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sequinsmile-x · 4 months

Note

Hi I love all your hotchniss parents fics so much they’re such a comfort!! If requests are open, can I ask for a little hurt/comfort where hotchniss’s teenage daughter is sleeping in their bed again at night? For whatever reason you’re comfortable with writing and it reminds them of when she was little and would sleep in their bed🥺 just can’t get the image out of my head and i know you would do it justice if you want to <3

of course bestie <3 I love writing them with teenage/older kids. It has a special place in my heart.

I really hope this was what you were looking for and that you enjoy it <3

-x-

Reminiscence

Emily and Aaron's teenage daughter has her heart broken.

-x-

Warnings: None

Words: 4k (i got a little carried away!)

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

“Here you go, sweetheart.”

Emily smiles as she looks at her husband and takes the glass of wine he holds out for her, “Thanks, honey.”

Aaron carefully observes his wife as she checks her watch, her cheeks puffed out as she blows out a breath. He presses a kiss to her forehead as he sits next to her and wraps his arm around her shoulder.

“She’s fine, Em.”

She grunts, irritation that only lasts a second licking at her insides at how well he knows her, “I know that,” she replies, huffing as she rests her head on his shoulder, “It’s just getting close to curfew.”

Since the moment Hazel was born, everyone had always told Emily how much like her the little girl was. At first, it was the way she looked. How her daughter had her nose, and her dark eyes and her smile. As Hazel’s personality developed the comments became even more common, and Emily couldn’t deny how much of herself she recognised in her little girl, how she had so many of the attributes she’d always been told were bad in her but that seemed beautiful in her stubborn, adventurous, wilful daughter.

As soon as Hazel became a teenager, however, Emily started to worry. She remembered all too well what she’d been like. All the secrets she’d hidden from her mother, and it made her long for the days when her daughter was a tiny thing that would crawl into her and Aaron’s bed when she’d had a bad dream.

“She’s sensible,” Aaron says, kissing her temple, pressing his smile against the edge of her grey hair, as he takes the glass of wine out of her hand and sets it down. “You know that.”

She hums as she checks her watch again, “The half of her that is you is.”

She worried less about Jack and Issac. Not because they were boys, but because they were both mini versions of her husband. Jack was the most sensible college student she’d ever met, and Issac was so serious his teacher had mentioned it at his most recent parent-teacher conference, a wry smile on her face as she told them she’d never met an 11-year-old quite as earnest as him. He was up in his bedroom playing video games and she knew that she wouldn’t have to remind him of his bedtime, that he’d quietly put the game away when he’d been told to.

Issac had Aaron’s stern glare perfected since the day he was born, quiet and furious to be born as he was placed on Emily’s chest for the first time, the complete opposite to Hazel’s loud and dramatic entrance to the world four years previously.

Aaron laughs and hooks his finger under her chin to make her look at him, “You don’t give yourself enough credit.”

Warmth spreads through her chest, the familiar love she’d had for him for almost two decades as overwhelming as it always had been as she leans in to kiss him, the taste of the wine they were sharing passing from her lips to his.

“I love you.”

He smiles as her breath skips across his face as she speaks and he kisses her again before he replies, “I love you too.”

She smiles as she hooks her hand around the back of his head, her fingers pushing through his hair as she deepens the kiss, taking advantage of the rare opportunity of some alone time with her husband. She starts to lose herself in him and is about to shift closer to him, about to slip into his lap, when she hears thundering footsteps on the porch steps followed by the front door flying open. She slips out of Aaron’s embrace when she hears a gasping sob in the foyer and she walks out into the hallway. She frowns as Hazel comes into view, her face bright red and her eyes swollen as she sobs again, her face crumbling as she steps towards Emily.

“Hazel?”

“Mommy.”

The gasp of the name Hazel hadn’t called her in years pushes Emily forward, her arms reaching out as she gathers her daughter against her chest, the fierceness of the 15-year-old girl's hold on her only making her worry more.

“Sweetie, what’s wrong?” She asks, exchanging a look with Aaron as he steps out of the living room too, his worry just as obvious as hers as he steps towards them. She cups the back of Hazel’s head and encourages her to look at her. She checks for any obvious injury, looking her up and down, “Are you hurt? What’s happened?”

Hazel’s lower lip trembles as she sucks in a breath, “Brock dumped me.”

She sinks back against Emily, her sob shuddering from her chest into her mother’s. Emily wraps her arms around her and rubs her hand up and down her back, “Oh, baby I’m sorry.”

Aaron is about to step towards them, ready to pull them both into his arms, his wife’s distress at seeing their daughter so upset obvious despite the facade she was trying to hide it behind, but he spots his youngest son standing at the top of the stairs, his concern for his sister clear. Aaron looks at Emily and nods his head towards Issac and she nods in response, a silent agreement that he’d go and look after their youngest whilst she spoke to Hazel passing between them. He turns and heads up the stairs, his arm around Issac’s shoulders as he leads him back to his room.

“Come on buddy,” he says, smiling softly at him, “Why don’t you show me that level on your game that you were telling me about?”

Emily half pays attention as Issac frowns and eventually agrees with Aaron and lets himself be led upstairs. She focuses on Hazel, on the way she’s crying against her, the material of her shirt sticking to her skin, and her attempt to soothe her. She shushes her gently like she hadn’t in years and guides her towards the living room, barely getting a second to sit down herself before Hazel is pressed up against her again, her damp face against her neck.

“Do you want to tell me what happened with Brock?” She asks, hating how her daughter tenses against her, how her grip on her shirt tightens.

Hazel and Brock had been dating for a few months. It had been long enough that he’d been to the house a few times, he’d sat at the dining table with them and been polite whilst they ate dinner and she and Aaron were sworn to ‘behave’ by their daughter. Hazel was infatuated with him. The kind of young love Emily knew almost always ended in heartbreak, but she’d hoped that Hazel would be spared this.

Hazel sniffs as she pulls back, avoiding Emily’s eye contact as she looks down at her lap, “I don’t want you to be mad.”

“Sweet girl,” Emily says softly, cupping her chin and making her look up, “I won’t be mad. You can tell me anything you know that.”

Hazel nods and her lower lip trembles again, her emotions still rumbling in her chest and forcing their way out.

“We were going to…” she clears her throat and closes her eyes, “We were going to have sex,” she says, her voice low, embarrassment colouring every word. Emily is grateful for years of political training, for the fact she can school her features and not show her shock to the teenager sitting in front of her, forcing herself to breathe normally even though it feels like she’s been sucker-punched, “And I thought I was ready but…I didn’t want to. I changed my mind.”

Emily had always been very open with her children when it came to sex. She didn’t want them to make the choices she had, didn’t want them to look for love and acceptance in all the wrong places and then be left to make the decisions she’d had to when she was young. She and Aaron had disagreed over it occasionally, the thought of his kids having sex as teenagers almost too much for him to bear, but she’d always been more realistic with it - aware they were going to do it anyway. Despite that, this was still hard to take. Hazel was the same age she had been in Rome, and, more than anything, it highlighted just how young she’d been then herself.

She clears her throat, grateful when her voice doesn’t shake as she asks the first question that comes to mind, “Did he hurt you?” She asks tucking some of Hazel’s hair behind her ear. The teenager looks up at her questioningly, her head tilted in a way that made her seem even younger, “He didn’t make you do anything you didn’t want to do?”

Hazel’s eyes go wide as Emily’s question registers and she shakes her head, allowing a small sense of relief to wash over her mother, “No. He didn’t,” she says, more tears falling past her lash line as she laughs bitterly, “He called me a tease and then broke up with me,” she chokes on a sound between a laugh and a sob, “He told me if I wouldn’t sleep with him someone else would.”

Anger licks at Emily’s insides as Hazel sobs, the sound catching in her chest as she covers her mouth and Emily can feel her own heart cracking in her chest. Every instinct she has is screaming at her to go find the teenage boy who had broken her little girl’s heart and tell him exactly what she thinks of him, but she reminds herself that isn’t what her daughter would want, or even need.

She needed her right here listening to her as she cried and bore her heart to her, pressed up against her chest in a way she hadn’t been in years.

“I just want someone to love me like Dad loves you,” Hazel cries, shuddering against her, “I thought Brock did.”

Emily sighs sadly and kisses the top of Hazel’s head as she continues to play with her hair, running her fingers through it like she had done ever since she was small. It was something that had always soothed all of the Hotchners including Aaron, her secret way of calming them down - a touch her husband always liked to say was magic.

“Sweetheart,” Emily says softly, resting her cheek on top of Hazel’s head, “You’re 15. You have so much time to figure it all out,” she assures her, “I know that doesn’t help how this feels right now. But you do.”

Hazel laughs humourlessly as she pulls back and shakes her head, “Boys suck.”

Emily chuckles and nods, leaning forward to kiss Hazel’s forehead, “I’m quite fond of your dad and your brothers,” she says, her smile widening slightly when one flashes across her daughter’s face, “But you’re right about the rest of them.”

Hazel’s smile shakes, “Can I…”

She drifts off, and Emily can see how her cheeks go slightly pink, as if she’s embarrassed by whatever she wants to ask, “Can you what, sweetheart?”

“Can I sleep in your bed with you and Dad?” She asks, avoiding eye contact again, “I don’t want to sleep alone, and it always made me feel better when I was a kid.”

Emily has to stop herself from smiling too widely, and from telling Hazel that she was still a kid, well aware it wouldn’t go down well, and she nods, reaching out for her daughter's hand and squeezing it.

“Of course you can, baby.”

___

Aaron is able to distract Issac for a while.

He’s worried about Hazel, about whatever happened with Brock, the teenage boy Aaron had never been fond of anyway, but he tries to put it to one side to focus on his son. Eventually, not long after he hears Emily and Hazel walk up the stairs and towards the master bedroom, he puts the controller in his hands down, smiling at his son as he checks the time.

“Time for bed Zac.”

Issac nods and switches off the console, handing Aaron the controller he’d been using so he could put them on the side. Issac hesitates as he lies down, sighing like he has the weight of the world on his shoulders as he does so.

“Dad,” he says, the concern he’d had for his big sister coming back in full force “Why was Hazel upset?”

Aaron sighs and sits on the edge of his son’s bed, his hands clasped in his lap as he looks at his youngest, “Brock broke up with her.”

Issac looks affronted, a frown on his face that Emily would say was all him as he sits up a little straighter, “Why?”

Aaron had a feeling he knew, but he hoped he was wrong because he knew he’d have to convince his wife to not hunt down a teenage boy he wanted to tell off himself.

“I don’t know, buddy,” he says, “She’s going to be sad for a little while though.”

Issac’s frown deepens, “Shall we beat him up?”

“No, Issac,” Aaron chuckles and reaches out to ruffle his son’s hair, “You need to spend a little less time with Uncle Derek.”

Issac looks at the one remaining stuffed animal in his room. A few months ago he’d declared he was too old for them and had asked his parents to get rid of all but one - a stuffed black and white cat called Hector that he’d loved since he was a toddler - claiming it would be good to have one for emergencies. Emily had bagged them all up and put them in the loft in case he ever changed his mind, and they all pretended he didn’t cuddle up to Hector every night. Aaron watches as he reaches out for it, hesitating for a split second before he wraps his hand around Hector’s paw and passes it to Aaron.

“Can you give this to her?”

Aaron presses his lips together to suppress a smile and grabs the toy from him, “Are you sure buddy?”

Issac nods, “It’s for emergencies and this is an emergency.”

He smiles and stands up, dropping a kiss on his youngest’s head, blown away by his kindness and empathy as always, “That’s sweet. I’ll make sure she gets him.”

Issac smiles as he settles back down, “Love you, Dad.”

“Love you too, Zac,” he says, kissing his head again before he heads towards the door, “You know where we are if you need us.”

He blows out a breath as he steps out into the hallway and he smiles at the stuffed cat in his hands. They’d lost it once when Issac was young, misplacing it at an airport during a vacation. Issac had spent almost a day crying in Emily’s arms as Aaron hunted it down, edging on abusing his privileges as an FBI agent to get his son’s favourite toy back. He steps into the master bedroom and smiles softly as he spots Emily and Hazel curled up together, the teenager looking younger than usual with her make-up gone and her head on her mother’s chest.

“Zac wanted you to have this,” Aaron says as he walks across the room, exchanging a smile with his wife as he hands the cat over to Hazel.

Hazel chuckles, the sound wet as it catches in her throat. She hugs the toy against her chest and rests her cheek on the top of it, “Hi Hector,” she whispers against its threadbare fur, “Will Zaccy be okay without it? He still likes to sleep with it.”

Aaron sits on the edge of the bed, “He said he’d be fine,” he assures her, his lips curled into a half smile, “He said this was an emergency.”

“That’s sweet,” Emily says, running her fingers through Hazel’s hair as she imagines how seriously her youngest would have been as he passed the toy over to give to his sister. As an only child, she’d never experienced the love of a sibling, not until she joined the BAU and was suddenly surrounded by people she would one day class as her family. She loved the love her children had for each other, and it gave her comfort that they’d always have each other - even long after she and Aaron were gone one day hopefully decades from now.

Aaron reaches out and places his hand on Hazel’s knee and squeezes, “You okay, sweetheart?”

She shrugs, her focus on Hector as she plucks at some lose fur, “I don’t know,” she replies, her lips pressed into a firm line, “Boys are stupid,” she says, her eyes flashing up at him, “Present company not included of course.”

Aaron chuckles and squeezes her knee again, “I’m sure your Mom would agree that I can be plenty stupid myself,” he says, winking at Emily when she rolls her eyes, “You sleeping in here with us?”

Hazel sniffs and nods, tightening her hold on Hector, “Yeah. Mom said it was okay.”

“Of course it is,” he says, “I’m going to get ready for bed,” he says, squeezing her knee one more time before he stands up.

Emily gets up too, slipping out from underneath Hazel, “Me too.”

“Before you make out in the bathroom,” Hazel says, settling down onto Emily’s pillow, “Please remember your heartbroken kid in your bed.”

Emily smirks at Hazel as she walks to the bathroom, making a point of stepping a little closer to Aaron than necessary, “No promises, honey.”

As soon as the ensuite door closes behind them, Hazel’s half-hearted joke in response to Emily lost behind the wood, Emily’s shoulders sag, the fake cheeriness she’d put on for their daughter gone in an instant. She covers her face with her hands and sighs, her chest shuddering with it as it escapes. Aaron walks over and pulls her into a hug, wrapping his arms tightly around her. She hooks her arms around his back, pressing herself as close to him as possible, soaking as much comfort as she can from him until they go back out into the bedroom and she has to be okay again.

“What happened?”

She rests her forehead against his shoulder for a moment before she pulls back to look at him, “You have to promise me that you’ll be level-headed about this,” she murmurs, her tongue wetting her lower lip as she shakes her head, “Because I don’t want to be and one of us has to be so we don’t end up on the local news.”

He smiles as he tucks some hair behind her ear, the low light of the bathroom catching on the silver strands he loved so much. She’d dyed her hair for years, hiding the grey flecks that would appear in her roots every couple of months. He’d encouraged her to grow it out. Something about growing older with her, about watching the years they’d spent together reflected in the laugh lines around her eyes that made him love her even more.

“Well,” he says, “You did used to be a spy. I think we’d get away with it,” he clears his throat when she raises her eyebrow at him and he nods, “I promise.”

She blows out a breath and closes her eyes, giving herself a moment to calm herself down, “They were going to have sex,” she says as evenly as she can, not missing how his eyebrows shoot up his forehead and how his grip on her tightens, “She changed her mind and he dumped her for it.”

“He did wha-” he cuts himself off as he raises his voice, the way she glares at him enough to force him to clear his throat, his anger pushed down into his belly, making it roll in a way that makes him feel nauseous, “That is…” he shakes his head, “Is she okay?”

She laughs humourlessly, “No. She’s completely heartbroken, she said she just wants someone to love her,” her voice cracks and tears burn at the back of her eyes, her breath shaky as she tries to hold it back, “I remember how that feels, Aaron,” her chin trembles, “I just don’t want her to think that next time she doesn’t have a choice if she wants someone to stay with her.”

“Sweetheart,” he says, cupping her cheek and wiping away a tear as it slips past her lashes, “She knows she has us, and she’s got a lot of friends and two brothers who love her,” he leans in and kisses her forehead, “She’ll be okay. Maybe not today, or for a little while, but she will be,” he offers her a half smile, “She’s just like you.”

She smiles at him. It shakes, but it’s genuine, and she nods, hugging him again and breathing him in, giving herself another couple of seconds of him before she steps away and sighs.

“We should actually get ready for bed,” she says softly, “Before she thinks we really are making out in here.”

He chuckles and nods, and they get ready quickly and quietly, both of them desperate to get back out to their little girl. Emily is ready first, something that was unusual - her normal skincare routine stripped back to the basics, and she kisses him before she leaves the bathroom, a murmur of her love for him pressed against his lips.

He’s just about ready himself when he hears his phone vibrate on the counter where he’d set it down as he got changed into his pjyamas and he picks it up, frowning curiously when he sees it’s from Jack.

Zac texted me about Brock. We ride at dawn.

Aaron sighs and lovingly shakes his head, enjoying a moment of amusement he knows he shouldn’t show his wife to keep his promise to her that he’d be level-headed about it. He sends a response to his oldest, telling him he’d call him in the morning, and then he heads out to the bedroom. He can’t help but smile when he sees Emily and Hazel curled up together, Hector squished between them. For a moment it’s 10 years ago and Hazel is 5 and upset about monsters that didn’t exist anywhere other than her dreams, not 15 and heartbroken over a boy that never deserved her. He wished he could make it go away for her like he did back then, that there was some way he could make this better, but he knew all he and Emily could do was be there for her.

“Is he going to join us or just stand there and stare at us?” Hazel stage whispers, not lifting her head from Emily’s shoulders, and he shakes his head before he walks over, climbing under the covers.

“We should get some sleep,” he says, dropping kisses on both of their foreheads like he would have done all those years ago, another flash of his past colliding with his preset.

Hazel hums in response and encourages him closer, sighing something near contentedly as she settles between both her parents, “Love you.”

“We love you too, Haze,” Emily says, running her fingers through her hair, “Try and get some sleep, sweetie.”

They both lay there for longer than necessary and watch her, their focus on her sharp long after she’s fallen asleep, her grip on the stuffed cat in her arms finally loosening. Both Emily and Aaron wonder where the time had gone, how it had been 15 years since they’d first brought Hazel home, and as they drift off to sleep themselves they idly hope time would slow down so they could enjoy as much time with their children as possible.

-x-

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hyperfixationherewecome · 3 months

Text

This post (link) has bewitched me!

I can't get the idea out of my head!

A timeline of fuckery

Pre twins birth the Drakes come up with the idea to be the Fentons in college, Janet had a fake name because she didn't want her family to know she was studying ecto science instead of the medicine they wanted her to, and Jack didn't bother changing his first name because Jack is a very common first name, he used a last name from a few generations back as his fake name in college, met up with Maddie, figured each other out, decided to commit to the bit harder with each other, they met a third guy, Jack's roommate, who was genuine about his name and interest, they became best friends, and then the accident happened to Vlad.

They have two weddings, one in Wisconsin as their fake names, and one in Gotham as their real names.

They move away to a new home that's a thin spot in the veil for them to experiment on to their hearts content, and Jazz is born in Amity and hidden from the paparazzi of Gotham.

They have the twins and begin their twisted nature vs nurture experiment.

Tim is left behind in Gotham and the housekeepers and nannies are paid extra to avoid giving him unnecessary touch, he's the nature variable.

Danny is raised in Amity and smothered with love and affection and constant surveillance, he's the nurture variable.

Some things they'll always have in common are:

Being vigilantes when given the chance and enough negative supervision.

Bo staffs.

Throwing hands with the undead.

Always winning from a combo of luck and preparedness.

Mad science.

Cloning.

Ghost friends.

Skateboard.

Love of fast vehicles.

Tinkering with gadgets and improving them.

Timestream shenanigans.

Fruitloop villain obsessed with them.

Everyone they love dies eventually while they stay the same forever, unaging and lonely.

Jazz figures it out young because she has her parents' smarts and Tim has to learn the stalking from somewhere.

She arranges a meet and greet for her little brothers using their parents' neglect to her advantage.

They decide to fuck with their parents' experiment, as all gremlin children do.

Bruce is in for an adventure when the time comes.

#dp x dc #prompt

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puck-luck · 3 months

Text

new beginnings | june 3 - june 9

note: this chapter features me trying to find the right balance between "slow burn😈" and "OH MY GOD I'M SO BORED CAN THEY FUCK ALREADY", so enjoy that.

here is a link to chapter one! if you've forgotten what took place, i recommend skimming, or just read day 7 over again!

8:90 – HONEY

Mondays are Honey’s lazy days. It’s the last day of her weekend, since The Reading Nook isn’t open. She usually spends her day doing laundry and cooking for the week, but today, all she wants to do is lay in bed.

She hasn’t been unproductive, per se. She started her laundry and took a shower, even shaved her legs. She replaced her sheets, and then the allure of her bed called her back in. She cocooned herself under the covers and cracked open the book from her bedside table, but Honey’s eyes have just been sliding over the page. Her mind is elsewhere.

She can’t stop thinking about Saturday night.

It was fun. She had fun.

From the first moment, she was comfortable. The boys treated her and Bea like their friends, people that they’d known for longer than a week. She had been apprehensive at first, then thankful that Bea was willing to leave with her if she wanted to, but she never really wanted to leave. The time just came and she knew that she couldn’t be there any longer.

The second Jack opened the door and she saw Luke and Cole holding Trevor back, she just felt light.

Since leaving home, she really only had Bea. The old ladies are friendly enough, but it’s not the same. Before coming to Litchton, Honey and Bea went to a big high school. They knew a lot of people between the two of them and Bea was captain of the school’s state-championship-winning volleyball team their senior year. Honey’s parents were well known in the community and they were really involved in their church.

She went from having plans every night with her friends, sneaking out of the house to get up to no good because she wasn’t legal yet, and being miserable because she was overcompensating for a feeling she couldn’t describe to… asking her best friend to go off grid with her in a tiny town that no one from their hometown knew. And Bea came.

Honey was happier this way, and Bea could adapt to any situation with a little time so long as the illusion of adventure was intact, but it was still lonely. She loves the home she made for herself in Litchton and how it taught her to be an adult, her own person rather than a version of her that was molded from her surroundings. At the same time, she misses knowing people her age.

Litchton, as great as it was to Honey, was the kind of little town that you flee when you leave for college after living there your whole life. The only time you come back is when you’re starting your family, or maybe even after your kids move away and you crave that small town life your parents enjoyed so much.

Or, if you’re Honey’s dad, you vacationed in the town as a kid and wanted your child to have the same experience.

Long story short? There is an abundance of people under 18 and over the age of 50 in Litchton, but not so many 19-30 year olds.

It’s more of a problem for Bea. She’s the one who’s looking for a relationship. Honey is not looking for that. She’s not.

It’s nice to have a few new friends, though. Not Trevor, really, even though he seems desperate for Honey’s attention. Honey didn’t talk much with Luke, since the boy was quiet for most of the night. The most animated she saw him was when Trevor started his Zulu Run and Luke cheered him on. Quinn was at the pool table the whole night… until he was upstairs… but he seems like a cool guy. Jack is easy enough to talk to, when he’s not flirting.

Honey’s not ashamed to admit that her favorite is Cole. He’s a sweetheart with a charming smile and thoughtful intentions. He’s a good person. Honey kind of wishes that she had met him when she and Bea first became friends– she can only imagine how precious he was as a child. Their trio would have been something the other kids envied and Honey and Cole would’ve been each others’ date to prom.

He would’ve fit in really well with them, she thinks. He’s kind of like the male version of Bea. Maybe that’s why she likes him so much.

Her phone rings and it’s Bea’s name that flashes across the screen, speak of the Devil.

Honey answers and starts to say hello, but Bea cuts her off.

“I’m at your front door,” she says, then the line goes dead.

Honey pulls the phone away from her ear and stares at the screen. She scoffs and shakes her head, tossing the covers off and swinging her legs around the side of the bed. She’s just in the old boxers that she stole from her last boyfriend and a bralette, her laziest outfit. She doesn’t even consider changing as she walks to the door and opens it. Bea’s seen all this, and more, before.

“Good, you’re not wearing clothes,” Bea breathes out in relief as a greeting. She pushes past Honey and makes her way towards the bedroom. “I was going to make you take them off for this anyway.”

Honey rolls her head back and fakes a snore. She closes the front door and trails after Bea, finding the girl sitting on her bed when she reenters the room.

“Okay, before we get started, I want to give you a chance to tell me about your night after I left the room,” Bea says. “Oh, and I should probably tell you that Trevor was upset that you weren’t at church yesterday.”

“Okay,” Honey replies, her laugh strained. “That’s… weird.”

He likes you. He’s good. He’s trying. You should like him too.

Honey shakes her head and takes a deep breath. “Not much happened. Trevor did his Zulu Run, each of the boys chose a song for him to run to, and I left during Cole’s song. Jack walked me to the door.”

“Oh,” Bea drawls. She tilts her chin up and taps her nose. It’s a habit they both picked up when they were teenagers– a secret signal of sorts when they were talking shit at parties in their younger years. They do it when something is too ‘on the nose.’ It’s supposed to be clever– Honey thought of it. “So that’s why Trevor pushed Jack up against the wall, while he was naked, might I add, and asked him what the hell he was doing?”

Honey freezes, lips parted in surprise. Her eyebrows are furrowed and she hopes that she looks judgmental enough to hide the shock.

Bea tilts her head to the side slowly and smiles up at Honey, pulling one of her braids over her shoulder and twisting the end between her fingers. “Isn’t that so… interesting…?”

Honey licks along her top row of teeth and seethes at Bea. “No,” she snaps. “I don’t find that interesting.”

Bea rolls her eyes. “Fine. But you can’t fight this forever, Honey. I’m going to get you laid this summer, while we have this many willing participants, whether you like it or not.”

“Why don’t you just tell me what you did with Quinn? I know that’s why you’re here.”

Bea’s face lights up and she grins from ear to ear. “Honey, I know they’re all athletes, but, like… holy shit.”

She jumps into a long winded story that begins with the second Quinn bent over her to hit the 8 ball and she felt him against her behind. (“He wasn’t even hard yet, and I was practically swooning!”) Bea is gesticulating wildly, miming her movements and even climbing onto Honey’s lap at one point to recreate the position Quinn had her in.

Bea’s downright dirty about it, and Honey squirms a bit. This happens every time Bea hooks up with someone, but it never becomes more comfortable for Honey.

After Bea finishes describing the way that Quinn groaned when he came, all the while Honey is cringing because she’ll never look at Quinn the same again, she says: “You know, if you just started having sex again, I wouldn’t have to describe my hijinks to you.”

Honey laughs out loud, her jaw dropping at the statement. “You’re a liar!” She accuses, pointing a finger at Bea and pushing her over on the bed.

Bea giggles into the covers, hiding her face from Honey. She shrugs and nods along as Honey continues her accusation.

“We’re going to keep doing this shit until the day we die!” Honey exclaims, her cheeks tight with how wide her smile is. Laughs keep bubbling up from her chest and interrupting her sentences. “Buzzy, when you get pregnant, I genuinely think you’re going to find some sperm and shove it up my cooch so we’re ‘experiencing everything at the same time.’ You freak!”

Bea howls with laughter, clutching at her stomach. “Fuck off!”

“I swear! When you get married, I’m going to have to get an IUD just so I’m not fearing for my fucking life the whole time,” Honey retorts, grabbing her pillow from near the headboard. She whacks Bea with it as the girl squeals and tries to avoid the weapon.

After a satisfying hit to the side of Bea’s head and a groan of contempt, Honey throws her pillow back up to the headboard and collapses into her sheets, her head turned to face Bea’s. They giggle and blink at each other for a minute, breathing in the smell of Honey’s fresh laundry.

Honey’s eyes are half-covered by the top sheet and for a moment, when she catches a glimpse of Bea’s flushed cheeks, she thinks of all the times that they had sleepovers in Honey’s childhood bedroom and stayed up all night trying to stifle their laughter.

Honey pushes herself up from her position and shuffles under the covers, pulling the sheets up to her chest. Bea joins her with a little groan. They sit together, facing forward, mirror images of each other.

“Was he really that good?” Honey asks softly.

“Better than Overalls Joe,” Bea replies.

“Wow.”

“Yeah.”

Honey turns over, leaning against her pillow. Bea follows her lead and faces her, her hand tucked below her cheek in a little fist. Her face scrunches, catching on the skin of her palm.

“Does that change anything?” Honey asks. “Are you still going to hook up with all of them?”

Bea nods tentatively. She breathes out a sigh. “For a second, after we finished, I thought about not telling him. He was so sweet and great that I thought maybe I wouldn’t want to go through with everything, and you know how much I love the strong, silent type, but like. I don’t know.”

Honey searches her face for a clue. Bea still looks just as uncertain as she’s describing. She purses her lips and avoids eye contact with Honey, turning so she’s facing the ceiling.

“You thought that you’d change your mind and you’d want a monogamous hookup situation, but when you finished with Quinn, you hadn’t,” Honey supplies. She’s still laying on her side, looking at Bea’s profile.

Bea bites the insides of her cheeks. “Yeah.”

“And you felt bad.”

“Yeah.”

“And you still feel bad.”

“Yeah.”

Honey finally shifts to lay on her back, reaching over to take Bea’s hand. They stare up at the fan on Honey’s ceiling. It’s dusty. Honey makes a mental note to clean it later.

“He reacted well when I told him,” Bea says. “He was surprised, which I get, but then he kind of just shrugged. He said if I wanted to have a Slut Summer, then he wasn’t going to stop me. I referred to it as a Slut Summer first, by the way. He wasn’t being an asshole about it.”

“Do you regret it?” Honey asks.

“I needed to tell him. It would be so unfair to Quinn if I hooked up with him, got his hopes up, and then hooked up with one of his brothers.” Bea shrugs and shakes her head. “I feel gross about it because I know he was disappointed for a second, but I’d feel grosser if I didn’t tell him.”

“How did he act after you told him? After the shrug?”

“Well, he also told me that he just got out of a relationship, and then he acted normal for the rest of the day. He drove the boys to church and drove me home after. He was touching me in some way almost the whole time.” Bea drops Honey’s hand and picks at a hangnail. “And we made out when we were at my place.”

Honey’s lower lip juts out in an unimpressed look before she smiles. Good for Bea.

But she's not finished.

“I just— I saw how he looked at me when I first propositioned him.” Bea covers her face with both of her hands. “And he told me that if this had gone down when he was younger, it would've ruined him. I know he meant it to lighten the tension because he laughed… but, like… I can’t get that image out of my head. Baby Quinn getting his heart broken by a girl who didn't want more from him. It makes me feel like shit.”

“Maybe you should go over there,” Homey suggests. “You should talk to him some more and clear the air.”

“I can’t,” Bea complains. “I can't let him know that I care. Then he’ll have all the power.”

Honey rolls her eyes. “I don't think that’s how this works.”

“It's how I think it works!”

“Okay.”

They sit in silence for a few minutes. Eventually, Honey picks up her book from her nightstand and begins to read. Bea stares at the ceiling.

Ten minutes of thought later, she sits up abruptly.

“I'm going home,” Bea announces and leaves the bed, pulling her shoes on. “I'm drinking some of my calming tea and going to bed. I’ll see you at the store tomorrow?”

Honey looks over to her clock and snorts out a laugh. It’s only 5:15 in the evening. Bea’s going to be overtired by the time she wakes up in the morning. She’s planning to sleep for almost sixteen hours. “Be at work at ten,” Honey tells her. “You're scheduled then and the ladies are coming in.”

“Yadda yadda,” Bea replies, then waves goodbye and blows Honey a kiss. “I’ll get there when I get there, like every day other than Friday.”

Honey sniffs out a laugh, then returns to her book. It's just now getting good. The story follows a girl who is trying to create an anthology based on her hometown’s history and she’s spent the past few weeks interviewing the townies and local historians, just to stumble upon a town secret that no one really wants to talk about.

Honey thinks it’s the best book she’s read so far this year.

Her alarm beeps at a quarter to six, and Honey puts her book away. She stretches under the covers, groaning at the satisfying pop of her joints as she does so. Honey throws the covers off of herself and leaves them messy as she changes out of her pajamas and into some spandex shorts and a long t-shirt.

She grabs her mesh shoulder bag and her car keys, ready to head to the fruit stand outside of the grocery store. She had finished her peaches halfway through the week last time, so she needs to buy more today. She’s feeling like blueberries would be a good investment– maybe some blackberries.

Honey keeps her head down, parking near The Reading Nook and walking along the sidewalk. She shuffles by a few townies with a nod, and turns the corner. She stops dead in her tracks.

Trevor.

He’s standing at the stand, two paper bags in his arms. He’s chatting with the vendor, a sweet woman named Joan who’s been working the booth for twenty years. She’s laughing and smiling at him and holding another little bag. Trevor bends at the knee and makes a joke as she tries to balance it precariously on top of his other groceries.

Honey just hopes he’s leaving soon. She walks up to the booth and starts to peruse the apples, keeping to herself and hoping Trevor doesn’t see her before she leaves.

It’s a futile effort and she knows it.

“Honey!” Joan exclaims. “How are you doing, my dear?”

Honey smiles, soft and sweet at the woman. “Hi, Joan. I’m okay. I did some chores today, so I’m just happy to be out and about.”

“Well, you just let me know what you’re looking for today and I’ll give you my best,” Joan promises and leaves Honey to browse.

“Hi,” Trevor says.

“Hello, Trevor,” Honey replies, not even looking up at him as she scans the selection for the best looking fruit.

“Do you like tarts?” Trevor asks.

“They’re fine,” Honey replies. She picks up a carton of raspberries, ripe and red. “I prefer turnovers.”

“I was thinking about trying to bake something later,” Trevor tells her.

“That’s nice,” Honey says. She’s not an idiot. She knows what he’s hinting at. Trevor wants to hang out with her again, this time in a much more intimate setting. She’d be at their house, because she would not allow him to invite himself over, but the presence of the other boys wouldn’t mean much. “I’m sure Cole would love to watch you try to bake some tarts.”

“Cole would be a disaster,” Trevor laughs, like Honey just made the best joke he’s heard all day.

“Maybe he would surprise you.” Honey turns to Joan, holding up her raspberries. “Are these ready? Or should I wait a little while for the next batch?”

“You know what I always say, Honey,” Joan answers. “The second batch is always the best.”

“Good point. Do you have a quart of blueberries around here somewhere?” Honey scans the stand, but she doesn’t see them.

Joan points to the other end of the stand, past Trevor.

For the first time since making it to the stand, Honey looks up at Trevor. She makes eye contact. His eyes are green and he’s happy and there’s this tiny smile on his face as he looks down at her.

“Excuse me,” Honey says. She tries to keep her voice hard, disinterested.

Trevor continues to smile down at her, arms full of groceries. She focuses on the point slightly past him and squeezes by, her back towards the stand. She tries to avoid shoulder-checking him, but they brush arms anyway. Trevor’s skin is warm against hers, even if it’s just a fleeting pass.

“Would you like to come over and bake with me?” Trevor asks. “I’ll let you take home half the goods. I need someone with some experience to help me out, I’m not much of a baker and you seem like you know what you’re doing.”

It’s an enticing offer, only because Honey had so much fun the other night. She could probably convince all the other boys to help, and Trevor would hate that her attention isn’t completely on him.

“What kind of tarts?” Honey asks. “If I like the flavor, then I’ll come over.”

Trevor’s smile splits his face like he knows something Honey doesn’t. “Joan just sold me some of her best strawberries.” He tosses the older woman a wink.

“What a shame,” Honey muses, and bites back a smile at the way Trevor’s face falls. “I’m allergic.”

“What?” He asks, genuinely taken aback. “Bea said–” He cuts himself off and his eyes go wide, flushing to the tips of his ears at the inadvertent admission.

“‘Bea said?’” Honey repeats, tilting her head to the side. “What did Bea say?”

Trevor scowls at the ground and scuffs his shoes against the sidewalk. “She said you would like strawberries if I bought them for you,” he grumbles.

“Oh, poor baby,” Honey teases. “She tricked you, and you fell for it.”

Trevor rolls his eyes, but Honey can tell that he’s a little bit pleased with the endearing term, even as mean as she said it.

“Go home, Trevor,” Honey says, her voice turning despondent instead of laced with laughter. “Don’t ask Bea for help with me again. If you want to win me over, you have to do it yourself.”

“Me-ow,” Joan chirps, reminding Honey that they have an audience.

Honey picks up a quart of blueberries and hands Joan a few dollars for the berries, placing the basket in her bag. She grabs a few peaches on the way back to her car, the payment covering the cost of those as well. She walks back to her car, catching a glimpse of Trevor loading his groceries into the trunk of his car. She quirks her eyebrows as she sees him scrub his hands over his face and pat his cheek, not unlike the wake up call she gave Jack on Saturday, saying something to himself.

Whatever. Honey came out on top of that conversation, yet again. One good night at the boys’ house doesn’t mean that Honey wants to hang out with Trevor again, even if she’s bringing donuts over on Friday.

9:90 – TREVOR

Trevor gave up on trying to fall asleep around 4 a.m. after tossing and turning all night. For a while, he scrolled on his phone and caught up with his friends’ Instagram posts. The rental house has WiFi, but it’s notoriously terrible being in the mountains and all, so Trevor’s stuff never loads. In the early morning hours, while none of the other boys are awake and scrolling, he’s able to load up three TikToks in a row once he tires of Instagram. It’s a luxury he hasn’t experienced in over a week.

He chalks it up to excitement for the day– they’re getting to go on the ice for the first time since coming to North Carolina. Quinn is planning on packing up Trevor’s car around 9 and they’ll be on the road to Bojangles Coliseum, home of the Charlotte Checkers, soon after that. Trevor can’t wait to be back on the ice and have a real hockey practice, even if it’s self-led.

But, at the same time, Trevor can’t chalk all of his inability to sleep up to excitement for the day.

No, some, if not most, of his inability to sleep was due to the fool he made of himself yesterday.

He was so close to getting Honey to come over, so close to getting her alone in something that he could call a date, even if she didn’t consider it to be one. He had blindly trusted Bea, something he now knows not to do, and gone with the strawberries rather than ask Honey what kind of pastry she’d like most.

Of course she’s allergic to strawberries– it only makes sense that Honey’s conniving best friend wants to enjoy Trevor’s plundering just as much as Honey does.

And Trevor knows that she enjoys it.

Poor baby.

Even with the ounces of condescension pooling around the words, Trevor cannot stop them from ringing through his head on a loop. Baby, baby, baby. He’s never been one for pet names, preferring his name or to be called Z, but he sort of wanted to fall at Honey’s knees and beg her to keep calling him that.

Which is peculiar.

Because Trevor doesn’t fall to his knees for anything, much less a girl, and much less one he barely knows.

He can’t seem to shake Honey from his mind, though. Part of it might be the fact that he’s not in a relationship at the moment and he’s used to being in the city over the summer, where he can go to bars and the country club and chat up plenty of nice girls his age. Trevor’s not sure that’s the case, though. It’s a good excuse, but he knows deep down that the reason he can’t shake Honey from his mind is that he likes her. He wants her to like him, too.

Disgusting.

He’s in his early twenties. He has no desire to settle down with someone yet, especially not at this point in his career. The hockey life is hard for him. He can only imagine how hard it would be for someone who had never been a part of that world, who had never had to deal with the constant travel and practices and commitments of the job.

And yet, he keeps catching himself thinking of moments where Honey is part of his life. She’s not, and he knows she’s not, but like when she came over on Saturday: she went toe-to-toe with Jack, decimated him enough that Cole gave her a trophy and a hug, and dominated the pool table. She never went easy on Trevor, nor on the other guys, and she fit. She was happy to be there, even when she caught herself and took a step back.

Trevor can’t wait to see how beautiful she looks when she finally lets loose.

He’s a little embarrassed by his actions after she left, but only because he knows that the story has probably gotten back to her. Bea probably told her all about how Trevor pushed Jack up against the wall for getting Honey alone, probably overexaggerating the story to make Trevor look more like a fool. Obviously they didn’t do anything– Honey turned Jack down earlier in the night– but Trevor felt a very unfamiliar clench of rage in his gut that caused him to lash out at his best friend.

Not his most shining moment.

He would absolutely do it again.

However, Trevor will never get the chance to do it again if Honey never comes back to hang out with him.

But he keeps coming back to those strawberries. Strawberries, Bea said. Trevor was a fool for thinking Bea would really teach him all the ways to get in with Honey. When Honey turned him down, and told him the reason, it took Trevor by surprise and he slipped up. He revealed that he had asked Bea for help and Honey grew delightedly wicked at the mention. Trevor watched her eyes light up, the joy fill them as she gained an opportunity to tear him down.

She loves to be in control, loves it to the point of reinforcing her walls that she’s built up for years and years, Trevor assumes, at any opportunity. He saw it in the way she switched from teasing to curt and serious within a moment.

When he texted Bea afterward, upset and biting like a rabid dog, all Bea replied was: “you were never going to get her with my help. stop using me as a crutch. freak.”

And then an hour later, “do u think quinn is mad at me”, which Trevor never replied to, because he had no interest in asking Quinn if he was “mad at Bea.”

All he cares about is if Honey is mad at him.

She didn’t seem like she was. Trevor just has a feeling that something is off and he needs to find a way to make up for it before he loses his chance to win her over. It’s dramatic, yes, but he needs to be on her good side. He needs it.

He cannot possibly think about this any longer.

Trevor swings his legs over the side of the bed and patters down to the kitchen, phone in hand. He printed out the recipe the day prior, preparing for Honey to come over and bake with him, but he had been too pouty to follow the directions last night.

He already can’t sleep, so he might as well cook. The sooner he makes those tarts, the sooner his housemates eat them all, which is ideal since he wants to forget this exchange as soon as possible.

Trevor had bought these mini tart shells the day before, pre-baked and thrown into the fridge haphazardly in his frustration. He takes them out to prepare, then assembles the rest of his ingredients.

It’s slightly therapeutic, the baking. He blends ingredients together with a wooden spoon until the lumps are gone, he lets the ingredients simmer over apple juice. He watches as it solidifies and goes from two separate solids and liquids into a sugary glaze. He pours the glaze over the tarts and arranges the strawberries on top of the little shells. It takes him a while to get them all perfectly balanced. They kept falling over, much to his chagrin, and before he knows it, the sun is nearly rising. He’s got a tray of twenty-four tarts on his hands and not enough room in the freezer to chill them before they leave for Charlotte.

“Fuck,” he whispers. Then, again, he spits out, “Fuck.”

Trevor stares at the piles of frozen pizzas and chicken breast and steak that have accumulated in their freezer, bags of ice to be blended into drinks on hot days.

“Motherfucker,” Trevor growls, then covers his mouth. He glances towards the stairs, expecting one of the boys to make their way down at any moment.

When no one appears, he turns his attention back to the freezer.

Trevor hauls out the bags of ice, the stacks of food. He clears the freezer and grumbles, shoving the tarts onto a shelf. The strawberries fall over again and he has to fix them. He all but slams the food back into the fridge, unorganized and harsh. He forces the freezer door shut, the sound echoing throughout the house.

“Oh,” Trevor hears a sleepy voice say from behind him. He turns around, eyes wide, and finds Quinn in his boxers and a navy t-shirt at the bottom of the stairs. “I should’ve known you were the one making all this noise.”

“Sorry,” Trevor says.

“What are you doing?” Quinn asks, rubbing his eyes before glaring at Trevor. “It’s not even six.”

“Are you mad at Bea?” Trevor replies, hearing frustration tinge his voice. He points an accusing finger at the older boy. “Because it’s her fault that I’m in this mess.”

Quinn raises his eyebrows, unimpressed with Trevor’s accusation. He opens his mouth to yawn, joining Trevor in the kitchen and sitting behind the counter.

“I’m not mad at Bea,” Quinn says simply. “I admire what she’s doing.”

Trevor makes a face. “What’s she doing? You?”

Quinn growls a warning at Trevor. “I don’t have to explain her business to you. Yeah, she and I hooked up, and it was great. We’re going to keep hooking up. But she’s allowed to do whatever she wants. I told her if she wanted to have a Slut Summer, I wasn’t going to stop her.” He holds up a hand to cut Trevor off. “She called it a Slut Summer first, by the way. I’m not being an asshole about it.”

“Who’s she slutting it out with?” Trevor asks, laughing. “The only non-Hughes boys in this house are me and Cole and, quite frankly, I don’t want Bea like that. Cole’s also too short for her. There are no other guys in the town.”

“She is going to get whomever she wants,” Quinn says, voice cool. His face is calm. “Whether they are in this house or not.” He schools a tight, borderline-annoyed smile across his face. “What are you doing?”

“Baking,” Trevor snaps.

Quinn snorts. “Sounds like you’re mad at Bea.”

“I am! She fucking– how do you know about that?”

“She told me, you idiot,” Quinn replies. “And I thought it was very funny.”

“When did she have time to fucking tell you–”

“Right when I got in the car, Trevor.” Quinn nods, a smug and satisfied expression on his stupid face. Trevor’s not biased. “She couldn’t stop laughing, even after she told me that you were about to buy strawberries for Honey… who is allergic to them.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Trevor demands. “You knew I was going to the market just for that! We didn’t need anything. You made me pay for beer!”

“Because it was funny.” Quinn slaps his hands down on his thighs and shrugs. “Because I wanted to see this play out. My only regret is not going to the store with you and watching it play out in person.”

Trevor sneers at Quinn. “I hope she never sleeps with you again,” he grits out, sincere and nodding.

Quinn narrows his eyes and leans in, voice quiet. “If she never sleeps with me again, then she will never bring your little friend around again. We both know that you can’t get her to come over on your own.”

He and Trevor maintain eye contact for a minute. Trevor is the first to break it, looking down and away with a clear of his throat. He steps back to the fridge and takes out the carton of eggs to make himself an omelet.

The boys traipse down the stairs in annoyingly long intervals. Jack is the last of the five to mosey down the stairs and make his breakfast, which is when Quinn leaves to pack Trevor’s car for their practice today.

Trevor is glad to be driving to Charlotte alone. Quinn’s words lodged themselves deep between his ribs and left him unsettled. He’s always been able to get the girl he wants and he’s been secure in that. But this is different– this is Honey, the first girl he’s ever wanted so much, and Quinn’s absolutely right. Trevor has no idea what he’s doing and has no chance at all.

And as Trevor runs sprints by himself during practice, just circling in laps over and over, he decides that Quinn is right. It will never happen. Honey would never be interested in him like that and she has made it very clear. Trevor will have to settle for being her friend, and only her friend. It’ll be hard enough to get her to like him, but he’ll have to do it if he wants even a slice of her at all.

And on the drive home, the decision settles like a rock in his stomach. Trevor has never felt quite so unhappy in something that he has to accept. It’s her friendship or nothing at all, and Trevor will be damned if he receives nothing at all from Honey.

10:90 – HONEY

It’s officially summer.

Ada was at the bookstore when Honey came to open it up this morning. Evidently, she had been up since the wee hours of the morning, plucking deep purple blackberries off of the vines behind her home until she had plenty for a pie. She could have baked it at home, but instead, Ada chose to bake the pie in the tiny, barely functional oven in the back.

The Reading Nook has been filled with the scent of sweet, summery blackberries, and Honey cannot think of a better way to start the day.

Bea is late for work, obviously, but she strolls in with a coffee for Honey and a kiss on the cheek for Ada to make up for it.

“Good morning girls,” Bea sings as she walks into The Reading Nook. She’s wearing a navy t-shirt that’s tied in a small knot around her midriff and a long, flowy orange skirt.

“Is that my skirt?” Honey asks, accepting the coffee from her friend and zeroing in on her outfit.

“I’m being Donna from Mamma Mia 2 today and I needed it,” Bea replies.

“Oh, you’re just like Donna, alright,” Honey confirms, the thinly veiled insult darkening Bea’s face.

Bea opens her mouth to retort, but thinks better of it when her eyes flicker over to Ada. The sweet old lady might have a heart attack and die if she learns what Bea is planning for her summer. Instead, Bea paints a smile over her face.

“It smells good in here,” Bea says. “Did you bring us some sweets, Ada?”

“I am baking you a pie right now, Miss Bea,” Ada says, turning the page of her magazine with a polished finger. She doesn’t even look up at the girl as she speaks. She’s immersed in her activity, eyes scanning the page so she doesn’t miss a word.

“Good, I ran out of desserts and no one bought me any strawberries this week.” Bea cuts her eyes at Honey.

“We already talked about this. If you want strawberries, go ask Trevor.” Honey’s expression is impassive. She and Bea had had a long discussion yesterday about her meddling and how it’s overstepping Honey’s boundaries.

Bea had agreed to let up, but she’s still pouting about it.

“I just don’t understand why you’re not interested in him,” Bea hissed through gritted teeth, leaning into Honey’s space between the stacks. The knitting ladies are barely out of range, but Honey wouldn’t be surprised if they were craning their necks and listening in. She wouldn’t be surprised if Sacha turned up her hearing aid, just to try and catch their whispers. “He’s cute and he likes you. He bought fruit for you.”

“I don’t want him,” Honey reinforces. She’s repeated the same thing, in so many words, to Bea all morning. She even read the messages that Trevor sent Bea after the strawberry incident, with Bea’s permission, and all it did was stress her out. “And I don’t want you to help him anymore!”

“I’m not going to,” Bea promises. “But you should give him a chance.”

“No, Bea!” Honey looks around and lowers her voice again. “I’m not looking for a man, and if I were, I wouldn’t choose Trevor. I’m not like you, spreading my legs for every cute boy in the room.”

It was a bit too far, to be honest, and Honey apologized shortly after. They’re back to bickering like sisters, annoyed by the other but not enough for it to be a real argument. They easily could’ve ran into “real argument” territory with Honey’s comment and Bea’s pushing, but neither girl felt like that was necessary.

They’re better when they’re not fighting, anyway.

They’re kind of fighting anyway.

Honey gets to work doing her own thing– restocking shelves, checking customers out at the counter when Ada waves her over, while Bea talks to the customers as they shop. When she’s not talking to customers, she’s sitting in the back, typing out little messages on her phone.

It’s suspicious, the way Bea went from rarely texting anybody to suddenly texting all the time. She’s more of a voice note kind of girl, so Honey has gotten used to hearing her record messages for her sisters and cousins, often vulgar and rarely edited. She goes off on tangents often, she yells into her phone whilst sitting in traffic, and yet lately, she’s been putting her thumbs to use. It’s weird.

Hours pass and Honey notices Bea on her phone often throughout the day, usually accompanied by a quick glance up to see who’s around her. If Honey didn’t know any better, she’d say that Bea is watching her movements to make sure she doesn’t creep up behind her.

It doesn’t matter, she decides. Bea can be cryptic all she wants. Honey doesn’t care about what she’s saying or who she’s talking to.

That’s a lie. She’s been fantasizing since lunchtime that Bea found a new boy to talk to over the summer, and she’ll relinquish her grip on her Slut Summer plans, and Honey will be free to ignore Trevor and his goons as long as possible. He will never be a thought in her head again.

Until the next time he shows up out of nowhere, she grumbles to herself. He’s making it so hard to forget that he even exists. She narrows her eyes at the mere thought of him. Trevor.

And the boys have a real knack for showing up out of nowhere, because as they’re closing down the shop for the night, literally right as Honey approaches the door to flip the door sign from “Open” to “Closed,” Quinn appears.

He waves awkwardly at Honey when she approaches the door, both of them reaching for the door handle at the same time. He laughs sheepishly and pulls his hand back, tucking it into his pockets with a soft smile.

Honey opens the door. “Hi, Quinn,” she greets. Her heart feels like mush. He’s sweet and lame, but in a more mature and embarrassed way than Cole’s blatant lameness. Bea made a good choice for her first conquest. “We’re closing for the day.”

“That’s okay,” Quinn replies easily. His eyes are lit up by the lamplight to Honey’s right. “I was just hoping to talk to Bea.”

Honey’s eyes are drawn down by the soft curves of Quinn’s lips. She curses herself for a moment. She’d trade Trevor for Quinn any day, but she’s sure he invoked some sort of bro-code hands-off thing. Not that she cares.

“Yeah,” Honey says with a nod. “She’s in the back. Come on in.” She steps away from the door and holds it open for Quinn.

He walks in, shaking his arms out as he enters the cool bookstore. He’s wearing a hoodie, but he had pushed the sleeves up due to the humid heat outside. The sleeves fall past his wrist and neatly curve under his fingers.

Honey gestures for him to stand near the register. “I’ll go get her.” She retreats into the back, where Bea is slicing a blackberry pie into two, planning to transfer hers and Honey’s halves to a tupperware. She’s startled when she looks up to see Honey standing there with a smile on her face.

“What?” Bea whispers, skeptical. “I wasn’t going to take the bigger half this time, I swear.”

“There’s a suitor at the door,” Honey simpers with a knowing smile. “He’s come to court.” Her voice slips into a British mockery, knowing that Bea had just started Bridgerton’s newest season.

“Which one?” Bea asks, eager and bright. She puts the knife down and licks her fingers clean.

“Anthony,” Honey reveals, giggling.

Bea gasps, her hand flying to her mouth and covering her lips. “You’re kidding,” she giggles back, grinning like a schoolgirl behind her fingers. She brushes her hair out of her face and bites her lip, repeating “You’re kidding.”

“I’m not,” Honey tells her. “He’s at the register, waiting for you.”

Bea bounces on her toes, smoothing out her outfit. The orange skirt makes her sort of glow. Honey’s eyes soften as she watches her best friend. There is no one in this world like Bea. You can never hate her or be angry at her for long because she’s like sunshine.

“Will you go? I’ll put your half of the pie in my fridge and reheat it for you tomorrow. I have a feeling you’ll be needing me to bring you breakfast in the morning.” Honey smirks at Bea, still laughing a little to herself. “Do you want me to open the store, too?”

Bea blushes, her tongue poking through her teeth. “Would you?” She teases, considering it. “I’ll text you, yeah? I should know what kind of encounter this is, and how we should proceed, in about thirty minutes. Thank you, Honeybear.”

“Of course,” Honey agrees with a smile, walking forward to take Bea’s place. As Bea walks away, Honey calls, “Hey.”

Bea turns, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “What?”

“I guess he’s not mad at you,” Honey replies with a final laugh at the finger guns Bea shoots at her before she walks away.

She hears the door jingle open and closed five minutes later, after she’s split the pies and packed them into her bag. She fiddles around the kitchen a little longer, making sure to give them a head start before finishing up in the main room.

She straightens a few books on a few carts, sorting a few books onto a different cart.

Finally, she walks to the door. She pulls it shut and locks it behind her, walking the short distance to her car. She drives home in silence, listening to the wind whistle through her windows.

She enters her home with a one-handed turn of her key, slamming the door behind her with a kick of her foot. She puts their food away, then decides to take hers to bed and eat it while reading. She grabs a fork on the way out of her kitchen, turning out the lights with her elbow as she walks.

She enters her bedroom and navigates in the dark until she finds her lamp and flicks it on. The room fills with soft light and she settles into her bed, balancing her plate on her thigh as she reads against her bent knee. Honey raises the fork to her mouth as carefully as she can until she’s finished a slice of her dessert.

She puts the plate away and tosses her book down to the end of her bed, leaning over to turn off her lamp. She barely touches it for the thousandth night in a row, swinging wildly to reach it. She settles against her pillow, snuggling in.

She waits. And waits. And waits, but her eyelids never grow heavy. Fuck. Her phone lights up with a text from Bea, so she gets up to read it: “So….. can you open the store for me tomorrow?” with a picture of Quinn’s legs extended next to her on the couch, stretched toward the ottoman. His thumb is rubbing over Bea’s knee in the live version of the picture.

Honey’s stomach flips. Fuck. That can’t be what she was missing.

But immediately, as Honey watches Quinn’s thumb move over Bea’s skin, she gasps at the idea of a heavy, warm body behind her, ready to touch her in the same way.

She cringes, exits away from the message, choosing not to respond. Of course she will. Of course she’ll open the store for Bea, she doesn’t need to confirm. She just needs to get away from that picture and the things she shouldn’t be thinking about. This is dangerous. Honey’s not looking for this. She’s fine on her own.

Yeah, she’s fine on her own. Honey nods to herself, eyes wide as she readjusts under the covers. Her bed is just big enough for her to stretch out her limbs. She’d have to squeeze if there was another body here. It was fine when it was her and Bea for that year, but a man? He’d never fit. He’d have to hold Honey in place to keep from pushing her off the bed. She’d have to– God, feel another person against her all night. Ugh.

But it’s a little appealing, if the man behind her pulls her tight against his front and nudges her neck before he kisses it with his perfect, tan, delicately curved nose–

Nope. Honey shakes the image away, opening her eyes to observe the still aloneness next to her on the mattress. She clears her throat and physically shakes her head. She closes her eyes again and focuses on the blackness behind her eyelids until she finally, mercilessly falls asleep.

She’s not looking for that.

11:90 – TREVOR

Today brings a huge challenge to Trevor and plops it at his feet like a dog spitting out a bird. The challenge is helpless and sad. He stares at it for minutes, hearing the seconds from the clock on his mantle nearby tick away.

He has to return his library book today. He finished it last night in the game room while Cole chased Luke around with his own pool cue. Luke was surprisingly agile and able to escape upstairs without getting hit once.

Trevor came out of his trance with a knock to his bedroom door.

“Get up!” Jack pesters. “Going to store! More beer! More fire! More tarts for you to bake!” He continues to pound on Trevor’s door with each word. His shouts are like a caveman’s, annoying and short. He must’ve watched that episode of the Office where Kevin shortens his sentence over breakfast this morning. Why say long word when short word do trick? or whatever.

Trevor grabs his book, feeling like it’s burning his hand. It’s like an anvil in his palm. He wrenches the door open mid pound and Jack stumbles into him. He whacks him over the head with the book.

“I told you I was up,” he reminds Jack. “I just had to grab something before we left.” He holds the book away from Jack when he tries to snatch it.

Jack reaches for it anyway, playing the game, clawing at Trevor’s arm. He struggles out, “Now that you’ve given up on wooing Honey, maybe I want to be the one to give her a visit.” He manages to snatch at Trevor’s book one last time before it turns into a weapon and beats him away. Eventually, Jack surrenders and Trevor stalks away, starting the car and locking the doors so Jack can’t get in for the next minute.

Luke giggles in the front seat, videoing Jack on his Snapchat through the passenger side window. Trevor watches Jack glare at Trevor through the phone screen while he pulls on the doorhandle, shaking it over and over and yelling at Trevor to unlock the door.

Bea giggles in the backseat, perched mostly on Quinn’s lap, Cole’s arm pushed dangerously far away by Quinn’s elbow. Bea shakes her hair back into Cole’s face and he crinkles his nose, sad that he’s in the middle seat.

“I hate it when we all ride in one car,” Cole grumbles under his breath, trying to breathe through Bea’s ponytail. He reaches over and kicks the door open for Jack, more aggressive than necessary.

“Chill out, Sweetie,” Bea teases, leaning over to press a lipgloss-kiss onto Cole’s cheek. “You’re more eco-friendly this way. Big rich boy doesn’t care about the environment?” She faux-pouts at him and Cole makes a face at her.

“Airlines hate him,” Quinn jokes quietly in Bea’s ear, causing her to howl and clutch at his chest. Quinn smiles, proud of himself.

Trevor speeds all the way to the town center, glaring at Bea and making Quinn hold onto her so she doesn’t spill into Cole’s lap. He hopes she’s getting carsick. She’s the reason he had to stop pursuing Honey. She ruined everything.

And, because Trevor is full of good fortune lately, Bea takes his hand and flounces toward The Reading Nook with him in tow. She waves at Quinn as they walk away, and laughs when he whistles.

“Didn’t you wear those clothes yesterday?” Trevor spits out, walking faster than her.

“Jealous you can’t get laid?” Bea retorts, succeeding in snatching the book from Trevor’s grasp in a way Jack didn’t. They come to a stop a hundred feet from The Reading Nook. Bea plants her hands on her hips and heaves out a breath at Trevor.

“You fucked me over,” Trevor accuses. He stifles his temper, pushing it down. “Like… really, Bea?”

“I thought she would find your effort cute,” Bea explains. “And I thought she would go, because she loves to bake. And watch you struggle.”

“Well, it didn’t, and now I have no chance.”

Bea scoffs and shoves his book back to him. “You know what? Good luck in there. Let’s see if you’re right.” She stomps to the store and holds the door open for Trevor “Come on in.”

The Reading Nook has barely opened, so the only person there is a doe-eyed Honey, startled, behind the counter. She’s holding a book in front of her, on its final pages. She stares at the open doorway, monitors Trevor’s movements as he approaches. Her lips are slightly parted and it looks like she might even be chewing some gum.

The book tilts down as Trevor comes to a stop in front of her. Her pupils grow behind her eyelashes. Trevor blames it on the shadow he cast on her face when he stood in front of the light.

Trevor clears his throat and inches his book between her elbows, patting both hands on the bottom edges of the cover. He watches himself do it, centering the book perfectly. Then, he looks up into Honey’s eyes.

He lathers on his best charm and says with a smile, “I’m here to return my book.”

Honey stares at him, quirking an eyebrow.

Trevor continues, voice soft and prodding, “See? I can be good, you didn’t have to chase me down.”

Honey blinks up at him, then breathes out a high laugh. She covers her mouth as it grows louder, muffling it as much as she can. “Oh my God,” she marvels, hand shaking as she places her index finger on the tip of her nose. “Is that how you treat your girls in California? Do they fall for that?”

Trevor’s smile drops and he glares at her. “Thanks. Can you point me in the direction of another book? I want to check out Alexander and the No Good, Terrible, Very Bad Day, please. I need to plagiarize it but change Alexander’s name to Trevor.”

He pushes the book towards her and she flinches back, offense splashing across her face at the movement. Trevor clenches his jaw and steps away. He watches her face sour, growing deadly.

“Yeah, well, you don’t have to take it out on me,” Honey snaps back.

Trevor just scoffs and shakes his head and leaves the store. Bea never stopped holding the door, but she makes sure to slam it behind him in celebration.

Is it that fucking laughable? His affection is something to make fun of, something to tease. It’s obvious. He really never stood a chance.

When they go to the golf course later, Trevor drills the ball farther than he’s ever driven it before.

12:90 – HONEY

It’s National Chocolate Ice Cream and National Donut Days. Honey promised Jack she’d bring donuts to the house tonight.

She doesn’t want to. She really doesn’t want to see Trevor. She pales at the fact that she was ready to be nice to him until he turned against her. It was disgusting, the way his eyes rolled in annoyance.

But she made a promise to Jack, and she likes to be with Cole, and Quinn is a sweet guy, so it can’t be that bad. It can’t be. She’ll hang out with them, maybe even get to know Luke. Bea can come, and probably fuck Quinn again, ask him if she can put his dick through the donut hole.

That makes Honey laugh enough to push away the panic that comes with seeing that version of Trevor again. He was like– an entitled rich boy, very… West Coast surfer bro. It makes her shudder. She doesn’t want to see that again.

It makes her think of the look her father gave her after she handed him the last check for the mountain house. He was protecting himself. He couldn’t show her he was sad. Bea insists that he was, that he couldn’t be that apathetic. Honey wishes desperately for that to be true.

She opens her eyes, staring at herself in the vanity mirror in Bea’s bedroom. She lifts her chin and takes a deep breath, evaluating the gold eyeliner Bea coated on her waterline, into a neat little cat-ear. She shakes her hair out, watching it catch the light, and clears her throat.

“You okay over there?” Bea asks, adjusting the pastel yellow strapless maxi dress on her chest. “You look rattled.”

“It’s nothing,” Honey deflects.

“Baby-Honey, you haven’t been yourself since Quinn and I left the Nook the other night,” Bea muses, walking to stand behind Honey and run her fingers through her hair. “What’s up?”

Honey shakes her head again, causing Bea to pull back. Honey stands. She plasters a smile on her face and makes eye contact with Bea. “Absolutely nothing,” she chirps. “Let’s go.”

She’s struck by how different her outfit is than Bea’s. Her best friend is in a dress with cute clogs, earrings in her pierced holes and everything. Honey’s got on a homemade muscle tee, sleeves ripped off after cutting a small hole and a faded Nascar graphic on the front. You can’t even read the number anymore. The car could be 15, 16, 18, 19… she doesn’t know. She’s wearing those little biking shorts under the tee- barely peeking out due to its length. She looks like a slob. Bea looks regal.

Good. Why would Honey really need to impress anyone? She’s even only wearing this makeup because Bea wanted to try out her new palette. Honey has no one to impress.

Not fucking dipshit, angry Trevor, that’s for sure.

She grabs the box of donuts from Bea’s counter and stomps out to the car, biting her tongue so she doesn’t jostle the donuts too much as she holds the dozen with one hand and opens the door with the other.

It’s Honey’s car, but Bea drives there, cradling the new bottle of red wine that she picked up at the liquor store before it closed for the evening like a baby. “It pairs well with chocolate,” Bea explained to Honey when she first revealed it.

They drive to the house with the windows up, one of Bea’s cutesy new girl-pop songs on the radio. She sings quietly and Honey smiles as her friend enjoys herself. Eventually, she picks up on the chorus and begins to sing along. Bea puts it on repeat and they sing together, up until they pull into the driveway and Bea turns the car off, drawing the key out of the ignition. She hands the key to Honey, who drops it in her purse.

She adjusts the bralette beneath her muscle tee, then grabs the donut box and follows Bea into the house.

The wood isn’t any less jarring the second time. The boys have also never heard of mood lighting before, since each switch is set to its brightest setting. Honey squints into the brightness. Someone peeks out of the kitchen at the sound of the door opening and shutting and Honey is relieved to see that it’s Quinn. He waves them over.

Bea flutters over like a butterfly, kissing Quinn on the cheek as Honey turns the corner. She places the donuts on the counter near the island, across from Cole and Jack. Trevor is on the other end of the counter, the third seat down. She makes sure to place it out of his reach.

“I brought wine,” Bea tells Quinn, handing him the bottle. She starts to open drawers and rifle around for a bottle opener.

Honey finds it on the counter and waves it at Bea, catching her attention with a whistle. She tosses it to the girl, Bea catching it with both hands and grinning like she’d won an egg toss.

“Who wants some?” Bea asks. “We have to kill this bottle in record time.”

“Record time? Who needs that,” Jack laughs. “We should make a game out of it. Spin the bottle? Truth or dare?” He wiggles his eyebrows.

“Okay, Rom-Com,” Bea laughs. “You think that’s such a good idea?”

“Sounds like a great idea to me,” Jack says. “I think we all need to bond more, and playing a game is one of the best ways to bond.”

“Hmm,” Bea hums, tapping her finger against her chin. She turns toward Quinn and scrunches her nose at him. “It couldn’t hurt?”

“No.” He leans down and pecks her lips. “Could be fun for you.”

“What should we play?” Bea asks, turning back to Jack. She takes a few steps back, until she’s wrapped up in Quinn’s arms with her back plastered against his chest.

“Just Truth or Dare, probably. And if you don’t want to do your thing, then you can drink from the bottle. When we finish the bottle, we can have a little Seven Minutes in Heaven?” Jack shrugs like it doesn’t matter, but it’s clear that he thought this out.

Bea and Honey look to each other. “So frat,” Bea says knowingly as Honey grumbles, “Spin the rapist.”

Bea reacts to Honey’s comment and snorts out a laugh, shaking her head at the reference. 13 Going on 30 has been Honey’s favorite rom-com for years, since they first watched it when they were teens. The impact Billy Joel’s Vienna had on Honey since first watching the film is unquantifiable.

“Okay, Jack,” Bea decides. “In that case, you get to go first. Truth or Dare?”

“Obviously dare,” Jack laughs out.

Honey stifles a giggle as Cole rolls his eyes and finally opens the box of donuts, looking at each of them before choosing one. She joins him on that side of the counter, able to watch Bea and Quinn cuddle up to each other and fortunately removing Trevor from her line of sight.

“Strawberry with sprinkles, huh?” Honey asks. “I didn’t peg you as a pink boy.”

“I love pink,” Cole replies through a mouthful of donut. “Hi, Barbie, and all that. Trev made some good tarts the other day that were strawberry, too.”

Honey chuckles, then chooses her own donut– a caramel one with brownie crumbles on the top. She had asked Mark, the man who runs the small bakery near The Reading Nook, for an assorted dozen and he had given her some of his best work for the price of a plain glazed dozen. If she had revealed that the extras would probably go to the boys’ house, Mark likely wouldn’t have given her that discount.

He likes his beers, and the boys keep buying up pack after pack from the grocery store, and Mark is left with the scraps. He told Honey that he’s looking forward to the end of the summer, when he’s the only man showing up at the store twice a week to get his beer. They restock it just for him.

That’s not to say he’s the only man in the town that drinks, but he’s the man who has the most opinions about different kinds of beer and how it’s made– a funny trait for someone who works with wheat and flour just as often as a beermaster.

“I dare you…” Bea trails off, tapping her index finger to her lips and looking around the room. She spots a broom hanging near the laundry room, a little offset from the kitchen. She points to it. “Oooh, you have to give us a little sexy pole dance around that thing.”

Quinn laughs into Bea’s hair at her dare, watching carefully as Jack looks between the broom and the wine bottle. Eventually, he shrugs.

“Yeah, why not?” Jack agrees, pushing away from the counter and grabbing the broom off the wall. He holds it out in front of him and evaluates it, the bristles pushing against the floor. “Huh. This would be easier if I had music.”

Luke laughs quietly. He crosses his arms over his chest and raises his eyebrows at Jack, waiting to see how this plays out.

“I don’t really want to see this,” Honey whispers to Cole, a joking tone in her voice.

“Oh, but how can you look away?” Cole asks, taking another bite of his donut. “It’s like a car wreck.”

“It really is,” Honey agrees, laughing as Jack starts to circle the broom, then howling along with the rest of the room when he drops low and spreads his knees, bucking his hips forward.

“That’s enough,” Cole exclaims, holding his stomach and laughing so hard that he’s almost bent at the waist. His forehead almost rests on the counter.

Honey pats him on the back, rubbing his shoulder as it shakes.

She catches Trevor’s eyes over Cole’s back, over Jack’s abandoned seat. They’re dark and she notices that his own laughter has stopped. She pulls her hand away from Cole and takes a step back, putting distance between them like she’s been burned.

Trevor blinks, then looks away.

Honey suddenly realizes that he hasn’t said anything since she and Bea got here. Her lips part to say something– what, she’s not sure– but she changes her mind and looks away.

She’s not the only one who’s noticed, though.

“Z,” Jack says, hanging the broom back up on the wall. “Truth or Dare?”

“I’ll take a dare too, I guess,” Trevor says.

Jack smiles, devilishly. His eyes turn to Honey and for a moment, her heart stops as she thinks of all the things Jack could make Trevor do– all the things that she’s sure involve her. She shakes her head and looks away, missing the way Jack’s smile deflates and Trevor’s jaw clenches.

“You gotta give Cole a foot massage, my friend,” Jack decides, clasping his hands together.

Cole fist pumps, kicking off his house shoes. “This is the best day ever,” Cole says. “I get donuts and a foot massage?” He raises his leg, pointing his toes and reaching out towards Trevor with them.

“Get that away from me,” Trevor snaps, leaning back in his chair as Cole’s foot begins to encroach on his personal space. “Let me see that wine.”

Luke passes him the bottle and Bea tosses him the bottle opener, which she was still holding onto. Honey thinks she had the full intention of opening it herself, but she’s too comfortable in Quinn’s arms to move at the moment.

Ew.

Trevor pulls the cork from the bottle deftly and drinks straight from the spout, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. Honey watches it move. When he wrenches the bottle away, his bottom lip is stained purple. Honey feels her eyes go wide, but she manages to school her face before anyone notices.

Hopefully.

“Bea,” Trevor says.

“Hmm,” Bea hums in acknowledgement, looking at the hair on Quinn’s arms wrapped around her chest.

“Truth or Dare?”

“I’ll dare,” Bea decides.

“Let Quinn go through your phone for a minute,” Trevor says.

“A minute?” Bea laughs. “He won’t be able to do anything on there.” She dips her hand into the waistband of her top, just under her armpit, and digs out her phone. She hands it over to Quinn after unlocking it.

He scrolls along, holding the screen out in front of Bea so that she can see what he’s doing. They laugh about something, she cringes at something else, and Quinn kisses her cheek when she blushes. He shuts the phone off after a minute, true to the dare, and slides it into his back pocket. One of his hands makes its way to her hip, crossing over her stomach to rest there. The other remains across her shoulder, sweeping along her collarbones and holding her flush against him.

“Q,” Bea sighs. “Truth or Dare?”

“Truth,” he says into her ear, voice low.

“What’s the worst thing you would do if you became invisible for a day?” Bea asks. “Like the most corrupt thing. I find it hard to believe you have a bad bone in your body.” She pushes her hips back, quirking her eyebrows as she does.

Honey notices that Jack’s drinking her in, like her wiggling hips are a show for him.

“That’s a good question,” Quinn says, both hands flush on Bea’s hips now, dragging her movement to a stop. “I don’t know. It’s not bad, really, but I’d probably just blow off all my responsibilities and go out on the boat for the day. Drive myself around a bit, have lunch under the sun.” He shrugs. “Not think about hockey for a few hours.”

Bea pats his chest and tilts her head up to kiss the corner of his jaw. “You’re very dangerous, Quinn.”

“Very,” Quinn agrees. “So now it’s my turn to pick?”

“Yeah,” Bea says. “Don’t act like you don’t know how to play the game. You’re not that sheltered from the world. You had a life outside of hockey.”

Honey wonders when they had all this time to talk about hockey. She guesses it was some kind of pillow talk, knowing how Bea operates, trying to keep her man talking into the early hours of the morning. She always has so many questions and wants to know everything about everyone.

“Lukey, Truth or Dare?” Quinn asks.

Cole shakes his head and nudges Honey’s shoulder. “Always picked last, you and me, huh?”

Honey smiles at him and rolls her eyes.

Luke decides on truth as well, just like his oldest brother. Of course he does. Honey hasn’t seen much from Luke, but it’s obvious he’s not a “dare” kind of guy. At least, not while she and Bea are there. Maybe he’s more outgoing when it’s just him and the boys.

“Okay, be honest,” Quinn reminds Luke with a smile and a shared look at Jack. “What did you and that girl do last summer when you went upstairs and locked yourselves in Mom and Dad’s room?”

Honey’s jaw drops, mirroring the expression on Bea’s face. The rest of the boys break out in laughter, especially Jack.

“Yeah, Lukey,” Jack teases. “First, second, or third?”

Luke blushes to the roots of his hair and opens his mouth multiple times, with nothing coming out.

“Don’t tell me you went all the way to home base,” Quinn adds, his smile wide and wolfish. “In Mom and Dad’s bed?”

Luke looks absolutely tormented, miserable at the question. Honey can tell that they’ve been ragging on him about this since it happened and he’s desperately trying to maintain his dignity.

“Have a sip of the wine, Luke,” Honey comforts him. “You don’t need to be the guy who kisses and tells.”

Luke nods, sheepish and red to the tips of his ears, reaching forward to take the wine bottle from in front of Trevor.

The boys boo and try to cajole him into revealing rather than drinking, and Honey for that matter for her role in the turn of events, but Bea shushes them with a finger to her lips.

“You’re all acting like cavemen,” Bea admonishes. She turns to Luke. “I think it’s sweet that you’re keeping your private matters to yourself. That’s very respectful of yourself and the girl. Good job, Lukey.”

Honey smiles and giggles when Luke blushes red again and takes another sip of the wine after quietly stammering out a “Thank you.” He clears his throat and rubs a hand through his curls, making them messier than before. “Cole?”

Honey’s not even surprised that he doesn’t pick her or Bea. She wouldn’t be surprised if he couldn’t even look at them without blushing again.

It was unfair for the boys to bring up the past, especially since he doesn’t want to share.

“Dare, buddy,” Cole replies, cool and confident. His cheeks are dimpling as he waits for Luke to think of a dare.

“You should eat the rest of your donut out of someone’s mouth,” Luke suggests.

“Whose?” Cole asks, waving the last few bites out to everyone. “Bea?”

“Honey,” Jack corrects with a glance at Trevor.

Honey puts her hands up in front of her and she and Bea open their mouths at the same time, but Trevor beats them to it.

“She’s allergic to strawberry,” Trevor states. His voice is hard. “She can’t do the dare with Cole.”

“Why don’t you do it, Jack?” Bea asks. “Since you’re so willing to volunteer others for the job. Why not volunteer yourself?”

“Cuz I don’t want to Lady and the Tramp with Cole,” Jack replies, making a face.

Honey doesn’t really like how Trevor jumped in and corrected Jack like she wasn’t even in the room with them. “I can do it,” she decides. “But we just have to finish my donut instead.”

“Yes!” Cole celebrates, raising his hand to high five Honey. “You and me, dude!”

Honey lets out a little laugh at that, raising her hand to slap it against Cole’s. She bites down on the end of her donut, holding most of it out far enough for Cole to take it between his teeth. He’s not going to kiss her or anything. Honey just has a feeling in her gut that Cole isn’t the kind to take advantage of a situation like that, and plus, she and Cole have a friendlier relationship. He has to understand that.

Honey looks over his shoulder at Trevor, who is watching her with steely eyes. He’s rigid in his seat. He doesn’t understand, not in the way Honey and Cole do.

He takes in a deep breath, pinching his lips shut as Cole leans closer to Honey, taking a good ¾ of the last of her donut before pulling away. The dough rips in a weird way, leaving a bite dangling from the right side of his mouth. He smiles wide and gives Honey another high five. Trevor lets out a breath when Cole leans back in his chair and finishes chewing Honey’s donut.

“Mm, that’s good,” Cole tells her. “What flavor was that?”

“Caramel with brownie,” Honey says, chewing her own bite.

Cole nods in approval. “Can’t leave my buddy hanging,” he says. “Truth or Dare, Honey?”

“I’ll do a dare too,” Honey says. It’s an easy choice. She loves a good truth, but almost everyone has done dare, and she’s never one to back down from a challenge.

It seemed like a safe choice too, with Cole choosing what Honey is supposed to do. Until he opens his stupid mouth.

“I’m gonna pull out our whipped cream bottle and I think you’re gonna have to lick it off someone,” Cole announces, jumping down from his perch behind the counter and rounding the island to the fridge. He pulls out the red can and shakes it, uncapping it.

Honey watches, knowing exactly her luck, as Cole points from man to man saying “Eeny, Meeny, Miney… Mo.” His finger, and the nozzle of the whipped cream can, land on Trevor. “Shirt off, Z.” Cole lifts the whipped cream bottle to his mouth and sprays a little bit onto his tongue.

Honey feels frozen. Her feet are stuck in cement at the corner of the island and she eventually has to put her hand on the counter to ground herself. Her eyes flicker to Bea’s, wide like cornered prey. Bea meets her there.

In that split second, it’s like they have a conversation. Honey can’t describe the thoughts that fly between them, given how quick they pass.

With a slight shrug of one shoulder, Bea leaves it up to Honey. She could end it, take a sip of the wine if that’s what she wants. Honey isn’t even sure what she wants to do. She doesn’t– she doesn’t.– want to lick whipped cream off of Trevor. She doesn’t want her tongue to be that close to his body.

And yet, she finds herself nodding when she meets Trevor’s eyes. He waits until she does to pull off his shirt, revealing skin that makes Honey feel even more sluggish. She takes a moment to drink in his tan skin, adorned with his tattoos on his arms. Her eyes zero in on the delicate words on his ribs and she feels her lips part in surprise. Her fingers twitch at her sides, begging to reach out and trace over the script.

NO.

Not Trevor.

Yes, Trevor.

“I have a vision,” Cole announces, pulling Honey from her thoughts. He takes Honey’s hand and pulls her over towards the inside of the island. “Hop up.”

She follows his directions, skin crawling with anticipation for what’s coming next. She can’t believe she agreed to do this– with Trevor. With Trevor. The skin is cool against the tops of her thighs and she’s very aware of the way her muscle tee falls around her waist and reveals the edge of her bralette, and the skin around her middle. She clenches her fists as much as she can, fingers rounded around the edge of the counter. She doesn’t want to seem freaked out. She’s not going to be the girl who messes up the game and doesn’t go through with their dare.

Cole nudges the whipped cream can against one of her hands until she turns it over and takes it, feeling the cool aluminum in her hand. “Z, come stand in front of her.”

Honey hears him, refusing to turn around and look at him as he gets down from his chair and make his way over to Honey. She hears the movements loud as day, like there’s nothing else in the room except Trevor and her racing heart.

Trevor stations himself between Honey’s knees, resting his hands on either side of her legs. Her eyes are level with his here, on the counter, and she tries to ignore the thrill that his proximity sends down her spine.

“Alright.” Cole claps his hands and smiles. “You ready, Honey?”

Honey turns her head and takes a sharp inhale. “Yeah.”

She keeps her words short so her voice doesn’t shake.

“Why don’t you put some whipped cream on his collarbones for me, yeah?”

Bea’s mouth drops at Cole’s words, still in Quinn’s grasp. Honey has to stifle a giggle at her reaction.

Honey presses her lips together and refocuses, hand shaking as she brings the can up to Trevor’s clavicles, startling herself at the sound when she pushes the trigger down to release the whip. She makes a tiny squeak, an embarrassing noise that has her closing her eyes.

Trevor’s thumb moves closer and nudges her thigh.

Honey looks up, her eyes meeting his. Her breath is caught in her throat. His eyes are no longer steely and guarded. They’re soft and they’re searching her eyes for something.

His thumb starts to move against her skin and she jumps, wrenching her eyes away from Trevor’s and quickly spreading another line of whipped cream on his other collarbone. She’d do anything to be able to ignore the pit in her stomach and the heat that is very rapidly filling it.

She turns to Cole, holding the can out to him.

Cole raises his eyebrows. He raises his hands. “You’re not done yet.”

Bea twists in Quinn’s arms, staring up at him with an affronted, offended, betrayed look on her face. Honey can tell exactly what she wants to scream: “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Honey’s jaw drops a little, then she clenches her jaw and takes the can back, cradling it on her thigh. It leaves a round circle when she picks it up again.

“From his belly button to his sternum.” Cole’s voice is hard and definite, but not mean. Honey wonders how long he’s been thinking about this, probably doing it at Trevor’s bidding. The only problem is, Trevor looked just as unaware as her and Bea. Just as unaware as the other boys– at least, the two in front of her.

Honey takes it back. Cole is her least favorite.

She sprays the whipped cream, grinding her teeth as she sees Trevor’s stomach muscles jump at the sensation. His hand comes to the top of her thigh, index finger tracing the ring of the can. Honey’s not even sure that he’s breathing. She’s not sure she is, either.

“His nipples,” Cole commands with a cheeky smile, looking past Honey and Trevor to Jack.

Honey whips her head around and looks at the other boy, smirking at Cole. He makes eye contact with Honey and raises his eyebrows, wiggling them like a devil. She almost wants to throw the can of whip at him, then pounce on Cole and take out his knees.

She scowls and dispenses a small amount of whip on each of Trevor’s nipples. He hisses at the cold and she looks up to check on him without a thought, only realizing what she’s done when his eyes meet hers.

“It’s fine,” Trevor breathes out. “Just cold.”

“Okay,” Honey replies, hoping he could even hear her. The statement might’ve died in the air between them and never reached his ears.

The can of whip starts to sputter like it’s running out, so Honey gives it a shake. She goes to set it down on the counter next to her, but Cole stops her again.

She’s going to break every single one of his fingers.

“One more,” Cole says with a nod and a lick of his lips. “Open up, Trev.”

“No,” Honey forces out. She’s just as taken aback by the word as Cole is– her refusal cut through the air like it was broadcast through the bluetooth speakers that run through the home. She takes a shaky deep breath, pushing away the image of her licking into Trevor’s mouth to get her final mouthful of whip. “Sorry. No.”

She refuses to look Trevor in the eye after that.

“That’s okay,” Cole says. He shrugs, not deterred. “His nose. Just the tip. Like Rudolph.”

That, Honey can do.

She uses the last little bit to cover the tip of Trevor’s nose, focusing on the line of his nose and the recently shaved skin above his top lip instead of the eyes that she can feel are boring into her face.

Finally, she sets the empty can down with a rattle and flicks her hair over her shoulder, facing Cole.

“Can I go?” She asks, hoping she sounds sassy and bored rather than freaked out, like how she is on the inside. She feels like her brain is on fire, completely fried and burning from the inside out. Her heart is pounding loud in her ears and her cheeks are stained red.

“Start in the middle, then go down. Lick it off his nose last.”

Honey closes her eyes to calm herself, but she hears a slap of a hand against skin. She can only imagine that Bea reached out and slapped Cole’s arm– the yelp from the blonde and soft laugh from Quinn being tell-tale signs while Honey breathes.

Trevor’s hand drops from her thigh and he takes a step back, putting a little space between them.

Honey’s eyes snap open and they flash at Trevor’s. Where hers were once panicked and his were seeking, they seem to have completely switched roles now. Trevor’s fingertips still touch the counter next to Honey and their absence, but their closeness, feels like frostbite on Honey’s skin. It turns to steam against her fiery cheeks, releasing air into the space between them in time with Honey’s exhale.

His breath catches in his throat and Honey sees the whipped cream start to drip from his stomach.

In an instant, right as the dollop of cream starts to separate from the rest of its line, Honey finds herself sliding off the counter to her knees to catch it in her mouth.

Her lips slide against Trevor’s skin, the muscles contracting and his happy trail brushing her bottom lip as she mouths over the sticky trail marking Trevor’s stomach.

She looks up, up to Trevor’s face. He’s already looking at her with nothing but shock on his face, his mouth open and his eyes wild. His chest is heaving, trembling between breaths.

Oh my God.

Honey’s gaze drops back to his skin, then finds that unbearable to look at as she rises up to his sternum. She can make out edges of the script on his ribs in her peripheral vision and squeezes her eyelids shut. She quickly realizes that she can’t navigate up Trevor’s body on feel alone. She has to look.

Fuck.

She opens her eyes and finishes her path up to his sternum. She carefully licks the whipped cream off Trevor’s nipples, trying not to come into contact with them too much. She can’t just lick Trevor’s nipples. It’s not the same as if…

Trevor was licking whipped cream off of her nipples.

She forces the image away, like she’s spraying an asteroid with a fire extinguisher.

Honey rises to his collarbones, mouthing over the sharp edges and dipping her tongue inside the pooled skin to get every drop.

She pulls away, barely, aiming to zero in on the dollop on Trevor’s nose, but fails. She finds herself face to face with Trevor, who still has the same expression on his face. His eyebrows are quirked, he can’t stop licking his lips between breaths, and he’s practically vibrating in front of Honey with the ache to stay still.

She suddenly feels fabric under her fingers and looks down, jaw dropping at the sight of her index fingers sneaking under his waistband, nestled snugly like they’ve made a home there. She wrenches them away, clutching the bottom of her muscle tee instead.

She doesn’t move far, Trevor’s fingers like stone against the skin of her waist. Trevor’s fingers like stone against the skin of her waist. Honey heaves a breath in, stepping away from him and his fingers’ trembling brush against the lace band of her bralette. She gulps.

Trevor’s fingers catch on the bottom edge of her sleeves, or lack thereof, and her shirt ripples against her twisting stomach as the digits fall lamely to his sides.

Honey knows that her eyes mirror Trevor’s now, matching instead of swapping roles like previously. They’re both wild and racing away from each other in their minds, but unable to look away. They’re tripping over their feet and running like there’s something chasing them, but their eyes are fixed on each others’ like they’re running towards each other in a starry reunion.

Honey wants. She’s overcome with this desire, so much so that she can’t even describe it. She just wants. She aches to go back in time and place the dollop of whipped cream on Trevor’s tongue instead and loses herself for a moment before the panic reminds her:

She’s not looking for that.

“You got a little something there,” Honey says, quiet and ashamed and a bit like the kid who does get picked last every time, reaching up to wipe the whipped cream off Trevor’s nose with her thumb. She licks the white dessert off her own skin, stepping away from Trevor. He’s following her, turning with her as she moves away. His own fingers twitch at his sides, one of his thumbs actually making its way up and hovering over the place where Honey’s index fingers rested on his waistband.

She looks at Bea, tearing her eyes away from Trevor like a physical rip of a picture. She opens her mouth and locks her eyes with Bea’s, tilting her face so it’s slightly pointed towards the front hall. She chokes back a haggard gasp, feeling her throat start to grow sore with a teary ache.

I need to go. Please. Come with me. Be there for me. Please.

Bea untangles herself from Quinn’s arms, letting them drop to his sides without another thought. She eyes Cole and Jack, gaze piercing and hard, but it softens as it slides back to Honey.

“Goodnight, boys,” she bids, taking Honey’s arm and escorting them both to the door.

A duet of goodbyes follow them from Quinn and Luke, but the jarring silence that echoes from the kitchen afterward scars Honey while Bea wrenches open the front door. It’s the same silence that surrounds them in Honey’s car.

She shivers in the passenger seat. Bea plucked the keys from Honey’s purse without asking and loaded them in the car, getting behind the wheel. She holds Honey’s hand over the middle console, fingers intertwined and heavy. She drives one-handed, her hair whipping her face. She hates to mess it up. Honey is grateful for the fresh air that chips at her face. It dries up the tear that escapes from the corner of her eye.

Bea stays over. She cuddles Honey under the covers, clinging to Honey’s arm like a koala. Honey lies on her back and stares at the ceiling for hours. Bea is asleep, or close to it, next to her. The even breaths help her to regulate her own, enough that she can speak.

“It was like–” Honey gasps, pressing a hand to her chest as a breath escapes her like it was punched out. She centers herself. “We were back in Charlotte.”

“I know,” Bea breathes out, eyes still closed. She wraps one of her legs under Honey’s, her knee bent under Honey’s own, and her ankle crossing over Honey’s.

“I felt– seventeen.”

“I know,” Bea repeats, her eyes fluttering open. Her hand comes up to rest on Honey’s own, monitoring the rise and fall of her own chest. Her heart is slowing and her gulps of air are less frequent. She’s fine.

“I’m not looking for that,” Honey mumbles, shaking the words out of her mouth.

Bea just takes a deep breath at that, pressing her forehead into Honey’s temple.

“It’s okay if you are.”

Honey’s bottom lip quivers and she starts to leak tears, Bea’s reassurance turning the faucet and making the water flow. “I can’t.”

“You can,” Bea replies. Simple. Easy. No hesitation. Like there’s no other option.

“I came here to leave that behind me.” Honey squeezes her eyes shut, ashamed at the hot trails making their way down to her chin. “Not to, just, repeat it with some guy who’s leaving anyway.”

“Do you really see yourself as someone who’s going to be alone forever?” Bea wipes the tears from Honey’s cheeks with the hand that used to rest on her chest. “You love so hard, Honey. You need someone to give that to. It weighs on you.”

Honey shakes, turning so her body faces Bea’s. She reaches out and buries her face in Bea’s shoulder.

Bea pets her hair. “He likes you.”

Honey nods.

“You feel– something.”

Honey sniffs, but nods again.

“I think it’s time you turn to face all of that,” Bea teases, her voice soft enough and just a little mocking of Honey’s words, the way only a best friend does when you’re crying into their shoulder.

Honey pulls her face away and breathes out a little laugh and quirks a shy smile at Bea. She reaches up and pushes her hair away from her face. She wipes under her eyes with both thumbs, shaking the wetness away and laughing for real.

“Elephants are kind of big, huh?” Honey replies, sniffing between giggles. “Hard to ignore?”

Bea nods, tears prickling at the edges of her own eyes.

The girls stare at each other and giggle, a fresh round of tears staining their cheeks. Honey’s hand slaps at her own chest, knocking at her heart like a concerned parent at a teen’s door.

Honey can breathe again. She uses her lungs to make her laughs louder, harder. She curls into Bea’s hug, squirming on the bed together. They calm down eventually, and their eyes meet for a final time in the dark.

“I just– Trevor?” Honey giggles. “Really?”

“Love at first sight,” Bea snickers back sarcastically.

Honey waves a finger in Bea’s face. “That’s a little dramatic,” Honey corrects. She scoffs to herself. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

“Okay,” Bea agrees, shrugging. “Let me know.”

They’re quiet for a minute, smiling at each other. Honey rolls her eyes and turns over, facing the ceiling again. Bea cuddles back into her, latching onto Honey’s arm in her koala-way.

“I invited them to our lake day tomorrow,” Bea announces just as Honey starts to fall asleep. She nudges her nose against Honey’s bicep. “You can see if you still feel the same way then.”

Honey inhales and holds the breath, eyes opening and focusing on the ceiling again.

Bea’s breaths even out and she falls asleep, but Honey barely manages to close her eyes before the clock flips to the dreaded “tomorrow.”

13:90 – TREVOR

Trevor hasn’t been fully soft since the first moment he stood between Honey’s legs last night. It’s proving to be a problem.

First, she had bolted from the house looking no better than a wild deer in the midst of a hunt, leaving Trevor standing with the ghost of her fingers in his waistband and a cock so hard that he could feel the blood rushing through it.

Second, Cole and Jack had laughed at him for his very prominent hard-on when the girls left. It was their idea to have this stupid drinking game in the first place, and Cole’s bossiness that had set Trevor up. They had to have planned this out in advance.

Third, the cold shower he took right after Honey left hadn’t even done anything for him. Sure, it had caused his erection to flag briefly, just long enough that he could let out a breath and delude himself into thinking the moment was over.

His biggest problem is that each time he closes his eyes, he’s confronted with the vision of Honey on her knees below him. He can feel her tongue licking up his stomach and chest. He can feel the pressure of her fingertips against his skin.

It’s pure torture.

Trevor has never felt more torn. He spent all of the last few days believing what Quinn said to him– that he doesn’t have a chance with Honey. He convinced himself to accept that he would only ever be her friend. Other than her dare last night, Honey made no moves to talk to Trevor or acknowledge him at all.

He’s confused. How on Earth can you go from ignoring Trevor to looking up at him, cheeks slightly hollowed as she laps up the whipped cream covering him, as if she were blowing his dick?

Fuck.

Trevor presses his palms to his eyes and leans his head back, causing the rocking chair he’s sitting in to wobble beneath him.

He was barely able to sleep last night and found that fresh air helped, so he sat out on the balcony. He watched the sunrise, barely conscious of the passage of time. He was trapped in an endless loop of Honey, on her knees. Honey, removing the cream from his nipples with a careful touch of her tongue. Honey, mouthing over his collarbones and sliding her fingers into his waistband like she wanted to touch him.

He’s helpless.

Trevor blinks and stares out into the woods, the dew from the morning making the wood of his balcony wet and shimmery. He feels… despondent, really. Like he’s tied to reality by a thin string of dread that accompanies his confusion.

The fact is, she doesn’t want him. Anyone would’ve gotten lost in the moment.

He knows that if any of the boys were in his position, they wouldn’t have been better off– Jack would’ve damn near come in his pants, Cole would have giggled because he’s ticklish and still would have found a way to get the girl to kiss him at the end, Luke would’ve frozen and would’ve spent the night in the same spot near the counter, replaying it over and over again.

Quinn might be the only one left who would have a shred of dignity after a whipped cream encounter, and only because he’s been keeping up with Bea so well.

Ugh, and Bea’s name brings another problem to mind.

Trevor can’t bail on the lake trip that Bea invited them on when she stayed over the other night. The boys have been so excited, so ready to rent out a boat and a wakeboard so they can surf. They’ve been planning the trip meticulously, down to the minute. Trevor knows that he can’t bail because he’s the only one with Bea’s phone number– something she refuses to give out to the other boys, for some fucking reason. She won’t even rattle it off for Quinn to put into his phone– it would make the light night booty calls a little easier, Trevor thinks.

Not that they’ve had that many. Just the two. Trevor was expecting a third last night, but with the way Honey ran out of the house…

Fuck, it was no surprise Bea went with her.

Honey looked rattled to her core, staring down at her hands and back up at Trevor like she had never seen them, or him, before in her life. She had guarded herself almost immediately, stepping away and flicking the whip off Trevor’s nose rather than licking it off and completing her bet.

It’s Cole’s fault, and yet Trevor can’t help but feel responsible for the panic in Honey’s eyes and the abrupt end of the night.

He can’t talk to her today. He can’t sit on the boat and see her in her little swimsuit. He wants her so badly– and not just to see if she really looks that ethereal when her lips are wrapped around his dick.

He wants to talk about Leaving Orbit with her, the book she recommended that he so clearly enjoyed, even despite his bad mood the other day. He wants to poke fun at the other boys with her, team up to get revenge for that dare that made the air so tense between them. He wants to cuddle up next to her on the couch, pull her into his lap, and watch Shark Week documentaries and the Olympics later in the summer. He wants to hold her hand.

He has never wanted anything like this from any woman before. It’s never been this bad.

But he can’t have it– Trevor can tell that there’s something nagging at Honey. Maybe he’s too similar to an ex-boyfriend, or someone else that she doesn’t have the fondest of feelings for. Maybe she truly believes her little quips about his California lifestyle, and she can’t see herself with someone like that.

God, maybe she looked him up. He’s never had the best attitude on the ice, especially when he gets frustrated. He knows he’s a good player. He wants to show that off. He knows that sometimes, it comes at the expense of his team. He’s heard it all too well from the staff, from his coaches, from his teammates.

He’s dreading today.

Trevor can’t even hide from it up on the balcony. Yeah, anyone who entered his bedroom wouldn’t be able to see him. His bed is perfectly made up, untouched from the night before. He was so frazzled last night that he cleaned his room, just to regain some order in his life. For all they would know, he disappeared– and yet, Cole manages to spot him below, from the chairs near the fire pit in the yard.

“There you are!” Cole exclaims, brandishing his spoon at Trevor. He looks down at his shorts for a split second. Trevor can only assume a drop of milk from his cereal splashed on his lap. “We’ve been looking for you.”

“Yeah, you tried really hard,” Trevor replies, an edge to his voice. He still hasn’t forgiven Cole, or Jack for that matter, for their ploy last night.

Cole’s face falls, then he shakes his head. “Are you ready for the lake or what?” His voice starts to mirror Trevor’s.

“All I need to do is put my fucking swimsuit on,” Trevor snaps. He stands from the rocking chair.

Somehow, the meanest retort Cole can think of is “Don’t forget to bring your sunscreen!” like a nagging mother who’s just one complaint away from sending her child to his room. His words clash with the slam of Trevor’s sliding door.

Trevor grumbles to himself as he changes into one of the swimsuits he packed for himself, only ever really planning to use it in the hot tub. He’s excited, deep down, that they get to go to the lake and do some of the stuff that they usually do at the Michigan house. God, he can’t shake the Honey problem.

He does pack his sunscreen, the face lotion and body spray that he picked up last week at the grocery store when he and Jack wanted to lay out by the rink and tan. He even grabs the browning lotion he bought for pale ol’ Luke. It smells like bananas and coconuts.

Trudging downstairs, Trevor finds himself back at the scene of the crime. Instead of Honey on the counter, it’s the cooler, and instead of Trevor in front of her, it’s Quinn transferring beers from the fridge.

He chuckles when Trevor stops and stares at the cooler on the counter.

“Thinking about something?” He asks. Trevor scowls when Quinn’s eyes pointedly drop to Trevor’s crotch and the semi that he’s, once again, sporting.

“Shut up,” Trevor growls, adjusting himself in his swim shorts. He clasps his hands in front of him, shielding himself from Quinn’s knowing smile.

Quinn shrugs and goes back to transferring beers to the cooler.

Trevor steals a piece of ice and chews it, hoping to cool himself off. He makes himself a little bowl of cereal and scarfs it down. He checks the clock. It’s almost time to leave.

Fuck.

Bea’s picking them up in the truck she’s borrowing from Earl (only because Vera offered it up to them) in ten minutes. She and Honey are going to ride in the cab, while the boys are supposed to ride in the bed of the truck. It’s legal in North Carolina, apparently. Plus, it’s just a fifteen minute drive. The lake isn’t too far from their house. Trevor barely remembers reading about it on the AirBnB website when he booked the rental for the summer, but the host had referred to the place as a “reservoir” rather than a lake. Semantics. They don’t matter.

He takes a deep breath, still not sure how to feel about seeing Honey again. He answers a couple questions from Quinn about how many beers he wants (a lot), if he has a towel for the lake (no, but Quinn can grab him one from the hall closet), and why he’s sulking so much (he doesn’t want to talk about it).

The minutes drag on and Trevor is scalding his hands with hot water washing his bowl when Bea honks from the driveway. He’s the last to make it to the front door and he’s shocked when he’s whacked in the face by a stray pool noodle. Where did Jack even find that?

Quinn is standing with his arms against the window pane of the passenger door, his head dipped and Bea’s phone in his hand. She takes it from him and says something quietly, then brings her hand to his jaw to draw his lips to hers in a chaste kiss.

Trevor can see Honey’s silhouette behind the wheel, her hair knotted up on top of her head. There are flyaways everywhere, probably because of the open windows, but somehow it doesn’t look messy. Trevor can’t even see her face, but he has to close his eyes because she’s so pretty.

He climbs into the truck bed, Quinn following shortly behind him, and tucks himself neatly into the corner of the tailgate. He takes in the other boys– the gray trunks on Cole, the towel around Luke’s neck, Quinn’s terrible navy crocs that he’s had since he was in high school. They kind of don’t fit him anymore, but they’re molded to his feet and he swears that they’re still perfect. Jack is using his pool noodle– origin still undetermined– as a method of recreating a certain Drake video. It would have been more funny if the video weren’t old news by now.

Trevor still kind of feels the string of dread and uncertainty tugging at him, but all of that crumbles away when Honey takes the first curve up the mountain. She speeds up in the old truck, dragging the wheel. Jack falls off the hump of the wheel where he was sitting as she turns, yelping wildly and losing his pool noodle in the fray. Cole snatches it up and takes the chance to hit him with it.

With each curve, it only gets worse. She’s got the boys in a fit of shouts and giggles as they scramble to find purchase in the back of the truck. Bea is laughing from the front seat, turned around to look out the back window, to take in the chaos firsthand. Her left hand is reaching out the window and holds Quinn’s right, keeping him in place.

Trevor’s laughing too, especially when Luke starts to slide into a supine position, his knuckles white with how hard he’s trying to stay upright. He continues to laugh as he looks up, past Bea, and meets Honey’s eyes in the rearview mirror.

Her gaze turns from soft to wide and alert in an instant, returning to the road the second she locks eyes with him. He can only imagine his own eyes look the same when he turns to face the peeling paint at the bottom of the truck bed.

They arrive at the reservoir in due time, parking in the lot near the boat rentals. Bea and Quinn take care of that, having called ahead a few days prior to get one of the bigger boats that could fit their entire party. Quinn shells over a few dollars in thanks, the cash seamlessly transitioning to the worker’s hand.

The employee leads them to a ramp, where a boat not unlike the one they have at the Michigan house is parked. The boys climb on. Jack has reclaimed his pool noodle and has it tucked under his armpits, safely away from Cole’s grubby fingers.

Trevor finds a spot near the front of the boat, knowing that Quinn will want to drive and Bea will want to sit next to him. Or on his lap. Ew. He doesn’t want to see the blatant PDA from the two, but that’s not the only reason he’s strategically choosing his seat.

Honey’s going to do the same thing– she’s going to stick to Bea’s side, if Trevor’s gut feeling is right, and that’s going to be that.

He’ll avoid her, she’ll avoid him, and the day will be over before they know it.

Trevor pulls his shirt over his head and lays out on the cushions at the bow of the boat, covering his face with the item of clothing. He blocks out the sun and closes his eyes, feeling the sun prickle at his skin.

“Did you put your sunscreen on?” Cole asks, his annoying voice far too close to Trevor’s ear for his liking.

Trevor swings out with a hand, hoping to connect and clock Cole on the side of the head, but as he rips the t-shirt from his face, all he sees is the boy jumping back and laughing with the rocking of the boat.

“Why, do you want to help me?” Trevor retorts, frowning.

Cole smiles. The edges of his mouth quirk up in a mischievous way and Trevor gears up to snap his shirt at the boy. Whatever’s about to leave his mouth is just going to piss Trevor off more.

He doesn’t say anything, at least not until he’s skipping away towards the back of the boat. Trevor squints at his retreating figure, but relaxes his shoulders a bit.

“Honey!” Cole calls, dancing around the girl who has only just managed to get both feet on the boat. She watches him move around her, expression impassive. He extends a hand to help Bea onto the boat, to the chagrin of Quinn behind her.

Trevor’s shoulders snap back up towards his ears, the line of his spine long and tight. He looks around for something to throw at Cole, something harder than just his t-shirt, but there’s nothing.

Cole talks on. “Trevor needs help with his sunscreen and he was asking for you.”

Honey’s gaze turns to Trevor’s expectantly. Her lips are slightly curved and her eyebrows are raised.

“I wasn’t.” Trevor’s voice comes out strangled. “He’s just– causing trouble. Like yesterday.”

Immediately, he knows it’s the wrong thing to say. He shouldn’t have brought up what happened last night. It causes her lips to press into a thin line and makes her expression grow calculated. She’s scanning him like a robot would and it’s making his skin crawl.

She opens her mouth with a tsk and says, “I’ll do your back if you do mine.”

Cole and Jack hum and haw at that, dapping each other up. Bea finally flounces her way onto the vessel, creating waves and casting a spare look at Trevor.

“And Cole, you have to do mine,” Bea adds, blinking at the boy innocently. She smiles at him, not quite reaching her eyes. “Since you’re so concerned about sun safety.”

“I’m pale.” Cole shrugs. “Someone has to think about it.”

Bea’s attention has already shifted past Cole’s shoulder. Quinn and Luke have both shrugged off their shirts and twisted their Yankees caps so they’re backwards on their heads. Luke has laid the towel along the swiveling passenger chair behind the raised console in the middle of the boat, blissfully unaware of the five pairs of eyes gawking at him and his brother.

“You’re pale?” Bea asks, incredulous. She points at the Hughes boys. “Look at that.” She fishmouths for a moment before rediscovering her voice. “Quinn, you didn’t look so fair-skinned when I last saw you without a shirt. Luke, you’re like a beacon at a lighthouse!” She turns back to Cole, her finger finding its way to his face. “You, at least, have some pink undertones. You’re made to burn. These guys are made to tan and it’s clear they’ve been neglecting their time in the sun.”

“That’s what I said,” Trevor agrees. He remembers the tanning lotion, sitting in one of his pockets, and digs it out. He waves it in front of Bea’s face, then tosses it to her. “I even brought some tanning lotion for them.”

Bea catches it and her face lights up. She shows Honey the logo on the front of the bottle and grins. “This kind always smells so good,” she praises. “Good choice, Trev.”

She stomps toward the boys, intention written all over her face. Luke’s back is turned to her once again, reverting back to the way it was before she called his name, but Bea views it as a canvas. She clicks open the bottle and gives it a shake, squirting the cool liquid all over Luke’s back in curves and twirls.

Luke squeaks when she does it, lurching forward, but Bea chastises him and makes him hold still so she can rub it into his skin.

Trevor’s eyes move from that scene to the girl in front of him. She’s wearing a sweatshirt over her bathing suit, the cuffs rolled up above her wrist. It’s long enough to hide any shorts that she could be wearing. She’s looking at Bea with a tiny smile on her lips, head tilted to the side. Her legs are long and tan and she’s got a freckle behind her ear.

Trevor aches to press his lips to her skin. Her flyaways would tickle the side of his face, the shell of her ear would smooth itself against the tip of his nose, and he’d be able to wrap his arms around her to pull her against his chest…

That’s enough of that.

He wants to touch her, he does. He wants to put sunscreen on her back and let her return the favor. He wants to be the one to slide his fingers under the straps of her top and dip into the waistband of her bottoms, just to make sure all of her skin is covered. Obviously. Nothing more.

Nothing more.

Oh my God, he wants to touch her so bad.

Trevor has to tear his eyes from Honey and clench his jaw, biting his tongue between his teeth to bring him back to reality. He’s back to sporting a semi– if it isn’t the consequences of his own thoughts– and he knows that if he touches her, if she touches him, he won’t be able to control himself.

“Looks like Bea’s out,” Trevor says, thinking quick on his feet. “I think Cole’s sunscreen is more important than mine, since he’s ‘made to burn.’” He takes out his sunscreen and claps it into Cole’s palm. “You and Honey can do each other up. I’m going to take a nap at the front. Wake me up when we start surfing.”

His eyes slide over Honey just before he walks away, and she looks puzzled. Trevor swallows a smile and returns to the bow of the boat, laying out and dropping his shirt over his face.

He zones out, eyes closed and breath even. Someone joins him on the cushion at some point, just before the boat starts to lurch away from the dock. He feels the spray of the lake dampen his shirt and cool his skin. The sun is already starting to pick at his chest, his tolerance not as high as it is when they’re always on the boat in Michigan.

“You’re burning, Trevor.”

Trevor startles, sitting up and ripping the shirt away from his face. It takes a second for his eyes to adjust to the sun.

Honey holds out his sunscreen. The can is in one hand, the face lotion in the other. She’s biting the inside of her cheek and staring at him.

Trevor reaches out and plucks the items from her grasp, purposefully avoiding her fingers.

“Thanks,” Trevor says, looking anywhere but her face. He can’t look her in the eyes. He can’t touch her. He tucks them away, tying them into his shirt and tossing it to the side. He misses the way her eyes flash and fix on the movements of his fingers, her lips parting. He’s too busy making his way to his feet and turning away. “I think I’m going to borrow the tanning oil from Luke, though. I’ll probably get him to do my back. Cole already did yours, right?”

Honey just hums and nods. Trevor looks up just long enough to take in the tight smile on her face. He can see that her eyes are rimmed with sunglasses, so he’s safe from the look in her eyes.

Trevor raises his fingers in a half-hearted wave before he walks away, joining Luke and Jack at the back of the boat. They’ve each got a hand in Cole’s pockets, making sure he doesn’t fly away as he stands on a bench and ties the lead-ropes they brought to the canopy.

Bea sits on Quinn’s thigh as he drives the boat, arms around his shoulders and laughing at the boys. Her eyes flicker with alarm as Trevor approaches, and she turns to face the front of the boat, rising off Quinn’s lap slightly to peek around the console.

Trevor hears her scoff and hop off Quinn’s lap, pattering away with light steps. He pays her no mind– just gives Cole a lovetap on the stomach so he doubles over. Jack and Luke laugh and Cole glares at Trevor, but the bickering transforms their area of the boat into a bubble where only they live. Quinn visits sometimes, to switch out once they’ve got the surfboard ready, but the day belongs to Jack, Luke, Cole, and Trevor.

Honey and Bea tan in the front and Trevor misses every pointed glare from Bea and sneaking, evaluating glance from Honey that comes his way.

14:90 – HONEY

Honey and Bea are sitting at the picnic table in Honey’s backyard. They’re sipping tea and the sun is setting. Honey blows on the surface of her mug, keeping it raised to her lips to take a sip.

She and Bea have been hanging out all day.

Honey was in this position at sunrise, sipping coffee out of the same mug and looking at the same mountains.

They’ve mostly sat in silence all day, reading their books or scrolling on their phones. Honey finishes the book she had been reading, so they break into The Reading Nook as soon as Bea wakes up, and Honey borrows a new one. She’s over a quarter of the way through the new book now, but the sun has set too much for her to continue reading.

So, they drink tea. They drove to Bea’s house to get some calming tea, then back to Honey’s. Bea made the tea while Honey sat and breathed, listening to the birds sing their eggs to sleep. They sip their tea, but Honey knows that time is running out. Bea’s been patient enough.

“I think it’s time we talk about what happened these past two days,” Bea says, setting her mug on the flat of the table. “Really, really talk.”

Honey sighs, putting her own mug down. “Yeah, I know.”

“I only have two questions for you, Honey,” Bea says. She laces her fingers together and leans in, like a principal or a school counselor.

Honey wants to laugh. It’s like an intervention. “What are your questions, Bea-girl?” She asks with a breath of a laugh and a roll of her eyes.

“Question one,” Bea pauses for effect, tilting her head to the side and widening her eyes. “How did you feel about Trevor after you licked, uh, everything off of his body?” She gestures with her hand, waving it in a circle. She tilts her chin up and smiles, sarcastically in pain, at Honey.

“I was thinking–”

Bea interrupts. “Nuh-uh. I don’t care about what you were thinking. What were you feeling about Trevor? And not once you started thinking about home, or any of that. The second you looked at him: what were you feeling?”

Honey’s face twists, her nose crinkling. She hates when Bea plays therapist.

“I felt like…” Honey trails off, thinking back. She gnaws on her bottom lip, looking at the dark masses of leaves rustle on the trees surrounding her home. “It was warm. I felt… light. If Trevor hadn’t had his hands on my waist, I might’ve… been like that puddle guy… in Sky High.” Her voice gets quieter with every pause and Honey is very conscious of the fact that she’s referencing the cult-classic ‘DCOM’ Sky High in her therapy session with her best friend.

Bea’s conscious of the reference, too, staring at Honey. Her jaw is dropped and she’s filled with mild aghast, just like Honey. She shuts her mouth, closes her eyes, and nods to herself before opening them again.

“Question two. How did you feel after Trevor went to the back of the boat yesterday?”

Honey knew it was coming, but the memory still tugs at her.

She doesn’t get it. Trevor had been so… talkative, at first. He had sought Honey out and, as much as she hates to admit it, being chased was nice. Trevor had stood out from the first day, so much so that she wouldn’t even consider the other boys if they asked– and Jack did ask, that one time.

It was like a complete 180º after the dare. He steps away from her, he can’t meet her eyes, he found not one, but two excuses to get away from Honey after she offered to put sunscreen on his back. Yeah, she figured Cole was joking and setting them up for disaster, but she was ready to role with it after having that conversation with Bea on Friday.

Trevor froze when she was around and avoided Honey like a fucking. plague.

Honey’s silence speaks for itself, because Bea opens her mouth to continue.

“Maybe–”

Honey talks over her, squeezing her eyes shut. “I don’t– think he likes me.”

She takes a breath before opening her eyes again.

Bea stares at Honey, her first two fingers covering her mouth.

Honey blinks and looks down at her hands, wrapping them around her mug to save them from the sudden frostbite spreading over her fingers. “If he felt like I did after that dare… he wouldn’t have ignored me yesterday.” Honey presses her tongue into her top teeth, clamping her lips shut. The edges of her eyes are prickling with wetness again.

Bea reaches across the table and takes one of her hands.

“If that’s how he feels, then he’s stupid,” Bea says, voice definite. “He would be an idiot to stop chasing you.”

“I wish it was as easy as you and Quinn,” Honey admits. She stares at the warped and chipped wood under their hands. She’s sick to her stomach for a second, having déjà vu of the same image five years earlier, when she and Bea left Charlotte and spent their first night here. They didn’t even have mugs yet. They just talked and held hands and took in their new home. It’s the same feeling.

Bea shakes her head. “It’s not the same. Quinn and I aren’t–” She pauses to scoff, a grimace across her face. “We’re hooking up. We both know that and we don’t want anything more. That’s why it’s so easy.”

“But you felt so bad when you had to tell him,” Honey argues.

“I felt guilty.” Bea shrugs. “It passed.”

They sit in silence for a little while longer. Bea drops Honey’s hands and returns to her tea.

Honey looks down at her tea and brings it to her lips, sipping. She takes a second sip, clearing her throat.

“I want to be wanted,” Honey says. She feels silly saying it, the phrase obvious. Everyone wants to be wanted. She’s not special. To make herself feel better, she adds, partially as a joke: “And I want to have sex.”

“It’s been a long time since you said that,” Bea replies and Honey’s heart soars. She always understands exactly what Honey means. She always knows exactly what to say. Honey covers her face with her hands, overwhelmed. Bea continues. “It doesn’t have to be silly old Trevor, since he’s a loser.”

“Yeah… I don’t want any of the others,” Honey laughs.

Bea scoffs, defensive. “Yeah, and I wasn’t gonna give you any of ‘em.”

They laugh together, heads thrown back. Bea’s foot stomps against the dirt.

When they quiet down, Bea adds with a grin, “I was just thinking that we could have a night out or something. Wilkesboro has to have something you can settle for. Just for a fuck, you know?”

Honey nods, smiling. She raises her tea to her lips and swallows the last of it. The mug clatters when she sets it down.

“Would it,” she starts, her smile breaking into a toothy, tilted beam. “Would it be so bad if I wanted it to be Trevor?”

Bea squeals and wiggles. She grabs Honey’s hands and squeezes, bouncing in her seat. She’s so excited that it causes Honey to break out into a fresh round of embarrassed giggles, shielding her face from the aftermath of her admission.

“We’re going on double dates,” Bea makes Honey promise, linking their pinkies. “We are. Just talk to him… tomorrow…” She wiggles her eyebrows. “And tell him that you want him to flirt with you again.”

“Well, it’s not that easy,” Honey denies, rolling her eyes.

“Isn’t it, though?” Bea squints one of her eyes shut and tilts her head, making a face at Honey. She smooths her expression and makes her eyes wide, blinking innocently as she mocks: “‘You know, you should really keep flirting with me, Trev. You never know when it’ll pay off.’ See?”

Honey laughs in disbelief. “Yeah, okay. I’ll say exactly that.”

“Fine, if that’s so hard, go find me a pen. Then I have to go home. It’s late.” Bea bosses, pointing towards Honey’s living room. When Honey stands, she smiles again, sickly-sweet. “Thank you, Baby-Honey.”

“Whatever,” Honey replies, standing and finding a Sharpie in her junk drawer. She overemphasizes the nickname sarcastically when she returns to the table: “Buzzy.”

Bea sticks her tongue out at Honey and holds her hand out expectantly. Honey clicks her tongue in annoyance, but puts her hand in Bea’s, her palm facing up. Bea leans over her, stretching Honey’s skin so it’s taut. She scribbles something onto Honey’s hand, at one point pulling out her phone to read a message. She nods when she’s done and reaches up to draw a little heart on the inside of Honey’s wrist. She blows a kiss at Honey and slaps the marker in her hand, closing her fingers around the marker. Bea stands, takes her mug, and drops it off in the sink before she walks out of Honey’s front door.

Honey raises her other hand in a belated wave, barely looking. She returns to her other hand, unfurling her fingers. Scrawled on her palm are ten digits and Trevor’s name.

It’s a phone number.

Honey pales. She can’t text Trevor. She has to tell him to keep things going in person, not behind a screen. That’s not who she is. She hasn’t acted like this in five years, and she’s not planning on reverting to old habits. No, she has to go see Trevor tomorrow.

Monday!

Tomorrow, the fruit stand is open. Trevor knows that Honey goes to the fruit stand on Mondays, and if he’s interested at all, he’ll show up. It’s, like, a ‘thing’ now, right?

Yeah. She’ll see him at the fruit stand tomorrow. If she doesn’t, then she’ll know how he feels for sure. She won’t have to text, she won’t have to go track Trevor down– it’ll be easy, like how Honey wants it to be. Quinn and Bea aren’t the only people who can have it easy.

#puck-luck's fics #andy writes anything🍄#small town girl x tz #trevor zegras #trevor zegras smut #trevor zegras fanfiction #quinn hughes #jack hughes smut #luke hughes #cole caufield #hockey smut #hockey romance #nhl smut

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crushedsweets · 6 months

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Do you have any headcanons on what the creeps like? Like just simple stuff like food or TV shows they like or music n stuff? :)

i think toby likes waf(gets shot)

i think a LOT of them like trashy reality TV. nina, clocky, toby, brian, jeff, ben, ann, and jane are the worst offenders..jane is probably the only surprising one, but she loves getting into bed with her wife and flicking on a stupid show and laughing at people with mary. nice stress relief

jack is the type of guy to only watch(or listen to, i suppose) movies. i dunno why but i feel like he'd be super into horror... i think he'd like jordan peeles movies nina jeff and ben all watch anime. nina likes psychological horror and romance, jeff and ben like shonen lulu used to looove watching cartoons even when she was in college... honeybee and puppycat, atla, adventure time, steven universe, things like that. her roommate teased her for it

jack likes spicy food and in the past, he'd make food for toby and make it Not Spicy cuz he's like 'this white boy from colorado cannot handle this'. so toby was like no, make it spicy. so jack did. and toby was like no, make it spicier. and jack was like dude i dont even think i can handle this.. and toby keeps pushing it till jack is like oh my god stop. then a week later he brings it up to clocky and thats how jack finds out about tobys CIPA.

tim and brian like doing big like, steak and potato and broccoli dinners sometimes. toby always gets so excited until tim was like "im gonna teach you how to grill" and now puts toby to work.. so tobys annoyed..

#asks #creeped #hcs #ty for ask :3

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no-time-machine-available · 8 days

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Danny Phantom (Vivisection AU x King Phantom AU) + One Piece

I just like the idea of Danny joining the Strawhats and their adventures.

In this AU Danny won the right to the crown of the Infinity Realm after defeating Pariah, and for the start, he doesn’t want it. He is working with Clockwork and Frostbite to reach a compromise with the other big powers in the realm so Danny doesn’t need to inherit the crown. At this point, the big powers are divided between those who recognize and want Danny as the new king and those who want to be the new king.

At the same time on Earth, Danny is dealing with his parents and GIW new partnership and weapons. Along with the new Anti-Ecto Laws that declare him non-sentient. Bad press. Fighting and protecting ghost at the same time. Vlad being pain in the ass. Jazz leaving Amity Parks to college out of state (One of them needs to be able to fulfill their dreams). Past due homework assignments, feeling like an idiot, and the risk of not graduating High School with Sam and Tucker.

Then, his parents find out his secret, and the worst-case scenario happens. Soon enough he is tied to the operation table with his parents asking, what did you do to our son? He cries, begs, and screams that he is his son, but they refuse to believe him. Eventually, Maddie and Jack commit a mistake and he manages to escape. He flies through the Ghost Portal and eventually enters a natural portal that takes him to the One Piece universe.

He ends up joining the Strawhats after helping them in one of their adventures and realizing he truly has no idea of how to navigate this world. Danny has not a particular position in the crew but he is efficient enough in the fights. He enjoys not being in charge, he never liked the idea of being a leader.

The overall goal of Danny is to find a way back home, but over time he realizes he doesn’t want to go back. He still wants to see Sam, Tucker, Ellie, and Jazz but doesn’t want to return to how it was. He finally is free from ghost attacks, and the politics of the ghost zone. He knows he can’t be a normal teenager anymore but he can finally just be Danny.

Not the Hero of Amity Park

Not the Great One

Not the Future King of the Infinity Realm

Not a Monster who stole Danny’s body

Just Danny

He loves the Strawhats and they love him back. His obsession with protection is being fulfilled by fighting alongside the crew and slowly this world is becoming his home.

Thanks to his healer factor his wounds are healed, but the scar of his “operations” seems to not fade. He cannot transform no matter how much he wants it and is limited to using his powers in his human phase, which makes him considerably weaker. This doesn’t bother him until the incident in Sabody.

After the Sabody, Danny starts training to get back his ghost form and become stronger to protect his friends. The thing is that by transforming other ghosts can finally locate him, and his past starts to get closer to him.

Ellie is the one who finds Danny after Wano and explains everything that has happened after his disappearance. The thing is that while things are going well for Danny, things are going bad for everyone else. When Jazz learned what her parents did she almost killed them. The GIW has free reign to hunt and experiment on ghosts since Phantom's disappearance. The Infinity Realm wants to declare war on humanity for the crime of killing the future king and other ghosts. Amity Park has been declared a contingency zone. Tucker, Sam, Ellie, and Jazz had been searching like crazy for Danny while running from the government.

Danny is perplexed and reluctantly accepts to follow Ellie back to confront all the disasters in his old home. Of course, the Strawhats follow them right behind starting a new adventure of multiversal dimensions.

#danny phantom #one piece #DPxOP #Strawhats as family #just an idea #Danny Fenton #DP #OP #danny phentom #Writing ideas #crossover #One Piece crossover #Danny Phantom crossover #headcanons #Danny doesn't want to be a king

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petrichor-han · 1 year

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twenty-three suns; kang taehyun (nsfw version)

PAIRING | taehyun x afab!reader

CAST | kang taehyun, choi beomgyu, hueningkai, mentions of shin ryujin

WC | 18.0k

GENRE | fluff, angst, summer love, summer fling, no strings attached relationship, strangers to lovers, non-idol!au

WARNINGS | explicit language, explicit sexual content, hookup culture, bad communication, casual marijuana use, alcohol consumption, casual drug use and drinking, heated makeouts, groping, crying, arguing, mentions of not eating [bad coping mechanisms], both of mc’s parents are in the picture

SYNOPSIS | there is just about one month until you move out of your childhood home for good and fly to south korea to finally pursue your dream career, and you’ve done nothing but laze around all summer, infuriating both you and your parents to no end. and then you meet him—kang taehyun, who’s just moved to town to pursue his dream. and it just so happens that he’s from korea. startled yet intrigued by the almost too-perfect coincidence, the two of you strike up a summer “relationship” knowing that it’ll end in exactly twenty-three days—under the assumption that twenty-three days is too short a time to fall in love.

A/N | another repost of an nsfw version of a sfw fic! again, this was originally posted on my now-deactivated nsfw side blog, @/elysianjinnie. the original sfw version is linked below if you prefer that :)

request to be added to current and future taglists here!

MASTERLIST | SFW VERSION

TWENTY-THREE DAYS LEFT

Summer was a difficult time for you. You’d look forward to it all winter, longing for the snow to melt away and the only cold in your life to come from creamy vanilla soft-serve ice cream and icy-cold lemonade that made your sensitive teeth tingle with delightful pain. But once it arrived in all of its blazing-hot heat and seemingly endless sunny days, you began to look forward to autumn, the chill of a crunchy-leaf filled breeze and glowing yellow lights inside vibrant orange jack-o-lanterns.

This year was no exception. You felt as if you were melting into the thatched weave of your mother’s patio furniture, the sun-warmed material almost too hot for the bare skin of your legs to rest upon comfortably. Slipping your large black sunglasses—that your best friend said made you look like an oversized housefly—over your eyes, you willed the heat to go away, leave you alone until next year, when you’d be far, far away from your hometown.

Because you—yes, you, had managed to snag a fancy job at a snazzy company, one that would take you to a new country where you could stay for as long as you wanted, doing much more important work than you did at the sad part-time jobs your resume was filled with. When you’d first told your parents about the job, they’d protested at first, asking why you wanted to work in a foreign country, hundreds of thousands of miles away from your loving family and friends, and everything that you’d known since you were born. But you couldn’t put the feeling into words, that wanderlust, that craving for adventure. Even if the job didn’t work out, you knew that you wanted to travel the world, and what better place to begin than South Korea?

Eventually, your parents accepted it reluctantly, beginning to be more curious than anything about what this new job entailed, and though somewhat awkwardly, you explained your position to your supportive parents, who approved immediately—almost solely because of the annual salary, but approval regardless was relieving to you.

Now you had less than a month to go before you hopped on a plane and left your hometown forever. Though you’d left for college, a lack of work had brought you back right after those four years of freedom, and you’d spent several dismal months moping around the house while searching for a job until you landed the career of your dreams, which brought you to where you were now—sitting on your parents’ old sun-bleached patio furniture in a pair of old jean cut-offs and a faded tank top that you’d found in the back of your closet whilst beginning to slowly pack up your life into a suitcase. You could practically smell the heat radiating off of the concrete of your patio, earthy and almost indescribable other than the idea that it was warm, too hot to lay your fingertips upon for more than a few seconds. The sound of your parents’ old sprinkler chugging along and spitting out cold hose water echoed in your ears, and you could see what was happening without even opening your eyes. That old sprinkler had worked all throughout your childhood, showering your green lawn in droplets and bringing the dead winter grass back to life, and it wasn’t hard to see the little spout spattering water all across the lawn.

Your eyes, though still closed, did not completely block out the sunlight, and you could see hues of red and orange pigments from your eyelids shining through instead of the welcome blindness that you so enjoyed when trying to nap. Your cheap sunglasses that you’d stolen from said friend who insulted your looks with them on were just that—cheap, and you wished you’d just spent more money to get a quality pair. If you’d known how much you’d be sunbathing this summer, you would have done so in a heartbeat, but how could you predict such a mundane month, full of nothing but homemade smoothies and lounging?

You turned over, starting to feel the tops of your thighs getting sensitive from being in the sun for too long, and kicked your feet up in the air, face propped up with your hands, elbows digging into the chair. You lowered your sunglasses to squint at your phone, only half reading the text from Beomgyu, who was demanding to know what you did with said sunglasses, before shutting off your phone with a satisfying click and laying your face down in your slightly sweaty palms, feeling the heat finally getting to you.

The phone rang.

“Hello?” you groaned, not even bothering to prop yourself back up.

“You asshole, give me back my sunglasses. I knew you had them,” Beomgyu seethed, and you opened one eye to look at him on the video call. You could see the background of his apartment, cluttered but bright from all of the opened windows, and him right in the center of your screen, face blown up from the disturbing angle. You could see right up his nostrils, and the crusty orange corners of his lips from what you assumed were cheese puff dust.

“Why do you look so fucking gross?” you asked, finally sitting back up. You pushed the sunglasses up onto your head, pushing back the hair that was beginning to fall back into your face. “What’s that all over your face, cheese dust?”

Beomgyu stared at the lower corner of his phone, finally realizing what he looked like, and wrinkled his nose. He used his thumb to scratch at the orange before examining it, then wrapping his chapped lips around the digit to suck off the residue. “God, that’s disgusting. Can I hang up now?”

“Can you bring me back my sunglasses?” he countered, taking his thumb out of his mouth. You could see him wiping it on the front of his white t-shirt, leaving a long orange stain.

“You can come get them,” you said, “I’m not moving from this spot.”

“My car’s broken,” he whined, “I’m stuck in my apartment all weekend until Kai brings it back.”

“If it’s broken, why does Kai have it?”

“He’s the one that broke it!” Beomgyu threw his free hand up in the air, as if he were mocking you for not knowing such an obvious fact about his stupid car. “He’s paying for it and everything, so I don’t really give a shit, but just come by. I’m bored.”

You hoisted yourself up out of the chair, grimacing at how your thighs stuck to the chair and peeled off of it painfully. Beomgyu made an audible noise of disgust when he heard it. “Bring your skin with you, don’t leave it on that chair,” he gagged, “disgusting.”

“It’s hot and I’m sweaty, leave me alone,” you snapped, “I don’t have to return your glasses.”

“You know I’m joking.”

“Be there in twenty.”

—

As always, you found it much too easy to waste the day away with Beomgyu, doing nothing but roll around in his apartment with no air conditioning, feeling as if you were about to melt into his hardwood floors. You watched as Beomgyu got up every thirty seconds to stick his head into the freezer and make obscene noises, sounding more like a freaky animal in heat than the best friend you knew and loved. By the time you stopped fucking around and picked yourself up off the floor to check the time, you realized it was much later than you thought, and you had to drive yourself back home for dinner, wondering what your mother made.

“I’m back,” you called, swinging open the front door, the brass knob still hot to the touch from the sun, which had not yet set, “did I miss dinner?”

“No, you’re just in time,” your mother said, her voice echoing down the hallway, “come sit down!”

You trotted down the hallway merrily, knowing that you had to enjoy the home-cooked meals while you still could, and rounded the corner with a smile on your face, focused on the fully set table as you slid into your seat—and made eye contact with a strange man sitting across from you. “Who the hell are you?” you asked, so appalled at his shockingly handsome face that an obscenity slipped out from between your lips.

“Taehyun. Kang Taehyun,” he said simply, and he flashed a smile so bright you wished you’d just kept Beomgyu’s stupid cheap sunglasses.

TWENTY-THREE DAYS LEFT—TAEHYUN

Kang Taehyun considered himself a fairly smart person.

He always did above average on his tests in school, and was even an honors student. He took part in many after-school activities that he felt also boosted his IQ and simultaneously helped his social skills improve—not that he kept track of that sort of thing, really. After he graduated he only continued to hone his skills and his pride about his brain that was figuratively larger than the average person’s, and he always knew that he wanted to be a teacher—to stay in an environment that encouraged learning, that encouraged being smart.

However, it seemed that book smarts and street smarts could only get one so far.

Kang Taehyun did not know the difference between a banana and a plantain, and he had been standing in front of the fruit display in his new local grocery store for nearly ten minutes. His sweaty palms dragged against the empty pockets of his jeans for the fifth time—what a day to forget your phone at home—and he felt himself reaching for one bunch of fruit before faltering and considering the other for a moment, before ultimately pulling his hand back and staring at the two displays blankly, back at square one.

“Do you need help?” a kindly voice asked, and he turned to look at the source of it—an older woman, with a shopping cart full of food—surely she was shopping for a family. In the cart he spotted a bunch of bananas, which made his heart leap with hope.

“Yes,” he said slowly, “what’s better? Bananas or plantains?”

The woman put a hand over her mouth to stifle a small laugh, which Taehyun stiffened at. “Well, what do you need them for?” she asked, “both are good, but for different things.”

“Just to eat,” he said quickly, “no cooking or baking.”

“Then I think you’re looking for bananas,” she said kindly, and Taehyun felt his cheeks heat up with embarrassment—if he’d been forced to choose with no help at all, he probably would have just chosen the bananas and gone.

“Thank you,” he said awkwardly, picking up a bunch of bananas, already ripe and browning slightly, but the lady stopped him, placing a comforting hand over his own.

“If you want them to last, get a greener bunch. That way you can eat them later on too, and none will go to waste,” she said in a motherly tone, and Taehyun thought that his original assumption must be right, this woman must have a family to take care of, just based on her personality.

“Thank you,” he said again, and he was sure his cheeks were pink with shame as he put the ripe bunch back and placed a greener bunch into his basket.

They both stood there for a moment awkwardly, the older woman looking him up and down with an indiscernible look upon her face, before she spoke up again. “Do you want to come over for dinner?”

“Excuse me?” Taehyun was slightly taken aback by the sudden request; he did not really know this woman, the only thing he knew for sure about her was that she knew the difference between bananas and plantains. Yet, her warm welcome, her comforting tone, and her cart full of food that was sure to be cooked into a delicious meal lulled him into a sense of familiarity. She almost reminded him of his own mother.

“You don’t have to, of course,” she said, “I just get the sense that you’re new here, and you could use some company.”

“Well,” he said, “you’d be right about that. When should I come over?”

She smiled and gave him the address and the time, and he watched her walk away, pleased that he’d already had a pleasant interaction with someone in his new home.

—

Kang Taehyun also considered himself to be a fairly well-restrained person.

He never participated in childish things in school like rating people based on their looks, he never really bothered with any serious dating either—apart from flings and casual hook-ups, he had no experience in the romance department. Not that he hated it either, he just felt he had more important obligations that came before sucking face and touching genitals.

The older lady had mentioned to him that she had a child about his age—something that he also didn’t really pay attention to; he was still more interested in the food. But then he saw a pretty hand wrap around the edge of the doorframe, and a pretty person attached to that hand swing into sight just a moment later—and suddenly Kang Taehyun understood the feeling that his best friend Soobin got when he had a crush on that person back in high school. He felt like a teenage boy again, with how hard and fast his heart was pounding, how he could feel blood rushing north and south at the same time and he hated it. Underneath the table, his hands gripped his thighs tightly, nervous as he looked into your eyes, glittering as the light from the lamp in the corner of the room reflected off of the glassy surface. Your mother never mentioned how gorgeous you were, and Taehyun wished that he’d had some sort of warning. He could almost feel the drool pooling in the corners of his mouth, the fire coursing through his blood.

“Who the hell are you?” you asked, with such a quizzical look plastered across your pretty face that Taehyun had to swallow past a lump in his throat before replying in an equally cocky tone.

“Taehyun. Kang Taehyun.”

And then he ruined it with a lopsided smile that showed too much of his teeth, and he wished he could just sprint back home and die alone in his bed.

—

You felt like your face was on fire as you tapped your toes against the hardwood floor, trying to stare at the flawless man across from you without him realizing. You noticed that he was trying to do something similar, as you both were equally bad at it, and your gazes kept meeting unceremoniously before you both quickly looked away and shoveled food into your mouth.

“It’s delicious,” Taehyun declared sweetly to your mother, and usually you’d roll your eyes at someone so obviously trying to suck up, but for some reason you found it almost endearing this time. The way he flashed his perfect teeth at you made your heart race, and you felt your skin prickling at the idea of being in the same room as him.

“Thank you!” your mother replied, clearly happy with the situation and not realizing just how much you were suffering. “Would you like to stay for dessert as well?”

You almost choked on your water.

“I would love to!” Taehyun responded, “I brought something, too.”

“Oh?”

Taehyun held up a finger, silently asking the two of you to wait a moment as he pulled it out, and he hoisted a box of muffins onto the table. If they had been store-bought you could have scoffed and passed him off as a right douche, but they were obviously homemade, and they smelled so good you could feel your mouth watering—almost as much as it had watered when you first laid eyes on Taehyun.

“I thought you said the bananas weren’t for baking!” your mother gushed, opening the box delicately and looking over the goods.

“I had to bring something to thank you,” he said graciously, before returning his gaze to you momentarily, and you felt your face heat up again. He caught his lower lip on his teeth as he looked you up and down, a smirk making the corners of his lips turn upwards, and making you clench your clammy hands into fists. “I hope you enjoy them.”

You piped up before your mom could say anything, “Oh, I definitely will.”

Taehyun had to shakily excuse himself to the restroom before dessert was served, you realized with a smirk.

“I didn’t realize how late it’s gotten! (Y/N), could you walk Taehyun to the door?” your mother asked, picking up all the plates and cups strewn across the coffee table. “Come back anytime!”

“Thank you so much, for everything,” Taehyun said graciously, though his eyes quickly wandered back to you as you stood up and sweetly handed your plate to your mother. You walked past him quickly, your fingers ghosting over his, and he felt his digits twitch as they closed around nothing but air and the hope that you’d brush up against him again.

“Follow me,” you said, your gait mellow and dainty, a juxtaposing action when paired with the devilish smirk on your face and the wink that followed.

Barely managing to hold it together as he said goodbye to your mother once again, he hurried after you, hardly keeping up as you whisked around the corner, wanting nothing more than for you to lay your hands on him. He felt horrible for acting this way, especially around your mother, who was a kind woman who invited him to dinner, not to sleep with her child who was oh-so conveniently the same age as him, horribly charming, and irresistible all-around. He felt even guiltier as he slowed down to look at all of the pictures hanging on the walls, photographs of you as a child and doing innocent, child-like activities. This was your childhood home, after all, and he had the nerve to be such a pervert he couldn’t even make direct eye contact with you for more than ten seconds before feeling tingly.

He hurried to the front door as you unlocked it and held it open for him, smiling at him as he edged outside, giving you a tight smile as you closed it behind you. Awkwardly, Taehyun shifted his weight from one foot to the other, unsure how to say goodbye, as he hadn’t said anything to you besides a brief introduction when you’d first come home. “I—”

“I think you’re hot,” you said bluntly, and that bluntness made Taehyun nearly trip down your front stairs. He took a single step back, lips slightly parted as his scrambled mind tried to come up with a response. “Is that—is that okay?” you asked, worried that you’d made him uncomfortable. Taehyun watched as your confidence slowly chipped away as he didn’t give you a clear reaction, the way you backed up a little. How considerate. How kind. How sweet.

“I think you’re hot too,” he said breathily, and he winced a little—why did his voice sound like that? But you didn’t seem to mind, relief flooding your face as you cautiously reached for his wrist, and once he gave you a nod of approval, you spun him around—a little unceremoniously—and pressed him up against the door, your face inches away from his. He could feel your breath ghosting over his lips and it was driving him absolutely insane. “Can I kiss you?” he whispered, and you nodded frantically—so frantically he swore he almost heard a whimper escape you—and he brought one large hand up to the back of your neck, pulling you towards him and closing the gap between your faces. He felt like molten lava was traveling through his body and like a bucket of ice-water had been dumped over his head at the same time, and he hated it and loved it. Kissing you felt like jumping off a rocky cliff and into the cold ocean, it felt like skydiving and riding a rollercoaster and flying all at once. He could feel his stomach twisting the way it always did when he was nervous; instead of butterflies it felt like a flock of birds, pecking and flapping and nipping, but he never wanted to forget that feeling. The feeling of your warm lips against his, your perfect body pressed up against him. Your slightly sweaty neck underneath his calloused palm, the way your skin dipped as he squeezed gently, and the feeling of your own hands roaming his body, leaving fingerprints of fire behind as they touched lightly then traveled somewhere else right away, eager to explore, eager to consume.

When you finally parted, you let out a little laugh at how swollen his lips had gotten, before tucking a stray lock of silver hair behind his ear. “I never introduced myself properly, did I?” you asked, and Taehyun let out a shaky breath at your duality; your shy voice compared to your actions just moments before.

“You didn’t,” he confirmed, “but that’s okay, I heard your name.”

“(Y/N),” you said, at the same time he did, making you chuckle. “My mother says you’re new in town.”

“I am. I just moved here last week, and I believe my job starts in a little less than a month—twenty-three, twenty-four days? Something like that.” He didn’t notice the way you tensed up a little at that—of course he wouldn’t pick up on it, he hardly knew you.

“Odd,” you said breathily, looking up at the sky, which was pitch-black now that it was around midnight, “that’s around the same time I leave for my new job.”

“What?” he asked, but when you didn’t reply right away, he looked up too, his big dark eyes filling with the glittering specks that humans called stars, and he understood why you couldn’t find it in you to explain yourself right away.

“I’m only going to be here until the end of summer,” you said finally, and Taehyun felt a pang of disappointment in his chest even though he’d just met you. “I’m moving to Korea in twenty-three days. Or is it twenty-two days now that it’s past midnight?”

“Twenty-two, twenty-three, it’s all pretty much the same,” he lamented, “that’s a bummer. I thought we could be good for each other.”

“Good for each other?”

“In a bedroom sense,” he said quickly, “not in anything serious, of course. We just met.”

“That’s what I was thinking too,” you sighed, not without relief, “you’re the first hot person to move here, and of course it’s right as I’m leaving.”

“Well,” Taehyun said, “we can make the most of these twenty-two days, can’t we?”

“Twenty-three days,” you corrected, “your watch says it’s only eleven fifty-eight.”

“We can make the most of twenty-three days,” he said, pressing another heated kiss to your lips, which were beginning to chill from the night air.

His watch beeped as you kissed him, hard and deep. “Twenty-two days.”

“Twenty-two nights, but twenty-three days,” you mumbled, lips still upon his, “it’ll be fun, won’t it?”

He either didn’t hear you or chose to not respond as he shut you up by slipping his tongue into your mouth, prompting you to close your eyes again and pretend like you had all the time in the world to melt into his embrace.

—

He tossed you onto the bare mattress, and you would have exclaimed in disgust if you weren’t so fucking horny. He hardly gave you a moment to catch your breath before capturing your lips with his once again, moaning into your hot mouth and fumbling with the button on your jeans. Once he managed to undo it, he slipped his hand down your pants, large fingers making their way into your soaked panties and finding your sopping hole almost immediately. He parted the kiss once more to groan as he sunk a single finger into your tight cunt. “You’re so tight,” he grunted, “how am I supposed to fit my cock into you, hm?” You whined in response, bucking your hips up as another finger slipped in. “So cute,” he mumbled, curling his fingers inside you once before pulling them out and slipping them into his mouth. “Sweet.”

He then stood up, ridding himself of his shirt and pants quickly, and you did the same, nearly tripping over your own feet as you pulled your jeans down your legs and tossed them aside with your shirt, hoping you’d be able to find them later. It was then that you finally got a good look at Taehyun’s nearly nude form, and your breath caught in your throat as your gaze raked up and down his body, strips of pale moonlight dancing across his pretty skin. “God, you’re so hot,” you muttered, pulling his face to yours once more.

“Take a look at yourself,” he chuckled, and you only smirked into the kiss before shoving him down onto the mattress and climbing on top of him, grinding your throbbing cunt onto his hard dick, the only layers separating the two of you being his boxers and your panties. He threw his head back and groaned, and you took the opportunity to suck a dark hickey onto his pale neck. “Who said you get to be on top?” he asked cockily, before grabbing you and flipping you over so that he was above you, pinning your wrists down to the bed and staring you down.

You pouted playfully. “I was having a good time up there.”

“It’s my turn now,” he chuckled, and you stuck your tongue out at him as you reached behind your back to undo your bra. Once it unclipped, you slid it down your arms and tossed it aside, enjoying the way Taehyun’s eyes darkened at the sight of your bare chest. “So fucking hot,” he repeated, flicking one of your nipples, watching it harden almost immediately. You moaned aloud as he leaned down to suckle on the untouched nipple, swirling his tongue around the bud and enjoying the way you arched off the bed, pushing your chest closer, hoping for more.

He let go of your nipple after teasing it just a little with his teeth, leaving you flushed and panting, rubbing your thighs together in an attempt to ease the pressure. He noticed this and grinned toothily, hooking his fingers onto the elastic sides of your undergarments and pulling them down, leaving you completely bare. Your mind was hazy at this point, as he used his strength to pull your legs apart and stare at your dripping pussy, glistening in the moonlight. “Can I?” he asked, his head already lowered between your legs.

“Please,” you whispered, using a hand to gently push his eager face closer to your cunt. That one word was all he needed to hear as he licked a long stripe up your pussy, and you gasped at the feeling of his hot tongue against your slit. He didn’t hesitate after hearing your reaction, suckling at your clit roughly as he used his large hands to spread your legs apart even further. He moved his mouth down lower, making you keen as his tongue slipped into your cunt. The slick feeling of it attempting to go as deep as it could made you twitch, and he groaned into your cunt, the vibrations only bringing you closer to the edge. He seemed to notice this somehow, and brought his tongue back up to your neglected clit as he slipped the same two fingers back into you. You tightened around them immediately; you’d missed the feeling of his thick digits inside of you. That brief session beforehand hadn’t satisfied you at all. He curled them as he pushed them back in, the combination of penetration and clitoral stimulation finally bringing you to your orgasm, and you let out a high-pitched moan as you came all over his tongue and his fingers.

He lifted his head up, licking his lips and staring at you, head cocked to the side slightly. “Ready for another?” he asked, finally pulling down his boxers. His cock was beautiful, there were no other possible words to describe it. It curved slightly to the left, but the dripping red head and the way it twitched, bouncing up slightly at the feeling of being let out of its confinement made you salivate. You wanted nothing more than to have that dick deep down your throat, but he’d already leaned over and pulled a condom out of his bedside drawer, pinching the tip as he rolled it on.

“I wanted to suck you off,” you said, frowning, “wanted to return the favor.”

“Next time, baby,” he cooed, “and next time you can be on top like you wanted too.”

The thought of a next time with Kang Taehyun made your heart skip a beat, your mouth watering with anticipation.

You flipped over, getting on your hands and knees, and he positioned himself at your entrance, blunt head nudging your swollen pussy. The contact made you swallow hard. The feeling of his fat cock slowly pushing into you was almost odd, since it’d been so long since you’d last gotten laid, and the stretch was just a little painful. He furrowed his brow in concentration as he bottomed out, gasping at the feeling of your hot walls surrounding his length. “Don’t worry about me,” you panted, “go as hard as you want.”

His grip on your hips tightened. “You sure?” he asked, big eyes locking with yours.

“I’ll tell you if I want you to stop.”

He nodded, biting his lower lip as he pulled out slowly, then slammed his hips back into yours, the contact making a loud smacking noise. You moaned loudly at the rough thrust, but he didn’t give you any time to recover, mirroring his actions but angling his lips slightly to the side, hoping to hit your g-spot. It took a few more rough thrusts, but he found it, and he knew it as you cried out and your front collapsed onto the mattress, arms giving out at the sudden wave of pleasure. He smirked to himself and continued angling his hips that way, balls smacking your clit as he pistoned his hips as fast and hard as he could. He let go of your hips with one hand, reaching underneath to find your sensitive nub. He found it quickly and rubbed it in quick, hard circles, chuckling as you began to snap out of it and push your hips back into his thrusts, matching his pace.

“F—fuck, Taehyun!” you cried, as a particularly hard thrust made you cum yet again, pussy tightening around him.

“So good for me,” he whispered, sloppy thrusts finally stilling as he reached his high, releasing his sticky fluids into the condom.

He pulled out as soon as he finished riding out his orgasm, then left the room as he removed the condom, tossing it in the trash as he came back with towels. He threw one to you as you groaned and stood up on shaky legs.

“It was fun, princess,” he said, pulling his clothes back on. “It was fun.”

TWENTY-TWO DAYS LEFT

You don’t remember what time you got home, but you do know that it was in the early hours of the morning, and you were almost caught under the shower of the sprinklers that your mother timed to go off every morning before the sun rose. You’d slipped through your bedroom window, shoes in hand just as you heard the choking noises of the little spigots beginning to spout water, and closed your window behind you just as you heard the noises of your parents shifting around in the room down the hall.

You also don’t remember the last time you’d had such a good fuck. Taehyun was everything you’d been craving all summer, and you cursed at whatever higher being there was that prevented him from coming sooner and ending your dry spell that had been going on ever since you came back home. Sore yet satisfied, you crawled into bed with an alarm set to go off in just a few hours when you promised to take Taehyun to the best brunch place in town—more like the only decent brunch place in town, but the point still stood.

When you awoke to your blaring alarm, the noisy beeps etching their sounds into your eardrums, you blinked blearily at the late morning light that was strewn across your wrinkled sheets, an effect of your failure to close your curtains early in the morning when you got home. You felt sweaty and not very well-rested, but you’d made a promise, and a text from the one you’d made that promise to made you jump out of bed, excited for some odd reason even though you were just going to the brunch place you’d been frequenting since high school.

Hopping around your bedroom after your shower, holding your towel up with one hand as you tried to find something decent to wear, made you feel like a teenager straight out of a bad, cheesy rom-com, and you felt embarrassed even though no one was around to see you trip over your own foot and nearly face-plant into a pile of dirty laundry. You got ready with one hand as you held your phone in the other, trying to reply to a bunch of texts from Beomgyu that you’d ignored all night and all morning. You groaned as your phone started buzzing with a video call request from him. “I’m kind of busy,” you said stoutly, peering into your mirror as you tried to yank a pair of too-small shorts off.

“With what? You never have shit going on,” Beomgyu said, making you shoot a glare at your phone. “Are you coming over again today? Kai bought me a fuck-ton of ice cream because he still feels bad for breaking my car.”

“I’m going to brunch with someone,” you said, finally settling on a decent outfit that wasn’t from your high school days nor too casual. You sighed happily, smoothing your hair back with one hand, feeling much more refreshed than you had just an hour ago, and especially compared to how you felt after climbing through your window after the best sex of your life.

“What? Who? Don’t tell me you’re going with Ryujin—god that bitch is annoying.”

“I like Ryujin,” you snapped, “don’t talk shit. But no, I’m going with some guy that just moved here. It’s a long story.”

“Am I going to have to come save you if he tries something funny?” Beomgyu set his phone down on his kitchen counter, and you heard him open his freezer, presumably to get some of the ice cream he had previously mentioned. He popped back into frame with a spoon and a pint of brownie batter flavored ice cream.

“No, I trust him,” you said, “I have to go now.”

“Tell me what happens!” he yelled, before you ended the call and stuffed your phone into your pocket, already dreading having to explain the entire thing to Beomgyu, who was sure to make fun of you for sneaking through your window like a disobedient teenager.

The brunch place wasn’t crowded, but then again, it never was. You got out of your car, fanning your face with your hand, shocked and disturbed by the sheer heat that was radiating off of the asphalt. “(Y/N)!” Taehyun’s voice called, and it took you less than a second to match the voice to the person. Taehyun was leaning against the outside of the building, clad in a casual outfit that fit his body so well it should be illegal. His dark jeans were loose and baggy, yet he made them seem chic, and he had an oversized blazer on top of his t-shirt, upscaling the entire look. A few pieces of well-chosen jewelry topped it off, making you want to rip everything off of him right then and there—though you were obviously able to hold back.

“You look… good,” you said, looking him up and down, and he chuckled at your reaction.

“So do you,” he marveled, and he opened the door for you kindly, making your face flush as you walked past him, into the restaurant that was luckily a much lower temperature.

The restaurant was more than familiar; you’d had a booth with your name on it for years and years now. But as you slid into the seat and felt underneath the sticky table for where you’d carved your name way back when, you realized with a bittersweet smile that this was probably one of the last times you’d come here before you left. You didn’t move your fingers away from your name after that realization, tracing the letters over and over while continuously glancing over at Taehyun, watching him look over the menu, something you didn’t need to do since you had it all practically memorized. “What’re you getting?” you asked, pursing your pretty lips.

“Not sure yet,” he mused, “what’s good?”

“The waffles are pretty good,” you said without looking down at the greasy laminated selection, “especially if you order them with fruit preserves. They’re made by the owners in the autumn and used year-round.”

Taehyun hummed in delight, drumming his deliciously long fingers across the tabletop, unconsciously following the rhythm of the old air conditioning unit in the back of the building—it was so loud that you could hear it over the chatter of all the customers. “I think… I’ll get an Americano, too?”

“I hear that Americanos are pretty popular in Korea,” you said, placing your chin atop your laced fingers, looking up at Taehyun through fluttered lashes, “is that right?”

“It is,” he replied, finally putting down his menu, “you better get used to it. A lot of foreigners think it’s way too bitter.”

“Funny, that’s exactly what I think of it too.” Taehyun wrinkled his nose at you; he very much liked Americanos, and once the waitress came around he ordered two of them, claiming that once you got used to the bitterness it was actually quite good.

It was quite odd to sit there in your booth, knowing that you were probably never coming back. You even told the owner, who’d come out to see you especially; he’d known you since you were a kid, and he let out a low whistle, propping up his elbow on the top of your booth, saying that he sure would miss you, and that if you ever did come back the booth would always be reserved for you. Taehyun froze up during these situations, you realized; that was one of his few flaws. Or maybe it couldn’t really count as a flaw, because after all, he was still very new to town and felt awkward with people for a reason, but for some reason you found yourself wanting this to count as a flaw. You wanted reasons to not like him as much as you did, which had never really happened before—usually, there were always valid reasons to dislike someone, especially someone that you were romantically involved with in some way.

And then you wondered, did his obsession with Americanos count as a flaw? As you watched him sip his iced coffee through a paper straw, frowning as it quite literally disintegrated in his mouth, you thought that perhaps it wasn’t—and you took another tongue-spasm filled sip from your own Americano.

EIGHTEEN DAYS LEFT

“For some reason, hanging out with you like this really makes me feel like I’m in high school again,” you mused, hanging upside down on your swing. You felt the very top of your head graze the wood-chip-filled box of the playground, and you swung yourself back upwards, feeling the blood that had pooled in your head begin to flow back down, making you feel dizzy. You held on extra tight to the sun-warmed chains that attached the flat black seat to the sturdy poles, cemented deep in the ground.

“I make you feel young again? Something like that?” he asked, and you turned to look at him once your head stopped spinning. He was mirroring your actions and hanging upside-down, lanky lower limbs sticking up straight in the air, his long feet clad in dirty Converse dangling, a stark contrast from the cloudless, blue sky they were up against. You watched as his silver hair brushed against the wood chips, just as your hair had. “Come back down here, I feel stupid doing this by myself.”

Wordlessly, you let yourself fall, catching yourself at the last second, until your gaze was met with your own shoes in the air, right next to Taehyun’s, against the periwinkle canvas. “No, not really,” you said, dragging out the last syllable. He knocked his shoe against yours, making you swing from side to side. “I think… maybe it’s just being back in my hometown for so long, with nothing to do and nowhere to go. I feel like I’m a kid again.”

“Enjoy it while it lasts,” he said bluntly, “once you move it’ll never be like this again.”

“So sentimental,” you said sarcastically, bumping your own shoe against him to make him rock sideways too, “just let me be nostalgic for a minute without reminding me of my rapidly approaching future.”

Taehyun didn’t reply, and for a moment you worry that you offended him somehow, but when you look over at him you realize that it’s because he’s too busy feeling around his messy hair to pick stray wood chips out from his snarled locks. “Need help?” you ask, and he nods. You swing yourself back up, almost enjoying the rush as your body righted itself, and stand behind Taehyun as he digs the toes of his shoes into the dirt, making sure he doesn’t swing back and hit you as you comb through his tangled hair with your fingers, plucking out small pieces of wood and other debris that had managed to find a home in his pretty silver locks. It feels almost natural, almost domestic, and you catch yourself wondering what it would be like to actually date Taehyun, before you suck your bottom lip into your mouth and bite down hard, punishing yourself for even having that thought. He was just some hot guy that you were hooking up with, and that’s it.

“Do you think you’ll ever come back here?” Taehyun asks you, the question surprising you due to how out of the blue it was.

“To live? Or to visit?” You’ve now picked all of the wood chips out of his hair, but you don’t want to stop playing with the soft tendrils just yet, so you pretend that there’s more as your fingertips gently graze against his scalp, making a shiver run down his spine at the contact.

“Either.”

“To visit? Definitely. I can’t just forget about my parents,” you scolded, yanking on a piece of his hair, and he groans, trying to swat your hands away. “But to live here again…? I don’t think so. I’ve had my fill of this place, and I want to travel.”

Taehyun doesn’t reply again, but he stands up, long, lithe fingers slowly dropping from the chain that was attached to his swing as he looks you up and down. “You have wood chips in your hair too,” he said, and you bring a self-conscious hand up to your head, patting various places as you try to locate the whereabouts of said wood chips. “Want me to get them?”

You hesitate for a moment, and he realizes this, wide eyes softening at your moment of panic. “Okay,” you say after a pregnant pause, and you take his seat on his swing. Taehyun notes with admiration how you carefully wedge your way onto the plastic seat one side at a time, wiggling backwards only once you know it’s sturdy and safe. Your hands grip the chains tightly, and he wonders if you’re afraid of falling, even though it’s not high up in the slightest, and your feet touch the ground just as his do. Carefully, he does the same thing you did to him, combing through your hair with gentle fingers and plucking out every wood chip, every pebble, every piece of dry grass that had nested there. “What about you?” you asked, “how long will you stay here?”

Taehyun exhaled deeply, feeling his lungs expand and contract with the deep breaths. “Honestly, I’m not sure,” he said, pausing his careful movements for a moment to look up at the sky again. “I wanted to stay here for a year first and see how things went, to see if I even liked the area. So I’ll probably stick to that for now. Ask me again in a year.”

“I won’t be here in a year,” you reminded him gently.

“I’ll have your parents ask me,” he corrected, “then they’ll relay the information to you.”

Indignantly, you turn around while he still has a piece of your hair held tightly in his left hand, and you wince as it pulls. “What, you can’t tell me yourself?”

Taehyun feels horrible for some reason, though he knows you’re just joking. “We’ll be in different countries. Can’t text without wasting massive amounts of data,” he says knowingly, and his voice is so calm, his tone so even, that you wonder if he even cares at all. “But… the information will find its way to you, one way or another.”

“Will we write letters to each other?” you wondered aloud.

“Wouldn’t that be even more expensive than just texting?” he asks, letting go of your final lock of clean hair. “Done.”

“Maybe we should practice,” you said, “because I leave tomorrow to go on vacation with my family.”

Taehyun swallows hard—why didn’t you tell him earlier? He’d wanted to ask you the best place to get Korean food in town; he was feeling homesick and wanted food that reminded him of home. “For how long?” he asks, tamping down that feeling of entitlement; you didn’t have to tell him everything—after all, all you were doing was hooking up and showing him around town before you left.

“Five days.”

“Will I see you when you get back?”

“Of course you will.” You reassure Taehyun, but wish that he’d seemed more upset that you had five less days together. That nagging feeling of wanting him to care about you and the future of your relationship was beginning to return, even though you’d pushed it so far down you’d forgotten about it for a few days. You hated that feeling.

“Then maybe we should practice,” he agreed, nodding slowly.

And you both made a promise that you knew you had no intentions of keeping, because neither of you wrote nor received a single letter for those five days.

THIRTEEN DAYS LEFT

The five days away from Taehyun should have been blissful, filled with endless fruity drinks and the salty tang of the ocean water kissing your sun-warmed skin, but instead you found endless grains of sand wedging their way into unsavory places and a crowded beach full of crying children—evidently, not a good time.

And perhaps you should have prepared yourself for the disappointment, though you shouldn’t have been disappointed regardless when you realized Taehyun wouldn’t be writing you any letters. That was the sort of thing that you did with your significant other, not some rando you were fucking to pass the time. But you found yourself in your hotel room more often than not, cheap, half-dry pen in hand as you stared down at the pad of paper labeled with the hotel name, wondering if you should write him a little something anyways.

You spent most of those five days doing exactly that, and when you weren’t, you were sunbathing while writing imaginary letters to the handsome man in your head, hoping that he was doing the same for you, even though you knew deep down in your heart he definitely wasn’t.

As it always was, arriving back home after a long vacation felt semi-bittersweet; though you hadn’t enjoyed it nearly as much as you thought you would, you still missed the warm ocean and the endless drinks, and being home was just so boring in comparison. You decided that if you ever became rich, you would move to a sunny place just like that and live out the rest of your day there, relaxing with no worries, and certainly no concerns about letters from someone who wasn’t supposed to mean anything to you. You found yourself slathering on sunscreen and tip-toeing down the stairs in your backyard to crawl back onto your mother’s patio furniture, ignoring how you now had a lack of cheap plastic sunglasses and a face-full of bright sunlight. You sipped at a smoothie you’d messily put together in hopes that it would mimic the drinks you had on vacation, but it paled in comparison, and you half-wished you hadn’t even bothered making it with how disappointing it was.

“I thought you said we would see each other again when you came back.”

“I’ve only been back for a few hours, clingy much?” You sit up in your chair and look across the backyard to the source of the voice, immediately spotting Taehyun hanging over your fence.

“Five days is a long time,” he said, “how much longer would you make me wait?”

“Get used to it,” you said, “you know why.”

“I’m not being serious,” he countered, climbing up on the lowest rung of the fence. He swung one lanky leg over the top and then brought over the remaining limb, stumbling only a little as he held onto the wooden bars. “But you didn’t text me to tell me you were back.”

“I said five days,” you said, picking up your smoothie just so you’d have something to do with your hands, “I’ve never lied to you yet, have I?”

“I guess not.” Taehyun walked over and sat in the chair next to yours. “How was it? Your vacation?”

“Great,” you said, lying through your teeth, “so much… sun. And hot people. Half-naked hot people.”

“You sound like a really sheltered person who just saw porn for the first time, you know that?” Taehyun picked up your smoothie as soon as you put it down and captured the straw between his lips. “This is good. Did you make it yourself?”

“What do you want me to say, I missed you or something?” you asked, scowling at him.

“At least say that you missed the sex,” he said, “I know I did.”

“What if I hooked up with other people while I was on vacation?” you asked.

“Did you?”

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t really, but you’re insinuating that you did.”

You felt your chest clench at his callous words. “Yeah, well, I didn’t. I’m on vacation with my parents, you really think I was fucking people left and right?”

“You’re fucking someone now while you’re living with your parents,” he pointed out.

“Alright, whatever,” you mumbled. “Like you said, you don’t care, and it doesn’t matter anyways. I’m home now.”

Taehyun shrugged. “Are you coming over tonight?”

“Do you want me to?”

“Of course,” he said, and your heart swelled for just a moment before he continued, “it’s been five days since we last had sex.” He stood up and put your empty smoothie cup down. “I have to go now, but in that case, I’ll see you tonight.” You watched as he casually walked across your yard, leaving footprints in the freshly watered grass, and hopped your fence again, disappearing from your sight as he turned the corner.

—

Beomgyu’s words rang in your ears as you slowly opened your window and poked your head out to look around, making sure the coast was clear. Sneaking out your window like you’re in high school again?

It melded with the way you’d pointed out how being with Taehyun made you feel like a kid again, and you didn’t really like the feeling. You’d spent your high school years messing with people that hurt your feelings over and over again, and whatever you had going on with Taehyun now, though you’d begun it as something with no strings attached, was beginning to be much too reminiscent of that. The way you were sneaking around only added to that.

Making sure your bedroom door was locked one last time, you scurried across your room to finish opening your window, sticking one foot out and making sure you had a solid footing before swinging your other leg over the ledge as well. Your bedroom window was fairly large, so there was no squeeze, and as you shut your window as gently as possible to minimize noise, you let yourself exhale deeply in relief as you crawled across the roof and jumped off, landing on the oh-so wonderful patio furniture. The night sky was clouded over, something that you appreciated so that no one could see your figure climbing over the fence and rushing to your car, and the temperature was just cool enough that the jacket you’d put on at the last minute was deemed a good choice. With how still and quiet the night was, you felt it was almost a crime as your car started and disturbed the silence.

Soft music played over the radio as you drummed your fingers on the steering wheel. Taehyun didn’t live too far, and you probably could have walked, but you didn’t like walking alone at night, for multiple reasons. But driving meant that you had less time to give yourself a little pep talk before seeing him again, and before you could even really start you were pulling up in front of his apartment and climbing out of your car.

His apartment was clearly still new and badly decorated, though you couldn’t say that you had high expectations for a bachelor. As soon as he opened the door he pulled you into a long kiss, and you felt all of your worries melting away as you lost yourself in the man that was Kang Taehyun. “I really did miss you,” he said breathily, between kisses. He pulled off your jacket and tossed it aside, and you found that you didn’t even care where it landed even though it was new. “I didn’t say it earlier today.”

“I missed you too,” you said, truly meaning it, wrapping your arms around his neck as he picked you up and pressed you against the wall. Your legs wrapped around his slim waist and you locked your ankles as his hands groped your bottom. “Even if I did see someone hot while I was there, I wouldn’t have fucked them,” you gasped, as his mouth moved down to your neck.

“Is that so?” he mumbled against your hot skin.

“Out of respect for you,” you quickly corrected yourself, trying your best to not blurt out anything embarrassing through the haze that was your mind at the moment.

“I appreciate it, doll,” he said, before giving you one last long kiss. “But less talking. Let’s move this to the bed now.”

And of course you agreed, letting him carry you over to his bed, which you hated because it was perfectly made and the sheets were freshly washed. If he’d had nasty sheets like half the people you’d fucked before you could have probably gotten over your weird feelings for him in a heartbeat, but just like the man himself, they were pristine and perfect, only ruined by you.

“Remember,” you laughed, “you said I could be on top this time.” Taehyun pushed his lips out into a pout, clearly wanting to just fuck your brains out, but between your first time and now, he’d never let you really be in control, always flipping you over at some point and just drilling into you, and though you never complained about that, you still wanted to try something different. “Plus,” you said, your voice low and quiet, “you also said that next time, I could blow you.”

“That I won’t complain about,” Taehyun said, eagerly ridding himself of his clothes. He sat down on the edge of the bed, leaking cock on display, as you settled between his legs, clad only in your panties.

His large dick was almost intimidating up close, and you weren’t sure if you’d be able to fit it all down your throat, but you were damn well going to try. You spat onto your hand and slicked his hard cock up with your saliva, squeezing gently and twisting your hand as you got to the tip, making him groan. “You look so good on your knees for me,” he said in a strained voice, one veiny hand gripping your hair, “so fucking good.”

“Hush,” you scolded, but you quieted yourself by taking half of his cock in your mouth at once, making him moan as he felt your hot tongue swirl around his shaft. You tried to take more of him down your throat, gagging in the process, but ultimately you couldn’t fit all of him in your mouth at once, opting to stroke the base with one hand and use the other to fondle his balls.

Taehyun’s mouth hung open with bliss, pretty pink lips parted as he stared down at your head bobbing up and down on his cock, the feeling of his high quickly approaching. No one had ever played with his balls before while simultaneously sucking him off, and he was surprised at how much he liked it, as well as how damn good you were at it. “F—fuck, too much, princess,” he panted, using the hand tangled in your hair to pull you off his dick, “don’t wanna cum yet.” You pulled off his cock with a pop, pouting at the premature end to your enjoyment.

“Already?” you teased, climbing into his lap to kiss him. He didn’t mind as you pushed your tongue into his mouth, the salty-bitter taste of his precum all over.

“You’re just too good at it,” he praised, one warm hand squeezing your breast, and the other holding onto your waist, “you have no one to blame but yourself.”

You giggled at the compliment, then climbed off of him so he could settle himself further up the bed, back cushioned with pillows, cock standing straight-up, now slick with pre-cum and your spit, making it easy for the condom to slip on. Once he was comfortable, he patted his lap to let you know, and you eagerly climbed back on top of him after yanking off your soaked panties. You positioned yourself right above his cock, teasing him as you barely let the tip graze your dripping folds. “Are you gonna show me how much you missed me?” he said playfully, placing his hands on your hips gently, trying to sneakily push you down onto his dick.

“Not if you’re going to be this impatient,” you teased, lifting yourself up ever so slightly so that your cunt no longer touched his tip. His face twitched slightly, showing his annoyance.

“Come on, (Y/N),” he whined, bucking his hips up slightly.

“Beg for it.” You grinned, hands planted firmly on his chest, staring him down.

“I’m not gonna beg,” he scoffed, but his sour expression changed as soon as you lowered your hips slightly to drag along his length, and he let out a choked groan.

“You sure about that?” you asked gleefully, glad that you were making him suffer in a fairly harmless way; revenge for how annoying he’d been acting all day.

“Fine!” he shouted, “please.”

“That’s the best you’ve got?”

Taehyun groaned again, though this time it was out of annoyance, not pleasure. “Please, please fuck me,” he said breathily, big eyes shining in the dim light, and you swallowed hard at the beautiful sight, complying immediately. You sunk down onto his cock, breathing out deeply at the feeling of being so full.

You connected your lips to Taehyun’s as you began moving up and down, thighs already starting to burn, but you ignored it, the pleasure coursing through your veins overpowering your tired muscles.

“You give in quickly,” he mumbled, playing with your tits and looking up at you with a half-smile on his face.

“How could I deny you,” you chuckled breathlessly, “you looked so cute.”

“Cute?” he scoffed, “that’s the word you use to describe me as we’re fucking.”

“It’s true,” you said matter-of-factly, grinding down on him, trying to get some friction on your clit. He noticed and reached up to rub your bud, calloused fingers feeling much different than yours.

“You feel so good,” he whispered, bucking up into you, “gonna cum.”

“Do it,” you whispered back, legs finally starting to give out.

Taehyun squeezed his eyes shut, focusing on the feeling of you squeezing around his cock. He was a little ashamed at how quick he was about to cum, but in his defense it’d been a while since he’d had you, and he didn’t anticipate just how good you’d feel. That, and the blowjob you gave him earlier paired with the sight of your tits bouncing in his face made him wanna nut immediately. Thinking of that again made him spill into the condom, hips jerking messily as you giggled at his expression and climbed off of him.

“I was actually expecting you to fuck other people while you were on vacation,” he said truthfully. The two of you were laying in his bed side-by-side, still slightly breathless and bare, covered by only his sheets. He’d turned on the small lamp on his nightstand, bathing the small room in a comforting, yellow-y glow, which you much appreciated. Every now and then you would look over at him and admire his flawless side profile in the warm light; the slope of his tall nose tapering into his pouty lips and his perfect chin, the shadows that his long eyelashes cast upon his smooth cheekbones, his heavily-lidded eyes that blinked every few seconds and jolted you out of your admiration.

“Why?” you asked. This time you were the blunt one.

“I don’t know,” he said, toying with a loose string on his pillowcase. He turned over to face you, and you felt your body involuntarily heat up at his steady gaze. “I just thought that you might.”

“Can you answer me truthfully?” you asked, mirroring his actions and turning towards him.

“I always do.”

You swallowed hard. “Would you have been upset if I did?”

Taehyun closed his eyes and let out a long, deep breath, so deep you could see his chest deflate a little when he finally finished. “I think… maybe. Yes, I would have been.”

You licked your lips nervously. “Why?”

“It’s not that I want to control you. You can sleep with whomever you want,” he began, and you nodded slowly. “But I like the idea that we’re each other’s, and only each other’s… summer flings. For a lack of a more mature term.”

“I’m sure there’s another way to put it,” you laughed, “that made you sound so corny.”

“And that is why I said ‘for a lack of a more mature term’,” he groaned, turning away from you. Your giggles died down as you stared at the pale, smooth canvas that was his back, and how it moved up and down like the moonlit ocean as he breathed slowly and evenly. For a moment you thought he fell asleep, but then you watched his shoulder twitch. “But… you get my point.”

“Yeah,” you said quietly, “I do.”

SEVEN DAYS LEFT

It was Ryujin that texted you and told you about the party that a few local college students were throwing, and Beomgyu claimed that though he disliked her for the most part, she always knew where the fun was and he could appreciate that about her.

“I don’t know, would it be weird for me to go? Since I already graduated college and everything,” you mumbled, holding your phone to your ear with your shoulder and combing through your closet with both your hands.

“What, are you a pervert or something? Some of these kids are older than us, it’ll be fine,” Ryujin said, “I’ll see you there, okay? Bring that guy you’ve been hooking up with too, I want to meet him.”

“Alright, alright,” you grouched, “I’ll see you in a few.” You hung up the phone and texted Taehyun, sending him the address and telling him to meet you there, which he responded to almost immediately with a simple ‘ok’.

You’d been to the location before, recognizing it as a local frat house as you pulled up further down the street. In fact, you’d been to plenty of parties here before, remembering it fondly as the frat Beomgyu used to belong to when he went to the local college. You spotted the man himself getting out of his own newly fixed-up car as you parked and hopped out, pocketing your keys. “How did Ryujin know about the party, but you, a member of the frat until like, last month, didn’t?” you asked snarkily, walking up to him with crossed arms and a smug look on your face.

“A, I graduated,” he snarked right back, “and B, it’s summer. No other college I know has parties after school gets out for the summer, alright?”

“Does it even count as a frat party then?” you wondered aloud.

“Hardly,” he scoffed, “really, it’s just a bunch of people that go to this school, and then whoever’s home for the summer.” He kicked at the dirt, hands shoved into his pockets. “Where’s that guy you’ve been with lately? Is he coming?”

“Yeah, we came separately though,” you said, turning around and looking down the road to see if you could spot his car.

Beomgyu frowned. “Are you just gonna wait out here for him?”

“Yeah, he doesn’t know anyone, I don’t want to leave him alone,” you said, pulling out your phone to see if you’d gotten any messages from him.

“‘Kay, I’m going in then. Come find me, okay?” he said, after a brief hesitation.

You waved him away, and he disappeared into the crowd of people in front of the house, and you thought you could see the very top of his head bob up and down slightly as he entered through the front door. Returning your attention to your phone and your unanswered messages from Taehyun, you brought your nail up to your mouth to gnaw on it a bit nervously; you really hoped that he hadn’t come earlier. The thought of Taehyun in a room full of people he didn’t know made you uncomfortable, especially when your mind wandered to the idea of him finding new people to hook up with.

“You’re here earlier than you said you’d be,” his familiar voice said, and relief flooded your veins.

Turning to look up at him, you grinned. “It’s been a while since I’ve been here. I gave myself a little extra time in case I got lost.”

“I’ll admit that’s why I’m a little late,” he said, somewhat sheepishly. “It’s surprisingly hard to find this place.”

“It’s all the backroads,” you sympathized, “the first time I came here on my own, I was half an hour late. Be glad that didn’t happen to you.”

Taehyun held out his hand, palm facing upwards, and you placed your own hand in his. You felt his warm fingers enclose around your own digits, and you couldn’t hide the smile that spread across your face as he gently tugged you towards the front entrance that Beomgyu had disappeared into just moments before, silently asking you to come with him. Silently, you followed his lead, and you couldn’t help but admire the way he naturally led you with no hesitations or awkwardness. There was something about the way he was so straightforward with you that made your heart beat a little faster; you liked people that could take care of you like that.

The inside of the frat house was a complete contrast from the outside. Before you’d entered, you’d taken one final deep breath of cool evening air, and looked behind you at the sun that was slowly sinking below the horizon, consequently painting the area in a blue hue as the natural light of the day faded. Once you entered, you were hit with a wall of warm, stale air that stunk of a mixture of sweat, various perfumes and colognes, and alcohol. It immediately brought you back to your college days, which you had mixed feelings about, but ultimately appreciated for the nostalgia. Taehyun didn’t let go of your hand once as you weaved through the influx of people crowding the area near the front door, and you tightened your grip a little as a group of people squeezed by the two of you, almost disconnecting your hold.

Finally, the two of you reached a clearing near the back wall, and you poked your head into the room next to you, realizing with relief that it was the kitchen, which seemed much less crowded. You pulled Taehyun into the next room, and with relief you grabbed two beers out of the mini-fridge, deciding against the large bowl of red punch almost immediately after seeing someone dip their sweaty fingers into it as they tried to grope for the ladle without looking. “It’s hot in here,” you said lamely, fanning yourself with one hand and taking a sip of your cold beer with the other, “really reminds me of all the parties I went to this past year.”

“It feels gross in here,” Taehyun said bluntly. “Honestly, I really don’t do parties, but I wanted to come with you.” He took a sip of his own beer then grimaced and put it down. “I also don’t really like beer.”

You frowned. “We didn’t have to come,” you said, “we could have just gone to your place or something, you know that.”

“I do know that,” he confirmed, sliding closer to you as a messy couple nearly bumped into him, “which is why I came anyway, because like I said, I wanted to come with you.”

“Well, I do know a place that’s better than this,” you said, nudging him gently with your elbow.

“Better than a nasty frat house kitchen? Do tell,” he teased, and you rolled your eyes but took him by the hand once again, abandoning your beer because Taehyun was right—it was gross. Your hand now felt slightly clammy due to the sheer humidity of the environment—if one could even use that word to describe the inside of a house, but Taehyun didn’t say anything about it if he noticed, and this time he let you guide him to where you wanted to go. You remembered the first time that you’d come to a party at this house and you felt overwhelmed—so overwhelmed that you felt like you couldn’t breathe, and some random frat guy that you didn’t know and never caught the name of brought you upstairs, assuring you that you would be okay. Then a year or so later at another party you brought another guy there to hook up. And now, nearly four years after that first encounter, you were bringing Taehyun there.

The upstairs was much less crowded than the downstairs, and you finally felt like you were able to breathe again as you guided Taehyun to the furthest room down the hall on the left. “Are we really hooking up in some random bedroom at a frat party?” Taehyun asked, squeezing your hand twice. “Not that I’m against having sex with you. But I question the location.”

“Stop thinking about sex for once,” you groaned, opening the door, revealing a normal but bare looking bedroom. On the far right there was a sliding glass door which you began to walk towards, letting go of Taehyun’s hand. The curtains were strewn open messily, making you wonder who was in the room last and had so carelessly opened their room to the world. You fumbled for the handle of the door hidden behind one side of the bunched up, sheer curtains, sighing with relief once you pulled on it gently and it gave way, opening the way for you and Taehyun. Immediately, a wave of fresh night air engulfed you, a relieving breeze caressing and cooling your sweaty skin. “This is what I brought you up here for,” you said, walking outside.

The little balcony was cramped with the two of you out there together, and you could almost feel him breathing down your neck as you turned to the side and gripped the edge of the low roof, planting one foot firmly on the wall as you hoisted yourself up, the other propelling your body upwards as you semi-awkwardly jumped up. “Come on,” you said to Taehyun, “it’s not hard to get up.”

Taehyun copied what you’d just done and gripped the bottom of the overhang tightly, knuckles turning pale from the sheer force of his hold. He didn’t have to place a foot against the wall for support, instead jumping up using both feet and pulling himself up with ease, settling next to you and placing his hand over yours again. The night breeze was slightly chilly, and you’d already cooled down since the time you’d spent inside. His fingers were still warm and comforting. You side-eyed him, and realized that his gaze wasn’t set upon you, but the dark sky. Unlike the time you’d snuck out of your house right after you came back from your vacation, the sky was perfectly clear. There was nothing blocking the stars and the crescent moon, glowing a bright white against the pure black of the sky, and Taehyun stared upwards, unblinking, as your cheeks flushed from how beautiful he looked in the pale light. “You know, there’s only seven days left,” he said, breaking the silence. You didn’t respond, reverting the night back to peaceful and uninterrupted. The only sounds you could hear were the gentle whooshing of the wind, dusting across your exposed skin and making goosebumps arise across the exposed flesh. “(Y/N)?”

“You know…” you started off, mirroring his words, “I know I’m sort of tipsy right now. But I feel completely sober.”

“Is it because of what I said?”

“It definitely helped me sober up.” You didn’t want to look at him for fear of him seeing your expression, especially your eyes, which were beginning to burn with tears, though they did not gather enough to fall.

“It’s the truth,” he said quietly, “it’s not like I’m being intentionally cruel.”

“Maybe that makes it worse,” you replied.

Taehyun snaked an arm around your body. You could feel the weight on your chest as his now-cold fingertips brushed across your windswept cheek. “Please,” he breathed, and you finally turned to look at him, eyes shining with tears that stubbornly stayed gathered in your lash line no matter how hard you tried to blink them away. Please what? you thought, but then he gently pulled you into a kiss, and your heart leapt and fell at the same time. But even as you felt your heart squeezing painfully, so tight you swore it began to crack, you kissed him back, knowing that you didn’t have enough time to think twice about it or be mad. And the way he caressed your face, the way your legs entangled, the juxtaposition of his smooth pants against the top of your leg and the rough roof shingles below, the way his lips molded perfectly to yours… it was something you knew that you would never forget, and that was both a blessing and a curse.

FOUR DAYS LEFT

Taehyun’s apartment was beginning to look more homey.

Every time you went over to his place, there would be less boxes stacked up against the walls, more decorations, more mess—really, proof of life in the previously bare apartment—Taehyun wasn’t messy by any means. He’d even called you once, bright and early in the morning, asking you which mirror to get for his bedroom wall, to which you’d sleepily replied something you don’t particularly remember. Now that you’re in his bedroom again, you can see that he listened to your opinion and chose the mirror with a gold frame. You stared at your reflection in it as you brought his sheets up to cover your chin, feeling oddly more exposed than usual.

“Do you like it?” Taehyun asked, noticing your fixation on the shiny new addition, “Kai wanted me to get the square one with the black frame, but I thought it was sort of ugly.”

“It’s nice,” you said softly, “goes well with the rest of your place.” Taehyun hummed in response, reaching over to his bedside table to pull out a joint, obviously previously rolled. In his other hand he held a lighter, flicking it a few times before the flame kept, and he held it to the end of the joint, holding the other end between his kiss-swollen lips. Even doing such a mundane task, he was beautiful, bathed in the now-familiar yellow light from his small lamp, also on the nightstand. You watched a small plume of smoke billow from his slightly parted lips as he exhaled, coughing a few times before offering it to you silently. He’d done this a few times before, but you’d never accepted. This time, however, you carefully took it pinched between your thumb and pointer finger, and mirroring his actions, putting it between your lips and inhaling deeply. It was bitter and just odd at the same time, very different from the cigarettes you had tried before, and you found an overwhelming urge to cough it up. Quickly, you passed it back to him as you did so, rough coughs wracking your body until you felt drool beginning to drip from your lower lip. Taehyun just chuckled and reached over to thumb at your saliva, wiping it away gently.

“It’s always rough when you smoke for the first time,” he said, “but if it makes you feel any better, you took it much better than Kai did. He almost coughed up his lungs.”

Weakly, you laughed, wiping away tears that had gathered in the corners of your eyes from the force of your coughs. “When will it kick in?” you asked, slightly nervous, as you’d planned to leave quite quickly after you finished your business with Taehyun. Nowadays, staying the night felt too normalized, too domestic for your liking. You knew you needed to start distancing yourself from him a little if you didn’t want your heart to be ripped out when you left. But for some reason, you’d taken a hit, hoping that you’d be too high to drive home, and you’d be forced to stay.

“Maybe ten minutes?” he said, shrugging. “It’s different for everyone.”

You laid back a little as Taehyun turned off the lamp, assuming that you were staying over as usual. He snuggled into your side and pressed soft kisses upon your exposed collarbone. You gnawed on your tongue, only slightly uncomfortable from the plushness of his lips. “Maybe… I should go before it kicks in,” you said, pushing him off gently. You made the mistake of looking at his reaction, your heart aching as his big, round eyes looked up at you, brows furrowed. He looked like a kicked puppy, and you found yourself wanting to cup his small face in your hands and kiss him again, deeply, to convey all the emotions you were feeling.

“You shouldn’t drive,” he said finally, turning away from you. “I can drive you.”

“No, it’s fine,” you said quickly, but almost as soon as you said that, you felt your head start to spin, and you blinked hard to try and steady yourself.

Taehyun cocked his head to the side, lips pushed into a disapproving pout. “Seriously. Let’s go.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed and pulled his shirt back on, and you turned away to do the same. Once you were fully clothed, he offered you his hand, but you pretended not to see it, pushing past him and making a beeline for his front door.

The night was as beautiful as a summer night could be. There was no breeze, and the air was warm enough to be comfortable without being too hot. If you weren’t feeling like such a piece of shit, you would have wholeheartedly enjoyed it.

You pulled open the door to Taehyun’s car, climbing inside and plopping yourself in his passenger seat. You refused to look at the small decoration dangling from his rear view mirror that you’d picked out for him at the same time he’d bought his new mirror. He slid into the driver’s seat soon after, and you watched his pretty hands turn the key and settle on the wheel as the car started up. Then you looked away, choosing to look out the window instead, head swimming, as you think you heard him shift the gear. You didn’t even realize when the car started moving, eyes shiny and unblinking as you stared mindlessly at the passing scenery. “How are you feeling?” he asked, and you had to blink hard to refocus yourself.

“Sleepy,” you answered, mouth feeling fuzzy. You thought you heard Taehyun answer, but you weren’t fully paying attention, and then you realized that the car had stopped again, and your house was in sight. “Thank you,” you said blearily.

“Of course,” he replied, and you climbed out, managing to unlock the front door almost soundlessly and close it behind you, not sparing Taehyun a last look.

The stairs seemed like more of a challenge than usual, and you had to squint to see the fuzzy outline of your feet in the dark. Your room was familiar and comforting as you crawled into bed, wanting nothing more than to fall asleep peacefully. But thoughts of Taehyun swarmed your previously clear mind, and you rubbed your eyes furiously, trying to manually shoo those thoughts away.

It was too painful, you realized, to see him again. A tear leaked out from your eye and slid down your cheek, soaking into your pillowcase. From sadness or from fatigue, you couldn’t tell. But you hoped it was the latter, because you’d promised yourself that you wouldn’t fall in love with Kang Taehyun, over and over again. And you couldn’t break that promise.

TWO DAYS LEFT

The last time you saw Kang Taehyun, he’d dropped you off at your house in the middle of the night, a brazen request from you after you’d fully realized that you had done the one thing you’d agreed not to do—fall in love with him.

Maybe love wasn’t the right word. After all, you’d only known him for three weeks. Twenty-one days. Could you even fall in love with someone if you’d only known them for three weeks? There were so many things that you still didn’t know about him, so many red flags that could be discovered. But there was one thing you knew for sure—the traits you did know about him, you absolutely adored. The way he asked you for your opinion on things—almost shyly, a stark contrast from his usual confident bluntness, the way he took care of you, even though you didn’t need it, you liked it. The way he touched you and knew everything that you liked, going hand in hand with the caring part of him. He knew your favorite drinks and food orders by heart, and he had no problem ordering for you when you went out, something that you always smiled at, but only when he wasn’t looking. The way he cared for animals melted your heart. The way he talked about his friends, teasing yet affectionate—you could tell that he really cared about them. The way he acted around you parents. The way he smiled. The way he cooked. The way he loved—no, he didn’t love you back. The way he cared for you. Yes, that’s the correct word.

Your room looked bare, reminiscent of the way Taehyun’s apartment looked the first time you went over to his place. Almost all of the personalization was gone. The only things that remained were the clothes and trinkets that you used daily, and those would be packed away in your last suitcase, only half-filled, on the morning that you would leave. Other than that, your walls were empty, and so were your drawers and your floor. And that too made you feel uncomfortable. You hadn’t seen your room this desolate since you first moved into the house as a very young child. It began to solidify the idea that you were really leaving, and that was almost too much for you.

Outside, the sun was setting, and you could hear your mother’s voice calling you for dinner—one of the last dinners you would ever have in this house as a resident, and not a visitor. You swallowed past the lump in your throat as you ghosted your fingertips over the tops of your upright suitcases, nails dragging against the material as you walked by. You did the same with the wall and the railing down the stairs as you approached the table, looking down at the familiar plates of food as your mother hurried around, setting down side dishes and utensils. “I made your favorite,” she said hopefully, looking up at you, “you haven’t been eating much these days.”

“I’m just thinking about how soon I’m leaving,” you said, sitting down and picking up your fork, “it feels really… weird, I guess.”

Your mother sat down too, looking at you with a furrowed brow, her concern obvious. “We’re going to miss you a lot,” she said, “but we’re only a phone call away. Just like when you went to college.”

“Yeah, but—but this time I won’t be able to come home on the weekends. I don’t even know if I can come home for holidays,” you said shakily, and your mother placed her hand on top of yours—when did her skin become so wrinkled, speckled with age spots? You felt yourself beginning to tear up. Did you really want to leave your parents like this? Your friends? Taehyun? The last name made a sob threaten to crawl out from the depths of your chest, but you held it in.

“You can always visit,” your mother said firmly, “and we will always be here. You know that.”

Unable to find the right words, you nodded, lips pressed into a tight line as you tried to suppress your emotions. You poked your fork into the food your mother had made—your favorite—and spooned it into your mouth.

As expected, it was perfect.

Well, almost perfect. The saltiness of your tears made the taste just a little bit off.

—

You weren’t sure what the night sky looked like tonight. Usually you liked to keep your curtains wide open, letting the moonlight stream in across your bed in pale stripes. But tonight they were shut tightly; you’d taken the extra care to arrange them so that not a peep of light could make their way into your room. As you awkwardly turned over in bed, trying to ignore the way your bed frame squeaked as you pushed it a certain way, you closed your eyes and imagined what it might look like.

In your mind, it was completely clear, just like the night of the party, when you and Taehyun had laid on the roof of the house, kissing under the stars. But it wasn’t chilly at all, no, it was warm, just like the night that he had driven you home.

You were so engrossed in your fantasy that you didn’t hear the knocks on your window until it slowly began sliding open, and you sat up in bed, wide-eyed and cotton-mouthed. Quickly, you reached for the closest thing that could be used as a weapon, which just so happened to be a novel on your nightstand that had been recommended to you by Taehyun. As quietly as possible, you swung your legs over the edge of your bed, the wood of your floor horribly cold on your bare feet. You could feel the chill traveling up through your soles and wrapping around your ankles, sending a chill up your back. Goosebumps arose on all of your exposed flesh, and you slowly walked towards the window, eyes trained on the small movement behind your curtains. The hardcover book felt slippery in your clammy palms, but you gripped it as tight as possible, making sure that it wouldn’t budge. Gritting your teeth, you raised the book above your head, ready to bring it down upon the figure behind the curtain, but then they whipped it open, and you were so stunned that you hesitated, arms jerking and tensing up as you immediately stopped the harsh movement. “Taehyun!?” you whisper-yelled, arms shaking, “what the fuck?”

The silver-haired man nearly face-planted onto your floor as he wobbled, off-balance on your narrow windowsill. “You weren’t responding to my texts,” he hissed, finally managing to plant his feet firmly onto your floor, “I got worried!”

“Worried about what, exactly?” you asked sourly, finally loading the thick book, “no more sex?”

Taehyun huffed indignantly, turning around to close your window and pull the curtains shut again. “No,” he drawled, “about you.”

Your eye twitched from the unexpected softness, and you shifted, slightly uncomfortable and unsure how to respond. “Oh,” you said finally, lamely.

“Can I?” he asks, motioning towards the bed, and you nod. He sits down on your bed, just a little awkwardly, and reaches over to your lamp, switching it on, bathing your room in a pale light. “Are you gonna come sit too?” he asks, patting the spot next to him.

You still feel weird seeing him in your bedroom. It’s a mixture of your childhood, and he looks almost cut and pasted out of a different image. But you comply and sit down on your bed, though it’s not right next to him. His gaze drifts down to the book in your lap, and he smiles, though it’s only with his mouth and not his eyes. “You actually read it?”

“I haven’t yet. I’m going to though,” you said, hugging it to your chest.

“Will you tell me what you think once you do read it?”

“In a letter I’ll never mail, maybe.” He catches onto your salty tone and pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue, obviously knowing the source of your bitterness.

“Oh,” he said.

“I’m almost ready to go,” you mumbled, changing the subject, and Taehyun finally takes a look around your room. His expression is almost unreadable, though you think you catch a flash of hurt.

“I can see that.” He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “Are you… ready?”

“I’m well prepared, if that’s what you’re asking.” You don’t recognize your cold tone. It’s so unlike you.

“That’s not—that’s not what I meant,” he said defensively. “If you’re going to be like this I’ll just go. It’s obvious you don’t want me here.” He stands up, and you feel the bed lift from the lack of his weight, but you catch his sleeve, refusing to look at his reaction.

“No, please,” you mumbled, “don’t go.”

“Are you gonna stop treating me like shit?” he asks, and you feel your heart squeeze at the ice in his voice.

“I will. I’m sorry.”

He sits back down, right next to you. You can feel the heat from his thigh through his pants, pressed up against your bare leg. “Will you at least tell me why you’re so mad at me?”

“I don’t think I can say it,” you said truthfully, “so I don’t think so. It doesn’t matter, anyways. In two days, you won’t have to ever worry about me again.”

“Can you stop talking like that?” His voice is exasperated.

“Like what?”

“Like I don’t give a shit about you. You know I care about you.”

“Yeah. Right.”

He runs his fingers through his hair and you take a peek at him. You realize that his dark black roots are beginning to resurface, the silver had been slowly growing out all this time. The first time you’d met him, his roots had been freshly bleached and dyed. “That’s what I’m talking about. Shit like that.”

“You can’t blame me for thinking that way. We were never supposed to care for each other,” you snapped.

“We weren’t supposed to fall in love,” he corrected you, “I’ve cared for you, ever since the first day we met.”

“Stop it,” you whispered, “don’t say that.”

“Why?” he challenged, “either way, caring or loving… it doesn’t matter. Because I feel both for you. Either way, I broke the rules.” His voice cracks at the end of the sentence, and your skin prickles at his confession, your breath stops. You don’t believe it for a damn second.

“Didn’t I just say to stop it?” you ask, shocking yourself with how your voice breaks, how you’re so openly crying about him. About the hopeless situation. “You don’t even know me. I don’t know you. It’s been twenty-three days. You can’t love someone if you’ve known them for less than a month. What are we, in high school?”

“Remember at the park,” he challenges, and you shake your head, tears streaming down your cheeks, “when you said—when you said I made you feel like—“

“Stop taking it so seriously,” you mutter, furiously wiping at your eyes, “I didn’t mean that.”

“Yes you did,” he says, and you think you hear desperation oozing into his normally level voice. “You meant it and you know it. Stop lying.”

“Taehyun. It doesn’t fucking matter, okay? I’m leaving in two days. Even if you did love me—even if I did love you—it doesn’t fucking matter.”

“Twenty-one days,” he blurts out, “we’ve only known each other for twenty-one days. We have two days left to tell each other everything.”

You swear you can feel your heart weeping. “Two days means nothing.”

“It can,” he begs, “please, (Y/N). We don’t have to be together. Just don’t tell me that I was the only one that felt this way. Please tell me you loved me too.”

“Fine!” you say, raising your voice just a little too much, and you freeze as you hear your parents shifting around in bed from their room, “I loved you. There. Are you happy? I knew I loved you from the beginning, I just didn’t want to accept it. And I never will, because I’m still going to Korea. And you’re staying here.”

“(Y/N),” he whispers, “I would never hold you back, and I know you do that to me either. That wasn’t what I was trying to do.”

“I know,” you say quietly, “and that’s even worse. I wish you were secretly a shitty person, because then I’d have an excuse to hate you. Then I wouldn’t feel so bad about… everything.”

Taehyun is silent for a moment before he opens his arms to you, and you jump into them with no hesitation. He’s warm. And comfortable. And the way he smells is so familiar to you now that he feels like a part of home. You nestle your face into his chest, and he doesn’t complain about your tears soaking his shirt. Instead, he hugs you closer, and you can hear his sniffles, feel the heaving of his shoulders as he tries to hold in his cries. You know him well enough that you know he doesn’t like people to see him cry, so you don’t look at his face, even when you pull away from him. You don’t look as he slowly tugs at your shirt, nor as you take off your clothes and hear him do the same. You close your eyes the entire time, pressing open-mouthed kisses to his bare skin where you know he likes it, and you wonder how you know where to place your lips even though you can’t see.

You reach over, hand fumbling across your crowded nightstand as you reach for the switch on your lamp, turning it back off so that your room is nearly completely dark. Taehyun had closed the curtains tightly behind him when he entered, and even as you squint in the darkness you can’t even make out the shapes of his body. All you can see is the dark, and not what hides in it.

You feel Taehyun’s warm lips on your neck as he sucks a hickey into your skin, and for some reason it makes more tears leak down your cheeks; it felt like he was marking you as his, so that anyone who saw you would know you had someone already. Not that it mattered, anyways.

You reach out to pull him into a heated, emotional kiss, and it’s a little wet from both of your tears, but neither of you say anything about it. You want to get this over with, but you want it to last forever at the same time. It seems that Taehyun feels similarly as you feel his cock nudge your entrance. “Do you have a condom?” he asked quietly, and you panic slightly as you realize you don’t.

“No,” you whisper, and he backs up, the lack of contact making you feel lost.

“Should we… not do this, then?”

“No,” you blurt you, groping out blindly in the darkness for him. You find his arm and pull him back to you, wrapping your arms around his neck. “It’s fine. I’m on birth control.”

“So we could have been fucking raw this whole time?” He attempts to joke.

You slap him gently, making the both of you laugh, and you sigh with relief and pleasure once you feel him slip in. He feels different this time. Probably because there’s no condom, but also because you know it’s the last time. He feels warmer, better, closer. You never really enjoyed missionary, because you deemed it boring and stupid, but you let out a little sob at how wonderful it feels to be so close to him. Your chests are almost touching; you can feel his pecs brush against your hard nipples with every thrust, making your skin tingle.

His lips hardly leave yours the whole time, alternating between long, wet kisses and short pecks, and you halfway wish that you didn’t part at all, even when your lungs felt like they were about to burst.

It’s silent save for your soft moans and his quiet grunts, but he breaks the silence a few minutes later. “I’m gonna cum,” he said, voice breaking, “can I…?”

“Cum inside,” you whispered, “please.”

Your pitiful beg sends him over the edge, and it’s odd, feeling his warm seed so deep inside, but you love it because it’s him. He doesn’t pull out as soon as he finishes as he did all those times before, instead letting himself soften inside your warmth, and you thank him silently for that, enjoying feeling close to him in those last few minutes.

The silence doesn’t stop even after he pulls out with a soft groan, and you hear him getting dressed again. Nor does it stop when you hear him walk back over to your window, or when he opens the curtain, leaking silver moonlight back into your room.

You only open your eyes fully once he slips back out your window, and by then the sun is rising. But you manage to catch a single glimpse of the clear, warm, starry sky before the blackness begins to turn lavender, the twenty-second sun you’ve seen since the day you met Taehyun.

ZERO DAYS LEFT

That was the first and last time that Taehyun lied to you. Because after he left your room that night, he didn’t come back. You never got another text from him, nor another call. And you didn’t try to reach out either. You knew where he lived, you’d been there countless times, but for some reason, even when you drove past that familiar road, you wouldn’t dare go down it, feeling your heart drop into your stomach at the very thought of it. Perhaps it was because then you’d know that was the last time you’d see him. Maybe his absence was his last gift to you, because now you wouldn’t have to waste time saying goodbye.

The morning of your last day, you and your parents woke up early. Much earlier than you needed to, probably, because your flight wasn’t until mid-morning, but you found yourself awake before your alarm went off, feeling more well-rested than you’d been in days, and you couldn’t sit still any longer, choosing to pack your last few belongings and sit quietly in your sitting room with all of your bags.

Your parents emerged not much later, dressed and ready to go, and you watched them try to hide their emotions as they looked at you, surrounded by your life packed into various suitcases and bags, and you in turn did the same, looking down at your feet instead of looking them in the eye.

The ride to the airport was almost silent. Soft classical music played from the radio, breaking the quiet, but no one dared speak. Your last few hours alone needed to be cherished, and no one wanted to taint it by saying the wrong thing. In a way, you appreciated it, but you simultaneously sort of hoped that someone would break the awkwardness, say something weird to make you laugh so that you could enjoy this time.

But no one did.

Even though you’d woken up early, you reached the airport on time, and as you gathered your bags yourself, hoisting one over your shoulder and dragging your overstuffed suitcase with your other hand, you bid your parents goodbye. Your mother was the one to finally break the silence, telling you that you’d probably gone over the weight limit for your suitcase, and that made you burst into tears, opening the floodgates with just a single sentence, and then you were all crying and hugging each other, saying words you never thought you could utter aloud to your parents. You couldn’t remember a moment where you felt so close to them, and it was right before you were about to be physically further than you’d ever been.

But as you turn around to finally, finally leave, after many “last hugs” and “last words” from your parents, you see someone that you hated and loved at the same time, and you drop your bags onto the dirty floor and run into Taehyun’s arms, sobbing and screaming obscenities at him. How dare you? I hate you! I love you!

And he understands all your half-crying, mushy words, because he says the same things to you. How dare I? How dare you! I hate you more. I love you too.

And he kisses you there as you’re in his arms, ignoring your parents and the people around you gawking at the likely disturbing display of affection and hatred, but you swear you’ve never had a better kiss. Maybe in theory you have, because his lips are slightly chapped and you taste salt from both your tears, but in that kiss you feel everything he’d been wanting to tell you, and you do your best to make sure he feels the same way. You push your feelings, your last words, everything into that kiss, parting only when you feel like your lungs are about to burst.

“Promise me one thing,” he says breathlessly, cupping your face in his big hands, thumb stroking your cheek.

“Anything,” you say, holding his hand to your face, not wanting him to let go.

“Live,” he whispers, and even though it was only one word, it reminded you so much of that kiss. Because that one word was all you needed. You knew what he meant. And though you couldn’t stop crying long enough to reply, Taehyun knew that you would have said the same thing to him.

He watches you sling your bag over your shoulder again as you depart, and you don’t turn around to look at him again. He knows why, and he’s glad that you don’t, because if he saw your face just one more time, he would have lost his composure and begged you to stay, and he would never forgive himself for that.

When he exits the airport, the sun has fully risen. The sky is a perfect blue, and he can’t seem to spy a single cloud, not one tiny white puff. The twenty-fourth sun that Taehyun sees, you’re no longer by his side, and his heart hurts a million times worse than his eyes as he stares directly into the bright sphere that represents everything and nothing at the same time. But he is happy, despite his clogged-up nose and puffy eyes, still leaking tears, and deep down in his heart he knows that you are too. And that is more than enough for him.

EPILOGUE (FOURTEEN DAYS LATER)

Two weeks after you arrive in Korea, two weeks after you’d last seen Taehyun, and two weeks since you’d cried your heart out on the plane, prompting a concerned questioning from the flight attendant, you receive a letter in the mail—your first letter to your new address in Korea. Only three people know of it, and two of them are your parents.

The third is Beomgyu.

So why the hell does the letter say it’s from Taehyun?

With shaking hands, you pull up a box full of kitchenware to your small table, using it as a seat since you had yet to buy much furniture. You turn the letter over in your hands over and over again, holding it up to the light to see the slip of paper in it.

Finally, you are able to bring yourself to open the envelope. You use a letter opener that you realized you accidentally took from your parents’ house, and it makes you feel like a real adult as you make a clean cut, rather than the jagged way you used to pry open envelopes with your bare hands.

There is a single piece of paper inside, and you unfold it, trying to act like you weren’t curious.

Dear (Y/N),

How is your vacation going?

You choke a little bit as you look at the date in the top corner and the first sentence. It dates back to those few days you went on vacation with your family, and if that wasn’t proof enough, his first words are.

He’d written you a letter after all.

You can’t hold back the tears any more, and you read through the rest of the letter quickly. It wasn’t a good letter by any means, it was awkward and full of stupid questions that he knew the answers to by now, but you held it to your chest as if it were the most precious thing in the world. To you, maybe it was, in that moment.

You look out your window at the thirty-eighth sun you’d seen since you met Taehyun, and you manage to scrap together an envelope, a piece of paper, and a cheap pen that was nearly out of ink. You look out the window at the crisp brown leaves, a sure sign of autumn arriving once again. It takes some time to think back to your vacation filled with almost every summer cliché, and it makes your heart positively ache with nostalgia.

Dear Taehyun, you write.

My vacation was good.

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oonajaeadira · 1 year

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This Will Be The Day That I Spy - Part 1: Blindsided

Fandom: Kingsman: The Golden Circle / Jack Daniels

Pairing: Jack Daniels x f!reader

Reader: Bold, smart female, not easily fazed, always open for an adventure. Has a chemistry degree and is a spirits distiller by trade. No physical descriptions, no use of y/n.

Rating: T

Warnings: darkness, enclosed spaces, and Jack Daniels being a flirt.

Summary: A blind date with Jack Daniels does not go according to anyone’s plan…and that’s what makes it interesting.

A/N: For my March entry for Year of Tropes as part of @yearofcreation2023 we’re going for BLIND DATE+. The + is there because I couldn’t decide between two tropes for this fic, so there will be another one tackled in part two.

It was the construction that pushed you in the door to the swanky Manhattan high-rise. Ginger wasn’t kidding, this guy must be loaded. Not your usual fare, rich guys, but Ginger assured you he was a sweet, Southern gentleman…if you could get past the hokey name. And the corny compliments. And something about a belt buckle….?

“I’m not looking for a sugar daddy, Ginge,” you’d pleaded over the video call. “If that’s what he’s expecting–”

“It’s not. Believe me. I only suggested he meet with you to springboard your network in New York and look over your portfolio. He’s impressed with your background and your work at Herlot Watt, but…” your old friend’s lips pressed together in an otherwise controlled flickered moment of frustration, “then he saw your picture and asked me what you were like when we were in college and I figured I’d just cut to the chase and set you up. One thing you should know about Jack is that he thinks he’s being subtle. But that man is never subtle.”

“So you’re saying he’s rich but tedious and you think that’s a good match for me.”

“No! I’m sorry. No.” She adjusted her horn-rimmed glasses, doing her best to hide a knowing smile. “Jack is…he tries. He’s a romantic at heart. He really is. But he’s been alone too long and I think he knows it.”

“Wait. Is this that CEO that flirts with every woman he sees? That one boss that irritates you to hell???”

Ginger let out a long, measured breath. “Do you trust me?”

“No.”

“You forget that I was trained in a multitude of forensics. And I know when you’re lying.”

“You know when I’m lying because we shared an apartment and you’ve held my hair while I was puking.”

“That too.” Ginger was never known for having a tender heart, but every once in a while, she’d let you see it. “Listen, dearest. I promise you, his personality fills up a room. But I’ve known him long enough to see that it’s a diversionary tactic. He’s got a deep core of honor in him. And if you meet him and sparks don’t fly, he will still open doors for you in the distilling biz, I promise.”

“This is the Manners Maketh Man guy, isn’t it.”

“I didn’t realize I’d told you so much about him.”

“Less told and more complained. You’re throwing me to the wolves here, Ginge. At least tell me he’s good looking.”

One sly corner of her mouth raised. “He does alright. I think you’ll find him acceptable to your tastes.”

“What’s that look for??”

“Nothing,” she cooly mused, “I’m just curious to see if my hypothesis is correct. Friday night, 7pm, rooftop restaurant of the Calgary Suites. I’ll send you the coordinates. Enjoy.”

As she leaned forward to end the call you told her to “wait–I’m not one of your experiments!” but with a click she was gone, nothing but a white afterimage on a black screen in glorious negative relief.

Well. If nothing else, he sounded like a challenge. And you like a good challenge.

So on a balmy Friday night you found yourself gaping up up up the reach of the Calgary against the twilit sky, towering over Central Park at your back, smelling the reek of a life too expensive for your tastes and instinctively turning on your heel to walk away.

What stopped you was the restoration scaffolding enclosing the building under which you were standing. Or rather, the way it shuddered. And the way a large pole fell on its end with a clang to the sidewalk where you’d just passed a moment ago, tipping slowly out into the street. Nobody was hurt but the screams and concrete crack and sudden blaring of horns spelled out a true disaster in front of you.

Where someone else might have been rattled and shocked, all it did was give you perspective.

Fuck it. Let’s do this. Can’t be a worse disaster than this, right?

“I can call up for you, ma’am. What suite?” The doorman at your elbow brings you back to the moment.

“Uh, no, uh, I’m sorry. Daniels? I’m actually meeting him at the rooftop restaurant.”

“This way, ma’am. So sorry about all of this.” He seems nervous, a little shaken by the victimless accident outside, anxious to put all to rights and it looks like you’re something he can fix. You follow him to the elevator bank, letting the sleek extravagance of the lobby wash over you.

Once an elevator arrives, there’s a swipe of a key card, a little door opens to a small button that gets tapped, a friendly nod, and the doorman backs out of the elevator, smiling as the door quietly slides shut.

Well. That decides that then. Might as well just ride this out.

Looking at your reflection in the polished doors, you try to see yourself for the first time. Are you shoddy looking? At least clean and tidy? Would you ever find yourself really fitting in at a place like this? A little lip tint might help, if for nothing than confidence…

In an attempt to look at anything but yourself, you reach into your purse to find a gloss or lipstick or balm, something with some color, and are so occupied that when the elevator stops and the doors open, you simply step back and to the side to let the new passenger in.

Once you’re in upward motion again, you find what you’re looking for, turning to apply it in the reflection of the polished wall. Finishing and taking in the final effect, a smooth baritone rolls from behind you.

“Pardon me, ma’am, but are you–”

You just start to turn–just enough time to catch a black Stetson and tie, a charcoal blazer and painted-on denim, just enough time to register the deep chestnut hair and mustache, just a fleeting twinkle of a dark eye and a silver buckle–before the world goes black.

A jolt shakes the box you’re in and it comes to a rude halt, then another harsher one as the generator initially kicks in but fails before it’s begun, and you feel yourself stumbling backward through a pitch black void, banging your shoulder and then head against a polished metal wall.

“Owwwwww.” A bright light pierces the blackout; not from the spark of pain but rather a phone flashlight. “Hey!”

“My apologies,” your fellow passenger says and the light swings out of your eyeline. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just…surprised.”

“Okay, that’s good. Hold on a minute, sugar.” The light goes out, replaced by the display backlight shining onto the man. It’s dimmer, but you can make out his thumb tapping out a few numbers and the line of a strong jaw as he lifts the phone up to his ear. “We’ll see what’s spooked the horses.” A few distant rings. A few more.

Sugar? Sugar?? Excuse him??? Wait. No. Wait. Is he–

A distant answer through the phone. “Sir?”

The man is calm and steady, respectful and patient. “Howdy, Jones. I’m in elevator 3 with another passenger and we’re in a stall and blackout. What’s the situation?”

“I’m so sorry, sir! We think it might be the construction outside, perhaps a wiring issue. There was an accident. We’re working to get it fixed as soon as we can. Are you alright?”

“Yes, yes, we’re fine. No worries. You wanna call up top and let them know I’m going to be late for my reservation?”

“Of course Mr. Daniels. Although, they’ll be in blackout too; the whole building is… Oh! Your guest was just–”

“Yes, she’s in here with me. I believe…” He turns to face you in the shadows as if he can see you past the light of his phone.

The silence that follows is a bit too long and fills itself with the collection of regrets–the outside accident, the elevator stop, the darkness, being stuck in a box with the potential employer slash begrudgingly blind date that you’d rather meet under literally any other circumstance. What a disaster.

And then you realize that the silence is too long and it’s your fault, that he’s waiting for you to confirm who you are and you stutter out a “Yes. Yes, it’s me, I’m…I’m your–” just as he is about to ask you again.

“Yeah, it’s her, Jones. I got ‘er.”

“I guess that’s both a good and bad thing, sir. But at least you both have company, right?”

“Jones.”

“Sorry, Mr. Daniels. Just trying to make light. Ha! No pun intended!” The doorman’s laugh roars and then awkwardly fades through the receiver. “We’ll do our best to get you up and running again, sir.”

An abrupt return to absolute blackness comes when the call ends and you hear a small shuffle as he puts his phone back into his blazer pocket. Then there’s a beep--like a notification--but he doesn’t answer it. “Well shit, you went through the effort to put the last shine on the boot and I don’t even get to enjoy it.”

“The…boot?”

“The lipstick? Your face.”

“Excuse me?” Ooof. This guy really has some kind of cowboy schtick going on.

A chuckle in the darkness. “I’m Jack. Ginger’s told me a lot about you. Said you had some bite.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Daniels,” you say, hoping your voice carries a smile rather than the tingle in your spine. “I assure you I’m harmless. If there was light, I��d shake your hand.”

“I prefer Jack. And if there was light, I’d most likely kiss your cheek in a gentlemanly manner.”

Wow. Wasting no time in the flirtation then. From any other strange man in close proximity, this should be too forward. But incredibly, intuitively, you know he means no harm. Ginger wouldn’t hook you up with anyone who was a threat, and obviously he knows that any bad step on his part would be reported.

But it is his voice that gives you calm. His voice in the dark. Deep. Mannerly. Steady. With a twang that is on track to becoming a big distraction.

You’re self aware enough to realize you made a mistake on your way here. You had already decided that the date was a minor hurdle to get through in order to meet your networking goal, that these business types weren’t your style and that you’d shake hands and leave with nothing more than a little professional support.

It had been a subliminal, foregone conclusion. At no point had you seriously expected to have your head turned.

But he’s said all of a few sentences to you–all of them polite, gentle, and smoothly southern…

…And it’s working on you.

You can feel your face start to burn and even though it’s impossible to see anything in any direction, you still smile hard in the direction of your shoes. It would be nice to be kissed on the cheek by a man with that voice. Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all?

“You still with me, darlin’?” It’s smooth and sweet, a perfect balance of charm and attempting not to be a threat or take up the whole room, even as tiny as it is.

“Hmm? Oh, yes… I was just wondering,” you peer in his direction out of habit, trying to find him in the void, “what brought you here.”

The careful calm cracks and a little cornball shows through. “Well you did, sugar. I believe we had a blind date. Although, this is awfully literal.”

You can feel your face squinching up, suppressing a laugh–a hopeless endeavor that fails–and it’s pleasantly surprising at how instantly you are won over. “I meant Manhattan! I assume you’re not from here…your accent…”

“Ah that,” he purrs, laying it on thicker for your benefit. “I am a Southern boy born and bred. But someone had to run Statesman’s New York branch, so I slung myself into the saddle, and here I ride.”

“I suppose the cowboy act is helpful for the brand….charming investors…subliminal suggestion of authenticity…”

There’s a sharp intake from his corner. “Sweetheart! I can assure you there is no act. I grew up on a fair few ranches and have one myself.”

“Really? With the horses and everything.”

“With the horses and everything. Did you say ‘charming?’”

There’s something so freeing about knowing your expressions are masked. But no doubt the delight comes through. “Can you do lasso tricks?”

“I might know a few.”

How does he do sincere and suggestive at the same time? Ginger said he wasn’t subtle, but he certainly has nuance.

The sudden image of a tall, dark, handsome cowboy and his lasso running around New York sends your imagination rolling though. Clapping a hand over your mouth to hide your sudden smile isn’t necessary, just a reflex. Thank god he can’t see what a giggling mess he’s making of you.

He’s ridiculous.

And you love it.

What on earth has gotten into you?

Too fast. Too fast. Calm down.

“So..has this happened before?”

Your question hangs in the darkness.

And then....keeps hanging.

He’s been quick to respond up until now. Did you say something wrong? Is he thinking back? It’s hard to say why, but his pause raises the hair on the back of your neck.

But it’s only a matter of seconds before he gently eases the silence open. “What do you mean by that, sugar?”

“Ah…the elevator? Does it break down like this often? You don’t seem particularly stressed out by it.”

“I would point out that you seem pretty calm yourself.”

You shrug needlessly. “There’s no reason not to be. There’s ventilation. Standard codes will have a secondary cable system in place and there’s no way we can fall unless the cords are severed, which is unlikely. Worst case scenario is that we have to hand pry the door open and either crawl up or drop down… I don’t know if I’m strong enough for that, but I’m sure the both of us could handle it. The only reason I’d have to be afraid is because I’m trapped in a lightless box with a man I don’t know and might need to defend myself.”

“And I bet you could defend yourself.” His drawl deepens when he’s delighted.

Noted.

“I have a feeling I’m not going to have to.”

“No, ma’am.” There’s a shared, sweet and nervous laugh between you and you have a distinct image in your mind of those dark eyes crinkling at the edges. You’d wager he has a beautiful smile. You’d wager more that he has a cowboy grin–lopsided and dopey, but somehow just as charming as that twang. And just as you’re reminding yourself to slow down your flirting again, it seems he’s had the same thought. “These old buildings do have their quirks. A breakdown isn’t unheard of. So...how does a master distiller know so much about elevator mechanics?”

“Well, first of all, just ‘distiller.’ I’d like to be a master someday. Furthest I’ve been is head distiller. Secondly, I’m sure Ginger told you that we were undergrad together, started off on the same track, but I stuck with the chemistry and she went into the physics… we kind of learned a lot from each other. I don’t remember talking about elevators specifically? But it’s funny what just happens to stick in the memory banks.”

“I see.” Strange. He seems slightly perplexed with that answer and lets his reaction drag as if he’s formulating his follow up question. “And then you took off for Herlot Watt.”

“That’s right.”

“What sticks in your memory banks about that?”

Ah. He’s switched to the more professional side of the questions. That can be appreciated. After all, Ginger did say that he could help you along even if the date didn’t go well. And since it seemed almost certain to go well, it’s gentlemanly for him to save it for better lighting–with a table and a meal between you--and spend this trapped time getting the dryer and safer questions out of the way.

“Well, my postgraduate studies were–”

“Oh I know about your studies. I’ve read. I’m talking about your time in Ed-in-burrow. Did you enjoy it there? What’s something you learned that wasn’t taught in their books?”

“Edinburgh is beautiful. The history, the shadows and light…I can still smell the bitter florals of the old perfumery from the little side street I lived on…I guess I learned… well, I mean, the air is in the whiskey there. And I learned that you can’t force a spirit to be what it’s not. Every spirit you distill will have its history in it–the local water in the wash, the particular ions in the soil that grow the barley in your mash, the sweetness or bitterness of the wood used for the barrels…even those change from forest to forest in the same region. If you pay enough attention, you can see the thread of the chemical makeup in each spirit as you drink it, each one unique, even if you don’t have the knowledge of its path to the present, you still know there’s a signature experience there…”

Another long silence.

“Sounds like you’re pretty perceptive to your senses and your surroundings.”

“Your cologne has cedar and tonka in it, I can tell you that.”

An amused chuckle that ends in a drawn out note, “Well shit. Thus ends the interview section of our meeting. I’m sure Statesman can put your talents to good use.”

“Oh, I’d love that–”

“But tell me. Did you ever get out of the city? Go exploring the countryside?”

“Oh, yeah, of course. If I was too wound up in studies, I’d pick the closest castle on the map I hadn’t gone to yet and go take a drive out to the country. It was gorgeous. That became like my little pastime and reward all wrapped up in one.”

“You ever visit the North Berwick area?”

It takes you a moment to scan your mental map. “On the coast? Yes, actually, Tantallon Castle was kind of a go-to place when I needed to get out of the city and spend some time by the sea. Do you know it?”

“I do, actually. So you’re familiar with the area.”

“Oh yeah. There’s a little abbey hotel I booked a few long weekends in that had the best meat pies I’ve ever had. The woman who ran the place had this little Westie she’d dress in a tartan that she’d allow me to walk in the mornings on my roamings…” It’s a happy memory, one you wish had more time to pour over, but don’t have the advantage of reading his expression to know if it would be boring or not. “Wow. I haven’t thought about that place in a while.”

“You think you still know how to get around?”

You blink in the dark. An odd question. “I…think so?”

“Would you like to go back?”

Something’s wrong, and your eyebrows know it as surely as you do, pulling together as you try to keep your voice casual and innocent. “I…guess I wouldn’t mind a visit? Why? Would Statesman Distillery require me to have more training?”

Tilting an ear to him, you listen hard. A shift of feet or a shallow breath or a change in speaking tempo can belie a lot and he’s suddenly being strangely persistent in this questioning line.

“Not exactly. Ginger said you were pretty good with the dialect in that area.”

“It’s thick, but it’s not like it’s Glaswegian.”

“But she said you were a good mimic.”

“That’s…weird. Why would she tell you that?” Your senses go on full alert.

“You ever ramble on through the caves in the cliffside there?”

“I heard there were caves, but I’d never gone, don’t want to get sucked in by high tide.” What the hell kind of questions are these?

“You ever meet a man at the University name of Barclay–”

“What?”

“No. You stop! I’m ending this.”

The sharp retort is an abrupt change in character from the urban cowboy you’ve just started to get to know, and you naturally step back and put your hands up in a defensive stance. “I…what? Did I say something–”

Your companion’s voice suddenly gains an edge, authoritative, impatient, an irritation gradually salting the earth. “Yes, I can see that. Listen, I can trust your word on this but you know patience is not my main quality and she’s not dumb. Look at her. She’s seein’ through all of this already so I would appreciate the opportunity not to beat around the bush this one time. Yes, I know! But this is my assignment now and drawing this out is not the way to build trust–”

“Ah…excuse me? You can see what, exactly?”

“--no signs of stress, high perception, the skills are there! I know what I’m about and the damage is done. Turn on the damn lights, Ginger.”

Squinting against the sudden brightness as the elevator lights flicker on, you catch sight of Jack Daniels across from you in full for the first time. You weren’t mistaken, he is decidedly handsome and well-kempt, big hands on slim hips, head tilted back and watching you intently with dark eyes through the bottom of his glasses…

You don’t remember seeing the glasses.

“Over speaker, Ginger. She can’t hear you though the tech.”

Your friend’s tense voice reverberates from above. “Yes, thank you I know.”

“Ginge?” you ask into the air. “What the hell.”

“My old friend…I’m so so sorry about this. This isn’t really how I wanted this to go. I promise you there’s an explanation. I need you to breathe. And relax. You’re going to break that railing, sweetie.”

You suddenly take stock of your back pressed against the metal walls of the elevator, hands gripping the brass railing that runs along at waist height like you need to brace yourself, a contradiction to a fight or flight response. “Wait.” Your gaze bounces to the four corners of the ceiling searching for a camera. “You can see me?”

Jack taps the frame of his glasses and the notification sound you’d heard earlier in the dark pings again. Sliding them off his face, folding them in a huff and jamming them in his breast pocket he smirks, “Not anymore, she can’t.”

“Whiskey–”

“Dammit, Ginger… You gonna do this, or am I?”

There’s a tense moment as Jack glares you down and your friend heaves an audible sigh.

“Jack is going to explain some things. It’s going to be a lot, but I’m going to need you to trust him. Like you trust me.”

“I don’t understand–”

“I know, dearest. But you will.”

Turning to Jack Daniels, you find him easy, smiling, and extending a hand across the small space toward you, putting on all the charm. “Let’s start over. Howdy. I’m Jack Daniels, CEO of the New York branch of Statesman Distilling, and high-ranking operative for the covert espionage agency it covers. Code name: Whiskey.”

You find yourself reaching for him through your shock, propelled by Ginger’s assurance, Jack’s return to confidence and warmth, and your own curiosity kicking in. “Espionage…. You’re a spy?”

“Yes ma’am,” he winks as his fingers curl around yours. “Ginger too, if you can believe it. And–wouldn’t you know it–we’re recruiting.”

“They just called in a reboot of the whole building system,” Ginger warns. “It will probably be fifteen minutes before that takes. I can reliably give you ten. Without interruption, Jack should be able to tell you what you need to know, so keep your questions for the dinner table. I’ll scramble the mics and be back right before go.”

Dropping your hand to tap a button on his overlarge watch, Jack nods. “In ten, copy. Now then, sugar,” he hums at you, “let’s begin with Statesman.”

Over the following ten minutes, Jack explains the agency that coexists with the whiskey business, as well as its several fraternal organizations throughout the world, how Ginger came to be a part of it, why she had to keep it a secret from you, and will continue to do so if you decline the invitation to join–memory wipe, painless, no big deal, done right here in the elevator and the date continues as if none of this happened. But the background checks and paperwork are all done, you’ll need minimal training, and there’s time for that before you depart for your mission in Edinburgh–

“Mission? Wait. What? I thought you wanted me to work in the distillery–”

“Of course,” Jack explains, “there’s that too, but we need your skills and expertise and boots on the ground for this one. You know the area, as an alum you have an in at the University. You don’t have to do anything tactical. Not to worry, that’s my department and I’ll be right there with you–”

“So this was all some elaborate set up for what? To feel me out? Some kind of stress test?”

His thumbs hook into his belt loops as he settles into one hip, his chin chasing a raised eyebrow. “Why? Do I cause you stress, darlin’?”

Oh shit. That pulls your reins up short. You have no answer to this. Well. None that you’d like to admit out loud anyway. His chest is so broad. And it’s right there. And his shirt pulls against it when he stands like that…

Beside the point. Focus.

“But…why on earth would you want a spirits chemist on a spy mission?”

A wry smile pulls at one corner of his mustache as he catches you looking. “You said so yourself; there’s a lot of useful stuff in that memory bank of yours.”

“Yes, but–”

“Are you seriously underestimating the importance of chemistry?”

You might have protested further, made him understand that chemistry is noble but that you can’t wield it like a weapon; you use it for mixing compounds not for unveiling secrets. But the gentle swagger with which he closes the gap between you stops the words from coming. And the smooth and measured way he pulls you into the circle of his arms stops your head from thinking. All this just before he presses his lips to your cheek….

In a gentlemanly manner.

Ah. That chemistry.

“Is this…still a date?” You don’t mean to whisper, but your voice seems to be on an inconvenient hiatus.

His cheek hums next to yours, honeyed twang circling your ear. “Seems a shame to waste a good dinner reservation. And good company. You disapprove?”

“No. But,” pulling back an inch or two, you swallow and do your best not to look him in the eye at this close proximity. Somehow, that’s supposed to keep him from hearing your heart booming. “I thought you said you’d wipe my memory before this continues as a date.”

“I never said the two scenarios were mutually exclusive. There’s no rule says agents can’t co-mingle. And if there were such rules…well, shit,” tipping his head down to hook your eye, “They’ve never built a fence this buck can’t jump.”

“Seems unprofessional.”

“That’s what makes it fun, sugar.”

“Jack! I leave you alone for ten minutes–” Ginger’s chiding echoes from the speaker above. “You’re deviating from the plan.”

He steps back to assess your bemused smile. “I beg to differ. I told you I’d be flirtin’ to get what I want. Never specified that ‘what I want’ stopped at information.”

“I still don’t think it’s a good idea so soon–”

“I do, Ginge,” you call into the air while holding Jack’s steady gaze. “How did you put it? ‘Acceptable to my tastes?’ You know me better than anyone. I find it hard to believe that you’d trap me in a box with a sturdy, handsome man of mystery and expect me not to rise to the challenge.”

In the short silence that follows, you can almost hear Ginger fume. You can certainly see Jack grin.

“Jack. If you mess this up or hurt her, I will replace your entire glandular system with a colony of pigeon ticks.”

He gives a stoic nod, mostly for your benefit. “Odd choice of pest, but copy that. In the meantime–”

He makes it official by stepping forward and offering an elbow.

And you seal the deal by looping your arm through it.

“--order up. One box of Whiskey and Rye to the rooftop patio.”

You can’t recall the last time you gave over to the power of “well hell why not” like this. There’s something about him that is instantly trustworthy and you can’t wait to find out what it is. In the meantime, the reflection that you two make in the elevator doors tells you all you need to know; it’s a story in itself, an epic meet cute, an adventure in the making.

There’s a lurch as the elevator begins to climb, but this time you stay steady on your feet; he makes sure of that.

As the doors slide open, the picture of you on the arm of this new challenge splits to reveal a quiet patio restaurant under the stars. All the tables are empty but for the one in the center–a lone candle burning, and a setting for two.

“An arranged elevator stall. A fully reserved restaurant. The offer of a job and possible espionage. What else do you have up your sleeve, cowboy?”

As an answer, he flexes slightly, his bicep pushing at the blazer fabric under your hand. “Possible espionage? You still havin’ doubts? You hold onto these guns, sugar, and follow my lead. I will happily persuade you.”

Stepping out into the night together, you close your eyes and let him guide you to the table. “You know what, cowboy? I think I might happily allow you to.”

A chuckle. “What do you reckon? Best blind date ever?”

“Best blind date ever.”

________

MASTERLIST

CHARACTER MASTERLIST

#kingsman golden circle fanfiction #jack whiskey daniels #agent whiskey #jack daniels x reader #jack daniels x f!reader #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x f!reader #year of tropes #jack daniels x blind date

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th3d0nutl0rd · 5 months

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I've finally found someone else who likes Devereaux from Renegade Nell 😭😭 I adored your headcanons for him, please don't let that be all 🙏🙏🙏

Oh my gosh my prayers have been answered, I have been having a lot of thoughts about him recently 🙏🙏

What if his engagement to Eularia was not of his own volition- what if his father's gambling landed them in a tough spot financially, which resulted in him marrying his son to a wealthy older woman like Eularia against his will 🥲 it's sad to think about but would make sense in the given context

Alternatively, maybe he really is just the sober Jack Sparrow type- he'll flirt with anyone if it can get him out of a bad situation. So if the first one was a bit too depressing for you, you can always think of it this way too.

Early in the show he mentions the growing industries in the Americas (as we know now many of these would end up being Plantations) but he did mention hemp. If you haven't looked into it before, the hemp industry in America from the mid 1600s-1700s is really interesting, and it's funny to think of him as someone who wants to potentially oversee it (I believe it was popular amongst British mariners and had several different uses less common to us now than at the time)

Imagine him, based in America, exploiting British mariners with hemp... Amazing...

Also I'm British, and study history at college so I can tell you that if you were to insert yourself into this universe it's entirely plausible that y/n would be able to grow up alongside Devereux even as a pauper, let me explain why-

In the 1700s, many poor children or ones who came from lower middle class families (who had titles, but not money) would be educated by local families who were rich, and would pay off their student debt by working in that family's trade

For example if that family were blacksmithing business you might spend a summer in their forge- if they were fishermen you might spend time on their boats. Meaning Charles could've been educated alongside you! Whoo! Perfect setup for a childhood friends type storyline.

Magic tricks! We got to see him do some during the show, and I think it would be so cute to have him show you his favourite tricks, maybe sat huddled in a room at night whispering to each other like giddy teenagers while he shows you some new trick he learned

Leading into this, I also love his general giddiness and excitement as a character. He loves an adventure. He's always got a smile on his face. He's good with kids- we saw it with George. What a sweet guy 😭❤️

OH MY GOD AND THE DANCING!!! LET'S NOT FORGET THE DANCING!!! I have so many thoughts about his dancing I'm probably gonna make a separate post about it so please tell me if that's something you'd like to see

#renegade nell #charles devereux #isambard tulley

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lovelyfirebouquet · 1 year

Text

Okay, so. I had this really cute idea that player/MC/(Y/N) is playing GoGM and Jack gets jealous. After all, why play a game about a ghost when his sunshine has a perfect loving ghost right here? Spicy implications but nothing directly explicit. Short (~1030 words) because I’m just getting back into writing and stretching the creative muscles. Criticism and feedback are welcome!

The Groom of Gallagher Mansion and Something’s Wrong with Sunny Day Jack are both 18+ games, minors DNI! Thank you!

--- Leg bouncing excitedly, I adjust my headphones over my ears and grin at the familiar music. Both spooky and jovial, I hum along as I admire the tattered blue wallpaper on the game’s title screen, decorated with roses. The momentary blackness as I begin a new game seems far too long. Taking a gulp from the water bottle Jack had so kindly left on my desk earlier, I let out a tiny, excited cheer and began clicking through dialogue. Having just recently added voice acting with the new update, I’ve been eager to play all week. Listening along, one line causes me to chuckle. ‘G-g-g-ghost clown?! No!’ ‘Poor Taylor would be screwed knowing me, poor guy.’ I think to myself, lifting one side of my headphones. The sound of splashing and happy humming from the kitchen told me Jack was still doing dishes, so I fixed the device back on my ear and smiled. ‘Thankfully, my ghost clown isn’t too scary.’ Moving through the familiar dialogue, my character begins their performance and I can’t help but follow suit, dramatically laying the back of my hand to my forehead. “Alas, my poor aching heart!” I grin, leaning back with a theatrical flourish. Before I can give my next line, I hear Jack’s heavy footsteps approach. “Sunshine?” He leans against the doorway, broad shoulders on display in his normal white shirt, his jacket presumably left somewhere in the kitchen. “What are you doing?” “Oh, well,” I pause a moment, a tad embarrassed, “I’m playing a game, actually. Did I disturb you?” “No, of course not.” He flashes his signature grin, slipping his gloves back on as he comes to stand beside my chair, glancing down at the screen curiously. “What kind of game?” “Well..” I’ve explained a fair bit of modern technology to Jack in the months we’ve known each other but disclosing the idea of a romance game still seemed somewhat embarrassing. “It’s a… romantic visual novel, which is just as it says. It kind of acts as a choose your own adventure book, with added sounds and visuals.” He nods along and listens intently, though he raises a brow at the mention of romance. “So, what’s this game about then?” At that I grin, nerd brain taking over as I click idly. “It’s about you and your college friend, Taylor, summoning a ghost in a spooky cursed manor. You make choices to see who you end up with, but I always choose Elias.” Coming to the beginning of Elias’ dialogue, I unplug my headphones and raise the volume, smiling as the familiar line echoes from the speakers. “Alack, alack, what blood is this, which stains the stony entrance of this sepulcher?” I mouth along with the words and click through, watching Elias’ ghostly sprite fade into view. As I glance back at Jack he wears an odd expression, furrowed brows and pursed lips forming a slight pout as he stares at the screen. “Jack? What’s wrong?” I return the game’s audio to its normal level and spin my chair to look at him fully. He studies me a moment, warm brown eyes reflecting unknown emotions. Before I have time to process, he grabs my hand and presses a warm kiss to my knuckles. Immediately my face turns a bright shade of red, heat emanating from my ears as I stutter. “I- you… Why?” Smiling lovingly, he lowers my hand and brings his gloved one to my cheek, brushing his thumb against it. He brings his face closer, pressing his forehead against mine. “Why play a game when I’m right here, Sunshine? Fantasies can be fun, but too much can be bad for you.” His hot breath fans across my face, blue hair tickling my cheek. His body is so warm looming over me. “Maybe you should take a break?~” He hums, tilting my chin upward slowly, taking a single breath to examine my flustered state before pressing his lips to mine. All at once soft and sweet and intoxicating, I find myself leaning into him, reaching upward to hold his hand on my cheek and wrap my arm around his neck. Locked together like this, we kiss until my lungs begin to burn, aching for breath. I pull back first, taking a great gasping breath as I recover. Looking up at him, his cheeks are dusted a light red and his breathing is more ragged than before. My face burns like hot coals as he looks at me, purest love mixed with building desire reflected in his eyes. “(Y/N)?” His tone is sweet, and yet it sends a shiver down my spine. “Yes?” He grasps my forearm gently, pulling me from my seat and carefully guiding me to the bed. My heartbeat thumps like distant thunder as he nudges me, motioning to lay upright against the pillows. Within a moment he straddles me, his arms acting as a heavily muscled cage. Leaning down to my neck, he plants a knowing kiss, murmuring into my skin. “I love you.” I gasp at the sensation, craning my neck unconsciously. “I love you, Jack.” With those words he melts into my arms, peppering me with kisses and divine praises. Our bedroom is filled with laughter as I am enveloped in a warm embrace, arms and legs cocooned under his hold. A sunny grin takes over his features as I weakly wiggle, seemingly proud of his capture. “Good.” He chuckles, leaning down to peck my cheek. Rubbing my arm lovingly, I notice his expression shift subtly as he glances back to the computer, still softly looping the game’s background music. “You know… I’d love to show you just how I feel,” he sighs, running his hands over my sides and gently teasing my inner thigh, “but if you’re busy…” I groan, looking back toward my desk and the sprite of Elias waiting patiently on the screen. Looking back at Jack, acknowledging my own arousal, I make up my mind. “I guess it can wait a liiiiiittle longer.” Jack got off the bed, quickly powering down the computer and fixing the desk chair before returning to his perfect, waiting sunshine. He’d make sure to delete that game later.

#minors do not interact #minors dni #Something's Wrong With Sunny Day Jack #The Groom Of Gallagher Mansion #Snaccpop #SDJ #GoGM #sunny day jack #oneshot #original writing #please be kind I am nervous #I don't write often anymore

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smok3r7 · 2 months

Text

One Door Closes & Another One Opens

Joel x OFC!Divorce Lawyer

Explicit, 18+

Long Time No See

Main MasterList & Series Masterlist - My AO3

Summary: She’s a divorce attorney and he’s a husband looking for help to save his daughter, and himself, from his gambling addict wife. Renae Russo is a woman who fights for her clients and wins. She’s satisfied with her life and what she does - but she wishes she could have a little more. What happens when Joel Miller becomes her client and an old flame of Renae’s reignites in the same breath?

Chapter Summary: Trying to fill the void in her heart isn't easy, especially when she doesn’t want to. But when the unexpected happens, she can’t help but leap into it.

Word count: 5.8k

—

"So what do you like to do for fun?" Renae forces herself to ask Jack with a forced smile. Across from her is a guy she met on Tinder, and she doesn’t want to be here but Ally forced her to get out there again since the whole…Joel situation, as she called it.

Jack leans back in his seat, resting his right arm on the back of the booth, a small smile playing on his lips, "I love going on spontaneous road trips, exploring new places, trying out different cuisines-"

Renae raises an eyebrow, not expecting such an adventurous answer.

“How about you?"

Renae fidgets with her coffee cup, feeling out of her comfort zone. She glances around nervously, realizing she hasn’t been on a date in years. Ally's voice echoes in her mind, urging her to give Jack a chance. Taking a deep breath, Renae musters a smile and replies, "I enjoy camping, hiking, and reading mystery novels - when I have the chance."

She sips her coffee, feeling a mix of nerves and excitement as Jack eats his Caesar salad across from her. “Well, those all sound like cool things, I haven’t been camping much,” he says as he smiles back, clearly trying to keep the conversation moving smoothly. Renae smiles back and continues to tell him about some campsite she’s been to and that she recommends for him to visit.

But a thing she can’t stop herself from doing is comparing him to Joel. She left for his own good, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t miss him. Jack is nothing like Joel, though also similar in weird, abstract ways. Jack is a couple years younger than Joel, they act very differently.

He divorced his wife of five years about three years ago and he has an eighteen year old son, who just graduated and is going off to college. His hair is a striking shade of strawberry blonde, buzzed cut, giving him a rugged and edgy look. His piercing green eyes are very similar to Renae's, carrying a hint of mischief and wisdom. Despite his mature demeanor, there is a youthful energy that emanates from him, drawing people in with his charismatic presence - what made Renae decide to meet him for lunch.

Jack's unique combination of features sets him apart from most, making him both intriguing and approachable. But Renae finds herself unsure if she's ready to open up again, to let someone new into her life after the intricate experience with Joel.

She must’ve gone silent, because next thing she knows is Jack reaches across the table to hold her hand gently, a reassuring smile on his face. “Sorry,” she apologizes, quickly retracting her hand from his and giving him a small smile to reassure him that she’s okay.

Even though underneath her skin, she’s not.

Renae misses Joel terribly. She longs for the easy banter, the comforting presence she felt with him, even through texts and late-night phone calls. This past year has been a challenge without him by her side. Renae has always prided herself on her independence, but there was something about Joel that made her feel stronger and more hopeful a year ago. She can't quite put her finger on it, but she knows that his absence has left a void in her life that no one else can fill. Even a cool and attractive guy like Jack.

Work hasn’t even felt the same since her and Joel went their own ways. The last year has been really slow for her, mainly because she’s not picking up cases like she should, or she knows she could. Every day at the office feels like a struggle as she navigates through the paperwork, phone calls, and court with a heavy heart. Her distracted mind keeps wandering back to memories of Joel, the sound of his laughter, the touch of his hand, the smell of sweat and cologne.

But despite the emotional turmoil, Renae tries her best to focus on her work, pushing through each day with a mixture of determination and sadness. Finally, she seems to have found a new rhythm, a new purpose in her career, and a newfound strength within herself. She’s not sure what she would do otherwise, her job has been her life for too long to just up and leave.

As Jack takes a sip of his water, he looks at Renae with a curious expression, "Do you like your job?" he asks casually. Renae hesitates for a moment, torn between her true feelings and the desire to maintain a facade. She wants to tell Jack that she loves her job, which she truly does, but her recent struggles have dampened her enthusiasm.

Deep down, she knows that her current state of mind has nothing to do with her job, but she can't bring herself to admit the real reason to Jack. With a forced smile, she replies, "Yeah, I do. It's just been a bit challenging lately. Court has been pretty time consuming, but what isn’t nowadays? " Jack nods understandingly, unaware of the underlying truth that Renae is desperately trying to conceal about Joel.

“How do you like real estate?” Renae quickly returns the question to Jack, who’s more than happy to answer. But as his answer drags on, Renae finds herself bored and honestly unimpressed. She can’t help but feel a twinge of disappointment as he rambles on about properties and market trends.

She prefers a man whose hands are calloused from hard work, not smooth from signing contracts. Jack and Joel couldn't be any different. Jack, with his impeccably manicured hands and polished demeanor, seems to be everything Renae doesn’t want in a partner. However, Joel, with his rough hands and rugged appearance, had a raw magnetism that drew her in instantly.

“…Veronica has been trying to steal this property from me for a couple months now, and I just am sick of it…” Jack briefly stops her train of thoughts, she fakes a small head nod like she understands so he can continue.

But as he does, Renae finds herself sitting here on a date, contrasting the two men… And there’s no way Jack can be the one for her.

As Jack continues to talk enthusiastically about his latest deals, Renae realizes that maybe they're just too different. She longs for someone who can fix a leaky faucet or build a bookshelf, not someone who thrives in the world of selling tactics.

She needs someone like Joel.

—

“…I’d try out my sea legs.”

“But you ain’t got no legs, Lieutenant Dan.”

Renae can’t help but mimic the so-familiar dialogue of Forrest Gump as she sits in her room, freshly showered, with Frankie curled into a medium-sized ball in her comforter-covered lap with her phone next to her. Which is open to her and Joel's messages, frequently going between the movie and her screen.

She can’t help herself. Scrolling through their old messages, a wave of nostalgia washes over her, and a faint smile appears on her face. Their meaningful, intimate, and silly conversations make her heart ache with longing and sorrow.

Oh, how Renae misses it.

The easiness of it all, no arguments with Joel. Phone calls that went for hours, silence never settling for more than a few seconds. Every conversation felt like coming home after a long journey, neither running out of things to tell the other. They could talk about everything and nothing at all, their connection deep and effortless.

But then, life happened. The divorce was finalized, and Renae had to let him go, more for his daughter than anything. Now, the memories of those long conversations linger in Renae's mind like a bittersweet melody.

She wonders if Joel thinks about those moments too, if he misses them as much as she does. Almost everyday, she picks up the phone, ready to dial his number, but she doesn’t. She can’t bring herself to do it.

So she re-reads their conversations… All the time.

“You are one of a kind Rae… I never knew a girl like you could be so funny.”

“I’ll take you out on the pontoon so you can lay out, while I float us down the river… You’ll love it.”

“Darlin’… You don’t need to apologize. You’re a busy gal’, I’m not gonna hold you back.”

“Sarah and Ellie decided it was a good idea to prank me or somethin, today… by pushin me off the boat while I was fishin.”

Deep down, she understands that holding on to whatever they had, or what she thought they had, is doing her no good. Especially if she’s going to do nothing about it.

With a heavy heart, Renae sighs and sets her phone aside, realizing that sometimes, love means letting go. As she goes back to her tv, where Forrest Gump plays, a sense of disappointment washes over her, knowing that she simply can’t move on from him like she wants.

Even a year later.

The memories of their late-night conversations and dreams they shared and didn’t, replay consistently in her head, day and night. Their words, filled with hope and passion, linger in the quiet corners of her mind, like whispers of a forgotten melody.

Renae finds herself drifting back to those moments as she calmly pets Frankie and quickly forgets about the movie she put on to distract herself, reliving the laughter and the deep, heartfelt talks that brought them closer together.

Despite the passing of time, the connection they shared remains vivid and unshakeable to Renae, she can’t shake it. It's as if Joel's presence lingers beside her, guiding her through life's twists and turns.

But the thing is, she knows deep down that Joel feels the same way, that their love was too strong to fade away.

She wants to reach out, but fear holds her back, the fear of rejection, of being vulnerable. She wants nothing more than to reach out to him, to bridge the gap that has grown between them. Yet doubt clouds her mind, whispering cruel lies of inadequacy and unworthiness.

In the quiet moments of the night, or when she’s distracted, she will replay their last conversation, searching for clues, for signs that he still cared. And she remembers him trying his damn best to keep his composure from crumbling in front of her, so maybe there is some hope.

Renae finds herself at a crossroads, yet again. Torn between the yearning for love of her heart and the fear in her soul. Can she gather the courage to reach out to Joel, even for a simple conversation, or can she let him slip away, forever lost in the shadows of what could have been?

—

Last week, Renae was asked by Ally and her husband Daniel if she wanted to join them in their trip to Palo Duro Canyon State Park, just outside Amarillo, Texas, the following week. Feeling adventurous and needing a change in her life, even if it’s just a small trip, she decides to go.

She calls off of work for two days, Monday and Tuesday, and starts packing things up for her three day vacation. She figures she’ll drive there and meet them, only because they both are staying longer than three days and Renae can’t get that much time off.

This morning, she wakes up ready and high with energy, filled with a sense of adventure that pulses through her veins, barely needing her coffee to get her going, something she usually needs everyday. The thought of exploring the breathtaking canyons and discovering the diverse trails and plants ahead fills her with exhilaration. She has missed this feeling, and as she sets out on her way, she promises to herself to never go this long without being adventurous again.

The solo two hour road trip is easy enough. Traffic isn’t terrible for a Sunday afternoon and her music is loud through her speakers and open windows. Renae is about as carefree as she can be at the moment.

With each passing mile she can feel herself getting closer and closer to nature's wonderland, where the beauty of the world envelopes her in a sense of freedom and joy. The sun kisses her arm that hangs out her driver side window, the wind whispers secrets in her ear, and the earth welcomes her with open arms as she drives down this windy road.

Next thing she sees is this picturesque cabin that Ally and Daniel have rented for the week, and she feels like she is entering a world of magic. Goosebumps form on her arms, even with the warm sun shining on her. Parking her car next to Daniel’s pickup truck, she steps out and the scent of heat and wildflowers fill her senses immediately.

Ally and Daniel come out to the porch, beaming with excitement to show Renae around their temporary haven. The cabin is a cozy retreat in the desert but scattered with large trees, it’s a charming rustic feel that instantly makes Renae feel at home.

“How was the drive here?" Ally asks, helping Renae unload things from her car. Renae takes a deep breath and leans against the vehicle smiling, grateful for her friend's thoughtfulness.

"Not bad, any longer though I woulda’ been exhausted!" She admits, wiping the beads of sweat from her forehead. The two friends laugh.

“I don’t blame ya,” Daniel laughs with them, carrying the cooler from her trunk.

"Well, you made it at a good time!" Ally tells Renae as they walk through the decent sized cabin, dropping her bags in front of the couch in the cozy living room. “Daniel just got done grilling chicken tacos for dinner- my personal favorite of his.”

Mhmmm, Renae smells the sweet aroma of grilled chicken tacos fills the air coming from the open back door, making her mouth water.

“God, I’m starvin’ too!”

The two girls leave the room and find Daniel in the backyard, with a big grin on his face, proudly presenting the sizzling tacos to his friends on a big plate right off the grill.

The warm summer evening feels perfect, the suns starting to set so the heat isn’t too brutal, she’s with good friends and good food, at an even better location for the next couple days.

As they enjoy the delicious meal, Ally asks Renae how her date with Jack went last week. Renae's honest response catches Ally off guard as she admits that she hated it. She elaborates on how Jack talked non-stop about himself and his stupid real estate deals, and showed little to no interest in really getting to know her - just the basic questions that everyone asks.

“All he talked about was his damn business, but in a cocky ass way, ya’ know?” Renae gets annoyed from simply talking about it again, “Oh- and how Veronica keeps stealing his properties or somethin’. Like, if you’re into your coworker, just tell me!”

Ally listens intently, offering sympathy and understanding, but also laughing with Renae about it all. “Jesus, girl,” she says, “Sounds like you got out at the right time with that one.”

Renae laughs as she swallows a bite of the garlicky chicken, she’s relieved to finally share her true feelings about the disastrous date and not have to worry about Ally’s reaction. “I am stayin’ away from the apps forever now… Fuck those things!”

“I don’t blame you!” Ally agrees, raising her hand for a high five from Renae, who smacks her hand enthusiastically.

Between laughs, a comfortable silence settles over the tables, everyone savoring their food, the delicious chicken with lettuce, tomatoes, and cheese all wrapped in a corn tortilla. Renae can’t remember the last time she ate something this good.

After a few minutes, Daniel asks, “Have you heard from Joel at all?”

Renae about chokes on her food, not expecting to hear that name at all this vacation. She watches Ally instantly scold him for asking about Joel, knowing the painful history behind it. Renae quickly composes herself, hiding the rush of emotions flooding back at the mention of Joel.

She forces a smile and casually replies, "No. I haven't and I’m not sure if I wanna,” she confesses, swallowing some beer that Ally had grabbed, “It’s been just over a year, so… Why now, you know?”

Daniel senses the tension in her voice and swiftly changes the subject, but Renae's mind drifts back to memories she had buried for this trip, wondering if fate had brought up Joel's name for a reason.

It’s hard for her to shake the feeling that Joel's sudden reappearance is more than mere coincidence. Is this a chance to rewrite their story, or is it a reminder of the past she has worked so hard to forget?

—

“You comin’, slow pokes?” Renae laughs as she rests by a large clay canyon, Ally and Daniel a few yards behind her. “Yeah, yeah, shut up!” Ally hollers back with a smile, Daniel laughing behind her.

They set out early this morning, leaving the cabin around eight, eager to explore the rugged beauty of the canyons and the desert. After hiking for a few hours along the winding trails, Renae marvels at the towering rock formations and vibrant wildflowers that scatter the landscape.

Renae's steps are rhythmic, the sun warming her skin and the breeze refreshing her spirit. Her thoughts drift between the beauty of the surroundings and the turmoil within her heart. Thanks to Daniel at dinner last night, the thought of Joel keeps creeping in more and more. This hike was supposed to be her escape from it all, which it still is, but not as much as she would like, a temporary reprieve from the chaos of her life - which is exactly what she wanted when she decided to come.

As she climbs higher, leaving Ally and Daniel to catch up with her, she leaves her worries behind and feels a sense of freedom wash over her. However, no matter how hard she tries, she can’t help but glance at her phone occasionally, hoping for a message from Joel, even though this trip isn’t supposed to be about him.

Her thoughts drift to him, now navigating the uncharted waters of single-dad life. She wonders how he's holding up, what struggles and triumphs he faces daily. If he’s found someone knew for him and his daughter, someone who’s able to be there for him. Her mind wanders to Sarah, hoping she's finding joy in her endeavors. She can't help herself from wondering if Annie is finally complying with the court order or if she's still dancing on the edge of defiance.

The canyon echoes with the mysteries of their lives, reminding Renae of the fragile threads that connect them all.

She contemplates sending him a gorgeous picture of the desert that she got earlier this morning, but she stops herself. She thought that would be just a little weird, no contact for a year but then a random photo? It just doesn’t make sense, at least in Renae’s mind.

But even with all that playing in her head, she’s content to be alone in nature, finding solace in the simple act of putting one foot in front of the other.

Finally reaching the highest point of their hike, Renae feels her heart race, her legs burning from the steep climb. She takes a moment to catch her breath, then turns around to face the canyon spread out before her. The sun at its highest point, casting a golden light over the jagged cliffs and deep ravines.

Renae's breath catches in her throat at the beauty of it all. She knows the other two will be joining her soon, but for now, she has this moment all to herself. She closes her eyes and lets the cool breeze wash over her, feeling a sense of peace and accomplishment wash over her. This is a moment she will never forget and always cherish.

“God damn Russo,” Daniel huffs behind her, “I thought you said you haven’t done this in awhile.”

Renae laughs, her ponytail swinging as she turns her head. “Well, it’s like ridin’ a bike, you never really forget,” she replies, teasing him, causing him and Ally to chuckle. But she’s honestly just as surprised as he is, she didn’t think this was going to be as easy as it is.

The sun beats down on them, casting dappled shadows from their bodies at the top of the canyon. Ally and Daniel sit down next to Renae, who’s still standing, catching their breath and taking in the beauty around them.

Renae smiles at him, a glint of mischief in her eyes. “Worth it, right?” she asks. Ally nods in response after downing some water, her heart full, grateful for this adventure with her husband and best friend.

“Yeah,” she whispers, “I think so too.”

—

“Bianca, don’t go too far please!” Renae yells to her niece, who yells back, I won’t, as she races around the playground, her laughter mixed with dozens of other kids fill the air, echoing Renae's heart with joy. Gia, with her baby Aliya, admires Bianca's zest for life and the way that Bianca just adores her little sister, much like how Renae and Gia used to be. The bond between the two sisters watching the young ones play was unbreakable, rooted in shared memories and unspoken understanding.

The afternoon sun casts a warm glow on the playground, bringing a sense of peace and contentment. Renae can’t help but smile as she sees Bianca making new friends, even if it is just for the weekend they’re here, her spirit contagious to those around her. It’s moments like this that remind Renae of the beauty of family and the magic of childhood.

“How are you doin’ Rae? With the Joel situation,” Gia asks, breaking the calm silence between them as she rests Aliyah on her thigh, feeding her small bites of cut up fruits.

“You want the truth?” Renae defeatedly asks her, and Gia nods her head.

“I thought I could move on. I mean, just a couple months ago I went hikin’ with Ally and I found myself thinkin’ of him the whole three days I was there.” She sighs, “I miss him so much. I don’t know why I left, we could’ve figured it out,” Renae's heart feels heavy as she opens up to her sister about Joel, constantly playing with her soft curls and trying to hide her anxiety.

Holding Aliyah on her lap, Gia listens attentively as Renae speaks. The weight of regret and longing is evident in Renae's voice as she admits how much this whole thing has messed with her. Gia's eyes fill with understanding as she tries to comfort her sister, not really knowing the pain she’s going through, but trying her best to understand.

“How long has it been?” Gia asks, still feeding Aliyah, making sure she doesn’t choke.

“It'll be a year and six months, next week…” Renae reluctantly tells her sister, “It’s ridiculous, I know-“

“No, it’s really not, Rae… You’re healing in your own way, even if that means still being in the same spot you were in a year ago. Everyone deals with shit differently.” Renae’s head perks up from staring at the woodchips beneath her heels, you really think so? Gia warmly smiles, yes, I do, causing Renae to smile back with a small tear in her eyes.

Suddenly Aliyah burps loudly, loud enough to think that this burp came from a man - not a twenty month old toddler. “S’cuse me,” she shyly giggles, causing Renae and Gia to burst out laughing, breaking the sadness that was swallowing them both.

After the laughter between them dies down a bit, Gia reaches out and places a comforting hand on her sister's knee. "It's never too late to make things right, Rae. Maybe it's time to reach out to Joel and see if you can work things out," she suggests gently, “And if it doesn’t work out…then you gotta let him go, for good.”

Renae looks into Gia’s eyes, a glimmer of hope shines as she contemplates her next move, “Maybe you’re right…” Renae admits, looking away from her sister to look for Bianca and when she finds her, she can’t believe her eyes.

Her heart races as she sees Sarah sitting with Bianca on the swing set. That can’t be- no fuckin way. She has never met Sarah in person, only seen pictures Joel had shown her. But the resemblance is uncanny. Could it be a doppelgänger? However, before she can process what’s happening, she sees him.

Joel.

Memories flood back, the very same ones she was just venting about to Gia - the laughter, the tears, the love that once bloomed between them. Renae was not prepared for this unexpected encounter, she was planning on reaching out to him in a couple days.

Then just like that, Joel looks up from the swings and spots Renae, and it’s almost like he’s seen a ghost, his face pale, his jaw nearly hitting the ground. Renae, flustered, tries her best to smile but she only gives a small wave instead, not moving from the bench. In that moment, time stands still as Renae grapples with her emotions, torn between the past and the present. The story of their unfinished love about to unfold once again.

Joel smiles back and bends down to tell Sarah something before he starts walking towards Renae, his heart pounding in his chest.

“That’s Joel?” Gia quietly asks Renae as she gives Aliyah some toys to play with on her blanket on the ground, all Renae can do is subtly nod her head. “Holy shit… I can see why you’re struggling’ so much,” Gia chuckles to herself, stopping herself from drooling at the sight of the handsome man coming in their direction.

Renae’s heart races as Joel gets closer, unsure of what to expect, what to say, or what he’s even going to say. As he reaches her, Joel nervously clears his throat and says, "Hey Renae, I've-uh been meanin’ to talk to you… Do you, uh- do you wanna grab some dinner later?” Renae can’t believe what she just heard, Gia smirking next to her.

She softly smiles, a wide grin spread across her face, unable to contain her excitement. "Pick me up at seven?" she asks, feeling a rush of emotions at the thought of reuniting with Joel after a year and a half.

Joel is just as thrilled as Renae. The spark between them has never dimmed, despite the passing time and distance. “See you at seven, Rae,” he smirks along with a subtle wink and a higher level of confidence than when he walked up.

Before Renae can say bye, or anything, she sees Bianca right behind Joel. "Aunt Renae, I'm hungry," she exclaims, squeezing herself between Renae and Joel. With a mischievous glint in her eyes, she continues, "Sarah and Ellie said there's a cool ice cream spot down the street... Can I go with them?" Joel raises an eyebrow at the sudden request, Sarah and Ellie peeking out from behind Bianca, their expressions a mix of excitement and playfulness.

Almost like they know exactly what they’re doing.

Suddenly Gia bursts out laughing, her contagious giggles filling the air. Joel and Renae can’t resist joining in, their laughter blending together in harmony. Renae feels like a weight has been lifted off her shoulders, the tension of the moment dissolving into laughter.

As Gia wipes away the tears, she looks at Joel and sees pure love and affection in his eyes as he stares at Renae. As a baby sister, she couldn’t be happier for Renae, it’s what she needs and deserves. It’s been too long since she’s had a win for herself.

“What’s so funny?” Bianca asks, highly confused and before Renae or Joel can answer, Sarah and Ellie whisper in her ear. And then it seems like it clicks, like she all of a sudden knew all the history between her aunt and her new friend's dad.

—

Renae gets lost in Joel’s chocolate eyes again, the warm eyes she fell for a year ago. She never thought she’d be able to look at him again, let alone go out to dinner with him. And not as her client, but a possible significant other.

Sitting across from each other in the cozy restaurant, the air between them crackling with unspoken words, Renae feels a rush of emotions she hasn’t experienced in a long time. Their conversation flows effortlessly, filled with laughter and meaningful words.

Renae can’t hold back the question that’s been on her mind since they sat down, she gazes into Joel's chocolate orbs, the flickering candle casting a warm glow on their faces. She’s been debating whether or not to ask it, but for her own peace of mind, she has too.

"Has this past year been as hard for you as it has been for me?"

Joel pauses his chewing, his expression softening as he reaches out to take Renae's hand that rests on the white tablecloth table. She sees him take a deep breath through his nose and out his mouth, like he’s thinking hard on the question.

"It’s been one of the hardest in my life," he confesses with glossy eyes, “N’ I think that says a lot.”

Renae feels her heart swell with love and gratitude as she looks into Joel's eyes across the table. Her stomach flips, her lips tighten into a small smile, and her eyes full of love. The year apart seems like a distant memory now, as their connection feels stronger than ever.

With a gentle smile, she tightens her grip on his hand, feeling the warmth and familiarity that it brings. Joel returns her gaze with equal affection, silently conveying the depth of his true feelings for her. In this very moment, Renae knows that despite the pain they faced, their love has only deepened and grown over time.

“More wine?” The waitress asks out of nowhere, causing Renae to jump back in her seat, letting go of Joel’s hand. Please, she accepts with a head nod. Red wine fills both of their glasses, before she walks away leaving Joel and Renae to continue their conversation. The dimly lit restaurant is a perfect setting for Joel and Renae to enjoy their night together, nothing too busy and nothing too empty.

With each sip, Renae’s words flow effortlessly, forging a connection that transcends the noisy chatter around them. “I tried dating a few times,” she confesses to him as she cuts into her steak.

Joel's eyes sparkle with interest at her words, “N’ how did that go?” He can’t help but smirk, the wine affecting him more than he thought.

Renae takes a bite of steak, savoring the flavor for a moment before giving Joel a face that is full of sarcasm and humor. After she swallows she tells him,“Fucking awful!” Causing Joel to burst into laughter. Renae can’t help but laugh along with him, the two of them sharing a moment of genuine joy.

Simple moments of connection like these are what made their friendship so special, where they could be themselves and exchange playful jabs without missing a beat. It’s what has Renae hooked on him, yearning for more and more each time.

Joel wipes away a small tear, still chuckling, as Renae rolls her eyes with a smile, chewing her steak while Joel takes a sip of wine. “How’s single dad life treatin’ you?” she asks, her tone teasing yet filled with genuine curiosity. Joel looks at her with a mix of amusement and contentment, grateful for the easy camaraderie they've always shared.

"It's a wild ride, that's for sure," he replies, a hint of exhaustion underlying his words. Renae nods understandingly, “Sarah loves havin’ just me in the home. She told me that all Annie does is talk shit ‘bout me when she’s there, but Sarah knows she’s talkin’ out her ass.”

Renae stops chewing, almost choking as she swallows the food at the sound of his words spill from him. “Are you fuckin’ serious?” Even though she knows Joel absolutely loves his daughter and did what he had to do to save her, Annie has no right to speak like that to her own daughter.

Joel lets out a soft sigh, gazing into the distance for a moment before replying, “Yep. I hate that Sarah’s in this position, but she’s twelve - almost thirteen, so she understands her mom and me.” Joel admits, shrugging his shoulders, “I’m kinda hopin’ Annie just stops showin’ up to pickups. It would be so much easier…for everyone.”

Renae senses the weight of his words, enough for her to almost feel like she knows exactly what he’s going through. His nonchalant shrug couldn't conceal the underlying turmoil caused by Annie's presence. She sees the conflict in his eyes, torn between compassion and self-preservation.

Despite his resolve, the lingering pain of past memories still haunts him and Renae can sense that. She silently vows to support him through this emotional battle, knowing that healing take’s time, but believing that one day, Joel will find peace when it comes to Annie.

“Well,” Renae gently starts, catching Joel’s attention immediately, “There is somethin’ that can be done, through the court, if you wanna do it. I’m not gonna push you because the court takes a lot out of you.”

“No. I can’t- Sarah can’t go through that.” Joel stops Renae from going more into it, “I’ve done my research ’bout the whole thing, but I just can’t put Sarah into that.”

Renae swiftly shakes her head, completely understanding Joel's wants and needs. She knows that he doesn't want his young daughter to go through the emotional turmoil of a custody battle in court. One that has already happened as Sarah’s almost thirteen, and at some point she can’t just tell her mom that she doesn’t want to be around her anymore.

So Renae gently places a comforting hand on Joel's hand across from her once again, offering her support and reassurance in this difficult time.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up. So tell me, what else is new with you?

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