#i said id do more for this series once they took a break and now im tired dfghfdsfdgh

[manchesterau]

random dnp gifs 4/?

[hcsiqs]

| PROFESSIONAL

series masterlist

• warnings: consumption of alcohol / underage drinking and jealous/mean!kk

ONE MONTH LATER

“Shots!” Paige yelled out as she placed the thing of shots down on the table in front of the team plus Aurelia. Lia was quick to grab one and down it, her lips pursed and eyes closed as the burn went down her throat. Once the rest of the team took their shots there was one more left and Lia took it upon herself to take it.

“You good, girl?” Ice asked, her voice low so the others wouldn’t hear.

“Yeah,” Lia nodded, her hand coming down to her green mini skirt in attempt to pull it down. Aurelia knew that the only way she would get through a night of being around KK was put drinks in her system. Over the past month KK had managed to break almost every rule they had set.

Every time Lia had planned something for them to hang out to get to know each other better, KK either didn’t show or when she did she had hickeys forming on her neck, which she had gotten without even telling Lia she was going to be out with someone.

It wasn’t that she wanted to know the girls whereabouts every five seconds, she just wanted to feel respected in their fake relationship. Lia just thinks that it would be nice to be given a heads up if KK was hooking up with other people, so that if Lia decided to do so too she wouldn’t feel bad.

“I’m gonna go to the bar, you wanna come?” Lia asked, her lips curving into a smile as she looked at Ice.

“How are you gonna—,” Ice was cut short by Lia dragging her over to the bar and ordering them both a cosmo. She then handed over her very much fake ID to the bartender, who thankfully accepted it and then handed them the drinks.

“Thank you!” the blonde smiled taking the glasses from him, handing one to Ice before starting to sip her own.

“Li you might wanna slow down,” the taller girl suggested, but Lia wasn’t hearing any of it. She wanted to be drunk by the end of the night, so she wouldn’t even have a thought about the whole arrangement as it had been taking up her mind entirely.

As Lia took another gulp of her drink Paige came around swinging a phone in both of the girl’s faces, “And here’s Lia and Ice is with her!” Paige smiled showing both of them off, clearly tipsy herself.

“Ok that’s enough phone time for you,” Ice got up and took the phone away from Paige before she started showing stuff that shouldn’t be seen.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

“Bro stop staring daggers at her,” Ice nudged KK’s arm as her eyes were glued to the girl with the blonde braids sitting at the bar talking to Azzi.

“I’m not starin,” KK replied but her eyes didn’t move.

“Yes you are,” Ice argued back.

“Girl boo, no I’m not,” KK finally turned to look at Ice who was standing beside her.

“Well not anymore,” she slumped against her chair. But as soon as those words left Ice’s mouth KK turned back to look at Lia, but now Azzi was gone and was replaced with some random person that she had never seen before.

“Who’s that?” KK asked, trying to not seem jealous, because she had no reason to be.

“I think her names Riley,” Ice said after analyzing the red head who was talking to Lia. “KK what are—,” Ice watched the girl walk over to the pair at the bar.

“Who’s this?” KK asked, her eyes scanning up and down the ginger as she found her spot behind Lia.

“Oh my God, I completely forgot to ask!” Lia slapped her hands to her mouth as the realization went through her drunken brain, “I’m Aurelia by the way,” she removed her hands from her face holding a smile on her lips.

“Riley,” she smiled sticking her hand out, while the other went through her short hair. Lia placed her hand against Riley’s and shook it before KK butted in.

“KK,” she gave a tight smile, her left hand snaking around Lia’s waist causing the girl to give her a confused look.

“Nice to meet you,” she scratched her neck awkwardly. “So,” Riley moved her attention back to Lia, ignoring the hand around the blondes waist, “Can I get your number, or Snap?” she asked.

And just as Lia was about to give her number to this random girl KK opened her mouth, “She’s taken.”

“Oh shit, sorry,” Riley apologized, finally taking in the hand wrapped around the blondes waist.

“Yeah,” KK nodded, her hand squeezing going under the black fabric that covered Lia’s stomach.

“See y’all around,” Riley gave an awkward smile before walking off from the two.

“What the fuck is your problem?” Lia turned around in her seat, removing herself out of the girls grip.

“What the fuck is my problem? What the fuck is yours?” KK crossed her arms over her body as she stared down at Lia, “We’re supposed to look like we’re in a relationship and you’re flirting with other people. She could’ve known who you were and went and posted some shit on Twitter.”

“You’re such a hypocrite, ya know?” Lia rolled her eyes, “You’re out here hooking up with God knows how many girls! And you couldn’t even let me do that with one,” she scoffed turning back to the bar and drinking more of her drink.

“I keep my shit in private though. I’m not flaunting it around.” the brunette moved to the side, so she was still Lia’s main focus, she wasn’t gonna let her just get out of the conversation.

“Whatever,” she rolled her eyes again.

“Get up, we’re leaving,” she flicked her finger up to motion Lia standing.

“I’m not leaving with you,” Lia attempted turning more the side, but KK’s hand came to the bottom of the seat and turned her right back around.

“Why? You wanna leave with Riley?” KK asked, her eyes flickering back to the ginger who was now in the corner talking to her friends.

“Why do you suddenly care? Hm?” Lia finally met KK’s eyes. She noticed they were glossed over with something, but she wasn’t sure what. She noticed the tenseness in KK’s shoulders and the way her jaw was clenched.

“I’m not tryna have your manager or mine call us to yell at us, so we’re leaving before anything else happens,” the girl stated before calling the bartender over, “She’s gonna close out,” she told him.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

“You’re so annoying you know that,” Lia groaned as KK walked her to her apartment.

“Good to know all I need to do to hear the truth from you is get some alcohol in your system,” KK joked as she stuck out her hand for Lia to pass the keys over to her, which she did.

“I’m always truthful,” Lia replied, her words slightly slurred from the alcohol and tiredness taking over.

“No you’re not,” KK shook her head, inserting the key into the door and unlocking it, “You always act like everything’s perfect.”

“No I don’t,” Lia shook her head, her voice laced with hurt. They both stayed standing outside the door as Lia continued, “I just—I don’t know.”

“I’ve seen your calendar, it’s like you got everything planned out perfectly, so nothing goes wrong,” KK pushed the door open and walked in with the blonde following after her.

“That doesn’t mean I act like everything’s perfect,” she countered, her arms crossing over her body, almost self consciously.

“But you do. You act like you’re not bothered by this whole thing, and I know you are,” KK turned to look back at Lia, “Fuck, you act like it’s just a normal thing for you.”

“I mean, I don’t like that we have to do this, but complaining about it and getting angry over it won’t change the fact that it’s happening,” suddenly Aurelia felt very sober, like all the alcohol had just been knocked from her system.

“You can’t even admit you’re upset about it without trying to turn it into a life lesson,” the brunette shook her head as started walking back to the door.

“I’m just trying to be positive,” Lia whipped her body around to follow KK.

“You don’t always have to be,” KK turned around, her eyes roaming over Lia’s long legs that were exposed from her mini skirt and the way her black top fit her perfectly, “Goodnight Aurelia.”

Lia stayed silent for a moment, and just as KK was about to walk into the hallway she spoke up, “Why don’t you call me Lia? Everyone else does.”

“Tryna stay professional,” she shrugged.

“Ok, goodnight Kamorea,” Lia titled her head to the side, watching the way KK’s lip twitched at the sound of her full name. “What? I’m just being professional,” she mirrored the words of KK’s before she left the apartment leaving Lia with herself.

allies corner.

i feel like this is kinda long oops

and i think i hate it but wtv !!!

[decodedlvr]

the band-aid to my wounds

Older!Eddie Munson x naive!Fem reader - eventual twins Steve Harrington x reader x Kurt Kunckle series| pt 1 | pt 2 | pt 3 … TBC

Summary: After stumbling into an old barn after being stranded by your freshly new ex boyfriend, you wake up strangely in a room..that isn't yours..

warnings: talks of cheating, abuse, angst, slight stockholm syndrome at a glance, anxiety, childhood trauma, parent problems; daddy issues, eventual smut, cursing, drinking, smoking, perviness, slight dub-con, miscommunications, blood mention

word count: idk? 1k?

June 12th, 1988 the roads were closed off.

I have no idea why im still together with this asshole, why am i so stupid? oh because id do anything for people to love and not leave me. Looking at him now..hands beating the steering wheel, veins popping through his temples..not to mention his breath. Ashton my oh so loving, narcissist, no good boyfriend. We've been together for 6 years, basically high school sweethearts. Went from flirty glaces, to lab partners, to collage students with an alcohol addiction. Mainly his addiction...he got me started on it.

Ashton basically took me in with his fatherly like protectiveness when we first got together. He was walking me to my front door after a bowling date he asked me out to my sophomore year, of course i said yes.; until the front door opened. Uh oh, dads home; Bill. The moment the door opened i watched my father tackle Ashton to the ground without so much as a reason screaming words like "get off my property, boys like you should be dead in a gutter, ill kill you"...

Lets just say that date night was a bit too eventful for my liking.

My dad always had a problem with Ashton because he went to highschool with his father. Ashtons dad was a bully back in the day, made my dads life a living hell.. took everything away from him. the girl, the looks, the job..

Dave, Ashtons father, was caught making out with Shannon, my dads ex lover but also first love. Dave knew he had the upper hand when it came to getting the things he wanted. Hell, Shannon seduced him into it. Shannon was only with my dad for the money. Got knocked up but gave him the baby and ran away to be with his dad. As you can see I am that baby now today.

I made a promise to Ashton after sneaking him to my bedroom window that same night cleaning his wounds; that it was me and him against the world. He knew about me and my parents relationship. How my step-mother only has good things to say about me in a room full of people, but how she degrades me behind closed doors. How my dads drinking problem gave him alcohol poisoning, twice' and about his anger problems. You'd think being in a household that is always loud would help you shape up to loud sounds in the future. Boy was that theory proven wrong.

anytime someone yells or raises their tone, you're immediately in fight or flight response. tense..anxious. You hate going to basketball games just for that reason. Its uncomfortable.. and he knew that, but apparently in this moment, he didn't give a fuck-

"Did you hear me??" Ashton says impatiently. "No im sorry, i cant hear when you mumble.." you reply

you also hated when people uttered things under their breath.

dad does that shit.

"Don't be smart with me y/n, ill leave you right here,right now in the middle of the fucking road

"Yeah whatever Ashton, just stop talking to me and drive" feeling the breaks pull forward and in a flash he was out of the drivers seat, and already pulling you out of the passenger-

"WHAT THE FUCK" i yell- what the fuck are you doing Ashton?”

“Shut up!” he smacks me. Your eyes widen in more shock than fear over anything. “Did you j-just hit me?” i ask with a scratched voice--

“I told you more than once not to back talk me didnt i?”

“i didn’t.. it was once and i stopped ashton”-

-“You’ve done it all goddamn night, accusing me of cheating, clinging onto me when i ran into Tommy, i told you to give me some fucking space --i interrupt him.

“YOU did cheat on me you asshole!! That bitch was fucking bragging about it in the bathroom”—

“Do you really think after what 4 years-“6 actually“ i say pissing him off further. he looks at you angrily

He sighs. “Do you really think after years of being together, i would do that to you?” he say looking down at the ground sadly; making you instatly regret your words

“..no-no of course not i just thou”-

-“You thought wrong! he snaps-I would never do that to you baby..y/n?” he says letting go of the grip on my arms, caressing my cheek-“..I know you get a little confused sometimes, its okay come here” he says pulling you into a deep hug

“..im sorry ash”-

“shh” he coos.

“I really thought—what the fuck is that?” you shove him away

“Y-you piece of shit!!” you pull around back collar piece of his shirt up to his face; showing him the peach colored lipstick stain

“Are you fucking serious Ashton?” his eyes widen and stomach drops when he sees the prominent evidence of his past events—

“B-baby look-“

“No! fuck you were done!”

He grabs me closer, “No we fucking arent- ive gave you everything! he starts shouting making you flinch

P-please stop yelling at me! you plea tears rolling down your face

“Just—here” he opens the car door “just get back in and ill explain on the way”—

“No.” you shove past him running and crying

“Y/N come back here!. its too dark—

“ i dont care leave me alone!”

“Y/n theres crazy people out here..!”

you stop in your tracks, turning back to say- “You’re the crazy person!”

he laughs. “Oh im crazy? Ill show you fuckin crazy”—he says marching over to the drivers side of the car starting it back up—mumbling ill show you a fucking crazy person babe—and he spees off

you cant believe he actually just left you.. standing here.

“ASSHOLE!” you shout regulardess if hes still there or not, turning back around to walk down the cold empty road

are you fuckig kidding me?

wow he fooled me

how didnt i see this before

did he love me?

he says he does

then why did he leave me..

fucking jerk!!

The long 7 mile walk with a head full of shitty thoughts walk you to a sun burnt orange barn.

you're exhausted. your hearts broken. your feet hurt. its too dark to keep walking

"I mean i could crash here right?" you say already walking towards the musky building

hay bells, chickens, tools. looks already owned

you dont care you just need a place to rest you head for a bit.

stinks in here. muttering to yourself, opening and shutting the barn door behind you.

perfect you say spotting an old rocking chair..and yard sale signs?

does somebody live here?

you're too exhausted to think any more tonight

this'll do. taking your jacket off to use as a prop pillow, climbing into the chair almost immediately drifting off.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

whats that smell? smells like bacon?

bacon? your eyes are still shut but you can sense a different environment around you. Fluttering your eyes open.. a clock? pictures? what?-jumping up at the sound of a shoe

"WHO ARE YOU?" your already in flight or fight mode

"Whoa whoa its okay, im the owner of the barn i found you in”.

is he lying?

"YOU'RE LYING!" you look around in a panic

"Sweetheart if i was lying, how come i specifically found you in my rocking chair, you must of been tired, i got my buddy who also runs the farm to scoop you up and bring you to our guest bedroom, couldn't just leave a woman out in the open like that.. especially at night"

your stomach knots when he calls you sweetheart.

okay maybe he harmless, just very kindly harmless?

"Here" he throws his arm out, "I'm Eddie, Eddie Munson."

- - is this interesting so far? lmk- -

reblogs appreciated:>

[hyuckbeam]

try again

things don’t seem to be going the way you’ve been wanting them to go the entire week. to make things even worse than they already are, your boyfriend (or rather ex-boyfriend) dumped you in front of the entire campus. you can’t seem to lift yourself up and try again — well, that is until he comes into your life.

pairing | college barista!jeno x college student!reader

genre | fluff, angst, college au

warnings + notes | afab!reader, a bit of cursing, ex-bf being a red flag, mentions of alcohol, roomie!ningning, that’s p much it!

wc | 5.1k words

a/n | im super duper excited to finally release this chapter of the tttc series!! personally, i just like the overall flow of this one and i hope u do too!! let me know what u think abt it :> as always, rbs, likes, and feedback are appreciated!

song recs | all 4 nothing - lauv, the loneliest time - carly rae jepsen, tfw (that feeling when) - enhypen

tttc m.list, main m.list

the first time you met him was seriously by coincidence.

your stomach had you hurling for the past few days, not to mention how sore you were from phys-ed class yesterday. you still remember asking your coach to let you off the hook for the day, but they denied your request – oh well, they were never a great teacher anyways, you think to yourself. your own boyfriend hadn't even checked up on you once to ask if you were doing alright. it’s not like you were going to burden him or anything… you just wanted a little bit of reassurance to get you through the week. was that so much to ask for?

as if all odds were finally in your favor, a light buzz from your phone snaps you out of your thoughts. you pick it up to see your boyfriend’s caller id. maybe this was it. maybe the gods finally heard your pleas to make life just a teensy bit bearable for you.

“hey, i think we should meet up for a moment. do you have time?” is the first thing he’s told you all week and for some reason, instead of the comfort you were anticipating, all you felt was sheer annoyance. not even a simple how are you? the lack of emotion he’s displayed just breaks your heart even more than it already is.

you still manage to reply, mimicking his dry tone instinctively. “yeah, where?” it's faint, but you’d be lying if you said there wasn’t a little hope in you. maybe he wants to meet in person to give you a hug, maybe a kiss? you desperately want that to be true.

“at the campus open grounds, you know, the one near that coffee shop?” he suggests through the call and you once your head despite him not even being able to see you. “okay, i’ll see you then.”

you couldn’t even believe he just asked if you knew where the open grounds were located. doesn’t he remember that’s the place he asked you out? perhaps it was an important event only to you. the thought manages to send a dry chuckle out your throat — it already didn’t seem like your little meetup with him was going to be of any help to your mood.

not much time had passed by the time you arrived at the chosen spot, setting your sights on a nearby bench to rest your feet as you waited.

a lot of people crowded the grounds today. it wasn’t usually this jam-packed, but you suppose the bright and sunny weather encouraged people to roam around outside. after all, the sky hadn’t been this pretty shade of vibrant blue in a while. you’re thankful the weather is good — at least something seems to be turning out well today.

your boyfriend arrives, albeit later than expected, even though he was the one who asked you to come out in the first place. you had been scorched by the sun’s rays for over ten minutes now, wanting nothing more than to just head back indoors.

“sorry i uh… took a while. i’ll make this short.” he states awkwardly, a bit too much considering you were dating. “i’m breaking up with you. i just fell out of love, you know that feeling, right?” your relationship was never the best, this was inevitably going to happen someday, but hearing it out loud was what did it for you.

out loud… wait. you look around to find practically everyone around you whispering to themselves, watching the scene between you and your boyfriend unfold — eating it up like it's the plot of a famous drama.

the shame, the anger, the embarrassment, you just wanted to get away from it all. the hope you gained earlier was all an illusion. your days weren’t going to get any better as the week just became like the stuff that comes out of nightmares. you utterly felt sick to the bottom of your stomach. not only did you get dumped, you got dumped in front of so many people.

without saying another word to your boyfriend — or should you say ex-boyfriend — you grab your things and take a run towards the nearest alleyway that just happened to be the one at the back of the coffee shop.

you crouch down to the floor, curling up into yourself as best as you could before finally letting emotions overtake you, just enough to calm you down. surely no one would find you here if you let out a tear or two, right?

wrong. whoever put that idea to your brain was a big dumbass (whoever being you) because a boy emerges through the shop’s backdoor and into the alleyway, presumably taking out the trash since he’s holding a familiar-looking black plastic bag. however, he quickly stops in his tracks, noticing your presence when there was usually no one else there. the alley was pretty dark after all – it gave most people the creeps but here you were, willingly occupying a small portion of the horrid area while bawling your eyes out. “um… i don’t usually do this, but do you want a cup of hot chocolate?” the guy offers, rubbing his nape sheepishly after noticing your tear-stained cheeks.

you can’t help but silently thank him for not bringing up your appearance in the conversation. you probably looked like a disheveled tomato by now, prompting you to wipe your tears with your arm to at least make yourself look presentable. “actually… yeah, that would be nice.”

you got a better look at him now that you were seated in the cafe, the warm lighting easing your nerves little by little. as expected of him, there’s a welcoming aura that surrounds his figure, a calm smile that’s sure to brighten up anyone’s day (including yours), a tiny little mole below his eye, and the shiniest hair that made you want to touch it — that probably wasn’t the most appropriate thought you’ve had all day.

what you didn’t expect was that he’d actually give that cup of hot chocolate free of charge. you didn’t even know who he was (and probably vice versa). still, it made you gain back a little bit of hope that was lost. with a soft smile now spread across your lips, you begin to ponder that maybe today could still turn out to be better for you.

-0-

the rest of your day goes better than anticipated, and you’re beginning to think that barista you met at the coffee shop is some sort of miracle worker or a lucky charm. even if he wasn’t, you sure do feel lucky you ran into him – though the situation wasn’t exactly the most ideal in hindsight. still, the thought manages to keep your spirits high all the way until you reach back to your dorm.

“ning yizhuo!” your sudden call turns two heads in the room, one being the said person, and the other being her cousin, renjun. the latter often came by and you were quite used to his presence and practically saw him as a brother.

“oh no, not the government name!” a sarcastic tone laces your roommate’s voice. truthfully, she had already heard about your breakup and was expecting you to be bawling your eyes right about now… except… you weren’t. in fact, you had a beaming smile displayed for everyone to see. weird – renjun had probably thought the exact same thing as they gave each other identical looks.

this goes completely unnoticed by you, dropping your bags before making yourself comfortable by the couch. “seriously, you guys won’t believe what happened earlier.”

“... you got dumped?” renjun voices out slowly, almost as if he’s testing the waters still.

“no! i mean yes, but that’s not what i was going to talk about.”

“why aren’t we talking about that? your ex was a douche- i can finally talk shit about him!” ningning cheers.

renjun clears his throat, “more importantly though, are you really fine?”

his words linger in your head for a bit. were you really okay? genuinely speaking, you didn’t feel much – probably because you expected your relationship to fall out eventually. both of you wanted different things and came to realize that. there was an underlying feeling of gratitude that your ex finally cut through the cracks of your bond, but you could definitely do without all the public shame though. that might continue to haunt you, but what’s done, was done.

“mhm, i’m really fine. i’ll get over him sooner or later.” you answer softly. both renjun and ningning could tell you were certain, silently agreeing within themselves to drop the topic completely. “but gosh, i probably wouldn’t have been able to make it through the day if it weren’t for that barista guy in the coffee shop.

you see renjun’s ears visibly perk up at the mention of a barista there, like he already knew who you were referring to. “do you mean the guy who works there? y’know, the one who kind of looks like a fluffy white dog and has a mole under his eye?” god, was he spot on with the description too.

“that’s him!” you gasp out, still in slight shock. you suppose renjun frequents the shop – especially since that’s where he and his girlfriend go to study. “huang renjun, are you psychic?”

that seems to bring out a snort in him, “you just knew that now?” he remarks rather playfully, “actually, his name is jeno. we’ve been friends for a pretty long while now.”

ah, so his name is jeno. you wouldn’t tell anyone, but you mayhaps ingrained that piece of information straight to your heart.

the second time you met him, you just wanted to see him one more time after.

ever since you learned about his name from renjun, he seemed to pop up in almost every conversation you engaged with. was he always this popular or were you just really ignorant to the people around you? it’s crazy how much you’ve been thinking about him ever since.

“put a finger down if you’ve gotten butterflies from a stranger!” frankly, you’re startled at the command, forgetting that you were in the middle of a ‘never have i ever’ game with your group of friends. jeno just so happened to be there too since your friend groups actually aligned well within each other. with him personally being around, you couldn’t seem to focus on anything except him. it’s the nudge ningning aims at your shoulder that gets you placing a finger down, remembering you’re still part of the game. you suppose your brief interaction with jeno does count as part of this…

this small action had the entire group cooing. it was a bit overwhelming, not knowing what to do when so many eyes were set on you. wanting to brush it off, you simply give a shy smile to the crowd, persuading them to not go any further and just continue on with the game. luckily, that’s exactly what they do and you’re met with sweet relief – finally letting out a breath you didn’t know you were holding in the first place.

still, your gaze shifts back at jeno. had he realized you were the person that bawled their eyes out in the back alleyway of the coffee shop? had he realized you were the one he offered a free cup of hot chocolate to? had he realized you were staring at him like he held the entire universe in his hands?

but most importantly, had you realized he was looking back at you the same way? no? maybe that’s for the best.

the air was getting too stuffy in the room for your liking, you had to excuse yourself out for some fresh air. it was already pretty dark out and you weren’t sure when your friends would finally call it a night. frankly, the breeze was much colder now (and you kind of regret not bringing a jacket out), but at the same time it was calming and quiet – a sharp contrast to the lively atmosphere held inside.

that serene silence was cut off by the faint sound of footsteps coming from the main door, jeno’s figure coming into view. what was he doing out here?

“hey… inside got too much, huh?” guess you and him share that opinion as you nod in agreement.

“a little?” your nose scrunches up at the thought. “i don’t usually mind it but it does get me swamped sometimes.”

a small hum is what comes out as a reply, the both of you opting for the comfortable silence the night bears. a few ruffling sounds are heard coming from jeno and before you could ask him what was making the noise, you felt warmth embrace you from behind. it was a jacket. not just any jacket, his jacket.

“sorry, did i startle you? it’s just, you looked cold.” truth be told, you were far from cold after his gesture. isn’t this something someone would do when they’re in a relationship? why was jeno doing this… with you?

it was then you unconsciously already had your mind made up. you weren’t going to acknowledge it yet, but you were completely over your ex.

-0-

there was absolutely no chance of you getting sleep that night, especially after the events beforehand. though you enjoyed every moment you spent with jeno, you kinda preferred having a full night’s worth of sleep right about now. it’s a good thing ningning was able to grace you with a cup of coffee as soon as you woke up — you don’t think you would have gotten out of bed otherwise.

“seriously, what’s up with you two!” ningning squints her eyes with suspicion glazed over them, trying to get some sort of answer regarding your situation with jeno.

“it’s not what you think it is.”

“then what is it?”

huh. she had a point there. just what is your relationship with lee jeno? it was a little foggy to yourself as well. the both of you never had much conversations, but when you did, they managed to send cupid arrows straight to your heart without fail. this was so much unlike your past relationship. when was the last time you ever felt this way?

“it’s just small conversations, that’s all it is.” you finally reply, words acting more like a reminder to yourself rather than an actual response to ningning’s query.

“is that really true?” your roommate frowns with a sigh, “you know, i noticed the way he looks at you. it’s different from others.”

“you’re probably mistaking his kindness for something else, ning. i doubt this’ll even lead to anything.” your statement is brief, but ningning manages to catch the light thread of hope in your words, understanding you wished it would lead to more. that’s all she needed to know. she knew better than to push you just to ease her own mind from the heapload of questions she has stored away.

“just know, whatever happens, i’ll always support you, okay?” she smiles brightly like the gentle rays of sunshine that slip through your dorm’s sill curtains. “okay.”

the third time you met him, you wished for nothing more but to remain in his company.

it’s just midday and you already feel like falling asleep. naturally, your feet bring you to the campus coffee shop, not registering the fact that jeno’s probably working his shift. in this moment, you were too sleep deprived to care.

“hi, can i get one chocolate chip frappucino-” you finally look up to see jeno’s familiar face right in front of you, recallings of the night before plaguing your thoughts and sending a surge of adrenaline in your body. suddenly, you were wide awake and could probably last the whole day with or without the coffee you were about to purchase.

“y/n, it’s nice to see you.” he greets softly, eyes scanning your features to find dark bags staining your usually lively eyes. “i think i’ll add another shot of espresso to your drink… you might need it.” he mutters out, more so to himself.

you can’t help but smile, finding his slight worry for your well-being to be endearing. “i’ll add that espresso shot then.” you chuckle, catching him off guard as he didn’t expect you to hear him.

“i’ll make sure to prepare your drink well.” he finally replies, punching in your order as you move to find a seat to occupy while you wait.

it doesn’t take long for jeno to approach your table, a drink with a swirly straw in hand. to your surprise, instead of simply dropping off the drink, he takes the seat in front of yours before setting it down. “i’m actually on my break right now but i wanted to talk to you. i hardly see you on campus after all. aside from when you visit here, that is.” it’s almost laughable at how predictable your response is to anything he does, feeling your stomach gain the now familiar fluttery sensation you always experience. when it comes to him, it seems to never get old, but none of that was the main point.

he wanted to talk to you. he went out of his way for you. he could be spending his break time elsewhere, but he’s here with you. perhaps you were overanalyzing his actions, yet you can’t stop the heat that creeps up your cheeks.

“sure, take a seat- i mean, you already did but-”

he chuckles, a slip of a smile coming into view. “your drink by the way.” he motions at the sweet drink you ordered. “i added more chocolate chips for you too.”

“spoiling me now, are we?”

“you caught me!”

talking to him just felt so natural. there was never a dull moment, and when silence would fill up the air, it was never thick and heavy, but light and freeing. you quietly sip your drink to these thoughts, occasionally wondering if this would be what it felt like if you two started dating- you’re thinking too ahead for someone who hasn’t even come to terms with their own feelings. you should just enjoy your time with him.

-0-

since then, you and jeno have grown closer to the point where you frequently talk on the phone at night. neither of your paths often crossed during the day, so these calls definitely made up for that – at least for you. through them, you’ve come to learn that jeno usually plays video games until the crack of dawn, sometimes even streaming his screen for you to watch. tonight, you decided to prepare ramen for yourself so you had something to eat while watching him.

“what flavor are you making today?” his voice is a lot huskier than it usually is during the night.

though this isn’t something new to you, there’s still that cozy feeling that almost feels domestic, and sometimes, you can’t help but squeal to yourself and kick your feet in the air. ningning even asked if you were alright because she thought you had gone crazy after hearing you from her own room.

“i think this one is cheese flavored? i’m not really sure since ning buys our groceries.”

“you should prepare me some when i come over next time. i wanna try some too.”

did he want to come over? your mind immediately fills with the idea of jeno visiting your dorm (or humble abode as ningning likes to call it). he’s seen glimpses of it as your background when you’d facetime each other, but what would he think about seeing it in person? there’s that famous saying that your home reflects your personality, after all. you don’t realize it, but you go dead silent, completely encapsulated by your imagination.

“hello? you’re still there, right?” he calls out for you, it’s much softer this time as if he’s checking up on you in case something happened.

“yeah, yeah i’m here. come over next time, then.”

he does, in fact, come over as soon as he got the chance to. honestly, he resembled an eager golden retriever exploring a new area the entire time you showed him around your dorm, having only seen it through a screen. on some occasions, he would point out a random trinket you had on display, saying it looked like you. he said the same about your potted succulent and you’re not sure how you feel about that one, but nonetheless, he seemed to be enjoying himself and that’s all that mattered. you were practically worried over nothing the other night.

“didn’t you say you were going to prepare me a little treat too?” jeno questions, finally finished with going around the dorm room.

“hm? oh, right the ramen-” you recall, immediately taking a few steps to the kitchen to prepare what you had promised him. “make yourself comfortable, i won’t take long!” it really doesn’t take much to make instant ramen, after all.

once it finishes boiling, you carefully transfer it to one of those gold-colored, aluminum pots to keep the ramen warm – making sure to add a few toppings to the dish to make it a bit more filling.

you make your way to the living room, seeing jeno on his phone by the couch. there’s that domestic feeling worming its way up on you again that has you wondering how it’d be like if jeno was your boyfriend. would he come visit over often? would you be able to visit his dorm sometime? the thought continues to remain on your mind for the entirety of jeno’s stay.

you really wanted this moment to become just as frequent as your nightly calls with him.

the most recent time you met up with him, you finally acted on what you’ve been holding in all this time.

ningning had invited you out to a party, luring you in by slipping that a certain someone was also going to be there. all jokes aside, you knew she also just wanted you to have fun, it’s been a while since you’ve gone out to a party anyways.

the event wasn’t anything fancy, your average college party hosted by one of the frats. you wore a black mini dress, one you bought but never got the chance to use until now. it fit you perfectly in all the right areas, but it took a lot of convincing from ningning’s part for you to actually buy it. you surely had to thank her now or else you wouldn’t have anything to wear for tonight.

“you’re finally wearing it!” it seems you weren’t the only one excited to see yourself wearing the dress as your roommate’s eyes sparkle at your outfit. “here, here. i’m letting you borrow these too since they match.” she hands over a pair of black earrings made with sequins and glass beads. it looked perfect for the look.

“thanks, it isn’t too much, right?”

“not at all! plus, it’s a party. who cares what others think- what’s important is that you look good!”

this makes you let out a small laugh, she was right. she always is. “okay then, let’s go?”

“lets!” ningning takes her purse from the coffee table before linking her free arm around yours. “we should get going if we don’t want to be late.”

it’s a good thing you both left when you did since the two of you arrived just on time. the party had already started a few minutes ago with some people already wasted (they probably drank before everything even started…). it doesn’t take long for you and ningning to manage through the sea of people, finally spotting a couple of familiar faces by the corner of the room.

“hey, you two made it!” renjun beams alongside his girlfriend, a plastic red cup in hand containing who knows what. “oh y/n, jeno’s by the kitchen. he was asking where you were before you arrived.”

“oh? thanks jun, i’ll go see what’s up.” you offer him a small smile before leaving ningning’s side and trying to find where the kitchen was located. after a bit of roaming around, you eventually find the boy you’re looking for.

cheeks flushed, dazed eyes, and a lopsided expression. jeno was probably no where clear from sober by the looks of it. guess you weren’t going to drink today, especially when your friend isn’t in the right state of mind.

“jeno? renjun said you were looking for me.” you call out to him softly in hopes he could hear you through the music that’s blasting on the speaker system.

by the sound of your voice, his head quickly turns in your direction. “y/n! i’ve bween looking por you everywhere!” he immediately wraps his arms around your figure, burying his head in the crook of your neck. your cheeks have flushed now too, not from alcohol, but because of the way he’s hugging you.

you never imagined jeno to be big on skinship while under the influence – well, you’ve never dealt with a tipsy jeno in general until now, so this was truly going to be one hell of an experience.

“have you, really?” you question him, patting his hair. “i’m here now though. did you need me for something?”

you feel him nod against your shoulder, “i wanted to kiss you but you were nooowhere to be found, and then renjun gave me a drink, and then haechan started laughing, and then i started laughing-”

he was beginning to ramble off and probably won’t remember any of the things he’s telling you right now. would that also include how he just confessed he wanted to kiss you? you know jeno’s just drunk, but there’s a part of you that hopes he wouldn’t forget that. you urge him to stand up straight for a moment before letting him lean onto you for support. the best you could do was probably have him sit outside for some fresh air (and maybe a cup of water).

-0-

the two of you are now seated silently next to one another with jeno’s head resting on your shoulder, and it’s reminiscent of the first time you actually had a proper conversation with him. the night was just like this, and yet, so many things have happened already since then.

“hey, about what i said earlier…” oh, he sobers up rather quickly. “y’know, about the wanting to kiss you and all that.”

you turn to face him with a bittersweet expression, the nearby streetlamp placing a soft glow over your features and jeno wonders where that solemn look on your face is coming from. “hm? no it’s alright. i’m sure we all say things we don’t mean when we get drunk. it’s normal.”

“well no, because, i did mean it.”

“that’s okay- huh?”

“i like you, y/n.” although its dark, you know he’s staring at you, waiting for you to respond.

“i… i do too, but we just met like a month ago.” you hadn’t even come to terms with your own feelings yet. “wouldn’t we be, i don’t know, going a little too fast? maybe both of us aren’t currently in the right mind.”

“that just proves my point even more. in a mere month of us getting to knowing each other, i’ve come to learn so much about you, grown so fond of you, and… i just want to be with you. trust me, i had a lot of time to think, but if you need more time. i’ll wait for you.”

now you were conflicted. did you really need more time to understand your own emotions?it’s not like you hid your affection for the boy, instead, it was quite the contrary. people started looking for you through jeno and others asked you about jeno’s whereabouts. its as if you two were now two peas in a pod, and everyone knew. were you going to break something you cherished just because you felt like your emotions hadn’t been sorted, when in reality, have been perfectly laid out right in front of you all along?

“no. no need.” your eyes crease as you smile at him, “i know what i want, and it’s you. it’s always been you.”

he doesn’t need any more validation than this, snaking his arm around your waist before pulling you close, lips barely touching. “can i kiss you?”

“please.” you surely don’t need to tell jeno twice, wasting no time as he quickly locks your lips with his own in such a way that you’d think he’s been pining over you longer than you had originally thought. you hadn’t drank a drop the entire night, but you felt so giddy just kissing him.

jeno pulls away first, and you already feel breathless from such a short kiss. slowly, he brings a hand up to cup your cheek, thumb rubbing small, comforting circles onto your skin. “should we head back now?” honestly, you didn’t want to just yet, still unable to hide your smile from the lingering touch of his lips. still, you knew better than to stay out for too long.

“yeah, the others are probably wondering where we went.” and with that, he pulls himself off the ground, extending a hand out to help you get on your feet.

“let’s go back in… slowly, okay?” you giggle out, still wanting to cherish the moment with him.

“how could i say no to you?”

eventually, you do make it back into the party, quickly spotting your group of friends.

the sight of you both sporting puffy lips and rosy tinted cheeks, not to mention your lipstick smudged on the corner of jeno’s lips had everyone raising a brow. neither of you had noticed that because it was so dark out… um, oopsies?

ningning manages to connect all the dots together, a loud gasp erupting from her that startles the rest of the group. “OMG DON’T TELL ME! no wait actually please do confirm- PLEASE TELL ME YOU’RE TOGETHER?”

you and jeno look at each other with a knowing look, feeling his hand reach out for yours before you happily reply, “yeah, we are.”

taglist | @haeravlgs, @matchahyuck, @vantxx95, @ahnneyong, @lixxbr0wnie, @legbouk, @rocarecs, @winwonies, @gfrdistance

— lmk through an ask if you’d like to be added!

tags !!

[artdecosupernova-writing]

OC Kiss Week Day 6: Adventure

WIP: Darkspace Portent series Pairing: Thrive x Warren Timeline: after Aurora CW: none Rating: T Words: 1,706

***

At four-thirty in the morning in his old apartment on the Consortium Node, Warren stirred as the mattress dipped under the weight of someone leaning toward him. He peeled his eyes open and snorted back a ton of mucus, clearing his throat instantly upon remembering that he'd gone to sleep alone, and realizing that Thrive's face was currently inches away from his.

"Oh," Warren muttered, rubbing his eyes. "...G'mornin'?" He then realized Thrive had actually been hovering over him, arms on either side of him, and it was all he could do not to grin broadly through his curtain of grogginess. "Good morning."

Thrive, on the other hand, was smiling. Big and genuine, warm, bordering excited. The expression was close to being unrecognizable on him. "I had a thought."

"Congratulations," Warren said.

"Would you like to join me on an adventure?"

Now, Warren was awake. He assessed Thrive's sparkling eyes and soaked in his radiance for a few moments. "...I would like nothing more."

After a record-speed, multitasking shower and altogether disregarding the start of a beard he'd accumulated over the last few busy and exhausting days, Warren followed Thrive to the tram that would take them to the Centrum.

The car they boarded ensured they were surrounded by grumpy commuters and groups coming down from a full night of partying. Tucked away in the corner—though the other passengers either didn't recognize who they were or didn't care—Warren turned to Thrive and spoke in as low a voice as he could muster over the loud humming of the tram.

"So, explain to me this adventure you have planned that had to be done at the ass-crack of dawn."

Thrive reached up to hold onto the grab rail above Warren's head, which Warren clocked was more of a treat for him as Thrive could maintain his balance atop a rolling log bobbing on a thrashing sea should he be so inclined. "I can't go into detail in such a public location, but I've discovered that one of the only benefits that come with my position of power is the ability to access parts of the Node that most wouldn't see in their lifetimes."

Warren looked up at him, intrigued. "...You're going to break a law, aren't you?"

Thrive fought off a smirk, keeping a vigilant eye on the other passengers.

"Oh...Thrive."

"A certain...human," Thrive murmured carefully, "held in high regard to the majority of Milky Way occupants...owns a fascinating piece of technology not normally enjoyed by fellow inhabitants of this station. I, a curious outsider, would like a first-hand account of such a piece of tech for myself."

Warren practically vibrated with adrenaline. "This is gonna be the best day of my fucking life, isn't it?"

"That altogether depends on how this goes."

An hour later, they disembarked the tram on a Centrum station, one Warren had never been to before. Their IDs were checked at the gate, and once they were let through, Thrive took charge, leading Warren through official-looking corridors and elevators until they reached what appeared to be the entrance of a garage.

Thrive waved at the control panel by the door and it swiveled open for him. He turned to Warren with exhilarating mischief in his eyes. "Still trust me?"

"Never in my life have I ever trusted you as much as I do right now."

"That's saying quite a bit," Thrive chuckled, and they entered the garage together.

The vehicle Thrive made a beeline for was a compact, streamlined aerial car painted pale aqua with an iridescent purple sheen. Warren slowed to a halt in the middle of the spacious garage, jaw hitting the floor as it registered what exactly it was that was going on.

"Wait," he stammered. "Yo, wait, are you—"

"Keep an eye out," Thrive interrupted. He crouched beside the vehicle, running the pads of his fingers over the panel on the door.

Warren whirled around to watch the garage entrance, and something caught his eye in the corner of the ceiling. He glanced around and noticed there were several cameras placed strategically, each with a perfect angle to document their every move. "Look, I'm a ride-or-die bitch, but I can't exactly resign myself to being stupid enough to do this in full view of every security camera in the Centrum."

Thrive peered at the nearest camera. "I wouldn't worry about that," he said, his fingers working precisely against the metal chassis of the car. "By the time they realize we're gone, We'll be halfway across the Node. All the same..."

He lifted a free hand in the direction of the camera, and it popped in a shower of sparks and high-pitched whining. Smoke seeped from every device linked to it, and the LED light powered down in each one.

"Jesus Christ," Warren said under his breath. "Who the hell did I marry...?"

Thrive made a sound of triumph and stood, and both doors of the car lifted open following a cheerful series of musical beeps. He addressed Warren with mirth potent enough to bring back the dead. "You married the tired fool, my love."

Warren hurried to him. "This is DeCosta's car?!"

Upon piling inside, Thrive switched on a few controls on the dashboard, revving up the engine and remotely closing the doors once more. "We're taking this machine on the same joyride for which it's apparent she relishes taking me."

Having never been in an aerial car before, the initial jolt of speed came as a shock to Warren, whose adrenaline peaked with each second they zoomed through the deceptively massive garage. He gripped the panic bar over his head though the last thing he felt was panic, watching various important vehicles zipping by beneath them.

"This is happening," he said, buzzing from head to toe. "I can't believe you're doing this."

Thrive eased the car to a steady crawl as they neared the exit. His hands worked the controls with the expertise of a professional driver. He shrugged one shoulder, watching the door roll upward with due caution. "The rebellious phase is now or never."

"Fuck yeah, baby," Warren laughed. "Now you gotta get a bunch of tattoos and dye your hair bright fucking blue."

Thrive's nose scrunched, and he leaned forward to size up the traffic past the garage door. "...Blue isn't my color."

He punched the gas, so to speak, and they shot onto the sky road, soaring over the walkways and streets by several hundred feet. Despite the other vehicles reaching breakneck speeds, Thrive kept up with them, maneuvering fluidly through and around, until he took the nearest exit leading them into the main channel of the Node.

Warren could only stare in awe at the station's nebula on display through the transparent ceiling. A dust cloud of sapphires and emeralds, an intense glitter helped along by the nearest star casting sunny rays onto them. The main skyway was so open, the ceiling so clear, that it gave off the illusion that they were in space, ascending into the outstretched fingers of the gemstone fog.

"Open the door," Thrive said.

Warren snapped out of his absorption. "Ah. This is an assassination attempt. A little disappointing, but I guess I've had it coming."

Thrive pressed a button to unlock the vehicle. "It's safe, th'saiya."

With great hesitation and a second taken to be at full peace with this being the last thing he ever experienced before he died, Warren released the latch and pushed the door open.

As Thrive predicted, nothing happened. The great drone of thousands of vehicles on the road at once poured into the car, wind whipping through Warren's hair, and suddenly he was alive. He turned his face to the nebula and leaned out, holding tightly to the panic bar.

He basked in space for a moment, holding onto the memory of this with an iron grip. He outstretched his arm, as if he could run his hands through the nebula, and released an elated whoop when he spotted the tell-tale shimmer of one of Thrive's shields enveloping the car and, by extension, him.

"I'm the prince of the universe!" he shouted at the top of his voice.

His euphoria boomeranged back to him through his and Thrive's connection, and he was overcome with emotion, eyes welling as he embraced his life and the magic of being there, of doing something reckless, yet safe, and right, with the person he loved more than he could adequately articulate.

When he was once again secure in the vehicle and the door shut and locked, Thrive reached over to take his hand, and Warren pressed kisses into his knuckles, laid Thrive's palm against his face, heart full and happy. Thrive brushed his thumb across his cheekbone.

—

Thrive drove them to a lush park in the Southern Division, where he landed them in a designated spot out of the way. The second the car powered down, Warren lunged at Thrive, pulling him into an intense, passionate kiss that was prolonged for several minutes. Thrive cupped his face in his hands as they broke apart, and Warren noted with some amusement that when he was otherwise preoccupied Thrive had tinted the windows, which were already fogged up.

"Hey, man," Warren said breathlessly. "We're fucked."

"Likely." Thrive looked out at the park, observing the people for a moment. "I can't imagine the Consortium will take grand theft auto of a delegate's vehicle lightly, and I suppose my being king will only abridge our punishment enough to avoid prison."

"Regretting it?"

"Not at all." Thrive smiled at him. "...Are you?"

"I've had more fun than I think I've had since I was a very small child."

"It doesn't have to end here," Thrive said mysteriously. He nodded in the direction of a pathway curving away from the park around a corner. "Down there is a nuptial hall."

Warren took a deep breath. "You wanna get married again?"

"We've yet to cross the Node from our marriage itinerary, correct?"

"Yeah." Warren nodded. "Okay. Yeah, the kids'll just have to catch the next one."

Thrive laughed as they removed themselves from the car, all but powerwalking to the nuptial hall before Node security could track them down.

[percontaion-points]

Five Survive chapters 1 & 2

Click to see the rest of the snark & image descriptions

Click here for the rest of the series!

Chapter 1

Oh wait, what was it she needed to ask Maddy about again?

Chapter 1 summary: In one of the worst spoilers imaginable, for a book entitled “5 Survive”, there are six friends going on a spring-break road trip in an RV. I’m also not quite sure what to make of the fact that the section headers tell me that this entire book takes up less than 12 hours total. We start off at 10 PM… And Red genuflecting over her reflection in the dark windows of the RV. 

Aside from Red, there’s also Maddy, Simon, Oliver, Reyna, and Arthur. 

Everything else in this chapter is 100% irrelevant; it’s nothing more than setting the scene… But for some unholy reason, we needed 4 pages to do so. Also, I feel a headache coming on about how unidentifiable that each of these characters are. We’ll see, though. 

Chapter 2

A strange yawning in Red’s gut, the sound hidden by the wheels on the road. She couldn’t be hungry, could she? They’d only stopped for dinner at a rest stop a few hours ago. But the feeling doubled down, twisting again, so she reached out for the bag of chips in front of Maddy. She removed a handful, placing them carefully in her mouth one by one, cheese dust coating her fingertips.

The first chapter was like this. I was hoping that shit would start to move along once we got out of that introductory chapter. 

Apparently it’s going to be like this for the entire. 

Fucking. 

Novel. 

“Brazil nuts,” Red said. 

Arthur’s face screwed up. “What?” 

“I used to be allergic to them as a kid, but I’m not anymore. Isn’t that weird, that a person can just change like that?” she said, fidgeting with the front pocket of her light blue jeans. She’d been sitting here in this spot a long time now. Too long. “My mo—p-parents had to write it on my hand, so I wouldn’t forget.”

I assume that she means “allergic” in the “need to go to the ER right now” sort of way. HOW THE FUCK DO YOU FORGET THAT YOU GO INTO ANAPHYLACTIC SHOCK WHEN YOU EAT BRAZIL NUTS?! 

“My mo—p-parents had to write it on my hand, so I wouldn’t forget. Also, does the pattern in the curtains remind anyone of something?” She touched the white-and-blue curtain hanging down next to her, running her hand between the pleats. “It’s been bugging me all day, can’t work out what it is. A cartoon or something.”

I’m not quite sure what the author intended when she wrote Red. But it’s giving “I took a bunch of street drugs recently!” 

No, she wouldn’t. These eyes were just hers.

Chapter 2 summary: Anyway, we continue on with a weird attempt to establish more of who these six characters are. However, the author 100% failed with the task, and instead seems dead-set on giving us basically five unidentifiable, flesh-shaped blobs. The narration spent paragraphs describing backgrounds and hobbies… All of which flew out of my head the second the narration moved on. None of this was told to us like it was going to be important in any way, so I’m not worried about it. 

The main take-away from this is as I mentioned: Red’s sole personality trait is acting like she recently took a bunch of street drugs. Her thoughts are random, and distracted by the tiniest thing. 

Oh, and her mum died several years ago. Which is something that she apparently never got over… To the point where she’s legit triggered when Maddy’s mum calls and the name “Mum” pops up on the caller ID. 

[lustbile]

The Journal

TenxReader

Word Count: 7.3k+

Summary/Warnings: Smut with plot, semi public, a lot of biting, mentions of supernatural and just general weirdness, and small amount of blood play

Apart of the Club X series: Masterlist (can be read alone or within the series, but unlike others it might just be the slightest amount confusing)

“So that’s what you’re into now,” your best friend’s voice is bored and distant, her task of wiping down the bar that stretched out in front of her taking a majority of her attention away from the babbling you’ve tried to subject her to since you entered the empty restaurant only about 20 minutes before, “weird demon sex clubs?”

—

—

“Ah ah, I never said they were demons,” you correct quickly, the thought of defending yourself never crossing your mind as you petulantly slap your hands against the polished wood, “I just said it was…. weird.”

“Weird is an understatement,” she scoffs quietly as she turns to dip her dirtied rag back into the bleach water and ring it out, “I mean look, I’ve always been supportive in the witchy stuff you’ve been into but this…. is a bit much.”

“I don’t see how this is any different than any other thing I’ve read into.”

“Oh you don’t see?” you finally manage to pull her attention towards you as she harshly slaps the rag back onto the wood with a stern glare pulled on her pretty features, “you’re talking about vulnerability and abandoned warehouses and public sex. That last one is definitely new.”

You fully expected this type of response, only hoping she’d be busy enough that you would dodge the motherly scolding she liked to give you when you pitched your schemes to her with your eyes wild and wide, but nevertheless, she was completely right.

It came from an old book, tattered and torn from being flipped through one too many times, that you found at your favorite antique store. The store itself was already notorious with your tight inner circle of friends as the creepy shop that was corrupting your brain, a constant taunt being that the little old woman that ran it was the actual devil and she was just waiting for the right time to jump you and eat you whole, but this did nothing to stop you from visiting at least once a week.

But the book, it was different from any other you had found. It was completely handwritten, including amazingly done sketches in a deep unfading ink, and spoke of outlandish things.

Some were easily brushed off, like a murder that happened in the 50’s that was known to stay in the mouths of the older folks, both to them and the book it was widely believed to be the doing of some long tongued and wild eyed creature, until a local sweet old man admitted on his deathbed that it was instead his one crime of passion.

He had been a young soldier that snuck into his lover’s room one night, and upon learning that she was to marry a nice lawyer the day after he was meant to deploy, his mind went blank and his hands were carving out her heart. He luckily escaped any questioning after being shipped off, and once he returned home he captured the heart of a pretty young girl and lived out a long life sitting on top of a horrid truth.

So yeah, stories of those sorts, having been solved in your lifetime, meant very little to you, but the one you were going on about now, meant the world.

The writing looked like it had been put down by a panicked chicken rather than the woman who’s name was written neatly in the front. It lived in some of the pages towards the back of the small book and spoke of a dark club. Club X.

She went on and on about stumbling across the club purely by accident, and meeting another woman with glittering eyes. Graphic details of being taken in the middle of the dance floor with a million eyes looking but not fully seeing her as she fell apart against a dancing and eager tongue made your heart thump lodged in your throat. But the more and more she visited the club, the more incoherent her words became, but towards the end the writing had become stained and obscured by a deep brown stain, before it stopped altogether.

Thankfully, the details of where the building was was completely visible regardless of being the thoughts of a mad woman, and with a lot of thinking and staring at the town map, you’ve come to believe that you knew exactly where the mysterious club stood.

Only a street down from the restaurant you sit in now.

“Listen, I know it sounds ridiculous, and it probably is, but what’s the problem with just going to check right?” you scramble to pull the delicate book from the bag that sits in the stool beside you as your friend moves closer and closer to where you sit, laying it flat to show her the page you’ve had bookmarked since you read it, “and look at the name she puts, I think it’s the man who ran it and it’s a long shot, but maybe he’s still alive, or if not maybe some family is! Right here, Asm-“

“Don’t say it again,” she’s quick to interrupt, sliding her free hand to hover above the page you’ve glued your eyes to, “I don’t wanna hear any old man names, especially that one it gives me the ick.”

“It’s just a name,” murmur to yourself, but move to put the book away regardless, “but anyways, I have something that most people who were going to the club didn’t, knowledge of what exactly I’m walking into. I can just go and look around, worst things worst its still a freaky sex club and I just go home, but I’m willing to bet this lady was just off the shits and its just an empty building with some funky vintage beer bottles that you can add to your collection.”

You feel like you’ve won an award you weren’t even trying to compete for when she finally breaks out into a soft smile. The huff that leaves her chest is endeared, and you swear your heart began to vibrate when she reached to run a gentle thumb across the swell from your cheekbone.

“Fine, do what you want, but if the bottle isn’t completely intact when you find it I don’t want it.”

“So you’re not coming with me?” your head tilts to the side in confusion as with things of this nature in the past, she’s always followed along to ensure that you didn’t do anything to stupid. You never felt like the company was fully necessary, but it was appreciated regardless.

“Baby, as much as I’ve enjoyed your info dumping you’ve done tonight, the other person that was meant to clean with me had to leave early with a stomach bug so I’m busy pulling a clean up job that’s truly a job for about five people. But you seem to really believe in this little adventure of yours,” she leaves the rag in a damp mass next to the stack of dirty glasses beside you to take your hands in her’s, her slightly wrinkled fingers are still warm and the way they lace with yours makes you feel like nothing in the world could hurt you, “besides, you’re as smart as a whip and I know you have me on speed dial. I trust you.”

——

You no longer love the feeling of being trusted.

When your friend had given you the heartfelt speech only a little over half an hour ago, you felt like you had been put on a nice pedestal before she handed you a cookie with a pat on the head.

Now the “cookie” had turned to rot in your belly and you were faced with your own perfectly dreamed up reality.

It was already late by the time you had walked into the restaurant your friend works at, the sun already setting and the last few customers gathering their things and paying the bills, so once you got her stamp of approval and we’re heading out the door, the only light left was a bright and full moon, and flickering street lights.

You took your time walking in the direction that your book and personal sleuthing had pointed you in, the closer and closer you got to the one warehouse in town that seemed to never be bought back from the city, the knots in your belly pulled tighter and tighter.

But regardless of the almost painful twist in your gut, you surprisingly almost missed the building in its entirety.

It was as if your entire being blocked out the thumping bass that shook the sidewalk and the blinding red light that spilled from beneath the entrance and out the fractured windows. Your brain trying to force itself from entering the building you spent so many weeks trying to locate.

But the way your heart thuds in your chest when you stand in front of the entrance is something you couldn't even pretend you didn’t feel.

Your tongue digs into the side of your jaw, and you're confused at the feeling of warm tears burning at your waterlines. It’s exactly the way the owner of the journal described it in her manic writings, weirdly exact considering the other stories that surrounded it that dated it back far before you were even born.

You want to go in, the shaking steps your legs take is evident to that, but the tense muscles of your shoulders and stomach makes you hesitate and even grumble out into the air.

You almost jump out of your skin when you hear a shuffling to your side, your throat tensing when you look over, and are put slightly at ease when you see two men who you assume are acting as some type of security. You almost expect them to look up and ask you for some type of ID when you’re being very weird and blatant about your presence, but they seem too preoccupied with the dim screens of their phones and the way they lean forward at different times as if they’re waiting for someone.

Your hands are shaking slightly as they scramble down to grab for your bag, desperately looking for something to occupy you to walk by them without being even more weird, and when your fingers wrap around the flaking leather that binds the book, you grab it like a lifeline.

Your fingers flip through the pages with perfect muscle memory as you trip up the few steps that lead to the door, the tabs you carefully placed on the first page mentioning the club not even necessary with the way you could find the page even in your sleep.

You subconsciously hold your breath when you walk past the two men, almost as if the book is instead something wildly illegal and you're trying to sneak past your parents, and your washed with a temporary wave of relief when you pass through the doors without even a glance from the two.

Though the relief is stolen from your bones the second your feet touch the floor of the club.

It’s as if you’ve entered a place you’ve known your whole life, and from the amazing descriptions from the woman in the past, its not a completely surprising feeling.

But another part of you feels like this is the first time you’ve seen human beings in the flesh.

You can't help but to feel like you must look like an absolute nerd as you pull the book up to your face as you start to survey the club, but thankfully the book told at least one truth, and many of the club goers are too busy grouping and grinding against one another to even acknowledge your existence.

More truths come to light as you flick your eyes between the pages and the walls.

The bar is still tucked in the same far corner as she described, the flittering red and blue lights making it feel like a beacon of calm regardless of it being surrounded by drunken forms and its intimidatingly pretty bartender.

The dj is just a stoic and unimpressed looking as the one from so many years ago as he subconsciously bobs to the beat that he creates as he messes with the nobs and switches in front of him. He’s actually so similar, you wonder if you were right and the owner did have family floating around, and maybe the dj is one of them.

You stumble further into the room as you pick out small details she wrote about so lovingly. Your legs carry you to the back of the building as you smile at the sight of the wine stain the writer claimed to have created when her lover shocked her with a playful bite to the neck.

You almost feel like the universe is gifting you everything you could have possibly asked for when you see the loose board that she said a friend of hers would always trip over, and electricity zips up your spine in excitement when you spots the large painting that still hangs over the booth she claimed as her favorite, and she meticulously sketched out next to a paragraph about what she thought the artist was feeling.

All these things though, lead to the things that make your jaw hang slightly open.

The large balcony above you is larger than you ever imagined. The hundreds of bright red carnations she loved to sketch drip from the golden bars like water, and the black velvet curtains that hang over the room it leads to look heavy enough that they suffocate someone if they fell.

She seemed so intensely in love with the place you stand in, and the woman she met there, and those emotions were more than evident from the way the recreated the energy of the club with her words and art. Which only tips you towards the part that caught your attention perhaps the most.

It was exactly where it was meant to be. Just below the balcony that hangs high on the wall, gaping wide and dark like the mouth of a hungry monster coaxing you to enter its throat. The only issue that you can see being the hanging rope that blocks you from entering, but with only shining bright clasps holding it onto hooks on the walls, you don’t think you're above sneaking past it with little guilt.

The hall was the one thing that taunted you the most about the story the woman spun in the little worn book. The empty and dark vass space being something that coaxed her as well, but unfortunately for you, and maybe her as well, the parts of her journal that began the tale of her passing the temping rope, was the exact spot that was stained with bleeding ink and a suspicious brown color.

You survey the space around you, looking for anyone that could possibly be a worker or just a stickler for the rules, but seeing as everyone in your range of vision was attached by the mouth on someone’s neck or sloppy lips, you figured you were in the clear.

You drop the book gently back into your bag before you step slowly forward. Your heart feels like a wild animal trying to break out of the cavity of your chest, and it feels like your intestines have been successfully replaced with writhing worms that are desperately trying to reach your gut. You feel heat traveling up your chest and neck, and as you get within a few feet of what feels like the end of your life, your body begins to shake.

If you had the ability, you would have screamed, and if you had the strength, you would have fought back. But right when you're about to reach the threshold of the hall, and right when you feel like your legs are about to collapse from underneath you, strong fingers clasp over your trembling mouth, and an arm wraps tightly around your waist.

You’re turned faster than you can blink, the sudden motion making your brain swirl in your skull and making you go lightheaded and dizzy. And while keeping their hand clasped tightly over your mouth, the person that cages you in slams your back into the cold wall and knocks the air from your lungs.

The eyes that meet you are cat-like and dancing wildly, the grin the man you're faced with now smiles at you wickedly, and when your hands dart up until your nails dig harshly into the skin of his forearms, his smile only widens.

“Now,” he starts, the remains of a chuckle shaking his chest and his words slightly, “what exactly are you up to?”

You wait for a moment for him to release you from his hold, and when after a minute or so he still hasn’t budged, all you can offer in response is an annoyed arched brow.

“What?” he has the audacity to ask with taunting sincerity, “you thought you were smart enough to go wandering around, so you should be smart enough to figure out a way to talk around my hand right?”

It’s with immense irritation that you realize the two possibilities you’re faced with.

From the book you know about the weird concept of soul mates or whatever they were meant to be. The woman and the mysterious dancing girl she met so many years ago, and similar stories from the friends she met during her many visits to the club who had almost identical tales that she had to recount.

So with that information you know the possibility of this grinning man being your person is high, but your person or not, he was lighting a fire in your chest regardless.

You don’t think or even weigh the negatives before you send him a hard glare, and you show very little hesitation when you push forward to sink your teeth into the first finger you can catch.

His yelp is covered by the blaring music, but you hear it loud and clear before he reaches his free hand up to pinch at the bridge of your nose to pull you off like a rabid kitten.

“You know what I’m up to,” you huff petulantly as you lean back into the wall with your arms folding over your chest, “or at least I’d assume you’d be smart enough to use your context clues right?”

His lip curls when he glances back up to you as he pets at his now bruising finger, but even with the thin veil of irritation on his pretty features, you can tell he enjoys the sarcastic tone you’ve adopted.

“Yeah you’re sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong,” he bites back as he steps closer, crowding your personal space and pushing his chest tightly against yours, “you’re lucky I’m who caught you and not boss man.”

“Boss man?” you ask, trying not to show you excitement over him spilling the treasured information about the club that you want so desperately.

He doesn’t answer you verbally, and the sly wink he throws at you shocks you more than you would like to admit, but when he tilts his head back quickly you don’t hesitate to follow his line of sight to the edge of the balcony.

If it weren’t for the thin wires of light that create hatching over his eyes and mouth, you probably would have missed the masked figure that leers at you from over the railing. His hands and shoulders are covered by the masses of flowers, and the hollow black where he hides his eyes stares down at you two with a look that you assume is annoyance and possible curiosity.

The moment you two look up, the figure jerks back. Your eyes flick quickly between him and the man in front of you, and from the bratty grin he wears as he looks up, you feel as if the masked man didn’t have any intention at being caught.

You get lost slightly in staring at the man pressed against you, his teeth that look sharper in the red lighting and his eyes twinkle in mischief, and even with the obnoxious start to your interaction, you’d be lying to say you don’t find him beautiful.

It takes you a second to regain your senses, tearing your eyes away from the fascinating side profile of the man, but when you glance back up to the balcony, the mask man has retreated back.

“He doesn’t like much when we take people back there before they’re ready,” he attempts at an explanation as he turns back to you, and seems unfazed when he misses the mark and just confuses you further, “he let the two goons outside have a little exception, but that's because they don’t know how to go easy y‘know.”

“No,” you shake your head at him with a quiet scoff, “I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I think you know more than you think,” his voice drops as he speaks now, and as he speaks he reaches out his hand to hold himself propped against the wall next to your head while his other hand moves to run gently up the side of your neck, “I mean, you know who I am at least right?”

“I have an idea,” you admit with a huff, but you also admit to yourself that this probably means you won't be getting into the hall. You do mentally jot that down as a loss, but decide to take the man pressed against you as a win and you reach to grab at his shirt in retaliation, “but you could at least give me a name to work with.”

“Hm, I didn’t expect you to be one for such formalities,” his head tilts in amusement at his own words, and the action nudges the tip of his nose into yours and makes your heart flutter up into your throat, “but you might as well know the name of the man you’ll be destined to fall in love with.”

You roll your eyes hard enough for them to start to ache, and he quietly laughs and moves to press his nose into the soft flesh of your cheek as he feeds off your annoyance.

“Ten,” he answers quietly, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he moves to whisper the syllable in your ear, and you never thought that with just one word he’d have a shiver rushing up your spine.

You respond quietly with your name, but the word comes out strained and rushed when he begins to nibble on the lobe of your ear and pushes his knee harshly between your thighs.

Both your hands now hold tightly onto the sides of his shirt, and when his lips move to trail against the side of your neck that isn't enveloped by his hand, you tug roughly at the fabric and your back arches slightly away from the wall.

His tongue is hot when he lays it flat on the center of your throat, and when he swipes it up until it flicks against the end of your chin, you can't help but cringe slightly at the feeling regardless of the way it makes heat pool in between your thighs.

The wicked grin on his face never falters, it only grows wider and more hungry when your eyes meet again, and with his staring so deep that you fear he may be collecting every ounce of your soul, you two have a silent agreement on the unnatural waves of electricity that connect you.

When his lips finally land on yours, it's the roughest and clumsiest kiss you’ve experienced. Both of you fight each other with hungry and eager tongues and the way your teeth gently knock together has your skull rattling in a way that, if you weren’t so hell bent of devouring each other whole, you’d probably have to take a breather.

Your hands reluctantly release the wrinkled fabric of his shirt, and in a desperate attempt to stay occupied, they shoot up the tangle tightly into his hair. You admit, you probably tug harsher on the strands than you probably should, but the groans he pours into your mouth, and the way his hips rock roughly into yours, has you tugging again and again.

He presses you further and further into the wall, and without thinking your hips begin to kick and tilt down until you're grinding harshly and sloppily against his tense thigh.

You let out a quiet whine that's muffled and garbled by his moving at the feeling of him pressing his thumb gently into the dip beneath your jaw, and pressing into your jugular. The sound is followed almost immediately by a small yelp when he latches his teeth to your bottom lip and gives you a stinging bite.

You’re frustrated almost immediately with the lack of friction you can feel from the layers of clothing between you, and now the slight shooting pain from the tensing skin between his teeth, you can feel the impatience in your belly crawling up and invading your chest and throat.

He’s quick to pull away when you retaliate with your own nipping bite to his top lip, your teeth still sinking down when he does and making his sting probably just as much as yours. And when he eyes you as his eyelids droop down into an accusatory squint, you assume he’s not used to getting a taste of his own medicine.

He mutters something to himself about your feistiness, and a sly comment about how he shouldn’t be surprised as he was expecting to get a handful, but he gives you no time to make a snide comment or even question about any of the words, before his fingers are closing firmly but loosely around your neck.

He keeps you rooted in the spot that you stand, the only change in your posture he allows is pulling you slightly away from the wall, just wide enough for him to slink behind you and tug you roughly back into his chest.

“You like poking around into business that isn’t yours?” he asks rhetorically as his free hand reaches around your shoulder to push past the neckline of your shirt, and right as he pressed down the center of your chest and his fingers brush the bottom of your rib cage, his fingers curl and he starts to drag his blunt nails up your sternum as he continues, “need to know and see every single little thing right? So… what’s the harm of being on the other side of it for once?”

“What are you on about?” you as sharply as you try to turn your face towards him the best you can, but his hand tilts under the bottom of your chin until your head is forced to lean on his shoulder and he’s nothing but thrilled at the way it makes you struggle.

“To be seen, or not?” he presses his lips back against the shell of your ear, and the way he whispers roughly makes you shiver again as your thighs press tightly together, “you know what I mean, and you know the answer I want, but its all up to you in the end.”

The electric and slightly humiliating buzz of being seen in a mass of bodies committing the same sins as you was something the woman in the book went on about frequently. She mentioned that there were a few times where she and her lover snuck off to get alone time of course, but the almost blinding pleasure that came from being worshiped by not only one person, but the eyes of an entire room, was addictive. And you wanted just a taste.

You grumble in response, the idea of admitting to the already confident man that you did indeed wanted the same amount of attention as he did made your chest burn even more than it already was, and you’d rather take your chance with his terrifying looking boss than to give him the satisfaction of your verbal confession.

He seems unaffected by your nonverbal confirmation, the way you press into him as his hand wraps around your waist again and creeps down to the button of your shorts, and your own hand grabbing onto the sleeve of his rolled up long sleeve shirt to guide him to undo the clasp or just dip below the waistband, is enough of an answer for him to know.

He chooses to pop the button, and once he has the zipper pulled down enough that he can work with, he begins to shove the worn denim down your hips along with your underwear until they are wrapped around your knees and he can push his fingers roughly between your thighs.

You try to clear the fog that he creates in your mind from his teasing fingers long enough to reach your free hand back to give the same treatment to the dark jeans that wrap tightly around his hips and thighs in a way that had you mentally drooling from the moment you got to get a full look at him, after he ambushed you of course.

You’re not sure how he undid your shorts so quickly without being able to see, but as you fumble and scratch your nails against the sensitive skin of his hip, you give yourself the benefit of the doubt seeing as your trying to work while his middle and ring fingers tease over your entrance and the heel of his hand presses clumsily into your neglected clit.

He, on the other hand, doesn’t give you any benefit of the doubt. He at least has the decency to press his lips across your cheekbone and temple to muffle his quiet laughs, but to make your task even more difficult, his fingers shallowly curl up into you just enough to make you twist and curl.

Once the button of his jeans finally releases, you instinctively let out a huff and sink your shoulders back into his chest as you reach past the fabric to wrap your hand around his stiff length and pull it from the confines until you can press it against his lower belly. And you get just one tally on your side of the boards you’ve created in your mind when his amused laughs devolves into pleased grunts and tilting hips.

“Please,” you start quietly, trying to rock more against the parts of his hand that press against you while running your palm up and down the length of him and smearing him with his own pre come, “I can tell you’re just as impatient as me.”

He swears in your ear, using his hold on you with both hands to shift your hips up and pull you closer before he clears his throat to speak, “well could you imagine, looks like we are a match made in heaven.”

“More like hell,” you retaliate, digging the heel of your own palm into the skin just below the tip of him to egg him on even further, “but either way, that's the point isn't it?”

“I should have expected you to be just a little bit of a smart ass,” he mutters a half hearted complaint, but he only contradicts his own words when he pushes your hips away enough for you to guide him between your thighs and to glide against the arousal that spilled from your body and his hands spread messy along any available inch of skin.

He thrusts smoothly against your back a few times, bringing his arm down to guide him towards your entrance painfully slow, but when you let out a gravely moan of his name, he cant deny himself for any longer, and he’s sinking into you until your eyes start to gently flutter.

Once he’s seated inside you, his hand tenses slightly tighter around your neck, and when you both start pushing towards each other to meet in the middle of your thrusts, his other hand takes the opportunity to map any inch of you he can reach.

He gropes almost painfully at your chest, traveling over your stomach and up your shirt to dig his fingers into your skin until you swear he’s tattooed his finger prints onto you, all while nipping and lapping at the skin of your jaw and neck.

No one immediately in front of you is watching, they’re all in their own worlds of flesh and saliva, but you can still feel eyes of someone on you. His first and foremost as they burn holes into the side of your skull and glance to watch where you push back against him desperately, but there’s another feeling you get of being seen and studied thats so intense that you’re a little shocked when you chance a glance up and see that whoever the masked person was from earlier wasn’t there at all.

So no, you have no idea who, or what is watching you right now, but you can feel the unusual heat it stirs in you as your body flutters around him as he fucks you sloppily. You feel a deeper relation to the woman that owned the book that still rests in the bag that feel unceremoniously from your shoulder when he first put his hands on you, and you hope that maybe you’ll eventually slip into the life of bliss that she meticulously wrote about and possibly learn what happened that demolished the stories that lived in the back of the journal.

You could feel the pleasure crawling up your spine like a monster out creature, your panting breaths tipping the man that works you over off to this even though you’re sure he was already aware before you were, and you think your legs are back to the edge of collapsing when his creeping fingers dance along the expanse of your stomach to find their place back between your thighs.

Your back stiffens at the first touch of his rolling finger on your clit, and your head tilts even farther back onto his shoulder than he already had it. He doesn’t seem interested in coaxing you to your finish slowly, at a pace that would have mercy on your melting mind and shaking form, but he instead abuses your clit until your whimpering out and stumbling and stepping slightly on his toes.

You feel like you’re waiting out the suspense of a horror film that’s score is too obvious to the incoming jump scare. You tilt your neck in a way that seems normal to him, but in reality your trying to feel the many rings that decorate his fingers with the delicate skin of your throat to test if any of them could possibly be sharp enough to cut you and draw blood. You know what blood means to him, and you know it's something he’ll have to do soon if he truly can feel how close you are to the edge.

You feel like you’re floundering a bit, confused from the possible deviation from the story you’ve committed to memory. Was there any chance in this world that this wasn’t your person?

You push this thought away as soon as your panicked mind can construct it though, because there’s no way the spell that it feels has been placed on you would be there if that was the truth, and your body is heated almost like a furnace, but you suddenly love the idea of being burned by him.

You pull in a gasping breath of air that pierces through the music and grunting that rattles in your ears, the taste of your orgasms dancing on the back of your tongue and your back arching so harshly you fear that one of your muscles might seize up and cramp. And right when you feel his hips start to stutter in tandem with yours, and when you’re only seconds from blabbering out mixed syllables that you could only hope would come out as a coherent question, you feel it.

His teeth latch onto you again, his canines not sharp enough to make a clean cut as they dig into the muscle of your shoulder, but his determination is strong enough.

It burns painfully, and makes hot tears well up in your eyes, but almost embarrassingly, is the exact thing that pushes you scrambling over the edge.

You feel like it hurts to breathe, your lungs so focused on letting out puffs of air and broken moans that they can't seem to remember how to bring oxygen in, and your eyes roll for a completely new reason for the man and much more painfully.

It’s when you feel him start to suck the rushing blood from your newly christened wound that you also feel the rumble of his groans against your skin and feel him start to come inside of you. His fist tightens again around your neck as he pushes aftershocks through your nerves with his own orgasm, and with flying hands you grab at both of his wrists, not to ask in any way for him to ease up, but from a sudden wash and need to hold onto him possibly until you die.

He lets you collapse to the floor once he pulls out, but he follows your sinking form and sits alongside you and partially underneath you as you both try to catch your breath.

The club scene in front of you is now blurs of flashing lights and abstract writhing forms, and if it wasn’t for the zaps of energy you feel from every brush of his finger tips, your brain would probably be too muddled to register him fixing both your clothes and his.

You become just slightly more aware when he shifts your body against him enough to grab at the strap of your bag with the heel of his shoe, and you try to sit up faster than necessary and give yourself a small head rush when he pulls it to himself and flips it open.

“You seemed a little weirdly unaffected by the whole,” he flails his hands in front of you for a second as he speaks, and your lagging mind takes a second to catch up with his attempts at implication, “not the fucking part clearly,” he teases, “but the leading up to it. The meeting part and all.”

“I know what this place is,” you admit, and if your legs had gained just a bit more strength you probably would have stood and requested a glass of water just from how gravely your voice had become, “I knew I was probably going to run into you.”

“But you weren’t looking for me,” he tries, and fails, at hiding the slight edge of offense his voice shows, “if you knew I was here why didn’t you look for me?”

“I didn’t worry about it,” you say, warming up a bit again in the fear that it may have come off slightly rude, “or, like, I mean I knew you’d be able to find me easier than I could find you. I was more interested in finding answers.”

“Answers to what? You said you knew this place, or at least what it is?”

“Well I only know the basics,” you shift in his hold, knocking his hands away as they sift through your bag, and grabbing blindly until you can pull out the book, “I found this journal and it-“

“A journal?” he asks in a volume that could have been obnoxiously loud if it weren’t for the thumping bass that shook the floor beneath you, and pulls the small book from your hands.

“It was written by a woman who came here a long time ago,” you explain, deciding to not take offense to his rough and grabbing hands, “I found it and tracked the club down, I needed to see if it was real.”

“Oh it's real alright,” he laughs as he starts to flip through the pages, stopping for a moment to smile at a simple sketch she had done of a cat that she said lived in the back alley, “hey wait I think I know this name, and these people.”

“What are you on about?” you ask with a scoff as you tug the book from his grubby fingers, “you can’t possibly know these people, this was written in like the fifties. Stop pulling my leg.”

“Oh I see,” he smacks your thigh playfully as he leans over your shoulder to glance at the first page that mentioned anything about the date, the ink clear enough to read 1953 in the swirling handwriting, “you think you know everything.”

“I do know everything, fuck you,” you glare playfully at him over your shoulder, “or I would know, if you’d let me go into that weirdo hall.”

“No hall, for now at least,” he sighs, the gears in his head turning as he thinks of the next thing to say, “but you know, time doesn’t exist the same way here, the woman who wrote this probably didn’t know that at the time, so I’m not surprised you don’t either.”

“What do you mean time doesn’t exist?” you look at him as if he’s grown a second head, but do you really have the nerve to question him like that? Considering that entire concept of the club you are very aware of its existence now, a time situation shouldn’t be the most shocking should it?

“Well, it's hard to explai-“

“Then don’t explain it,” you almost jump fully out of his lap at the deep voice that rattles above you, and both him and you look up at the figure that looms over you now.

The man is tall, his black hoodie looking weird in contrast to the clothes of the other club goers, and with a squinting observation and a familiar and annoyed sigh from the man seated behind you, you realize you’re being stared down by the mysterious entity that is the DJ, his hands shoved deep into his hoodie pocket in annoyance.

“Huh?” Ten lets out more in the form of a noise than a word, as his arms wind tightly around your form.

“I said don’t explain shit,” the man begins to tap his foot in irritation as he speaks, and you wonder if he’s aware that he’s in rhythm with the song that surrounds you, “you need to chill out with the loose tongue, its bad enough we have the big mouths outside.”

“I wasn’t gonna go that far,” Ten sounds reminiscent of a scolded toddler, and considering the man is hindering you from getting information that you wanted so badly, you can feel yourself mirroring the pout he wears, “I know what I’m doing alright man? Why are you over here anyways, shouldn’t you be at your little booth minding your business.”

“No one minds their business over at that booth, and you should know that better than anyone pervert,” the words are sharp, but the curl to his lips and the underlying playfulness to his tone tells you the likeliness of them being friends is high, “anyways, I know we don’t follow any regulations or anything here, but I’m still gonna take a fuckin’ break or two.”

“Well breaks over,” Ten reaches out a hand to playfully swat the man away, “I didn’t wait this long for you to just interrupt my bonding time with my person alright?”

“Alright, alright,” he finally starts to shuffle away, throwing one last comment about Ten being bitter his person showed up first over his shoulder with a grin.

“What a loser,” Ten starts, looking at you playfully and rolling his eyes, “too bad he’s like my best friend or whatever.”

“You seem to have a lot of fun around here don’t you?” you take a shot at voicing your observations, your heart fluttering in a completely new way at the warm smile he shoots you.

“Just wait a see, my love. Just wait and see.”

[outercrasis]

Sessions

Pairing: College!Din Djarin x F!Reader

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: None (let me know if I missed something!)

Summary: Everyone is talking about the mysterious new guy on campus

A/N: I had a ton of fun writing this extremely self-indulgent AU and I have plans to keep writing more about these two. It won’t be an actual chaptered fic, but at some point I’ll throw together a masterlist with a chronological order to things.

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Introductions

The semester had only started four weeks ago and he was already a legend around campus. Almost everywhere someone could be found whispering about him. You'd even heard faculty speculating, wondering about the rumors they overheard their students sharing.

You first heard of him in your literature seminar, some of your fellow classmates discussing a recent rumor about the now fabled man. Something about a motorcycle and a child caught your ear, prompting you to interrupt and the girls in front of you who they were talking about. 

The looks you received from the pair were incredulous at best. “You mean you haven’t heard about him?”

“Heard about who?” you asked, genuinely confused. It had only been the first week of class at the time and you were too caught up with your own busy start to check in on the rumor mill.

“Mando, obviously. He’s all anyone is talking about.” From there the girls had happily filled you in on all the latest sightings and rumors. 

Mando, as they called him, was shrouded in mystery. He'd popped up on Corellia University's campus when the semester began and no one knew a thing about him. He hadn't gone to Corellia before, internet searches turned up nothing, and even the skull-like symbol on the back of his leather jacket wasn't familiar to anyone. Any information on him was conjecture at best and there was plenty to go around. Once the rest of the class caught onto what you three were discussing, theories began to fly.

People discussed how he’d been spotted downtown, beating on some guys in a back alley. He’d also been seen uptown the same night though, strolling through Basalt Park. One girl was nearly certain that she’d gone to elementary school with Mando, but he’d mysteriously disappeared one day without explanation. Someone else was confident he was just a cop trying some weird shtick to go undercover. Then one person insisted he had a kid with him sometimes while another was trying to explain that he was actually a murderer. The rumors only became more ludicrous from there.

By the end of the discussion you only ascertained two things for certain. He went by the name Mando and he wore some kind of special helmet. Information you could have gotten by watching him pick up a drink at the Java Hut. Not nearly enough to warrant this level of fervor in your opinion.

From there, hearing about Mando was inescapable. You got home that night only to have your roommate and best friend, Layla, launch into theories about him. Within the week someone set up a social media page to try and track his location around campus via DMs fellow students sent in. That had struck you as invasive and unsettling, but the messages about him kept flooding in.

By pure chance, you had yet to actually see him for yourself. There weren't even any creep shots for you to look at. People had been trying to take photos of him, but he was like a ghost. In the time it took them to pull up their cameras he'd disappear. 

There wasn't even more concrete information about him beyond what you'd learned that first day. Just more and more speculation, a good amount of it made up purely for the shock factor. Another week slipped by, the semester picking up, and Mando news became standard in your day. There was always something new going around about him and as much as you tried to avoid it and focus on your studies, you couldn’t help but wonder about him yourself.

Who was this guy? Was this all some stunt or ‘social experiment’ that would be revealed by a sociology student at the end of the semester? Or was he a legitimate peculiarity, doomed to stick out like a sore thumb? You weren’t sure if you should hate him for making a big deal out of himself or pity him for all the unwarranted attention. Either way, you were sure that whenever you met this enigmatic Mando, you’d know.

×××××

You grumble looking at the submission form. The name and student ID information is blank again. You told Todd last week those fields needed to be made mandatory. How else were you supposed to know who to email when you end up with a no-show for the hour?

Looking further down you're pleased to note that they're at least a grad student. Despite the unfinished form, graduates almost never skip sessions like these. You're thrilled to have the opportunity to discuss something other than freshman composition for once. It's fun helping the wide-eyed freshies, but you can only go over basic comma rules so many times before you start to lose it a little.

There's a knock at the study room door and you look up only to be rendered speechless. It's him. Mando. With a kid on his hip. So Alissandra hadn’t been lying when she told you about the toddler she saw with him. Interesting. Continuing to take him in, you can’t help but focus on the obvious - the only thing you knew about him other than his supposed name, the helmet. 

It’s unlike anything you've seen before. You're fairly certain it's a motorcycle helmet, but it's been modified. Rather than the typical rounded shape, his is all sharp angles and flat at the front. It’s colored a sleek, shining chrome that gleams under the washed out fluorescent lighting. Most arresting is the way he's changed the face of the helmet. The cheeks dip inward at a sharp angle, creating deep, curved contours. His visor is a T of black glass in the center, entirely impossible to see through. It's intimidating and… kinda hot?

The little boy he's holding starts to wiggle in his grasp, physically demanding to be set down in the study room. Once his feet touch the floor, he immediately runs over and climbs into the chair next to you. He's a welcome distraction from his father’s? brother's? guardian's? commanding presence in the room.

The boy can't be older than three, smiling up at you with a wide toothy grin. His hair is covered by a green beanie with large floppy ears sewn onto it and he's wearing a little brown jacket with a sherpa collar. Maybe a bit too heavy for the early autumnal weather, but if the rumor that the kid rides on a motorcycle with Mando is true, it’s perfect. His eyes are large and brown, shining up at you with a slightly mischievous glint.

"Hello, what's your name?" you ask, smiling back at the child.

"Grogu," comes the reply, not from the kid, but from Mando.

You arch an eyebrow at him. He can't be serious with that name. "Grogu?" you ask.

He shrugs, placing his bag on the table. "I came home one day and he told his babysitter that was his name now. He won't respond to anything else. So, Grogu."

You look back to the bouncing toddler. He's still grinning, nodding along with what's been said about his name. They must not be lying then. Either that, or it was some elaborate prank between them and you would never be in on the joke. 

"Well okay, Grogu it is." 

You extend your hand out to Mando, offering your name alongside it. He offers a leather clad hand in return, giving you a firm handshake. You're pleased when he only gives your hand a gentle squeeze, not crushing it like so many other students have done. His gloves are unique as well, black with orange fingers, the leather well worn in. It's warm to the touch, his body heat radiating through the thick fabric. 

"Mando," he says, officially introducing himself as he takes the seat on your other side, across from Grogu.

"Mando," you repeat, cementing it as a truth from the rumor mill. "Got any other names?" You hope that comes across as casual and not intrusive. He hasn't even gone to remove his helmet, telling you he isn't a man who cares much for people prying into his business.

"No. Why?" Mando cocks his head slightly as he asks, the helmet adding an exaggerated look to the movement. He reaches into his bag, pulls out some crayons and a pad of paper, pushing them over to Grogu.

You shrug, trying not to think about how you heard his name might be David from someone in your composition course. "Just thought I'd ask. One hears many things around campus and it's hard to tell what's true or not."

"What do you mean?"

That question makes you pause. Surely he knows. Part of you is still convinced he’s doing this act on purpose, trying to gain notoriety for some reason. The way he asked though, something about it tells you that the poor man is clueless about the buzz he's caused.

"Mando, you're like the talk of the town right now. We only just met but I've heard plenty about you," you explain. It's hard to tell with the helmet on, but you're fairly sure he's shocked underneath. Grogu ignores you both, excitedly scribbling away on his paper.

"I'm fairly sure most of it's just rumor and speculation, but still. You're like a thing around campus," you add.

He's quiet for a moment, his laptop only half out of his bag. "Oh," he finally says. "I didn't know."

Grogu gives a happy shriek not a second later, breaking the awkward tension that had begun to creep into the room. He's beaming, holding up his crayola masterpiece. On the paper there is what appears to be a hastily drawn frog using every color in the box.

Mando returns to himself, pulling his laptop the rest of the way and continues to get set up. "Great job, kid. It looks good."

Most people would have said that dismissively, a platitude to get their child to stop bothering them. When Mando says it though, the authenticity is palpable. He said six words and you can hear the pride lacing them all together. It’s sweet, the obvious affection this clearly private man has for the toddler. 

You can’t help but wonder what his connection to Grogu actually is. The way he spoke just then, if you had to put your money on it, you’d say father. The kicker then though is if he’s biological or not. And if not, then how else does a grad student get strapped with a three year old? Thinking about all the potential scenarios is enough to make your head hurt.

You’re also left wondering where all the more violent rumors about him are coming from. His tenderness is so readily on display that it’s hard to imagine the man before you choking someone because they cut him in line at the local froyo shop. He’s mysterious and gives off a vaguely dangerous vibe, sure, but less than five minutes around him and the kid and it’s obvious he’s no threat to you. He’s just a guy trying to get his assignments done for class, same as everyone else.

Your stomach still catches in your throat as Mando starts unexpectedly tugging off his gloves. From what you’d heard, he never takes anything off: not his jacket, not his gloves, and certainly not his helmet. All anyone knows of his true appearance on campus is that he’s obviously male with rumors flying around about everything else including simple attributes, like the color of his skin. Now, here he is, casually revealing this groundbreaking information to you.

His hands move fluidly, pulling off each glove in just a few easy tugs. His skin matches the heat you felt from them just minutes ago, a warm golden tan, with a few faded lines of scars worn in. Watching him type, pulling his paper up for you to discuss, you feel a deep and sudden ache to have his hands touch you again. A simple handshake is no longer enough. Every stroke of the keys is measured, deliberate, and leaves you wondering how he would use those fingers on you.

“This is what I have so far.”

His voice snaps you back to reality, a quick wave of shame washing over you. Where did all of that come from? It was just a man’s hands for heaven’s sake, certainly not something you should be horny about at two in the afternoon. Not to mention that he came in here looking for your help, not wanting you to start fantasizing about his hands expertly working you over.

You clear your throat and tear your eyes away from the offending appendages. “Great, let me just read the introduction here so I can get an idea for what you’re writing about.”

You settle into working with him easily. His paper is already well-written, just needing tweaks here and there to bring it to the next level. It’s nice working with him. He’s attentive, clearly listening to everything you have to say and taking it into account. He doesn’t even try to challenge you as some of the more macho male students are wont to do. By the end of the session, you can’t help but wish all of your time as a tutor was that easy.

“Thank you,” he says sincerely, tucking his laptop away. “You really helped.”

You smile at him, thrilled with his genuine complement. “Of course, that’s what I’m here for.”

He finishes packing up his and Grogu’s things, with you silently lamenting as his gloves slide back on. It still feels like a ridiculous thought, but he really does have beautiful hands. There’s a small tap on your arm and you look to your left to see Grogu patiently waiting. He’s offering something to you, paper outstretched in his little hands.

“Thank you,” you say, taking the sheet from him. You look at it to see a frog carefully drawn on the page. It’s not the same as the first one he showed you and Mando, this one more deliberate and thoughtful. The colors are still just as varied, but it’s obvious he took more time to think about where he was using each one. You can’t help but smile at his small masterpiece.

“It looks great, buddy. I’ll keep it forever,” you tell him. Grogu beams at your praise, excitedly looking over to Mando. 

Mando nods at the kid. “Yeah kid, I heard her too.” He turns his head towards you. “Thank you again. I’d take good care of that drawing. He’ll never forgive you if he finds out you got rid of it.”

“Does that mean I’ll be seeing you again?” Your own boldness takes you by surprise. You have no idea where that came from, how those words spilled without a second thought. Part of you is already cringing at Mando’s potential reaction.

He surprises you once again though, holding a hand out for Grogu to take. Shouldering his backpack, you hear an amused huff of air from under the helmet. “Yeah, mesh’la, I’ll see you around.”

There isn’t a chance to reply as Mando turns, escorting his tiny charge out of the room with him. You’re a little dumbstruck, now equally surprised with him as you had been with yourself. 

And what was that name he just called you? Mesh’la? You don’t even know what language that could have been, much less the meaning. Something about his tone when he said it tells you it’s a good thing though, that he’s not secretly calling you rude names in some unknown language. You can’t help but wonder if you’ll ever get to find out.

.

.

.

taglist: @honestly-shite

[myafterlifeisbetterthenyours]

Dominante Imp S/O x Millie & Moxxie.

Meeting the boss.

(This is a continuation of my previous dominant imp x M&M.)

In the five or so months you'd been together youd gotten a very mixed idea of who there boss was. Millie painted him as a lovable goof who would push boundaries on the regular.

Moxxie on the other hand, spoke as though he was a pervert Stalker who had it out for him.

Of course you challenged both of them, asked where he'd been for the last five months of he were a stalker and why Moxxie hated him so much if he were a harmless goofball.

Moxxie tells you Blitzø had been unusually busy as of late, with both work and Stolas.

Which was lucky, because Moxxie wasn't sure how you'd react if you found a strange Imp in the apartment.

So instead they decide it would be better if you met him properly, instead of finding him hiding in your fridge.

So the next day they bring you along to the I.M.P offices. Both Millie and Moxxie had mixed feelings about this meeting.

They weren't sure how Blitzø would react, and then they weren't sure how you'd react to his reaction.

Making it to the office, the two gave you a series of warnings about how to approach the subject.

You dismissed there concerns, I mean you could easily take on six sinners at once without breaking a sweat. If Blitzø wanted to dance, youd dance.

So entering the office, you were met with the young hellhound'et that you instantly realised was the source of so much of Mixxie stress.

You swallowed a scowl before going up to greet her. 'You must be Loona. I've heard... a lot about you.'

Loona barely gave you a glance before going back to her phone. Millie came up besides you and asked if Blitzø was in yet.

Loona just gave a lazy nod towards a door to her right.

Millie thanked the hellhound before giving you a kiss and going to find him.

That seemed to get Loona's attention, looking at you she raised an eyebrow.

'Wondering what that was?' You asked nonchalantly. Loona glanced over the Moxxie and smirked. 'Oh yeah.'

Turning to her you smiled back, 'Well im not one to kiss and tell, but basically, for the past five or so months I've been the third partner in our little party.'

'No. Fucking. Way.' She said incredulously before bursting into laughter. 'So Moxxie really is a cuck.'

You instantly soured at her words before slaming your hands on her desk. 'Lets get something clear, young lady. Me, Moxxie and Millie are a couple, eh, I mean triad. We are in a relationship, alright.'

Reaching into your coat you pulled out a long yellow envelope. 'Simply put, I'm going to be around frequently as of starting immediately. And from what I've heard you relish in making the lifes of others as hard as possible.' You waited a moment for Loonas reaching. The hellhound just kind of nodding her head.

'So in order to keep our relationship civil, I'm going to bribe you.' Loona perked up at that. 'Bribe me with what?' She asked, eyebrow raised.

'This' you told her, handing over the envelope.

Taking the envelope, she pulled out two pieces of paper. Her eyes bulged 'Holy shit are these-'

'F#ck you dad, tickets? Yes.' You cut in, Snatching them out of her hands. Twirling them around your fingers you told her 'Not just tickets, VIP tickets.' You held the tickest up, showing the Gold film over them.

The feminine hellhounds eyes growing to animated proportions.

'I was gonna take the pair out, but couldn't find an extra ticket. So there all yours. IF. You play nice. Do we have a deal?'

Loona thought for a long minute before reply. 'Fine. I'll try to play nice.'

'You do more then try.' You told her as you handed her the tickets.

Just as you let them go, the door to your left burst open.

'Alright where is this guy' the imp that you could only assume was Blitzø.

You stepped forward, Blitzø's attention falling on you. 'Okay, so Millie here says she wants to introduce me to someone important and I'm guessing that's you.'

Sticking your hand out you told him 'Yes I believe so. You must be Blitzø, ive heard... Interesting things about you.'

Blitzø took your hand, giving it a hearty shake. 'Well im a pretty interesting guy.'

You chuckled at that, before Millie came up behind you and wrapped her arms around your chest.

Going ridged you were about to turn around and ask what Millie was doing, when you felt someone grab your hand.

Looking to your right you found Moxxie holding your hand, an innocent little smile across his face.

You were about to ask him what he's doing when it strikes you. Looking over to Millie, you find her wearing a devious little smile. Looking back Moxxie you find him wearing a similar, if not slightly more anxious smile.

'Oh you little bastards, didn't want to make it too easy for me aye?' Millie whispered back in that sexy southern drawl, 'Nope.'

Chuckling you tell them 'You are gonna pay for this tonight.'

Looking back to Blitzø, I find a very confused Imp staring at me. 'Whats going on?' He asked, obviously suspicious.

'W-well, you see. For the last five months or so Me, Millie and Moxxie have kinda... sorta... been in a relationship.'

You leaned back a little, waiting for his reaction. It takes a minute before he screams 'What!'

You pull back, putting yourself between Blitzø and the pair.

Shrugged of the pairs touch, you repeated yourself. 'Me and your two employees are in a relationship.'

Blitzø balled his fists before slaming them the table. 'For fucks sake!' He screamed. 'Three years and this fucker lives out my fantasy.'

You look at the Imp unsure how to respond, but before you could you heard Moxxie speak up. 'Fantasy?' He asked behind you.

Blitzø chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. 'Well I mean, surely it's not a secret I've kinda had a thing for you guys for a while.'

'Eww' Loona muttered, looking up from her phone.

Turning around you were quickly pulled forward, Blitzø wrapping his arm around your neck.

'So tell me, Uuh, what was your name again?' He asked. '(Y/N)' you replied.

'Aah, yes of course. So (Y/N), tell me what's it like? ' you raised an eyebrow, unsure what he meant. 'What's what like?'

'You know, the two of them... in bed?' He wagged his eyebrows at the end. You instantly sobered up.

Pulling your arm off your shoulder you stepped away from him. 'Sorry buddy, but that's between me and the two of them.'

Blitzø blew it off, wrapping his arm around your shoulder again. 'Come on, just give me a few details. Tell me, Is Moxxie a total bottom or can he dom.'

At this point you were done with his antics and practically threw his arm off of you.

'Listen, I get it, Moxxie and Millie have both told me you don't really do "Boundries" but our relationship is just that, Ours. You wanna hang out at work or go out for drinks, no problem.'

You turned serious 'But in our home, unless your invited. I don't wanna see you there.'

Blitzø wore a smirk , a smirk Id seen a hundred times over. The cocky little shit was gonna test me.

'Really?' He asked, smirk growing. I chuckled back, 'Yeah, really.'

Turing to him you told him 'I get it, your a killer, assassin for hire i get really. You kill people for a living.' You slipped a hand into your pocket, 'But do you know what I do?'

Blitzø just shook his head. 'I'm a bouncer, ya know what that means.' You ask him.

'You bounce things?' He asked dripping with sarcasm. You gave a dry chuckle back before gripping the back of his neck.

'My job is to put smartasses like you in there place. There place being on the curb, missing a few teeth.'

Blitzø's smirk grew a little larger, a little anger in his eyes. And before you knew it, he swung at you. His left arm swung in a sloppy haymaker.

Of course you were to quick, and easily dodged it, only to return with a proper haymaker. Although your haymaker came with a shiny set of brass knuckles, courtesy of your right pocket.

Blitzø went down, with one punch, like a sack of rocks.

You stepped back, taking a look at the now unconscious Imp. You could see a large bruise beginning to form on the left side of his face.

Moxxie and Millie came up besides you, looking down at the Imp. 'Bout time someone knocked some sense into him.' Moxxie grumbled.

'Mox he's our boss!' Millie scolded her husband. 'No. He's right.' You cut in, 'play stupid games, win stupid prizes and your boss chose to play a very stupid game.'

It took about an hour before he woke up, still on the floor he released a long groan before sitting up.

You walked up to him, coffee in hand before squatting down and checking his cheek.

'Hey there champ, good nap?' You ask, feeling particularly smug.

Blitzø rubbed his face, groaning out 'You get the make and model on the that Truck that hit me.'

You chuckled, 'No I did not. But I'm sure it would be happy to come right on back, unless that is, you've learnt your lesson?'

Blitzø looked up at you, the implications of your words sinking in. His eyes shifted across the room, then onto you.

'Yeah' he said, nodding his head 'lesson learnt.' Handing him the coffee you helped him to his feet.

'Good boy.' You told him before calling Millie and Moxxie over.

Steering the two towards the door you turn to Blitzø and ask, 'Its alright if they take the day off, aye Boss?'

Blitzø just gave a weak little thumbs up before turning and heading for his office.

Turning back to the pair, you leaned into Moxxie's ear and whispered 'Now who do I need to punish for that little scheme back there.'

[smol-and-grumpy]

To Be Free - CH01

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Escaping and hiding away, that’s what she wants to do. Her parent’s remote cabin in the mountain sounds like the best place for it. There, she meets someone from her past — a green-eyed mountain man.

Chapter Warnings: A little back story, cheating (not Dean), language, threats being made, car accident

WC: 2481

Beta: @winchest09​ <3

A/N: So, this is the beginning of the Mountain Man!Dean AU. I hope you’ll like it!

Read ahead on Patreon!

Series Masterlist ~ SPN Masterlist

The phone buzzes on the seat next to her. Again. 

It hasn’t stopped ringing since Y/N had gotten into the car and drove away. She’s so close to just throwing it out of the window but then again, the rational side of her brain tells her that she would endanger the automobiles around her on the highway, and she doesn’t really want to cause any damage, or accidents, if it can be avoided. 

“You’re a goody-goody.” Mick always used to say, “It’ll get you in trouble if you don’t toughen up.” 

Perhaps Mick was right. She probably was not made to work in that firm where she has to help fucking criminals. But then again, he made it seem so plausible and she can’t believe that she fell for it all. Y/N had fallen for the prestige, for the fame, and most of all, she had fallen for Mick, and that was the worst fucking mistake. 

The events of that night flash before her eyes once more. 

It’s 9 PM. Mick usually doesn’t have a reason to work so late unless he has a meeting with the mob family that they have under their wings. She never liked to go to their meetings, always found an excuse to opt out. The way the men always stare at her like she was a piece of meat rather than a woman with a brain, always sent a chill down her spine. 

When she stepped out of the elevator, the floor was dark. There’s only minimal light coming from the reception area that’s vacated at this time of the night. Y/N never liked to be here after hours but it’s the only place she thought she could find Mick. He didn’t pick up his phone when she called him which was highly unusual. Somehow, she was a little afraid of what she would find. It could be him just laughing and joking with the mobsters, but it could also have been him bruised and beaten beyond recognition because the Family wasn’t happy with his work, or it could be worse. He could be dead. Today was his birthday too and she even ordered catering for the both of them to enjoy at home. She guessed that she would have to pop the dishes into the microwave because by the time she decided to check here, it was already starting to turn cold.

Walking further along the hallway, she noticed that the lights in Mick’s office are still on and a sense of relief washed over her, while the sense of dread built up in the pit of her stomach at the same time. 

“Oh god, Mick.” 

There was a faint moan that carried through the hallway of the offices. It made her blood freeze, but it forced her to walk faster.

“Mmh,” she heard Mick humming. “Always so fucking tight for me, Eve. Such a good pussy.” 

“Better than Y/N, I’d hope.” 

Mick chuckled, “I’d rather you not talk about her while I fuck you. You know you’re my best girl, baby.”

The dread in Y/N’s stomach intensified and something began to churn inside of her. She had to clutch it so as not to just hurl out the whole contents into the next pot plant she could find. 

Eve was her friend. Her best friend since she moved into the city two years ago. She was even the one who helped Eve to get a job at her boyfriend’s firm. 

Well, not her boyfriend anymore, she guessed. 

She reached the door, fingers clutched around the frame for purchase as she took in the image before her. Eve was bent over the table, Mick half undressed, fucking into her from behind. 

He threw his head back as he closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he turned his head and their eyes met. 

For a brief second, she thought she saw a smirk twisting at his lips when he noticed her. He kept on pounding into Eve, though, his pace never faltered. 

Y/N retreated, tears pooled in her eyes and she moved on autopilot. Before she knew it, she found herself in her office, packing the things that she needed into her laptop bag. 

‘Stupid! So fucking stupid!’ she thought. She should have seen it. Why hadn’t she seen it? The red flags were always there. Mick always gave her assignments that would see her traveling all over the country for a long stretch of time. She would find receipts of hotels laying around in the apartment, or when she did laundry, but he always had a good reason. They hadn’t been intimate for a long time, too. Mick was always too tired and if he wasn’t then she would be. And if that happened, he would get out of bed and said that he needed a drink and was out of the apartment before she could even say anything. She was so engrossed in her work and too oblivious to what was going on, that she ignored all the warning signs. 

She was crying now, the tears not stopping. But it’s not over Mick. She would never cry over a man who had treated her like this. She cried for herself, for being dumb enough to let someone play her. 

Bending down to pack the remainder of her things, she opened her last drawer, revealing a little safe that was neatly tucked inside. Without hesitation, she punched in the combination and it sprang open. It contained a single USB stick. 

Picking it up, she clutched it in the palm of her hand. She had forgotten about the small device and now she knew why Mick kept her around. She was the only person who had a copy of the shady business his clients are doing, because she was involved as much as Mick. He was never going to give her up because if the information got leaked, he'd be taking the fall. 

There were footsteps along the hallway, the thumping sounds getting louder as someone rushed to her office and she quickly let the stick slip into her jean pocket. 

“What are you doing?” he asked too casually but with a bitter undertone, acting like he hadn’t just fucked her best friend. 

“What does it look like?” she snarled, patience wearing thin. “I quit. And don’t even come by my apartment anymore.”

He walked in further; his hair was ruffled and the buttons on his shirt were hastily done up, the material lopsided as he had fastened them wrong. She was so disgusted by his appearance.

Mick rubbed his hand over his chin, carefully thinking about his next words. “I need the USB stick before you leave.” 

She snorted. That’s typical. All he could think about is his fucking business. “I don’t have it.”

“Liar!”

“Oh, look who’s talking.” Maybe, just maybe, she shouldn’t anger him but screw that.

“Y/N.” Mick rounded up around her desk and came to stand right before her. The scent of sex hit her nose in waves. It made her nauseous. “You’re going to get into so much trouble if they know that you have it and believe me, if you walk out of here, they will find out because I will tell them.”

“I’m not scared of those men.”

Mick laughed. Fucking laughed. 

“They’ll come for you, Y/N. Those men are not to be fucked with.” He was still chuckling when he said, “They will find you and they will kill you.”

She cocked her eyebrow, and maybe she should have been scared of Mick and his threats but she’s still got the upper hand. If she got to expose him first, she has bargaining leverage. Maybe she’d get to be in a witness protection program. By the time it hits the fan, she will hopefully be long gone. 

“I don’t have it,” she said again as she bumped her shoulder against his on her way out, shoving him to the side. 

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you!” Mick called after her, his voice echoing in the almost empty hallway. 

With her head held high, she descended the stairs, too impatient and not to say scared to wait for the elevator.

 The phone buzzed again after having only stopped for a short time. It actually hasn’t stopped ringing since she drove back to her apartment to pack her duffel with enough clothes that should last her for a couple of days. She wanted to get out of here, clear her head, think about what to do next. 

It’s after she stopped for gas that she remembered the remote cabin that belonged to her parents. They hadn’t been up there for a while as the health of her father was deteriorating but she knew where they kept the spare key, and it’s the only place she knew nobody would come looking for her because she hadn’t been with Mick long enough to let him in on the existence of the cabin, nor on the memories the place held.

Buying enough food that would last her a couple of days, she drove towards the foot of the mountain. 

It was February and the roads were icy as it had snowed just last night. She hoped that her car would have enough power to get her up there, as she didn’t have snow chains with her. Not that she knew how to put them on in the first place. If worse comes to worst, she’d have to abandon her car and hike up the last bit, which was totally fine with her too. Anything to get away from civilization.

As she made her way up the snowy road and rounded up the twelfth bend in the street (There were fourteen - she had counted them from the drive up there every winter), her phone buzzed again. 

She glanced over to the passenger seat to catch the caller ID. It could be her mother for all she knew and that one, she would pick up. Y/N would maybe tell her that she was on the way to the cabin so that they wouldn’t be too worried if they can’t get a hold of her, because the reception could be pretty spotty up there.

But no, it’s fucking Mick again. She rolled her eyes upon seeing the name flash on the screen before turning her gaze back to the snow-covered street in front of her, but it was already too late. Out of her periphery, she caught it. The deer that ran out of the woods, its eyes wide when it saw the headlights of her SUV. Her foot hit the break immediately, but it was too late. The car swerved on the icy ground and she hoped she didn’t hit the animal before her vision goes black.

  Dean was sitting in his recliner in the cabin while he enjoyed his glass of bourbon. It’s his downtime, one of his favorite pastimes, next to spending his days out with Stevie, his Bernese mountain dog.

He had been coming to this cabin since his early childhood, having only missed one Winter out of the many. There were times where he would only spend a week up here but also there were times where he would be there for the whole winter. It’s his favorite place, always has been. 

The cabin is not as big as the ones that surrounded it, but it’s enough. It has only one bedroom, yet it was cozy. He remembered back to when he was younger, when he and his younger brother would sleep on the fold-out couch while his parents took the bedroom. Sometimes if Sam was upset with him, Dean would spend the night on the rug in front of the fireplace instead, and it was the best thing. He almost felt bad for wanting to get into a fight with Sam more often so that his sibling wouldn’t look at him funny when he wanted to spend the night on the floor instead of on the worn-out couch.

Once his parents stopped their annual visit up there, and they wanted to sell the cabin, Dean had saved enough money to buy it from them. There were just too many memories tied to the little property, too many of them that he wasn’t willing to just forget. 

While he took a sip from his tumbler, Stevie lifted her head and twisted her ears. 

Dean noticed, and immediately reached down to pat the dog's head, “What's wrong, Stevie?” 

The dog ignored him to get up and walk over to the door, letting out a whine as her nails started to scratch at the wood. 

“Easy, girl,” he soothes the agitated dog. “You wanna go out for a walk again?” 

Stevie whined some more, her scratching becoming more frantic. 

“Right,” Dean sighed as he got out of his seat. He took his time to empty his tumbler before setting it down on the coffee table. “Let’s go then.” 

The snow had started to fall again as they got out of the cabin, and he ducked inside once more to grab his hat that’s hanging on the hook right behind the door. Stevie was not impressed that it was taking Dean so long to get ready and started to bark.

“Easy, Stevie,” he chuckled as her wet nose nuzzled against his palm. He reached down to scratch behind her ear, a motion that seemed to calm her down. “Good girl.” 

They made their way down the street. The old snow crunched underneath his boots. Fresh layers of the white powder would cover over it soon enough, erasing their prints when it settled. He thought about doing their usual nightly walk around the perimeter, wondering if maybe they’d see a deer or two. Stevie had a way with deer. They love to meet her and Dean’s always mesmerized by the unusual bond they had. Stevie was always good with other animals and people, the dog’s sense to protect everyone is highly admirable, and Dean really couldn’t wish for a better companion.

As they rounded up the second bend in the road, he saw the car. Its headlights were still on but the front was wrapped around a tree which was the only thing standing between the car and the abyss. It was not a strong pine and the wood was already creaking under the weight.

Stevie rushed forward and Dean followed suit. The tree was going to give in at any minute, he just knew and if he couldn’t save the car, maybe he would be able to save whoever was stuck in there.

Dean thankfully reached the vehicle in time, yanking the driver’s door open and the sight of the girl slumped over the steering wheel made his blood run colder than the icy road he was standing on. 

“Y/N?” 

CH02

Please share your thoughts with me, I’d love to hear your feedback.

​

[gale-gentlepenguin]

Gale Reviews: ML Season 4 Episode 3: Gang of Secret

(Spoilers below)

-So they just beat a villain, and Ladybug is acting SUS. Like she doesn't Want to leave yet. Hmm

-Chat noir YOU SLICK MOFO. (I dare not ruin it, because I am laughing at it)

-She is still not over her break up. So I guess Lukanette stans, get whatever remains of your juice while its there.

-Ladybug ... sweetie. Do you need a hug? Cause you look like you need a hug.

-Chat noir realizing his idea was NOT very smart after that.

-Ladybug ruining experiences for a LOT of couples today

-Chat noir trying to help, but Ladybug aint telling him

-They are going swimming now. Chat noir for once, is not thrilled about hanging out with Ladybug... thats a YIKES.

-She has goggles and a towel, so she did go swimming.

-The Kwami see her in pain, QUICK, TEAR DOWN THE PHOTOS.

-She said no tho, but clearly sad about it.

______________

-So Alya is giving the girl posse the rundown on Marinette. Claiming she is lovesick.

-Rose thought they were cute, and Juleka says nothing. Is it wrong that I want Juleka to have an opinion? Whether positive OR negative

-Juleka is like "Yea, he is sad." shows picture of sad Luka. Though to be fair, that is a decent pic of him.

- So Alya is LAST to know. Double ouch.

-Marinette was crying in the bathroom, baby girl no!

-MARINETTE OMG! HOW DOES SHE HAVE THAT?!

-Alya out here trying to be a good friend. By showing Marinette she has support. (She aint even mad that she was last to find out. She is more concerned about her friend)

-THEY HAVE A SECRET HANDSHAKE!

-They calling her now

-She didn't answer. She is too sad

-So she won't detransform and talk with tikki. Can I PLEASE give her a hug. She needs it.

-Yo... Marinette has zero concern for herself and only detransformed when she thought it was causing strain on Tikki.

-Mylene offering friendship bracelets. Never change dear.

-Okay so are they witches now?

-Alix is like 'Can I not be in a ritual, Id rather give her some juice'

_________________

-Marinette sad cause Ladybug can't have a boyfriend. Cause even if she dated Adrien, it would be the same as it was with Luka.... Tikki knows that aint true but can't say why. UGH! This is pain

-Did Tikki just confirm Kwami can't fall in love? NO! MY CHEESECAKE!

-OH S***! So now she gonna be Perma ladybug?!

-So the girls showed up as soon as ladybug left. This isn't good.

-And of course Marinette is TOO GOOD at making s***, so they curious about the new dollhouse

-OH S*** THAT WAS CLOSE!

-And things going to s*** in 10, 9, 8

-Oh no... this... this is not good. Marinette sweetie no. No please.

-Look can we take a second and APPRECIATE HOW HARD ALYA AND THE GIRLS ARE GOING FOR MARINETTE! Did the writers see all of the alya salt and say 'Yea f*** that noise'? Cause I feel like they did.

-Okay so I know Marinette just didn't want to expose her secret... but damn girl... THAT was harsh.

-Marinette literally going scorched earth for being Ladybug... Okay, this episode PHYSICALLY hurts me. SHE DOESNT MEAN IT GIRLS. PLEASE DONT HATE HER.

-Shadowmoth could you not. Like seriously?! COULD YOU F***ING NOT! MY BABY GIRL IS IN PAIN AND I WILL GO THROUGH MY SCREEN AND [Redacted]

-And then you'll have to f*** sideways.

-So first 5 way akumatization

-So can we talk about how the last 3 akuma were after the secrets of Marinette. well 2, but the other one was Adrien. But still. A Lot of Hawkmoth saying 'F*** this individual in particular'

-THEY JUST WANT HER TO STAY THEIR FRIEND! OMG I CANT EVEN BE MAD.

-I wish I could understand Juleka. Can someone please just translate with what she is saying. It was funny in truth, but I want to know

-OH Timebreaker and Horrificator are BACK. Yay, I missed them

-Just realized how AMAZING their Gang of akuma are. Like damn, thats like a super team of evil. Yea sure

___________________________

-Not to nitpick, but Marinette, you should have led with that box.

-TRIXX IS GONNA USE HIS POWERS OMG FINALLY! A PURE KWAMI POWER. We haven't seen that since Plagg.

-Damn that was a really boss illusion trixx. But question, how was that out of control? Like if anything, that was BETTER then when the user used it.

-Trixx makes a really good point. WHY DOES HE NEED A HOLDER AGAIN?!

-OH, HE WAS LYING. EVERYTHING LOOKS F***ING BANANAS.

-Trixx is now my second favorite Kwami.

-PLAGG! MY SON! HE IS IN THE EPISODE! I MISSED HIM. Also, surprisingly knows.

-Plagg cares about other Kwami.

-Adrien just chilling, watching tv. XD

-Timebreaker casually committing murder

-Hold it, Okay so why are so many people in school right now? Ivan is there, chloé and Sabrina? Oh my tomato son too. Can someone tell me wtf is up with this school schedule?

-Fragrance/Reflekta Power combo is amazing.

-Wow, this gang is MEGA DANGEROUS

-So yea Ladybug. Maybe... idk... TALK WITH CHAT NOIR ABOUT YOUR PROBLEMS!?

-So they really gotta plan this time.

-Ladybug smart to disarm Ladywifi.

-Ladybug trying to get lady wifi to fight the akuma. This is touching

-SHE DID IT! ALYA BROKE FREE! LIKE A MOTHERF***ING BOSS.

-No, shadow moth, you's a b***

-Loving this Alya- Ladybug friendship

-Chat noir looking boss by fighting 3 akuma at once while on the phone. Chat noir Leveled up.

-So Ladybug can now pull the miraculous out of anywhere because she has guardian status. Thats a cool trick. Makes it much easier.

-Thats a secret tho, Alya got trusted with a big secret.

-RENA ROUGE IN THE HOUSE!

_______

-And Chat noir is captured... but in his defense. He did have to fight 4 at once this time. So that took longer than usual. So no shame kitty. You did well.

-Lucky charm is an inner tube

-Clever illusion. POINTS! Using the goal of the akuma to distract. Alya gets gull points!

-WOW! REALLY CLEVER ILLUSION.

-Ladybug suave catch of rose tho.

-So that was probably the best Group akuma attack since Heroes day (and honestly it probably tops it)

________

-Marinette patches things up with her friends. That is a relief. She was able to somewhat explain her issues up to the point. Without spilling the details.

-Marinette has some really good friends.

-Alya knows that not everything has been told... Hold on DONT TELL ME.

-Oh wow, Marinette is breaking down.... My poor baby girl is hurting real bad.

-OH S*** SHE SAID IT! SHE TOLD HER! SHE TOLD ALYA!

____________________________________________________________

wow this episode... This one hurt. This one hurt a LOT. But also, it was really good.

Okay so, 10/10.

I haven't been this enthralled with an episode in a long time.

Are there one or two nitpicks? Absolutely.

Do I wish somethings were not mentioned? A little bit.

Am I glad Alya knows? Out of everyone, she is the second person I wanted Marinette to tell.

(The first one being chat noir, but lets face it, we kind of knew that won't be happening for a while.)

So can Alya salt stop now? Cause Alya CLEARLY showed how much of a motherf***ing boss she is.

But damn I didn't feel this emotional since Chat blanc.

I DONT EVEN CARE THAT THE AKUMA WERE REPEATS.

That was OBJECTIVELY, one of the best episodes in the entire series.

This made me rethink my favorite episode. THATS HOW GOOD IT WAS.

Season 4, You keep doing what you are doing. Your writing (minus some very minor nitpicks) has been pretty damn good.

[perpetualoverthinker]

Letters — part II: abroad

Summary: Rafe is struggling. With school. With Ward. His only solice is within the weekly letters he receives from y/n, envelopes littered in stamps from various European cities. As the holidays approach, spending winter break in Paris with y/n is a much more appealing offer than going back to Tanneyhill. Two weeks in the city of love shouldn't be a problem since y/n and Rafe agreed to be just friends...right?

Warnings: this chapter does get a lil spicy but nothing explicit

WC: 6k

A/N: aHa shit goes down in this one.

series masterlist

September 15

Dear Rafe,

I’m glad you decided to write. To be honest, I was afraid you wouldn’t, especially after the way I left.

I’ve been thinking about what you said in your letter after Midsummers. I didn’t mean it when I said you hadn’t changed. I was angry and hurt, so I said something I knew would hurt you too. But I know you’ve changed. I had a whole summer to see that.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel the same way about you. But maybe it’s better if we just stayed friends. I’m halfway across the world and I won’t be home for a year. If we started something now, think of how hard that would be—what it might do to us. You said it yourself, Rafe. A year away can make a hell of a difference. I can’t risk this us. I hope you understand.

Just promise you’ll keep writing.

Miss you,

y/n

• • •

September 23

Dear y/n,

I don’t want to lose this either, so just friends it is. And I promise to keep writing. I’ll be annoyingly consistent. You’re not getting rid of me that easily, y/l/n.

So how is London? Are the other people in the program nice? Are the lectures boring? Did you write the next great American novel yet?

School is in full swing here. It’s been a rough adjustment from sleeping in all summer to getting up for early morning swim practices. And for classes. Sarah’s officially here at UNC and my dad is ecstatic, as expected. He even threw her a going away party after you left. The most I got out of him when I told him I got into UNC was a “good.” At least I don’t have to go home until November.

I hope you’re having more fun there than I am here.

Miss you too,

Rafe

• • •

September 29,

Dear Rafe,

London is amazing! I definitely have not written the next great American novel, though. Everyone here is so talented and intelligent. Sometimes I wonder how I even got in.

I’m housed with some of the other writers here—we’ve become quite the group. We go to seminars in the morning and then explore the city afterwards. It’s so different from home. The weather can be dreary but there’s so much to do. In the beginning of the month, when we all first got here, we got all the touristy stuff out of the way. Big Ben, Buckingham Palace, all the museums. And, since the drinking age here is 18, I don’t have to carry around that shitty fake ID anymore!

The beaches are definitely better at home, though. We drove down to Brighton for the weekend and it was freezing. I guess it is the middle of September, but that’s beside the point. I miss our beach.

Tell Sarah I miss her and that I’ll call soon. And try not to think about Ward so much. I know he’s your dad and everything, but you deserve to think about yourself for once. It’s okay to be selfish sometimes. I know that these letters are sort of “our thing” now, but I’m still just a call away, you know that, right?

Yours,

y/n

• • •

Rafe leaned back in his chair and groaned, running his hands over his face and through his hair. He sat at the bulky wooden desk pushed into the corner of his dorm room and threw his pen on the stack of notes and textbooks in front of him, frustrated. He couldn’t concentrate, studying being the last thing on his mind.

He took his phone out of his pocket and opened Instagram, pulling up your profile (a habit he had developed ever since you left). Nearly three months had gone by, meaning you were in Berlin by now. He scrolled through your posts and saved stories, photos of you and your new friends flashing across his screen. He had sworn he’d looked through your profile thousands of times, just to see your face.

Rafe was having a hard time. He found that he spent his time either going to class and studying or going to swim meets and practices. He would have the occasional night out with friends, but his mind always wandered, never fully present. It was an added bonus that Ward was also breathing down his neck, asking about school and finding extra work for him to do. He dreaded having to go back home in a few days for Thanksgiving.

He felt like his only time to breathe was when he read your letters. He remembered when he got your first letter back. He had read it so many times, the folds in the paper were beginning to soften, worn down by his constant opening and closing. And then you had started signing off with “yours,” making the whole “just friends” thing even harder than it already was.

Rafe stood up from his desk and stretched his arms over his head, a yawn escaping his lips. He walked across the small room and nearly collapsed onto his bed, hoping to escape his crowded mind through sleep.

• • •

Rafe pulled into the large driveway at Tanneyhill. He had made sure to take the long way from Chapel Hill to the Outer Banks, wanting to extend his time on the road for as long as possible. Sarah sat in the passenger seat beside him, scrolling through her phone.

He parked his truck and they hopped out. He squinted up at the big white house as he lifted his sunglasses to rest atop his head. Grimacing, he lifted their bags out the back and headed towards the glass doors. Sarah rang the doorbell.

Rafe watched as his father excitedly walked to the doors, unlocking them quickly and swinging them open.

“Sarah!” His arms wrapped around her tightly and he gave her a kiss on the side of her head. “We’re so glad to have you home!” He released her from his arms as she made her way inside.

Ward looked at Rafe, who was patiently waiting behind. “Son,” he said with a nod, walking off after a short pat on his shoulder.

Rafe stepped forward into the house, lugging both his and his sister's bags. It was going to be a long week.

• • •

December 1

Dear y/n,

Thanksgiving was horrible. I honestly thought I was going crazy in that house. It was either Sarah this and Sarah that or development shit. Sarah at least tried to invite Wheezie and I into the conversation, but my father was oblivious as always.

But the backhanded comments were the worst. I’d tell him I did well in a meet or on a test and he’d say, “I’m sure you tried your best.” What the hell do I have to do for him to give me an actual compliment? Nothing I do will satisfy him, y/n. It’s like I’m only there to carry on his name.

Anyways, I’m sure you had a better holiday than me. How was your flight to Paris? I can picture it now: you’re sitting outside at some cafe wearing a beret, pen in hand, latte in the other.

I know it’s selfish (you did tell me to be selfish), but I wish you were home so I could see you.

Update me soon,

Rafe

• • •

December 8

Dear Rafe,

I’m sorry your Thanksgiving was so bad. At least Wheezie got to see you for a bit. I know it meant a lot to her. She adores you.

Paris is beautiful. You weren’t too far off on that cafe vision. There are so many here that I just go after class and write (sans beret). My French is still horrendous. That hasn’t changed since high school.

Look, I was thinking… You wrote that you wanted to see me. So what if you could? What if you came to Paris for winter break? Avoid a repeat of Thanksgiving and spend it with me. I won’t have any classes, so I’ll introduce you to my friends, show you around, stuff your face with amazing food.

It’s a lot to ask, I know, but think about it? I want to see you too.

Yours,

y/n

• • •

You were sitting on the couch in the living room, typing away on your computer. You had been chosen for a workshop with a well known poet throughout the city and you were trying to conjure up a good enough draft to show her. Your roommate, Tasha, was lying down beside you, scribbling in a notebook.

Your phone buzzed beside your leg, the noise making your focus shift from your computer. As you lifted it up, a smile creeped onto your face at the message that had popped up on your screen.

Rafe: Couldn’t wait to write a reply. I’m in.

“Is that the boy who keeps writing you all those love letters?” Tasha asked slyly, her British accent making your head turn.

“Wha-” you shook your head, stuttering, “T-they aren’t love letters.”

“What do you call them then?” She cocked her eyebrow.

“They’re just friendly letters,” you looked away, face beginning to flush, “sent between two friends…”

“Right…” Tasha nodded sarcastically, returning to her journal.

You looked back at your phone, trying to hide the giddiness rising in your chest as you typed out a response.

• • •

You stood aside the baggage claim, anxiously rocking back and forth on your heels. You raked your eyes through the busy crowd of travelers, trying to spot the boy you were waiting for.

Finally, he emerged from the crowd. He was carrying one bag in his hand and another on his shoulder. His hair was ungeled, just the way you liked it, and he wore a brown sherpa jacket atop a hoodie and black pants. His eyes met yours as you quickly held up the sign you were holding. ‘Monsieur Cameron’ was scribbled across the front.

He picked up his pace, mirroring the wide grin on your face. Once he was close enough, you ran forward and tossed your arms over him, Rafe having to drop his bags to the floor in order to catch you. His arms wrapped around your waist, slightly lifting you off the ground and squeezing tightly.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” you whispered into his neck.

“I can’t believe it either…” He placed you back down and you took one of his bags, heading towards the exit.

The cab ride back was filled with rapid conversation and laughter. You had missed how easy it was to be around Rafe, how his eyes never left you, always listening attentively.

You led him up the cramped staircase leading to your apartment and placed his bags down in front of the door. “I just wanna warn you,” you said, turning to face him, “They can be a lot sometimes…”

“It’s alright,” he chuckled, nodding assuringly.

You turned back around and unlocked the door. When you opened it, your roommates, who were gathered around the kitchen island, turned their heads.

In one fell swoop, they rushed toward you and Rafe, shouting ‘hellos’ and opening arms for hugs. They had all known about Rafe for some time, watching you smile to yourself as you got the mail or occasionally seeing you text each other. They were very excited to meet him, hence the warning you had given him outside the door.

“Rafe, it’s so good to meet you!” Tasha took Rafe’s face in her hands and kissed the air beside each of his cheeks, his eyes opening, shocked by the sudden movement. “Our little y/n has told us so much about you!”

“Rafe, this is Tasha.” You placed your hand on her back and then moved to gesture to your other friends. “This is Mei and Lily, my other roommates.” Rafe nodded hellos to them all as they gathered around him, hammering him with questions.

“Hey!” you interrupted. “Let me show him his room first, before you all tear into him,” you laughed, picking up his bag once again.

You led him down a hallway to the right, setting his bag down in the room at the very end of the hall.

“This is usually Philippe’s room but, since he’s from Paris, he’s with his family for the holidays. Hope it’s okay.”

“Yeah, it’s great, y/n.” He smiled softly at you.

Down the hallway, you heard a knock at the door and Tasha calling for you. Rafe followed as you went to the door, Tasha going back to join the rest of your roommates. Leaning against the doorframe was a tall brunette, dressed in a long grey coat and sunglasses pushing back his loose curls.

Rafe watched as he stood up and went over to you, placing his hand on your back and kissing your temple. The sight made his heart lurch.

“Um, this is Leo. He’s my uh-” you hesitated, not quite sure what to tell him. “We’ve been on a few dates…” you said sheepishly. Which was true. You had only been on three dates.

“Oh.” Your chest tightened as you watched Rafe’s face fall a little. “Nice to meet you, bro. I’m Rafe.” He put his hand out for Leo to shake. Although miniscule, you knew Rafe well enough to notice his jaw tense when Leo took his hand from the small of your back to shake his.

“What are you doing here?” you asked Leo.

“Thought we were going to my show?” he said through a thick French accent.

“Show?” Rafe asked, confused as to what was going on.

“Leo’s an artist. He’s got a show tonight.” You turned to face Leo. “I told you I couldn’t go since Rafe was coming in.”

“I thought you said you were coming?” he said in a low tone.

“No, I said I wouldn’t be able to.”

“y/n, I was expecting to have you there.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t just leave Rafe here.”

Leo humphed, but nodded begrudgingly, giving you a peck on the cheek and saying goodbye. You looked at him apologetically as he left.

“So y/l/n, what’s the plan for my first day in Paris?” Rafe asked, wrapping his arm around you. You were thankful to hear his voice light and playful again.

“In the mood for coffee?”

“Always,” he said, smiling down at you.

• • •

Days with Rafe were spent dragging him around the city, showing off what Paris had to offer. Some days, you were joined by Tasha, Mei, or Lily, others it was just the two of you. Still keeping to tradition, you would slide Rafe short letters under his door in the early morning, telling him what you had planned for the day. At nights, he would return the favor, often thanking you or writing about his favorite parts, a good joke always snuck in there somewhere.

You had taken him to tucked away lunch spots, your favorite places to just sit and write, and all the stereotypical tourist sites, savoring the time you had together. You dreaded the fact that he had to leave after just two weeks, not nearly enough time, but you were determined to make the best of it.

When you had gone to the Eiffel Tower, Rafe clung to your arm, queasiness threatening to take over his stomach. You had giggled at him, surprised that the tough boy you had grown up with was now holding onto you for dear life. Who would’ve thought Rafe Cameron was scared of heights?

Although you weren’t able to go to Leo’s opening night, you did end up going to his show a few days later, taking Rafe with you. He watched you and Leo with a clenched jaw, hands balling in the pockets of his coat. As Leo mingled with collectors and critics, you stood beside him, listening along. You had tried to peep out some words every once in a while, but Leo was too absorbed in his own little world to notice.

But Rafe did. He noticed everything. He saw through the polite smiles and handshakes. He knew that you had something to offer, Leo’s ego pushing you to the sidelines. He had given your hand a quick squeeze behind your back as the words you were trying to say died on your lips, ignored by the others. “You were saying something, y/n?” Rafe asked. You had given him a grateful smile.

After that night, Rafe had officially decided he didn’t like Leo (not that he would’ve told you that).

One day, you decided to take Rafe to the Louvre and invited Leo to come along. You always enjoyed listening to him talk about art and thought he might enjoy the day out, away from all the stress of his job. He had agreed to meet you and Rafe at a cafe nearby.

You had sat there for hours, long after you had agreed to meet him. Luckily, Rafe was good company, enjoying the espresso set in front of him as you talked. He always knew what to say to distract you, making you laugh uncontrollably. After a while, he got up to use the bathroom, leaving you alone in the wicker chair set up outside of the cafe.

You watched the people passing by in the midday sun, a phone held up to an ear or hands full with paper grocery bags. Your phone buzzed on the table, taking your attention away from the passerby. As you looked at the message from Leo, lips downturned, Rafe came back out.

“He’s not coming?” You shook your head.

“It’s fine,” you shrugged as you got up from your chair. “That just means I get you all to myself.” You walked over to him and slipped your arm around his, beginning your walk to the Louvre. Rafe smiled, the same thought running through his mind.

The two of you strolled through the museum halls, making your way up the large staircase where Winged Victory stood at the very top. You were in awe of the grandness of everything, gushing to Rafe about how beautiful it all was. He only grinned at you, happy to see you having fun.

You walked on into the Grand Galerie, the long hallway’s walls lined with paintings, their frames gilded in gold. The skylights that ran along the ceiling lit up the gallery as visitors paused to observe the art. As you stopped to do the same, craning your neck to look at each painting, Rafe couldn’t help but stare at you, your hair pulled up in a claw clip, wisps of it falling out and framing your face. He thought to himself that, out of all the pieces of art in this museum, he would much rather admire you.

Slowly carrying on through the galeries, Rafe took the time to glance over at you, his heart swelling at how a small crinkle would form between your brows, the rest of your features softening as you looked at a painting you particularly liked.

You had eventually found yourselves atop the Carrousel du Louvre, walking along the famous pyramid-shaped skylight.

“Thanks for today,” you said, bumping into Rafe lightly.

“Whaddya mean? I should be thanking you.”

“I know museums aren’t your favorite thing to do, but I thought it might’ve been a good opportunity for you and Leo to get to know each other. I want you to like him.”

“I like him just fine!” Rafe tried to defend himself.

You laughed and slapped him on the arm. “You’re a horrible liar!”

“What’s so wrong with just wanting to spend time with you?”

“I want you to know my friends! I like showing you off,” you teased. Rafe only shook his head, rolling his eyes, but the goofy grin on his face remained. “Come on, I want to show you something.”

You left the Louvre and walked along the Seine, soon turning a corner and leading him down another street. As you approached your destination, you could smell the freshly baked bread and pastries drifting out of the small bakery. Stopping in front of the shop window, all sorts of goodies on display, you pointed at a tray of muffins. “There they are,” you exclaimed.

“Muffins?”

“Not just any muffins…” Rafe raised his eyebrow. “Apple cinnamon muffins, like Rose used to make!”

“My favorite,” Rafe smiled, glancing down at you. “Thanks, y/l/n”

“Let’s go! There’s a muffin in there with your name on it,” you giggled, taking his hand and dragging him inside.

• • •

It was Christmas Eve and your roommates were up, the clanging of pots and pans echoing throughout the apartment. You walked out of your room, bed head and all, and stopped at the entrance to the kitchen, eyes squinting slightly at the morning sun.

“Ugh, it’s too early.”

“Hun, it’s eleven in the morning,” Tasha said, taking out the plates she intended to use that night.

You groaned, shuffling further into the room, until the blond haired boy caught your attention.

Rafe stood over a glass bowl, kitchen towel thrown over his shoulder, mixing something.

“I didn’t know you could cook,” you commented, hopping onto the counter.

“I’m a man of many talents.” He looked at you and chuckled, quickly returning to concentrating on what he was making. “Nice hair.”

Your hands shot up to your head, desperately smoothing down and detangling the messy nest. “What are you making?”

“A marinade.” He took some salt and whisked it in. “Now move and let the chef do his work.”

You laughed as you lifted yourself off the kitchen island, quickly dipping your pinky in the mixture to steal a taste, earning a quick swipe from Rafe’s towel.

You eventually got dressed, knowing that company would be arriving later in the day. The apartment had been flooded with delectable and savory smells, making your stomach grumble out of anticipation.

Walking out into the living room, you looked in awe at the makeshift dining room Tasha had managed to set up. A long table ran down the room, candles and ferns placed atop an pink table cloth. She had neatly set up a place setting in front of each chair. The Christmas tree was lit and decorated, sparkling in the corner.

“Wow, Tasha. This is amazing.”

“Thanks, dear,” she pecked you on the cheek.

Slowly, guests began pouring through the door and filling the living room. Leo had brought you flowers and sat with you at the table. Soon, Rafe brought out the food he had prepared before with your friends, the table oohing and ahhing at the sight of the feast.

Christmas crackers exploded across the table as food was passed around, everyone scraping large portions onto their plates. Laughter and chatter filled the air, paper crowns sat atop heads and cutlery scraping against plates. Lily had even brought out her record player, placing old Christmas records on the spintable. The staticy voice of Bing Crosby singing White Christmas rang out into the room.

“So, Rafe, what are you studying?” Leo looked across the table as he took a bite out of his salad.

“Uhm, business.”

“Ah, of course.”

Rafe’s eyes shot up at Leo. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, you know. Following in daddy’s footsteps, feeding the jaws of capitalism,” Leo responded in a blasé tone, taking another bite. “Not surprising.”

“Leo!” you chided, the air in the room growing awkward and silent. You had thought you saw the old, angry Rafe flash across his face, before he let out an easy laugh.

“Yes, I’ll be feeding the jaws of capitalism. With a monocle and top hat too!” he joked, everyone laughing around the table as Leo scowled silently. You let out the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding in, relief flooding your body. You could still see that Rafe was bothered, but he did well to hide it from the others, allowing the conversation to return back to normal.

The energy gradually dwindled as the night went on and dessert had been served. Either stuffed or drunk, one by one, your guests began to leave, yawning and giving hugs goodbye. Leo was the last to leave, staying after to help clear the dishes. Once finished, he shared a dirty glare with Rafe before heading out the door. You shook off the interaction, too tired to be angry at the two.

“Well, I’m off to bed,” you sighed, heading into the hallway to enter your bedroom.

“Hey, wait.” Rafe grabbed your elbow, stopping your movements. “I need to give you your gift.”

“Rafe,” you frowned. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“I know. But I wanted to,” he said as he dug his hand in his pocket.

“But I didn’t get you anything.”

“Being here with you is gift enough.” Your heart ached, the phrase alone could’ve made you cry. Rafe finally pulled out a small black box and handed it to you.

Carefully, you opened the box to find a small folded piece of paper. Lifting the paper, a dainty gold necklace rested below it. Hanging from it was a pendant in the shape of a shield, a small raised heart in the center and intricate detailing engraved around it. Opening the note, it read: From your knight in shining armor, defender of your heart.

“Rafe…” you whispered, still staring at the piece of jewelry.

“Shit,” he swore. “You hate it. It was too cheesy, right? I knew i-”

“No, no. Rafe, it’s beautiful. I love it.” You wrapped your arms around Rafe and held on tightly, trying to hide the fact that your eyes were beginning to well. He reciprocated, placing his arms around you. “Thank you,” you mumbled into his chest.

You pulled back and took the necklace out, dropping the box on the floor. Unclasping it, you placed it around your neck and tried to fasten it behind you, but you couldn’t get the clasp to catch.

“Need help?” You nodded, handing the necklace to him and turning around, your back to his chest.

He brought it in front of you as you gathered your hair and moved it aside. His knuckles brushed against the back of your neck as he carefully hooked the clasp. You could feel his breath blowing on your skin, giving you goosebumps. He let his hands hover for a second, then slowly rested them on your shoulders, your hands finding their way to his and lying them on top.

The two of you stood there in the dark hallway, listening to each other’s shallow breaths. You finally gathered the will to let go and face him again, thankful for the lack of light hiding your flushed face.

“Well, goodnight,” you whispered.

“Night.”

Rafe stood there as you turned around to face your bedroom door, slowly twisting the knob and slipping inside.

• • •

“Come on, y/n. People will be here any second!” Mei prodded your side as she fixed the straps on the silver dress Tasha insisted you wear. “You look hot,” she had argued as you had eyed the backless garment in the mirror.

Your friends had organized a New Year’s Eve party at the apartment, everyone eager to get drunk and dance around. You could already hear people entering the front door as you made your way into the kitchen.

Rafe was leaning against the sink with his head down, absorbed in his phone. The striped, short-sleeved button down he wore was loosely buttoned, allowing his chest to peek out.

“Hey champ,” you said as you jumped up onto the counter, Rafe looking up from his screen. “Who’s got your attention?” You nodded towards his phone.

“Oh, no one.” He quickly shoved his phone in his back pocket and stood up in front of you.

“Ready to party?” you joked.

Rafe gave you a cheesy grin. “Only with you.”

Before you knew it, the whole apartment was flooded with people, some you didn’t even know. People danced in the living room while others were speaking in small circles, the smell of alcohol and cigarettes mixing in the air. Leo had come late, receiving a quick eye roll, but you soon forgot about it as you were too buzzed to even care.

You were gathered around a table littered with beer cans, tequila, and other various alcohols, preparing for a game of flip cup. Rafe and Lily were teamed up across from you and Leo, each readying into a stance.

“Ready to get your ass beat?” Rafe asked teasingly, cocking his eyebrow across from you.

“Oh it’s on, Cameron.” You lowered your gaze, preparing to chug the cup of beer in front of you.

Mei began to count you off until Leo told her to wait as he straightened and checked his phone. The group that had crowded around you all grumbled, irritated by the abrupt stop. You looked at him, confused. “What is it?”

Leo ducked his head so he could speak into your ear. “It’s my agent. I’ve gotta go.”

Rafe looked at you as you frowned, already suspecting what Leo had told you. He had seen that disappointed frown too many times during the past two weeks to not know what was happening.

Leo apologized to everyone around them and started to walk off towards the door, you following close behind. Rafe’s eyes never left you, observing as you grabbed Leo’s arm, as you argued for him to stay, and as he shook you off and left.

You stood there for a bit, staring at the door Leo had shut in your face. Your stomach churned, emotions twirling around inside of you. Annoyed and upset, you escaped into the hallway and entered your dark room.

Rafe watched from afar as you left, the group already acquiring new players at the table. He took one more swig of his beer before heading into the hallway after you.

“Hey.” Rafe knocked softly on the door as he opened it, letting in the noise outside before muffling it once again as he came in.

“Hey,” you sniffed, sitting on the edge of your bed with your hands folded in your lap.

“Everything alright?” He sat beside you and tilted his head, concern painted on his face.

You wiped at your cheeks, trying to compose yourself. “Yeah, yeah. Leo just had to leave, I guess.”

“He seems to do that a lot,” Rafe said, disdain laced within his words. He brought his arm around your shoulders and began rubbing the side of your arm. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” you said, leaning your head against him.

“Can I confess something?” His voice came out as a whisper. You nodded for him to continue. “Your boyfriend is kind of an asshole.”

You let out a laugh and gave him a little push. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Then why are you in here crying in the dark?” he laughed softly, nudging your shoulder.

You shook your head and sat back up, looking at Rafe. “I don’t know.”

But you had known. You didn’t really care that it was Leo who had taken off. You had cared that you would be alone again, that you would end the night with an empty bed and empty arms. You were desperate to fill the hole in your heart that Rafe had left there that night on Midsummers, the sharp claws of loneliness slowly tearing away at your chest.

The moon shined through the windows and onto Rafe’s face, washing him in a blue tint. You reached your hand out to fix the strand of hair that had fallen in front of his eyes, your slightly inebriated mind ignoring the nerves building up inside of you.

Your hand fell to his cheek, resting there for what felt like ages, before you moved in to kiss him. Rafe didn’t move, he just closed his eyes. When you pulled back, he was looking at you, brows furrowed.

“I don’t want you to kiss me if you don’t mean it,” he whispered.

You leaned in again, kissing him softly as both your hands moved to the nape of his neck. “I mean it.”

Rafe kissed you back this time, his hands trailing down to your waist to pull you closer. Your kisses became feverish and needy, deepening as your hands roamed his body. One of Rafe’s hands moved to your uncovered back, his fingertips burning into your skin, the other moving to cup your face. The cool metal of his ring sent shivers down your spine. Heat coiled at the pit of your stomach as Rafe moved down your neck, peppering it with hot, open-mouthed kisses. You felt him slowly slipping the straps of your dress off your shoulders and you moved to unbutton his shirt.

As Rafe returned to your lips, helping you take his shirt off, you let the words drunkenly slip out of your mouth.

“I love you.”

He paused to stare at you, brushing his thumb across your flushed cheek. Whether it was the liquid courage of the alcohol or the way you were staring back at him with longing eyes, he said it back.

“I love you too.”

Lips crashing into lips once again, he slowly leaned you back onto the bed as you heard the muffled shouts of ‘happy new year’ on the other side of the door.

• • •

You woke up the next morning to find Rafe behind you, arm draped over your body. You slowly got up, careful not to wake the boy in your bed, and reached for the sleep shirt you had left on the floor.

You watched Rafe, his chest slowly rising and falling as you bit your nails. You thought back to last night, cringing a little at your drunken confession. Maybe he wouldn’t remember? What would he do if he did? Would he decide he wanted to be with you? Would he tell you he’d wait for you? To come home? To come home to him?

Do I even want him to forget?

You sat there wondering, when you heard a phone buzz at your feet. Without checking to see whether it was yours or Rafe’s, you read the message.

Brooke: hey baby, how’s the work trip? Ward giving you a hard time?

The hope that had been building up in you shattered. Turning around, you shook Rafe awake, holding his phone out for him.

“Your girlfriend is texting you.” You trained your eyes at your door.

Rafe looked at you, panic settling over as he grabbed the phone and sat up. “y/n…”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Your voice was calm, steady. It scared Rafe.

“Why didn’t you tell me about Leo?” You remained quiet, knowing full well that you had kept Leo from Rafe for the same reasons he had kept Brooke from you: to avoid all the unnecessary pain.

“You lied about being here.”

“I didn’t know what to tell her.” There was a long pause.

“This was a bad idea,” you whispered. A part of you hoped he would deny it, tell you that it was always meant to be, but he didn’t say anything. You got up from the bed and grabbed a change of clothes, wanting to escape to the bathroom before he could see you cry.

The cab ride to the airport was silent, both of you staring out the window and avoiding eye contact. You had tried to hide the puffiness of your eyes by splashing cold water on your face before you left, but they were still red and irritated. When the car parked outside, you helped to gather Rafe’s bags from the trunk and stood before him. His hair was messy and his expression solemn.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said, eyes downcast.

“I know.” You moved in to hug him. It was a long embrace, the two of you soaking in each other’s scents, trying to memorize the feeling of having each other in your arms. He was the one to let go first. You stepped back as you watched him pick up his stuff. He turned to walk inside, but paused, swiveling back on his feet.

“You’ll write?” he asked.

You nodded, biting your lip in an effort to keep it from quivering. “Of course.”

Taglist: @questionmymentality, @jemimah-b99, @supernaturallydc-blog, @milkywqze, @parkershoco

[sitaarein]

None Stand Equal In This Dark World

A/N: Officially my largest ever fic so please. Just read it and be nice sob because I’m kinda proud of some of it

Written for @grishaversebigbang 2021!!!

Corporalki: @homicide-depot​

Materialki: @generalnabri (x), @kolarpem (x), @aivicart (x), @maximumbluebirdpatrol , @niadrawing (x)

 (Summary: A murder mystery AU featuring Zoyalai, twists and turns, moral dilemma, and then some more

Read on AO3

Chapter One

The apartment door was wide open.

 In retrospect, that alone should have set off the alarm bells in Zoya’s head. No one left the door to their place wide open. She can’t imagine why she simply dismissed it. 

 Scratch that, she knew why. She’d been tracking this idiotic Grisha for a month now. She was tired and desperate. 

 But it appeared that- who would’ve thought- not being at the top of your game has consequences. 

 Consequences like staring down a man who’s been tied to a chair and gagged in the middle of, what Zoya guesses is, the lounge, eyes wide with terror.

 Zoya is mad at herself for not managing to guess it was a red herring- the damn door - and very, very mad at the Grisha who has, once again, slipped right through her hands. 

 She nods to one of her men, and he immediately drops to the man’s level to untie and presumably interrogate him. Zoya doesn’t stick around for the details- she trusts her people to give her good reports. Instead, after a cursory look around, she tips her head back to face the ceiling, taking in a deep breath, and leaves the apartment. 

 The weather outside took a dramatic turn in the fifteen minutes she was inside- it had been sunny before, or at least as sunny as Ravka ever could get. But now, the sun has all but ceased to exist, and the bitter cold is back once more. 

 Zoya prefers the cold. 

 (She doesn’t, not really, but no one needed to know that.)

 Zoya starts walking, pulling her coat tighter around herself. Her mind races, trying to connect all the dots, trying to figure out where her investigation had gone wrong. Start from the beginning. Don’t miss anything. The most minor of details are the most important.

  The beginning. A woman showed up to their headquarters about her missing family. Those cases were usually dismissed completely, handed over to the police forces- Zoya’s force was Grisha-centric, other cases, no matter how large or important they were, did not concern them. But this case was different.

 The woman was Grisha. 

 Her family weren’t, evidently- and neither did they know that she was. They’d been missing for six weeks, and the odds were pretty heavily stacked against them still being alive. The woman was detained (she was Grisha, this was Zoya’s job ) and a group of officers were dispatched for a search and rescue.

 The officers never returned.

 Alarm bells were now ringing, and the General assigned Zoya to the case. In the time since she officially took over, twenty more disappearances were documented, and all of them in Os Kerva alone. Saints knew what was happening in the rest of the country.

 But Zoya had never believed in Saints, so she found out what was happening in the rest of the country.

 The total number of disappearances in all of Ravka that had this case’s signature mark- an eclipsed sun left wherever the victims were seen last- was an estimated three thousand . Zoya couldn’t believe no one had connected the dots before her. Then again, the entire of the force were filled with incompetent idiots, so maybe it shouldn’t have surprised her. 

  The series of events . Zoya travelled up and down the country with the best of her underlings, talking to anyone who knew the victims, searching their last known places with tooth combs, building up working hypotheses, using all the resources they had available. Zoya was not an idiot. She knew exactly how capable she was. 

 And she also knew when she was fighting a losing battle.

 And so, when she got a call from one of her top detectives about a confirmed Grisha she’d been trailing for some time now who’d begun suspicious activity, she was clutching at straws and willing to take anything that came her way. She met up with her agent, and a few days later, they got the address of the apartment she was currently pacing in front of.

  The present . This part could be summed up fairly quickly. Zoya is, once again, at a fucking dead end . 

 Before she can kick something (or someone) out of frustration, A faint ringing reaches her ears, and frowning, Zoya stops in her tracks. Her phone is never not on silent. Calling Zoya Nazyalensky for anything was utterly pointless- she never picked up. 

  But the GIA has ways of getting into contact with its members regardless.

 Muttering a curse, Zoya digs around her pockets, looking for the infernal device with its grating, high-toned ringing. Finally locating her phone, she jabs the answer button without looking at the caller ID.

 “Yes?” she asks bluntly. 

 “Zoya,” Alina’s voice greets her.  

 Zoya immediately forgets everything that had been on her mind. When Alina calls, it’s rarely for a friendly chat. 

 “What’s wrong?”

“You need to get back here. As soon as possible.”

 “Understood. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

 Alina hangs up immediately, and Zoya pockets her phone, mind racing.

 She orders one of her lackeys to send her a report when they're done, grabs the keys for the van they’d used to get to the apartment from a rather distracted officer, taking off.

 Zoya reaches the Grisha Investigation Authorities in approximately half the time she’d given to Alina, and she may or may not have disobeyed quite a few traffic laws to get to her destination as quickly as she did, but that was frankly unimportant. 

 She strides through the doors, not bothering to acknowledge the many who’ve halted their paths to nod to her or, in the case of a few particularly stupid (or courageous, however you wanted to see it) people, attempt to strike up a conversation with her. She didn’t break her pace even once, until she’d reached the door to the meeting room they usually used to meet up for serious issues. After taking a moment to compose herself, Zoya pushes the door open.

 Inside, she finds all of her fellow Commanding Officers assembled- Adrik, Leoni, Alina, and Genya. Frowning, Zoya scans their faces, and mentally shifts whatever’s happening even higher on her scale of terrible shit to take care of immediately.

 Because not even Leoni, who can find positivity at a funeral, is smiling right now. There’s barely a hint of her optimistic and eternally cheerful personality in her countenance. 

 Zoya carefully takes the seat left for her around the circular table. Her gaze flits from one worried face to another, and she decides to be direct.

 “How bad is it?”

 The question seems to jolt Alina out of her reverie. She looks up, and Zoya feels her breath catch, because she looks so… helpless. Terrified.

 Genya takes it upon herself to answer Zoya’s question with another question, her mouth set in a grim line. “How’s your investigation going?”

 “We lost the suspect,” Zoya admits, her earlier frustration returning with the reminder of the infernal case. “We’re right back to where we started- but without the hope and the general idea of where to start.”

 “I’m not surprised,” Adrik mutters. “Considering who your delightful suspect is…”

 Zoya furrows her brow, and glances back at Genya. “Explain.”

 Genya looks as if she would rather do anything else, but after coming to the realisation that no one else is about to, she sighs and does so.

 “I’m presuming you remember Alina’s case that went cold about two years back?”

  A little too well. Even years later, that case haunts her- the truly horrific killings, from corpses with their body parts stuffed down their throats, to children who had clearly been still alive when burnt, the utter dead ends, Alina’s far too close brush with death, and… the person behind it all.

 “You don’t think it’s the same person??” Zoya demands, horror spreading through her veins.  She can not handle another Kirigan. 

 In lieu of replying, Genya nods to Leoni, who pushes forward a large envelope. Dread pooling in her gut, Zoya opens the package to find pictures from Alina’s investigation.

 “We revisited these when your disappearances started,” Genya says. “And… found more similarities than we’re frankly comfortable with.” 

 Zoya shifts the photos around, and then freezes at one, having caught sight of a mostly blurry but still distinctive calling card. “That’s…”

 “The eclipsed sun,” Adrik provides grimly. “You’re screwed.”

 “Hey, now,” Leoni protests. “We don’t know that.”

 Adrik snorts. “Don’t we? Need I remind you of the damage this person wrecked to the GIA and our country?”

 “How do we know this isn’t just a copycat?” Zoya breaks in. “None of the bodies of the victims this time around have been discovered,”

 “Copy cats still tend to have their own twists on kills, a signature, a mark that’s theirs. While none of the killings for either case have many similarities, they also don’t vary in terms of said signature.” Genya says.

 “Killers are proud creatures,” Adrik inputs.

 “And this one’s no exception,” Leoni says, eyes grim. 

 Zoya looks up. “What do you know?”

 Leoni hesitates, but then gives in. “We got a note this morning. A photocopy should be in the envelope too.”

 Zoya overturns the envelope, and sure enough, a piece of paper falls out. She picks it up, reads it, and crumples it up. 

 “You’re sure this isn’t a stupid joke?”

 “It was in the Director’s office.” Leoni says. 

  Shit.  Zoya glances back down at the crumpled mass she’s still clutching. You will burn on your mistakes. What mistakes? 

 She ignores the faint voice in the back of her head. You know what mistakes.

 Zoya takes a deep breath, focuses her thoughts, and then exhales. “How’s the Director doing?”

“He’s terrified.” All of the COs seemed to be equally startled to see Alina was the one to speak. Her mouth is set in an angry line, and Zoya can guess the track of her thoughts, because they were the same ones that had crossed her mind upon hearing the words- who is he to be terrified? What right did the Director even have to feel scared, when he himself never so much as interacted with the cases???

 Adrik sighs, leaning back in his seat. “Which is what has led us to our current predicament.”

 “And what do you mean by that?” 

 Genya exhales in a huff. “He wants the Mentals on this case along with all of us.”

 “He what.” 

 Alina, lips twisted in a sardonic smile, gestures to nothing in particular. “You heard correctly.”

 “Why ??? This is my case, and I will handle it.”

 “He doesn’t want a repeat of the bad press that came with my failing last time, I’m guessing.”

 “Bad press,” Zoya spits out. “I wonder how much bad press he’ll get when I-”

 “Do not,” Genya warns. “This could be helpful to us.”

  But also a personal disgrace , Zoya finishes the sentence in her head. The Mentals were practically a legend of the GIA- they were special, elite investigators, a whole mix of people ranging from scientists to- if the rumors were correct- ex-spies, who ended up with the cases no one else in the force could solve, and somehow, without fail, solved each of them within a week at the least. 

 It was irritating as hell.

 And having them assigned on your case meant that the Director did not trust you to be successful on your own. 

 Absolutely wonderful.

 “So when are these... spectacular detectives arriving?” Zoya asks. 

 Genya opens her mouth, and then closes it, before starting, “Well-”

 “I hope I’m not too late to this marvelous party?”

 Zoya swivels to see who this truly abnormally cheerful person is, and then blinks. She turns back to face the others once more- Adrik still looks glum, Leoni is smiling her most polite smile, Alina seems to have perked up and Genya is genuinely smiling. They all look… unsurprised.

 Of course they were hiding more secrets up their sleeves.

 “ What,” Zoya finally breaks and asks. “Is the damned PR guy doing here?”

 The aforementioned PR guy pouts. “Is that really what I’m known for around here? My PR duties? That’s quite depressing. Why would you focus on that when you could talk about my stunning good looks, or my undeniable charm, or even my ability to-”

 “Nikolai,” Alina interrupts. “Shut up.” she looks at Zoya, a hint of dry amusement in her eyes. 

 “Zoya, this is Nikolai Lantsov, and he is indeed our PR guy, but he’s also… head of the Mentals.”

 Zoya blinks. He’s what??? And then, wait… they knew who the special investigators were? How long have they known? Why was I not informed?

 She doesn’t voice any of her thoughts, choosing instead to stare, unimpressed, at the blond, who grins at her in response. 

 “If I had known you possessed such astounding grace and beauty, Miss Nazyalensky, I would have made your acquaintance sooner! I’m sure these upcoming days will prove to be an absolute pleasure, provided I get to spend them in your delightful company.”

 “Saints save me,” Zoya utters faintly. “The Director assigned an idiot to my case.”

 “Hey, now!” Nikolai protests. “You haven’t even met the rest of my team yet!”

 “An idiot who talks too much,” she deplores. 

 Genya and Alina both snort at that. In fact, all of her fellow COs seemed to be taking far too much pleasure in this situation. Zoya hates all of them. 

  “Well, now that we’ve gotten the pleasantries out of the way,” Nikolai says, to which Zoya distinctly hears Adrik mutter “pleasantries?” under his breath, “I think now would be a wonderful time for me to introduce you to my brilliant team,”

  Genya sits up immediately, looking eager. Zoya wonders what that’s about. 

 She finds out fairly quickly.

 Nikolai ushers in a group of people, and she recognises one in particular, one who she has, in fact, known since her college years -

 David. Genya’s husband, David Kostyk, is a part of the Mentals. Harmless old David. Zoya can’t believe her eyes. 

 She scans the rest of the group, but the others barely seem familiar. The two Shu right in front of David look similar enough to be twins, apart from the height difference. Right next to David is a woman that, with a jolt, Zoya recognises as Adrik’s sister from what she’s heard and seen of her. Bringing up the rear is a man who vaguely resemblesNikolai himself, ducking his head shyly as he enters the room. 

 “Now that your merry party is all assembled,” Adrik says glumly. “Any ideas where to start?”

 “Shouldn’t we at least get to know each other first?” Adrik’s sister asks.

 Adrik stares at her. “I’ve known you since I was born.”

 “We’re not the only ones in the room, Adrik.”

 “Oh, aren’t we ? I can’t say I noticed.”

 Nikolai interrupts their glaring match to finally provide Zoya with names to all the unfamiliar faces. 

 “Tamar, Tolya, Nadia, and Isaak, meet the officers we’ll be working with for the next few weeks or longer- Alina, Genya, Zoya, Leoni, and Adrik,” he gestures towards each person in turn. Zoya briefly wonders how he already knows their names, before realising that just because the GIA didn’t know who the special investigators were didn’t exactly mean they didn’t know the GIA either. 

 “And now,” Nikolai beams. “Let’s get comfortable. It’s time to discuss our present conundrum!”

[yehet-me-up]

Reboot

Pairing: Jongdae/Chen x reader (female)

Word Count: 26,971 😬 read it in a mobile web browser if it crashes! 

Rating: (PG13) for swearing + sexy vibes (nothing more explicit than a kiss on the page though)

Summary: Chen’s Electronics is a mystery, both how the store came to be and the man running it. When you start working as a receptionist for the enigma that is Kim Jongdae, you’re determined to be the one who unravels the mystery. You’re prepared for anything, except for falling in love with Jongdae himself. 

Part eight of the Exodus Mall series (Can be read independently, but you’ll get some extra backstory if you read the other parts first!)

A/N: I’m SO delighted that Jongdae is getting his IRL happily ever after and I’m so excited to wrap up his fictional counterpart’s story today, so he can have his ending as well 💕

March 15th, 1997

Capitol Hill is in full swing, the promise of spring drawing the sleeping city from its winter hibernation. The silver dress you wear is far shorter than you're used to, but the denim jacket is big enough to properly cover your ass, which is something at least. In your platform boots, borrowed from your roommate Liz, you're almost tall enough to see over the busy street to Cal Anderson Park up ahead.

'Come on,' Liz says with an excited glint in her eye. 'The club's just on the far side of Boylston.'

You nod distantly, eyes wide as you try to take in all the people around you. After spending the last two years buried in a book in the UW library or at internships or in class it feels startling to realize how much youthful, passionate energy beats at the heart of the city so close to where you've been existing. Not that you never go out, but now that you’re approaching the end of your master’s degree you feel like a diver finally reaching the surface to draw breath. You’re ready to celebrate.

A door opens to your right and music surrounds you. An impassioned man sings about an even flow, accompanied by an aggressive drummer and what you can tell is skilled guitar playing. The people on the sidewalk beside you press in, screaming and cheering and trying to shove their way into a club. A faded sign above announces it as Moe's Bar.

Your roommate's hand finds yours and she pulls you out through an opening in the crowd.

Once you’re free again you laugh and brush your hair behind your ears. Dozens of other clubs and bars and late-night restaurants you pass are the same. Men with mohawks in every color of the rainbow. Women in combat boots with plaid jackets tied at their waists. A group of teenagers skateboard down Broadway, hollering into the night as they fly by, the clack of their wheels muffled by the lingering rain dampening the streets.

Everyone seems taken by the revelry. It would be so easy - to disappear into the thriving mass of people celebrating music and community and being alive. Now, with graduation so close you can finally taste it, you surrender to the sensation. Tilting your head back you look at the round full moon above, peeking out through the clouds, and give a joyful, if tentative, howl.

This makes your roommate turn and squeeze your hand. Liz smiles with pride. 'Now that's the spirit!' she says with a fist pump and howl of her own.

The nightclub is unassuming, especially amongst the neon and metal venues you passed to get here. Two simple brass lamps spotlight the enormous carved wooden doors. Bass thumps from within, the slight rattling of the doors is the only indication that life exists within. Shari’s reads the hanging sign.

Liz practically glows under the lights, a North star leading you into a whole new world.

After so many years of keeping your nose to the grindstone - success gained through effort rather than extraordinary intelligence; advanced classes, extra college courses during the summer, every extracurricular you could pack in before you cracked, a high school diploma by sixteen, bachelors by twenty and MBA by twenty two - you would follow her anywhere as long as it didn't involve studying or a business suit.

She guides you through the heavy wood door into a small entry room. A large man with so many piercings he'd have a terrible time at the security scanners at the airport checks your IDs. It's stayed in your wallet, practically untouched, since the official one came last year on your twenty-first birthday.

Finally inside the club you bite your lip to hide a wide, giddy smile of excitement. Bodies fill the dance floor, joyously swaying to the beat. A DJ booth rises from a far corner like Sauron’s tower in the Lord of the Rings. A man with dark hair that falls in his intense eyes runs the booth; a king commanding his loyal subjects.

Liz finds her group of friends from the mall she works at spread over two successive tables with circular cushioned benches behind them. Their names and faces blur together in the low lighting, but everyone is welcoming, offering you a smile or a shake of a hand. A cheerful blonde-haired man, who you swear says his name is Bacon, takes you and Liz’s coats and purses and adds them to an overflowing pile beside him.

Before you can even think of sitting down Liz guides you onto the dance floor. Normally you’re the one in control. The one with the plan. The group leader or the one who organized the debate team fundraiser/supply closet at work/networking mixer. But it’s… nice, not having to be the center of everything, keeping it together with your effort alone. 

She gives you a teasing smile as if she can read your thoughts and you roll your eyes with a laugh. ‘No overthinking this!’ she commands with a raised brow as you find a good spot.

As if I have any other way of thinking. ‘I promise nothing!’ you shrug and smile at her.

Your movements are slow at first, awkward, and you laugh to yourself with amusement. Self-deprecation has never been your poison. Along with an unshakeable drive to make something of yourself you've always had a healthy sense of self-esteem. Who cares if you aren't the best dancer?

You get into the swing after the second song and shake your ass with delight at the energy in the room and the incredible job the DJ is doing loosening you up. He’s remixing “Semi-Charmed Life” with an older techno hit you don’t recognize.

Before long Jongin, Liz’s crush and co-worker from the KOKO exercise studio, captures her attention and you end up dancing with Baekhyun (tragically not actually named Bacon) and a girl who calls herself Hitchcock. You recognize each other from a seminar last school year at UW and take a long break to catch each other up on your lives over shots at the table. 

She tells you about her dual jobs at Microsoft and the movie theater at the Exodus Mall. You fill her in on your thesis project and she offers to look over your resume as you plan to apply to a similar track at the tech giant after you graduate.

When Liz said she was forcing you from your obsessive, ahem dedicated, studying for your research paper you didn’t know what to expect, but it wasn’t all of this. Reconnecting with a friend. A potential foot in the door at your dream job. Dancing so much that your back gets slick with sweat. Laughing with Liz so hard your stomach aches as Baekhyun attempts to breakdance, nearly falling backwards into no less than four people.

As if the night couldn’t get any better, something else catches your eye. Someone else - the DJ steps down from the booth on a break.

His black pants, white shirt, and tie would be overly formal and out of place in the nightclub, but his pushed-up sleeves reveal muscled forearms. The neon yellow sunglasses and loose piano pattern of the tie he wears make him look sexy, in an off-duty retro businessman kind of way. His face reveals none of his emotions as he slips off his shades, tucking them in his jacket pocket. But the corners of his lips tilt up with amusement as he scans the room.

Clearly he’s impressed with the atmosphere he’s created here tonight. As he should be, you think. You imagine for a moment what it would be like if he noticed you. If this was a meet-cute or the start of something. But his focus is on the bar now, not lingering on you or anyone else in the club. Dating for you was a rocky road and absolutely nothing like the way it looked in the John Hughes movies that were your guilty pleasure growing up.

Between your parents' support and your own innate thirst for success, you always felt like an outsider in terms of relationships. Extroverted and empathetic enough to make and maintain friendships, but boys were tougher. You could never figure out dating to your satisfaction in high school and you left when most of your peers were just finishing up Sophomore year.

In college there was hope. Studious and hardworking men with glasses and a love of Emily Dickinson and black coffee. Law school-bound guys who rowed crew and whose confidence was just on the right side of attractive instead of insufferable. John Cusack types with easy smiles and crates of vinyl they carefully collected, who performed at the Comedy Underground in hopes of ‘being discovered.’

It was both thrilling and irritating. You went after dating with almost as much determination as you did your school and career, set on experiencing everything possible.

But the English major wanted someone in a pastel dress and tights, who volunteered at an animal shelter and didn’t eviscerate him at Scrabble. The future lawyer was looking for his future trophy wife, to stand beside him at fancy dinners and fraternity mixers. And the Lloyd Dobler wannabe needed a muse, a beautiful and ethereal woman to be his object of longing, to laugh at his jokes and pass through life without worry about the future.

Not that you were jealous, or even bitter. Just because you weren’t what they were looking for wasn’t anything personal and you never took it like it was. The women they wanted existed and were wonderful in all their own ways. But it grated at you, how you always felt like a square peg in a round hole. Never being the right fit.

All your life you’d gotten used to knowing, and getting, what you wanted. It was insanely frustrating to not have found anything that stuck. Failure in any form made you frown, but thankfully romantic mishaps always took a backseat to school, friends, and your future, so it was easy to ignore. Until now.

The DJ passes close enough to you and Liz that you can see the echoes of dark circles under his eyes and the rich brown of his hair in the passing neon lights. For some reason that same intuition, that same hunger and drive that had propelled you to awards and scholarships and countless other successes, tells you to follow him. Whatever it is about him, your body and your desire react before your mind and conscious rational thought.

'I'll be back,' you yell to your roommate over the music. She nods and gives you a thumbs up as she's drawn into Jongin’s embrace once more.

Like a missile you weave through the crowd, target in sight. You watch as the DJ leans against the end of the bar, carefully positioning himself so he's at the end with no one behind him. You wonder if it's out of a dislike of people sneaking up on him or if he's a predator, sizing up the crowd.

With a casual hand he orders a drink from the bartender and surveys the crowd coolly. Too high on life to care too much, you take the seat two over from him, carefully avoiding eye contact, feigning nonchalance. ‘Self-possessed,’ that’s how your fifth grade teacher described you. Independent and old beyond your years. It always thrilled you, the praise and respect of adults. You wanted to earn more of it, to be seen as capable and mature.

But something about the man beside you makes you feel younger. Raw and playful in a way you’re not sure you’ve ever been before.

Admiring the cut of his jaw, you imagine kissing it. His hands on the bar are graceful, strong, befitting his profession. You want him and you want him to want you. The thought makes you inhale a deep breath, not even sure what that would mean. Adrenaline and delight fill your mind and you briefly fantasize about him holding you close on the dance floor like Jongin does to Liz. His hands on your hips and his mouth teasing your neck.

The bartender reappears on your side of the bar, his bald head gleaming in the lights of the club, and you snap back into reality. The flames tattooed across his knuckles shine as he slides a drink down the length of the bar, towards the DJ. An impulsive, reckless daring you've only ever felt before at debate tournaments makes you reach out and catch the glass of dark liquid before it can reach its desired recipient.

In one smooth motion you lift it to your lips and turn to meet the DJ's deep brown eyes. With a smirk you raise the glass. In two gulps you down the drink, the bourbon burning its way down your throat, reminding you how good it feels to be free, to be alive. 

To challenge someone who feels like a decent opponent.

He watches you, his eyes flaring with surprise before fading back to indifference. He looks like a tiger in a cage at the zoo, pacing in front of a glass divider. His fingers tap impatiently on the lacquered bartop and he tilts his head, watching as you lick the moisture from your lip, savoring the taste. You wonder if he'd be just as heady and strong on your tongue.

You have the feeling that with the slightest pressure in the right place and the glass would shatter, unleashing the beast within. The thought makes you clench your thighs together, a heat filling you that has nothing to do with the people pressing in on you trying to get the attention of the bartender.

The DJ seems just as self-contained as you are. A voice inside you whispers of unstoppable forces meeting immovable objects and you wonder which of you would cave first.

Before you can say anything, before you can even wipe the satisfied smile off your lips or ask his name or offer to pay for the drink, he drops a bill to the counter and slides off the stool. He pushes into the crowd, disappearing as if he'd never been there. As if he hardly noticed you.

But you didn't miss the interest, the arousal, the animal within him rising to your challenge. He slinks back up to the DJ booth and resumes his position of power, thirst unquenched.

You don't know his name, or anything about him. Aside from the fact that the way he looks at you feels so wrong it's right, and that his hands are the first ones you've ever wanted wrapped around your waist so badly you can feel it beating in your palms.

But you know one thing, as you rejoin your roommate on the dance floor, whatever has started between you and the enigmatic DJ isn't finished.

May 21st, 1997

You straighten your blazer, looking in the mirror to make sure your outfit is perfect. It’s not your first interview this week and it certainly won’t be the last, but it is the one you’re the most curious about.

The position as a receptionist and accountant for an electronics repair store isn’t exactly how you pictured your first job after getting your MBA, but the pay and the opportunity to work alongside the enigmatic tech genius Kim Jongdae is a chance you can’t pass up.

All that’s left is the graduation ceremony in June and then you’re free. Your final exams are done, your thesis is defended, and you’ve completed a thorough and perhaps slightly obsessive spreadsheet documenting all your connections who might have an in at your most desired companies. Now knee-deep in the process of interviewing for jobs it strikes you all of a sudden that this is what you’ve been working for… almost all your life.

The lighting in the bathroom of the mall is stark and a moment of uncertainty makes your knees weak.

Since your test results in elementary school came back top of the class it’s been the same refrain. Get good grades. Impress your teachers. Study and diversify your interests and push harder every year and eventually it will all pay off, right? You’re damn proud of what you’ve done, but now, here in the after, all you can think as you watch your own reflection is - now what?

Frowning, you wonder how many other applicants there are for this job. Anyone in the tech circle in Seattle knows about Jongdae. Rumors abound that he was set to be the next Bill Gates when an investment deal went south. Or that he was kicked out of Harvard for embarrassing his professors with his superior smarts. Someone in your Econ seminar once told you she’d heard that he was contracted by the NSA to spy on foreign hackers.

Whatever his history, he currently runs a computer and electronics repair store in a very unassuming mall in Capitol Hill. You want to stand out, and what better way to do so than the track down the mystery of Kim Jongdae, the prodigy turned hermit. You infuse your veins with confidence, knowing you can handle anything thrown at you. Or so you think.

The mall is quiet and peaceful in the mid-morning on a Wednesday. A couple of tables in the food court are filled with older men and women playing cards and board games. A group of moms walks past you talking about a storytime at the bookstore in the mall.

The slow and steady hum of activity in here is a far cry from where you thought you’d be working. Professors encouraged you to head to IBM or Oracle. With your skills, business sense, and intuitive ability to pick up each new trend in technology they told you that you would have your choice of opportunities.

But while you’re no stranger to hard work and a competitive work environment, the idea of clawing your way to the top of yet another group of high achievers just sounds… awful.

You long to travel, to finally see some of the exotic and culturally rich places you’ve stuck photos of to your fridge. You want to be able to actually go out on the weekends and see your friends. Whatever your future holds you want to finally enjoy your life outside of school and work, even if it’s only for a year.

You could always recognize the friends who were interning at Amazon because they looked like they’d come off a week of no sleep. Many of your fellow MBA graduates were flocking there, as the company finally went public earlier this month. But something just felt - off to you. Like a canary in a coal mine.

Purpose, fulfillment, financial security, and a challenging work environment? Yes.

Burnout, no free time, and living and breathing for ‘the company’? No, thank you.

At the salary Jongdae had advertised you could easily continue to afford the apartment you shared with your two roommates and work on paying off the remaining student loans your scholarships hadn’t covered. And you could hide away a small amount of your check every month for the trip to Amsterdam you’ve been planning for years.

The gentle music in the wide, bright lobby of the mall makes you sigh in relief. This job is a win-win and you’re more determined than ever to get it.

You finally see the shop. If you weren’t looking for it, you’d have missed it between the black and neon purple exterior of KMS Music and the narrow security office tucked behind the lively pizza restaurant. There’s a line winding its way in front of the music store and you assume it’s for an album release. Until you realize that the line is leading straight where you’re going and stop in your tracks.

Chen's Electronics. The mall is full of colors and bright shop fronts. But this is almost bleak in comparison, as though it's resisted the outright displays of joy and liveliness that seem to be at the heart of the mall. The sign is red neon against a black and steel facade. A simple poster hangs in one of the two wide windows that frame the door.

We do: - Hard Drive Repair - Internet Connectivity Issues - Computer virus protection - Turntables, record players, and other portable home audio systems - Radios - POS/credit card system repair (For stores in the Exodus Mall only)

We do not: - Sell computers or computer parts. Don't ask.

You raise a brow at the last note. The harsh exterior of the store and the brusque tone definitely match with what you've heard of Chen's Electronics - that the man who runs it is a computer genius, but that his bedside manner leaves much to be desired. Perhaps that's why the job posting emphasized 'superior customer service skills.'

The line you join grows, others coming in behind you, and you wonder if Jongdae told everyone the same 10am time frame or if he staggered interviews throughout the day. As you wait the line slowly dwindles. A woman leaves crying a few minutes later, and you watch her go with surprise and attempt to peek into the store. You’re still too far back to see in, so you’re left to wait and wonder.

Finally you’re next, waiting just outside the store. A printed piece of paper is taped to the door. CLOSED FOR INTERVIEWS it says in big, bolded letters.

The tall man who was ahead of you in line isn’t visible at either of the two work stations set up inside the shop. There must be a back room of some kind. You take the moment to check out the space. The store is organized chaos. Rows of shelves line each of the two walls, full of equipment - computers in various states of disassembly, old transistor radios, a VHS player, a few turntables, and endless coiled stacks of cords interspersed.

The walls above them and the two walls behind the work stations, on either side of the hallway leading to the back, are blank. No advertisements or personalized touches to make the business seem welcoming. Just bland, empty beige walls. One desk has only a computer, keyboard, and mouse. The other is full of parts and tools that extend over the desk to not one, but two shelving units behind it. Like Jongdae was in the middle of a project and the interviews are a rude interruption.

A muffled angry shout comes from the back, behind the gray curtain hung up over the entrance to the rear of the store. The tall man moves it aside with a sneer as he charges across the floor. With a voice practically a growl he shoves open the door and you jolt back to avoid being hit.

He looks you up and down and shakes his head. ‘Good luck. You’ll need it.’

After a last straightening of your jacket you swallow and push through the door. It's quiet inside, almost reverent, as the door closes behind you. The fluorescent lighting overhead isn't the most welcoming and the tan carpet is terribly dated. No one comes to meet you. The man on the other side must be waiting, like a dragon in his lair.

Your hand closes over the strap of your purse and you hesitate at the curtain, not wanting to move forward without being invited. 'Hello?'

Footsteps come down the short hallway and a hand appears, moving the curtain out of the way to reveal a man. Your jaw almost drops. Oh, shit. It's not at all who you were expecting the famed Jongdae to be - a studious man with glasses and a bad tie.

No, this man is handsome in an aggressive way. His black hair is styled back in a neat wave. His high cheekbones and strong brows hold no humor or friendliness. Only the catlike upturn of his lips stands in rebellious contrast to his unwelcoming face.

This isn't the first time you've seen this face either, you realize, and it's like being run over by a train. He seems to connect the dots at the same moment and his eyes widen, eyebrows raising. It’s the DJ from the bar. The drink. The - oh, god.

He presses his mouth together, smothering his surprise and sitting down harshly in the chair at the crowded desk in the main room. 'What are you doing here?' He keeps his voice tightly contained, not minding in the least that the other potential job candidates are surely watching you both right now.

You give yourself a small shake and remember you're not here to hit on him. You're here for a job. 'I have an interview.'

Best case is ignoring the whole thing. It didn’t happen. Not here in the light of day. His poker face might be good, but yours is better. You keep your breathing even and hope that the racing of your heart isn’t making your cheeks red.

He tilts his head to the side, pressing his lips together in amusement. ‘Alright then.’ Turning to the side he stands and holds the curtain open, allowing you to pass by him into the small office behind.

Holding his focus, you pull out the chair in front of the desk and sit down. You place the resume and references on the table between you and fold your hands on your lap, waiting.

Jongdae takes his place opposite you as he slides the papers across the desk. His eyes dart faster than you can imagine anyone reading. He doesn’t seem flustered, but the tips of his ears are just slightly pink, his nose flaring a bit too much, and you realize he’s just as caught off guard as you are.

Finally, he finishes. 'I… don't think this is going to work.' He looks up, his hand resting on your paperwork on the desk. His face gives away nothing, but his eyes are wild and full of emotion you can’t decipher.

'Why is that?' You keep your voice steady, determined. He’s not going to dismiss you so quickly. Realizing the DJ and the tech wunderkind are one in the same has only heightened your desire to show him you’re the best person for the job.

Jongdae stares at you. This time, there's heat in his expression. You feel his eyes move over you, not taking in the professional attire, but clearly remembering the dress you wore from the club instead. 'I think you know why,' he says under his breath.

Clearing your throat you lean forward, drawn to him by some force you can't define. Like something is shoving you towards this job. 'I don't know what you mean. The posting was for an office manager and bookkeeper. I'm qualified in both and I have plenty of experience. Are you really going to decide I’m not a good fit without even asking me a single question?'

He groans and runs a hand through his hair, his composure faltering for an instant. 'Why do you want this position? You know nothing about me.'

He states it like a fact, not an opening for discussion, but you jump on it anyway. 'I know plenty.'

Satisfaction blooms in your chest when he narrows his eyes, raising a brow. 'I do my research, Mr. Kim. I’m top of my class at UW and I didn’t get there by accident. With such a small team I could get a far broader experience than I could being just another cog in the machine at Microsoft. I might not know you personally, but your reputation precedes you. I plan to excel in the tech industry. And to do that, I need to work with the best. Simple as that.'

'And I'm the best?' He leans back in his chair. Resting his elbow on the armrest, he drags a finger across his lips in appraisal.

His quick responses remind you of the competitive tennis you played growing up. The way it felt to thrive when paired with an equal opponent, someone who could match your speed and precision. Someone who gave as good as they got. How it made you better, sharpened your skills and reflexes up against someone who you couldn’t easily defeat.

'Are you trying to tell me you're not?' You cross your arms and look around, feigning surprise and curiosity. 'If you tell me who is, I'll happily go apply to be their office manager.'

He almost laughs in amusement. You can feel it. But he covers it as a cough instead and tilts his head to the side, sizing you up. 'And you know what this job entails?'

You repeat it easily from memory. 'Being the face of the business. Greeting walk-in customers. Helping them figure out if what they need is something we do. Conferring with you about pricing. Scheduling service appointments over the phone. Processing payments. Ordering supplies. Occasional advertising assistance. Other assorted duties as needed.'

'That about sums it up.'

In the charged silence you hear the muffled noises of the mall - children squealing with delight, orders being called out at the pizza restaurant next door, people talking - but it's all separated. You wonder if the distance is intentional. Many stores have roll up gates or at least have their doors propped open to draw in customers. But not Jongdae. It’s almost as though he’s actively trying to keep visitors out.

You favor boldness and decide to push him, what have you got to lose? 'So, when do I start?' Leaning forward, you give him a relaxed smile. ‘Unless you’d like to terrorize a few more applicants before you choose me? I’m happy to wait, Mr. Kim. But you can’t scare me away. And you don’t intimidate me.’

With equal decisiveness he cracks a lopsided grin and shakes his head, with both amusement and resignation. 'How's now for you?'

You give a passing thought to the other jobs, the ones you’d already interviewed for and the ones on your schedule over the coming days. They all go up in a whiff of smoke as you extend your hand across the table to shake Jongdae’s hand.

‘Now is perfect.’ His palm is warm against yours and you do your best not to react to the contact, but you can’t help the soft sigh that escapes you.

Jongdae withdraws his hand quickly, and you note with pleasure that he seems a bit shaken as he stands. ‘I’ll be right back. You can leave your things here.’ He motions to the coat hooks on the wall by the door and the tall, thin bookshelf with a few cubby slots.

Aside from a black scarf and a few extra office supplies on two of the shelves the rest of the space is empty. You wonder what he isn't saying. 'What made you want help, all of a sudden?’ He pauses and turns back to you. ‘From what I can tell you've been in business for a few years. Why now?'

He sighs. 'I'm too busy to keep doing this by myself.'

'Ah. And you hate that, don't you?'

The ghost of a smile graces his lips. 'Yes.'

Jongdae disappears through the curtain. You follow him after putting your coat on a hook and your purse in one of the spotless cubbies. The rest of the space contains a few filing cabinets, stacks of boxes, and a small safe resting on a narrow table.

When you appear back into the hallway you see a door to the left that must lead out the back. And on the opposite side is an archway with a kitchen sink, a microwave, a small fridge, and a few cupboards inside, along with a small circular table. The table has only one chair. You smile to yourself. Clearly he's accustomed to doing everything by himself.

When you emerge the other applicants are dispersing as he peels the taped sign off the door, balling it up in his hands.

Jongdae gets you set up on the computer at the other desk. It’s a relatively simple customer management software and payment system, both of which you pick up in no time. He runs you through the pricing list, pulling a laminated form from the top drawer. His filing system for customer accounts is simple and alphabetized.

Neither of you speak about that night again, but oh, do you feel it - the electricity between you when he stands too close or you meet his eyes.

Until lunch he alternates between training you and assisting customers who come in every so often. It's all straightforward, nothing you haven't managed before, and by the afternoon you're already scheduling appointments in the large old-school appointment book he keeps open to the current week.

Despite the passion and intensity in the music he plays, he keeps an even keel throughout his day job. It's almost as if you went to sleep last night and somehow woke up as someone who's worked here for years. Before closing at 5:30 he remembers other things and hands you a packet on the way out. Tax forms, an employment agreement listing the salary and benefits, and a non-disclosure form. Most of it is standard, but you wonder what kind of secrets he needs to protect at an electronics store.

You gather your things and wait outside while he closes down the shop, turning off the lights as he goes. It’s still quite sunny outside and with a shock you realize that there’s nothing waiting for you, now that the work day is done. No papers to write or projects to finish or internship to head to. The idea makes you feel unexpectedly buoyant, and when Jongdae steps out to lock the doors you give him an easy smile.

He returns it, giving you a small one of his own in response. ‘So, I normally take Tuesdays off and keep the shop closed. Wednesdays are normally pretty slow. How does Thursday through Monday sound to you? I know today is Wednesday, so if you wanted to take tomorrow off instead that’s fine with me.’

‘I’m happy to come in tomorrow.’ You want to wince at the eagerness in your voice, but instead you stand firm, holding your purse in front of you with both hands.

Jongdae slides his hands into the pockets of his jacket and nods, looking at you for a long moment before speaking. ‘Sounds great, I’ll see you then.’

You nod at him too, turning back towards the department store to head out to your car. After a beat you look behind you and see he’s still watching. His gaze is unfocused on the floor before he shakes his head, seeming to come back to himself. He heads the opposite direction, towards the movie theater. In a few seconds he’s disappeared behind the pizza place, out of sight.

Jongdae takes the longer route home today. His apartment overlooking Lake Union is the one he grew up in, his grandfather’s place. When he passed away a year ago he left it to Jongdae and it never occurred to him to move. He walks along the water, breathing in the early summer air, wanting to laugh at himself. How long has it been since he let himself be impulsive? To act on instinct. To want something.

He’d settled into a routine these past few years, since everything changed after graduation. Working at the store. Reading. Playing Go and chess with his grandfather and the other older men that lived in the building. They’d go fishing out on the peninsula or to the local symphonies that his grandfather loved. Routine had saved him when his world fell apart once, but now, with his grandfather’s absence, he’s not sure how to pick up the pieces anymore.

The seagulls on the pier are loud today, hungrily gobbling up the bread and Ivar’s french fries tossed to them by the kids gathered around. They giggle and laugh, running to their parents for more offerings. Jongdae frowns for a moment, the sadness that he doesn’t often acknowledge creeping into his heart.

His parents were gone before he really even had a chance to know them. His father to lung cancer, from the awful smoking habit he picked up in the Navy. His mother moved back to Korea to be with her family, unable to cope being in the city without her husband. Jongdae didn’t blame her, but the distance grew and they drifted apart as he became an adult himself.

Jongdae’s father’s father settled here after World War Two, along with a few of his friends. From what he remembers there wasn’t a discussion about it after the funeral - if he’d stay or go back to Korea with his mother. One day when he was young he knew his father had passed. His mother left. And with two duffle bags slung over his shoulders and little Jongdae in his arms his grandfather had moved him into the apartment with the pretty view of the water. 

And that’s the way it was, ever since.

In school his friends might have joked that Jongdae was an old man himself. Doing the New York Times crossword puzzle on Sundays, getting his hair cut at the same hole-in-the-wall barber shop in Chinatown as his grandfather, and hanging out with more octogenarians than people his own age. But he loved his grandfather and the two of them were so close that he never stopped to question whether he should change to fit in with the rest of his classmates.

The only aberration came when he started DJ-ing at eighteen. The crowd he fell in with and the partying he did was short lived; they crashed and burned, went up in flames. Everything else faded as quickly as it had come, but the club scene was his escape and it stayed with him.

These days it feels like the only time he recognizes himself, now that his grandfather is gone, too. Until you walked into his store today, that is. You looked him dead in the eyes, unafraid. Just like the night all those weeks ago in the club when you came up to him, flirted with him and challenged him.

He doesn’t know how to move on with his life.

He doesn’t know what’s next.

But wanting you, inviting you into his life, is going to change everything. He knows it in his bones and for once change excites him, instead of frightens him.

June 18th, 1997

For an achingly slow two hours on Thursday the only sounds in the shop are your typing and Jongdae’s tools hitting the metallic insides of the radio he’s fixing. You should be processing yesterday's supply orders. Or cleaning up the books to get everything ready for the days' billing before you make a run to the bank.

But instead you watch in your periphery the way the muscle in Jongdae’s jaw moves when he's focusing. How his brows pull together and his lower lip sticks out slightly, making him look as though he's perpetually pouting. You wonder if you would have gotten along with him in school. If he was always so... uptight. Or if he was freer, looser. Not that you’re the picture of ease yourself, but he seems to almost vibrate with tension.

You watch as he turns back to the computer, his fingers fly across the keyboard and you admire the absolute focus he shows toward the screen in front of him. The past few days he’s handled repairs and projects for businessmen and women, families, and two gentlemen in suits that screamed ‘government’ to you. He could be repairing a nuclear warhead in front of you and you imagine his expression would remain the same.

His standard white button-up shirt bunches around his biceps while he works. A mischievous part of you wonders what it would take to make his robotic exterior crack again. What it would take for him to show joy or anger or arousal. Emotion from him is a precious, rare thing and you want to grab them when they do show, holding them tightly as proof they exist.

You jolt, realizing the unintended destination your thoughts have arrived at. Arousal. Where did that come from? With a cough and a shake of your head you refocus on the financial statements in front of you.

If you hadn't seen him that night at the club you'd have wondered if he ever enjoyed himself. He wasn't smiling that night, but the music and the dancing and the palpable energy seemed to soften the hard lines of his face. You want to see more of that Jongdae, the one that feels so much closer to who he really is, underneath it all.

However he started in this business, in the tech scene, he works away at it as though it's his sole purpose in life. He's clearly talented enough to fix anything, code anything. You’d asked him last week how he knows what to do, as you looked into a complicated mess of wires sticking out of a broken CPU as though it were gibberish.

All he’d said, in a gruff voice, was that his grandfather liked to tinker and take things apart before putting them back together, to see how they worked, and that he’d picked up the habit.

'Why do you work by yourself?' The sound of your voice is much louder than intended, breaking the hush in the store. You want to swallow the words, unsure why you didn't stop them from escaping. Instead you bite the skin on the inside of your cheek and watch as he lifts his head to look at you.

Jongdae raises a brow. 'As opposed to?'

You stop typing and lean back in your chair. 'You could have worked for anyone, I bet. After you graduated college. I’ve heard a few of the rumors about you. It sounds like you could have done anything you wanted. What made you want to start your own business?'

He mirrors your pose. 'What makes you think I went to college?'

You blink. For so long your parents' idea of a prosperous life - good grades, extracurriculars, graduate from a top college, get a lucrative, secure job - had been so ingrained that it surprises you to imagine that someone like him didn't go to school. 'You didn't?'

He smiles, the dimple appearing briefly in his cheek. 'Alright, fine. Yes, I did. I went to M.I.T. and I, uhm, graduated at seventeen.'

'Seventeen?' The competitive drive that buried itself in your bones early on wants to prove itself to him, awed by the size of his intellect.

'With my PhD.' He winces. Just for a moment, but you catch it.

'Oh,' you say with a stunned laugh.

He goes back to work with a quick shake of his head and a sigh. 'Yeah, that right there is why I don't tell people.'

You’re surprised by his assumption that you’d view it as a bad or repulsive fact. 'It's amazing. You should be proud of it. Why would you want to keep that a secret?'

His lip pouts again and irrationally you think about what it would be like to kiss him. 'Because now you'll look at me differently. Like I'm some kind of freak of nature.'

'I don't think it makes you a freak.' Your answer is immediate and emphatic.

'Oh really?' He gives you a side-glance, keeping his tone neutral.

'No, it makes you a genius. And intelligence is never a bad thing. Quite the opposite, in fact.' It does nothing to help the attraction you feel for him. Rather than dousing the flames, it pours gasoline on them.

'Tell that to -' he stops himself, pressing his lips together. The bitterness in his voice makes you jerk back in your seat. ‘Nevermind. It was a long time ago. Forget I said anything.’

But you can fill in the gaps, no stranger to the judgement of others. 'Clearly you need better friends.'

He blinks, vulnerability filling his eyes. 'Like you?' His expression softens and he gives you a half-smile.

You blush, realizing what it must look like that you’re so passionate about defending him. 'Sorry, I didn't - all I mean is that it’s attractive.’ You curse yourself and cough delicately, trying to appear impartial. ‘An attractive quality. I just got my master’s and I thought I was advanced for my age. So I just meant to say… I get it. And you’re not a freak.’

The moment stretches out between you, the air in the space seeming to pause. The muted, reverent silence fills the distance once more. But this time it’s charged, tense. Waiting. He breathes in deeply, the shirt he wears stretching across his chest and yet again you long to touch him. For a beat his gaze drops to your lips and he swallows, opening his mouth to speak.

But he’s interrupted by the door opening. The ding of the motion sensor makes you both jolt, turning to see who it is. An older woman comes in carrying a heavy looking bag. She coughs and leans against the door to rest.

Jongdae bolts up from his desk, clearing his throat. 'Here, let me help with that.'

He bows to her with a warm smile, holding his hands out to take the bag. She nods and Jongdae slings the bag over his shoulder, wincing when it collides with his back. With a gentle arm around her back he helps her into the chair opposite his desk.

'Thank you, young man,' the woman says with a smile.

'Not at all,' Jongdae says, resuming his post on the stool. 'How can I help you today?'

You're certain your mouth has fallen open. To difficult customers he's brief, almost condescending, and for the nice ones he’s reserved and polite, but nothing like this. For over an hour he patiently connects the woman's computer to his power strip and walks her through how to use it. 

Again and again he shows her the links and how to work the web browser. Installs a complimentary virus protection program. Makes sure she can find the Solitaire application she loves. And only charges her $20.

But after she leaves the next customer is a businessman dressed in what looks to be a very expensive suit. Jongdae spends the laughably short visit practically sneering at the man. And he charges him at least twice what it says on the pricing list he gave you.

As soon as the door closes you release the laugh you’ve been holding in. 'You know, for someone who runs a business, you seem hell bent on driving some of your customers away.'

He shakes his head, hair falling in his eyes. 'He was a moron. You don't buy the Rolls Royce of computers if you don't know how to drive it.'

'So the only exception here is kind old ladies?'

Jongdae barks out a laugh, meeting your gaze and looking younger than you’ve ever seen him. 'Exactly.'

June 28th, 1997

Moments after you walk out the door for lunch during a bustling Saturday it pings again, announcing yet another customer. This one is probably his scheduled twelve o’clock appointment, Jongade thinks as he looks distractedly at his watch.

He turns to greet them and his entire body recoils. 'What do you want?' Jongdae practically hisses, but he keeps his tone even with all his might.

Since you’ve taken over scheduling Jongdae hardly looks at his calendar anymore. If he’d known Julian Danforth was seeking his help he would have told him to fuck off. Unfortunately Jongdae’s hesitation in talking about his past means you could have no possible idea how much the man standing before him used to matter.

Julian strolls in with a computer in his arms and a smugness on his mouth that Jongdae wants to punch off. His sunglasses are perched on the top of his head and his khaki shorts have neatly pressed lines, clearly not done by the man himself, who drips with privilege.

He'd thought these feelings were long buried, but they roar in Jongdae’s chest. The friendships and the future he almost had are now scattered behind him like a trail of carnage, all the fault of this man. The burn of sadness and embarrassment that fills Jongdae’s stomach was supposed to be gone, relinquished to ashes. But seeing one of his former best friends again Jongdae feels like he's ten years old, stuck in a class with far older students. Young, inexperienced, an outcast.

‘Good afternoon to you as well, old friend.’ Ignoring the daggers Jongdae is staring at him, Julian steps forward, setting the computer down on the desk. 'Like I told the woman on the phone I'm having a problem with some computer virus.'

He says it like it’s a slimy, living thing that had crawled into his machine. Displeasure colors his expression; annoyed at the mere thought that his money and status don’t render him immune from such commonplace problems. ‘You know I don’t trust anyone else with my system.’

After what you did I should smash your computer open. Jongdae doesn't speak as plugs the machine into the power strip he rigged to his desk, not willing to risk what he’ll say.

It's a far more expensive model of computer than most of his clients bring in. Those who purchase such a high end version fall into two camps - enthusiasts like himself who know what they're getting, or the rich and famous who buy them as status symbols and have no clue how to work them. Julian, unfortunately, falls into the latter category.

The computer starts up and Jongdae’s mind goes into work mode, tuning out Julian. The virus has rendered it unusable, only a blur of symbols and lines of code flit across the screen. None of the normal exit keys brings up the desktop. Jongdae purses his lips and slides in the floppy disk he keeps beside his own monitor, an anti-virus he designed.

He leans into muscle memory as he runs through the start up and sets the program to do its job. With any luck the idiot just found some simple malware from some incredibly obvious email spam or downloaded a bug on a porn site. In all social and business sense Julian is a shark; he'd never have fallen for such an obvious scam in real life. But when it came to computers and technology he was hopeless, and thus Jongdae had come into his life years ago.

'How long have you been set up here?' Julian asks with a dismissive glance at the machines and equipment stacked on the shelves.

'Why do you care?' The question comes out harsher than he intends, but the emotion isn't entirely unearned.

Once upon a time he and Julian met in Seattle, after Jongdae was fresh out of M.I.T. and Julian had flunked out of yet another University. They were determined to build a business together. If he had more energy Jongdae would wear this store and his reputation proudly, built from no family connections or money, just his own intelligence and drive. After how thoroughly Julian severed Jongdae’s life he should rub his success in Julian’s face with pride.

Instead he ignores him, determined to move on.

The program finishes its run in rapid time, as though it knows how quickly Jongdae wants this moment to end. The virus dissipates and the desktop loads like normal. He's tempted for a second to indulge his curiosity to see what Julian has been up to. Last he knew Julian had gone to work at his father’s investment bank, dreams of standing on his own cowed by the reality of the world outside of his comfortable bubble. Without Jongdae there’s no way the business and the program held up to scrutiny. 

For a second Jongdae stares at the screen, remembering how good it had felt to have found his people. Tech nerds, hungry to build something that would change the world. Julian, who wanted to cast off his father’s legacy and strike out on his own. Julian’s girlfriend Marissa and her soft heart, who wanted to help people. Their friend Albert, with the plan. 

Once he knew them so well he hardly knew where he ended and they began. But now, all these years later, they’re strangers.

Jongdae looks up and watches Julian as he absently admires the collection of turntables on the wall behind the desk. He knows Julian well enough to know this might be an act of contrition, his way of bridging the gap he created to reach out the olive branch of friendship once more. But Jongdae’s curiosity already killed the cat once, spectacularly, and he has no desire to repeat the mistake.

He unplugs the machine and watches the screen go dark, shoving it with both hands across the polished wood surface towards Julian. 'There. It's fixed.'

For customers who are far more polite and far less acquainted with Jongdae he might have explained what caused the virus or recommended an anti-virus software or even shared best practices to avoid getting one in the future. But, for Julian, he'll do what he was hired for and nothing more.

Julian stands and clears his throat uncomfortably. 'How much do I owe you?' A hint of guilt as he pulls out his wallet.

The motion reminds Jongdae of vacations to Marissa's family home in the San Juans or partying with Julian, Albert, and the rest of them in Capitol Hill. When they turned on him it was like the sun went out. He managed to take his pride and his love of music and DJing and escape. Once Jongae rebuilt his life the doors to the past firmly closed.

Anger finally peeks through as he waves a dismissive arm at Julian. 'I don't want your money. Not spending a second longer in your company will be all the payment I need.' He stands as well. Their business today is done and he lets his memories of the past fall before him like ashes.

An awkward beat passes between them and finally Julian breaks eye contact. With a nod to the ground he pushes out the door and disappears, carrying his computer.

He breathes out a sigh of relief, folds his arms, annoyed at how his position and his continued presence here in Seattle occasionally brings him into contact with people like Julian. He should have moved, he thinks. Gone to Singapore or Berlin or London or New York. But for some reason, he stayed.

Through the front window he watches you laugh with your friends in the food court and smiles to himself, thinking of how you call him Scrooge. It should unnerve him, how quickly seeing you or speaking to you or simply thinking you makes his day better, more hopeful; chases away the shadows that linger in his mind when he's left alone for too long. No, left alone isn't the right word. When he isolates himself.

Jongdae doesn’t really know you, not yet. But already he wants to make all of your dreams come true, he wants to make them real. 

The thought is so sentimental and kind and soft that it brings him up short. He bites the inside of his lip and tries to fight the warm feeling in his chest as he watches you laugh. But as he resumes his work he acknowledges that maybe there was a reason he stayed in Seattle, after all.

The mall is packed during lunch; it’s one of the only days you and your roommates and Hitchcock all work together so you’ve christened it Saturday girl’s lunch time. But Baekhyun and Chanyeol of course crash in, as they always seem to. Loud and raucous and happy. Others from their wide circle of friends drop by to grab slices or to make plans for tonight.

Baekhyun sticks two straws in his nose and makes what are probably very scientifically inaccurate walrus noises. As you laugh so hard you almost snort you can’t help but feel like something is missing. Someone is missing. You look back to the shop, drawn to Jongdae as always.

He works away, resuming his repairs after chasing another customer away with his attitude. You sigh, watching the blonde preppy man carry away his enormous computer, muttering to himself. You rest your foot on the edge of your chair and drop your chin to your knee. From this angle, surrounded by the stark design of the store and the fluorescent lights from above, Jongdae looks like he’s trapped inside of a screen himself.

You bite your lip, debating. He’s made it clear that whatever happened between you at the club isn’t something he will discuss, or repeat. But friendship? Community? You work together five days a week and it wouldn’t kill him to get out of his enclosure once in a while. It’s done you good this month, to be out and about with people. Like you can finally breathe for the first time in a long time. And you decide that it’s high time Jongdae do the same.

Liz and Jane, your roommates, call you ‘determined.��� But they say it in a way that clearly means ‘like a homing missile,’ when you want something. Your nature has served you well; you can cut through the bullshit and figure people out almost instantly. It’s helped you both professionally and personally. Allowed you to know immediately which friendships would last, which ones were worth the effort.

Maybe it’s how Jongdae looks like an island, all alone in the shop. Maybe it’s the large Coke that infused you with far too much caffeine. Maybe it’s your insatiable curiosity. But you can’t keep watching him from afar, not when there’s something you can do about it.

‘I’ll be right back.’ Pulling on your denim jacket, you march over to the store. You lean inside the glass door, holding it open with your shoulder. ‘Hey, you.’

Jongdae looks up at you, confusion tugging his brows together, making him befuddled in the cutest way. You tell yourself to stop thinking of him like that, even if you want to.

He blinks and refocuses on you. ‘Back already?’

‘No, but we’ve got more than enough pizza. Why don’t you join us?’ You grin, making a show of looking around the empty office. ‘It’s finally slowed down, and you deserve a break.’

‘I’m on a deadline with this.’ He gestures to the modem that is scattered around him.

You fold your arms and lean against the door. ‘You can fix that in twenty minutes. I know you.’ He opens his mouth to speak, but you beat him to it. ‘And before you throw another excuse you should know I’m very persuasive when I want to be. I don’t think you have another option.’

Jongdae barks out a laugh, dropping the tools in his hand to the desk with a thud. ‘Determined to drag me from my lair, huh?’ He holds your gaze, his expression filling with something akin to heat. Finally he gives you a rueful smile. ‘You’re not going to give up on this, are you?’

You meet his eyes and raise a brow, smiling with satisfaction. ‘Nope. Absolutely not.’

The certainty on his face turns into sadness, so fast you can’t be sure it was really there. Then he closes off and he’s quiet, more so than normal. ‘It doesn’t come easily to me.’

Wondering what could have changed so quickly you step forward, letting the door close behind you. ‘What, pizza?’

It shakes you how desperately you want to know. To peel back his skull and see inside his brain, just to understand what makes him tick. His history and where his future is headed. That small voice inside you whispers that once you figure it out, it still won’t make you care less about him.

‘Friends.’ He says it on a gasp. Looking at the floor fixedly, avoiding your eyes, he seems haunted.

The silence surrounds you both and he finally meets your focus again, chewing on the inside of his cheek. The pieces start to come together. He’s intelligent, preternaturally so, and so advanced in school you can’t imagine he’s had much experience with people his own age. And now that he’s in his mid-twenties he’s built himself a fortress. Close enough to the rest of the world, but distinctly separate.

Irrationally you want to reach across the space and wrap his hands in yours. Tug him into your growing group of friends and fix the ache in your chest his expression gives you. Not sympathy and certainly not pity, but some sensation that’s like butterflies in your stomach. But- he’s your boss. You’re not his keeper and you don’t think whatever dangerous emotion lives in you is what would help him.

He’s not yours and you don’t have the right to push, much that you want to.

‘Ah,’ you say. ‘I see. Well, more often than not we have Saturday pizza out there. The offer always stands. I’ll leave you be if you want to be alone, but just -’ you swallow and give him a tentative smile. ‘Just know that we’d be happy to have you join us. I’d be. Uhm. Happy if you joined us.’ It comes out in a rush and you groan.

With a shake of your head, an uncharacteristic gesture of uncertainty and embarrassment, you wave at him and push back out the door into the noise of the mall.

It’s a shame you don’t turn back. Or no, he thinks, it’s better this way. Jongdae feels far too much for you to keep it contained behind his normally stony expression.

You seem like the kind of person who would take that moment of openness and pull on it, until he unravels in front of you. Fear tells him you would take everything and when you're gone he'd be even more alone than before, now that he knows what it's like with you here.

Looking out through the glass he watches you rejoin the lively group. Always he’s felt like a science experiment, or some kind of circus exhibit when he was growing up. If he didn’t have his grandfather’s steady support and gentle guidance he surely would have become even more isolated.

With a shake of his head, he attempts to refocus on the project at hand. For some reason it doesn't fill him up like he wants it to, his usual joy and satisfaction is missing when he picks up the screwdriver once more. This is where he thrives. Computers and the internet and coding.

To other people it's a labyrinth, impossible to figure out. A world and a language they can speak and learn with effort and intention and study. But to him it's always been as easy as breathing.

His grandfather took his skills from the military and parlayed them into a business as a prolific handyman. It was the world they shared. A place where Jongdae’s creativity and his intelligence could soar. Anything he wanted to build or make, he could. Coding a rudimentary game to pass the time after school, when he could hear the neighborhood kids playing soccer outside.

It took him many wonderful places that he wouldn't have been able to reach if he was, for lack of a better word, normal. As a child and even in school it was so easy to hide behind his grades and his projects and the pride and hope of the adults around him. But now, at twenty five, there’s nothing to keep him hidden anymore.

When lunch is over you return and join him with a nod. He hopes you don't regret asking. He nearly hopes you'll try again. Maybe next Saturday.

For how confident he feels in some spaces - DJing at Shari's, here in his ‘lair’ - at the thought of joining a group of friends he feels again like a nervous thirteen year old sitting in his first college course. Like everyone around him knew how to do things he couldn’t comprehend.

He keeps his thoughts and his feelings to himself; he’s already shared more than he planned. But you draw him back into conversation easily enough, asking about the afternoons orders to be picked up. You don't shy away from him or give him an angry offended air. Inexplicably you still look at him warmly, openly, and he wants more than he's dared to let himself want in a very, very long time.

July 11th, 1997

He doesn't normally leave the office at lunch, preferring to eat his meals in his back office alone, but today Jongdae braves the food court.

It’s a Friday not a Saturday, but it’s a start. He makes brief, yet friendly, conversation with Chanyeol at the pizza place. The taller man smiles at Jongdae, easily, as though he doesn’t second guess the action. He asks if Jongdae had caught the Mariner's game over the weekend and they talk about how Griffey might finally lead Seattle to a World Series this year.

For once he doesn't feel like going back to the office and burying his head in his work. Jongdae awkwardly pulls out a chair in the cluster of tables between the bookstore and the record store. As he takes a bite of his pizza he hears a familiar laugh. Turning around he sees you through the glass of the bookstore.

You speak to the woman who owns Greyhame Books, standing beside someone he thinks is possibly called Jane. It all seems so… easy for you. Tucking your hair behind your ear you lean against the counter, discussing the stack of books in front of you with your friends.

Jongdae gives a rare laugh to no one but himself.

When he imagined hiring an accountant and administrator for his flourishing business he thought he'd get someone older. A person with experience and a similar level of wanting to be left alone. They could ignore him and he could ignore them, delegating filing and payments and customer questions and not have to think about them again.

An employee was supposed to reclaim the silence and peace that his work used to bring. Technology is so much simpler and predictable than humans and he’d really prefer to cut other people out of the equation entirely.

But you are the opposite of simple, and you absolutely aren’t someone he can ignore. From the moment he recognized you he knew he had to hire you. With your intensity and your impressive resume and the way your mouth pulls to the side when you’re trying not to smirk.

He doesn't regret it. But he feels raw in a way he hasn't allowed himself to in years. Jongdae doesn't let people get close. Not anymore.

'Hey, Jongdae!'

With a pizza slice halfway to his mouth Jongdae spots Junmyeon approaching, waving, a large Starbucks drink in hand.  He wants to turn away and hide in his pizza. He isn't good at this - making friends. For months Junmyeon has asked him to join in their monthly networking events here at the mall, or asked him to get a drink at Flanagan’s after work to chat. Jongdae’s all out of excuses.

He imagines his life as a circuit board. There’s his life now - pieces and wires scattered around him - and there’s the life he could have. If he’s brave and if he tries. He imagines the pieces fitting together and what they might build. He wonders if you might fit in, if you’d want him or let him.

His knee is jiggling and he’s nervous, but he takes a deep breath and waves back. ‘Hey Jun! Want to join me for a bit?’ Jun’s expression is surprised - the man doesn’t know how to keep back any of his emotions. ‘If you have time, I mean. No pressure.’ He stutters, pulse racing and cheeks reddening.

Jun grins and sits down opposite him. ‘Absolutely. About time! I thought you’d turn me down forever,’ he laughs. ‘Thanks again for helping me with that broken radio last month. You’re a pro. So, how’s business?’ He sips his coffee and waits patiently.

They can talk about business, something so easy? Jongdae wants to laugh with relief. Maybe he can do this after all.

Junmyeon is amused.

After ten minutes of talking shop with Jongdae he watches as you and Jane leave the bookstore next to their lunch spot. He’s owned a business two doors down from Jongdae for years, but he’s never seen him smile before. When you pass by it’s like someone flipped on a light switch. Jongdae has always been somewhat quiet, somewhat serious, except when he DJs. Now he sits straighter, his face softens, and his eyes fixate on yours like a magnet.

The two of you claim the other seats at the table, showing off the books you purchased. In between sips of his coffee Junmyeon balances his own flirtation with Jane and observing - okay, spying - on you and Jongdae.

He’s warmed by not just the caffeinated beverage. There’s a soft energy here- It’s a warm summer day and he’s discussing books, one of his all-time favorite topics. His mind whispers the words ‘double date’ and he smiles to himself for a moment before blinking.

“Are you alright?” Jane asks, gently resting her hand on Junmyeon’s wrist on the table.

He blushes and gives her a reassuring nod and asks if she’s read the Octavia Butler book on top of her stack yet. It’s an attempt at distraction and he knows it. But thankfully Jane’s eyes crinkle in the corners when she talks about the author, not pausing or seeming to notice the way he was fantasizing for a beat.

Across from him you and Jongdae are arguing about the merits of Isaac Asmiov. Jongdae is more articulate, more animated, more alive than he’s ever seen him. Gesturing emphatically and saying something about how robots are friends, not foes as you interrupt him by reminding him about Terminator. Neither of you seem to acknowledge the attraction between you. It’s been months since you started working at Chen’s, if Junmyeon remembers correctly.

In his periphery he sees Temptation, the chocolate store, and thinks of how Yixing and his girlfriend met on the job. One of his favorite poems mentions how love mirrors the lover; that everyone falls in love in a way akin to their personality. Yixing, passionate and insatiable and spontaneous, fell for Lavender in minutes and days. He saw what he wanted and after a slight pause to make sure it’s what Lav really wanted, he made the move.

Jongdae is nothing if not the complete opposite. Calculating and reserved and inscrutable.

His potential new friend is falling, if the lingering looks he gives you and the way he’s almost touched your shoulder not once but twice are any indication. But it’s a mystery to Junmyeon if, or when, Jongdae will ever make a move. You aren’t the same kind of romantic as Yixing’s girlfriend, someone playful and open with your emotions. You’re driven and witty and warm in your own way. Clearly you care for Jongdae, but in a quieter sense.

Junmyeon imagines this will be a marathon of love, not a sprint.

Eventually lunch hours end for all of you. There’s clients to see and paperwork to do and as he waves to you and Jane he wonders what will become of you and Jongdae. If you’ll stay as co-workers, always flirting and secretly wondering what might be. Or if either of you will push the other into action. The chess board is laid out, pieces waiting to be moved. It might just be his imagination, but Junmyeon hopes that one of you gets the game going.

He does also, perhaps, focus on you and Jongdae as a way to ignore how his own heart beats a bit faster around Jane. How he can’t stop staring at her dimple when she smiles or the head tilt she gives him when she’s really listening. Like he’s the only person in the world. No, he absolutely doesn’t think about Jane’s feet i n his lap as they both read on the couch in his living room. He doesn’t wonder what it would be like to kiss her or hold her hand. Absolutely not.

Instead he invites Jongdae to the monthly Settlers of Catan night he has with Minseok and some other folks from the mall. Much safer territory than wondering about his own love story and if still waters truly do run deep where he and Jane are concerned.

August 11th, 1997

On a surprisingly rainy yet unsurprisingly dead Monday morning Jongdae forces you away from your insistent attempts to organize his paperwork to the market a few streets over. The quiet bakery on the hill above Pike Place has a view of the misty Sound beyond. He sits close beside you, carefully keeping his knees away, lest he bump yours and you do the same, perhaps letting them linger a moment each time they collide.

It’s nice here, you notice suddenly, as you take the first sip of your coffee. The smell of dark roast and fresh almond scones. The breeze coming in through the open door. The soothing, distant sound of jazz from the overhead speaker. The pleasant warm lighting, far different than the aggressively bland fluorescent kind he chose for Chen's. Everything puts you at ease, wraps around you the way you wish Jongdae’s arms would.  

'This place reminds me of Amsterdam.' You smile, looking down into your cappuccino to avoid Jongdae’s eyes.

‘Have you ever been?’ he asks, voice softer than it normally is.

With a shake of your head you trace the edge of the teal and white ceramic cup in front of you. ‘No, but I’ve seen pictures. I used to love photo books growing up. Atlases and travel guides. It’s always been my favorite section of the library.’

He hums for a moment, considering. 'If you could go anywhere in the world, is that where you'd choose?'

Tucking your hair behind your ears you bite your lip to avoid grinning at him. He’s making you remember long-forgotten parts of yourself. Before school and work became the end point, the be-all end-all that your life was funnelled towards. Back when you imagined exploring every country on the planet. Taking photos and making memories. A long time ago, in the days before you realized how expensive it is to actually be a wanderlust-filled adventurer.

Finally you look at him. Something in his irises makes you swallow; an endless, nameless emotion that lives in him you can never seem to place. Elusive and frustrating and tempting all at once.

‘Yes,’ you admit. Voice dry and heart racing you look back to your coffee in avoidance. ‘It’s my dream to travel there. I’m a bit obsessed with it, really.’

'You? Obsessed?' Jongdae smirks, a boyish grin you want to cover with your own mouth.

You roll your eyes, tracing the handle of your mug. 'Hush. It's such a beautiful city with all the canals and the architecture and history, and the food is to die for. Every quaint European city fantasy in one. What about you, have you done much traveling?'

He shakes his head. ‘Not personally. But - my grandfather went everywhere in Europe, after the war.’ His admission is so quiet you almost miss it. But it’s as if your soul is waiting for every crack in the door to Jongdae you can find, and you don’t pass up the opportunity. ‘What was he like?’

It happens sometimes, when you’re working together. The times there’s no customers around and the mall gets empty and you can’t help but be aware of him. Against your skin and with your hands, eyes feasting on him when the rest of you is forbidden from doing so. In the moments when he isn’t putting on airs of being the tech mogul or the reclusive jerk or the awkward, secretly friendly nerd around Jun or Minseok.

Those times when Jongdae meets your eyes and you see the real him, beneath it all. Wanting and alone and scared. Your breath catches in your throat just as it does now and you long to ask him plainly if he feels the way you do. Being honest with your words and not just your jokes or looks out the corner of your eyes when you catch him watching you too.

But those feel too fragile, too dangerous to utter. So instead you ask him about his family, someone close enough to Jo ngdae’s heart to glimpse the core of him; like a sun during an eclipse you can only look for a moment, lest you get burned.

'My grandfather?’ Brows furrow, the corners of his cat-like lips tilting down for a moment. You nod gently, cupping your drink for something to occupy your hands.

Jongdae looks out at the water for a moment, his mouth tugging to the side as he ponders. ‘You know when you finally solve a puzzle you’ve been working on for ages? Hours of struggling to find the right combination and finally it’s all laid out, perfectly in alignment.’

You nod, trying not to smile and ruin the moment, but softened by him nonetheless. ‘Yeah, I know what you mean.’

When his gaze lands on your hands he pauses, like he’s wondering if the two of you might fit in a similar way. But it’s gone before you can grasp onto the moment. Sadness colors his features then. Not the aching kind that gnaws away like a feral monster, leaving nothing in its wake, but the beautiful, bittersweet sadness of a love greater than grief.

His voice is thick when he next speaks. ‘My grandfather was that person for me. We just - fit. He understood me better than my parents did. More than any of my classmates or the few people I’ve ever gone out with. We didn’t even need to speak.’ Jongdae pauses and taps his fingers on the counter.

You give in and reach for his hand, not to hold it - not yet. But to cover it with your own for a moment of understanding, of comfort.

He smiles at you, the crease between his brows disappearing for a moment. ‘He was fifty one years older than me and he was my best friend.’

‘I’ll bet you miss him quite a lot?’ You realize how incredibly inadequate the sentiment is and shake your head, moving to withdraw your hand. ‘Sorry - that’s - of course you miss him.’

But Jongdae doesn’t let you retreat. With his free hand he holds yours in place. Warmth floods your body from the connection point and you’re unable to take your eyes off him. ‘It’s alright, I know what you mean.’ He traces your thumb with a barely there motion, seemingly without intending to. ‘Thank you.’

‘For what?’ You ask, a bit breathless and unable to mind.

‘For always asking. For always listening.’ He says it simply, as though it’s a novel concept. Perhaps, given what you know of his life, who he is, not many people dare to ask. Or bother to listen.

Soon paperwork and customers and regular life draw you back to Chen’s Electronics. He doesn’t mention the way you reached for him and you don’t either. But when you go to leave that afternoon Jongdae holds out your jean jacket for you to slip on. And when you thank him he gives you the soft, secret grin you’ve learned he saves only for you.

On the way home you think that Amsterdam might be the most beautiful city you can imagine, but that it pales in comparison to a hole-in-the-wall cafe in Seattle, as long as Jongdae is seated beside you.

September 9th, 1997

The summer turns into fall and one Monday evening, seemingly without his noticing, Jongdae realizes that his appointment book is full to bursting.

On Tuesday night he's playing Settlers of Catan with Minseok, Bookworm, Kyungsoo, and Junmyeon. They meet up in the food court after the mall closes at nine, second Tuesday of every month.

Wednesday he has lunch with Jun and some other business owners in the mall for their monthly networking/commiserating 'sesh' as Yixing calls it. That afternoon he's promised to help Minseok install the new upgrades to his store's database software that 'make him want to rip out his hair' in exchange for a few coveted LPs Jongdae's had his eyes on for a 70’s/grunge remix set at Shari's.

Thursday night there’s a L.A. Confidential screening at the theater that Baekhyun talked him into, after their argument about whether or not Russel Crowe could actually act or if he was just handsome.

Saturdays are pizza and raucous laughter to break up the busy weekends full of work and clients and deadlines, followed by long nights of DJ-ing and circling you as if you are a sun, drawing him in with the pull of your gravity. He’s merely a comet attracted by the force you give off and he’s not even upset at the realization.

Sehun, Jongin, and Yixing practically bribed him into joining their 'Sunday morning brunch and biceps' workout group, saying that they need a fourth and everyone else is normally sleeping off their hangovers or works the opening shift.

It’s other people’s names all over his schedule, but what he feels is you. Everywhere, all over him. He knows it’s you. Not intentionally, perhaps. But you opened a door for him with your ease and generosity. One Saturday pizza lunch and somehow he’s gotten to know more people in two months at the mall than he had in the years before combined.

You’d wave him off if he mentioned it or thanked you. With that adorable tilt of your head you would smirk and tell him that all he has to do is give people a chance. That they don’t bite.

Irrationally he wants to do things for you - not just as a friend but in the romantic sense - like buy you flowers or have you by his side at Thursday movie screenings or take you to Amsterdam, just to watch you bloom among the flowers. But that would be… crazy, right? He sits in his favorite armchair unable to focus on the book in front of him and runs agitated hands through his hair.

He’s not your boyfriend or your partner. He’s your boss or your co-worker and possibly your friend. Why does he think of holding your hand and walking along the canals of some foreign city every time you look in his direction?

Why does the once-comforting quiet of his apartment feel more and more empty when you’re not laying on the couch across from him, reading and teasing him? Why does he wake up and wish that someone besides himself filled his bed? Someone with your expressions and your joy and your stubborn insistence.

He briefly makes a mental note to ask Yixing how he ended up dating Lavender before suddenly tossing the book to the floor, standing with a groan.

‘What a ridiculous idea!’ he yells aloud to the empty apartment. Jongdae paces circles in the carpet of his living room and wonders if part of being in love is going slightly insane, if everyone who manages to do so finds the madness enjoyable or if love is simply folie à deux?

He looks at his calendar, spread open on his grandfather’s old, wooden desk and tries to comprehend how his life could be so different one year to the next. Like he’s grasping at straws or wisps of air. Aside from work and his grandfather and music, what did he have before? The occasional alumni event or guest lecture at his alma maters?

For a minute his chest feels too full to breathe, unable to let in anything more. Panic tugs at him for a second. It’s too much, all at once - too many people and too many events. Too many opportunities to mess up and these people? He can’t sever his life completely like he did from Julian and his friends. They're so connected to this space he's made his business in. What will happen when he inevitably falls out of favor with them?

He imagines himself shunned and the idea hurts worse than before. Back then he had chosen isolation; to have it thrust unwillingly upon him, unasked, is too much to comprehend.

Once he walked naively into friendship, believing it was easy and that it would last. That there was no rug that would be unceremoniously swept out from under him. But people change, faster than he can believe.

Jongdae sits on the floor, his pajama pants brushing his crossed legs, and forces himself to steady his breathing. These people are not his old friends at Microsoft, he reminds himself. Nor are they the kids in school who teased him, or his classmates in college who resented him or treated him like an annoyance.

Like he’s always practiced, he turns to facts to calm his mind. He’s safe - the apartment is his and he has plenty of money. Not just from his business but from his grandfather’s life insurance. If he wanted to leave - if he was forced to, he thinks he could do it. But something within him howls at the idea of leaving what he has now.

For the first time in ages he has ideas, plans, and dreams for what to do with his life. Now he has people he cares about, people who he trusts to be kind rather than fearing they’ll betray or leave him. You’re at the center of it, if you let him. Determination takes hold of him and doesn’t let go. After a few moments his panic subsides, washed away by the bright promise of a future he’s never dared to imagine before now. Before you.

September 13th, 1997

By the end of your second drink you contemplate being the one to risk it all and ask Jongdae out.

In the months you’ve worked together you stopped seeing him as a challenge and started viewing him instead as the push to your pull. The yang to your yin. The - you sip on your rum and coke and get lost in the tug of his brows and the set of his lips as he spins rather than finding another apt metaphor.

The first time you met him you knew there was something underneath his hard exterior, but you had no idea how correct you’d be proven. Somehow he walks the tightrope between being harsh and being softer than you thought possible. But rather than turn you off you find you’re drawn to his bewildering mix of wry humor, nerdy fixations, and raw emotion. It unlocks all the jagged parts of you that you try to keep so nicely pressed together.

For someone who has been deemed too much to handle finding a man who seems to do it with ease is staggering. He loves your bossy, charismatic nature and your ideas about new things to try at the store. He listens intently when you rattle off obscure facts about your favorite books and movies. He sees your dreams of traveling, of being part of community here, as a complement, not a detriment to your professional career.

A voice startles you. “So when are you going to jump his bones?” Baekhyun is the kind of puppy dog, glowing cheeks, wide-eyed endearing drunk you wish you could hate.

He waggles his brows at you and you snort, shoving him away with your shoulder. “I have zero idea what you’re talking about.”

You weave your way around the perimeter of the dance floor, trying and failing to not fixate on Jongdae with every step.

“Come on. Admit it. You’ve got a thing for the DJ.” His mouth tugs into a smug grin and you groan. “And word on the street is he wants you too.”

“He’s my boss.” The last of your drink burns your throat and you belly up to the bar to order another. “Get real.”

Always a hoe for gossip, Baekhyun leans one elbow against the bar and drops his chin into his hand to watch you. Rather than speak and risk your wrath again he merely looks between you and Jongdae, waiting.

You pride yourself on not giving into temptation for all of ten seconds and then blurt out - “What are you doing?”

Baekhyun presses his lips together to suppress a grin. He raises a finger and holds it up. “You’ll see.”

The bartender is tied up with a group at the far end so you sigh and turn, resting your back against the bar top. With folded arms you observe the club. “We’re about to be abducted by aliens? Jongin’s going to breakdance? Minseok and Bookworm are -”

He clicks his tongue. “So impatient. You two really are a match made in heaven.”

“Me and Jongdae?” If you weren’t already buzzed you’d deny it more. But the permission to speak openly about your feelings for the DJ is too tempting. “You think so?”

Before he can tease you again a motion up ahead catches your focus. Jongdae looks up without tilting his head. His eyes cut to the left, to the two overflowing booths that are filled with the usual crew from the Exodus Mall. With amusement you follow his eye line as he scans the dance floor, looking for something. He never breaks the movement of his hands, spinning the vinyl and working the controls.

Finally his focus lands on you and Baekhyun at the bar. Jongdae’s eyes widen and that unreadable expression settles on his features, no emotion escaping. Your heart picks up, cheeks heating with awareness. There’s nothing to do but hold his gaze for long seconds while the club pulses with life around you. Isolated and together, even across the room.

And then Baekhyun ruins it.

With a comically large wave he smiles at Jongdae. The motion breaks Jongdae’s focus and he rolls his eyes, shaking his head at his friend’s ridiculousness. A smile tugs at his lips and he gives you a look of commiseration and you laugh, reaching over to ruffle Baekhyun’s blonde hair.

The song changes and Jongdae finally looks away. A second later the bartender appears, asking you for your next order. Baekhyun waits patiently beside you, arms folded against the bar, his smugness a tangible thing in the air between you two.

You bite your lip and look at yourself in the mirror behind the bar, visible between the clear shelves of liqueurs and syrups. Could he feel the same way? Does Jongdae imagine holding you, kissing you, being with you the same way you do with him in your unguarded moments?

The two of you already do so much together - work five days a week. Meals alone or with friends. Nights here, separate but still united in the bubble of the dance club. It strikes you just how thin the line is between friends and coworkers and … something more. A four-letter sinful word that starts with L and implies dangerous things like hands touching hands followed by lips and skin and teeth. A different four-letter word full of softness and commitment that has no place being in your mind at the same time as Jongdae’s name.

A hand rests gently on your shoulder. “I told you,” Baek says sincerely. He disappears after waggling his damned eyebrows one more time and leaves you at the bar, wondering.

Half of you wants to confess to him out of genuine affection and desire for connection; you can’t escape the way he makes you long to be reckless and daring and bold and romantic in the kind of grand gesture sense that you’d have rolled your eyes at before you met him. The delicate balance makes your palms sweat and your glass shake slightly as you raise it to your lips. From nerves or excitement or a mix of the two.

You could make the first move, but the logical half of your mind wins out. Instead you swallow your drink in three gulps and head over to the DJ booth to talk to him and nothing more. Close enough to be comforted by his nearness but keeping your desire closeted behind your fear. Tonight that’s all you can manage.

Passing by Yixing and Lavender dancing is a reminder of all the good love can bring. Yixing’s hands holding her close, her arms folded around his neck and their foreheads together. Intimate words are shared that aren’t meant for your ears, even if you could hear them over the sound of the music.

But just beyond is Baekhyun and Hitch. She laughs and dances out of his way as he tries to tickle her. They’re obviously in love to anyone who watches, so why haven’t they admitted it and had a go at being together? Maybe it’s for the best, you wonder. If trying and failing and ruining what you have it worse than never trying at all.

Before you can wander too far down the road of doubt and consequences you remember how it felt to have Jongdae’s hand on top of yours. The thought of tomorrow and the days after disappear altogether when you feel Jongdae’s eyes on you once more, drawing you closer to him, whether he knows his effect on you or not. When you reach the booth you decide to stop thinking in general, and let yourself feel instead.

Saturday night and he's in his element. In the booth, far away from the rest of the crowd but still a part of it. Adrenaline in his veins. Music is Jongdae’s therapy. An alter ego much like the comic book characters he read about growing up. It's the skin he can put on when he's tired of being himself. A place where he can set down the baggage of his identity for a night and get lost in the beats.

He closes his eyes, savoring the pattern of the vinyl beneath his fingertips.

Suddenly, he feels you. Of course you're here. He's never free from you, he thinks with a rueful smile. First you invaded this place, his escape and his temple. Then you wormed your way into his business as though you always belonged there. Now you're occupying his senses the way you occupy his thoughts at all hours.

For a beat he admires you, standing at the bar rolling your eyes while Baekhyun waves dramatically. He drinks you in with a last look at your fabulous legs before reluctantly turning back to switching out one album for the next. Lately you’ve taken to joining him for a bit while he spins and he hopes that once again you’ll come up to the booth tonight.

He's not a patient man, or a subtle one. If he wanted to be rid of you, you'd be gone. Severed with the kind of brutal finality he showed to anyone from his time after M.I.T. There are no second chances as far as he's concerned. But still, you remain. Infuriating, exhilarating. Never far from his consciousness.

'You look like you're having a good time!'

Sooner than expected your voice breaks his trance and he lifts his eyes to look at you. His heart thumps painfully in his chest and he swallows harshly. He doesn't know how you do it - how you effortlessly change to match your surroundings.

One minute you're his office manager, polite and respectful and skilled. Already he sees the business taking shape, becoming more cohesive and smooth beneath your talented mind and heart. And your feisty insistence that he upgrade and finesse his marketing and finally finish putting together a website for Chen’s.

The next minute you're leaning over the edge of the booth, chest coming forward and revealing your neckline. The red is fitting on you. It brings out the natural flush in your cheeks and makes you look perpetually alive. He feels stagnant by comparison, a man of stone who remains unchanging while the world passes him by.

The tumble of hair across your shoulders and the delight in your eyes are so beautiful he wants to reach for you. To reach for more, be more than who he has been - afraid and alone. Bitterness lives in his heart, swatting away anyone who gets too close. But here you are, knocking once more on the door of his being.

He finds his voice, his hands thankfully moving on muscle memory as he drops in the next remix. 'It's good energy tonight,' he fumbles. 'I love this song.' You nod in agreement.

It’s easy, being with you. Together you talk about work and the music he plays and your group of friends. Chanyeol and Bijoux, who finally got together again after what seems like months of back and forth. Bets on how long Minseok will wait before he proposes to Bookworm, now that they’re an official item. Joking about Baekhyun and Hitch like always.

He shows off for you, just a little. Spins 'Scream' by Michael and Janet jackson with a bit more pizazz than usual. It strikes him as amusing how much he always hated being watched before this. Not that many people pay particular attention to him as a DJ, but he thinks he might like the way it feels to be watched by you.

He wants to watch you, too, for as long as you let him. He already can’t take his eyes off you. No matter how much that idea might terrify him. When he drops the next mix and the crowd cheers at ‘Tubthumping’ he gives you a rare broad smile and it's like being punched in the chest when you return it with an unexpectedly shy one of your own.

Jongdae almost invites you into the booth. He sees it as though it were one of the romantic comedies that are so popular right now. You would take your place in front of him. He'd get to rest his hand on top of yours, guiding your movements. Maybe as you got the hang of it he would slide them to hold your hips, keeping your back to his chest as his mouth finds your neck.

Liz invites you to dance and Jongdae wipes the probably awed look off his face with effort. He needs some cold water, immediately.

Friday September 19th

Jongdae is upset about something. It’s not so much that you now seem to be able to pick up his moods with ease, which is true, but the fact that he is nearly tearing his hair out. A piece of paper sits in front of him on the desk but it’s too far away for you to read.

By the time he groans for the fifth time you finally speak up. ‘Are you alright?’

His head jerks up and his eyes are tired when they meet yours. Not ‘it’s been a long week’ tired, but something sad in his expression that makes him look fragile and younger than his years.

For a moment he shakes his head. Then he picks up the paper and waves it in the air, opening and closing his mouth in rapid succession. The confusion on his normally self-assured face would be comical if it wasn’t such an obviously distressing situation. Finally he drops the paper and leans back in his chair, rubbing a hand along his jaw.

‘I just got word that they’re demolishing the apartment building I live in. I have to move by November 1st.’

Instantly you want to hug him or hold his hand. ‘Your grandfather’s apartment?’

Jongdae nods. ‘They’re tearing it down so they can put in some luxury condos. Yet another classic neighborhood about to be wiped out in the name of progress.’ He sighs, looking at the ceiling to compose himself. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be so-’

‘No, it’s -’ you start, unsure of your destination. ‘It’s an important place. And it’s your home. Don’t apologize for being pissed off about it.’

He nods, taken aback. ‘Exactly. It’s where I grew up. I’ve also never had to look for an apartment or move, either. So this will be dreadful.’

You bite the inside of your cheek. The offer to help practically leaps from your mouth and you hold it close for a moment, making sure you don’t rush into something that’s out of your depth. But as always your logic overrules your fear.

‘I could help, if you like?’ He’s just your boss slash co-worker. It’s innocent. It’s harmless, right? ‘I’ve moved so often with school and everything. I know my way around the city.’

In the ensuing pause Jongdae’s solemnity returns, his mouth and the lines of his face don’t give away any emotion. But, as always, he holds you in place with his expression. And his eyes have that fire within that he seems to only show to you. ‘That would be wonderful, thank you.’

You nod, case closed. Turning back to your computer you lie to yourself further, pretending not to notice how his voice lowered. As though he knew you weren’t just offering for help with his living situation. But something more raw and painful that he isn’t prepared to hold on his own just yet.

For how picky you thought you were about apartments, Jongdae has you beat by a mile. Student housing accustomed you to wonky flooring and cramped kitchens and the charming yet ancient windows on many older Seattle homes. But his grandfather’s gorgeous pre-war unit had made Jongdae’s tastes quite particular.

On Tuesdays and on weekends you pulled up listings and showed Jongdae around the city by way of it’s apartments, condos, and houses. He enjoyed the nature surrounding Greenlake, the affordable houses north of UW in Ravenna, and the vibe of Ballard and Fremont. But he ruled anything north of 520 out quickly as ‘too far from the store.’ The luxury of walking to work on nicer days was something he wasn’t willing to part with.

The same unfortunately ruled out a townhouse in Alki that you had salivated over, a block from the beach. Pioneer Square had some great lofts that would have been perfect for a music-lover like Jongdae, but he vetoed those as well. Along with all the trendy industrial lofts near the stadiums, claiming he hated all the construction going on nearby.

It should have been frustrating, to spend endless hours watching him nix perfectly wonderful places. In Queen Anne he hated the hills. Westlake he disliked the mall. Madrona, Leschi, Montlake, Magnolia, and Lake Union all came close but still he shook his head and said ‘thanks, but no thanks’ to landlord after landlord.

It should have driven you mad, but all it did was make you like him more.

Falling in love with Jongdae isn’t what you had planned. But from the first night you saw him at the club some part of you knew it was inevitable, the way the rain in autumn starts off as a light drizzle and before you know it becomes a torrential downpour, blanketing the city and saturating every exposed corner.

He always brought you coffee and insisted on buying breakfast or lunch. He always picked you up, right on time. Held doors and made sure he didn’t walk too fast and did the thing where his arm hovered over your back when the two of you were in crowded spaces. Not touching, but close enough you could feel him protecting you. On anyone else you would have absolutely hated that, but of course from him, you craved it.

Day after day you listened to music in his car as the two of you drove around little neighborhoods hoping to find something, complaining about how tight and ridiculous the parking situation always is. Joking about your friends or the news or the latest books you’re reading. They hardly felt like dates. No, they felt like something even more insidious. Like being in a relationship with him. Easy and warm and friendly and the kind of thing you could get used to.

But eventually it had to end, before it seemed like either of you were ready.

On a surprisingly warm Tuesday in October the two of you walk into a place that no one could object to. The building is in south Capitol Hill, close to Cal Anderson and only a fifteen or twenty minute walk from the mall. It’s designed in the classic Victorian style of the neighborhood, but was completed just three years ago. Small pane windows and a fireplace with a carved mantle and dark spires on the roof, all with brand new insulation and appliances.

Sunlight floods the corner unit on the top floor and you gasped as soon as the door opened. Jongdae stands beside you as the landlord goes over the details of the square footage and the building amenities, but neither of you are listening anymore.

‘What do you think?’ he asks softly. The five-story building sits on a slight hill and overlooks the rest of downtown, with a partial water view around the tall downtown skyscrapers.

‘I think it’s as close to perfect as you’re going to get.’

He moves closer and rests his palms on the window sill, looking around for a moment before turning his head to watch you. ‘Good.’

After a long pause Jongdae pushes off the windows and politely interrupts the landlord, who is currently opening every single cabinet in the kitchen and giving a detailed run down of his wife’s favorite tupperware, asking about the deposit. The way he phrased it along with the attentive way he waited for your approval makes you wonder if he wasn’t just picking this apartment for himself.

Imagining yourself there scares you. If he was seeking your opinion… surely he would be hoping you’d come over? Neither of you have spoken a word about the bizarre yet undeniable attraction you have, but that hardly forms the basis of a relationship. A boyfriend who wanted to be sure you liked his new place would be one thing, but your friend and co-worker who has never admitted to even liking you is quite another.

You lean against the edge of the window and run a finger along the ledge. A small part of you whispers that you’re supposed to be doing something else, eventually. You won’t work at Chen’s forever, but it wasn’t meant to be this hard to leave. It’s just a stop on the way to your final destination. So why do you want to get off the train altogether and make a home here?

Would it be so terrible, to be with him? It’s been a fantasy for so long that imagining real life with him makes you suck in a breath as though you’ve been punched in the gut. It could be a fresh start for you both. The end of one adventure and the beginning of a new one. You remind yourself that being in love doesn’t mean you can’t travel or change the world. Being with Jongdae would hopefully only encourage your dreams, not stifle them.

As they discuss deposit and applications and timelines for moving into the apartment you wander into the other rooms.

The bathroom has a large tub and dual sinks. You can only imagine what your expression must be like right now, given your swirling emotions, and avoid the mirror altogether. The second bedroom is more like a cozy office, narrow enough for a desk and a couch and perhaps some bookshelves. In the bedroom you hesitate at the doorway, reaching up to play with the pendant of your necklace.

Windows run along both sides, meeting in a corner. You think of plants lining the wide ledges and going to sleep with the setting westward sun and how short of a walk it would be to get breakfast from your favorite bagel shop that’s just a block away. It’s close to the mall and the club. It’s truly perfect.

As you watch cars pass and people walk by down below you space out, the image blurring and becoming Jongdae on a bed in this room, leaning back against the pillows with a book in his lap. Smiling at you and pulling you close since he knows you refuse to get up earlier than you have to on your days off.

Inexplicably you want to cry and you huff out a laugh, squeezing your eyes tightly only to find that they’re damp. It’s not anger that the vision inspires in you or even sadness. It’s frustration and amusement that war inside you as you think about how you fell in love with him without your consent. Rational thinking should have stopped this long ago, but all you can think as you stand there is how nice it is to be with him. And how you wouldn’t mind being with him for a long while.

The only thing that helps ease the tension in your chest is how he looks at you on the drive back to your place. You fill the time with discussions of moving trucks and hiring a company to help with the heavy lifting, but you’re both clearly distracted by other thoughts. He pulls his car up to your apartment and you try to avoid looking at him as you say goodbye, but he briefly rests his hand on your knee to get your attention.

Your hand stops in its motion to grab your bag and ends up nearly on top of his, but you make no movement to break the contact. ‘Thank you,’ he says softly. ‘I mean it.’ Jongdae turns his hand and holds yours, giving it a quick squeeze and looking like he never wants to let go.

October 12th, 1997

You’re eating cheesy bread at Barada with Hitch, but today she’s different - evasive and nervous in a strange way. 'So I - uhh. I have news,' she finally says. She sips her drink and looks at the table rather than at you. 'I don't know if I should tell you though.'

Pausing in your chewing you raise a brow. 'You can tell me anything, you know that.'

She awkwardly runs a hand along her neck. 'No I know. I just -' she huffs out a breath and blows her hair off her forehead..

'You and Baekhyun finally had sex and you're pregnant?' You smirk at her as she chokes on her soda. 'Come on, just spit it out.'

She waves and hand and very quickly says - 'There's a project manager position open in the gaming division. Some new big thing and they're looking for an upstart to head up operations.'

You frown and tear off another slide of bread, not understanding her odd behavior at all. 'Okay… and you're thinking what, thinking of applying?'

'No, you dork. I'm thinking you should apply.' She tilts her head like she assumed your reaction would be more immediate. 'You wanted me to keep an eye out for you, right? I didn't want to say anything since - '

'Since?' you ask, both afraid of what she'll say and dying to know. Terrified it will have to do with Jongdae and the swirling mess of feelings you have for him.

It’s her turn to be wry. 'Since you and Jongdae have been attached at the hip.'

'Really?' You stall, taking an enormous bite.

Hitch tosses a balled-up napkin at you. 'Yes. When I met you in college I thought 'there goes the most intense person I've ever met.’ And then I met Jongdae after he opened Chen’s and he gave you a run for your money.' She dusts off her hands. 'You both could be making millions someday. Taking over countries or saving the world or something. We all know it. I don't know, I didn’t want to mention this because together you guys seem happier. Softer? Something like that..'

'And you think me getting a job there would ruin that?' Her words mirror your fears exactly and your stomach drops.

'It's taken me years to get Jongdae to even look at me after I told him where I worked. He hates Microsoft. With good reason, from what you've implied. I'm sure you could make it work, but trust me when I say if you get swept up into that upper management spiral, we probably won't see you again.'

'I won't completely abandon you guys just because I get a new job.' But doubt whispers in your mind. The long hours and the endless meetings and the extra work to always be the best, to always be ahead. 'Okay fine, I see your point. I still have to try, right? I should at least apply.'

She rests her hand over yours where you have your napkin in a death grip on the table. 'You don't have to do anything, babe. We'll always be here for you even if you become a tech mogul overnight. But will it make you happy? Whatever comes next... do it for yourself, okay? Not just cause you think you should.'

You smile and hold her hand for a moment, wrinkling your nose. 'Thank you, Hitch. I needed that. What about you? You said you were going to apply for that transfer to the NYC office, are you still considering it?'

She blows out a deep breath and pulls her hand back, dropping her forehead to it for a moment. 'God, I don't know. My whole life is here. And I'd have to leave the theater.' She rests her chin on her palm and looks up at you with a dramatic frown. 'My friends are all here. My family. I love where I'm at, but I know that something eventually has to change.'

'Baekhyun?' You grin at her, wondering if the move might finally force them to admit their feelings.

Hitch straightens and looks across the food court to the movie theater. 'Yeah, something like that.' She gives you a dramatic waggle of her brow. 'Jongdae?'

You groan and fold your arms, sinking lower into your seat. Even your roommates ask about him now. Everyone can surely see how you light up around him. The way you gravitate towards the DJ booth on club nights like a moth to a flame. The way you draw him into conversations and brag about him. It should be forbidden territory, as untouchable and unreadable as he is. Not to mention he's your boss.

But worst of all he still hasn't said anything about it, nothing more than the occasional flirtatious comment or lingering look. Even after all your time together and the way he looked at you in the new apartment. For all you know he sees you as a very stubborn employee who happens to force your way into things.

You cover your face with your hands and sigh. 'Something like that.'

Hitchcock stands and takes your shared tray of dishes to the bus station with a throaty laugh. 'That's what I thought.'

November 1st, 1997

Jongdae is frantically packing up more of his bookshelf when the doorbell rings. He smiles on instinct. It's not something he can help anymore, not when he knows it's you on the other side. Right at nine in the morning, just when you promised the movers would be here. With a last look around his living room at the organized chaos he wipes his hands on his sweatpants and stands.

It surprised him how quickly you agreed to help with - well, everything, really.

When he told you about his move he didn’t expect anything would come of it. It's his problem, not yours. He didn't imagine for a moment you'd give the announcement more attention than a sympathetic word or two. But you stepped to his side. Put up with his grouchy persistence in believing that there's no place in the world, let alone in Seattle, that would be as amazing as this apartment. As it always seems with you, he found himself proven wrong.

You didn't let him wallow and guided him with your decisiveness through the checklist of everything he'd need to do. A few months ago he would have waved you off. Decided you were being bossy or nosy and turned down the help with a cold shoulder. 

But now he wants you around for everything and the thought makes him pause with his hand on the doorknob.

He made sure you like his new apartment too because - when he isn't expecting it he imagines you there. Not just as his co-worker or employee or even as his friend. As someone more permanent. Lasting. It's not that he needs you to run his life for him, he's perfectly capable of doing things on his own. It's just that he loves how you barge your way into his world and refuse to let him be alone.

Jongdae doesn't know how yet, but he wants to show you how he feels in return. It's like trying to run with a blindfold on, but he desperately hopes that he can figure out how to care about you in the way you deserve. Bringing you coffee and asking about your day and giving you all the freedom you want at work are a start, but they barely scratch the surface of how much he feels for you.

He's got one idea. A big one. An insane one, that you'll probably call him nuts for suggesting. If he ever gets up the nerve someday.

The buzzer sounds again and he shakes himself out of it. Finally he pulls it open and is greeted by your smiling face in the morning gray light. Hair pulled back in a ponytail and dressed in a long black shirt and faded overalls. He leans against the doorframe, wondering if he's ever seen anything more beautiful than you on his doorstep.

'So, I have a surprise,' you start. With a free hand you nervously brush your hair behind your ear. It's so unlike you that he immediately wonders if something is wrong.

'What is it?'

Before you can answer, noise in the parking lot draws his focus. His front door faces the open-air walkway that leads to the stairs down to the parking lot. He expected a moving truck and several buff men in logoed shirts. Instead it's a scrappy group of your friends - his friends now, he supposes - looking tired but ready to help.

Junmyeon and Jane drink coffee and pull furniture dollys and heavy blankets out of a Uhaul truck. Liz and Jongin are leaning against the cab of Sehun's car and laugh at him as he and Yixing sleep peacefully in the backseat. Chanyeol and his girlfriend are paused on the landing below making out, a tape gun in each of their hands. Another car catches a break in the flow of traffic and pulls into one of the guest spaces. Minseok and Bookworm step out and yawn, tying sweatshirts around their waists.

Jongdae repeats his question. Or at least he tries to, but emotion catches his throat and all he can do is stare at you with a mix of surprise and what he's sure is a very naked expression of affection.

'How did you do this?' he asks when he can finally breathe again.

You tilt your head and grin at him, pride making you radiant even in the dull mist of the morning. 'Is this okay?' For a moment you look worried, tucking your hands in the pockets of your overalls and taking a step back.

'I know I said I'd hire the movers, but I thought this might be better? I didn't think everyone would be here, especially after the Halloween party last night. Soo and Sunshine are working, but I think - wait,' you turn and yell down to the group in the lot. 'Has anyone heard from Baek and Hitch?'

Chanyeol reluctantly pulls away from his girlfriend and replies. 'Yeah, he messaged me at the ass-crack of dawn. He said he and Hitch are fine, but they won't be able to make it until later.'

With a curious look you thank Chanyeol and turn back to Jongdae. 'Okay, so almost everyone came.'

'It's because you're incredible,' he agrees, heart warm and in awe of you. Stepping back, he shoves the door stop in with his foot to prop it open and gestures for you to come in.

He doesn't get two steps before your hand finds his bicep, stopping him. 'No, I'm just absolutely amazing at organizing things,' you laugh. ‘But they didn't just come for me Jongdae, they came because they're your friends. They wanted to help.'

The intensity in your voice makes him pause. Like you're trying to say far more than your words. He gets lost for a moment in your beautiful eyes and swallows harshly. His past, the negative parts, haven't come up much - his failed first business, the trail of broken friendships he's left behind him, the ensuing guard he's had up since - but you've paid far more attention than he realized.

He doesn't miss the meaning behind your words, or the look in your eyes; what you're asking of him. To trust you, to trust them. To release his death grip on the walls he keeps up to protect himself. But no matter how determined you are he knows he has to be the one to dismantle them. His heart is nervous and he instead focuses on your hand on his arm.

For a beat he wants to kiss you, then and there with almost all of his and your friends just outside. Instead he lets his actions speak when his mouth isn't able to and pulls you into a hug. You freeze for a moment, stiff with surprise. But after a moment it melts away and you hold him back, wrapping your arms around his waist. His head spins when you rest your forehead against his shoulder, unable to process the fact that you’re in his arms in reality, not just his dreams.

'You're the most amazing person,' he murmurs against your hair.

The sound of loud voices and thumping of boots on stairs make him pull back. You give him another smile, warmer and softer this time. Something that's private for him only. 'I know.'

He barks out a laugh as Sehun and Jongin come in through the doorway. 'Let's do this!' Sehun calls, clapping his hands together.

'We promise we won't steal anything,' Jongin jokes, looking around Jongdae's place with obvious fascination.

Bijoux organizes the packing party while Chanyeol grabs Jongdae's keys so he and Sehun can take the first load of boxes over to the new place while Junmyeon, Jongin, and Jongdae load up the bigger furniture pieces into the Uhaul. Jongdae lets out a rusty laugh as Junmyeon dubs them ‘the J squad.’ You work around them, collecting all the random trinkets and knicknacks that have escaped other boxes.

He closed Chen’s today to hopefully knock this entire project out in one swoop. Ripping it off like a Bandaid. After the first big load everyone splits up into teams. Sehun and Yixing pack and load the rest of the boxes and smaller items into the cars. Jongin, who is absolutely not trusted around breakable items, goes with Junmyeon to return the Uhaul to the rental shop and pick up lunch and drinks for everyone with the cash Jongdae insisted they take. 

And Minseok leads everyone else on a cleaning checklist he’s created with military precision. It's been so long Jongdae doesn't even know if he has a damage deposit. His grandfather took excellent care of the place and he kept it up in his absence, so he hopes it's not too much work to tidy.

Yixing’s boombox keeps up a steady flow of music throughout the morning and lunch time. With everyone’s help, and of course with the added fuel from the pizza and beverages, things are just wrapping up at the old place. You stay behind with Jongdae to take a last look around and turn in the keys, forcing him to take a few photos in the space to remember it.

‘This is it, I guess,’ he says, holding out the key and laying it on the kitchen counter with a small metallic sound.

‘How do you feel?’ You lean your hip against the fridge and drink from a water bottle.

Sunset over Lake Union is his favorite time of day and it’s hard to stand the thought of missing out on a last one. It’s barely two in the afternoon and it’s hours until golden hour. Rather than lie he simply says the truth. ‘I wish I could see the sun go down one last time.’

You come and stand next to him, close enough he can smell the light scent of your perfume and see the flush of your chest from the day’s exertion. ‘We can wait.’

He thinks of everyone at his new place, unloading boxes. ‘But everyone-’

‘Jongdae,’ you start. ‘They’ll be fine. You know Sehun has probably fallen asleep on your couch already. Baek and Hitch and the openers from Barada will be heading over soon. Some people have to head out for closing shifts but it’s already been decided that we’re doing movie night and Chinese take out tonight at your new place.’

‘Oh really?’ He presses his lips together to try not to laugh.

‘I don’t think you have much of a choice,’ you tease. ‘Trust me, they’ll be fine for another few hours.’

‘Alright then,’ he says after a pause.

The two of you sit on the bare hardwood floors and talk until the sun finally sets, just before five pm. He doesn’t yell his feelings for you at full volume like he wishes he could. He doesn’t dance with you or kiss you slowly in the empty apartment, there’s far too many emotions in his heart today to try and cope with more. But after he locks up and leaves the keys behind he does take your hand to help you into the car. And he does hold it for far longer than necessary before pulling back to shut the door. 

It’s not much, but like his new apartment it’s the start of something.

November 3rd, 1997

You’ve got to tell Jongdae now, but nerves eat away at you and your resolve lessens minute by minute. Since the move he’s been warmer, more open, and you don’t want to ruin that. But you can’t keep this from him any longer.

Applying at Microsoft was supposed to be a long shot, a shot in the dark, or some other kind of shot that never meant to lead anywhere. But still it’s one you took and one that ended up paying off way faster and more successfully than you’d planned. After two interviews last week you sit with a job offer on your answering machine back home and a choice to make.

They need your decision by tomorrow and as Monday winds into early afternoon your deadline approaches. You bite your lip and vacillate wildly between thoughts. On the one hand this could be a good thing - if you’re no longer working at the same place, there’s nothing stopping the two of you from being together, right?

But what if Jongdae can’t see past his hurt and freaks out, assuming you’re leaving him like everyone else has? Or worse, what if he never cared about you that way at all?

Your stomach drops at the thought of walking out of here into your dream job, but feeling empty, leaving behind someone who has come to mean so much to you.

Your roommates Liz and Jane, Hitch, hell even Baekhyun weaseled the truth out of you at Shari’s on Saturday. Stone cold sober and still you let out everything to him sitting in your group’s favorite booth. About how you might in fact love Jongdae and how badly you want this opportunity, how utterly terrifying and exhilarating change can be simultaneously.

None of them told you to choose one way or the other. They didn’t say ‘take the job’ or ‘turn down the job,’ they all said that the decision is one only you can make and that they’d support you no matter what you picked. And maybe each time you cried a little and all of them were good enough friends to just hug you and not mention it.

But all of them told you one thing that now sits lodged in your throat. Whatever else happens, you both deserve to know. Jongdae deserves the truth about what you’re considering, and you deserve to finally know once and for all how he feels about you and what he wants.

After he locks the doors and starts cleaning up, you rise, holding your hands behind your back so tightly your knuckles are most assuredly white. ‘Hey, can we talk for a minute?’

Jongdae nods. ‘Of course. I’ve got something I wanted to discuss with you as well, actually. But you go first.’ He folds his arms and leans against his desk, giving you that affectionate close-lipped smile of his. You desperately hope what you’re about to say doesn’t wipe it off his face.

Not one to beat around the bush you dive in. ‘I applied for another job.’ The words sound blunt and harsh. You swallow and try again, hating how his brow furrows in confusion. ‘Not because I don’t like it here. But Hitch told me about an opening and it sounded - sounds perfect for what I want to do in the long run. It’s on the new gaming system division… at Microsoft.’

He doesn’t say anything for a long pause. Instead of meeting your eyes his have dropped to the ground and you wish you could reach out and touch him. Anything to make sure he hears you, understands you. But a whisper of fear makes you keep quiet, worrying the connection you had wasn’t meant to last, if something so trivial could break it.

‘I thought you were happy here,’ he says finally.

You hold your hands out in front of you, palms up in a gesture of entreaty. ‘I do, Jongdae. It’s not that at all. I thought this might - be good for us. If we’re not working together, then -’

When he finally looks up his gaze is distant, his mouth a thin line. The shutters have fallen over his face. ‘By going to work at the one place I despise?’

Anger makes your skin hot and you fold your arms as well, in defiance. ‘But you talk to Hitch and Baekhyun? They haven’t turned into the devil incarnate yet.’

He gives a quick, harsh shrug. ‘I like them both, sure. But being friends is one thing. This is quite another.’

It’s almost a declaration, yet so far from how you dreamed this moment might go. ‘What are you saying, Jongdae?’ You need to hear it. After so many weeks of trying you need him to at least do you the courtesy of speaking it out loud.

‘You know how I feel about you.’ There’s hope in his eyes. But it’s so buried amongst hurt and suspicion it’s not even close to reassuring. ‘I want you to stay. Here.’ With me, he doesn’t say, but you feel it.

Nothing drives you more up the wall than being told what to do. His words fall against your own shield and the plea within goes unnoticed. ‘Would you really shut me off if I took this job? Does hating them mean more than wanting what’s best for me?’ You finally step forward, reaching a hand for his arm.

‘I’ve supported you in everything,’ you start, unable to stop now that you’ve started. ‘In finding community here. In your move. Even in the business, who was the one who pushed you to keep growing? I don’t intend to stop being there for you, but I need you to support me in this. Please.’

He just watches you, not saying a word. The clock on the wall ticks loudly in the silence. People outside the glass doors go about their day, shopping or getting an early dinner, unaware of the standoff taking place merely feet from them. You wonder what it would take to make his guard truly ever come down.

With how quickly it snapped back into place you feel tired all the way down to your bones. Maybe it will never be enough, even if you did stay here forever.

‘I’ll pay out your PTO in these next two weeks,’ he says softly. ‘No need to come back into the office. If that works for you?’ His last statement is thrown on as a hasty addendum. Like he’d realized how harsh it sounded and he wanted to dull the sting. It’s a sliver of kindness, a glimpse at the man he almost allowed himself to be. But it’s not enough.

‘Fine with me.’ You move past him, into the supply room to grab your purse and jacket, proud of the way your voice doesn’t waver. Pausing in the hallway you turn to look back at him, still frozen against his desk. ‘I’m leaving this job, I’m not leaving you.’

He turns to look at you, running a hand through his hair and messing up the ends. ‘It will go the same way, I know it. In the end you’ll disappear too.’

‘Jongdae, I’m trying. I need you to at least meet me halfway.’

You don’t wait for his reply, if one was ever even going to come. Instead you continue down the small hallway and push out the back door into the mall. It’s only once you’re in your car that you remember he mentioned something he wanted to discuss. You wonder what it was, and if you’ll ever find out.

Jongdae stares after you for long seconds after you’re gone. He doesn’t hold out hope that you’ll come back, not after the way he treated you. Instead he feels stuck in place, like if he holds his breath and doesn’t exhale then the last five minutes didn’t happen.

But his lungs burn and his chest aches, and when he finally sighs it comes out ragged. He fumbles for the switch and the store descends into darkness. Shafts of light still come through, angled in from the glass ceiling of the mall’s concourse. Jongdae stands just outside of it, protected. With no one to see he sinks into his desk chair and drops his head into his hands.

The tears that clog his throat are at first unexpected, but as the minutes drag on he finally gives into them. He should have known they were coming all along. Not just from the moment you walked into his life, but from the day his grandfather died. From the day his father passed and his mother became a ghost rather than a permanent, tangible figure. 

From the day Julian took Jongdae’s designs and credited them as his own to the investors, cutting Jongdae out of not only the business they were building, but out of their group of friends as well.

Misery and hopelessness whisper against his skin and for long minutes he lets himself wallow. He knows it’s no one’s fault but his own that he ruined things with you. His grandfather taught him long ago that other’s actions are theirs, and that it’s what Jongdae does in response that is his responsibility. But he can’t deny that he indulges in thoughts of blaming the cruelty of life for making him so goddamn stubborn.

He swallows and leans back in his chair, feeling as though his body is made of hard, unyielding stone. Maybe it's better this way, he wonders, drumming his fingers on the wood desk before him. Perhaps he should let his worst fears dominate his life, believing that the risk is far greater than any potential reward that love or friendship could offer him.

Is it better to be alone, knowing that he’ll always be safe, free of anyone who might hurt him?

Jongdae groans. The voice inside him that whispers No sounds first like his grandfather, both encouraging and feisty at the thought of Jongdae giving up. Next it sounds like you. He knows you’d roll your eyes and call him grouchy, always thinking better of him than he does of himself. You’d tell him his bark is far worse than his bite and to get over himself already. At this thought, at any thought of you, really, he smiles.

Familiar voices make him look out into the mall. Sehun and Jongin walk by carrying sodas, rubbing their stomachs. He can imagine how they’re complaining about eating too much Barada pizza, as always. 

They pass by quickly but the image stays with him, of their friendship. Jongdae thinks of Chanyeol and Kyungsoo’s, how opposite and yet how similar they are. Baekhyun and Hitch, who are always teasing each other but who he knows would do anything at the drop of a hat.

He’s held himself back the past few months. First a reluctant observer. Then a tentative participant. The endless exhaustion of being careful, keeping his distance, catches up to Jongdae as he sits in that chair. If it weren’t for you maybe he’d never be brave enough to try again after how hard it was growing up. But if he is to be the kind of person, the kind of partner you deserve, now is the time to make the attempt.

It’s up to Jongdae to be the one to try, to reach out. He can’t let others find him anymore. For the first time in a long time Jongdae stands up and goes looking for a friend.

Junmyeon still has an hour before his store closes and he looks up at Jongdae as he walks in through the door of Guardians. ‘Hey, JD! How’s it going?’ If he notices that Jongdae’s been crying, he’s kind enough to not mention it.

‘Are you busy?’ Jongdae’s throat is raw but Jun has a young son, surely tears won’t bother him.

‘Not really, I’m just organizing some shipments going out tomorrow,’ Junmyeon answers. He sets down his pencil and rests his hands on the counter. A crease forms between his brows the longer he watches Jongdae. ‘Is everything alright?’

He wants to do this right, but all he can find are inelegant words. Junmyeon is as close as he has to a best friend at the moment, and he hopes he doesn’t inconvenience him. ‘Not really.’

Jun tilts his head and gestures to the door, picking up Jongdae’s unspoken request and running with it, just like he’d hoped he would. ‘I can close up shop a bit early. Want to talk in my office?’

Jongdae runs a hand over his face and nods. Grateful and relieved he manages a small laugh. ‘That would be great, thanks.’

After Jun locks the doors and flips the sign to closed he motions for Jongdae to follow him. The back room of Guardians is much warmer that at Chen’s Electronics, in style rather than temperature. Jongdae sits on a beige sofa that’s even more comfortable than it looks. The walls are filled with framed photos and art prints and various other pieces that give the space an art gallery vibe.

With a sigh Junmyeon tidies up the mess of papers and crayons and various cups with kid lids. ‘Sorry, Sungmin loves to draw but we haven’t quite nailed the clean up yet.’

‘Don’t worry about it on my behalf,’ Jongdae says sincerely. ‘I’m just grateful you’re willing to listen.’

The space has a narrow hallway leading to a back door and a closet that’s probably full of supplies, much like Jongdae’s store. Jun takes the cups to a small sink in the mini-kitchen in the corner. His brow lifts in confusion. ‘Why wouldn’t I? We’re friends, right?’

Could it be that simple? No need to prove himself or do everything possible to impress Junmyeon, like he did with Julian. ‘Yeah, we are I suppose.’ He laughs and shakes his head. ‘Sorry, I don’t mean to imply I don’t consider us friends, I just - well, have a few trust issues when it comes to that sort of thing.’

Junmyeon dries his hands on a dishtowel and blows his hair off his forehead with a huffed laugh. ‘We’ve all got a few issues, don’t we?’ He moves to the table and takes a seat, sliding a glass of water towards Jongdae and sipping from one of his own. ‘I’ve got the time. So quit stalling and tell me about yours.’

He sags into the couch and drinks from the glass. ‘Alright then.’

For once he doesn’t second guess himself or try to read the minutiae of Jun’s expressions to see if he’s annoying him or being too boring. Jongdae simply tells him the truth, trusting his friend to listen. 

He mentions his family and how hard it hit him when his grandfather passed. How strange and yet unbothered he is by the lack of relationship with his mother. The way he was teased growing up and how he was probably the only person in his Master’s program going through puberty. The fact that the mall is the first place he’s ever had friends his own age since childhood.

It’s satisfying to see how pissed off Jun gets when he tells him about Julian and all the bullshit he put Jongdae through. For a while there Jongdae had convinced himself that he was the one in the wrong, that there’d been something he’d done to earn his exile. That it was a deserved punishment. But his friend’s muttered curses remind him that true friends don’t normally backstab each other for money and notoriety.

And finally, he talks of you.

How much he values you at work and how sassy and insistent you were about bringing him into ‘the fold’ of their friend group. The ways in which he wants to be with you and care for you and all his worries of whether or not he’ll be any good at it, given his lack of experience. Junmyeon is neither surprised by his feelings for you nor willing to let him wallow.

‘I even brought prom tickets,’ Jongdae finishes with a groan. He pulls them from the pocket of his jeans and lets his arm fall to the couch cushion. ‘Me. At a prom.’ He almost snorts.

But Junmyeon just purses his lips. ‘Is that really such a stretch?’

Jongdae hums a noise of contemplation. ‘No. I guess not. All our friends are doing it.’ But before Jun can continue he shakes his head. ‘But I’ve messed this all up, so it doesn’t matter either way.’

Loneliness aches in his bones, his hands tired of not holding yours. Wishing he was enough, somehow, to keep you here and keep you warm; enough to make you stay, to make you happy.

Junmyeon raises a brow. ‘I think you’re missing the point entirely my friend. She told you what she needs. All you have to do is listen. She’s asking you to trust her. This job is something she’s worked for and she’s not leaving you for it. She’s just leaving the job. If you want to know you have to ask.’

He sighs deeply. ‘You’re right. But what if it all goes wrong? What if I try and it’s all for nothing in the end?’

Jun dips his chin to his chest, looking at the ground lost in thought. ‘That’s fair. I know a little of that myself, Jongdae. But all you can do is try. There’s sadly no guarantees here. I think you want to make it work and from what I know of her, she wants you as well. It’s time to make the big gesture. Or any kind of gesture, really.’

He groans and smiles, knowing his friend’s fondness for ‘I think you’re right.’ He even has an idea, two in fact. One that’s lived in the back of his mind for weeks and one that’s brewing right now. ‘Will you help me?’

‘Absolutely my friend.’ Jun claps him on the shoulder, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

November 19th, 1997

It should have been wonderful news to you that it was a clean break at least. No mess, just walking out the door and leaving behind the man and the job in one fell swoop. But of course, it wasn’t.

Microsoft was delighted when you told them you could start ASAP, but honestly you did it to jump into work rather than spend your time missing Jongdae. Filling your schedule proves to be the easiest way to avoid thinking about what hurts. You still had your roommates and Hitch and everyone else to hang out with, even if you weren’t ready for any Saturday pizza lunches or Shari’s nights quite yet. Both brought you far too close to him to bear right now.

Liz and Jane and Hitch are wonderful and you’ve had not one but two sleepovers since ‘the Jongdae incident.’ If not for their friendship and constant presence you’re sure you would have walled up the hurt and hid it away, not one to normally speak about your pain openly. Not while it’s so fresh. 

Distantly you hope that Jongdae is okay and that he has someone to talk to. If he’s even hurting. 

For all you know he’s completely fine and unaffected by the entire thing. Maybe he’s already found a new office manager and has forgotten about you. But those are the kind of rude and painful thoughts that only come to you at three in the morning when you can’t sleep, when dreams of his hands and his voice and his smile keep you up.

Jongdae calls one Tuesday to ask you to swing by Chen’s to pick something up the next day and you’re suspicious. He wouldn’t say any more, just ‘please come by at six. I have something to give you and I’d like it to be in person.’

You put on your favorite black dress and blazer that make you feel both sexy and confident and head to the mall. If he’s just calling you to twist the knife in deeper, you’ve already decided to leave and not bother letting him hurt you more. But if he’s calling to reconcile… you shake your head, not willing to get your hopes up. Instead you park in your old space and fix your make up in the rearview mirror.

It delights you to see that your old desk is returned to its former state. Just the computer, keyboard, and mouse remain. No one’s personal possessions have taken over the space like yours used to. It shouldn’t make you so happy to see he hasn’t replaced you, but it does.

Jongdae sits at his desk. His hair is in its usual perfect wave but his white button down and slacks have been swapped today for a dark green sweater and tan chinos. He looks ridiculously handsome and you grit your teeth, wishing you could turn off your attraction to him with a switch inside your brain.

He looks up at your knock on the glass door. For a moment he simply stands, drinking you in. Then he moves, walking closer to unlock the door and let you in. 

‘Hi. How are you?’

You blink and try not to laugh. ‘How am I? Jongdae, how do you think I am?’

‘Right, sorry.’ He shakes his head. Carefully he looks you up and down, not bothering to hide his own attraction to you in his hungry gaze. With a swallow he remembers himself and grabs a cardboard banker’s box from in front of his desk. ‘Here. I didn’t want to come by and drop it off. It felt wrong.’

The box holds all the random photos and personal belongings you’d left in your desk, in your haste to leave. Postcards from Amsterdam and family photos and lotions and your favorite scarf you’d been missing. He steps back, resting against the corner of his desk and folding his arms. When you take it he doesn’t say anything, which is not what you’d hoped by any means, but silence is definitely less painful than you’d feared.

‘Well, it’s been an adventure,’ you manage. You lean against your desk and move the box under one arm, holding out a hand to him to shake. Ready to be done with this officially.

He doesn’t move. You can feel words held on the tip of his tongue. Months and months later you know how to read his tells. The tightness in his jaw and the widening of his eyes and how his hand grips the fabric of his sweater. But seconds tick on and still he says nothing. 

He should speak or you should leave. One of you should do something. Instead you’re frozen in time. Eventually your arm aches and you set the box down beside you. You could go first, but pride demands he be the one to confess, if there’s going to be any confessions tonight.

Neither of you caves; twin pillars of resolution, stubbornness, and desire. It’s a game the two of you could play for hours. The tension in the air pulls tighter than a violin. His gaze drops from your eyes to your lips, unabashedly. His lids grow heavy as he breathes deeply, close enough to smell your gardenia perfume, but just out of reach of being able to touch you.

So this is what it feels like to meet my match, you think, finally acknowledging just how deeply you want him. Enough nights had been spent imagining kissing him, being with him in far more intimate ways than just a holding of hands or a hug. You want more, but only if he wants you, too.

You'd always been told that you were too driven, too smart, too self-sufficient to attract a man. Even in your MBA program where ambition and intelligence were supposedly rewarded, it apparently made you too something to find a good man to date.

But now there’s one right in front of you, looking at you as if you’re the answer to Fermat’s Enigma; a rare and priceless gem he’d been hunting for all his life. But he doesn’t look at you as if you’re art to be admired, a prize to be won. The guard lifts steadily and when he looks at you now it’s as if you’re the kind of miracle he wants to sink his teeth, his tongue, and his fingers into.

Your cheeks grow warm and you’re sure you look just as amazed and turned on as he does. If you had to guess, you’d bet that the number of people who challenge him these days are few, and the number of people who attempt to see the man behind the curtain even fewer.

While everyone else in the world might just see a monolith of a man, a genius, a hardworking and brilliant anomaly, you see the passionate, warm heart that beats in his chest. You know that the tin man really does have feelings and needs, and your heart almost breaks when you realize he’s been searching for you just as fervently as you’ve been searching for someone like him.

The silence in the room is almost too fragile a thing to break. On one side of the moment is a spark of something, a chance to see if this connection is real and deep, or if this is just chemistry and biology combining into lust. If your mind has taken the small gestures of passion and kindness and friendship from him and built it up to be something more than the sum of its parts.

‘I’ve missed you,’ he breathes, voice catching in his throat. Releasing his folded arms he rests his palms on the edges of the desk.

‘I’ve missed you, too,’ you admit. Your hands curl in on themselves, trying to fight the way emotion and physical longing make it difficult to be in such a close proximity to him.

‘Okay, then.’ He breaks first, moving with purpose and striding to you in two steps, sliding his hands along your jaw with such softness that you gasp. 

And then, finally, you feel his lips on yours. You grasp his hips, hands freed and aching to touch him, to feel his hard body press against yours with surprising heat.

You meet him with equal passion, working your lips against his steady assault on your composure. For a solid minute you’re in awe that you could feel this much, that his lips and his hands could undo you so rapidly. That they could rebuild you into someone who belongs to him in such a short space of time, after weeks of endless doubt.

He groans against your lips in what feels like similar shock and surrender. Who would have thought that he would cave to your touch just as you did to his? How could someone so grumpy and strong-willed also be so open and vulnerable to this tentative thing between you.

But as he drops a hand and brings it to rest securely on the small of your back you realize there’s a name for this feeling.

You could call it fate. You could call it destiny. You could call it that damned four-letter word or you could call it Darwinism for all you care as his teeth bite gently into your lower lip.

You just know that nothing has ever felt as good and right as his hands claiming you for his own and the smell and heat of him wrapping themselves around you and burrowing their way into your heart.

A whine works its way from your throat as he licks along the seam of your lips, seeking entrance. When you open your mouth to him, his tongue slides along your own and you almost lose your balance. With a giggle you could swear you’ve never made before in your life you let him guide you up onto the desk.

He steps between your legs instantly, gripping your hips and continuing his tasting of you. Heat and electricity race down your spine as you fist your hands in his hair, pulling him closer to you until there’s no separation.

Banging on the glass doors and whistles come from out in the mall and you freeze. Instead of jerking back in shock and alarm like you’d expect him to, Jongdae confounds you once again. He pulls back slowly, opening his eyes and lifting his hands to gently cup your face. It can’t have been more than fifteen minutes but in less than the time it takes to watch one episode of Friends he’s turned your world on its axis.

You and Jongdae smile at each other and both turn to wave at your group of friends, who are celebrating and clapping. Baekhyun eats from an enormous bag of popcorn, wearing his theater uniform. Jongin and Sehun take large handfuls and Hitch whoops with joy. Liz and Jane and Junmyeon are all smiling, and attempt to force some of the group away to give you privacy.

Jongdae’s hands flex on your waist. ‘I want to try. You’re everything I want, will you please give me the chance to be what you need?’ His voice is raspy and his lips are red and you can’t help but grin.

‘I just want you, okay?’ You fix his messed up hair with both hands and sigh with relief. ‘And for you to admit you like me.’

‘I far more than like you.’ Jongdae rolls his eyes and kisses you once more. ‘You just want me to say you’re right.’

With a laugh you ease yourself off your desk, standing close within his arms and bending to whisper in his ear. ‘I’m always right. I just love when you admit it.’

‘So,’ he starts with an amused quirk of an eyebrow. ‘Will you let me take you to dinner? Us, officially, on a date.’

Your chest feels as if it’s a balloon, expanding so rapidly it might burst. He looks so young and boyish and hopeful your heart feels like it turns to liquid gold. With a delighted grin you lean forward and press your lips to his again, unable to resist.

Joy swims in his irises as he holds you in his arms. He looks at you through his lashes, his lips tilting into lopsided smile. ‘Is that a yes, then?’

‘Yes,’ you answer. ‘Of course.’

‘How’s right now for you?’ He motions to the doors and your friends have finally been corralled to the side of the walkway, revealing an elaborately decorated table in the food court.

You gasp and grip his arm. Jun and Sehun hold the doors open and Jongdae escorts you out. A red tablecloth is spread out over the circular table. The chairs have added plush cushions and several candles have been lit. A bottle of wine and two glasses rest beside several plates of food. You recognize the pizza from Barada, the rest looks like a mix from the other restaurants in the food court. 

With high fives and hugs from your friends they finally leave you and Jongdae alone. Well, almost alone. It’s not a busy time at the mall, but there’s no way to avoid some of the customers turning to watch with amusement and curiosity as they pass by. You pay them no mind as Jongdae holds out your chair and helps you sit. 

The two of you fall back into conversation easy enough, aided by the enormous amount of food and how you no longer have to move your knees away when they bump under the table. Jongdae reaches for your hand and holds it, in full view. He stares at the joined digits with warmth before looking up at you. 

Doubt passes across his face, marring the beauty that contentment lends his features. ‘I don’t -’ he struggles. ‘I don’t know how to keep this much good in my life. I worry that I’m going to mess it up.’

Neither of you are the type to openly acknowledge such things. Merely the fact that he’s voicing his fears to you shows you he’s doing what he said - he’s trying, he wants to change. And truthfully so do you. 

‘I worried for the longest time that I’d be alone forever,’ you say softly. ‘I didn’t think I’d ever find someone who understood me or who could handle all my - well, you know how I am.’ 

Jongdae smiles then, lifting your joined hands to his lips to press a kiss to your skin. ‘I love who you are.’ 

Your eyes mist at that and you groan, trying to blink them back. ‘Good, because I love who you are too.’ With your free hand you reach for his, needing to hold both of them and all of him at once. Not wanting to give his overly-analytical mind a chance to override the fragile hope you’re both building tonight. ‘You know what to do when a computer overloads?’

He nods. ‘Of course. Often it’s just a simple matter of turning it off and on again.’

‘So,’ you say, lifting your shoulder in a shrug. ‘When we mess up or freak out or say the wrong thing, we’ll just start over again. As long as you want me and I want you, we’ll figure it out.’ 

Jongdae softens, his shoulders dropping and ease coming back into his eyes. ‘I didn’t know I was lagging until you jump started my life.’ He waggles his brows. It’s a gesture that’s all Baekhyun, and a pun so terrible that Junmyeon would be proud. You can’t help but laugh and squeeze his hands. 

‘I’ve got one more surprise,’ Jongdae says, reluctantly releasing one of your hands to pull two narrow slips of paper from his pocket. ‘Do you have any plans for Christmas?’ 

The tickets are in both your names. First class round trip from Seattle to Amsterdam. ‘Oh my - Jongdae, what is this? You and me in Amsterdam?’ 

‘I figured it was about time,’ he says with pride. 

You lean out of your chair and reach for him, tugging him closer to kiss him fully. Noise reaches you - clapping and cheering from the shops around the mall. When you look around you see Sehun and his girlfriend leaning out of Starlight Apparel. Chanyeol and Kyungsoo smiling and fist bumping as they work on closing up the shop. 

Hitch nudges Baekhyun from the theater booth and he jumps in excitement. And from Guardians Junmyeon leans on the counter, resting his chin in his hand, giving a thumbs up. 

You roll your eyes and wave. ‘We maybe should have gone somewhere outside the mall, huh?’

'No, I think this is perfect,’ Jongdae answers. He then covers your mouth with his and holds you so tight that it drowns out the chorus of cheering that echos around the space. 

[akidachi]

me @ all TMA fans now that the show is over

[image ID// photo of bernie sanders with the text “i am once again asking you to watch Yu-Gi-Oh! gx //end ID]

yes yes i know recomending the cardgame anime spinoff is propably the weirdest thing i could be doing but trust me it has a LOT of thematic smilarities and depending on your reason for liking tma you may very well like gx as well

a quick bullet point list of reasons to watch gx from a tma fans perspective:

explores themes of loss, sacrifice, inhumanity, consequences, depression, the inevetability of fate, spitting in the face of said fate and all that fun stuff

subverting the traditional associations of light and dark as good and evil

“you can still be friends with someone you want to use”

(yes i know that one is more a81 but it applies)

GREAT protagonist character development

completely breaking the protagonist down to their bare essentials throughout the course of the series (but especially during s3)

Canon Typical Guilt Complex

strong supporting cast

characters with supernatural powers

canon non-binary character

on that note

canon nblm character

canon (?) mlnb character

european (?) character that ISNT italian, german, french or brittish for once (a personal pet peeve of mine)

the struggles of growing up and the uncertainty and fear of what the future may hold

and last but not least

the slow series long descent into despair that every ygo spinoff has to some extent but damn if season 3 didnt set a high standard it got dark

all that said i do think i should warn you that wheni say the show gets dark i mean it gets dark. the ygo series overall might shy away from a bit of blood but it is not at all afraid of diving into heavier themes and making you feel it. do not be fooled by the lighthearted nature of the first season it is not afraid to make you cry.

 which seems strange for a show thats seemingly just a childrens cardgame anime but when you take into account that ygo started out as a horror manga, and only switched over to the cardgame structure when the duel monsters arc took off, it makes a lot more sense.

(further talking and content warnings below the cut)

all that said heres a couple content warnings (in no particular order):

child abuse

childhood trauma

emotional and financial abuse

less than stellar family members in general

memory loss

medically induced amnesia (yes these are seperate instances)

themes of suicide

themes of depression and isolation (canon typical Lonely content but its all of gx s4)

unreality / dream logic (kinda. again, s4)

cults

brainwashing, mind control and manipulation

loss of physical and mental autonomy (of a sort)

genocide

implied death of children

confirmed death of children

mentions of real world tragedies (offhand once or twice in s2)

significant mental and emotional torment of the main character

temporary character death

permanent character death

(no neither of these are the typical “shadow realm” ygo deaths im talking about regular dying, and not of the fun and peaceful kind either)

(yes several of these are on screen)

also please not that some of these content warnigns apply to all of, or multiple series of ygo

especially themes of suicide, child abuse, and genocide, all 3 of which are covered in every ygo series on SOME level with varying severity

it may seem tempting to skip straight to season 3, as a lot of the more tma esque content is found there (though s2 goes hard as well in my opinion) i really do recomend watching the show from start to finish, as pretty much all the characters experience some level of character development, and seeing them all change throughout the series is an absolute treat.

also on the dub vs sub debate i really do reccoment watchign GX subbed. not bc dubbed anime are nessecatily bad but bc Dub and Sub GX are practically 2 entirely different shows with the amount of changes 4kids decided to make, as well as season 4 not having a dub at all as 4kids wanted to move on to 5ds instead.

(on a semi related note if the anti establishment aspects of tma are more your jam youll propably like 5ds, which has themes of poverty, classism, said eat the rich and litterally abolished the police force by the end of the series while also being about playing cardgames on motorcycles at the same time)

(honestly i could propably make a whole post on the central themes of each ygo series they really take a theme and apply it EVERYWHERE)

also a more recent note

if you like tragedy and big sad

WATCH VRAINS

its like 1 tiny detail away from being a tragedy

i knew what was coming and it still wrecked me

[kim-miyeon]

Hell Above-Chapter Ten

PAIRINGS: Hwang Hyunjin x Female Reader

WARNINGS: Series contains mature content. read at your own discretion. Mafia!AU, explicit language, suggestive language, slight sexual scenes, pregnancy family issues, mild abuse, angst, 18+

WORD COUNT: 5K

Previous | Next

I Will Soon Forget The Color Of Your Eyes And You’ll Forget Mine

Time was a funny concept. Who knew that time could feel so slow in moments of fast pace and heightened anxiety. Then in the slower passing moments, when your mind drifts off into a deep end, time clicks slowly.

Like it was for Hyunjin.

He sat there, pen in his hand sketching out images that plastered in his mind. Eyes glued into the white sheet, lost in the daze. Each stroke, darker than the next, until the picture became more clear. That with each passing stroke he sketched a woman. A woman imprinted on his mind. Constantly in his heart, stained there forever.

His mind wandered off to moments of your smile. Heart fluttered as he imagined the days he would see you sparkle under the sun rays, skin glowing… you were so radiant. His lips pulled to the side, half smiled trying to replay the sound of your voice. The way you laughed, smelled, touch. Every bit of you… was now a distant memory. Just a faint image of a woman who was there and now was gone. And Hyunjin ached every day from your absence.

A knock at the door cause Hyunjin to jolt with surprise as he looked up from the sketch and saw the head of Jisung pop through the door as he opened.

“Sorry to bug you but,” Jisung paused as he walked over to Hyunjin’s desk holding a garment bag, “your suit is here.”

Hyunjin watched as Jisung walked further and laid the garment bag down on the side couch as he continued, “ your father said that you should meet Jin-Ae at…”

“Did you find her?”

Jisung stood there looking at Hyunjin as he had been cut off. Hyunjin’s demeanor was serious as he looked back at Jisung, trying to get an answer for his question.

“Hyunjin..” Jisung sighed, “it’s been over a month now. Don’t you think that maybe we should st-“

“Keep looking? Yes.” Hyunjin interjected and set his pen down on the desk.

“What if she doesn’t want to be found?”

Hyunjin heart skipped an uneasy beat to Jisung’s question. You had been gone for so long, with no trace of where you could be, and no update if you’ve been seen. It wasn’t a secret that people knew Hyunjin was suffering, and he craved you. He never thought that he could function in a world where you no longer lingered close by and how he could feel a sense of emptiness within him. All in all, Hyunjin knew that if anyone found out that he was sending Jisung out to try and conjure up information on you, it could mean serious punishment.

But Jisung’s words did have incredible meaning behind them. What if you didn’t want to be found? What if you really left everything behind and what if you really didn’t love Hyunjin? All those feelings, Hyunjin tried to suppress. He didn’t want to believe that you could be that cold hearted to capture his heart the way you did and let him pour his most vulnerable self out just so you can break him. You weren’t heartless, at least that’s what he wanted to believe. You were a kind woman. Gentle. Even behind a gun, Hyunjin imagined you as graceful as an angel. Even after knowing that you also had blood on your hands, he couldn’t spare to think that you were a monster in sheep’s clothing.

But you could have been the devil in disguise.

“Keep looking.” Hyunjin croaked out softly and Jisung exhaled loudly as he nodded and turned on his feet to walk back out of the office.

Hyunjin lifted his hands to his face as he rubbed his skin. He groaned at the feeling of the pressure but also the frustration and emotional burnout. How did it come to this? That’s all he thought about. How did any of this occur? He let his mind drift back to the day you left and the morning after, reflecting on a day living in hell.

******************************************************* Hyunjin’s arm extended out to the side of the bed feeling the smoothness of the sheets against his fingertips. His mind in bliss as he recollected bits of moments from the night before. You were here, you were always here. He smiled and pulled his hand back when he realized, you weren’t. His eyes shot opened, straining against the light of the morning as he realized that you weren’t in bed. Was it a dream? Could he have dreamt of you here? He frantically looked around the room for answers and saw his clothes on the ground, but no sign of you being with him.

“Y/N?” Hyunjin flung the sheets over his body, pulling hims self up as he ran out the room and into the living room.

Empty.

You weren’t sitting on the sofa, cozy up in your favorite blanket watching a random show. You weren’t in the kitchen, wearing an oversized shirt and no pants, cooking you two breakfast. You weren’t in the dining room, setting the table, asking Hyunjin if he preferred juice of coffee.

You weren’t there.

“Fuck..” Hyunjin ran back into his room and grabbed his phone quickly as he began to dial your number. He stood there hands rummaging his hair and looking around.

“The number you are trying to reach has bee-“

“No no NO. FUCK Y/N answer the phone!!”

He dialed again and thought thoroughly about last night. You held a gun at him. You were in the basement of the Lee Mansion. You came home. You told him you would be honest. He made a promise to you. He wasn’t going to do everything he could to keep you next to him. So why did you leave?

That’s when Hyunjin saw it. When his blood stopped cold and ears grew hot. Stomach frozen and breath hitched. The last thing he thought he’d ever see.

Your wedding ring on the bedside table.

“The number you are trying to reach has been disabled.”

“Y/N..”

Hyunjin felt the sickness in the pit of him and he felt the tears burning against his eyes. He walked over to the ring that had been so beautiful places on your finger for two years, sitting on the wooden table. No note. No anything. Just this. You were gone. Hyunjin choked back his tears as he felt his legs give out from the pain and sat down on the floor holding the ring in his hand as he couldn’t hold his tears anymore.

“DAMMIT.”

His phone buzzed and Hyunjin immediately reacted as he turned to grab it faster than light, only to see Jisung’s caller ID pop up. Disappointment was an understatement.

“Hello?” Hyunjin managed to choke out through the tears.

“Hyunjin you gotta get to the office right now.”

“What’s wrong?” Hyunjin stood up wiping his face.

“Your father’s here.”

******************************************************

Hyunjin walked into the conference room to find his father and mother sitting at the head of the table, Jisung, Chan, and Changbin sitting next to him and Yeji at the front.

Hyunjin looked to his parents and bowed his head in respect. “Hello Father. Hello Mother.”

“Hello my son, care to tell me why your sister called a family meeting?” Hyunjin’s father spoke and Hyunjin confusingly turned to Yeji and she smiled at him.

“I am calling for the removal of Hwang Hyunjin as leader.”

Hyunjin squinted at Yeji who cocked her eyebrow as Hyunjin took a seat next to his fathers. Hyunjin saw Changin’s eyes widened and Chan turned to Hyunjin. Hyunjin’s father laughed.

“Is that so? And what evidence to you have against my son that you feel needs to end with his removal?”

“Your son has been married to the leader of the Lee family for two years and failed to execute her last night during a planned attack that Chan and I put together.

Hyunjin looked at Chan who’s eyes grew and looked back at Hyunjin. Anger stemmed from Hyunjin’s demeanor. A sense of backstabbing came after hearing those words. Jisung looked at Hyunjin in concern as Hyunjin looked down at the table in disbelief of the situation.

“Hyunjin is this true?” Hyunjin’s mother, a gentle woman with a fiery backbone. She cared deeply for her children but learned quickly how to defend herself. Unlike other wives, Hyunjin’s mother was just as untouchable as his father.

“I didn’t know.” Hyunjin looked at his mother, with honest eyes. The saddest he’s ever had and his mother looked back at him in agony of wanting to comfort her son.

“According to the articles of treason within the Hwang family, Hyunjin has committed a crime by allowing a member of the Lee family live. He is also completely overtaken by this woman and I believe has incredible bias towards her. He is unfit to lead.”

“And how, may I ask, did you find this information Yeji?”

“During my absence, I was able to research intensively about the Lee family and traced information to this woman, Lee Y/N. Chan helped me find more information by doing scans. She was kept secret from everytime after the massacre and her one mission was to kill Hyunjin.”

Hyunjin’s expression changed and he looked at Yeji. To kill him?

“After finding out his information, we did our best to let our leader do what he had to. Which he had ultimately failed.”

Hyunjin felt all this new information overwhelmingZ you’re sole mission was to kill him, so why wasn’t he dead? Was it possible that you did love him and you couldn’t do it? Or was everything a lie?

“Hyunjin.. Yeji..” Hyunjin’s father spoke and looked at the children, “come with me.”

Hyunjin’s father stood and walked out the door as Hyunjin pushed back in his chair and stood to follow. Yeji behind Hyunjin came close and whispered in his ear, “I told you so.”

Once Hyunjin was out of the conference room he turned and grabbed Yeji and slammed her against the wall.

“Are you satisfied yet?”

“Not quite.” Yeji smirked at Hyunjin.

“You’re sick and twisted, you know that? What do you get out of all of this?”

“Watching you suffer.” She clicked her tongue and Hyunjin’s grip loosened

“What?” He said analyzing her.

“Did she come home last night? Did she leave you this morning?”

“How do you—“

“Face it Hyunjin, at the end of the day, she’s going to be the one thing you want and you can never have. And to watch you crumble the way I have all these years will be satisfying.” Yeji’s words rolled off her lips and she smiled darkly.

“HYUNJIN. YEJI. NOW.” Hyunjin’s father yelled from the office down the hallway and Yeji pushed Hyunjin off her and walked towards the room leaving Hyunjin dazed.

As he followed her into the office, he closed the door and Hyunjin’s father cleared his throat.

“Did you know?” Hyunjin’s father asked softly and Hyunjin shook his head.

“No sir, I didn’t know.”

“Removal of the Hwang leader would mean that the next in line would take over.”

Yeji’s eyes sparkled and Hyunjin’s father frowned. “But there will be no removal of the leader Yeji.”

“WHAT!? Father, treason is punishable by death. He let a Lee live.”

“And I heard you did the same with that young boy.”

Yeji silenced and Hyunjin’s father continued, “You are also unfit to lead Yeji and as long as I live, Hyunjin will stay as the rightful heir to this business.”

Yeji clenched her jaw and her breathing intensified.

“Now leave.”

Yeji stormed out to the room and left Hyunjin standing there with his father.

“The woman from the ball?”

Hyunjin nodded slowly to the question as he looked up at his father and his father sighed.

“Did you love her?”

Hyunjin felt his heart tightened and tears formed in his eyes. He knew he had to play a part for his father.

“I didn’t know who she was before today. But I promise that going forth I will not make the same mistakes.”

“I know you won’t, because I will be choosing your wife.”

With that,  Hyunjin’s father patted Hyunjin’s back and left the room with Hyunjin standing there marinating the words that had been spoken. All the information made him feel overwhelmed. He had so many questions and no answers for anything. Reaching into his pocket he grabbed the small silver band with the diamond and looked at it sadly.

He knew you. He had to have known the real you. If you wanted to kill him you would have. If you really hated him then he would be dead. Even last night when you had your chance to pull the trigger, you could have. But you didn’t. You never did. There had to be a piece of you inside that cared for him. He had to know. So he was going to find you. Anyway he knew how. He would find you and keep his promise he made.

He wasn’t letting you go.

A knock came from the door, and Hyunjin turned to see Chan entering and Hyunjin’s sadness turned to disgust. And Chan knew.

“Hyunjin l-“

“You knew.”

“I didn’t-“

“Spare me your bullshit lies Chan I fucking trusted you.” Hyunjin growled at Chan.

“Hyunjin you didn’t know her.”

“Yes I fucking did! I knew her better than anyone! And you just couldn't let me be happy!” Hyunjn yelled.

“You gave your trust to a woman who you couldn’t be honest to. How did you not see all the missing holes in her scans? How did you not think about everyone else!” Chan tried to reason with Hyunjin but it made no difference.

“I was trying to protect you. I wanted to make sure she could be trusted.” Chan softly said as Hyunjin stood there looking at Chan, as he tried to redeem himself. Hyunjin scoffed

“Did you get what you needed then? You helped my sister and now you feel bad?”

“I didn’t know this was her plan. But fuck Hyunjin, Y/N was going to kill you.” Chan stepped closer to Hyunjin.

“So why didn’t she?! Hmm? ! How come I’m still alive, standing in front of you.”

Chan went silent.

“She had two years to kill me!  We lived in the same house, shared the same life! In my most vulnerable moments, she had more than enough chances to take her gun and shoot me!”

Chan stood there thinking. Could you have been truly in love with Hyunjin so much that you couldn’t pull the trigger. But Chan tried to find a viable explanation for why you did what you did, anything that wasn’t love. Because how could two people who shouldn’t be together fall in love. But Chan knew Hyunjin was hurting, and he felt responsible.

“Get out of my face Chan.” Hyunjin stormed out of the room leaving Chan to soak in the atmosphere he had created.

******************************************************* You stood by, far away, as you watched the nurse hold Jeongin’s hand and slowly help him take steps. She smiled at him and he smiled his goofy bright one back. It was so contagious that you could help but smile. It made you happy, to see him slowly recovering. Just the smallest movements that he makes was success in your eyes. You didn’t think Jeongin would make it.

In fact, he almost didn’t.

The doctors said his recovery would take years, and that he may not be able to walk properly and may have other disabilities such as memory loss or muscle spasms. All the negative things that could be a permanent issue never could take away the main concept. Jeongin was alive. That’s all that mattered in the end.

But at what cost? You lost security. You lost your title. You lost Hyunjin. When you let your mind drift off to the night you left, you find yourself in a dark place. One where you can’t breathe, can’t function. It was heart wrenching. You didn’t want to think about how Hyunjin reacted. Then hours after you fled you found out that Yeji had called for his official removal and you knew he found out the truth to who you were. You didn’t know what that meant for you, where Hyunjin’s head was. Did he hate you now?

The month that you have stayed away has brought many hardships and tears. Your grandfather had called for a transition of power to Minho and since then, Minho had been training to take your place. There would have to be a discreet passing of the torch is how you worldly describe the ritual, a ritual that has never been done before in your family's history. You and Minho had to fight. A fight that was written where the victor would be crowned if he spilled blood of his opponent. You wondered if that meant fight to the death, and the thought about killing Minho didn’t tickle your brain or make you feel happy. But knowing him, you wondered if he was ready to kill you. A part of you wondered if he really wanted this too. If any of you did.

You saw the nurse and Jeongin head back into the hospital room and you adjusted your hat as you walked closer to Jeongin’s room. When you turned the corner to see inside, the nurse helped Jeongin lay back down in his bed and she ruffled his hair a bit and smiled. When she began to head out, she looked at you and smiled softly, nodding respectfully before she left and you looked over her shoulder as she walked off. You smiled and walked further and saw the boy look at you brightly.

“Look at you, flirting with the nurse I see.” You teased and he rolled his eyes at you and you laughed.

“Oh shut up, you have to admit she is pretty.” Jeongin slowly sat up and you helped him.

“Prettier than me?” You frowned and Jeongin nudged you.

“Aye, no one is prettier than you.” Jeongin laughed and you smiled as you took a seat next to him.

“You’re recovering really well, faster than anticipated.”

“I have to. Gotta get back on my feet to help you guys.”

“Have you been training for the transition?”

“Well I was in the beginning but um… I sort of had to stop.” You purse your lips as Jeongin looked at you worryingly. You had been waiting to get this weight off your chest for so long.

“Why? You need to train, Minho could get an upper hand on you.” Jeongin began to start his lecture and you reached into your cross body bag as he spoke and pulled on the white long stick.

“Jeongin..” you placed the heavy plastic stick in his hands. The little device showing the word that you still couldn’t believe, but knew had to be true.

Pregnant.

“Y/N..” Jeongin gasped, “ How long-“

“Can’t be very long. The last time I saw Hyunjin was a month ago.” You looked down and tapped your feet together. You couldn’t be surprised. Before all of the Yeji incidents, you stopped taking birth control. You were trying to have a family. Then it was all taken away from you so fast.

“You’re gonna —“

“Keep it? I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m going to do.” You responded still looking down and burying yourself in thought.

“Who else knows?”

“Only you. I can’t tell the others. This could be very bad.” You looked up and Jeongin frowned.

“You have to tell Hyunjin” he said in a serious tone.

“I cannot tell him.” You felt fear Tun through you at the thought of looking into Hyunjin’s eyes after everything.

“Y/N.”

“Jeongin I can’t. I’ve been hiding away and if I come out of nowhere he might kill me.” You began to feel your anxiety increase and Jeongin reached his hand out over yours as he tried to calm you.

“He wouldn’t kill you.” He softly said.

“Jeongin we don’t know him the way we used to, he probably has changed his opinion on me. Last I heard, he was dating someone and plans to marry them-“

“Y/n… Hyunjin loves you.”

Hyunjin loves you. Those words shattered the small wall you were building in your heart to cut out the feeling of losing someone so precious. The pain you experienced when you left him made you avoid the whole thing. But at the end of the day you always wondered if Hyunjin loved you still. How could he after everything you did to him. You began to cry softly, tears falling from your eyes down your cheeks as you let your heart feel things you wouldn’t let it.

“Are you okay? Jeongin asked and it was the first time in a long time if anyone had truly asked you, if you were okay.

Because for months you haven’t been. For years, you never were.

“No. I'm not okay.”

********************************************************

“I had a great time tonight Hyunjin.” Jin-Ae Stood in front of her door, wearing a beautiful emerald dress as she looked at Hyunjin, admiring his dark suit and tie. She adjusted the tie softly and Hyunjin lifted his hands to pull hers down.

“I’m glad, thank you.” He politely said trying to end his night faster than it started.

“Do you want to come inside for a drink?” She offered as she twisted her keys in the lock and Hyunjin shook his hands.

“No, I shouldn’t. It’s late and I have to get home.”

“Oh come on! One drink won’t hurt you.” Jin-Ae grabbed Hyunjin’s hand and led him inside. Closing the door behind her she walked over to her kitchen bar, flipping the lights and smiling.

“What can I get you? Scotch, Bourbon,—“

“Do you have any Cabernet Sauvignon? Red?” Your favorite. Hyunjin hadn’t drank wine in so long. He always shared your favorite of dry red wine over dinner. A taste that he hated at first, but grew to love.

“Interesting choice for a man of your nature. Dry red wine wasn’t something that I would have thought you’d enjoy casually.” Jin-Ae grabbed a wine glass and poured the red liquid in less than half way as she walked over to Hyunjin and handed him the drink.

“It’s a taste I’ve grown well acquainted to.” Jin-Ae had Hyunjin sit on her bar stools as Hyunjin lifted the wine glass to take more than a sip of the alcohol. Burning the back of his throat, all he could think about was you.

“Should we talk more comfortably about.. us?”

Jin-Ae caught Hyunjin off guard with her question. He knew that his father had paired her for Hyunjin and she came from another family of mafia leaders. His father thought that a marriage could stem from this relationship and benefit both families, but Hyunjin wasn’t interested in Jin-Ae romantically. He knew where his heart was.“What do you mean?”

“Well, I mean.. these small dinner dates are lovely and I am enjoying them. But if we are going to get married shouldn’t we-

“Marriage isn’t definite Jin-Ae.” Hyunjin looked at her more serious taking another sip of his wine.

“But isn’t that the goal. For us to be married?” She looked at him teasingly and Hyunjin clenched his jaw. She smiled softly.

“Your father mentioned that you were in a relationship prior. He assumed you wouldn’t be very accepting to this new phase.”

Jin-Ae leaned in closer to Hyunjin, resting her small hand on his thigh.

“This is all business to me Jin-Ae.” Hyunjin looked at her as she came closer.

“But it doesn’t have to be you know.” Hyunjin began to pull back slowly, her hand gliding up his thigh nearing his dick as she chuckled.

“Jin-Ae..” he whispered.

“We don’t have to be in love to have fun.” Jin-Ae enclosed the space between Hyunjin lips and hers and Hyunjin let her. She kissed him as he responded by kissing her back and letting her hands roam his legs. It was weak. Selfish. The back of Hyunjin’s mind told him to stop because she wasn’t you. The park he felt when you kissed him wasn’t there with her. The butterflies in his stomach were dead when Jin-Ae touched him. He wasn’t being faithful to you at this moment. His mind didn’t click fully until Jin-Aw began to fumble with his belt.

“Stop. I can’t.” Hyunjin pulled back and pushed her hands away.

“Can’t or won’t” Jin-Ae said a bit annoyed and Hyunjin stood from the chair.

“This is just business. You and I.” Jin-Ae facial expression grew disappointed. Hyunjin felt bad for being honest with her, as he suspect that she may have been developing some illusion in her mind that Hyunjin felt the same as her.

“Sorry I should go.”

Hyunjin headed for the door. He shook his head in frustration and scurried to his car before he sat in the seat. He hit the steering wheel hard and cursed out loud. Everything in his life was so twisted. He just wanted to erase everything and just focus on what truly mattered. Hyunjin started the car and began driving back to the home you two had shared together. The home that Hyunjin was told to not return to, in fear of you coming to finish what you started. But every night, this is where he went. In hopes you’d come back to be with him.

When he got to the house and opened the door, he was broken. Angry at the fact that he allowed another woman to touch him, angry that you weren’t home again. He walked in and placed his keys down on the mantle, and looked at the picture sitting there. A picture of you and Hyunjin laughing. How did we get here? He wondered.

It was a daily battle, trying to stay strong enough in front of everyone but feeling so defeated. It never took Hyunjin long to carry the weight of his own body to the couch and curl his legs in. And he cried. Every night.

He was surrounded with your memories. Because that’s all you became anymore, was a memory. You were a piece of his life that he feels so out of touch from. He missed you every day, every second. All while, his grasp of your being was slipping. The way you smelled, the feeling of your hair, how soft your skin was. Everything was fading. He feared as time went on if he would forget, but he had to hold on. He knew you’d be back on day, you had to.  He bit his lip as he sat there in the corner of your shared couch and buried his head into his knees. Another night of hopeless praying to follow

A/N: Hello!!! Another week another dramatic chapter. Hopefully this serves you well!! We are almost to 200 followers 🥺. Thank you guys so much! As always share your thoughts and comments. I love you guys 🥰

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