonyoung conquers, as if trying to make him feel better. His arm wraps around his shoulder, moving him from side to side. “You’ve done something great for our band, and you’ve been able to let go of all those pent feelings.”

Ha. That’s something he hasn’t done at all. How stupid does he have to be to be in love with her when it all ended so wrongly? Besides, it’s not like she would’ve waited for him—he was a dick, and she has all the reasons to find someone much better. The thought has him putting the cigarette up to his lips again.

“I suppose.” He shrugs, watching a limousine pull up not too far away from them. Since when did he forget about the existence of taxis and started to be too rich for his own good?

“The publicists are going to be so mad at you.”

Wonwoo stops at that, looking ahead and back, ahead and back, not knowing if he should move forward and drag himself to the past. Was it easier when no one cared? Is it easier now that he has all he ever wanted?

Was this all he ever wanted at all?

“Soonyoung…” He says those words into the air, playing a smile into his features as if he feels it. He doesn’t. “Can’t we just get in the car and not talk about this for a second? Let’s talk about any other band but Love’s Midnight.”

Something in the blonde man switches, opening the door to the limousine as he nods with uncertainty. He doesn’t like being looked at like that—as if he doesn’t know what he’s doing with his life…

Because it’s damn right.

But hey, at least he’s almost a million copies seller, right?

###

“Huh, I listened to an album this week,” Her voice drags with the continuation of her sentence, eyes trailing up until she meets Minghao’s, far too concentrated on the sound of her microphone, on stopping the echoes and making sure that those who tune in live do get to hear her properly. She has to muffle a laugh. Nervousness makes her sound stupid. “Well, duh, of course, I always talk about music and listen to albums…but I listened to a weekly favorite just last week.”

Each day has been worse than the last. The headache doesn’t leave her, finding herself humming the tunes to Love’s Midnight songs—that one song, the last track, keeps playing in her head as if she had been the one who composed it. Whatever. It happens. I’m sure most of the women in music who had songs written about them felt the same way. Maybe, Courtney Love felt like this. Could’ve been worse, at least Wonwoo didn’t pull a Lennon and wrote a song along the lines of “Dear Yoko”.

She fixes the beanie on her head, staring forward at the white doors of her office, the coldness seeping through her sweater, a shiver going down her spine. “It’s Love’s Midnight latest album, Valentine. You guys were recommending it a lot this week, wanted me to talk about it and all…” Her fingers start to play with the straw of her drink, trying her hardest not to take too many pauses. The podcast is live for some, after all. “And it’s here. I’ll talk about it.”

With the last ounce of sanity left inside her body, she takes a long sip of her drink, smacks her lips and starts pouring out her thoughts into professionalism.

“Track number three sucks. Sorry to anyone who is a fan, but track number three is the corniest, stupidest thing I’ve ever heard from them. No hate, just truth.” She lifts her hands in the air, watching Minghao lift his gaze to mouth something to her. Don’t, he says, and she remembers that was the last word she told Wonwoo. Fuck. “In all honesty, though, I liked the conceptualization of the album. I think that…uh…they could’ve added some spice here and there. Everything felt like a pile of heartbreak—”

The screen by her side lights up, showing up the live chat and the viewers speaking about the album.

Jeon Wonwoo wrote it for a past lover. He must be heartbroken.

Track number three is the best, though.

Finally, you’re talking about Love’s Midnight. Favorite band.

“But yeah, Love did amazingly with her vocals, contrary to what one would believe. She went to high highs and low lows, exquisite in her vibratos, that raspy tone of hers still captures everyone who listens.” Looking up at the ceiling, she swallows thickly. So much to say about nine tracks about her, and still the words don’t come out. “H—Vernon, he’s very good with the bass. You know, maybe our tech Minghao will agree with me on this, but Vernon is the one who makes the songs feel profitable, like it can be heard in a club, can be heard in the car, both adults and teens can like his sound. Definitely one of the pillars of the band, I think.”

Minghao nods his head from the booth, and she feels a little bit of warmth in the room. She’s not alone—if she fucks up, she’s not alone.

“Hoshi. Didn’t even know Hoshi was in the band until our tech told me, haven’t been really up to date with Love’s Midnight…” Because watching him play would only bring back the memories of the first time they met, the feeling of his skin tattered in tattoos under the weight of her hands, the tremble of his voice, the tender way he held her. Like she meant something. Like her words meant something. Until they didn’t. “God, his solos? He’s—I think in this era, in this generation of musicians, it’s impossible to stand out as a guitarist because there’s hundreds, thousands, millions of good guitarists. Haven’t seen Hoshi live, but I’m looking forward for the acoustic sets with his talent. Just from listening to him, I feel like he has real talent.”

Her eyes divert towards the screen, shaking a bit when she reads a question on her opinion about Wonwoo’s songwriting skills. There, she can imagine him sprawled on his bed, his notebook covering most of his face as he looks at her from the corner of his eye, sending a shy smile her way before venturing into a new world, writing her in it as if he cared.

Did he ever care?

“Ah…what I think about Jeon Wonwoo’s songwriting skills?” Saying his name out loud has her scrunching up her features. If she closes her eyes, he’s there, so she keeps them wide open. His voice calls her out—baby, baby, I didn’t forget you. “I think they could be better.”

It’s at this time that Minghao scoffs from his spot, shaking his head as he places his hands behind it. Liar, his pretty lips mouth at her.

“Wonwoo, whoever this album is about,” Me, she thinks, it’s about me and my stupid dumb smile when around him. My insecurities. My world. “I don’t know, it feels fake. Maybe, it’s just me…” Her voice trails for a second, shaking her thoughts out before sighing. “They’re good, they’re just not…you know, they’re not ‘album of the year’ worthy. He seems to be stuck in the same topic and I can’t judge his range if he’s only written about…one thing…you know, like—” Shit, she’s really digging her own grave right here. What is she supposed to say? That she liked it? “Like, yeah, we get it, you’re heartbroken…but, I mean, judging from what he has written in the album…he fucked up, too, you know?”

Maybe, she should just read some comments. Reassure herself that she’s not sounding like the one who had an entire album written about her.

Emo boy energy, doesn’t surprise me. Very Jeon Wonwoo-esque. One of them writes.

The drums were sick, though. Say hi to me, host!

People say it’s about Song Eunji.

Song Eunji. Model. Wonwoo’s latest known lover. The pictures flash before her eyes as she thinks about it. Maybe, it’s really about Eunji and not about her…

Why does the thought make her sadder?

“So, yeah, I’d give it an eight point seven out of ten. Favorite track is track number nine. Hoshi is the backbone of this band to me now. That’s it.”

Regret clings to her like a leech. Song Eunji. Jeon Wonwoo. An album. Failed dates. A broken relationship. Why is love always extra difficult for her?

###

“Come on, babe, lighten up.”

With rosy cheeks, her friend, Jade, speaks those words like there is enough space in this party for her to feel free. There isn’t, quite clearly, but Jade is on the brink of her youth, ready to mess up her long hair, get on some tables and drunkenly sing to the world, albeit a bit messily. Her family, all consisting of enormous classic musicians, rooted from the most intricate and exclusive of schools, would shake their heads at the sight of Jade, already rid of her shirt and practically dragging her body towards her to wrap an arm around her shoulder and keep herself steady. The bottle of champagne Jade had been drinking from is brought up to her lips, and she has to take a sip if she doesn’t want Jade to start whining in a high tone, able to break through the bass-boosted music in this club.

It’s Jade’s birthday, and Minghao is nowhere to be seen. He probably left early—her fault for trying to play matchmaker between Jade and Minghao over a year ago, but her apologies had never been enough for the awkward blind date she had set up for the two of them. If there’s one thing Minghao can’t stand is lying, and much more if it’s about his romantic life.

To be quite honest, she thought it’d be a match. Stylishly rich guitarist of a local band, Jade, and stylishly average tech of her podcast, Minghao.

Maybe, she was wrong.

“Shit, Jade—” She’s already taking off her jacket from her shoulders to drape it across Jade’s chest, who simply looks down at the fabric with a scrunch of her nose. “You’re on your bra.”

Jade chuckles sweetly, because inherently, she’s dulcet. The kind of girl that wipes your tears after a break up, lends you some powder after you throw up in a bar’s bathroom, and the one that just wants everyone to have a good time. Everyone including her. “Babe, it’s Victoria’s Secret. I’m sure it’s fine.”

“Everyone is going to see your nipples.”

“You know, it’s better for me to have two very healthy nipples than not have them at all. So, whoever wants to see, can see.” With that, her jacket is given once again to her, staring at Jade who brings up the bottle of champagne up to her lips, the pink liquid trailing down her cheeks and her chin. “Why are you here all alone?”

Because the music is shitty, Minghao is nowhere to be in sight, and Jade was playing a game of body shots not too long ago. College has been long dead for her since a while ago—and she doesn’t think she’d be confident enough to have someone drinking directly from her body.

Props to Jade, of course.

“Ah, maybe because I wanted to leave soon?” She asks, rubbing the back of her head to play with her messy ponytail. It had been sleek once, but being around this amount of people, dancing against one another, and trying to move through them while also avoiding anyone getting too close to her, was a difficult task that ended up getting her a bit riled up.

“Shut up!” Jade screeches, wrapping her arm around her once again and resting her cheek against hers. “Shut up, babe! You’re not leaving…anywhere…no.”

That’s the drag of her voice, the clear sign that Jade will be too drunk tomorrow, drunk enough for her not to remember if she leaves her alone here—

But shit, she can’t leave Jade alone. She’s shirtless, meaning that her Versace shirt must be somewhere on the floor, or covered in vomit, and she’s drunk. God knows what could happen if she leaves her alone.

“I’m not leaving you, don’t worry.”

“Yay!”

“But I should clean you up, you’re all sticky from the alcohol, Jade.” She replies, already making her way through the masses of people to find the bathroom. It must be by one of the corners, but she’s not too sure in this club. “Why did you drink so much?”

“Because—”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Just because.”

When the bathroom’s door is only a few meters away, she sees him. The song that is playing in the background is too robotic for anyone’s taste, but the one that plays inside her head is the one she mumbled to him before they fell asleep once.

‘Love of my Life’ by Queen.

Because if there’s someone that she loved in this world, in this hellish world that they dare call real life, it’s Jeon Wonwoo.

Closed eyes, head tilted back enough for his Adam’s apple to bob when he takes another drag of his cigarette. Nicotine is his lover for the night, while Love seems to tell him something angrily, fingers threading through her bleached blonde hair, dying at the number of products she puts on it, fried at this point. Wonwoo looks like himself, but he also doesn’t. She knows those black strands of hair, and how they curled against her fingertips when she tightened her hold on them after a kiss. Her mind recognizes those lips, now pink yet chapped, but when they wrap into an answer that blows the smoke into the air, he doesn’t seem like her Wonwoo. His eyes open, he stares at Love as he speaks to her, but Love’s eyes are already looking at someone else.

Eunkyung is calling out her name and there is nothing that seems to stop her as she stumbles away from her seat.

It’s at nights like these that she wishes to be forgotten. Get on a car, preferably old, drive until her feet hurt or until the gas runs low, wearing a thin jacket as she listens to classics. She’s tired of this new version of her life that she can’t seem to get used to. People that she thought she knew seem to be far too different now, with Eunkyung not existing when she reaches her and Jade. This is Love, the vocalist of Wonwoo’s band, with eyes so hollow she almost feels dead, and a mouth that wraps up in a smile that begs for a second chance.

Because everyone wants to go back.

But no one can.

“It’s been so long since I last saw you!” Love’s arms wrap around her to take her away from Jade, but her friend doesn’t seem to mind as she giggles mindlessly. Love’s hold is strong, calloused hands meeting her spine as she cages her face on her shoulder. There are tears there, an unspoken word, perhaps the need to feel like herself again. This is not Eunkyung. “Where have you been?”

“Somewhere. Always here.” She replies, pulling away and yet, capturing Wonwoo’s gaze in a single second. His eyes are already on her, twinkling heavenly in the pits of hell, and she has to give a step back to deny the gravity in between the two.

“Wonwoo’s over there. Let me call him over—!”

Little by little, she loved him.

And little by little, she shall erase the memory of him.

“No, sorry. Me and my friend are going back home.” She replies, wrapping her hand around Jade’s wrist, pulling farther and farther away from the people she had known the most. Yet, she doesn’t know them now. These people on world tours, selling millions of copies of their albums, making money out of their past…those are not people she had known.

And she doesn’t want to know them again.

Her feet bring her out of the club, and she swears she feels someone behind her, but with rushed steps the feeling becomes barely a ghost. Then, nonexistent. Finally, in the car she starts to think about it.

May the stars only know if it was him going after her.

###

With him, it always feels like one of both said something wrong. Or, rather, didn’t say anything at all.

What’s with her, this feeling of talking too much and saying too little? What’s the regret that overtakes her when her head leans back on her seat, listening to the song Minghao has put on per her request, played for their viewers and yet, not quite admitting to her most intricate of desires even on a verse? Her eyes stare at the ceiling, imagine him in front of his drums—imagine him calling her beautiful, holding her head, longing for her. All things she wants now, all equally as impossible.

A week since she last saw him, and she likes to believe Wonwoo went trailing after her. It’s the only thing that keeps her up at night—the questioning of reality and a dream. Maybe, he was never behind her—it could’ve been one of the partygoers, one of those drunken people that don’t know where to step, or it could’ve been him. Why does she feel her lungs relax against its own confines when she imagines him?

Because this is Wonwoo. The one who writes songs about her. The only man that she can’t seem to get over. Memories that come back all the time, because he’s in every single one of them. Wonwoo’s name spill from her tongue without knowing, his songs come to her in the shower without meaning to, and his scent is felt on every portion of her bed. He hasn’t been there in years, but it’s almost like he left only yesterday.

It was two years ago.

Two years, and she really should get over him.

Her eyes divert towards her computer screen, watching the messages pop in slowly before she sees a collection of digits. It’s a date—the date in which everything ended, continued by a text that has her mouth drying up.

I want to see you again.

It has to be a coincidence; it really has to be so. It could be that someone’s important date was two years ago, in that night in which everything ended. She sighs deeply, clearing her throat when the song finishes itself and she has to talk again.

“Well, now we have to talk about that album—”

Another message pops up, but it’s impossible. Wonwoo rarely listened to her podcast, and when he did, he never said anything.

Love’s Midnight album is about who you think it is about.

Please, let me see you again.

She wants to see him again, too. It’s that feeling that keeps her up at night—knowing he could be close, but never close enough.

“Ah, in case anyone comes across a bunch of messages in the chat about seeing me again. It’s just some ex.” She tries to chuckle, but her voice has long gone left for something duller, stranger, as if she can’t get used to talking when it’s about him. “Already seeing someone dude, sorry.”

Seeing who?!

Minghao lifts his gaze, his hat doing nothing to conceal the disappointment on his face. What can she do? Admit that she feels jealous whenever she hears those rumors about who the album is about? That she has looked at pictures of his possible lovers and yet, the feeling never quite settles well with her?

The last man she saw was a man of wealth—son of a record label owner, very much into music, yet not quite in a band or participating anywhere as a solo artist. Mingyu was a nice date; the kind that made her laugh, ate a lot with her, drank a good glass of burgundy colored wine with her…but he wasn’t a forever. Wasn’t even a kiss. Mingyu became a friend after, and then, she didn’t want to date again.

But it’s what she has to do. If Wonwoo can go date some Eunji, and possibly write one or two songs about her, she can date whoever…

Right?

Right?!

###

The documentary didn’t show exactly how Love’s Midnight came to be what they are today.

People love a good story. Movies are a profitable job because of that, and books keep on fueling fantasies for those who can’t live in a better world for the same reason. What happens is, if something is boring, people don’t care. There has to be sentimentalism; enough to move anyone to tears, or make them feel inspired. Everyone who has been legendary has gone through a story of pain, only to reach their best spot. There’s a downfall in between, but the point of union always brings the grand finale to life.

In reality, Love’s Midnight happened because of Hansol. Eunkyung, who now can’t seem to stand anyone calling her that name instead of Love, worked part-time in some bar downtown. The place was ratchet, with hidden call-people expecting someone to capture them for the night, some drunkards that got a little bit too loud, and the owner, who’d always thank Eunkyung’s presence, calling it Love’s Midnight whenever clients gathered around…because her drinks were that good.

Hansol said, as he happened to be sitting down in Wonwoo’s couch, that it sounded like a band’s name. Andy was there, too, partly rubbing the skin of his arm after getting his first tattoo, and also hardly listening—but it seemed to be fitting for him, to join their forces and make a group. Originally, Eunkyung was supposed to be a guitarist, but Wonwoo would not even dare step in front of masses of people to sing a goddamned song about love.

What did people who watched the documentary believe now? That it was because of Andy’s nickname to Eunkyung. Love, when they were lovers, and the midnights they spent together. It earns them more money, yes, but it’s also heavily exaggerated to have people asking for more. Andy and Love were one of the biggest couples years ago, after all, and people thirsted more and more for their little interactions, even if they were nonexistent at this point.

Luckily, Hoshi is now with them.

But people are now even more interested in the band, and the arenas for the concerts of their world tours have been selling like hot bread. The problem is that being in a van with his three bandmates gets more tiring with each and every day that they spend pretending to be people they are not. They have to be cool, edgy, attend parties when they are told to, drink alcohol like it’s water, talk like they think of themselves as the most mysterious in this world. He can’t even call Hansol his real fucking name without having one of their managers tug him by the arm and correct him to Vernon.

The news outlet displays itself on the television screen. Hoshi keeps strumming on his guitar, and Vernon doesn’t seem to mind as he lays sleepily on his bed, ready to knock off. Love is somewhere in the back with someone she met in the afterparty of the concert—some groupie that she can’t seem to get her hands off of. The worst part is that he can’t seem to continue writing this song for the next album, because a picture of him is displayed on the screen.

“Who do you think Valentine is about, Rose?” One of the hosts asks, moving her short hair away from her sturdy shoulders to look at her taller counterpart.

Rose plays with the strands of her bubblegum pink hair, smacking her lips together before she speaks up. “People say it’s about Eunji Song, but I think there’s a line of girls that say it’s about her.”

“Wonwoo’s totally a womanizer.” Another host says, fashionable in the way he dresses, one leg crossed over the other. “We have fourteen idols who have been linked with him, three models, one entrepreneur and all in the last two years. We don’t even know who could’ve slipped the public eye.”

Rose takes a sharp breath, her teeth clattering in a way that has Wonwoo closing his eyes tightly. Two models, and that was about it. Neither lasting more than a week. Neither meant to be more to him. Just two people that he happened to come across with, and helped him forget. Well, tried to, at least. “He has even more lovers than Vernon!”

“Vernon’s been with the same girl for a while. Maybe, he could learn a thing or two about a committed relationship.”

The first host chuckles at their words, shaking her head in the process. “Everyone’s into drummers. I think he just likes the attention.”

The lonesome tune of Hoshi’s old guitar stops playing in the background, and Vernon’s soft snores mix with the cars passing by. His fingers reach for the remote, turning off the TV before those words stain his heart even further.

“Want to talk about it?” The bleached blonde man in the room asks, resting his cheek against his guitar to pay his utmost attention to him. “Vernon knows. Love does, too. But you’ve never told me what happened with your Valentine.”

Maybe, Hoshi seems like the kind who doesn’t take anything seriously—but he does. His eyes glaze over as he quietly speaks into the night, but Wonwoo can only stand up from his seat, eager to lock himself in his own room and think of what exactly happened. He doesn’t know what’s going on inside his head. “It’s nothing special,” But it is. Wonwoo believed in a lot of things—that Van Gogh was the best artist of his generation, that knowledge is the best form of revenge, and that she was his person. The only individual in this world that could see him for who he was and still, gauged him to be better. “Just what happens to everyone.” He fixes his jeans then, hanging low on his hips when Hoshi scoffs.

“What happens to everyone?”

“…Just, falling in love and never being able to make it work.”

“That’s not your fault.”

He stops in front of the door that leads to his room, and he wants to believe what Hoshi says. Maybe, if she had understood him as an artist, they’d be together. Perhaps, if he had just listened to her, he wouldn’t have written an entire album about heartbreak. It was not inherently his fault, but partly, like DNA that splits in two and creates the atrocity of what they were. The beauty in the fallout. “I’m heading to sleep.”

A hand wraps around his thigh, caging him in his spot when Hoshi, with a widened gaze, asks: “Who is it about?” The gossip must’ve gotten to him, too. Secrecy at its finest made an entire festival for the world to enjoy. “Like, who out of all the women they say it’s about…the album is actually written for.”

“None of them.” Wonwoo conquers, pushing his body away from him with a dizzied smile on his face. “…And that’s all I’m saying.”

“Wonwoo—!”

“I’m not saying who it is about.”

“…Damn it.” Hoshi adds, finally leaning back on his seat and returning to his guitar, soon after playing a tune with a few invented lyrics: “Jeon Wonwoo has a stick up his ass…”

The door closes behind him with a swoosh, all thoughts of rationality building themselves down out of pure impotence. The room is far too tiny, and Hoshi will join him sooner than later when he finishes his little guitar rendezvous, but that’s far from the point now. With each step he takes towards his bed, the more he notices his phone. Changed it like four times in the past two years because of crazy groupies, obsessed people sending him threats and just because he could do so. He wanted change so much that he doesn’t need it anymore.

The bed welcomes his weight as if he had never left, molding to his every curve, bouncing at his mere presence. His fingers subtly reach for his phone, lurking through his contacts like a man searching for answers.

His past lover is taken, and he’s stupid enough to press down on her contact even when he’s not drunk. Not an ounce of alcohol clads his vision, his stance, and that only makes it more pathetic.

But, how could she be taken? If love’s not as easy to get rid of for him, it should be difficult for her, too.

The ringing stops, and someone picks up, though the voice that welcomes him is old, a femme to be exact, but definitely over her sixties. “Hello?” She asks on the voice, and Wonwoo closes his eyes tightly out of embarrassment. “Who is calling this late?”

Right, a sixty-something-year-old woman is probably not used to two in the morning calls.

But who is, actually?

Out of embarrassment, his thumb presses down on the red button and he’s once again left with his silence. This has to mean that he should stop—calling his ex-girlfriend, who said was taken, is not the worst thing he has done, but it’s outright pathetic. For a second, he thinks of texting someone else—a friend, a model, a singer, someone who clearly wants to pay attention to him, who wouldn’t mind having the star of the year talking to them about anything and everything but her.

Yet, his mind can only think about an old friend, and it’s not even a friend to start with. Calling him would earn him a few insults, so he opts to text the only direct line he has to what he wants to get back. The thread that could move him closer to getting an answer.

To: Xu Minghao.

Hello, Minghao. This is Wonwoo.

Jeon Wonwoo from Love’s Midnight.

Minghao probably recognizes him more as his friend’s ex-boyfriend, but hey, he doesn’t know what to say.

Still, he mentions her name.

To: Xu Minghao.

Do you have her number?

I really need to talk to her.

For a few seconds, he wishes he could dissipate. Of course, Xu Minghao probably has made his life, twirled in his bedsheets and perhaps, with a lover that fits him better than he ever fit his ex. He’ll probably get insulted nonetheless, knowing just how protective he is over the podcast host. It’s two in the fucking morning, Wonwoo’s not drunk, but he really wishes he was so he could have an excuse for being…

Stupid.

A dick.

From: Xu Minghao.

Are you drunk?

To: Xu Minghao.

No.

From: Xu Minghao.

Are you planning on getting drunk?

To: Xu Minghao.

No.

Her number is linked soon after, not without forgetting to add something else.

From: Xu Minghao.

Anything you say can and will be held against you.

I’ll know if you do something stupid.

Don’t fuck it up, dude.

The thing is that Wonwoo is a thinker. Immature at times, or most of the time, but really an overthinker. His dad always told him that going through life as if he’s in a game of chess would help him make right decisions. Count every movement as a step forward, but also a step closer to either winning or losing. Each and every action could cause the fallout of others, of himself, or absolute success. He doesn’t know where he stands as the phone rings and he awaits her response.

“Hello?”

That groggy tone, he has heard before. Whenever someone wakes her up from a nap or a deep night of sleep, her voice seems to be eerily quiet. It’s the only time he has heard her something far from perfect, not as knowledgeable as she is. Love-filled confessions were given at the peak of the night, when Wonwoo’s fingers would ghost over the delicate spot on her waist and she’d grasp his hand with her warm ones and say: I love you.

Muffled, silent, followed by sleep, and yet so meaningful.

“What do you mean you’re taken?” Wonwoo wants to say a million things. Say hi, and indicate that her podcast has only gotten better. That he’s sorry for not believing in her, or rather, not knowing how to show it. However, his mind is clouded with the image of her, holding hands with someone else, kissing someone else, being in absolute love with someone that is not him—and making it work. Egotistic as it can be, he is.

The bed ruffles, and for a moment, she’s silent. Too unlike her until she breathes out, much more awake now, surprised even. “Wonwoo, why are you calling me?”

The only time he has heard that surprised tone was after their first kiss. One would think that someone as beautiful as her would’ve kissed him with little to no reaction after, but his collarbones can almost feel the weight of her face at the memory. Her features hid away from him, the dumbest of smiles accompanied with a few giggles of her own. It was as if she had been waiting for him, and he had taken too long.

It’s not that different now.

“I—Uh, I needed to hear you. Hear from you.” Wonwoo doesn’t know what to say, straightening up his position on the bed and taking his pillow to slot his fingertips against the fabric. “I told you what I really felt and what I did, and all you do is ignore me.”

“I’m not friends with my exes, sorry.” She replies, and Wonwoo is about to retaliate, but the words have come back to her. Angry. Burning. Scalding. “And why in all the fucking hell would I have to tell you why I’m taken?”

“Because—” He wants to be honest for the first time in a while. With himself and with her. “Because we used to be friends before we were lovers, and I still care about the kind of person you’re seeing—”

“Do you really care?” The scoff that leaves her lips brings a frown to his face. “Go ask one of your models, or Song Eunji, about who they’re seeing and what they’re doing with their romantic lives. You don’t need to protect me from anything.”

Oh, so she knew about Eunji. “I’m not with any of them.”

“And you’re not with me, either.”

Wonwoo has to run his fingers through his messy black hair in order to grasp onto something else, or organize his thoughts before he goes absolutely insane. “I’m not.”

Silence. “So, why are you calling?”

“Because I can’t stand the thought of you loving someone else.” He breathes out, and before she could interrupt him with one of her pointy, correct, honest speeches, he bares his heart and soul. “…I’ve only been yours, I’m still yours. I want to know who it is that made you not want to be mine again.”

Again must not be in her vocabulary, and if he listens close enough, he can hear the change in her breathing, as if she starts to live life slower. “So, you date some model and I’m supposed to stay single?”

Fuck.

“I didn’t date her.”

“Then, you slept with her. Or various women, I don’t know.”

He can only stay silent.

“I know we broke up, and it’s totally okay for you to do that, but why would you ask me to stay waiting for you, when you didn’t wait for me either?”

“Okay, shit, sorry.” Wonwoo tries to reorganize his thoughts. He’s stupid. She wasn’t wrong when she said most men are stupid in the past, and now he has entered the spectrum. “I did it because it just…I just…I needed to get you out of my head.”

“By sleeping with other women?”

“Two.”

“Oh, two.” She releases, sarcasm thick in her voice. “What would you do if I said I have had more than two?”

Wonwoo closes his eyes, imagining her going on dates or perhaps, simply looking for someone in a bar. For men to sweeten her lips with a taste of their own, before treating her like less than what she deserves. It’s not what he wants for her, but it’s the same medicine he took. “It’d suck, but it’d be acceptable. We are not together.”

“Exactly.”

“…But who is it?”

“Who?”

“Who is the person you’re seeing right now? Out of your repertoire of people.”

She remains silent for a few seconds, as if she’s thinking too deeply, and yet, Wonwoo can’t keep his mouth from running. For the first time in his life, he wants to say a lot instead of saying nothing at all.

“No one.” She whispers into the dark night, the lullaby of his dreams coming directly from his lips. He wants to call it a second chance, but it just means solitude. “…Because unlike you, I wasn’t able to move on as easily.”

“I didn’t, fuck, I didn’t move on.” Wonwoo replies, laying on his stomach as he hides his face on the sheets. “I was just stupid. I don’t know how to explain myself.”

“Do so or I’ll hang up. Last chance to hear my voice—”

“I wanted to get over you, and I thought I’d do what most rockstars do. I’d just sleep with someone and feel powerful, like I don’t care…” His voice trails, eyes glistening when he lifts his gaze. “But I do care. I care about you.”

“…I don’t know if I should trust you.” The insecurity is palpable through her voice, as if she’s a star in this sky and she’s only getting farther away from him. Tiny, miniscule for her; big and bright for him. “Wonwoo, we didn’t understand each other then, when we were barely starting to be the people we wanted to be. How would we understand each other now that my podcast is doing the best it has ever done, and you have about every woman in this damned country wanting to throw their wet panties at you?”

Looking up at the ceiling, Wonwoo wants to say the truth. What he has always regret not telling her. “I’ll always try my hardest for you. I didn’t do it then, but I’d go back and do it differently if I could.”

The line cuts short after she hangs up, leaving him with no more than a sharp intake of breath.

###

The chocolate on the man’s ice-cream cracks under the force of his teeth, sliced nuts meeting the white substance in between—vanilla ice-cream, most likely, with a few lines of caramel. She had forgotten just how much Mingyu seemed to enjoy life, lips forever petrified in a smile as he looked around in the ice cream shop. Her delight has disappeared into the depths of her stomach, but Mingyu is on his second ice cream. Not a care in this world. Not a single wrinkle on his face to indicate he is feeling the weather a little bit strongly. He’s just eating, living, existing, breathing.

Jade tagged along, because something about her being in his father’s label and Mingyu absolutely needing guitar classes means that they had to ask her to come to their little ‘not a date’. Judging by the way Jade’s cheeks stain pink, and how she continuously play with the strands of hair, becoming a shy version of herself she had rarely gotten to see—unless they went to a concert and got to meet the artists backstage—, she thinks there is a reason why everything felt so inherently wrong with Mingyu, and with her setting up date for Minghao and Jade.

The young woman’s eyes glaze over when Mingyu smiles at her, and her fingertips reach for his lips to rub the chocolate away. Those stares, in between shyness and comfort, in the stage of not knowing what to say and yet, doing everything all at once—she lived that with Wonwoo, and she knows they’re probably less than a month away from calling it the truth.

So, she stands up, because if she can do something right in this life it’s making two people get together, even if she has to fake a few actions in the process. “I’m getting another ice cream. Want one, Jade?”

“We’ll share.” Mingyu adds, already putting his newly bitten chocolate ice cream up to Jade’s lips, and he barely ignores Jade’s widened eyes as she wraps her lips around the sweet and bites on the chocolate.

“Okay…” She whispers, lifting her hands in the air with her phone dinging in between her fingertips. “I’ll be right back.”

She doesn’t miss the way that Jade whispers ‘take your time’, before Mingyu joins her with sweet laughter.

Ugh, love.

It’s so motherfucking annoying when you don’t have it.

But, let’s admit it—it’s cute in its early stages.

To: Hao.

So, when I set you up with Jade…

From: Hao.

You mean: Worst idea you’ve ever had?

To: Hao.

Yeah.

Did you hate me for it because Jade’s not your type, or because you knew she’d be a better match for Mingyu?

From: Hao.

Jade denies it, but she’s always had a thing for Mingyu.

To: Hao.

Oh, tea?

From: Hao.

I guess.

She drunkenly admitted it to me once.

Well, initially she said she wanted Mingyu to tie her to a ceiling fan and make her spin.

But I continued to talk her out of it and she admitted that she thought he was cute.

And I’ve been working on building up her crush on him for a year straight.

To: Hao.

Trust Xu Minghao on finding the love of your life.

Upon approaching the counter to order her ice cream, she hears someone softly calling out her name. It’s a delicate voice, definitely not used a lot, as if the air could take away the words in one single swish. Locking her phone as she turns to the side, she sees a smaller young woman by her side. Probably on her teens, with black hair and red highlights, a band t-shirt representing the pinnacle of her youth. Long ago, before Jeon Wonwoo even existed in her life, she may have looked like this.

“It’s you.”

But she wouldn’t have said that to a complete stranger, lowering her voice to a deep whisper as she clings onto her backpack. The pins read Love’s Midnight name and logo, making her swallow harshly.

“Sorry, I don’t know you—”

The teen fan gets her phone out of her pocket, lurking through her pictures as she speaks. “You’re the woman Valentine was written about,” The lisp on her tone is ever-present, clinging to her every syllable as she shows the device to her, pictures with Wonwoo displayed one by one, moved by her finger to show even more proof. Her face behind important pictures of their first few gigs, a few messages in social media that she was sure she deleted before— “Fans have been going crazy trying to find who it was about, but I saw you in the pictures and decided to look you up.”

She has to take a step back. Fear overtakes her. A young fan could do anything they wanted with this information, and if she was able to find all that…this is not the normal kind of fan. With shaking fingertips, she clasps her phone against her chest. “Did you follow me here, kid?”

“No. This is dad’s ice cream shop.” A smack of her bubblegum fills the air, twirling her finger against the straps of her backpack. “…I just saw you here and I thought it was destiny.”

“It’s not destiny.” She speaks, curt and clear. “And also, I’m not the woman you’re looking for. Sorry.”

“You’re in all his pictures from the past—”

“We were friends.” And she doesn’t know why she’s explaining this to a teenager, instead of actually calling her father and telling him that her daughter is batshit crazy. “And it’s none of your business, ain’t it? If you really like a celebrity, you need to learn how to respect their privacy.”

“Everyone is looking for his Valentine, and if I am right with my assumptions, we’ll finally get to know—”

“What do you earn from it?” Turning around, she spares one glance at Mingyu and Jade, with Mingyu looking at them with a frown on their features. Confusion, definitely. “Whoever it is, that’s the drummer’s issue.”

“It’s you! It’s so you!” The teenager says, a smile on her face as she jumps on her spot. “The blog’s so gonna love this!”

Grasping her hand with force on top of the teenager’s, she sighs deeply. “Don’t do that. That’s wrong.” She starts, eyes raking over the room before clearing her throat. “One day, you’re going to be older, and you’re going to realize those people you look up to are as normal as you are. You don’t need to make them more important than they already are, for you or for anyone. Don’t let being a fan of someone take over your life.”

The teen looks down at their joined hands, eyelashes fluttering with the heavy mascara, chest going up and down with each breath she takes, deeper than the last. “Okay, sorry…” She whispers, pulling away from her. “I must’ve gotten it wrong.”

“Don’t worry, I was also a fan of some people in my time.” She shrugs, returning her gaze to her friends to give them a tight smile. Everything’s alright. “Thank you for understanding.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

“Alright, thank you.”

The problem is that only that night when she gets home, Minghao links her straight to an article, written fresh from the oven and reading:

Forty Women (+1 Unexpected Guest) That Can Be The Inspiration Behind Love’s Midnight’s Valentine!

Scrolling down with shaking fingertips, she prays to the heaven for her to not be in that list—for it to be another rumor, another person that has been wanting to be thought of by Jeon Wonwoo, but once she reaches spot number forty-one, her heart feels like it has fallen out of her chest.

Her name is on the forty-first spot.

41. Podcast Host, Communication Major, Music Minor: This one is the most unexpected, yet the newest guess. Fans were able to compile pictures of two or three years ago of Jeon Wonwoo and this podcast host. Not only that, but she seemed to be close friends with Vernon, Love and Andy! Ouch!

Personal pictures were attached under the small paragraph, tugging at her heart strings.

Isn’t that the pink dress Wonwoo always talked about? Or could it be Song Eunji’s favorite color?

As if things couldn’t get any harder…

###

This is Eunkyung’s little dream. Her tea party filled with reporters, cameras, flashes, cigarettes and bodyguards. Everyone says that what doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger—and he feels like he has become a weightlifter with how much he has coped with, leaning back on his seat as the reporters in front of them beg to eat them alive. Each question pointier than the other, each silence dragging on for longer than the last. The center of attention is not the album, not Hoshi’s guitar solos or Vernon’s enigmatic bass skills. The center of attention is that Jeon Wonwoo had fallen in love, and couldn’t seem to get his old lover back.

His friends are different, and so is he. It should make him feel better that the evolution is ever-present in their lives, but it isn’t. The man he sees projected on the glass of water in front of him is exactly who he would’ve never thought he’d become. His black hair is pushed away, forehead is full display, not a single imperfection left for the world to see as he’s covered in makeup. The red leather jacket makes him sweaty, but he still wears it. It’s a gift from Versace and there’s only two of them in the entire world; he just has to wear it, according to his stylist.

One of the reporters stands up from his seat, fixing the blue sweater atop his toned body. The long strands of his black hair give him a bohemian look, but the preppy outfit and the glasses make him look somewhat nerdy. He could definitely be a reporter in music, but Wonwoo doesn’t really give a shit, does he?

“Wonwoo, excuse me—” The man starts, voice as nasal as ever as he brings his recorder up to his lips. “Forty-one women have been linked to be your muse for the latest album, but only one of them stands out.” He already knows the answer. Song Eunji. If rolling his eyes was an option, he’d do it, but he’s been staring at the cameras flashing for too long and his eyes feel like they may give up on him at any moment.

“Sorry, uh, we said no questions about that.” Wonwoo leans forward on his microphone, offering a brief smile in order to keep it at peace. The least he wants is drama for being an absolute diva.

The reporter doesn’t listen, calling out her name as if he knew her. As if they had shared cups of coffee, mornings where conversations merged into memories, nights in which her tears couldn’t be stopped with memories of either really good or really bad times. “…Podcast host and communication graduate, whose connection with you was clarified by your fans after finding pictures from two years ago, seemingly in a relationship with you.”

Fuck.

Where was his publicist when he needed her the most?

He didn’t know that his fans were able to find such things. Each trace of his past with her had been deleted—for the sake of his band, and for the sake of forgetting her. “I won’t make any statements.”

“So, you do admit that you were in a relationship with her?”

“I said,” He presses his lips to the microphone, lifting his eyebrows in the process. “No statements. Meaning, no comment.”

“Ignoring my question is a confirmation, Wonwoo.”

This time around, Vernon is the one who takes place in the interview. “Ignoring his complaints about not wanting to answer is a confirmation of your lack of knowledge in reporting, sir.”

The masses in front of them go crazy, each asking questions louder than the last, penetrating his ears with absolute hatred. Wonwoo stumbles backwards by the time his body leaves his seat, shaking his head when his manager tries to reach out for him, make him sit down before he absolutely ruins his career. Yet, the only person he can think about is her. His fans had found her, the reporters knew about her, too. A life void of privacy simply because of him.

Once backstage, his shoulders tense, cradling his phone in between his hands and bringing it up to his ear. The phone rings a few times, but she always hangs up. Each and every call is ignored exactly in its beginning.

From: Jeon Wonwoo.

I didn’t tell anyone about us.

Tell me you’re alright, please.

Please, answer the phone.

Are you okay?

Why aren’t you answering?

I’m sorry for everything.

Regret bites at him, slices him to bits as he sits down on the sofa, hearing the commotion outside and yet, doing nothing to conceal it. Love would hate him for this, tension rising between them ever since he became the center of attention—but he never asked for this. If he could take it back to the time in which he had her, and Love’s Midnight only played small gigs in some bars downtown, he would.

And he’s been meaning to.

To: Jeon Wonwoo.

I know you didn’t tell anyone.

I’m alright.

I just need time to think of what I’m going to do.

From: Jeon Wonwoo.

I could book a hotel for you so you feel safer.

Paparazzi are going to look for you.

To: Jeon Wonwoo.

I’m staying at Minghao’s, don’t worry.

From: Jeon Wonwoo.

Fine, but take care of yourself.

To: Jeon Wonwoo.

Wonwoo?

He can imagine her, calling out his name softly as if she had never left him, as if everything was alright—

From: Jeon Wonwoo.

Tell me.

To: Jeon Wonwoo.

I need you to take care, as well.

I don’t want you to stress out over this.

From: Jeon Wonwoo.

I’ll take care, baby.

Before he could regret what he said last, she left him on read. As if she had heard him too, but decided not to listen.

###

The only beverage Minghao’s going to give her while staying at his place is lukewarm tea with honey. No matter how hard she tries to get him to give her coffee, it doesn’t happen.

The cars pass by the windows, stuffed by her breath that fans upon the clear glass. Her heart can’t stay still, much like her hands, fiddling against the other, waiting for the bad news. They have arrived—the world knows her, and past the comfort of Minghao’s place, she knows there are cameras flashing in front of her house. They had captured her before she got here, and after endless twists from Minghao, they managed to get to his apartment safe, sound and unnoticed.

Each and every insecurity is highlighted by the cameras. The fact that there had been someone else after her mocks her—tells her that people are just going to end up comparing her to those after her, or even before her. Ghosts that never existed in Wonwoo’s life, too. Some may be taller, some more petite. Some may have a clearer tone of voice, others may be unable to speak in anything other than profanities. Some may kill it on the guitar, and some may kill for a guitar. Everyone in Wonwoo’s life has been so different and yet, she’s the only one with an entire album written about her.

It’s winning the feeling of feeling unique that makes her feel less like shit. Wonwoo cared enough about her to write a million apologies in the form of notes, for him to pour his entire heart out in a guitar, a set of drums, a piano, a voice, the bass—all inspired by her, they rotate around her like the constellations around the universe. The smile she misses had dissipated with the memories of them, and she wants to bring them back. Fuck two years, more than six hundred days, because time is just a concept we don’t understand.

“Hey,” Minghao’s hair is not disheveled, put-together like he’s about to go over the runway with the newest pajama collection from, probably, Louis Vuitton. His body leans against the doorframe, wood against his soft skin, looking at her with worry as she sits on the bed of the room in Minghao’s apartment that he doesn’t use. “There has to be some good to this.”

“Yeah?” She asks, tilting her head far enough for her forehead to rest against the window. “Tell me what it is.”

The tech moves closer until he is in front of her, delicately kneeling in front of her before patting her leg. “This could bring potential listeners to our podcast—”

“Or girls that will hate me because I’m dating their rocker fantasy. Minghao, get real.” Her voice isn’t meant to sound so sharp, but it does. Her world shatters while Minghao can only see from up close, first row, even.

“Don’t think about them. Think about you.”

“What am I supposed to think about?”

“What you want out of this. If this is only a sign from the world to just get in contact with Wonwoo and clear things up. His career, yours, your relationship—” Minghao is speaking too fast, fingers fiddling with his own hair before sighing. “And if you’re not going to do it, I am. I can’t keep seeing you haltering your life because a relationship didn’t work. You are the one that needs to get real.”

She pushes his hand away then, crossing her arms over her chest to shelter herself. “Well, hear me out, you haven’t been in love, but I have. It’s damn fucking annoying when it doesn’t work, and you think that’s the only man that will ever get you, know you, feel you like he does. It’s not the same when you imagined your entire life with a man and he’s suddenly taken away from you. He changes. Twists. He’s not the same anymore, but you know that deep within him, there’s that man you love.” Her chest shakes with every breath she takes, and Minghao takes this time to step away from her. “And you wait for him. Wait for the day he realizes that you never meant to make him feel bad, and hope that he never meant to say the words he said to you. You don’t know what regret is, but I do—”

“Just mend it.”

She wishes it could be that easy. “And then, what?”

“Why do you always have to think about the future?” Her eyes inspect Minghao’s features, as if pulling away every thread of his enigma.

“Because the future is always happier than the present, ain’t it?”

His hand hovers over her shoulder, as if he wants to touch her, shelter her, but he doesn’t. Instead, Minghao smacks his hand against his side, looking for his phone before speaking up. “It’s up to us to make our present happy, too.”

The only response he gets is the sound of her sipping on her tea. Bland tea that Minghao loves, but doesn’t keep him in the room as he closes the door behind him with a thud.

For some moments, she can only look ahead. The cameras follow her, and it wouldn’t surprise her if she closes her eyes, only to awaken to the world trying to get information about her—a picture where something sags in her body, or her pimples are visible, or the stress marks around her face become wrinkles. However, even sleep seems to be out of town today, and she can’t do much but watch some movies on TV. Let the world decide for her again. The Notebook. Then, she couldn’t quite look at the screen without tears on her face.

When sleep welcomes her, it doesn’t stay for long.

It’s like the culprit that opens the door to the room, closing it behind him with an accidental bang—like the way he left. When her eyes can finally clearly see the outline of him in the dark, Wonwoo becomes a living being after years of trying to erase him. Dark hair pushed away from his face thanks to the droplets of rain that had coated both his leather jacket and his black t-shirt. His boots squeak against the flooring when he moves, stopping whatever force brings him closer to her. Eddie The Eagle plays in the background, but no star has ever been as bright as him. As the twinkle in his eyes when he breathes out his name as if he had never forgotten the lullaby in it. As if, for some reason, she’d always have a taste of that tongue and those lips, even when they are nowhere near or over hers.

Proof that love exists beneath him, over him, in him, is when he asks: “Are you alright?”

She could say no, or even just confirm it. Her words could turn into lies or truths, but they decide to stay in between. With him, saying too little or too much is granted to be a loss. “…I could be worse.”

Wonwoo lets the jacket fall on the floor with a thud, and before he could part his lips to say anything else as he nears her, she asks:

“How did you get in?”

“I was hiding in some hotel downtown, when I realized I just couldn’t leave you alone through this.” His voice is gentle, barely above a whisper when the wind keeps blowing on the windows, rain pattering like droplets of paint. “So, I called Minghao, and he told me he’d leave the door open and I just could get in.”

“No one followed you, right?” Worry piles in her expression when mirrored in his starry eyes. The music of their love has lulled to a weak piano tune. They fell, lifted themselves up, only to be pushed to the ground again.

“I made sure no one did.” And the weight of him falls on the edge of the bed, the gray bedsheets wrinkling under his wet presence, leaving an imprint of him. A memory as strong as the ones she holds of him. “I’m sorry this is the way we ended up meeting again.”

Chances, figures in percentages that we don’t expect. We hope for them, and rarely get them. The chance of meeting Wonwoo again was lost thanks to his lack of privacy, but it would a lie if she said she hadn’t been worrying about him all night. In the edge of the bed, biting at her nails, wanting nothing more than to reach out for him.

Who loves you now, Wonwoo?

Who loves you more than I do?

Is it the world? Your fans? Your bandmates? Is it someone else?

Have you been loved at all while I have been gone?

“It had to happen someday,” She whispers into the night, bringing her knees up her chest, taking her coat off and tossing it his way. The cotton material meets his hands quickly, draping it over his body as if the tears that had been dropped in the same garment manage to warm him up. “Not the way I expected it to happen—”

His lips quirk up in a shy smile, shivering with happiness and glee, or perhaps from the coldness of the room. “You expected it to happen?”

It’s her time to shut her mouth for a second, thinking of the next step. “…It’s one of those vague daydreams I have. What would happen if we met again?”

“And what did you think was going to happen?”

“…That I’d try to run away.” She replies, and his smile falls at that moment. Yet, she doesn’t want to lie to him. “But if you got close enough, I’d start thinking of your hands around my waist, or the little kisses you used to press to my hands when you held them, and I wouldn’t be able to keep myself away from you.”

Wonwoo gets closer, like a wanderer trying to land on his preferred island. Swimming through their insecurities, the issues that pulled them away— “I like that.”

“You do?” She asks. “I think I sound stupid.”

“…Love’s like that.” He shrugs. “I took the stupid decision to write an entire album about you, but here’s the thing: I don’t regret it.” His words condense every single bit of coldness inside her chest, letting the tremble of his voice awaken the senses that never left her, loving him to death. “If writing a song about you is a sin, take me to hell.”

Kicking him softly on the leg, she chuckles. “Metaphorical as ever.”

“I like to read.”

“I know, you liked reading more than talking to me.” There, one of the issues of their relationship arises.

“And you don’t know how many books I have wished to un-read just to hear you talking again.” He replies, sighing soon after as he plays with one of the threads of the blanket. “But that’s life. I make bad decisions, they bite me in the ass, and then, I try to mend it.”

“And how are you planning to mend it?”

His arms extend at that moment, taut muscles contracting against the wet shirt. “I offer a hug for the night, if that’s alright.”

She wants to say no, but her body welcomes his embrace, feeling his strong chest pressed against hers, the curve of his spine, the way his scent always seems to be there—so warm, so his, so memorable, and yet, unable to feel as strong as a perfume. It is as though the scent of him drenched in rain makes her feel better, not quite as cold as in that bed alone, even when her skin clads itself in goosebumps. Her heart thumps with so much force that he probably feels it against his waist, in the way he leans back and cocoons her into place. She can’t look at him, just because she knows herself, and she’s one centimeter away from falling.

“It’s what I need.”

“Good.”

Zero point five centimeters away from falling.

Then, his breathing becomes tranquil, and his lips rest atop her hair.

Zero point twenty-five centimeters away from falling…

Zero point seventeen…

Fallen.

###

She knows he is still in that apartment when she hears his fingertips drumming against the counter.

You know, that’s also one of the issues of their relationship…the one they had two years ago. Waking up to the sound of Wonwoo playing whatever ACDC song on their kitchen counter wasn’t a pleasant noise in the past. When she’d go to the bathroom, phone perched in between her fingertips, she’d feel the rhythm thrumming through the tiles, interrupting her precious time of privacy. He’d do it before going to sleep, when bored, when watching a show but on her legs. It’s one of those things she’d ask him to stop doing, but as her eyes open and she comes face to face with the opened door, she feels safe.

Because Wonwoo is there, and that’s more than she could ask at this moment where her name is imprinted in every magazine. Her hand looks for her phone, and for a moment, she wants to stop. God knows what most of the pages she follows on her Instagram page must have written about her—gossip sites that she is not proud of following, but does it to have topics to talk about in her podcast. Whatever. She’s a nobody, there is surely one or two things about her—

But when the light of her phone casts down on her with horrid pictures of her going through the seas of paparazzi to get out of there as soon as possible, she feels shallow.

She’s not a podcast host.

Not Wonwoo’s ex-girlfriend.

But Song Eunji’s rival.

Comparisons, one after the other, from physical appearance to the ultimate statement coming directly from Eunji. Some messages that could be understood as a simple song lyric, if it wasn’t from Wonwoo’s song itself, displayed on a throwback picture of the two of them. Finished, with of course, as much class as the model can have on an apparent drunken night, when she writes down on her caption—

Shout out to the man who writes an entire album about me and yet, can’t last more than four minutes in bed. Love you, Woo.

The laughing emojis after surely don’t settle well in her stomach.

She has to put the phone to the side to think about what bothers her—Wonwoo being with Eunji could be it, but it could also be Eunji taking the spotlight that does it. Maybe, it’s just the fact that she’s involved in all of this, covers thrown away from her body as she goes towards the kitchen, only to watch her best friend and ex-boyfriend seated face to face. Minghao, peacefully drinking from a cup of warm tea, and Wonwoo making conversation as he plays whatever difficult song he can’t seem to get out of his head.

It’s the fact that she hates it—this feeling that tells her she’s proud of being his muse, but in secret. It’s the fact that, all this time, she’d rather have him than anyone else—words be forgotten, actions be damned, only at this moment when his eyes meet hers again, and he dares say:

“Good morning. Slept well?”

How not to think of the fact that, after pushing him to the bathroom to get him to change into warmer, drier clothes from Minghao’s closet, she ended up falling sleep on his arms? That being in silence felt comfortable when around him? That healing is not quite complete when she can’t have him?

“Better than I expected.” She whispers, moving over until she is closer to him, inspecting his features before breathing out softly. “Eunji said the album is about her. People are going crazy over it.”

Wonwoo’s features soften for a second, head thrown back when a groan escapes his lips. “It’s not—”

“I need you to tell me why you wrote an entire album about me.” Her eyes don’t close, honesty overtaking her when her hands ball to her sides, breathing controlled, world stopping just for her to listen to him.

Wonwoo’s brown eyes shake, looking over to Minghao as the dullest shade of pink takes over his face, bathing him in an enchanting glow. “To forget about you,” He says, though he laughs at his antics a bit soon after. “Didn’t work out.”

“Why did you want to forget about me?”

“I thought you’d never come back.”

“And did you want me to come back?”

“From the moment you left that hotel room.”

“Why?”

“…I’m going to leave.” Minghao announces softly, already parting ways to go to his room with his mug of tea, but she can’t keep her eyes away from Wonwoo much longer. The question lingers in the air, just in time for him to connect his hands with hers.

“Why, Wonwoo? Why write about me, think about me, when you could’ve just let go?”

“It’s not that easy when it’s about you.” He says, a small smile playing on his features when he pulls her closer, not all at once but step by step. Slowly, she falls in between his legs, looks into his eyes when he lets sincerity live within his words. “I got everything I could ever wish for, and I still wanted you.”

“…Oh, God.” Her smile can’t hide itself when she wraps her arms around his shoulders, head resting on his chest as she chuckles. “Why do I like that so much?”

“Maybe, because you wanted me back, too?” The hope lingers on his voice, and she has to pull away for a second, looking up and down his features as she licks his lips.

“Let’s fix this entire mess first.”

“I’ll deny you are my album’s muse if that makes you feel better.”

For a moment, she feels the weight falling off her shoulders, but instead, she perks up, spine straightening when she says: “And why not confirm it instead?”

“Would you want to? This world I live in, it’s not good—”

“If I have to confirm a past relationship just to have you again, I will. I would.”

“…I won’t do that to you.” Wonwoo whispers, lips pressing to her knuckles like they used to at the earliest stages of their relationship. “You know what I want to do? Mend the lost time with you. Think and heal together. Talk to each other. I don’t want anyone else but us having a say on what we are…not stardom, not the band, not anyone.”

When she looks into his eyes, it feels like the old Wonwoo is back. Not the rockstar drummer that everyone has fallen for, but Jeon Wonwoo who’d laugh at the idea of ever being famous.

And it’s nice to think the world is different today, that they’re alone and there are not a thousand pictures of her online.

“Let them talk,” He finishes. “The only person I want to listen to is you, anyways.”

An avenue of tears has welcomed a sweet lake, and when she has seen her reflection in the water, she captures Wonwoo’s figure beside her. Maybe, they can get through this together. Perhaps, music united them, separated them, and now it has brought them back together again.

That’s the magic of love, isn’t it? Trusting again.

“…And you’ll hear me talk a lot about the past two years, Jeon Wonwoo.”

With a smile, he answers. “And I’ll gladly listen.”

Though, the only sound she gets to hear is the small intake of breath from his lips when she leans forward and tastes the early morning cigarettes in him. Everything she has ever wanted exists in him, so imperfect and yet, so fitting for her.

#wonwoo scenarios #seventeen scenarios #wonwoo #seventeen #kpop scenarios #writing #wonwoo au #wonwoo fluff #wonwoo angst #seventeen au #seventeen fluff #seventeen angst #drummer!au #yea i wrote about wonwoo bc whenever i have wifi i have binge watched gose lemme be #also SUPER inspired by one of those ask games i did and hehehehehe i'm excited

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mysmegrace · 3 years

Note

Hii! Could I request “why is it so hard for you to believe me?” “I love you” prompts with Jumin, Zen and Saeran? Thank you!

hello~ omg anon you are giving me too much fun with these prompts lmao. i’ve decided to split them up in a fanfic style. i’ll post jumin’s here, then later zen’s and saeran’s. i’ll leave the links to them here once they become released but i’ll also have the links in my masterlist. have a great day!

summary: jumin comes across a text notification that flashes on mc’s phone. being curious, he reads it. things don’t add up to him and he accuses mc of cheating. mc is heartbroken, as the text was nothing more than a friendly conversation between cousins. it’s only until later does jumin realize his mistake.

topics / tw: cheating, angst, pregnancy, death, wrongfully accused individuals, car accidents, drunk driving, definitely not spoiler free.

words: 5.3k

*reminder: you can check out my masterlist to see which requests i am currently working on!*

just wanna put out there that the title is a lyric from shin yong woo’s (jumin’s VA) song. i plan to title saeran’s fic and zen’s fic the same way, just with different songs. here’s a link to the song if you’re interested.

Sad Endings Stay Sad

---

october 5th marked the birth of one of south koreas brilliant billionaires. and of course, there were ups and downs to that kind of life. living the rich lifestyle while working your life away for your young years. however, birthdays were supposed to be exemptions for the hectic ways of that life for just a day.

jumins birthdays consisted of four main concepts. birthday presents from people he’s only spoken to once, being met with “happy birthdays” whenever you turned the corner, parties being held in his honor (four-to be exact), and his favourite part, time spent with you and elizabeth the third.

he could endure the day as long as you were at home, safe and secure, waiting patiently for his return. knowing that made his struggles a little more bearable. he had all he could’ve asked for in his possession, things money can’t buy.

hence why he always asked you to refrain from giving him birthday gifts. he already had everything he needed, he could buy anything should he desire it, they took up unnecessary space, and they were pointless to him.

so when he arrived home that night to pick you up alongside driver kim in order to attend the han family birthday dinner, the look of confusion on his face once he laid his eyes upon the birthday gift left for him on the kitchen table was understandable.

had you forgotten his wishes, or were you simply teasing him? he knew his wife liked to play around from time to time. perhaps this was just another one of your silly “i love you” gifts. he decided to give you the pleasure of watching him open your gift, seeing your face light up playfully as he received a small plushie or tiny confetti canon.

little to his knowledge, you had planned something different to gift him. something incredibly more significant that you both were expecting to happen in the near future. after five years of marriage, you were excited to be sharing this news with him.

facing the mirror, you had heard the door open and close, signaling his arrival. meanwhile you were still getting ready for the dinner. so you allowed him a couple minutes to himself, taking in the foreign object greeting him.

with the last flick of mascara, you reached for the door handle, preparing how to answer the questions he was bound to ask. walking out to greet your husband as you weakly closed the door behind you, he turned his head to the sound of your heels meeting with the floor.

giving you his typical smile, the one that made you want to melt into the expensive floor tiles, he walked to greet you as you made your entrance in the living room. his beautiful wife was always a wonderful sight to see at home.

regardless, he knew you both had a place to be and he needed to hurry the conversation up. the last thing he wanted to be was late. so he questions,

“love, i thought i told you not to gift me anything this year. having you with me is more than enough.”

a modest giggle left your lips, those beautiful lips he would kiss every morning before work. you made a small gesture to the present, telling him to open it. yet as he picked the gift up, you noticed you didn’t have the birthday card on you. you couldn’t have a birthday gift without a birthday card. everything had to be perfect.

after all, it wasn’t everyday that you would announce you were expanding your small family. so you quickly exclaimed, “one second, i forgot something!”. he stopped, taken aback but respecting your wishes. he watched as you ran off to the bedroom, leaving your phone on the table.

as you were off scrambling through your shared drawers, he was examining his surroundings to pass time. the clock seemed to be forward by five seconds...strange. he’d deal with that later. yet suddenly the ping of your phone caught his attention.

you had a text message. he bent forward ever so slightly to read the contents of the text, not daring the move the phone from his original spot. you two trusted each other, no way would he consider this a branch of your privacy. despite that, he felt the need to read the previous messages with this person after reading what was shown on your scree.

he could feel his heart drop as he read, “okay see you then, love you”. he had never heard of this man you were texting with, but why was he texting you using that language? the language of a lover that should be reserved to coming from him towards you, not from anyone else.

and from the looks of things, you had made plans to meet this man beforehand. you had never made any mention of him yet you made plans with him? his heart was racing, he wasn’t sure if it would remain in his chest at this rate.

swiping up to investigate further, he was met with your password screen. thinking nothing of it, he inputs your password. the same one you had for years and shared with him, even when you changed it. however this time he was met with an innocent password notification.

surely this was a mis-input on his end. re-entering your password with a slower, more accurate, finger aim. the outcome was no different, “incorrect password”. why had you changed your password and why hadn’t you told him?

things were not adding up. all rational thoughts were leaving his mind as everything he had never wanted to happen might have been happening right in front of his eyes.

meanwhile you were continuing to search for the card in the bedroom, you couldn't find it anywhere. yet your attention directed to the hallway, hearing the voice of driver kim throughout the house, yelling “you’re going to be late, hurry”.

crap, you thought. things would have to wait, on your side and jumin’s. he had no time to question you about the text, silently deciding to recluse into a reserved state for the rest of the evening, from everyone, including you.

walking out of the bedroom, you met jumin in the hallway as he picked up the umbrella sitting beside the door to shield the two of you from the downpour of rain outside. opening the door, he left, barely leaving it open for you. that was nothing like jumin. perhaps he had rushed because of the time, you thought.

through a slow car ride, you felt an overwhelming sense of awkwardness. he wasn’t acknowledging your presence, which was quite unlike him. his face just remained with the same blank expression facing forward.

this behaviour continued all throughout dinner. only talking when expected to, turning his shoulder everytime you walked towards him, and disregarding any words you spoke to him. you knew this man like the back of your hand, there was 100% something bothering him.

what took a prick to your heart, however, was how he hadn’t told you what was on his mind yet. you understood the concept of privacy, but you had promised each other to always confide in the other through anything, so why was this time different?

who knew two hours could feel like two days as you waited for the event to come to an end. that way, you could finally confront him about the situation. it was killing you.

in the corner of your eye, you watched as a few of the associates started to clear up the area. you could feel the breath you weren’t aware of holding release as you began thinking about the next course of action. knowing your love, he doesn’t make sense of things unless they’re said blatantly.

finishing up with respectful goodbyes, jumin lightly signified for you to join his leave. boarding the car, nothing was changed since the car ride to the event. just the presence of jumin, driver kim, and yourself. now you had to encourage yourself to sit through another awkward car ride with your anxiety consuming you.

you found yourself at a slight ease once driver kim had pulled up to the home you and jumin shared. it wasn’t long before you found yourself alone with jumin in the comfort of the familiar walls. just as you began to get your words out, you were interrupted by your husbands deeper tone of voice.

“explain the text on your phone from earlier” he said, almost as if he were making a statement. the feeling of your jaw slightly dropping didn’t catch your attention, but it caught jumins. taken aback, you start rethinking all the texts you had received from that day. however you couldn’t come up with any results that would warrant his question being asked.

taking notice of your face, he continues, obviously not expecting a response from you anytime soon, saying “i saw the text you received earlier from a male saying he’d see you soon, even referring to you as love, what is that about?”

you couldn’t reply. you didn’t know what to say. were you really being accused of cheating right now? did his trust for you fall that much..? yet you hadn’t seen such a text. truth be told, you haven't even looked at your phone since you left to grab the card.

your thoughts were suddenly interrupted, hearing “not to mention that you’ve changed your password to your phone and haven’t told me. haven’t we agree to rely this information to each other?”. at this point, you weren’t sure if you were in shock or dreaming. surely this wasn’t real, you would never cheat on him. the only texts that were kind of similar to what he said to have seen were the plans to meet up with your friend and close cousin.

other than that, nothing he was saying was making sense. yet how come you couldn’t respond..? you didn’t want to hurt him, but you couldn’t let him go on another minute thinking you had cheated. with your phone now in the bedroom, it wasn’t like you could walk away to check what he was speaking of from the living room.

“are you cheating on me?” he asked, clearly not wanting to waste anymore time before deciding his next move. mustering up the little willpower you had left, you mumbled back “no”, leaving space to continue, but not knowing what to continue with.

a sign escaped his lips, before they parted to speak, “you’re not very convincing. you have nothing to say for the text message and sudden password change, this is very unlike the mc i know, or used to know.” those last few words sparked something in you.

perhaps it was because of the shock of the situation or the emotional imbalance you were currently dealing with, but you started to fill with many negative emotions, more so than before. betrayal, anger, and defeat were beginning to run rampant. you knew that you could not prove your innocence to jumin in this state.

giving it a go, you start to confront his accusations, saying “i don’t know what you’re talking about. i have never, and will never, cheat on you. why don’t you believe me? i love you! how could you think so little of me? are you that insecure to think every man i talk to is someone i’m trying to persue?”

oh no, you thought. you hadn’t meant to touch on his insecurities like that. you let them slip in a fit of hurt, but didn’t think about what you were saying in detail. you felt incredibly guilty as soon as the words jumped out. maybe, a night apart would be good to calm the both of you down and think rationally.

therefore, you followed up saying “i’m sorry, i’m going to leave for now, i can’t do this tonight”. quickly looking down as to not be swayed by any expression he makes, you nearly run to the bedroom.

pulling out the backpack you had since you were 18, you unzipped it to prepare for everything. you would only take essentials, such as your phone and some cash you had earned on your own, securing the items before turning the door.

walking out to the hall, you saw from the corner of your eye how jumin had left, leaving the area empty. yet one thing caught your eye, that being the present you had left from earlier.

not thinking about it much, you ran to grab it, shoving it in your bag as you left through the front door. in your unusual luck, no security guards were around. giving you the perfect chance to left without bringing yourself anu attention.

reaching the outdoors, you begin walking. to where, you haven’t decided yet. after all, you had a lot to think about. refocusing your mind after a few disappointing seconds, you pulled out your phone, being met with the lockscreen of jumin and elizabeth the third taking a nap together.

oh how things have changed in such a short time. looking through your notifications, a message from you cousin had crossed your eyes. “see you then, love you” it read. oh god, how would you explain that to jumin tomorrow.

you hadn’t introduced him to your cousin yet, mainly because he lived half way across the world. the two of you had always been close however, being there for each other when your immediate families weren’t. saying “i love you” was normal, because as children the only time you would hear those words were from each other.

never have you even thought that it could be interpreted as a romantic relationship. for many reasons, the biggest being that you were biologically related and he didn’t have a romantic attraction towards women.

thinking about it, you could understand how jumin could have taken it. as for the password, you had only changed it because of the employee who had taken your phone without your knowledge correctly guessed the password, attempting to become closer with the chairman.

coming back to your senses, you find yourself looking down the empty road with only the streetlights and moon providing you any sense of sight in the late night. you began looking for hotels nearby, coming across an affordable one for the night.

only problem being that it was 30 minutes away by car, and in your tired state you were not willingly to walk for so long. so off to booking a cab you went. finding the cheapest option, saving some money for anything you may need later, you promptly requested a ride.

with the cab puling up 10 minutes later, you began your journey to your residence for the night. the wind hitting your face from the open window as you were riding provided you with serenity, reminding you that you were still living in this moment.

as the minutes passed, you started noticing some questionable things about the driver. sure you weren’t an expert driver, but you were fairly certain cars weren’t supposed to be driving over the white line dividing the lanes. you weren’t oblivious to the cars unnecessary fast speed either. was this driver okay, you thought.

as time went on, you could only feel the car getting faster and faster. you tried getting the drivers attention, but to no avail. now they were driving completely in the opposite lane. only to switch over, then back, then over, then back.

you would be lying if you said you weren’t scared. you could feel your heart racing, almost like it were about to jump out of your chest, with your gut telling you something horrible was about to happen.

everything happened so fast. half way through the trip, a car driving towards the vehicle as the driver was driving in the wrong lane again, crashed into you head on. you started grabbing onto random things in the car as they flew around, just now noticing the several empty vodka bottles in the trunk. you felt yourself spinning inside the car uncontrollably.

glass had pierced through several parts of your body, deriving from the mirrors. with no warning, the car had fallen off the road, down through the wooded hill on the side.

with the driver now passed out on the stirring wheel, you were at a lost on what to do. the only option was to relax and pray you’d survive. suddenly, you shot forward in your seat as the car collided with one of the many trees. you felt a piercing pain throughout your body, yet your brain had no time to reregister where the pain was coming from as you passed out with your head on the drivers seat.

yet jumin was completely unaware of this. he had walked off to pour a glass of wine, and saw that you left not long after.

being left alone was nothing unfamiliar to him, but it became an extremely unpleasant circumstance after he had formed a relationship to you. he always thought you would be there with him 24/7, but now that wasn’t the case.

he couldn’t wrap his head around the events that just took place. of course he trusted you, but he couldn’t ignore the text. needing clarification as soon as possible, he contacted seven.

knowing his hacking abilities, he could only rely on him to give him peace of mind. he knew it wasn’t right, but he felt the circumstance was understandable enough. hence why he asked seven to hack into mc’s phone without giving him too much detail.

seven hesitantly agreed, it was her husband after all. if there were any affairs going on, though he doubted it, he deserved to know. getting to work, jumin got his results quickly. he was sent dozens of screenshots containing the conversation between her and this man.

it was only an easy job for seven, hacking into phones was nothing for the genius. while reading through the text messages, jumin became overwhelmed with guilt.

he read as they reminisced over their childhoods, talked about what the future held, and even planning to meet each others significant others. he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. had he really driven her away because he assumed the worst of her?

the sooner he could find where she was staying, the better. apologizing was his first priority, he would answer to his work later. being wrecked with remorse, jumin sat facing the window overlooking the city, preparing for the worst as he became increasingly more drunk as time went on.

he didn’t want to live a life away from his soulmate because of one stupid mistake. the years you had spent together meant too much to be thrown away so effortlessly. calling seven back, he asked for him to track you down.

there were many ways he could go about this. he could track her phone, follow cctv footage, or go looking around himself. whichever way he choose, jumin would give him the resources possible to do so. it made his heart break thinking how you might be spending the night alone, crying to your pillow instead of him.

upon tracking your phone, as seven had chosen to do, he had to do a double take. things weren’t adding up. were you sleeping down a hill? deciding to get clarification before taking the wrong moves, he decides to follow you along cctv footage as well.

that way, he’d be able to directly see what you were up to. following along carefully, everything seemed normal. well, as normal as the situation could get. however it didn’t take him long to catch onto the drivers horrible driving. just like you had thought, he knew something bad was going to happen.

as time went on, he watched in horror as he witnessed the car getting hit, spinning off the road, smashing the windows, and ending up in the ditch as it aggressively hit a tree in the wooded area. seven hasn’t been speechless many times in his life, but he couldn’t say anything at this moment in time.

after a minute of sitting with his face close up to the monitor, he recollects himself as he dials jumins number. the reality of the situation kicks in. how would he be able to tell him that his wife had gotten in a serious car accident? one that definitely killed the driver, there would be no way in hell they would’ve survived the impact.

“jumin, she got into a car accident. she’s besides the road outside of the city. we need to call somebody” he said, his voice slightly raising as he begins to panic. his friend was in a car accident, how could he not panic?

jumin didn’t give his mind time to process the situation before calling driver kim to take him to the scene of the accident. everything else could wait. he couldn’t find himself caring about the cheating accusations at the moment, his wife was possibly dead.

god, that broke him. his soulmate might be dead. no, she couldn’t be. she’s survived so much in her young life, a car accident wouldn’t take her that easily. but in case of the worst scenario, he needed to be prepared.

on the way to the scene, he arranged the best doctors to treat her in the nearest hospital. even if she were to end up depending on him for the rest of her life, he would be there everyday.

he could hear the sounds of sirens as they approached the scene, increasing his anxiety more and more. practically jumping out of the car as they arrived, he laid his eyes upon a box of metal extremely crushed, what he assume to be the car.

it was horrendous. the windows were completely gone with glass everywhere, the hood was shriveled up towards where the front mirror was supposed to be, and two tires had rolled off of the car.

what was of more concern to him was his wife, who was being lifted onto a stretcher. there wasn’t much he could see over the paramedics, but what he did see wanted to make him crawl up into a ball and pretend like it never happened.

like this was all a dream. like he didn’t make her want to leave their safe home, resulting in her injuries. wasting little time, he spoke to the paramedics as they examined you. careful to not direct their attention off of you, but still asking questions.

“is my wife okay? what happened?” he asked. he knew the answer to a certain extent, but he needed someone to give him the facts. not moving an eye off of your body, a male paramedic responded “we don’t know for sure. we will give you the results at hospital once we can conduct a proper exam. what i can tell you is that she’s alive, though looks to be in critical condition. the driver has passed unfortunately”.

with all due respect, he didn’t care about the drivers life in this moment. they had almost taken your life with theirs, so why should he feel sorry? the paramedic continues “as for what happened, we’re still actively investigating but this is very likely to be a case of drunk driving due to the empty vodka bottles and the drivers blood alcohol levels.”

he had to pause and compose himself, because he nearly had a heart attack hearing that information. how could someone put their passengers life in danger like that? did they not know how special you were? perhaps the driver was lucky to be dead, because if they had survived, they would be living the rest of their life behind bars.

he would get you justice for this one day, he promised himself. with jumin being allowed to ride with you in the ambulance, he quickly hopped in as you were being loaded in.

now he was given a clear view of your face right in front of his eyes. a face so beautiful given so many scars. the glass in your face, the bruises, the blood leaking from your head, they were all staring at him.

he could do nothing but stare at you the entire ride. he was worried you would give up on him if he were to turn his back. the shallow breaths you took in reminding him of your living form.

the sights around him blurred as you entered the hospital, only focused on you. he followed until a nurse told him to take a seat in the waiting room as you were rushed into surgery upon further examination.

hence why he found himself surrounded by white walls on the night after his birthday. staring straight ahead as to live fully in his head for the time being. now was when he could truly feel himself becoming tired. most likely the alcohol had worn off on him, leaving him in a haze.

3 minutes turned into 30 minutes, which turned into 1 hour, which turned into 2 hours, which turned into 3 hours. all extremely drawn out times, the only interception being the visit from the paramedics.

they had given him the things you had brought with you, many bent or broken. there laid your essentials as well as the present you have given him earlier. he could try to open the present, but it would be no use. it had already been deemed unrecognizable just by the packages damage.

exactly 200 minutes, over 3 hours, later, he was greeted by the main surgeon. mentally preparing himself for the outcome, he listens as the surgeon speaks, saying “mr. han, we tried everything we could..”

no, this wasn’t happening. he knows how this goes, but he doesn’t want to accept it. if there is a god out there, please make this be a big nightmare, he thought. yet he knows, he knows. this is real, too real.

the surgeon continues, “...unfortunately she had succumbed to her injuries. she fought until her last breath...” he blanked, being left speechless. this couldn’t be real, you can’t leave him like that. you can’t. you were supposed to grow old together.

he could feel as every structure and thing with significance fell in his life. hell, he didn’t know if he still had a life outside of you. how would he go on..? you had showed him the path to true love, accepting him like no one else ever had.

his company flourished with you present, people being grateful you were there to convince him to be a tad more human and give some laid back time. you had lightened up everyone’s life in many ways.

“...the baby unfortunately did not survive either..”

cutting off his thought process, he was now faced with confusion. the baby? what was the surgeon talking about? “what baby?” he asked.

“the baby, as in the baby you two were expecting in around 7 months?... were you not aware?” the surgeon responded. she was pregnant and hadn’t told him...? there’s no way this was actually happening. maybe they got her confused with another patient. he would know if she was pregnant, wouldn’t he?

his thoughts were cut off by the surgeon pulling up her medical records, confirming his previous statement. everything was there. he couldn’t believe, there was too much going on.

he first lost his wife and now he lost his unborn child, one he didn’t even know existed. sensing the agonizing energy in the room, the surgeon leaves with his best wishes. now left alone, he was stuck.

he had no idea what to do. he felt like crying, could he even cry...? everything just felt so numb as he realized he was on his own again. allowing his face to drop and relax, he stared at the floor thoughtless.

somehow his father knew and showed up at the hospital. had jumin called him? he couldn’t remember if he were honest, everything was going in one ear and out the other. he doubted if he was even seeing things right.

later, as he was invited to give his last goodbyes before her body would be taken to the morgue, he spoke to his love for the last time.

“i’m so sorry i couldn’t protect you...thank you for giving me the life i’ve always wanted. i never meant to hurt you like i did, please give me your forgiveness through the afterlife. take care of our child up there, my love for you won’t stop until my heart does. rest easy darling”.

grabbing a hold of your delicate hand for the last time, he placed a kiss as he left. letting you go like the princess you were. eventually he found himself outside your room door, standing in the narrow hallway. was this it for him? nothing else mattered to him as much as you did.

finding himself at home once again, the sun being awake at this point, everything hit him like a truck. only this time, he could feel his tears plaque his face. last night you were breathing, this morning you weren’t.

how could the universe do this to him? hadn’t he proved himself worthy enough of you? in the back of his head, he was reliving the event every second. he would never forgive himself for what he said to you the night before your death. he would blame himself for the rest of his life.

he could only hope you would have forgiven him by time he meets you again up there. the next week was nothing but a blur, the only thing he could remember was your funeral.

how you laid so beautifully down, now at eternal peace. being laid to rest with the child he never got to meet, but already loved so much. everyone said their goodbyes, as your friends wept for hours.

finding himself at home again, he really started to hate the place. he wasn’t meant for only him. yet at the same time, he couldn’t leave. you had lived here with him for years, your mark was stick.

as advised to do so by many, he cleared out the drawers and closet of your clothing to save in a box. one he would take with him to the grave. amongst the pile of clothes occupying the top shelf, an envelop met with his head. standing in confusion for no more than a minute, he opens it.

he could feel his eyes swell with silent tears as he read the contents of the envelope. it was a card with a picture of an ultrasound. things were making sense, you were planning to surprise him for his birthday. he couldn’t believe what he had done.

he couldn’t go on. it all hurt him too much. stopping the cleaning process, he went to lay on his bed. observing the photo of the unborn child, he couldn’t control as the tears fell, clouding his vision in seconds.

he laid there for the following evening hours, fantasizing about a life with you and the little one. wondering which parent they would’ve taken after most, innocently hoping it would’ve been you. imagining them getting married, having a happy family of there own.

but he would never experience that while on earth now that you were no longer under the sky. over time, he let fatigue overcome him, drifting off with the ultrasound photo held to his chest.

that night, he could’ve sworn it was you how had embraced him and whispered “i love you” quietly in his ear. anyone might call him crazy, or say that he’s going crazy despite his usual rational nature.

no matter what anyone else thought, he knew it was you. there was no doubting that.

---

01:32 AST - 07/28/21

#mystic messenger #mysme #mysme jumin #mysme fanfic #jumin han #jumin #jumin x mc #angst

91 notes · View notes

blush-and-books · 3 years

Text

she lives in daydreams with me

3+1 in which julie’s daydreaming spreads to luke, too. title and inspiration from she by harry styles.

a gift for my fellow fantoms on this beautiful clowngate.

a/n: this isn’t meant to be tied to/inspired by blissful reveries by noblealice on ao3, but it’s a great fic that i love and it’s a julie daydream fic so i may as well link it because you should check it out!!!

Luke noticed that sometimes, Julie would completely zone out.

It wasn’t often that she did it around him, but while she would try and study her pencil would be moving on the paper but her eyes would not be focused. Or when she would be washing the dishes, a faint humming could be heard under her breath as her hands mindlessly rinsed the plates and placed them into the dishwasher.

“They’re daydreams,” she whispers into the nearly pitch-black garage one night when they stay up, despite their exhaustion, just to be with each other. “I had them a little when I was a kid. It was how I got inspiration for a lot of songs.”

Julie’s voice raises to a higher pitch at the end of her sentence. It’s a familiar sound to Luke, now -- most of her little vocal cues are -- so he turns on the floor to face where she’s lying on the couch, and brings his hand up to her bare ankle.

“They’re musical?”

“They were, and then… They weren’t. I daydreamed a lot after my mom, but it was mostly her walking through the front door like she never left.”

He doesn’t have to say anything. He just needs to be there.”

“And then,” Julie continues, “after I met you, the music came back.”

His heart skips a beat. He knows she meant “you” as in him and Reggie and Alex, them as a collective unit; but it’s a fun little dream of his own for her to just be thinking of him.

Lightly, his thumb skates across her skin. “I’m glad. If anyone should have music in their life, it’s you, Julie.”

“Do you ever daydream?” Her voice is quiet. She’s probably falling asleep.

There’s no reply. So it’s just the two of them, in the dark, with his hand attached to her because now that he can feel her like this he doesn’t want to stop until he has to. His hand is just barely on her ankle, but with every trace of his fingers back and forth along the curve he marvels at his ability to do it in the first place.

A smile pops at the corners of Luke’s lips. “Not really,” he tells her. “If I did… They probably wouldn’t be musical, like yours.”

“Then what would you do?”

He stares, fixed, at his hand on her leg.

“The stuff I want to do, but can’t.”

nine in the morning, a man drops his kids off at school; and he’s thinking of you (like all of us do)

It’s a few days later when Luke realizes that something is off.

A simple Wednesday morning, when Julie darts into the garage before school with her backpack bouncing on her back as she runs up to each of them for a hug. Luke is the final recipient.

He enthusiastically throws his arms around her just as tightly as he does every morning, because in his heart, he wishes she could just stay. It’s ridiculous, and selfish, but he longs for the ability to lay on the torn old couch with Julie at his side and never have to leave.

“Writing when I come back?”

Her eyes are gazing up at him, round and wide and hopeful as her arms stay latched around his neck. Safely, he keeps his hands at her hips and doesn’t allow himself to consider letting them go anywhere else.

“Won’t you have homework?”

She rolls her eyes. “Yes, but I also have a song I want to work on and I won’t be able to focus until we finish it.”

Ironically, it sounds like one of the excuses he would give his parents long ago. Once the music was out of his head, he would tell them, then he could focus on homework.

(He didn’t.)

“You’re turning into me,” he jokes at her; to which she laughs with a bright and beautiful smile right in front of his face. His eyes can’t help but slip their focus to it. “Music before school? What happened to your dad saying ‘school first?’”

“I’ll tell him I’m going to the garage for peace and quiet.”

God, she’s making this harder and harder. For months, she was the one scolding him about her need to focus on school; and so he trained himself to come across as (marginally) less eager. But now that she’s bouncing on her tiptoes and her head is lifting right in front of his face as she teases fibbing to her dad to write with him, he doesn’t think he has much restraint left.

“How about…” He begins, trying to find something neutral to say. “How about you see how much homework you get and then decide what you want to do first?”

“Since when did you-”

The sound of Ray honking for Julie to come out ends their back-and-forth. It Luke looks close enough -- which he is, because why would he have anything better to do right now than look at Julie -- he can see her disappointment. “Go on, Boss. Your ride’s waiting. I’ll see you after school.”

Carefully, she slips from his arms and wishes them a final goodbye before hustling out of the garage.

And Luke collapses onto the couch the second she’s gone.

“You okay, man?”

“He’s fine, Reg. Just an idiot.”

Luke’s arm, that was covering his face, slides up so that he can glare at Alex. “Hey! Rude. Why am I an idiot?”

“Because all you do is agonize over Julie instead of talking to her.”

His forearm comes back down, blacking out his vision. “No point.”

Moments of quiet pass between the three boys, and eventually, the telltale sound of his bandmates poofing out of the room is faintly heard. Luke is left alone, on the couch.

He doesn’t know how much time passes where he sits in his self-made darkness before the garage door is opening again, and Julie is standing in the doorway, looking adrenaline-rushed and practically glowing. Luke, being Luke, jumps up from the couch in surprise.

“Julie! Hey, uh… What are you doing here? Didn’t you leave for school?”

Her grin is almost fake, it’s so blinding. “I forgot something.”

Unprompted and unexpectedly, Julie is confidently making her way towards him before softly resting her hands on his jaw and pulling his lips down to hers.

Even through his all-encompassing shock, his hands somehow find their way to her waist, and then her back, and then her hair. She’s pulling him down to her, so he’s kind of uncomfortably arched over her but he doesn’t care one bit. Just the same as this morning, she is pressed against him from head to toe but this feels so much better.

He’s trying to keep it slow and soft so that he can savor every moment of this random, welcomed action; but Julie’s asking for a quicker tempo. Her hands are skating across his shoulders and running up to his hair, pulling him down even farther, and he finds himself grasping at her thighs to lift her up and make things more comfortable but she’s pulling away before he can.

Once they part, she shyly takes her bottom lip between her teeth and Luke almost steals her away and begs for more. “That was it,” she mumbles, and then the car horn is echoing out front again, and-

Luke shakes awake.

he takes a boat out, imagines just sailing away (and not telling his mates)

He knows it’s a daydream almost immediately -- a long period of staring at a blank journal can do that to a guy -- when Julie suddenly appears and dangles car keys in front of him.

She’s only just got her permit. She can’t actually drive independently yet.

But he’s spent time on more than one occasion considering what they can go do together when she can.

“You ready for a break, Rockstar?” She asks with a coy smile, and it’s just more confirmation that it’s a fantasy. Julie has only ever called him “Rockstar” once.

But he already likes where his imagination is taking him, so he puts the journal on the coffee table and poofs over to her. “Born ready.”

Her hand tangles itself in his, and she enthusiastically tugs him from the studio into the sunny daylight where her dad’s car sits in the driveway. “Carlos and Dad and Tia are at a baseball game,” she grins, almost proudly, “so you and I get to have an adventure.”

God, this really is a dream. Julie isn’t as impulsive as he can be, but he occasionally finds himself wanting at the idea of going MIA for a day. Just a day. Less than 24 hours, even, with Julie by his side and nobody around who knows them or their situation. Julie and Luke against the world, against life and death, and whatever comes next.

“Lead the way, Boss.”

Nearly within the blink of an eye, they’re on the PCH, speeding down the asphalt with loud music blaring from the speakers. With the windows rolled down and the humid but fresh air billowing around them in the car, it was all too easy for Luke to imagine that he was…

Alive.

This should have been them in 1995 -- him and Julie, him and the boys, all of them together and feeling the rush of being a group of stupid teenagers who love each other.

He knows his hair is getting ruffled as he tilts his head back against the leather headrest, closing his eyes to directly face the air blowing into him. Maybe, through this dream, just for a moment, he can be human.

“This is so fun!” Julie screams next to him, and his face just breaks into a grin because it is so fun. She sounds so full of joy. It’s his favorite sound.

While a part of him wants to hold the daydream in this moment, with the sun hitting his legs and Julie’s hair chaotically whirling around her head; he decides to let things keep going. A moment later, they are pulling into a nearly empty parking lot on the beach.

Their seatbelts click and slide from their chests. Julie’s hand firmly latches around his wrist and proceeds to sprint with him laughing hysterically as he trails behind her, the ocean shimmering in the distance. The moment that their feet splash in the saltwater, Luke takes the chance to pull Julie into his arms by her waist and lift her up; droplets popping up from the water in a cyclone of laughter.

There’s already sweat layering both of their foreheads, but Luke feels honored that he’s standing close enough to her to be able to see it.

Hours -- or, what he assumes are hours -- pass by with water lapping their legs and Luke licking the salt from her shoulder in a move that started as a joke but was really just another ridiculous fantasy fulfilled. After he tries to splash her particularly roughly, she squeals and turns away; turning back to reveal a dripping wet face behind a curtain of hair.

Even though there’s a glare in her eyes, it’s playful. And she doesn’t fight him when he walks up to her, lifts the hem of his loose-fitting tank, and swipes across her cheeks to catch most of it.

The blush on her cheeks could be blamed on excessive sun, or the affectionate gesture, or-

“Luke?”

It takes less than a second for Luke to be back in the studio, back in front of the blank page, back in his reality.

And Julie is in the doorway.

Her cheeks aren’t pink, her legs aren’t bare, her skin isn’t sweat and seawater sticky. It was just a regular school day for her.

She still glows.

“Luke?” He hears her say again, and it’s the final nail in his coffin.

“Yeah, sorry. I was zoning out there for a sec.”

Her curious smile relaxes, and she takes the unspoken invitation to enter the garage and throw her backpack down next to the couch. Her eyes quickly find the journal, “write anything good?”

“Not a word. Didn’t have my partner.”

The line earns him a friendly shoulder-nudge. It’s not much compared to what he just had, but it’s something.

Only, his impulsive brain tells him he needs more.

“Can we go to the beach one day?”

Refocusing her gaze from the open notebook to his face, she amusingly furrows her eyebrows. “I mean… When I have my license, totally. Whatever you guys want.”

“I…” Shut up. Stop here. “I was thinking you and I, actually. Just us.”

“Oh.” He knows that “oh.” It’s the same one she gave him when she was flustered in the school hallway. He can’t tell if it’s a good or a bad sign. Her fingers are twitching against her legs and her eyes avoid his, but a part of him sees his daydream bleed into reality when a pink hue dusts her cheeks. “Just us.”

“Yeah, if you’re-”

“I’d love to.”

Her mouth zips shut like she didn’t mean to say it. But he’s already smiling at her, and probably sporting a blush of his own, and he knows he doesn’t even have a funny remark to say in response.

All he can do is count the days until Julie gets her license.

and she sleeps in his bed (while he plays pretend)

Sometimes, when Julie is gone, he’ll just… Go to her room.

It’s not weird.

He doesn’t snoop -- well, he tries not to -- but everything that’s out in the open is there for his eyes to take in. This way, he gets the little intricate details of what makes Julie Julie that would otherwise take years to learn about a person.

Today, when he poofs in, the bed is unmade. Normally she makes it before leaving for school, but on the rare occasion that she is running late, it will remain in disarray until her return.

Unless, he…

No, no, boundaries.

But it’s just a little favor. And it’s not like she can kill him or anything right?

Once again, his impulsivity dominates the argument. And he’s suddenly wrapping her sheet in his fists and tugging it up and over her pillows, followed by the comforter.

With each puff of air that brushes his face from the falling sheets, he catches a bit of her peach perfume.

The action of making a bed feels so distant to him, but he remembers having to do it himself like it was yesterday. He was too careless to tuck anything in or smooth anything out -- it was just a simple tugging of his sheets to cover the mattress. If he had Julie around back then, pulling him back from the precipice of his relationship with his parents and making music that Bobby wouldn’t steal, then she probably would have shown him how to make his bed more presentable for when she came over.

In front of him, the bed he's making doesn’t look like Julie’s anymore.

It looks like his. His old twin bed at Mitch and Emily Patterson’s house, his old bedroom tucked in at the end of the hallway. Every shade of blue and gray and yellow feels so familiar but only a little off; like his brain is vaguely reconstructing his home with blurred edges and familiar memories.

“Your bathroom is surprisingly clean,” a familiarly warm voice says from behind him. Julie stands in his doorway, adorning an ethereal flower-patterned dress and clunky black combat boots.

The strength of the daydream takes over when she approaches him with a smile and his hands, on instinct, find her hips. “I don’t know why you’re shocked. I’m not a slob.”

“Well…” They both chuckle at her tone. “I thought that with your parents out of town, everything here would be falling apart.”

“Well, you’re here, so that could never happen.”

Her smile is the one thing that he knows he got exactly right in this reconstructed environment. He will always know Julie.

The smile that he leans down to lightly kiss is the same smile he sees when they know they have a catchy chorus on their hands, or when she gets an A on a test, or sometimes just when she comes come to say hi to them. It’s pure Julie joy.

“Now that you’ve made your bed since I was in the bathroom,” she murmurs as they pull away, “can we take that nap we were talking about? School was exhausting.”

Tiredly, her head falls to his chest. It’s such a small, warm gesture; but it sends his heart soaring painfully into the wall of his ribs. “Of course, Boss.”

With a gentle touch, he pulls back the covers of his bed and gestures for Julie to crawl in first. She waves him off, trying to tug at the laces of her boots so that she doesn’t sleep in her shoes, but Luke is quick to prop himself on the edge of the bed and lift her foot to her knee.

“Such a gentleman,” she mocks him, but there’s no venom to her voice. In fact, she’s looking down at him like she loves him.

He slowly helps her slip her foot from the boot with a soft grip on her ankle. “For you, anything.”

Charged, quiet beats pass between them as he finishes work on the other shoe and instantly scoots over to make room on the bed for her to lay next to him. He can make out a small, pleased smile as she does so; rolling over to cuddle into his chest and tangle their legs the moment that she is able to do so.

He feels her take a deep breath against his collarbone as he pulls the sheets up to cover them both. “It all smells like you,” she sighs as she exhales.

“Is that a good thing?”

No verbal response -- just a nod, and the sight of her fingers curling into the edge of the sheet and pulling it up right under her nose. “You cozy, Boss?”

Her melodic hum vibrates against his sternum. Parents out of town, cuddling with his girlfriend, playing music -- this was the dream.

Truly, because it fades around him the moment the recognizable sound of a car rolling up the driveway hits his ears.

And he’s poofing down to greet Julie, acting as if he doesn’t have all of these wants and needs in his head that all go back to her.

It’s a late night, it’s after a gig, and adrenaline is still running fast through Luke’s nonexistent veins. The elevation is still carrying him across the walkway as he recalls the way he shredded his solo and the audience leapt to their feet in roaring applause.

Sometimes, just to spend a few more minutes with her, Luke will walk Julie to her front door after a gig. She’ll send her dad inside and tell him she was going to “call” the guys, when really they would be partaking in a celebratory band hug before they all cleaned up and retired for the night.

Tonight was one of those nights, and the cobblestones felt like clouds under Luke’s shoes.

“Jules, you don’t understand, that high note? I didn’t think it could get better, but something about the lights and the crowds and-”

“It was your guitar solo that kept the audience hyped, though!”

“I think after you swung your wrecking ball voice at them, they would have listened to anything afterwards. You don’t get how magnetic you are, Jules.”

The two of them step up her porch, lingering on the top step. Even though he’s been looking at her all night, post-concert Julie has messy makeup and wild hair and he still sees the flashing lights of the stage reflected in her eyes. She carries the energy of performing with her everywhere she goes.

They’re closer than he realized. He can see the exact dark clouds under her eyes where her mascara has rubbed off, and the strands of hair dotting her hairline, and-

“Luke…”

He doesn’t know what she wants to say, but he doesn’t care. “You’re magnetic, Julie, really. It’s like magic. Nobody can resist you.”

The energy crackles against his fingertips, because he can feel himself twitching to touch her.

It’s true -- she’s magnetic. He’s leaning in closer and closer with every passing second.

But she’s the one who makes the first move.

It’s expected and it isn’t when her hands dart from her sides to his neck to his hair and guide him to her as if he would need any help finding her. His hands waist no time in pressing up against her back, bringing her body against his in a way he only feels in hugs-

Only this time, their lips are colliding, and he almost convinces himself this isn’t real.

It’s a sudden and beautiful situation that he’s sure he could only conjure in his daydreams that he has her to blame for in the first place. He’s probably laying on the couch in the studio replaying the look on her face when she hit the high note in question at the gig, and how the gasp she let out at the end propelled him into his solo like he’s never played it before.

There’s no way he’s making out with Julie right now.

And he doesn’t mean to vocalize his hesitation, but as her mouth breaks from his with deep breaths that are muted versions of the gasp from the gig, the words tumble from his mouth.

“Is this a dream?”

With a confused mirth in her eyes, she scrapes the back of his neck with her fingernails and it’s almost tantalizing enough for his head to lull back.

Please let this be a dream so that he doesn’t wake up tomorrow realizing he did all of this on the Molina’s front porch.

“I don’t think so,” Julie whispers through her grin. Her fingers apply pressure on the back of his neck, wanting him to come back to her lips probably as much as he wants to come back, and she leans farther into him with their faces barely an inch apart. “But even if it is -- isn’t it a wonderful dream?”

As her mouth parts underneath his and he coaxes another gasp out of her, he agrees -- it is a wonderful dream.

Tags: @willexx @bluefirewrites @pink-flame @lydias--stiles @constantly-singing @fighttoshinetogether @babydagger28

#jatp #juke #julie and the phantoms #jukebox #palina #juke fanfic #jatp fanfic #julie molina x luke patterson #netflixwewantjatp2 #netflixwewantjatps2

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bloodorangesoup · 3 years

Text

Oh, Don't Mind Me | B.B.

Summary: Reader is having a very good day, including a damn good sandwich and an adorable dance session in the kitchen. Bucky observes with heart eyes. Slow dancing ensues.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: None, complete fluff

My Masterlist

Notes: This is my first writing on here, let me know what yall think! Hopefully, as I continue writing I’ll get better, but for now, I liked this. Also, I do not and will not respect the rules of grammar surrounding punctuation and quotation marks because they do not, as Marie Kondo says, spark joy. Happy reading!

Spring had finally settled in Upstate New York leaving the air fresh and the flowers bright. It was one of those days that just flowed. Gliding by breakfast, you had already turned in a mission report that was supposed to be completed a few days prior, took a shower, tidied up your room, and started lunch. There was a steady buzz of contentment in your head, a result of the day’s effortless productivity and quiet atmosphere.

Putting together the last pieces of the sandwich you made for yourself, you chose to ride the high of your productive buzz and wash the dishes you used before eating. Never had you felt so happy washing dishes. The water was just a little hotter than warm and felt relaxing. Even after the knife and cutting mat were clean you let the water run over your hands, taking in the steam rising to your face causing goosebumps to appear on the area of your arms that the water didn’t cover. Everything just felt like it was in place, it just felt good. When you finished, you dried off your hands and poured yourself some water, admiring how pretty the droplets of condensation looked on the glass.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., play my favorite playlist, please,” you chimed into the empty kitchen.

“Playing your most played playlist on Spotify,” F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s voice echoed through the room. You silently thanked Tony for his genius idea of connecting all the team’s Spotify accounts to F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s system. With that silent thank you, When A Man Loves a Woman by Percy Sledge began softly drifting through the speakers in the kitchen and adjacent living room.

You felt like you were floating. The floor to ceiling windows in the hall let in the sunlight and you closed your eyes as it touched your face and spread warmth all over you. Leaning against the counter, you opened your eyes and turned for a moment to pick up the first half of your sandwich. Closing them again, you took a slow bite and slowly chewed, letting your shoulders drop and letting out a hum of pleasure. Maybe it was the perfection of the moment, but it was a damn good sandwich.

With a small smile lifting up the corners of your lips, you began softly rocking your head side to side with the slow rhythm of the song. The smile on your face grew as you felt the music course through your ears, down your neck, into your chest, and through the rest of your body down to the tips of your toes. Taking another bite of your sandwich, you pushed off from your spot leaning against the counter and stood in the space between the counter and kitchen island for a few seconds before letting your whole body rock side to side just like your head had before. With the combination of the lack of duties to worry about, the satisfaction of such an excellent sandwich, the sun glowing across your skin, and the music coursing through your veins, you felt completely and utterly at peace.

About fifteen minutes prior, Bucky had just finished a workout session. Once his hair was literally dripping with sweat he decided it was about time to get cleaned up and see what you were up to. He happily got to his room, showered, and changed into fresh clothes with nothing but you on his mind. He checked your room to find it empty and assumed that, without a text telling him otherwise, you were probably in one of the living rooms or the kitchen.

Not wanting to disrupt the quiet that settled over the compound on this day, he didn’t call out for you and figured he would see you eventually. He padded through the hall and heard the distant drone of music playing from the kitchen area. Smiling to himself, he remembered how excited you were when Tony had sent out the text telling the team he added Spotify to F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s system.

He recognized the song as one you had put on a playlist you had made for him at the beginning of your relationship. He had worked up the courage to ask you out, after a few months of intense pining and a lot of pep talks from Steve, and later that night received a goodnight text from you including a link to a playlist titled “For Bucky”. The song was about two decades after “his time”, but after seeing how much you melted at it, it quickly became one of his favorites to listen to.

Once he finally reached the source of the sound, he halted to a stop at the doorway of the kitchen. To his delight, you were exactly where he thought you would be. However instead of simply making something to eat, you were dancing in the middle of the kitchen. Eyes closed, grooving to the sounds of the speakers, the light hit you in a way that made his breath hitch and a lump form in his throat. You looked adorable, gorgeous, absolutely beautiful. The song playing also brought right to his attention that, in addition to adorable, gorgeous, and absolutely beautiful, you were also all his. All of that, your soft humming to the music, your unabashed smile, your hips swaying back and forth, was all his. The sight of it alone made his mouth gape open a little and the back of his eyes sting with tears that hadn’t yet formed.

But before he could get completely swept away with his overwhelming adoration for you, you turned around and opened your eyes for a second to take another bite of your, once again, amazing sandwich and came face to face with Bucky. It startled you enough to make you jump and look away in exasperation of the small scare. Bucky chuckled to himself at how cute you could be and leaned against the doorway. You looked up at him with a face that clearly said “how long have you been standing there and how much did you see?” Ignoring the silent question, Bucky decided the opportunity was just too good to pass up teasing you a little.

“Oh, don’t mind me, doll, keep going.” He couldn’t help the little grin that crept up his face.

At this point the song had faded out and transitioned into another song. Bucky identified it as one that was also on the playlist you made for him and it made his grin a little wider realizing that it was in fact “For Bucky” that you were playing.

You rolled your eyes, leaned your hip on the side of the island, and decided to verbally repeat your question.

“How long have you been standing there?”

“Oh hey, Bucky! It’s nice to see you, I missed you, how was your day?” Bucky mocked, pretending to be you. “Oh hey, y/n! I missed you too, my day’s been good,’” Bucky replied back to himself, making you groan and roll your eyes again.

“Hey Buck, how was your day?” You asked him in the most monotone voice you could use, making sure to exaggerate the annoyed expression you wore.

His grin turned into a smirk as he opted to answer your initial question rather than answer the one he mocked you into.

“I’ve been standing here long enough to see you dancing to our song, angel. Very cute, really.” He teased.

“Oh, shut up and come here” You pouted while lifting your arms, inviting him to take up the open space. He smiled at your change in tone and pushed off the doorframe to meet you with arms wide open. You slipped your arms around his neck, resting them on his shoulders, while he snaked his around your waist. He turned you both so that your back was to the island and he caged you against it. You let your head fall against his chest while he leaned down and buried his head in your hair. You could smell him on his clothes, the subtle musk of his skin that lingered anytime you slept in his bed or cuddled him.

Inhaling and exhaling with a sigh, you ran a hand through the hair at the back of his head, returning to that state of absolute peace, now having with you another reason to feel it.

From inside your hair, a grumbled voice came through, “You know that song you were playing when I first came in, I listen to it all the time, always makes me think of you.”

You couldn’t control the giddy feeling that hearing that left you with. You looked up at him, prompting him to lift his head and peer down back at you. Your eyes met and you smiled wide at him, loving the feeling of being wrapped up in him. He grinned back at you and you couldn’t avoid seeing the look of bliss that graced his face, if you could have it your way you would keep him in this moment forever.

“You said that song was our song?” You asked.

“It’s the song I think of when I think of you, and it’s the first one on the playlist you made for me,” he blushed but then quickly followed up, “it doesn’t have to be our song if you don’t want it to or if you want a different one or someth-”

You moved forward away from the island, pushing him backwards with your hips until you were both standing, still embraced, in the middle of the kitchen.

Shaking your head you hummed, “I love it. Dance with me?” Bucky simply nodded his head, staring at you like you put the stars in the sky.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., play the first song on this playlist again, please.” The sound of the old 60s love song started tuning into the room. You didn’t think your smile could get any wider than when Bucky started rocking the both of you side to side, his eyes never leaving your own other than the occasional glance at your lips.

“You’re so amazing, angel, you know that?”

“You’re one to talk, you’re absolutely perfect yourself, Mr. Barnes.”

This made Bucky completely smile down at you. In that moment neither of you needed words to express the loved and adoration you two shared for each other.

Steve walked through the compound looking for Bucky, on a mission to give him back his watch that he’d left in the gym. Hearing your and Bucky’s voices in the living area, he smiled to himself and made his way there. Arguably one of the things in the world that made Steve the happiest was Bucky’s relationship with you. He knew as soon as he had introduced you to the team and could see the way Bucky blushed and got nervous around you that he was a goner. After months of waiting for Bucky to feel okay with dating and feelings and the whole shabang that came with those, he made it his main goal to set you two up. He knew how much you genuinely cared for Bucky and knew how undoubtedly happy you made him, when he saw you two together it served to him a reminder that the world could be good, that things could be bat shit crazy but there was always a silver lining.

Making his way to the kitchen, he ironically stopped at the door frame just as Bucky had, hearing you two together.

“You’re so amazing, angel, you know that?”

“You’re one to talk, you’re absolutely perfect yourself, Mr. Barnes.”

He saw his friend smile down at you and felt the pang of happiness that hit him whenever he listened to Bucky talk about you. He could feel the love from where he stood, rooted in place.

Bucky looked down at your lips once more, you copied him. He leaned in while tightening his hold around your waist, bringing your whole body closer to him, and kissed you softly. The kiss sucked the breath from your lungs. No longer swaying to the music, you let yourself lean into him and kissed him back with passion, making him feel how much you loved him. When your body couldn’t supply you with any more air, you were forced to pull back and look up at him. He looked totally smitten. He peered down at you with red cheeks and a relaxed grin, taking you in.

“God, I love you so much, y/n.”

“I love you more, Buck”

“Impossible.”

You gave him a soft peck in response and dropped your head back on his chest as you continued swaying to your song. Finally tearing his eyes away from you, he noticed Steve standing where he had minutes before, with a satisfied smile, nodding his head in approval.

Bucky just smiled and nodded back, closing his eyes and resting his chin on your head. You were his reminder that the world could be good. Things could be bat shit crazy, but you were always his silver lining.

#bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #marvel #marvel cinematic universe #tfatws #the winter solider #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x avenger!reader

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honeypiehotchner · 4 years

Text

intelligence & issues (Hotch x Reader) -- chapter two

A/N: Shout out to Tracy in this chapter (you’ll meet her)!! She’s based off my advisor when I was doing Dual Enrollment college courses in high school. She’s a woman sent from GOD so I just had to give her some love in here. Anywho! Enjoy xx.

Today’s chapter title is from the song “Home” by Daughtry (you might recognize it from the show!)

Chapter warnings: honestly the only one for this chapter is Jealous!Hotch, but Reader is hiding/in denial about something (that’ll be revealed in later chapters)

Previous chapter || Fic Masterlist

Chapter Two: And the pain you feel’s a different kind of pain

Home sweet home, indeed.

As Hotch previously decided (though because of his mood, you were half expecting him to change his mind), you’re with him to go to the college campus.

Reid is working with Garcia to see if there are any invisible strings tying these three girls together because going to the same school is not nearly enough. It might be a community college, but it still has nearly seven thousand students.

JJ is trying to get a handle on what she can with the media, but so far has proved to be unsuccessful. She’s been yelled at more than she wants to, all because apparently the FBI’s response time is “too slow.” As if they have control over when and where they’re invited.

Emily and Morgan are off to where the women were found, to see if anything was overlooked, and to get a good sense of who you guys are dealing with.

Five minutes into the car ride to campus with Hotch, you wish you and Emily had traded places.

First, he had to give you a lecture about staying on task during cases. How he can’t necessarily forbid you from seeing your mother, but that you need to prioritize.

“Three women are dead, Hotch!” You nearly yell. “I know my priorities! If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be in this fucking car with you!”

That’s what you wanted to say to him, at least. But it’s not what you actually say. You kind of like your job, so you kept your voice calm and collected.

“Yes, sir. I understand. I reminded her that the case comes first.” You pause, trying to lighten the air in the car so you don’t suffocate. “If it helps, she’s happy we’re here.”

“I hope her views are the same as the rest of the town,” he muttered, putting his turn signal on.

“What are you doing?” You ask when he slows down.

“Turning?” He replies, stopping to wait for an opening between cars.

“No, don’t,” you wave your hand. “Go up further and then turn left. Trust me.”

He looks skeptical, but turns off his signal and goes forward. Hesitation fills his body language.

“Relax,” you chuckle, sitting up straighter in your seat. “I used to drive these roads every day. I’m giving you the faster route. It’s prettier, too.”

“We don’t have time to look at the scenery, L/N.”

“Yes, I know that. Turn here.”

Hotch turns and steals a glance at your face when you see the houses along the side of the road. Your eyes practically light up and he hears your breath hitch a little, but you don’t say anything.

It’s adorable. You’re adorable, and Hotch is kicking himself every time he has that thought.

“Here it is,” you murmur, almost to yourself, when the college buildings come into view. The gate is wide open, as usual. “This is the east side of campus. I used to come in this gate because it was a lot less crowded in the morning.”

Hotch nods, wanting to hear more, but he knows it’s a bad idea. He’s toeing the line as it is. He doesn’t need to get invested.

“Turn right and it’ll take you back to the front of campus. I’m assuming we need to check in at the university center?”

Hotch nods. “Campus police should be waiting for us there.”

“Okay. Yeah, it’s just up here.” You point to a massive building, one that almost looks out of place with how modern its features are. “God, they did renovations my senior year,” you say, again to yourself, but Hotch listens to every word. “It looks so much different. Oh, you can park up by it. I’m sure we have leeway. I got fined one day for parking up here as a student.” You chuckle, recalling the memory. “I appealed it and was fine. I was a junior in high school then, so they let it slide. They let...most things slide around here.”

This is the most you’ve ever talked about your time at college -- at least, to Hotch’s knowledge it is. But he’s correct.

You don’t talk about it much, not willingly, at least. You had a wonderful time here, so it’s not that anything traumatic happened to you, it’s just a different time. Who you were then compared to who you are now is almost two completely different, distinct people. If you saw yourself on the sidewalk today, you definitely wouldn’t recognize yourself.

But, oh well. Such is life. No sense in dwelling on that right now.

By the time Hotch puts the vehicle in park, you’re unbuckled and out on the sidewalk, spinning in circles.

“Focus, agent,” he scolds gently, and you think you must be dreaming, because you swear you see a small smirk tugging at his lips.

“I am focused,” you reply, teasing, hands on your hips. “I just haven’t been back in a few years. Forgive me for feeling like I just traveled back in time.”

He shakes his head and begins walking before he stops, turning to you. “Lead the way.”

You can’t help the grin that crosses your lips. You’ll gladly lead the way. Any day.

You push the glass door open, holding it open for Hotch as you walk through. They did renovations mainly to the outside, but the inside is the same. All gray and navy blue, the school’s colors. They’ll never grow old, not to you. There’s something nostalgic about where you first attend college -- for you it’s where you’ve only attended college. You’ll always have a soft spot.

“Is that who I think it is?”

Your head snaps around, your grin widening when your eyes meet those that you’ll never forget. “Is that who I think it is? Come here!”

Tracy rounds the desk and you nearly tackle her in a hug. She’s a younger Black woman (but still a few years older than you), with a kind face that you instantly trusted the day you first met.

When you were a sophomore in high school trying to get classes at this college, Tracy was the advisor you spoke to. She was in her early twenties at the time. She handles all dual enrollment students, but they’re normally juniors or seniors, not sophomores. She was the one you needed to gain the approval of, and after ten minutes, you were being enrolled.

She believed in you. Saw that you needed more and that you were ready to get out of high school. It was too immature for you, too loud, too crowded. She got you out. You owe her a lot.

“Look at you!” Tracy nearly squeals, holding you by your shoulders. “Let me look at you. Turn.”

Humoring her, you turn in a circle slowly, holding out your arms. “How old do I look?”

“Only slightly older than that fifteen-year-old I met all those years ago,” she jokes, holding her hand to her heart. “What are you doing back here? Come all this way just to visit me?”

And just like that, with a few simple words, you’re reminded of why you’re here.

Tracy reads you like a book. “What’s wrong?”

You take a deep breath, pulling out your badge. “I’m uh…” You open it, showing her your credentials.

“Oh my...” Tracy gasps, hands reaching out to hold your badge, but she stops halfway, remembering that even though you’re the teenager she helped, you’re not that girl anymore.

Hotch finally makes himself known, stalking over and showing his own badge. He glances at you and dares to make a comment, but keeps quiet.

“This is my supervisor SSA Aaron Hotchner,” you introduce him. “And officially, I’m SSA L/N.”

“We’re investigating the murders of three girls that went here. The news initially reported them as suicides--” Hotch begins.

“Actually,” you interrupt him, and make a note to apologize for it later. “Did you happen to know them?”

“Of course I did, I handle all the dual enrollment students,” Tracy says, a sad look overtaking her eyes. “It’s just awful.”

“They were dual enrollment?” You ask. “For how long?”

Tracy thinks, then shakes her head. “I’d have to look at their files to be sure, but I think since they were juniors. Do you think we could go to my office? I can give you their academic files.”

“Of course, yes, anything helps,” you nod.

“It’s just upstairs,” Tracy says, not to you, but to Hotch. You used to literally hang out in her office just to talk to her about anything and everything. You were close to calling her Aunt Tracy by the time you left -- and you know if you did, she wouldn’t bat an eyelash.

“I’ll meet you back down here,” Hotch says, keeping his voice low. “I’m going to meet with campus police. See if they have any unusual incidents that could lead us to our unsub.”

You nod, furrowing your eyebrows. “Okay. An hour?”

“Hour is good,” Hotch says, but you know he means make it thirty.

Hotch doesn’t display his badge, instead keeping it tucked away as he walks off to an officer that caught his eye a few moments ago.

You turn back to Tracy with a small smile. “I’m sorry about him. He’s been in a bad mood as of late.”

Tracy raises an eyebrow.

You furrow yours. “What?”

“I thought you were coming in here to introduce me to your new lover,” she admits, nearly making you choke on air.

“What?”

“Oh, girl,” she wraps an arm around your shoulders, heading for the wide staircase. “He was watching you the entire time we were talking. Watched you spin in that circle, too. He’s got it bad, if I do say so myself.”

“I’m sure you do,” you scoff, hands suddenly clammy at the idea.

You know how you feel about him -- as bad as it is -- but you’ve never once seriously considered him reciprocating your feelings. Sure, you fantasize about it, that’s normal for anyone to do, fantasizing about their crush feeling the same way. But seriously?

“It’s wrong,” you blurt, always able to talk to her. A few years didn’t change that. “Inappropriate, even.”

“Oh, I know,” Tracy laughs. “But that’s what makes it so much more attractive, isn’t it?”

“He’s too old,” you blurt again. You know listing these cons is only for you, to convince yourself how wrong it is, how you shouldn’t be feeling this way.

“Oh, please,” Tracy shakes her head. “You’re what, twenty-three now? You act thirty, my dear.”

You gasp. “Are you calling me old?”

“Thirty is not old,” Tracy says firmly, reminding you that she’s thirty now. “I’m calling you mature. Wise. I was surprised you were fifteen when I first met you. You had more confidence in you than most of the eighteen year old freshmen that come in here. That’s only grown with time, like you.” She pauses. “Don’t let an age difference scare you. You both work for the FBI, don’t you?”

“What’s your point?”

“My point is, sweetheart, if he wasn’t interested in you, I’d think he was either married or blind.”

You don’t know what to say to that, considering Hotch technically was married when you first met him. The divorce happened -- or you caught wind of it -- a few months after you were hired. But Tracy doesn’t need to know that, and you need to get back on track.

“Okay, as much as I love catching up and having you dissect my love life…”

“Yes, I know, you’re here on official business.” Tracy’s arm slips from your shoulders as you enter her office. She goes to her filing cabinet and begins searching. “It was Jennifer, Kelly, and Natasha, right?”

You nod. “I think Natasha might have gone by Natalie? That’s the name the news broadcasted.”

Tracy nods, pulling the files. “She hated Natasha. It was the name her dad chose for her.”

“Ah,” you understand immediately. A deadbeat dad will make anyone do anything to get rid of all ties. You know. It’s why you have your current last name and not the one you were born with.

Noticing that too because nothing gets past her, Tracy murmurs, “I see you finally got that name change.” She looks up, and she smiles. “I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks,” you chuckle. “I just wish I had gotten it done in time to have it on my degree.” At least you got it done in time for your badge, though.

“Oh, hun,” she waves her hand. “Give me one second.”

She hands you the files of the three students, so you sit down and begin looking through them for their starting dates. In front of you, Tracy sits at her desk and types furiously, as always.

You find that each of them started their junior year with only a few classes, not a full schedule like you did. You know it’s wrong, but every difference between you and these women puts your heart at ease.

But you find another connection to them that you didn’t see in the file. “They were graduating with a bachelor’s and master’s?”

“Yes,” Tracy nods, a proud yet sad smile crossing her lips. “It’s why they didn’t-- weren’t supposed to graduate until this May. It’s a six year program. Four of undergrad, and two for the master’s. For them, this was their fifth year. And even,” Tracy gestures to the files. “Natalie could’ve finished last year. She wanted to stay.”

“Did she say why?” You ask. There has to be something. “So far we’ve found absolutely nothing connecting these women outside of their attendance here, and now them being dual enrolled in the bachelor’s and master’s program, but…”

“No connection?” Tracy nearly laughs, which startles you. “Those girls went to the same high school, they were best friends. I know you won’t remember them because you were out of there sophomore year, but. They were close. Like this,” she crosses her fingers.

“Okay, um, one second,” you fish your phone out of your pocket, dialing Hotch. “Hey, it’s me.”

“What’s wrong?”

“What? Nothing’s wrong,” you shake your head. Focus. “Tracy just told me these girls were friends. Like best friends, Hotch.”

“Okay, so there’s our connection. Anything else?”

“They were each supposed to graduate in May with a bachelor’s and master’s degree--”

“At the same time?”

“Yes, it’s an accelerated program they have here.” You pause, unable to stop yourself, “They didn’t have it for criminal psychology when I was here, so don’t start.”

He doesn’t reply, but you swear you hear him smile. “Where’s her office? I want to be there before you ask any more questions.”

“Um,” you find that odd. You hope he’s not getting in a mood again. “It’s 203. Come up the staircase at the front and hang a right. The door’s open.”

“Be right there.”

You look up to see Tracy giving you her all-too-knowing look. You shake your head at her, earning a scoff and roll of her eyes.

Hotch comes through the door a moment later. He nods for you to continue, which is a surprise. You were honestly expecting him to take over.

“Did they have boyfriends? Fiancés, even?”

Tracy shakes her head. “No fiancés. Natalie was seeing some guy, but he moved off to graduate school in England, I’m pretty sure. It crushed her to see him go.”

“Did they happen to have a crush on the same guy? Or did they ever talk about someone liking all of them but maybe they weren’t interested?”

Tracy shakes her head again. “I honestly can’t say. I know Kelly and Jennifer weren’t seeing anyone, that they told me, of course. Kelly did have a boyfriend in high school that she talked about, but he…” Remembering, Tracy sighs. “He died in a car accident two years ago. Drunk driver.”

“Ah,” you nod, so that’s a literal dead end. “So Jennifer wasn’t seeing anyone at all?”

“That I know of,” Tracy sighs. “But they don’t tell me everything. Sometimes I run into them holding hands with their sweetheart, and that’s how I’ll find out, like with you and Trevor.”

Your eyes immediately widen, a cold bolt of panic hitting your spine. “Tracy—” Of all the people she could’ve brought into this damn conversation—

“Trevor?” Hotch questions. “Who is he?”

“Just— Some random guy,” you wave your hand in front of your face. “No one.”

“No one?” Tracy scoffs. “You two were in love! It killed him when you left, you know.”

You glare at her, well aware of what she’s doing. Make Hotch jealous, make him angry, force his hand so he’ll confess his true feelings for you. You’re well aware. But Tracy doesn’t know how Hotch works.

“Is he still around?” Hotch presses.

“He’s just finished his master’s degree. He’s one of our new professors.”

“Of course he is,” you mutter under your breath.

All he ever talked about was wanting to teach. He would pity you for thinking you could ever make it in the FBI with only a bachelor’s. You agreed with him, but that wasn’t the point. You wanted support, not to be told you’d never make it or that you were taking a huge risk. He’d tell you that it would be safer to stay here, and you didn’t want to stay here. You loved it here, but you needed someplace new. A fresher start. It’s why you took the job at the BCI in Virginia. You weren’t intending on joining the BAU. That was pure luck, some might even say a blessing.

“Excuse me?” Hotch asks you, eyebrows raised. Oh, and he’s mad, too. You can feel it coming off of him in waves. Nice work, Tracy.

“Nothing, just…” You stand to your feet, looking to Tracy. “Do you mind if we keep these? I’m going to keep looking through them to see if there’s anything else useful.” You doubt there will be. But the sooner you get her the hell away from Hotch, the better.

“You’re fine,” she waves. “If you come back by tomorrow, I’ll have your degree.”

“My degree?”

“With the correct name,” she reminds you softly, and for a moment, you want to hug her.

Then your nostrils are assaulted by the smell that is Aaron Hotchner’s cologne, and you’re spiraling all over again.

“Thank you, I’ll try to stop by. If I don’t, you can just mail it to my mom’s house. Or give it to her. Whatever works. We’ll be in touch if we have any other questions.”

And as quick as a bolt of lightning, you’re practically hauling Hotch out of her office and down the staircase back to the first floor.

“Who is Trevor?” Hotch just keeps pressing. “Should we question him?”

“No, for God’s sake, Hotch, he—”

“Y/N? Is that you?”

Speak of the fucking devil, and he shall appear.

Your eyes close, hoping, praying that maybe if you don’t turn at the sound of your name, that he will go away.

But he doesn’t. That’s Trevor for you. Persistent without shame. Won’t take no for an answer.

Hotch watches you slowly as you turn and greet the young man that spotted you.

Trevor hasn’t changed one bit. He still has his dark brown hair styled the exact same way, almost 1940s style, and still wears a damn tie everywhere he goes.

He’s older than you by a couple of years, but you met when you were eighteen. He was twenty and a sophomore at the time (you were technically a junior, by credit hours). You both met in an elective class. It was purely innocent, strictly friends for the first few months. The two of you happened to be paired together on the first day for one of those stupid “get to know your classmates” things that professors sometimes do. Then you willingly partnered on a presentation. And feelings changed, as they do.

You dated very briefly. You wouldn’t even consider him to be your first love — you don’t think you’ve even experienced love yet, if you’re honest. Everyone thought you loved Trevor. On the outside, it seemed that way. And he definitely loved you, or tried to.

He was the worst about letting you go. And it’s clear right now that he still hasn’t.

“Wow, you look…” Trevor shakes his head, at a loss for words.

“That bad, huh?” You joke, instantly regretting it when Hotch moves to stand right next to you, his shoulder brushing yours. “Uh, Trevor this is Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner.”

“Woah, Agent? Like—”

“FBI. Behavioral Analysis Unit,” Hotch answers firmly, eyeing Trevor up and down. You almost want to elbow his ribs to get him to stop, but you’re not too sure that’s a good idea.

“FBI?” Trevor’s eyes widen in disbelief, looking at you. “I can’t believe you did it.”

“Yeah, me either some days,” you admit. “Anyway, it was nice to see you, but we’re on the clock, so…”

“Right, right, um…” Trevor shakes his head again, a bad habit he never got rid of. “Wow. It was nice seeing you again.”

“Yeah,” you smile through a grimace, offering a small wave. You turn your head to your supervisor, plowing right through the awkward air. “What did campus police have to say?”

Trevor gets the memo (thankfully) and walks away, hands stuffed in his front pockets.

“He’s still in love with you,” Hotch replies, completely ignoring your question.

“Unfortunate. I don’t love him. Campus police?”

“He’s getting a coffee. He keeps looking this way,” Hotch continues, able to see all of this even though his eyes have stayed locked on yours. “Your body language is telling me it wasn’t a happy relationship. Should I be concerned?”

It’s a simple thing. One word. He could’ve easily said, “Should we be concerned?” but instead he chose to put focus on him. Like if you tell him it wasn’t happy, he’ll march over there and give Trevor the scare of his life. The idea doesn’t seem all that bad to you.

“Should you?” You counter. “Three women are dead. Do you really want to concern yourself with my ancient history?”

“Ancient history is hundreds of years in the past. It seems to me you didn’t meet him that long ago.”

Fine. You’ll humor him. “We met when I was eighteen. He was twenty. Started dating three months after we met. Went all the way until a few months after graduation when I got the job at the BCI in Virginia. He told me I’d never make it. I called the supervisor back and accepted the offer right in front of his face.”

“So you made a point to prove him wrong?”

“I made a point to do something with my life instead of staying in this small town forever,” you counter. “There’s no FBI precinct here. Obviously I had to go somewhere for it. It’s what I’ve always wanted to do. Just because I met him when I was eighteen didn’t mean I was going to alter my life goals to stay close to him.”

“He’s coming back this way,” Hotch warns.

Instantly, you look, panic seizing you again, but you find Trevor nowhere. Realizing what Hotch just did, anger floods your veins.

“Made you look,” Hotch says, but it’s not teasing, it’s angry. As if you were the one who lied to him. He turns and walks toward the front doors, shoving one open and not bothering to hold it for you.

“You bastard,” you grumble, following right behind him, palms stinging from where you smack the door.

He whips around, glowering at you. “What did you just call me?”

Normally, you’d stand down by now. You’d apologize. Hell, you’ve never gone so far as to call him a bastard to his face. This is uncharted territory. But you’re fed up.

“Bastard,” you repeat. “You tricked me.”

“I didn’t do anything to you.”

“You told me he was coming when he wasn’t even there!”

“You wouldn’t have looked if it didn’t matter.”

“I wouldn’t have looked if you hadn’t lied to me!”

He gives you a disbelieving look.

He pushed your buttons. Time to push his. “Why are you so interested in Trevor?”

Hotch is heated. He speaks without thinking. “He could be a suspect.”

You almost laugh. “Based on what? The fact that I used to date him and that he’s allegedly not over me?”

Hotch clenches his jaw. “He looked at the files under your arm four times while he stood there. Four.”

“You’re sure he wasn’t just looking at my boobs?” It’s not something you ever thought you’d hear yourself saying to your boss, but here you are.

Hotch stills.

You almost crack a smile. “My, my…” You click your tongue, shaking your head.

“What?” He snaps, clearly done with your shit, but you know what? You’re done with him, too.

“Green is not your color, boss,” you chuckle, turning to head for the car.

You climb into the passenger seat with a deep sigh. Hotch slides into the driver’s seat a moment later, silent as ever.

Hotch doesn’t say a single word until you’re back at the local police station, in the parking lot, to be exact. He shut the car off, but hasn’t moved.

“We need to speak to the victims’ families. If they were best friends, their families should be able to give us some more insight.”

“Okay,” you agree. “Why are we here, then?”

“Because I’m not going with you. Take Reid.” Hotch nearly rips the car door off its hinges as he throws it open.

“Reid?” You haul yourself out of the car, files under your arm. “Reid’s working on victimology and psychological autopsies right now.”

“Then give him the files and take someone else. Prentiss. Morgan. I don’t care.”

“What the hell did I do to you?” You yell after him, hands thrown up in frustration.

Hotch either doesn’t hear you or doesn’t care because he keeps walking away and into the police station. You slam the car door shut, ready to scream.

Great.

Next chapter

#criminal minds #cm #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #hotch #hotch x reader #hotch x you #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #jealous!hotch #lol #poor dude #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction

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prettyboybarzal · 4 years

Text

Falling For You

Pairing: Jake DeBrusk x female!OC

Summary: Sutton Beckett is settling for an unhappy relationship, but a chance encounter with Jake changes everything.

Word Count: 18k+

A/N: Happy birthday, JD! Here’s the fic I’ve been working on since the beginning of quarantine. It’s been fun for me to write in my free time. It’s mostly a friends to lovers story, but very much a slow burn. SLOW. BURN. (Title inspired by Fallingforyou by The 1975)

Warnings: Smut, alcohol consumption, shitty boyfriend (not Jake)

Masterlist

January 20th, 2019

Sutton Beckett was pouting into a Long Island Iced Tea in the middle of a club in Boston. Despite being surrounded by her two best friends and a sea of beautiful, smiling people, she couldn’t find it in herself to crack so much as a smirk.

“Stop moping,” her roommate, Kate, demanded. Sutton lifted her chin and caught the glare she was sending her. “You’re no fun when you’re fighting with Garrett.”

“So, she’s no fun all the time?” their other roommate, Mia, asked with a sarcastic laugh.

“I’m fun!”

“Yeah, when you’re not fixated on every little detail of every little fight you have with him.”

Sutton almost opened her mouth to argue that her roommates were wrong, but she was tired of fighting it. They were completely right. Her relationship of two years was draining her energy completely.

When she first met him, their relationship felt like a dream. He was older, so he had a well-paying job and she reaped the benefits of those paychecks. He brought her to five-star restaurants and surprised her with gifts just because. He talked about the future and his plans to buy them a house on the Cape. She loved him, she saw that future with him, but as time had gone on the vision was getting dimmer.

After they hit a year and a half, a switch flipped.

When Garrett stopped caring, she blamed it on his work, but months passed and she needed something new to blame it on. His parents’ divorce, his sister’s Bridezilla wedding planning, even the death of his childhood dog. But she knew, and her friends knew, the relationship was a disaster and her excuses weren’t good enough.

“What was the fight about tonight?”

“He didn’t like what she was wearing,” Kate answered the question before Sutton could even open her mouth. Sutton opened her mouth, no doubt to come to Garrett’s defense, but Kate warned her, “Don’t defend him.”

“I’m going to grab another drink.”

Sutton found an open space at the bar and gunned for it. But, just as she stepped into the space, someone else did the same and she nearly crashed right into the broad chest of a random man. He stopped short just before she collided into him. When she looked up at him, he spoke but the music was too loud to hear. So, he leaned down to speak into her ear.

“You can order first,” he spoke, nodding towards the bar. “I’ll wait my turn.”

The boy stood at least two steps behind her as she leaned against the bar and stood on her tippy toes to get the bartender’s attention. She was shorter than almost everyone standing at the counter and kept getting ignored as a result, so he finally took matters into his own hands and waved the bartender down.

She spotted him and made a beeline to their side of the bar, though she looked directly past Sutton and up to him.

“I’ll have a ginger whiskey,” he spoke. He extended his hand with his card right over Sutton’s shoulder. “And whatever she’s having you can put on my card, too.”

Sutton almost protested, but the moment she turned to do so, he simply shook his head and she snapped her mouth shut. She placed her order, despite herself, and turned back to the boy as the bartender went to grab the drinks.

“I have a boyfriend,” she told him. He choked on his laughter, but said nothing more as he leaned over her to grab their drinks from the counter of the bar. He handed her glass to her as she continued rambling. “I wasn’t sure if you were, like, flirting with me and I didn’t want to take advantage of you if you were.”

“I was totally flirting with you,” he admitted. Sutton’s eyebrows shot up at his honesty. “But, hey, no problem. We can just be friends, yeah?”

She eyed him skeptically because, honestly, no guys just wanted to be friends. But the smile on his face made it hard for her to believe that he had any bad intentions. He just looked kinder than most guys—soft eyes, kind smile, brown hair that was a little long and tousled like he couldn’t have been bothered to groom it himself.

“Sure, we can be friends,” she told him with a smile that mirrored his own. “What’s your name?”

“Jake,” he introduced himself as he extended his hand.

“I’m Sutton,” she responded, dropping her hand in his. His fingers, rough against her much softer and more delicate skin, curled around her hand and gave her a firm shake.

“I love your outfit,” he said, leaning back to admire the lace body suit she paired with black skinny jeans. Her hand remained in his grasp as she threw her head back with a laugh. How beautifully ironic this interaction was.

“Thank you,” she responded, shaking her head at him in amusement as they dropped each other’s hands. “Guys never compliment girls on what they wear, so thank you for being a breath of fresh air.”

“Not even what’s-his-name?”

“Who?”

“Your boyfriend.”

She laughed again before offering his name.

“Garrett.”

“Garrett,” he scoffed. He knew he was probably treading on thin ice, but he also noticed how easily the laughter was falling from her lips, so he continued. “Garrett doesn’t compliment you?”

“Not tonight,” she said, gazing down at the glass in her hands. She didn’t mean for it to come out sounding that sad, and yet. “No.”

Jake frowned as he watched her close in on herself. The laughter was gone and her eyes had gone dark and the smile on her lips was upside down, so he asked, “Do you want to dance?”

And, because the five minutes she’d been around him made her smile harder than the past six months with Garrett, she decided to say, “I’d love to.”

In the middle of the dancefloor, he spun her into his chest. His free hand fell to her hips as her arms curled around his neck to rest her elbows on his shoulders. She giggled softly again before curling her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck.

It started out innocent enough, but as the music changed so did the air between them. It wasn’t long before her back was pressed against his chest, glasses forgotten on a table a few steps away from them. His hands danced along her sides and wrapped around her waist to pull her close.

He liked the way she laughed and the way she felt against him and he noticed that she would lull her head to the side when he leaned down to whisper in her ear. His breath tickled her neck and she reacted immediately and it turned him on. He wanted to touch her bare skin, he wanted to kiss her neck, and he wondered if he could press his luck. He reached up, brushed her hair behind her, and leaned in to place a chaste kiss against her neck.

Nothing more happened, though they danced through another few songs before he was dragged away from her to rejoin his friends. He practically begged for her phone and left his number under a contact name of Jane (“Just in case Gary sees,” he explained. “Garrett,” she corrected him.)

When she returned home that night, she jumped in the shower immediately, earning confused looks from her roommates. She told them that she just felt gross when she really just needed to wash him off her skin.

---

February 12th, 2019

“Garrett, wonderful to see you.”

“Likewise.”

Sutton laughed to herself at the sarcastic formalities exchanged between her boyfriend and Mia. It had been a few weeks since her night out with the girls and, even though Sutton and Garrett hadn’t fought since, Mia still couldn’t stand seeing him in their apartment.

“Where’s my girl?”

“Bedroom.”

Sutton heard him approaching and pulled the door open. When he stepped in, he held up a jersey and waved it in her direction.

“You can wear my Pasta jersey tonight,” he spoke. “He’s one of our best players.”

She reached out and took it from his hand, but he didn’t release it. Instead, he leaned in and puckered his lips for a kiss. She complied after mentally rolling her eyes at him. He let go of the jersey, and she slipped it on over a long sleeve shirt. “Are you excited?”

“Yeah, baby,” he answered, stepping up behind her as she check herself out in the mirror. He wound his arms around her waist and kissed her neck. “This is such a great gift.”

“I’m glad,” she said softly, thinking about all the money she’d spent on it. He better have liked it, if not only for the dent it left in her wallet.

They made it to their seats five minutes before puck drop. He spent most of their ride to the Garden talking her ear off about the team and the season they’d been having, but Sutton never cared much for sports so most of it was in one ear and out the other.

It wasn’t until the team came out for the beginning of the game that Sutton’s worlds collided. Above her head on the massive Jumbotron, Jake was smiling down at her. She gasped, hand jolting in surprise just enough to spill some beer on Garrett’s jeans.

“Sutton, what the hell?” he grunted, wiping the liquid off his leg. She muttered an apology, but her eyes were already searching the ice for the boy she’d been considering a missed connection. He stood at center ice, shuffling on his skates as the anthem played. And his number? 74. Just like the jersey Garrett was wearing.

She was flustered in the very worst way. It felt like she was barely functioning, unable to carry a conversation with Garrett because her mind was so clearly on Jake. It was made even worse whenever she caught a glimpse of his last name branded across Garrett’s back. She felt a little bit sick, and a little bit guilty, even though she didn’t really have a reason to be.

On the way back to her apartment, Garrett chattered on about the game while she stared down at her phone in her lap. It felt heavier now that she’d been reminded of the number in her phone.

He walked her up to her apartment, though she kind of hoped he’d just stay in the car, and waited for her to change out of his jersey before going. Kate began to chat with him, and Sutton made a mental note to thank her later for at least being polite.

“What are you guys going to do for Valentines?”

“Well, we just had an early Valentines’ date tonight,” he said. Sutton reentered the room at that moment, wishing she had stayed in her bedroom for a moment longer so she didn’t have to hear that. “Did you have fun, baby?”

She nodded because she genuinely thought if she opened her mouth that she would cry.

“Oh!” Kate responded. Her face was white, eyes shifting uncomfortably between her best friend and the guy who’d just crushed her spirit. “No dinner on the day of?”

Garrett offered the girls a performative pouted, dropping an arm over Sutton’s shoulders, as he responded, “I tried to get reservations at Sutton’s favorite spot, but they’re all booked up.”

“When did you try to do that?” Kate asked, eyebrows raised in shock.

“I called last weekend.”

“Garrett, it’s Valentines’ Day,” Mia grunted as she entered the room. He glared at her. “You can’t just call the weekend before and get a table. You should’ve planned in advance.”

“Oh, no,” Sutton spoke up, suddenly finding her voice as she waved off their concerns. “It’s really not a big deal. We’ve been together for so long, you know? We’ve celebrated way too many things. Besides, Valentines’ is just a money maker, right?”

“You crack me up,” he murmured. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to Sutton’s lips. “Listen, babe, I have to run. Early morning tomorrow. I’ll call you, okay?”

“Okay.”

Kate and Mia waited until they heard the elevator doors close before launching into a dramatic monologue about how much they hated him, how Sutton deserved better. Sutton, on the other hand, made herself a grilled cheese while they ranted at her and tried to tune them out.

When she was in bed later that night, she couldn’t find it in her to turn on the television or read the book she’d bought earlier that afternoon. Instead, she stared blankly at the wall in front of her and let her brain run a mile a minute.

Finally, after about thirty minutes, she grabbed her phone and pulled up Jake’s contact. She laughed at the contact photo, a goofy selfie he’d taken of himself just before leaving her that night.

When were you going to tell me you were a professional hockey player?

She deleted it and retyped it about five times before just hitting send and hoping for the best.

Across the city, Jake was slipping into his apartment and nearly dropped the food he grabbed on the way home when he saw her name flash across the screen. He smiled when he read her message and settled down at the kitchen table to respond before eating.

Right now, I guess

Bubbles popped up on his screen immediately as she typed out a message of her own. He locked his phone, then unlocked it, watching the bubbles intently as if urging her to type faster.

I was at the game tonight… My boyfriend wore your jersey.

Jake licked his bottom lip, tugging it between his teeth to suppress the cocky grin that was finding its way to his lips.

What did you wear?

Sutton laughed at the undertone of the message, but before she could respond he’d already sent another.

I don’t mean it like you think I do. Get your mind out of the gutter.

Her response: I wore a Pastrnak jersey… And my mind isn’t in the gutter

Well, why don’t you just rip my heart out, Sutton???

The next morning, she woke up to a follow request from him and the realization that a simple shower wasn’t going to make him go away.

---

February 14th, 2019

In the two days since Garrett dropped the bomb about the lack of Valentines’ plans, Sutton had come to terms with it. It was okay that they weren’t going out to some fancy dinner surrounded by happy couples or desperate singles… As long as he did something to make up for it.

Quite honestly, she wasn’t asking for much.

Flowers would be great, she thought. But, at this point, she would settle for a heartfelt card (or, hell, even a text).

She woke up to a coffee, still hot, waiting for her on the counter with a sweet Post-It note from Kate. Mia even snuck freshly baked cookies into the girls’ lunches. Sutton would be making dinner in their apartment that night as her contribution to their Valentines’ Day plans. At the end of the day, she knew she’d be thankful she spent the night with her girls instead of Garrett.

Maybe that was a problem.

There were no flowers waiting for her when she got to work, and still none by lunchtime. She checked with the office’s receptionist three times that day, wondering if she’d missed a call or something like that. But she hadn’t.

It was around 4 p.m., two hours until the end of her work day, when she heard the mail cart rolling down the hallway.

“Special delivery for Miss Beckett!”

Sutton’s heart fluttered. She practically danced out to the hallway from her desk. The cute elderly man who delivered the mail was standing just beyond the threshold with a black box wrapped in a beautiful white bow.

“Thank you, Earl.”

“Enjoy, beautiful,” he said. “He better treat you right or someone else might come and snatch you up.”

Sutton laughed politely as she walked back to her desk. She placed the box down and squealed excitedly as she pulled the ribbon apart. She took the top off, pulled back the tissue paper, and revealed a Bruins t-shirt with a note that read: You’d look better in #74 than your boyfriend

While Kate and Mia set the dinner table that night, Sutton found herself preoccupied with dinner and Jake DeBrusk, once again. She’d been thinking about his gift all day.

Since she texted him the other night, they’d been Snapchatting a little bit. It was never anything of substance, just photos of his sneakers or skates and her coffees. They hadn’t exchanged any message since earlier that morning, and certainly not after the arrival of his gift, but she knew she’d have to thank him eventually. It made her nervous to think about. She typed out a dozen of texts, but kept talking herself out of it and deleting them. She was so far in her head that she couldn’t figure out how to deal with the situation.

She figured that she should’ve been more upset with him. Sending her a gift on Valentines’ Day when he knew she had boyfriend was clearly crossing a line and she knew she needed to stop him before he took it too far. But, she couldn’t help but ask herself if she even wanted to.

Against her better judgement, Sutton decided she needed to ask for help from the girls. So, as she placed the entrée down on their dining table, she announced, “I need to talk to you guys. And I need you to not be crazies, or jump to conclusions, or anything like that.”

“If it’s about Garrett, I’m liable to be a little crazy.”

“It’s not about him,” she said. “Well, it kind of is. Indirectly, at least.”

“Spit it out, Sutton.”

“Remember when we went out after Garrett and I fought at the end of last month?” she asked. The girls nodded, already digging into the food on their plate despite Sutton being too nervous to put anything on her own. Kate noticed and began shoveling food onto her plate for her, pushing it towards her after it was full. “I met a guy.”

“Excuse me?” Mia blurted out. “What do you mean you met a guy?”

“His name was Jake,” she continued. The girls nodded along, hanging onto every word that Sutton said while she went through the details of the night she met him, and the night she saw him again. They both had smiles on their faces, giggling at the way Sutton relayed their texts from two nights prior.

Kate couldn’t believe she had been talking to a player on the Bruins. Mia was just happy she was talking to someone other than Garrett.

“He sent me one of those t-shirt jerseys,” she said. “Today.”

“Today?!”

“Yeah, and he left a note that said ‘you’d look better in #74 than your boyfriend’.”

The girls swooned.

“I love him!” Mia announced. Kate nodded in agreement. “You have to call him and say thank you.”

“Call him?”

“Absolutely!”

“I feel guilty,” she admitted. “I should probably let him down easy, right? I have a boyfriend, and he knows that. He shouldn’t have sent me that gift… Let alone on Valentines’ Day!”

As expected, her roommates groaned or eye rolled or reacted in whatever frustrated way they wanted to.

“We’ll clean up after dinner if you call him.”

Jake declined her call, and then FaceTimed her back. She threw the phone onto her bed, far away from her, at the sight of herself and grabbed an elastic from her dresser to tame the frizzy locks on her head.

“What kind of psychopath FaceTimes someone they hardly know?!” Sutton screamed to her roommates. She heard them laughing in the living room. “And without warning!”

“Answer him!” Mia yelled. “I hate the sound of your ringtone!”

Sutton huffed out in frustration and plopped onto her bed, checking once more to see if she looked okay. She pressed her thumb over the front camera and answered.

Jake was grinning when he popped up, but then he frowned comically.

“I FaceTimed you for a reason.”

“And I voice called you for a reason.”

Sutton watched as Jake threw his head back with a laugh and smiled despite herself. He was in a hotel bed, at least that’s what it looked like, and he was laying on his side, propped up on his elbow. He stared at the black screen on his end of the call and sighed.

“Sutton, show yourself.”

She rolled her eyes, but did as she was told and pulled her thumb off the camera. Before he could say anything, she asked, “How did you know where I work?”

“You put the building on your Instagram story yesterday,” he answered. “And the company is in your Instagram bio. I put two and two together.”

“I really appreciate the gift, Jake, but I have a boyfriend.”

Jake blinked at Sutton, unphased by the statement, before finally saying, “I know that.”

“You really shouldn’t be sending me gifts on Valentines’ Day.”

“It’s Valentines’ Day?” he asked. She honestly couldn’t tell if he was serious or he was just joking around. He laughed softly at her confused expression. “Relax, Sutton. I just wanted to get you the jersey before our game tomorrow night.”

“Oh.”

“Oh,” he teased. She rolled her eyes. “Was he mad?”

“He didn’t see it.”

“Why? Did you throw it out? Don’t tell me you threw it out. I mean, it’s not a big deal. I could pay for a new one, but I always hoped if anyone was going to get rid of my jersey they would burn it. It’s so much cooler that way.”

Sutton laughed at him, and Jake beamed at the sound. He hadn’t heard it since the night at the club and it was just as pretty as he remembered.

“I wouldn’t do that.”

“Shouldn’t you be out right now?” he asked. “It’s only 9 p.m. You look like you’re in bed.”

“That’s because I am in bed.”

“Why?”

“Because I have work tomorrow.”

“What did you do tonight?”

“You ask so many questions.”

“I’m trying to get to know you.”

Although they were a whole country apart from each other, him in a hotel room in California and her in bed in Boston, she felt vulnerable. It was because of the way he was looking at her through the screen, the softness of his voice when he was flirting with her, the not-Valentines’ gift and handwritten note that still sat beside her.

“I made dinner for my roommates and I,” she answered. “It was nice.”

“You and Garrett have roommates?”

“Oh, my God,” Sutton grumbled. He was really going to make her spell it out for him wasn’t she. (And, yes, he fully intended to.) “No. I don’t live with him. I live with my two best friends.”

“Did he not spend Valentines’ with you?”

“No, he did,” she said. Her voice dropped to a mumble. “Two nights ago, at TD Garden with you and thousands of other people.”

“Tell me he got you a better gift than a t-shirt with my last name on it,” Jake pleaded, no longer finding the humor in teasing her about him. Sutton grit her teeth in response, not wanting to tell him the truth but knowing she couldn’t lie. “I am your fucking Valentine.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I am by default,” he argued. “And so are your roommates apparently.”

“We celebrated early! Why is that so crazy?”

“Who bought the tickets to the game?” Jake asked. Her silence spoke volumes. “You did, huh?” Sutton nodded. “What kind of asshole doesn’t get his girlfriend a gift on Valentines’ day? What kind of asshole doesn’t even bring her out to dinner?”

“Jake, that’s enough.”

“Did he send you flowers? A card?”

“Jake!” Sutton yelled. He pulled his phone away from his face at the sharpness of her tone. “I don’t want to hear it from you. I already hear it from my roommates. I don’t need to hear it from you. You don’t even know me.”

“Well, I want to.”

There was a pause in conversation, a moment of intense eye contact (if you could even call it that through the phone). Then, Sutton dropped her head back in frustration.

“Why?”

“Because I’ve been thinking about you since I first met you.”

“I have a boyfriend, Jake.”

“Sort of.”

“Stop.”

“Okay.”

Sutton let out a frustrated sigh and Jake watched her run her free hand through her hair while her eyes gazed at something across the room. They looked like they were welling up and Jake frowned, the feeling of helplessness washing over him as he realized he didn’t quite know how to make the situation any better.

“You’re going to wear the shirt tomorrow, though, right?” he asked, forcing a grin onto his face. She looked at him and laughed. “Because if you tell me you’re wearing a Pasta jersey again, it will break my heart.”

“Yes, I’ll wear your jersey.”

They spent another thirty minutes on the phone talking about nothing important. Jake was happy to be talking to her for real, not through Snapchats that he had to disguise as snaps he sent to everyone on his contact list. As their time together ended, it was clear neither of them was quite ready to hang up.

“I’ll admit,” she started. Jake’s eyebrows perked up. “I like talking to you, Jake DeBrusk.”

“I knew I’d wear you down at some point.”

“But I have a boyfriend.”

“What did I say at the bar?” he asked. She narrowed her eyes at him, unsure of what he was referring to. The only thing that came to mind from that night was the feeling of his lips against her skin. It was hard to remember everything else. He made her head fuzzy. “We can just be friends.”

---

March 1st, 2019

Sutton’s relationship with Garrett and her friendship with Jake were never supposed to come closer to intersecting than it had on February 12th and there were a few reasons for that.

The first was that Sutton didn’t want to taint the friendship she had with Jake by throwing Garrett into the equation. It just felt too close for comfort. Besides, she knew the two wouldn’t get along. Jake was giggly, happy, full of life. Garrett was serious, grumpy, exhausting. Just because she liked being around them separately did not mean she’d like them together.

The second was that she knew if Garrett found out about their friendship, he would be pissed. There was a reason she shied away from having guy friends. Garrett hated sharing her with other guys, and that included her work husband who was a gay man in his 40s. He was slightly possessive, but she brushed it off as his own insecurities and vowed not to make the relationship more difficult than it needed to be. Just like everything else in life, Sutton catered the relationship to him.

Kate and Mia found humor in the way that Sutton’s life had suddenly become a revolving door. Garrett was there one minute and the second he was gone Jake was showing up at their front door. They started referring to the two parts of Sutton’s life as church and state. Always separate.

She found it easy to keep it that way. Her friendship with Jake was almost completely virtual, save for a happy hour or two. He was busy with hockey, so she didn’t have to worry about him asking her to hang out on the weekends or ever at night. She reserved those for Garrett.

Besides, something about being with another guy after sunset just felt a little scandalous to her and she didn’t need anyone—Jake, Kate and Mia, Garrett, herself—getting the wrong idea.

Nights with Garrett were few and far between. He seemed to be getting busier and busier at work, but Sutton played the part of the doting girlfriend (which really she was) even better. She made him dinner before he went in for night shifts, waited for him to come home from working overtime to give him a massage, made him breakfast before he went out to work again.

Things seemed to be getting better between them, despite his busy schedule. So much so that he met her at work that Friday to bring her to happy hour. He said he wanted to check out a new place downtown, and she went happily because it finally felt right.

Apparently, the opening of this bar was highly anticipated because the place was packed. Unlike Valentines’ Day, Garrett called ahead. Sutton kept the sarcastic comments swirling through her mind to herself and settled into the booth across from him with a sweet smile.

They browsed the menu; Sutton a little longer than Garrett due to her indecisiveness. He gazed around the bar, taking in the atmosphere and then the sight of not one, not two, but a whole group of Boston Bruins.

“Sutton, you’ll never guess who just walked in,” he said in an excited whisper. Sutton gazed up at him from the menu with a smile, then followed his eyes to the door. “Do you know who that is?”

Among a group of men in athletic clothing stood Jake in a Bruins sweatshirt. She spun back to face Garrett and shook her head to give him the illusion that she had no idea who they were even though her heart was about to jump out of her chest.

“Those are some of the Bruins players,” he murmured. “I gotta get a picture with them.”

“Well, why don’t you just let them get drinks and then you can ask for a picture before we leave,” she suggested. The shake of her voice was enough to give her away, if Garrett would only listen.

“That’s Jake DeBrusk,” he continued, eyes still trained on the men across the room. “And Charlie McAvoy.”

“Stop staring, babe,” she said. She took his chin between her fingers and redirected his attention to her. “It’s rude to stare.”

“Well, I’m sorry,” he grumbled, leaning back against his seat. “It’s like if one of those podcasters you liked walked in. I’m star struck.”

Sutton’s heart was pounding in her chest long after Garrett stopped staring at the players that had entered the bar. She knew Jake wouldn’t notice her with her back to him, and since he’d never met Garrett it was impossible that he’d even recognize him. But with Garrett jumping for joy at the opportunity to meet them, she knew she couldn’t avoid him completely.

She spent the entire time trying to figure out how this was going to go down, and even when it came down to it she couldn’t be sure she was making the right decision.

She gathered her things, including her nerves, as Garrett approached Jake. He’d been on the way to the bar when Garrett reached him and the two exchanged polite conversation, smile plastered across Jake’s face as usual.

“Sutton, baby, would you come take a picture for us?”

His smile dropped the moment Sutton locked eyes with him.

“Sure!” she said cheerily, diverting her eyes from his stare. She flitted over to take Garrett’s hand in hers. Jake watched, stomach turning. He was frozen in place. She wasn’t even going to say hello? She wouldn’t meet his eyes or even give him a playful look, a wink even, to acknowledge him behind Garrett’s back.

Jake clenched his jaw and led them back to the table, teeth grinding against each other like they never have before.

“Boys, real quick picture, okay?”

Everything moved so fast. Garrett jumped in with them, Sutton snapped the picture, then stepped away as Garrett praised them on the season they’d been having. She ignored the way Jake was staring at her, tapping away at her phone instead of engaging with him. Like, what else was she supposed to do?

“What’s your name?” Charlie called out. Sutton looked up at him, anxious as all hell that the cat was going to be out of the bag in approximately five seconds. Thankfully, Garrett was talking to one of the other guys they were with and she caught her breath. “You look familiar.”

“Familiar?” she asked with a laugh. Jake watched her carefully. “I don’t think we’ve met before.”

Charlie looked skeptical and then, as he turned to ask Jake if he thought you look familiar too, it clicked.

“Holy shit,” he murmured. And then, as he looked back and forth between the two of them, he also realized the tension. “Holy shit.”

Jake shook his head at Charlie before turning to sit in his chair. Sutton stared at his back, hating every choice she’d made in the minutes before.

“Well, listen, I’ll let you guys get back to it,” Garrett finally said. Sutton redirected her attention to him, hand curling around his forearm as he reached out to her. “Good luck the rest of the way.”

He received words of thanks from the men as they turned back to their food and drinks, and then he was guiding her out of the entrance of the restaurant. Sutton stole one last glance at Jake on the way out and knew that she fucked up.

For the rest of the meal, Jake was quieter than usual because his head was reeling. He was stupid to ever get attached to her. All the time they’d spent talking made him forget that she already had someone at home. Seeing him with her, holding her hand, snapped Jake back to reality. He needed to give himself space.

That’s why when Sutton texted him that night to apologize. (I’m sorry about today! I didn’t really know what I was supposed to do. But thanks for taking a picture with him.)

He left her on read.

---

March 4th, 2019

Nights were meant for Garrett, but Sutton gave herself one pass.

Jake hadn’t answered her texts or Snapchats since happy hour. She knew the way she acted was shitty, but did he expect her to just tell Garrett about him? It seemed like mess of situation that she didn’t want to get into. Three days later, and after numerous attempts to get in contact with him, she had to go full-on stalker mode.

Jake was at practice late that afternoon, so she planned to grab his favorite meal from a local Thai restaurant and drop it at his apartment when he was home later that night. She followed through, feeling confident in herself as she marched towards his apartment with her head held high.

That feeling dissipated almost as soon as the elevator left the ground floor, but she kept it pushing despite the anxiety. At his door, she knocked once, and waited. No response came. She knocked two more times with the same result and decided to give up.

Maybe it was a sign from the universe that she wasn’t supposed to try to fix this. She took this thought in stride, turning to walk away from his door and find shelter in her apartment across the city. And then the elevator opened and Jake stepped out.

They both stopped in their tracks.

“What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to drop this off,” she answered, extending the Styrofoam take-out box to him. He walked toward her with his duffel bag over his shoulder looking tired and sweaty. He took the box from her hand as he passed by her to unlock his door.

He was momentarily stunned into silence. She had texted him and called him a few times since happy hour, but he figured she’d just stop trying eventually. The thought of never seeing her again stung, but he gave himself a lengthy pep talk the day after the Garrett fiasco and then he re-downloaded all his dating apps.

“I’m going to go.”

“Hold up,” he murmured, kicking the door open. “Come inside for a minute.” Her feet remained planted to the carpeted hallway beneath her feet. She glanced at the elevator, then back at him. “Or don’t.”

Jake pushed the door open enough to slip through it with an annoyed huff of air, and then it slammed shut behind him.

She continued down the hall despite the invitation she desperately wanted to take. She reached the elevator and pressed the button to call it up to his floor. The whir of the car started immediately. The doors opened just a minute later, but Sutton was already on the way back to Jake’s front door.

She only knocked once before he was swinging the door open and stepping aside to welcome her in.

Jake walked straight into the kitchen where the microwave was already heating up the Thai food she’d brought for him. While she sat at the counter, Jake leaned up against the opposite side and asked, “What did you buy me Thai for?”

“It’s an apology.”

“The Thai food is an apology?”

“Yes.”

“For what?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest. He narrowed his eyes at her, as if he had no idea what he was talking about. He knew damn well what it was for. He just wanted her to say it herself.

“For happy hour the other day.”

Jake hummed, seemingly satisfied by her answer, and grabbed the food from the beeping microwave before slipping out of the kitchen to the living room. Sutton stood there a moment longer, ignoring her overwhelming urge to find a pillow and scream right into it.

“Do you want me to leave you alone?”

Her question was followed by a moment of silence until he reappeared in the doorway. He gave her an amused look before he stepped over to the utensil drawer to grab two forks.

“Sutton, when have I ever wanted you to leave me alone?” He paused. “Do you want me to leave you alone?”

“No.”

“Great.” He turned and continued out of the room. “Come eat.”

Jake sat on the floor on one side of his coffee table, and Sutton sat across from him. He turned the television on to some rerun of Friends and watched absentmindedly while they ate, his quiet chuckles the only thing filling the air around them.

Sutton watched him, mostly because he wasn’t looking at her, and felt relief wash over her. The tension in her shoulders over almost everything going on in her life was momentarily cured just because she was near him. She knew the Thai food was only a momentary solution and that a more serious conversation would follow later, but she didn’t care. This moment was something she’d been wanting since she saw him on Friday.

After eating, Jake showered and left Sutton in the living room to pick a movie for them to watch. When he returned, she was sitting on the opposite end of the couch from where he had been. He settled down onto the cushion without a word, eyes grazing over the description of the movie she’d picked out.

“Feels weird to have you all the way over there,” he said softly.

She stood and readjusted herself on the cushion beside him. Her legs folded beneath her as she pulled her sweatshirt sleeves over her hands. He noticed the way she was curling into herself and sighed in defeat, dropping his head against the back of the couch.

“Are you cold?” he asked. Sutton glanced over at him. “Or do you just feel that weird around me now?” She frowned. He looked away from her, muttering, “If I had known that you were going to be there with him, I would’ve gone somewhere else.”

“This is so fucked up,” she groaned into her hands. “That’s so unfair to you, Jake.”

“What do you mean?”

“You would have gone somewhere else? So that I could keep my friendship with you private from my relationship? Who does that?” she rambled. “Christ. Why do you deal with this? I’m such a shitty friend.”

“You’re not shitty, Sutt.”

“Yes! I am!” she exclaimed. “I should’ve just told Garrett that we met, but I didn’t because I knew he’d be pissy and I didn’t want to deal with it. Now, look! I’ve just made the situation worse because I hurt you and dug myself into a hole even deeper than it already was.”

“Why would you even think he’d be mad?”

“There’s a reason I’m only friends with girls, Jake.”

He stared at her long and hard after that admission feeling an anger boil in his stomach that he hadn’t felt in a very long time. Finally, he asked, “Does he not let you have friends who are guys?”

Sutton’s answered with a look.

“He—he doesn’t hit you, does he?”

“No!” she exclaimed. “No. Never. I wouldn’t be with him if he was, like, abusive.” She almost couldn’t get the words out because she realized how ridiculous she sounded. She couldn’t even believe herself.

Jake huffed, his eyes rolling in frustration, as he said, “Okay, so he’s not physically abusive.”

“Jake.”

“No, I know,” he murmured. “You don’t want to talk about it. You never want to talk about it.”

He turned his attention back to the TV screen, jaw clenched so he could hold back all the words he wanted to say. He kept it to himself, knowing that if he spoke he’d be speaking out of anger and it would just make the situation worse.

So, he waited until he was composed. He waited until he was levelheaded. And level headed Jake cared more about keeping his friendship with Sutton intact than telling her that her boyfriend was a piece of shit.

“I hate being mad at you so much,” he said with a sigh. She pouted at him. “You’re like my best friend.”

“You’re mine, too,” she whispered. Jake stretched and pulled her into him for a hug. She relaxed in his arms, sighing softly into the crook of his neck. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he said. “I just wish you wouldn’t let him control your life the way you do.”

Sutton pulled away and sighed.

“Things are good between us right now,” she said. “I know you don’t really understand it. Kate and Mia don’t either, I know that. It’s just that Garrett has been good to me. I’m happy.”

“Okay.”

“And I know that our friendship started out a little flirtatiously,” she continued. “But I can’t let you get the wrong idea, Jake. I’m happy with Garrett and I don’t want to lose you because of it. We’re—”

“We’re just friends,” Jake jumped in. “That’s what we have been since you yelled at me for buying you a Valentines’ gift.”

“I just wanted to make sure that the lines weren’t blurred.”

“Not blurred,” he insisted. “You’re my friend, Sutt. That’s all.”

---

March 17th, 2019

Jake was on his way to Sutton’s apartment because Garrett did something fucked up. He was beginning to forget how to treat Sutton again and Jake found himself picking up the pieces more than once. It wasn’t his job. He knew that, and yet he was still showing up to check on her.

Boston was in full-on party mode for St. Patrick’s Day and though Jake had been invited to a teammate’s house that night, he was on his way to Sutton’s apartment with ice cream. She answered the door, eyes rolling when she saw Jake on the other side. She told the girls not to tell him what Garrett had done that day… Clearly, they didn’t listen.

“Why are you here?”

“That was not a nice hello,” he noted as he pushed past her. He stepped into the kitchen and grabbed two spoons before entering the living room with Sutton hot on his heels. “What are you doing?”

“I was watching Project Runway,” she told him. She grabbed the remote and paused the television. He raised an eyebrow at her.

“Is Project Runway your emotional support show?”

“Who says I need emotional support?”

“Your roommates.”

“God, they’re so nosy,” she muttered. “I told them not to call you.”

“I would’ve figured it out even if they didn’t,” he said. He sat down on the couch and opened the pint of ice cream he’d brought with him. “I knew something was wrong just from the way you were texting me.”

“How?”

“Just your general lack of interest in the conversation.”

“Sorry.”

“All good,” he said, waving her off. He lifted the pint up toward her. “That’s why I came with your favorite flavor!”

Sutton fell to the couch beside him and grabbed a spoon, heart fluttering at his thoughtfulness. He pulled her legs over his lap and gazed over at her as she started digging into the Ben & Jerry’s in her hand.

“So, what happened?”

“Today’s our anniversary,” she explained. She handed him the pint after placing the spoon in her mouth, eyes fluttering shut as the flavor exploded in her mouth. Jake huffed, scooping out a spoonful for himself.

“Why isn’t he celebrating with you?”

“He had a St. Patrick’s party at his office,” she answered. “He’s up for a huge promotion at work, again, so he’s sucking up.”

“He couldn’t bring a plus-one?”

“I didn’t ask.”

Sutton might’ve asked Garrett at the beginning of their relationship, but she would never ask him to demand a plus-one now. And there was a very good reason for this. She was sure that if he’d dragged her along, she would find out something that she didn’t want to know. Something along the lines of him cheating on her.

All the signs were there, but she didn’t want to believe it. Or confront him about it.

And she certainly didn’t want to tell Jake.

“That’s so unfair to you,” he grumbled, passing the ice cream back to her. “You should say something to him. I thought things were going well for a little bit.”

“Yeah, well,” she said dismissively. “This is how things are between us.”

“Isn’t it exhausting, Sutton?”

“A little bit.”

“You deserve better than exhausting.”

When Kate and Mia got home later that night, they found the two of them wrapped up in each other and a message on the television asking if they were still watching their show. The sound of the door slamming shut startled the two awake and, under the watchful eyes of her roommates, Sutton scrambled off him.

“Hi, sleepy heads.”

“What time is it?” Jake grumbled, reaching out for his phone. He read the time, dropping his head against the pillow in frustration. Sutton left the room in search of sweatshirt and Jake found himself cornered by the other two girls. “I have to go.”

He stood, running his hands through his hair to contain the locks that were sticking up from the pillow. The roommates watched him with amused smiles.

“That was sweet,” Kate said. Mia nodded in agreement, but he just rolled his eyes.

“Friends,” he said. A sigh of disappointment fell from Kate’s lips. “That’s what she wants. That’s what I’m giving her. Don’t complicate it.”

“You two are so full of shit,” Mia grumbled as she marched out of the living room.

When Sutton returned, she looked ready for bed. Her hair was pulled up into a bun and her sweatshirt hung loose over her much smaller body. Kate was in the kitchen, out of sight, so Sutton’s guard fell for a moment. She walked over to Jake and wrapped her arms around his waist to cuddle against his chest again.

“Talk to Garrett, would you?”

She looked up at him, almost pleading him to drop the subject, but caught the look in his eye and knew he was serious.

“Okay, I will.”

“I just want you to be happy,” he said. “And he makes you happy, right?”

---

March 26th, 2019

Charlie was disappointed in Jake. There he stood, in Charlie’s kitchen, with his hip cocked against the counter and his phone in his hand. It had been two months since he met this girl and he was still pining after her, even though she had a boyfriend. It was pathetic.

“Sutton?”

Jake hummed at him in response. Charlie rolled his eyes and ripped the phone from his hands like a middle school bully. He glanced down at the screen, eyes catching her name and a horrible grey text to blue text ratio.

“Dude, are you triple texting a girl with a boyfriend?”

He shoved the phone back to Jake who then placed it in his back pocket with a scowl.

“I’m worried about you.”

“We’re friends.”

“You got friendzoned by a girl you tried to hit on at a club,” Charlie pointed out. “Where did you go wrong?”

“I talked to her.”

“Is she coming tonight?” he asked, deciding to use mercy rules on his love-struck friend.

“Yep,” Jake answered, avoiding eye contact with Charlie. It didn’t go unnoticed by McAvoy and he was waiting for Jake to drop whatever bomb was coming. “I think she might be bringing her boyfriend.”

“What?”

“It’s my fault,” Jake said. “I told her she could bring him if she wanted to.”

“Why would you do that?”

“She wanted to be here to celebrate us clinching a playoff spot. And I really wanted to see her, but she also had dinner plans with him. So, I told her to bring him with her after dinner.”

“I don’t want that prick in my apartment.”

Although Charlie thought Jake’s crush was ridiculous, he started to become a little protective of her over the last two months. He was always hearing all the crazy stories about her boyfriend and how shitty he was to her. It made Charlie itch.

He’d been around Sutton a few times since he saw her at happy hour, mostly at Jake’s apartment and in passing. She spent some time there on the weekdays, when Charlie assumed Garrett was at work. She was always making sweets for Jake (he claimed it was because she was stressed, though Charlie thought it was something more than that). When she noticed that Charlie would steal half of them each time, she started leaving him a bag of goodies too.

Other than those few occurrences, Jake was mostly talking his ear off about the times they could grab lunch or drinks. And, though he was still completely head-over-heels for her, the relationship between the two of them seemed to shift to a more platonic type. Forget the constant flirting and you just had two best friends.

“I don’t want him here either,” Jake grumbled. “But I want her, so we’ll just have to deal.”

Truth be told, Jake had gotten better at just being her friend. She stopped telling him all the shitty stuff that Garrett did to her. Instead, they talked about work and the things they would do when they finally got time off. Even Kate and Mia stopped telling him when Sutton and Garrett fought.

It was a step in the right direction, but he still knew things weren’t going right. He could tell by the way she filled his counter with baked goods and picked out the sappy rom coms on movie nights. Both were becoming a daily occurrence, but Jake kept his mouth shut.

He kept checking his phone for a sign of life from Sutton. Dinner with Garrett was at 6:30 p.m. 10:30 p.m. came around and his phone was still dry.

He hated himself for being so hung up on it because she was out with her boyfriend! Maybe they were having a great time, maybe for once in their relationship Garrett was doing the right thing and she was happy, maybe they’d gone back to his place… Jake shook off the traitorous thought.

He spent the night bouncing from group to group until Charlie pulled him into a conversation with some of his girlfriend’s friends. It was obvious, from the look in Charlie’s eyes, that this was a set up in progress. And, for the first time in a long time, Jake let it happen.

He talked to the girl in front of him, a small brunette with big brown eyes, for what seemed like hours. And not in a good way. He wondered if maybe she was being so boring to get him to kiss her, but it wasn’t working. He didn’t want to kiss her because he didn’t want to kiss anyone but Sutton.

Jake sighed, lifting his hand to the girls forearm to say, “It was really nice to meet you, but I’m gonna run to the bathroom.”

She looked at him like he punched her in the gut.

When he got to the bathroom, he peed and then stared at himself in the mirror for a little bit too long. He wasn’t even drunk. He just needed to have a moment with himself. Finally, when he felt centered, he leaned over the sink and splashed some cold water on his face before slipping out to the hallway once more.

“Jake!”

The sound of Sutton’s voice echoed off the walls of the hallway and set him off kilter once again. She bounded forward and wrapped her arms around his waist, effectively turning him to putty in her hands.

“Hi,” she greeted. She hung on him a little more than she usually did. Jake gazed down at her, thinking she looked a little bit like an angel with her hair pinned back like that.

His lips turned up into a small smile as he pressed a kiss against her forehead and murmured, “Hey.”

Mia turned down the hallway at that moment and let out a large exhale.

“Oh, good,” she huffed out. “She found you.”

Kate bumped into Mia from behind, apparently also in search of the sweet girl in his arms.

“She found him!”

“I found him!” Sutton exclaimed, clapping her hands over Jake’s cheeks as she looked up at him.

“You found me,” he responded with a soft laugh. He brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, then glanced up at her roommates over her shoulder with a concerned look.

Kate came forward, wrapping her arms around Sutton’s waist to pull her from Jake.

“Come to the bathroom with me?”

“Sure, lovebug!” Sutton exclaimed. She turned back to look at Jake and planted a kiss right on his lips so quickly that he didn’t even get a chance to close his eyes, pucker his lips, or savor the moment. With a shocked gasp, Kate pulled Sutton away to the bathroom down the hall.

Jake’s eyes widened when he looked back at Mia.

“What the fuck is happening?” he asked, reaching up to brush his fingers along the tingling on his lip.

“She thinks Garrett is cheating on her.”

“Weren’t they supposed to be at dinner tonight?”

“He didn’t show, so she checked his location,” Mia explained. “He’s at a coworker’s house. Apparently, it’s been happening for a while and she didn’t care to tell us until tonight.”

Jake couldn’t decide what he was feeling. He was simultaneously pissed off at Garrett for being a dickhead, and Sutton for kissing him in that moment, and himself for feeling butterflies.

“She ended up eating dinner at the bar of the restaurant by herself and came back to our place bombed,” Mia continued. “We tried to get her in bed, but she insisted on seeing you. So, here we are.”

“She can’t stay.”

“We know that,” she said. “But she won’t leave with just us.”

The two of them exchanged a knowing look before the door down the hall swung open and Sutton stepped out, pulling Kate along with her. Jake stuffed down his frustration towards her and walked over with a smile to pick her up in a hug. She giggled and pressed her forehead against his.

“Let’s go home, yeah?”

“I just got here!”

“Yeah, but I’d much rather be at your place right now.”

Sutton pouted. Jake pouted back. And then she was smiling again.

Charlie stopped Jake before he slipped out the door behind the girls. His fingers curled into his teammate’s bicep way harder than necessary. Jake winced beneath his grasp.

“You need to sort this Sutton situation out,” he spoke. “I saw her plant one on you.”

“I don’t know what’s going on with her.”

“You are going to let this girl rip your heart out if you don’t set some boundaries,” Charlie barked. “I know you love her and I know deep down she’s not a shitty person, but I think she needs to figure her shit out on her own. You need to stop trying to fix everything for her.”

The ride back to Sutton’s apartment was silent. Charlie’s words echoed in his head as he slipped into the back of the car with Sutton right behind. She kicked her legs up over his lap and snuggled into his chest. Knowing nothing would get solved with her this drunk, he sighed and wrapped his arm around her shoulders to pull her into him.

He couldn’t believe she just kissed him like that, especially because she thought Garrett might’ve been doing the same thing across the city. It felt like he was a pawn in her little game, and he hated that because Sutton was better than that. At least he thought so.

Soft snores fell from her lips moments after they pulled away from the apartment building. Without thinking, he began to massage the top of her head. Kate watched with a fond smile on her face.

Jake carried her up to the apartment, stirring her from sleep only as he placed her on her bed.

“Jake,” she murmured. He knelt beside her and started to unclasp the heels she was wearing.

“Sutton.”

“Thank you.”

He hummed, picking up the shoes to place them by her closet door.

“Come to the bathroom,” he urged, extending his hand to her. “We’ll get that make up off. You can brush your teeth.” He turned away from her once she was standing and smirked. “Maybe even throw up if you feel so inclined.”

Sutton hit him lightly on the back, a giggle falling from his lips at the teasing.

Jake rummaged through the cabinets in search of her make up wipes while she sat atop the counter and brushed her teeth. After rinsing, she watched him with tired eyes as he moved to stand between her legs.

He cupped the back of her neck to hold her head steady while he removed her makeup and tried not to think about the way that she was looking at him, or how she melted into his touch the moment he held her. Her eyes fluttered shut for him to get off her eye makeup. When they opened again, their eyes met in a steady, loving gaze.

“You’re going to be the death of me, Sutton,” he murmured. He stepped back and opened the bathroom door once more to usher her out. She did as she was told and retreated to her room to crawl into bed. He returned a few minutes later with a bottle of water and pain killers. He placed them on her bedside table.

“Are you mad at me?” she asked. Jake sat down beside her and she reached up to cup his cheek in her hand. He leaned against her palm as her thumb stroked his cheekbone.

“We’ll talk tomorrow,” he responded. Her eyes began to well up. “You’re working yourself up. Don’t do that. We’ll be fine, okay?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Okay.”

She brushed the tears away with the back of her hand and sniffled. Jake placed a kiss against her forehead before turning to leave. He stopped at the door and looked back at her as she settled beneath the comforter and snuggled the pillow beneath her head.

“Call me when you get up.”

Sutton didn’t call by 10 a.m. the next morning, so Jake swung by to check on her. Mia let him in and informed him that she still wasn’t awake. He walked down the hall anyway, stopping just beyond the threshold of her door before pushing it open to find her sprawled out with her face mushed into the pillow. He took a few silent steps towards her bed and sat at the edge of it before lightly shaking her awake.

She woke with a start, the touch of Jake’s hand against her ankle shocking her enough to sit up right.

“Ouch,” she grumbled, squinting her eyes at the light filtering in from the window as she brought a hand to her head to stop the throbbing. Jake sprung up to shut the blinds. “Thank you.”

“I thought you’d be awake already,” he said, standing in front of the remaining rays of light coming through the window. “Get up. Let’s get breakfast.”

Jake was beyond anxious as they walked to her local diner. He wondered if she could tell that he was off or if she even remembered what happened. The way that she was talking, so nonchalant and unbothered, gave him the impression that she had no clue what damage she’d done last night.

“I honestly don’t remember getting to Charlie’s last night,” she admitted as they sat in a booth beside the window. “I remember seeing you in bits and pieces.”

“Really? Do you remember that I put you to bed?”

“Oh, Jake.” She dropped her head into her palms as she shook her head in disappointment at herself. He tried to hide the frown on his lips by turning his attention to the coffee in front of him. He ripped open a sugar packet and dumped it into the mug as Sutton grumbled about how sorry she was.

She continued talking, but Jake was finding it hard to listen. How could she act like nothing was wrong when it felt like the weight of his whole world was crushing him?

“When are you gonna tell me about your dinner with Garrett?” he blurted out as he finally met her eyes again. Her mouth snapped shut and realization set in that he wasn’t the happy-go-lucky Jake she thought she was grabbing breakfast with. He was not happy.

“He didn’t show up. He had something work related to take care of.”

“At his coworker’s house?”

“How do—”

“Mia filled me in when you showed up at Charlie’s,” he answered. “You were already plastered when you got to the party.” He paused. “Why didn’t you call me when he didn’t show?”

“Because it’s not your job to pick up the pieces every time he fucks up.”

“Then who will? Yourself? Because you did a pretty shitty job of it last night,” he spat. Sutton sat back against the vinyl seat behind her, shocked at his outburst. He paused, inhaling deeply before dropping the bomb. “You kissed me. Do you remember that, Sutton?”

Her jaw dropped and a hand came up to clasp over her mouth in shock as she mumbled out an apology that Jake didn’t want to hear.

“I like you, Sutton. I like being around you and talking to you. But, you drew a line months ago… A line that I’ve stopped trying to cross. And then you just kissed me, like there’d be no consequences.”

“I shouldn’t have done that.”

“But you did. And this morning you still woke up as his girlfriend, and you will tomorrow morning too. So, all I’m asking is that you figure your shit out with him and you don’t drag me into it. You can’t just kiss me because you think he also might be kissing someone else. That’s not fair. You wanted friends, so I gave you friends.”

As if by some divine intervention, their meals came at that moment and the conversation was dropped immediately. When they reached the front door of Sutton’s apartment, Jake didn’t try to come in like he usually did on hungover Sunday mornings. Instead, he stopped at the door.

“Sutton, I’m saying this to you as your friend and nothing more,” he started. “I can’t be around you until you figure your shit out. I’m tired of being your second choice. You have to figure out your worth and I can’t hold your hand until you get there. It’s driving me crazy.”

She stared up at him, eyes welling up with tears, and realized that the best thing in her life was about to walk away. A rogue tear slipped down her cheek, but she wiped it away quickly hoping that he wouldn’t notice. He did, though, he always did.

He pulled her into his arms, engulfing her in an embrace despite the conversation at hand. She stayed still for a moment, rigid even, until she heard Jake let out a shuddering breath into the crook of her neck. Only then did she reciprocate the hug, arms wrapping around his neck like he was her anchor.

---

May 17th, 2019

Sutton didn’t know what she expected to see when she walked into the club, but it definitely wasn’t Jake dancing on a table in the VIP section. She watched as Charlie grabbed his arm and pulled him back down to solid ground, unable to peel her eyes off the boy who’d become a stranger.

“Did you see him?” she asked Mia.

“I don’t think there’s a single person at this club that didn’t.”

When they reached a table, she glanced back in his direction, but the crowd had grown so thick that she couldn’t find him. Kate, who’d already made a beeline for the bar, found them moments later with drinks in hand. She handed one to each of the girls. She took one glance at Sutton and asked, “What’s the face for?”

“In true Sutton Beckett fashion, Jake was the first thing she saw when we walked in here.”

“Jake’s here?”

“Why do you think we’re here, Kate?” Mia asked. Sutton looked at her with a slight panic to her expression. Mia raised her eyebrows at her with a smirk. “Yeah, I know all your tricks.”

“He posted it on his Instagram story, okay?”

Kate dropped her face into her palms, grumbling, “Why won’t you just call him like a normal person?”

“I’m planning to,” she said defensively. Mia hummed in disagreement. “What? I will! Eventually. Like at the end of the season probably.” The girls groaned at that answer. “I don’t even know if he wants to talk to me. He said he didn’t wanna be around until I figured my shit out.”

“Yeah, and you broke up with Garrett two months ago!” Kate exclaimed while Mia grunted, “You like sabotaging yourself, don’t you?”

“You both suck.”

After Jake left that morning, Sutton felt like she cried forever. The door shut behind him and she sank down to the floor and sobbed. Mia and Kate came to her rescue immediately. They listened to her when she wanted to talk about it and, finally, helped her cleanse the apartment of all traces of Garrett. Mia even went as far as purchasing sage to burn. They packed his things into a box and placed it on the floor beside the door with plans to drop it off to him the next day.

When Sutton called him to end it and let him know she was dropping his shit off, he didn’t pick up. It continued for another two days before Kate and Mia were tugging her out to the streets in pursuit of his office building. She ultimately found him flirting with the receptionist in his office and dropped the box to the floor. She kicked it over to him, sending the contents flying.

“Go fuck yourself, Garrett.”

“I never liked you,” Mia echoed. Sutton marched toward the exit, ignoring the protests coming from her scumbag ex’s mouth. She grabbed the girls’ arms and dragged them out with her. “Fuck you, Garrett!”

Sutton didn’t cry over Garrett, but she did cry over Jake. She would be crazy not to.

As she drained her first drink of the night, Sutton couldn’t help but search the bar for Jake and his teammates. She didn’t want to be surprised by him because, truthfully, she wasn’t sure she was ready to see him.

“I honestly don’t know why we even came here,” she muttered, chewing on one of the ice cubes from her cup. “We should leave.”

“We’re not leaving,” Mia barked. “We came here for a reason, whether you think so or not, and you’re going to get what you came for.”

Sutton glared at her, Mia glared back, and Kate watched in amusement until Sutton finally gave in. She grabbed her drink and knocked it back in one swift movement before standing.

“I’m going to get another.”

The girls cheered as she stepped away from them and began to nudge her way through the crowd. She found a break in congestion a few steps ahead. But, just as she was about to slip in, a solid body stepped in front of her. She was about to apologize when she glanced up to see Charlie McAvoy.

His eyes blew wide when he saw her. He was convinced that he was seeing things, but he knew there was no way he was drunk enough for that. He reached out, setting a hand tentatively against her forearm and she waited patiently for him to snap back to reality.

“Does Jake know you’re here?” he asked, eyes searching the area around them frantically. She shook her head, slightly embarrassed by his reaction. He looked back at her. “Why haven’t you called?” Before she could answer, he frowned. “You haven’t broken up with that asshole.”

“I did.”

“Then, why haven’t you called him?”

“We didn’t exactly leave off on the best terms,” she said. Charlie rolled his eyes, shoving Sutton lightly towards the bar. She ordered, he ordered, and he scolded her when she tried to pay for her own drink. Then, he tugged her off towards the VIP section.

Jake saw Charlie first and flung himself out of the booth to swipe his new drink from his hands. And then he saw Sutton over his shoulder and his face dropped. Charlie slipped away, leaving the two face-to-face. He squinted at her, like he was trying to process the image in front of him.

“When did you break up with him?”

“A few days after we argued,” she said. He stilled, mind racing as he tried to figure out the timeline.

“Sutton, you’ve been single for two months and you haven’t called?”

“I was scared.”

“Would you have even called me if you hadn’t seen me tonight? Or would I still be wondering?”

“Of course not,” she defended herself. “I was going to tell you at the end of the season.”

He looked uncertain for a moment, but then his features softened and he wrapped his arms around her. He ducked so that his head was in the crook of your neck. She could feel the soft sigh that left his lips against her skin.

“I miss you.”

Sutton relaxed against him, relieved that he didn’t seem angry at her in the moment. They stood there for a moment, ignoring the hooting and hollering from his teammates at the booth. When he pulled away, he gazed down at her adoringly. “You look beautiful.”

“You look happy,” she said. She ran her fingers through his hair, playing into his sweetness despite her better judgement.

“Are you happy?” he asked, face suddenly serious. She nodded, corners of her lips turning up at his question. His eyes searched her face. “I’m proud of you.”

Before either of them could say anything more, Charlie’s girlfriend appeared with a tray of shots and they were swept up into a crowd of his teammates and their plus-ones, all reaching for shots for themselves.

Sutton stepped backwards to make space and ended up stumbling over Jake’s feet, her back bumping into his chest. Instead of stepping away, drunk Jake dropped a hand to her hip to steady her. He was tingly all over, liquor coursing through him, and when he felt her relax into his touch, he allowed himself to wrap his arm around her stomach to hold her instead. She leaned into him happily.

Someone called out a toast and everyone tossed their shots back with a mixture of grunts and exclamations at the taste. The group dispersed after and, though Jake dropped his arm from around her, he placed his hand in hers moments later to search the bar for Kate and Mia.

The look at their faces when they saw Sutton and Jake hand in hand was comical. They were practically bursting at the seams with excitement and hopped out of the booth to embrace the two in a hug.

“We missed you!” Mia all but yelled in Jake’s face. His drunken giggles got the best of him then, squeezing her a little tighter in response.

Unlike the first time they danced together at a club, Jake wasted no time in grinding up against her. His arms wrapped around her waist and her fingers followed, trailing along his arms until she could curl her fingers between his.

When she turned to face him, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. His fingers danced along the skin of her back and he smiled when he noticed the goosebumps on her arms. He leaned in just enough to speak lowly into her ear, lips just inches away. “Sleep over tonight.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Jake,” she said. When he pouted, she reached up and thumbed his bottom lip with a smirk. “You’re too drunk for a sleepover, I think, but I’ll get you home like you did for me.”

“Like the night you kissed me?” he asked with a teasing smile. She dropped her forehead to his shoulder to hide the blush that was creeping up her neck to her cheeks. He chuckled softly, tilting his head to kiss her cheek and murmur in her ear, “I’m ready to go when you are.”

During the fifteen-minute cab drive to Jake’s apartment, he just seemed to just get drunker. He was giggly, chatty, and clingy. His fingers danced along Sutton’s calves, which he’d pulled onto his lap the minute they pulled away from the club. She watched him engage their driver in mindless conversation, smiling softly to herself every time he said something stupid and giggled at himself.

When they pulled up to his building, Jake paid and left the guy behind the wheel a fat tip. Then, he was pulling Sutton out of the car and into the lobby. He wrapped his arms around Sutton’s shoulders and pulled her against his chest as they waited for the elevator.

The doors opened with a ding and Sutton slipped to the corner while Jake pressed the button to his floor. He swayed uneasily on his feet as the elevator jolted upwards. She reached out to steady him, just a soft touch of her hand against his bicep. He turned with a smile.

“Sutton, Sutton, Sutton.”

“What?”

He stepped forward, boxing her into the corner of the elevator. She gazed up at him, finding it hard to breathe as he got closer. He rested his hands against the rail on either side of him and smiled.

“I want to kiss you so bad right now,” he whispered. She leaned away from him slightly, a frown developing as she did so. And though she was hesitant, her heart was hammering in her chest, begging her to attach her lips to his.

“You’re drunk.”

“Sure, but what does that matter?”

“We can’t just do this whenever one of us can’t handle our liquor,” she murmured. His face dropped. “It makes it difficult to tell if we mean it.”

“Trust me, I mean it,” he told her. “I want to kiss you when we’re sober as fuck eating leftovers on your kitchen floor; I want to kiss you when I’m hammered and can barely keep my hands off you.”

The elevator doors opened and Sutton, desperate to move on from this conversation, pushed him out of the car and down the hall.

The moment they entered the apartment, he went to his room to change and returned with a pair of sweats and a t-shirt for her. He watched her happily from his perch on the counter as she walked about the kitchen in his clothes. All he could think about was how badly he wanted to kiss her, touch her.

“Drink this,” she said, handing a glass of water over to him. She leaned up against the counter across form him. “You’re going to be so hungover tomorrow.”

“That’s why you should stay over,” he said. “You can nurse me back to health tomorrow morning.”

“Not gonna happen, DeBrusk.”

“Was worth a try,” he slurred. Sutton laughed at the rise and fall of his shoulders as he shrugged before chugging the water from his cup. After dropping the cup in the sink, he turned back and shook his head at her in amusement.

“What?”

“I’ve just missed you,” he told her. He took a few steps toward her before dropping his hands to counter on either side of her and leaned in. He was intoxicating. The smile on his face made her weak in the knees, but she couldn’t just act like there hadn’t been a fight and two months of silence between them.

“I’ve missed you, too,” she said. “We should really talk when you’re sober.”

“Let’s just talk now.”

“I’m not going to count this as a conversation.”

“Why not?”

“Because what if you don’t remember?”

Jake’s eyes studied her face and he realized the seriousness of her question. He leaned away then and sighed out, “Okay.”

“Let’s get you to bed, drunkie,” she murmured. She slipped past him, fingers catching on his wrist to tug him along. They stopped in the bathroom so he could brush his teeth and he wouldn’t stop glancing at her the entire way through the rest of his nightly routine as if he was worried she might disappear into thin air.

When they got back into his room, he picked her up and dropped her onto his bed.

“Jake!”

“Just stay for a little bit longer,” he whined. She rolled her eyes, laughter falling easily from her lips as he rolled off her to change into pajamas. He boldly dropped his pants and glanced over his shoulder just to see if she was looking, chuckling to himself when he saw her with her hands over her eyes.

He dropped onto the bed and hovered over her, grin on his face.

“I need to tell you something,” he said, slur in his voice still evident. She raised her eyebrows and pressed her hands against his chest to create some distance between them. “I want to be your boyfriend.”

“Jake,” she whispered. “You’re hammered!”

“Yeah, and I still want to be your boyfriend when I’m sober.”

“I told you I didn’t want to have this conversation right now,” she groaned. He dropped to the side of her and propped himself up on his elbow. “If you really mean it, I need you to tell me when you’re not drunk.”

“I will,” he said. “I promise.”

---

June 12th, 2019

They didn’t talk to anytime soon, and Sutton kept trying to convince herself that it was because he was in the Stanley Cup finals so he was busy, not because he regretted everything he said when he was drunk. But, as time went on, she felt more and more defeated. She waited patiently, though, hoping that she’d get some sort of closure at the end of the season.

She watched the entire series against the St. Louis Blues at the edge of her seat. Game seven had ripped her heart out, like many others in the city, but her first thought went to Jake. She almost felt sick to her stomach thinking about it.

Vice versa, the first person Jake thought about when he left the ice was Sutton. He thought about her through each post-game interview and his post-game routine, and as soon as he was in the parking garage he was texting her.

Did you watch?

He dropped his forehead against the wheel and waited for a response. He wasn’t even positive there’d be one after the shit he pulled at the bar and the silence that followed.

There’s a key under my welcome mat

He started the car immediately and drove in complete silence to Sutton’s apartment. He rushed upstairs, eager to fall into her bed. When he lifted the welcome mat, he let out a sigh of relief at the sight of the key and opened the door. He placed his bag down and kicked off his shoes before locking up behind him and heading off to her room.

When he opened the door, the light from the hallway filtered in and stirred her awake. She leaned up on her elbow and murmured, “I pulled out a toothbrush for you and there are sweats and a t-shirt you can wear at the end of the bed.”

He smiled softly, grabbing the clothes from the bed and turning to go brush his teeth. When he returned, she was leaning up against the headboard waiting for him.

“Are you okay?” she asked. Jake shuffled up towards the headboard of her bed just enough to drop his head to her stomach. A shuddering breath fell from his parted lips as he shook his head that indicated no, he was not okay. She curled her fingers into his hair and leaned down to place a kiss against the top of his head. His arms wrapped around her and the weight of the world disappeared, if only for a second. “I’m proud of you.”

When Sutton woke up the next morning, Jake was gone and her stomach dropped. She moved slowly out of bed and then, as panic set in, she quickened her steps through the apartment. The sound of the kitchen cabinets opening and closing greeted her. And when she reached the kitchen so did Jake’s tired smile.

“Good morning,” he said. She watched his cheeks turn pink and felt hers do the same. He motioned to the pan on the stove. “I started making breakfast.”

“I see that.”

“Coffee?”

“I’ll make it,” she offered, walking past Jake to the coffee maker on the other end of the counter. She didn’t catch Jake watching, didn’t feel his eyes wander along her body. She almost caught him when she turned to ask how he took his coffee, but he was quick to divert his eyes.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call after the night at the club,” he said suddenly. “Or text.”

Sutton continued for him, feeling the anger she’d built up over the past few weeks begin to boil over. “Or Snapchat. Or really do anything to assure me that things were okay between us.”

Jake frowned, turning his attention back to the eggs on the stovetop. They continued putting breakfast together in silence and reconvened at the kitchen table when the coffee was done and the eggs and toast were plated.

“I mean, you weren’t exactly jumping at the chance to tell me that you weren’t with Garrett anymore,” Jake argued. She sighed, fork clattering to her plate as she leaned back in her seat.

“You told me you didn’t want to talk until I had all my shit together!”

“And do you not?”

“I have no idea!” she exclaimed. “I wanted to call you the moment that I broke up with him. It was my first thought, but then I stopped myself because I thought of how unfair that would be to myself.”

“Why?”

“I haven’t been just Sutton in three years, Jake,” she said. “I’ve been Garrett’s doting girlfriend for three years. Everything I did, I did with him in mind.” She paused. “Then you come along, and suddenly I’m thinking about you, too. For once, I want to just think about myself.”

She continued, “I don’t even know myself. I feel like I’m rediscovering these parts of me that I haven’t thought about in years. I’ve been doing things to make me happy and I’ve been applying to new jobs because I want something more for myself and I finally feel motivated to fight for it. I feel different.”

He felt warm all over, buzzing from the inside out. He didn’t realize how much it would mean to him to hear her say that she was finally fighting for herself. Hearing her explain how she was feeling overwhelmed him with a sense of pride, and in that moment, he couldn’t help but smile at her.

“I guess that’s a good enough reason not to call,” Jake resigned.

“Why haven’t you called?”

“Because I was scared of what I might find out,” he answered. “That you were still with him.” He paused and then shook his head. “And I didn’t call after the club because I couldn’t remember any of the things I said and I was worried that I did something stupid.”

“You don’t remember?” she asked, her fears coming true.

“Not much.”

“Oh,” she whispered. “Okay.”

He was lying. He remembered every moment of that night spent with her. The image of her in his t-shirt swallowing her whole, the look on her face when he told her how he felt, the blush that crept up her neck to her cheeks. How could he forget it?

Mia entered the room then, cutting the conversation off before it could go anywhere else.

“Ooo! You made bacon!” she exclaimed, snatching a strip from the plate at the center of the table. Her eyes cut from Sutton’s face to Jake’s and she smiled at the sight. “Happy to have you back, Jake.”

---

June 15th, 2019

Three days after the game seven loss, Jake was still feeling the heartbreak of it. He wondered if there would be a day that he didn’t. He spent a lot of time in his apartment, ordering Postmates for food to be dropped at his door so he didn’t have to see anyone he didn’t want to. The only time he’d left was for locker clean-out.

He saw Sutton every day and, though the visits were welcomed, he realized as they sat on the couch and watched shit reality shows that there was still a lot to be said.

He wanted to tell her how he felt about her again, but he kept his mouth shut. Friendship with Sutton was something he’d gotten used to, and he could continue living like this for now. Besides, he’d be leaving Boston soon and he didn’t want to start something that he couldn’t commit all his time to. She deserved to be the center of his world.

On the morning of the fifteenth, Sutton picked him up to drive him to the airport feeling like shit. It had been weeks since they saw each other at the bar, which meant weeks since he admitted his feelings and nothing had been said about it. He said he didn’t remember much, but she wondered if he really did and was just regretting what had been said.

Conversation on the way to the airport was mundane. He talked about all the things he was excited to do at home, like seeing his family and friends, and asked about what she’d do while he was gone, and she sighed heavily before answering, “Work.”

After she parked the car at the curb of the terminal, she reached over for the handle of the door, but Jake grabbed her other wrist to get her attention.

“I lied to you,” he blurted out. “I remember everything I said to you after the club. I wasn’t going to say anything because I love that you’re just being Sutton right now. But, I also don’t want to leave Boston without telling you how I feel.”

“Fuck you!” she exclaimed after releasing long sigh. He started laughing and stepped out of the car. She scrambled after him towards the trunk to grab his things. He was grinning ear-to-ear. “I thought you didn’t remember or you regretted it!”

“You’re crazy to think I’d ever regret you,” he said, fingers coming up to brush her cheekbone. Sutton blushed hard. “Seriously.”

“Your timing is shit,” she said. Jake curled his arm around her shoulders and embraced her. “Why would you admit your feelings and then fly off to Canada? That’s bullshit.”

“I don’t want you revolving your life around us right now,” he said. He pulled back and pressed his lips to her forehead, even though he desperately wanted to kiss her lips. Then, he pulled away completely. “You have three months to just be you, but then I’m coming back for you.”

---

September 1st, 2019

Jake and Sutton were both shaking like leafs as they made their way to each other on the morning of September 1st, him on the plane, her in her car on the way to pick him up. The summer was full of fresh starts. For Sutton, she ended up in a new position with a corner office at work. Jake had the summer to reset, spend time with his family, and relax.

Together, it was a fresh start to their relationship and more time to get to know each other.

Although they weren’t officially together, they talked on the phone at least once a week, but usually more. They flirted with the idea of the future through conversations about dates they’d go on when he got back and movies they needed to watch together. It felt like all the pieces of the puzzle were finally together, all Jake needed to do was come back to Boston.

And he was finally home.

Sutton stood beside her car as she waited for him to emerge from baggage claim. Her hands were shaking and her stomach felt sick, but the moment she saw him, it all went away. She sprinted over and threw herself into his open arms, giggling as his bags hit the pavement.

He wrapped his arms around her so tightly he thought she might snap in half. Then, she looked up at him, wide smile on her face, and all he could ask was, “Can I please kiss you like I’ve been wanted to all summer?”

“I might die if you don’t.”

And then the world fell away and it was just Jake and Sutton, finally kissing on purpose.

“Where are we going?”

“Stop asking questions!”

Sutton knew exactly where he was taking her, but she was hoping the question would make him rethink it. The door just before the stairs had ROOF ACCESS stamped across it.

“Won’t we get into trouble?”

Jake paused then, turning to answer, “Of course not. I slipped the security guards $50 to let us up here.”

Sutton laughed loudly at that and allowed him to continue tugging her along.

After picking him up at the airport, they spent the day re-exploring Boston. They walked in parks and talked on benches for hours on end, like they hadn’t spoken all summer, and then Sutton brought him to her office building to show off her new office. He kissed her in front of her desk and congratulated her for the hundredth time before whisking her off to dinner reservations he’d made a few weeks prior. By the time dinner ended, the two of them were drunk on each other, giggling and dancing down the streets to his apartment.

Jake pushed the door to the roof open and stepped out, tugging Sutton along with him towards the edge of the roof. She laced her fingers through his and followed happily. When he slowed to a stop, she halted beside him, resting her cheek against his arm. The city was alive beneath them, lights shining on them like a spotlight.

“I’ve always wanted to bring you up here,” he spoke, glancing down at her. She was already looking up at him, soft smile playing on her lips. “But I didn’t think it was appropriate to bring you up here if we were ‘just friends.’”

“We were never really just friends, huh?”

“Not at all,” he answered with a laugh. “You were delusional.”

That moment felt so poignant to Sutton, like it was the moment that was going to change everything. She turned to fold into his chest and his arms curled around her, filling her with a warmth she hadn’t felt in a long time.

“Do you want this, Sutton?” he asked, voice just above a whisper. She looked up at him, eyes searching his face, falling to his lips as he spoke his next words. “Do you want to be with me?”

“More than anything.”

---

October 18th, 2019

“He’s going to pass out when he sees you.”

“God, I hope not,” Sutton murmured, fingers still covering the small smile on her lips as she gazed at herself in the lingerie she was modeling for her roommates. Her eyes cut back to the two of them. “You don’t think it’s too much?”

“Not at all,” Mia said. Kate shook her head, eyes still taking in all the little bows and lace on the set. She sighed suddenly and grunted, “Now you’re making me want to buy lingerie. I don’t even have a boyfriend.”

Sutton snorted before turning back to her reflection to admire herself once more.

They’d officially been dating a little over a month and it was a dream. It was fun to get to know each other in a different, more intimate way and little by little all the walls were being broken down between them, not that there were too many to begin with.

Jake’s 23rd birthday was October 17th, but because he had a game, they couldn’t celebrate the way they’d been planning to. Fortunately, his next two days were free, so Sutton booked a stay at an Airbnb in Cape Cod.

She was all nerves and anxiety leading up to the trip, simply because of the mounting pressure that came with not having had sex with him yet. They’d spent the past month exploring each other with their hands and their mouths, but it was never taken any farther than that.

Only twice had they gotten close to it.

The first occurrence was about a week after the season started. He’d been away on a four-game road trip and by the time he got home, he was exhausted. Sutton was waiting for him when he got home the next afternoon and he collapsed into her arms on the couch until he was ready to cleanse himself of the remnants of loss and airplane germs.

“Come shower with me.”

“Jake,” she murmured hesitantly, threading her fingers through his hair.

“C’mon,” he whined through a pout. “I missed you.”

“Fine.”

She followed him to his room and popped her phone onto the charger while he stripped himself of his clothes. His hands found their way around her waist, sliding underneath her sweatshirt to pull it over her head. When Sutton turned to face him, he captured her lips with his and she moaned against his lips happily.

He shed her of her clothes as they kissed slowly, but as soon as she was standing naked in front of him, she pushed him towards the bathroom, too nervous for what could come next, unsure if she was even ready to go there.

Jake held her close beneath the warmth of the water, fingers traveling along her spine, into her hair, gripping her ass. Her hands were just the same, feeling his every muscle constrict beneath her touch, listening to him shudder when her hands traveled below his hips. He was hard against her lower abdomen,

“I’m not ready,” she blurted out. The second the words were out in the open she was clasping her hands over her mouth. Jake took a step back, his hands falling from her skin to his sides.

“Ready for what?”

“Sex.”

“Okay, that’s okay,” he murmured, placing another soft kiss against her lips. “I can wait.”

The second time was after a night spent with Charlie and his girlfriend, drinking wine and watching shitty movies. She was going to spend the night at Jake’s anyway, so when they got back to his apartment, they got ready for bed and cuddled up under the covers together—him in a pair of boxers, her in underwear and a t-shirt of his. She woke up in the middle of the night with Jake wrapped around her, his erection against her ass. As she pulled his arms tighter to her, he stirred and rutted his hips against her.

“Sleeping with you is so hard.”

“Why? Cause you’re always hard?” she asked with a laugh. He hummed affirmatively, pressing into her a bit more. She turned around and kissed him softly. His eyes fluttered open at the feather light touch of her lips, and then he was on her, kissing her while his hands gripped her ass. In seconds, he had her on top of him, straddling his lap.

“You’re so wet right now,” he murmured as she rubbed against his bulge. Sutton was thankful for the veil of darkness in his room because she was bright red and flustered. He gripped her hips and guided her hips. “C’mon, use me, baby.”

She began to grind against him as they made out and he kept her hips down, rutting up into her to help her towards orgasm. It didn’t take long, the friction against her clit had her breathing heavily into the crook of his neck in no time and as her orgasm washed over her, he helped her through it by continuing to guide her hips against him.

“Fuck,” she sighed, and he laughed gently, wrapping his arms around her to keep her close to his chest. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” he spoke. “That was hot.”

And that was the extent of it. But now, he was turning another year older and she wanted to give him a gift to remember.

“Hey, baby,” he greeted as soon as Sutton opened the apartment door. He swept her up into a hug and kissed her full on the mouth while Mia and Kate aww’d behind them. “Hey, ladies.”

“Happy birthday!”

“Thank you, thank you,” he responded before placing one more kiss on Sutton’s lips. They detached from each other long enough for Jake to grab Sutton’s overnight bag. “Are you ready to go? I’ve been itching to get out of this city with you.”

Jake led her to the car, hand-in-hand, chattering on about the game he played the night before and Sutton hung on his every word, like she always did. He loaded her things into the trunk beside his and slid into the driver’s seat, handing the aux over to her—the only person he ever let control the music in his car.

As soon as they pulled onto the highway, Sutton blurted, “I want to have sex with you.”

“Yeah? I want to have sex with you, too,” he responded, goofy smile playing at his lips. His eyes were still trained on the road, like she hadn’t just divulged this important information to him. She laughed softly and reached out to take his free hand.

“No, like tonight,” she said. He looked over at her with wide eyes. “Eyes on the road.”

“You can’t say something like that and expect me to pay attention to much else,” he grunted, though he was now grinning from ear-to-ear. He squeezed her hand lightly. “Are you serious? You want to?”

“Yes.”

“Birthday sex,” he murmured, chuckling at himself. She laughed with him and shoved his hand away playfully only for him to drop it to her thigh, a little higher than usual, and hit the gas.

Jake was a pest at dinner.

Even though they’d been seated at a table across from each other, he pulled his chair around to sit beside her. His hand rested against her thigh the entire time, fingers gripping every once in a while to get a rise out of her.

When asked if they wanted a dessert menu, Jake was quick to turn it down.

“No, I think we’re alright,” he answered. Sutton turned to protest, it was his birthday after all, and he’d probably get a free dessert, but he shook his head at her. “Thank you, though. Everything was delicious.”

“You don’t want dessert?” Sutton asked as soon as the waitress stepped away.

Jake smiled and leaned in close to whisper in your ear, “You’re my dessert, Sutt.”

The ride back to the Airbnb felt way too long and the anticipation of the night ahead had Jake buzzing from the moment they got into the car after dinner to the moment he was sitting in a chair in the living room, waiting for her.

“You can’t touch!” she called from behind the bedroom door. His eyes were locked on it, carefully watching the handle so he could prepare himself.

“Sutton, you’re evil.”

“Promise me!”

“I promise, baby. Come on.”

She pulled the door open and his eyes drank her in. Then, her robe fell to the floor and he released a shaky breath. He leaned forward in the chair, elbows resting on his knees as he braced his hands together to keep himself from touching her.

“Sutton, I don’t know how you expect me to keep myself from touching you when you’re wearing that.”

“Do you want your birthday gift or not?”

“I really fucking want my birthday gift.”

“Then, you’ll find a way to keep your hands to yourself.”

Jake leaned back against the chair with a frustrated sigh, eyes still glued to the lace clinging to her body. He swallowed thickly as his eyes trailed over her chest, landing on the little bow between her breasts before meeting her eyes again.

In the sweetest voice, he murmured, “You’re so pretty.”

A blush crept up her cheeks, smile betraying the seductive front she was trying to show, and she sighed, “How am I supposed to act sexy when you’re making me blush like this?”

“You’re always sexy,” he spoke, voice low again. “You don’t need to act.”

She walked over to him, shaking her head when he reached for her again, and straddled his lap, fingers threading through his hair as he gazed up at her. His hands hung limp on either side of him and his fingers twitched as she grinded against his bulge.

“This is so unfair,” he grunted. She kissed his neck, sucking a mark into it as she continued to rub against him. “Who knew you were such a tease?”

“Who knew you were so chatty?”

“Shut me up then,” he challenged with a cocky smirk. Sutton rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t stop her lips from curling into a smirk as well. She sunk down to her knees, pushing his thighs open before fumbling with his belt and his eyes watched her hungrily. He lifted himself from the chair and let her pull them down, leaving him in just his boxers.

“Take your shirt off.”

He threw it off eagerly, tossing it over her shoulder to the other side of the room.

Sutton flattened her hands against his chest and ran her fingers over his muscles as they constricted beneath her touch. His breath was already unsteady. It was painful not being able to touch her when she looked so damn good. She kissed along his chest and down his abs to the waistband of his boxers. A breathless curse fell from his lips as she tugged them down.

In no time, she was working him with her hands and then her lips were wrapping around his length. He gathered her hair in his fist and gently pulled it back and out of her face, watching in awe, mouth ajar as she bobbed her head on his dick. She looked up at him sweetly, eyelashes fluttering against her cheekbones as she watched him unravel. He moaned as she took him deeper, hitting the back of her throat.

His other hand flew to his own face and ran through his hair, gripping the roots as he felt his orgasm beginning to bloom in the pit of his stomach. Jake never lasted long when she was on her knees. Her mouth worked wonders for him.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” he muttered, grip on her hair getting tighter. His hips thrust up involuntarily and she gagged around his cock, but didn’t stop. He threw his head back with a groan as she deep throated him and then he finally came. She swallowed it, sucking him dry as he became a moaning mess beneath her. “Fuck, Sutton, fuck.”

She pulled her mouth off his cock with a pop and licked her lips as his gaze returned to her. He dropped his hand to the back of her neck and pulled her up to him. The lace of her lingerie scratched against the bare skin of his chest and when she straddled him as they kissed, he could feel how wet she was underneath.

“You’re so wet, princess,” he whispered into her kiss. One hand slid along her thigh up to her pussy. He pushed the fabric to the side and slid his fingers along her folds. “I love it when you suck my dick, but I can’t wait to fuck you.” He inserted two fingers into her pussy and she moaned as he curled them against her g-spot. “You’re so wet, so ready for me. Do you want my cock, angel?”

Sutton nodded, a whimper falling from her lips as he pulled his fingers out of her. He stood, wrapping her legs around his waist so he could walk her into the bedroom. When he lowered her onto the bed carefully, he kissed along her skin from the valley of her breasts to her lips.

“Do you like your gift?”

“I love it,” he whispered against her throat. His fingers trailed along the lace covering her pussy. “You bought it for me? Just me?” She nodded, breath catching in her throat as he rubbed her through the fabric. “Happy birthday, JD.”

She giggled at his dorky expression and that little smile on his lips, but she shut up the moment he pushed the lingerie to the side. His fingers began to massage her folds again, coaxing sweet moans from her as he sunk the fingers into her heat and curled them once more.

“I never get tired of your moans,” he murmured. “And I can’t wait to hear what you sound like when I’m fucking you.” She swallowed thickly, his words so dirty compared to how he often joked with her. He noticed her reaction and smiled. “Do you like it when I talk to you like this, Sutton?”

“Yeah, I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“You’re gonna learn a lot of new things about me.”

Sutton giggled and he did just the same because nothing between the two of them could ever stay serious. They just liked each other too much to not be smiling, giggling messes at all times.

“As much as I like this lingerie,” he began, fingers dancing along the bows. “How do I take it off?”

Sutton sat up with a laugh and reached behind her to unclasp the bra. It fell away and she tossed it onto the floor. Jake hooked his fingers beneath the waistband of the panties and pulled them down, throwing them onto the floor as well. His hands were everywhere all at once, cupping her breasts, teasing her core.

He pushed her thighs apart and slotted himself between them as he began kissing her again, the head of his cock brushing against her clit as he leaned in. Her sharp intake of breath shattered the silence in the room.

“Jake, I want you,” she pleaded. He released an uneasy breath, cheeks flushed pink as he reached out to grab the condom from the nightstand and ripped the wrapper open with shaking hands. Sutton reached up and took it from him, asking, “Are you nervous?”

“A little bit, I think. It’s because I like you too much.”

“Too much?”

“It’s not a complaint,” he responded, capturing her lips in a kiss. He sucked in a breath and pulled his bottom lip between his teeth as Sutton rolled the condom over his cock. “Fuck.”

She laid back against the pillows once it was on and Jake admired her body, laid out for him. His hands travelled up her sides, back to her breasts, along the skin of her neck and her cheeks. He nudged her thighs apart some more with his knees.

“Are you ready?” he asked. She nodded, accepting his kiss before he reached down and aligned himself with her entrance. One hand rested beside her head and his other wrapped around his cock as he pushed the head into her. She sighed as he entered her some more, finally releasing his member from his hand and caging her head in on both sides with his hands.

He shuddered as he filled her up, the feeling of her warmth all too consuming. His forehead dropped to her shoulder as he bottomed out and she sighed out a moan, wrapping her legs around his waist to take him deeper.

“You feel so good,” he muttered, barely able to get the words out. He let out a shaky laugh and halted his movements to steady his breath. “Hold on. I need a minute.” Sutton furrowed her brows as he leaned back. He gazed down at her body, down at his body and the place they fit together. “If you told me back in March that this is where we’d be seven months later, I wouldn’t have believed you.”

“No?”

“No, you’re my dream girl,” he spoke, leaning in to kiss her again. He pulled out slowly and then pushed back into her. As she sighed beneath him, he spoke against her lips, “You’re so far out of my league.”

“Jake,” she whispered, fingers carding through his hair. He glanced up at her again. “You’re perfect for me.”

Their next kiss was passionate and full of fire, and he began to thrust faster, pulling her leg higher on his waist to hit deeper. The sound of their moans mixing and their bodies together filled the room. He spoke praises to her about how beautiful she was, how good she felt. She kissed him until her lips were bruised.

His thrusts were slow and calculated and he tried to look her in the eye to see how she looked when she was filled with him. The view was beautiful with her lips plump and her eyes wide. She watched him intently, overwhelmed by this moment, overwhelmed that she was finally with him like they’d wanted to be for so long.

She rutted her hips up to get more friction from him and he dropped his hand to her clit, hoping to help her reach the peak before he had his second orgasm of the night. Her nails scratched his back as her toes began to curl.

“Please,” she moaned.

“What’s up, baby? What do you need?”

“Fuck me harder.”

Jake lifted her leg up to rest against his shoulder and dirty, loud moans filled the room as he fucked her. She looked so pretty beneath him, eyes squeezed shut as her back arched off the mattress. He coached her through it, talkative as always, and she shuddered beneath him as he reached the peak, pussy fluttering around his cock. Her chest heaved as he fucked her through the orgasm and, finally, he poured into the condom as he reached his own.

He didn’t pull out until he was soft, and even then, he hardly moved away from her, opting instead to just drop his weight against her in bed. Her fingers carded through his hair and he relaxed into her touch, leaving lazy kisses against her skin. Finally, he pulled himself off her and moved up the bed to rest his head beside hers on the pillow.

They stared at each other for a long time without saying a word.

Jake couldn’t believe his luck, couldn’t believe that this girl was his, finally. He threaded his fingers through her hair to see her face properly and sighed before leaning in to press a kiss to the top of her nose.

“You’re my best friend,” he whispered. “I’m so happy we’re together.”

“Me too.”

Sutton’s heart felt like it could explode from happiness. After all the times she’d been mistreated, all the bullshit she went through with Garrett, she was finally with someone who understood her, both inside and out. Jake looked at her like she put the stars in the sky and it made her melt.

“I think I could spend the rest of my life with you,” he spoke, voice cracking a bit with emotion as his eyes bore into hers. “I love you, Sutton.”

“Jake,” she sighed out, tears coming to her eyes. She reached up, swiping a thumb along his cheekbone and he tilted his head to press a kiss to her palm. “I love you, too.”

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