#me? childhood au? who could have predicted it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kiachiako · 2 years

Text

stars, moons, & other celestial bodies | j.jh

pairing | jaehyun x female!reader

synopsis | With your fizzy drinks and vinyls in tow, you’re determined to make the most of your summer before the start of your first year at university. Everything’s seemingly perfect; humid afternoons with your closest friends, late-night mixers at your local alumnis' estates, and sleeping in to ungodly hours. What you didn’t predict, however, was your brother making the early trip home to surprise you with a certain someone — namely, his best friend since childhood — following closely behind. His unexpected appearance throws you off, and suddenly, your summer is filled to the brim with his presence. You’re finally able to taste the idea of mature love, but is it really all that it’s made out to be?

content | brother!taeyong, retro-themed au, angst, fluff, coming of age, language warning, suggestive, mentions and consumption of alcohol/drugs

wc | 26.7k

song | delicate — taylor swift

a/n | for @hyuckmov and @rrxnjun, who kept me sane while writing this monster :D

...

The first week of summer before your freshman year of university is defined by sticky ‘n sweet cherry cola, rides around the abandoned carousel with your friends, and “borrowing” quarters out of your brother’s Cadillac to insert into the jukebox of the local diner; break has been this way since as long as you could remember. It's a familiar itinerary, one that plays back routinely every school break.

You’ve grown up without even realizing, your teenage days spent juggling academic work and getting into stupid situations with Mark and Chaewon trickling down to a close. This conclusion really hit you during an epiphany on a sweltering night after high school graduation.

It occurred in the midst of humid sepia air, the three of you still in your graduation caps and gowns as your bodies lay splayed across the asphalt leading down to your street. With the absence of cars coming down the wide road, it was perfectly rational to lay side by side in the middle of the cul-de-sac. The ground was simply the best place to ponder your thoughts and get lost in swirling memories now that university lay too close on the horizon; the sheer size of the sky seemed to mock your trio as you watched the clouds roll on by in their mismatched shapes and harrowing wisps.

A cigar — one comically too big for his face — hung between Mark’s fingers as he pushed his body to flop over your arm, the thing no doubt “borrowed” from the bottom of his father’s office drawer.

“Thank the Lord I’ll never have to see you bitches again,” he had sighed in pretend relief, blowing a tunnel of smoke into the side of your face as you pushed his warm skin off of yours. Chaewon snorted from beside you.

“Please, as if you’ll last a day without us at uni,” she retorted, rolling over onto her stomach and pulling a face at Mark’s teasing words. “I can’t even count the amount of times I’ve saved your life over this past month alone.”

“Yeah?” Mark grinned, supporting his upper body with his forearms as he turned to look at her over your relaxed figure. “Enlighten me.” She subsequently raised her eyebrows at him.

“Might I remind you of the time you got stuck at the drive-through cinema at 2am because you had locked yourself out of your car? And guess whose asses had to haul yours back home two hours away,” Chaewon pointed an accusing finger at Mark, her tone joking as she glared at said boy. He opened his mouth to say something but she held up a finger to her mouth in a shushing motion, stopping him. “And. Let’s not forget last week,” Mark furrowed his eyebrows, as if trying to recall which out of all the dumb decisions he had made was about to be relived, “when Kang Yujin pushed up on you during that one house party, you got a hard on from just that, and we had to cover for you-”

Mark shot up abruptly, leaning over you to slap a hand over Chaewon’s mouth before rushing to defend himself.

“But she was so hot, Chae, you wouldn’t understand,” he whined at her, frowning at you to do something and sympathize with him. It was expected by now, the regular petty and half-assed arguments making your friendship that much stronger.

As they continued bickering back and forth, you couldn’t help but let your mind drift away back into the clouds, the setting sun soaking them with a blazing, burnt umber. You would be going to college soon, and that meant no Mark, no Chaewon, and no parents to keep you sane. It was strange to imagine not spending every waking moment with your two best friends, and even stranger to think that going to different schools would mean no more daily drama fill-ins and midnight convenience store runs.

But after all, you had done it once, and you hoped you could do it again.

When your older brother Taeyong left for university a few years ago, it had practically shattered you. Sure, you found him incredibly annoying at times (still do) and had a constant vendetta against the man, but when the moment came to hug him goodbye, you just couldn’t bring yourself to let go. He had shown you the ins and outs of adolescence and given you the attention you craved when your parents couldn’t. He taught you how to take care of yourself, how to look in the mirror and recognize your worth, how to know your own limits, and how to realize that high school boys weren’t shit. He was always the first to get to the hospital when you had gotten hurt at school, and most important of all, he was with you throughout the highs and lows growing up.

If Taeyong leaving home had taught you anything, it was that time moves too fast — and it’ll only move faster as you get older. You know that your life is about to enter Round 2, and this time without anyone to hold your hand as you enter an unfamiliar place with unfamiliar people.

But it’s not over just yet.

Your best friends would never let that happen, and you recognize this now as your golden trio sits in your town’s local record shop, with ceiling fans whirring above you as the cool storefront protects you from the blazing summer heat.

It’s after-hours but the sun still burns bright into the late afternoon. You recline in the cashier chair as Chaewon flips the 'open' sign closed and makes her way back to you and Mark, the latter sitting against the wall with a variety of bottles surrounding him on the checkered floor.

He’s in an odd position, and you just know his mother would flip if she saw him with this much alcohol on a wednesday afternoon (at least it’s not a Sunday after mass, but she definitely doesn’t need to know that he’s been there, done that already). Mark tests out new concoctions every week, using the record store as his work space; the owner’s never in town and barely any customers come in to buy records these days, so there’s no one to stop him. Chaewon raises her eyebrows as she eyes the newest addition to his special menu.

“I’m not even gonna ask,” you say as he swirls the amber liquid around in a clean whisky bottle. Mark whistles at his creation, impressed, before holding it up to you and shaking it tauntingly. It smells slightly floral, the sharp flavors of absinthe and cognac making your nose scrunch.

“You’re just mad that your mixes don’t hit as hard as mine, baby.” With another swirl, he lifts the drink up to his mouth to taste. “And because you so nicely asked,” Mark smirks at you, “it’s Peychaud’s Bitters, cognac, syrup, and anise, and I give you my permission to borrow the recipe to impress your future uni friends. You’re welcome.” You shove Mark’s shoulder with your palm as he laughs at your baffled expression, body shaking with amusement while he sips away at his newest pride.

It’s only when Chaewon reaches over to steal the bottle away from him that your phone starts ringing, startling all three of you as the name of your older brother flashes across the screen. Mark looks at you inquisitively, but you just shrug in response and press the receive button.

“Tae?” you inquire, surprised at the sudden call. “Everything okay?”

He hums at the end of the line.

“More than okay. Guess whose plans just changed and is actually coming home today for break,” he reveals right away, and you know he’s smiling by the way his tone of voice is lilted in true Taeyong fashion.

“No fucking way,” you breathe out, eyes widening. Taeyong’s back? “Today, right now? For the entire summer? You’re actually lying- wait wait I’m coming home right now. Wait. Wait for me.”

“‘Wait wait wait,’ I’m not going anywhere sis,” he grins as he mocks you, noises of shuffling sounding out over your phone speaker. “Mom’s gonna pick me up from the airport in 30, I think. See you then?”

“Lee Taeyong! How could you not tell me,” you frown into the receiver, “I need at least three business days to prepare before seeing your face.”

“Oh, shut up would you. I have literal voicemail receipts of you crying about how much you miss me,” Taeyong retorts, topping your sarcasm.

You sigh, rubbing your temple when you realize that Taeyong’s never gonna let your sad-drunk voicemails go. “Fine, but you better spend every single day with me.”

Taeyong protests jokingly before giving in, promising you that he’ll make up for the time you’ve missed together. With a little, love you, and more of his usual unsolicited comments, the two of you say your quick goodbyes and you turn back to your waiting friends.

“Damn, Taeyong’s really back?” Mark looks at you in awe, his eyes shining with admiration. “He never stays for long, that’s crazy. You gotta let me come over at least once,” he pleads, hands grabbing yours. You know that your best friend looks up to your brother a ton, so you nod at him. “Sick, imma finally be able to talk music with him.”

“Wait, if Taeyong’s coming home for the entire summer,” Chaewon pauses, a knowing smile growing on her face as you groan, knowing exactly what she’s about to say next, “that means a certain Jeong Jaehyun will probably be following him back as well. And likely other kids in their year too from SNU… holy shit, the parties are gonna be literally insane this summer.” She throws her head back in elation as the realization strikes the three of you at once.

“You’re so right,” Mark covers his mouth to hide the smug grin taking over his face. He makes a heart with his hands as he observes you. “I can’t believe that I forgot Miss Y/N over here had the biggest crush on Jaehyun in high school.” You hit him on the chest in response as he absolutely loses it over your misfortune.

“Lovergirl,” he sing-songs, adding fuel to the fire while you shove your face into your palms. Your cheeks warm on their own when your mind flash-backs to your second year of high school, your insufferable crush on your brother’s best friend surfacing memories that you had buried after they both had graduated two years ago.

“I’m leaving,” you mumble into your hands, “all you two do is make me suffer.”

Chaewon grins at you before pulling your figure into a tight hug, tugging Mark in too by his shirt to join your little group.

“It’s out of love,” she giggles before kissing your cheek with an exaggerated muah. Turning slowly towards Mark, he lets out a, “nope nope nope,” before scrambling away from Chaewon’s outstretched arms.

Smiling at their antics, you collect your few belongings and tuck some new records under your arm before heading out of the shop. Saluting your friends goodbye and opening the front door, you cringe at the wave of heat that seeps into the cool space.

“Say hi to Taeyong for me, Y/N! We’ll lock up for today,” Chaewon calls out from behind the counter, sending you an air kiss when you step out into your town’s center square.

The streets buzz with life as you make the quick walk back to your house. With a brilliant sunset soaking the streets in tangerine tones and a line of quaint shops’ wind chimes fluttering beside you, you can’t bring yourself to care about the heat. The alleys you stroll down are comfy, lined with the latest pastel DeLoreans and colorful paper garlands tied along their telephone lines. It’s a complete memory lane, and your comfy suburb — filled with traditional gaewa roofs and terracotta neutrals, clay-red stained roads and gated hanoks — hold a familiarity that no other could replace. It’s the more cramped side of town, and you might envy Taeyong’s thrilling city life that you see through his social media, but nothing will ever beat home.

Your lace camisole sticks to your skin with fervor as you finally get to your own address, letting out a sigh of relief when cool shade encompasses you in the juniper-tinted light of the mudroom. Setting your brand-new records onto the kitchen floor, their faded titles peeking over thin paper sheaths, you make yourself comfortable on the floor as you hum to yourself. The house is quiet.

You put one of the new records into your player before your gaze drifts over to a stack of pictures on the tabletop, filtered evenly between stray letters and tacky postcards that your older brother has always had a knack for.

In addition to texting and calling home every month, Taeyong made it a habit a few years ago to send you the little magazine cut-outs and mini posters that he sees on his escapades, trinkets that remind him of you. Your little kitchen-counter-collection has thinned out in the past months as your brother got increasingly busier with school and his modeling jobs, barely coming home for a few days before rushing back for castings and elite functions. Nonetheless, a little orange package addressed to you would appear at your doorstep with each change of the seasons, tinged with your brother’s cologne and topped with his messy handwriting.

Just as you place the needle on a shiny black record with Missy Elliot’s face plastered across its front, you hear the front door creak open before noises of rolling luggage and playful shouting fill the house's interior.

“Mom, I’m not ten anymore,” you hear Taeyong whine in the higher-pitched voice he reserves solely for family, the telltale sign of his embarrassment, “I can carry my backpack myself. Promise.”

You can imagine the scene before you even see it: your brother looking away to the window as he tries to fight the smile creeping on his face, your mother on her tip-toes as she musses with her son’s hair even though he’s a head taller, and of course, your father leaning against the door with a content grin as his watches his wife’s face light up with happiness that the family is together again.

When you hear their footsteps near your seated figure on the kitchen floor, you feel your brother’s presence before you even see him.

Taeyong stops a few paces away from you, dropping his bag carelessly on the ground before standing with his arms outstretched and eyebrows raised. With his messy hair and airport clothes still hanging off his shoulders, your brother looks like a favorite uncle at holiday dinners when he hasn’t seen his favorite niece and nephew all year.

“Aren’t you gonna come say hi to your best friend before you abandon me for your vinyls again,” he teases before crossing the threshold in three steps and embracing you fully. “It’s been a while, hmm rockstar?”

You hum at the familiar term of endearment, sinking into his figure as your brother rocks you back and forth. You look up at him, his face looking more mature and sharp than when you saw him last.

“You gotta catch me up on that crazy life of yours, yeah? We have all summer.”

Nodding contently, you follow your brother and parents into the dining room for dinner before settling back into the feeling of having four people at home again. Just like the old days, before Taeyong left, where your worries were limited and you allowed yourself to be childish.

…

If anything makes you glad you’re alive, it’s being able to wake up at 2pm in the afternoon on a Thursday and feeling you just gained ten years. It’s truly a blessing, and if you were a bit more religious, you’d be thanking God right now for no school and black-out curtains.

Quickly getting ready, you give one last glance at yourself in the mirror before rushing downstairs to see if anyone’s home still. To your surprise, you catch Taeyong right as he’s opening the door to the basement.

“So she’s alive,” he calls out with an approving nod, surprised that you actually managed to wake up before the sun sets once again. You roll your eyes as you pull cereal in front of you on the kitchen table. The two of you are back to your old ways in a matter of hours, making fun of each other at every chance you get.

“It’s not my fault you don’t know how to enjoy life, Tae,” you shrug, grabbing leftovers from the fridge. He simply tsks at you before walking over to affectionately ruffle your hair, drawing a complaint from you about messing it up.

“Anyway, some of my old friends are coming over today to catch up. We’re probably gonna be downstairs for a while so just let them in the front when they come,” your brother relays, moving back towards the basement when you throw up an okay sign. He gives you a knowing look. “You’re always welcome to join, you know. They all love you.”

You crinkle your nose at the idea. Sure, you’re pretty familiar with most of Taeyong’s high school friends, but you really aren’t too keen on the idea of spending your afternoon with a bunch of older boys when you could be hanging out with Mark and Chaewon.

“I’m okay. You guys have fun, though.”

Resuming your attention on your food, you open the front door a couple times over the next hour for said boys. Their features chiseled, styles changed, and voices a bit deeper, they’re all caught by surprise when you open the door for them (Yuta’s inability to recognise you at all really takes the cake). You suppose that a lot can change in two years.

After the seventh ring of the doorbell, you sigh in exasperation before making your way to the front once again. You grumble under your breath before opening the door, the bitter expression wiping right off your face when you see the two figures in front of you.

“Johnny!”

“Y/N,” the familiar boy exclaims, his towering stature enveloping you in a warm hug before pulling back and examining your growth. “Look who’s all pretty and grown! You look so much like Taeyong now that it’s scary,” he beams at you while turning your face side to side with his hands, and you can’t help but return it. If anyone was as much of an older brother figure as your real one was, it would be Johnny.

“Hey,” a voice sounds out besides him after a few moments of Johnny’s compliments, startling you, and your eyes finally flick over to the subject of your teenage years’ daydreams. Your heart floods with a jittery feeling when he reaches out to give you a hug. “It’s nice to see you again, Y/N.”

Jeong Jaehyun hasn’t changed a bit since you last saw him at your brother’s graduation.

His hair is a bit longer now, dark brown curls shimmering gold in the sunlight and his ears now adorned with more silver studs and rings. But the sun-kissed freckles dusting his nose, the deep-set dimples, the starry eyes — they’re exactly the same as you remember.

He’s still breathtaking.

Johnny bursts your little moment as he grabs your arm to lead you back into your house, pulling both you and Jaehyun along with him to the basement entrance.

Even though you’re painfully aware of your fingers nervously playing with the bracelets on your wrist, it’s true that these boys practically watched you grow up. Even when you look at a certain brown-eyed boy, your whole world feels like it's stopping. Even when your stupid childhood crush on your brother’s best friend was supposed to be gone by now. You know them, and they know you.

After Johnny and Jaehyun disappear down the stairs with a small goodbye and the invitation to join them once again, you head back up to your own room, collapsing onto your bed and staring up at the glow-in-the-dark stars plastered across your ceiling.

You remember your brother and Jaehyun setting them up for you many years ago, their young figures using your bed as leverage to stick them on when you were still too short to reach. You had handed each star carefully to the boys, making sure the adhesive side was up before telling them where to place each one. They waited patiently for you to give them every star until the whole box was empty, the three of you high fiving before you had thanked them enthusiastically. Taeyong had simply pinched your cheek and said, “anything for my baby sister,” before pulling Jaehyun away to play another video game in the living room.

Taeyong was a kind older brother, never complaining when your mother told him to bring you with him and his friends on their little adventures. Occasionally he found you annoying, but his friends never minded your presence, so he couldn’t find a reason to either. You were integrated into their daily outings, the boys taking turns talking and playing games with you as the days progressed.

You think your liking to Jaehyun started then: when your young mind easily confused admiration with puppy love. Your brother’s friends were the nicest boys you had met, certainly nicer than the boys in your class at school. Jaehyun specifically always made sure you were comfortable, making silly faces at you when your eyes met across the room and remembering to bring you snacks from across the street when he got some for his best friend. He was perfect in your eyes.

When you started hanging out more with your own friends as you got older, things never really changed regarding your feelings for the boy. Your secret crush was still as prominent as ever, eyes following his mess of hair whenever he passed you in the hallway at school; it didn’t help that his name was passed around no matter what year you were. Jaehyun this and Jaehyun that, you were definitely not the only girl whose heartbeat stopped whenever he looked their way. He was polite, confident, and undeniably charming, your school’s beloved basketball team captain and a favorite of teachers: the kind of boy everyone wanted to be out of envy, but couldn’t. He was truly untouchable. Your classmates would stare at you in awe when he waved at you through the classroom entrance, telling you how lucky you were that your brother and his group were so cool and how you had guys like Jaehyun over all the time.

But it wasn’t like it was any different at home, where he would smile at you just the same as you worked on your homework in the kitchen before retreating back into the basement with Taeyong.

Even though fifteen year-old you thought your feelings were pretty damn strong at that time, the age gap felt a bit too gaping where kids two years older felt worlds away. By seventeen, they were already off driving and taking weekend trips, your brother’s license making leeway for nights when he and his friends wouldn’t return until sunrise. It felt a little bit like you had been left behind, and yeah, it sucked, but you decided right then and there that you could have fun without them. Taeyong’s friends weren’t necessarily yours in the first place, and you came to the realization that it might have been strange for you to be so close with them at an older age anyway.

If you were sad about not seeing Jaehyun in particular too much anymore, you tried not to show it. Your best friends — Mark and Chaewon — had always known, teasing you relentlessly when the older boy was around, but the idea of him was only a lingering thought at the back of your mind when he graduated. Your ears still perked up hearing his name in passing, but you had your own problems to consume your thoughts and started getting into a new genre of trouble with your friends; the idea of Jaehyun was supposed to be dead and buried six feet under.

So then why was he plaguing your mind like this after years of successfully not thinking about him?

You groan and throw an arm over your face.

Shit.

…

“My little film-maker,” a voice pops up from above you, the grinning face of your brother accompanying it as he surprises you into oblivion. You make a face up at him and offer a reluctant little wave before returning back to your camcorder, zooming in on Chaewon beside you.

You’re on the asphalt outside your house again. The air’s cooler today, a gray sheet of clouds blocking any of the sun’s rays from reaching your golden trio. With your head on Mark’s legs, he strums his guitar gently as Chaewon hums along to the familiar tunes. Her hands are busy on their own, one arm out while her other uses markers to draw a garden into her skin with washed-out blues and oranges.

You turn the camera around to point at Taeyong, the said boy poking his tongue out before plopping down beside Mark.

“I feel like I always find you guys on the ground,” he mutters, observing the way Mark strums his instrument with care and experience. Your friend looks a little intimidated with the proximity of Taeyong leaning towards him, but he plays on nevertheless.

You shrug. “It’s more comfortable.”

“And we’re a little closer to Hell down here,” Chaewon adds on with a grin, pausing from her flesh-art to look up at Taeyong. “We’ll all be heading there soon anyway.”

“Smart girl,” he laughs out, throwing his head back to stare into the sky. He stays there for a good moment before jumping back up onto his feet and twirling a shiny set of car keys around his fingers. “Anyway, I’m afraid I’ll have to steal Y/N for a bit,” your brother fakes a trail of tears down his cheek with his fist. “Don’t miss her too much.”

“Never,” Mark smirks at you, reaching out to pat your arm affectionately when you let out an offended, Oscar worthy sob at his words.

“Don’t have more fun with him than you do with us, babe,” she calls out as Taeyong drags you off. You salute her back before she turns back to her painting.

Stumbling behind your brother to catch up with his long strides, your eyebrows raise when you catch sight of his infamous red Cadillac parked down the winding road. You grip on tighter to your camcorder before jogging up to the passenger side, ready to swing your legs over the side of the convertible.

“Not so fast,” Taeyong calls out, amused, as he strolls up casually to the driver's side. “We’re picking up some of the guys and Johnny already called shotgun yesterday. Take it up with him, rockstar.”

You splutter indignantly before crossing to the backseat with a huff, sinking into the car’s tan, leather seats and crossing your arms. “Not fair, Tae,” you complain at him before he starts the engine, starting off in the direction of an area you’ve never been before. “Where are we even going?”

He doesn’t answer.

Soon enough, three more bodies crowd into your brother’s car after dropping by Jungwoo’s condo, the boy squishing into the back with you as Jaehyun of all people slides into the seat on the other side of you. They offer smiles and quick greetings to you before the car takes off once again.

His proximity hits you far harder than Jungwoo’s, and you know exactly why. You keep your head tilted away from him as you try to focus on Johnny in the front seat, who’s passionately retelling an encounter he had at the supermarket this morning. It’s incredibly hard when Jaehyun moves and his thigh touches yours, fifteen year-old you coming back to life within you and screaming all sorts of insane things at your brain. You can physically feel his warmth radiating off his skin.

“—so we both reach out at the same time, and luckily, I snatch the crate right before her hands do. But,” Johnny pauses to look through the rearview mirror for dramatic effect, his shades glinting as the Cadillac speeds through dusty roads. “You won’t believe who those hands belonged to.”

He stills with the skill of an A-list actor, reaching up to pluck the sunnies off his face and stare right into Jaehyun’s eyes through the silver glass.

“Lim Saemi.”

Everybody has a different reaction to the name-drop, with Jungwoo and Taeyong’s gasp and your muffled noise ringing out as your eyes widen in the slightest. You try to glance at Jaehyun subtly, and his face doesn’t flicker a bit from its usual stoic expression, but you can feel him tense up next to you before relaxing a few seconds later. He appears seemingly unphased, and if you had not been watching carefully from out of the corner of your eye you would have fallen for it.

You know better, though.

“Oh? Is she back home for the summer too?” Jaehyun throws out casually, tucking his chin in his hand as he looks out through the wind.

“Wait Jae… you didn’t know? I thought if anyone would know first, it would be you,” Jungwoo leans back, surprised at this new development. “Even I knew, and everyone knows I don’t catch onto shit.”

“It’s whatever,” Jaehyun mumbles, deflecting the weird looks he receives. He ends the conversation with two words, and the car falls into silence with the only noises being those from tires against gravel. You glance at him before staring straight forward through the dash.

You know Lim Saemi.

Who doesn’t, in all honesty. Saemi is Saemi, and you’d be the weird one if you hadn’t heard her name at least once throughout your school years. She was like straight out of a Dior catalog. With as much impact as your older brother and his posse had left, she was everything all the girls in your year wanted to be: too pretty to be unnecessarily shallow, too smart to use her looks irrationally.

You remember Lim Saemi.

She’s two years older, like Taeyong and Jaehyun and Johnny. She was the girl who was occasionally over at your house during parties when your brother would force you upstairs, her bleached hair and delicate features drawing in everyone immediately. You remember watching from the top of the stairwell as her figure still captured attention in the darkness of winter’s pitch black nights. From your outside point of view, it was like she was the center of a spindling web that stretched throughout the bottom floor of your house; people just couldn’t help but be lured to her.

You wanted to be Lim Saemi.

Just for one day. You needed to know what it felt like to be the center of a certain boy’s affections, even though she attracted every other person’s along the way as well. She was a different type of suburban it-girl, one that everyone was sure would get snatched up into the celebrity world sooner or later with the way she carried herself.

You knew that Jaehyun and Saemi had always been “just friends” — or at least that was what they told everyone — but you could tell he had liked her throughout their high school years. How could you not, especially when you looked at him the same way he looked at her. Back then, it was more curiosity about their complicated relationship than hate fueled jealousy for you. You still couldn’t help but imagine him treating you with the affection he did with her; even as a teenager, you understood why. And ironically, as you sit in the backseat of your brother’s car with the very boy right beside you, the bubbling feeling of envy is uncomfortable in your gut.

Shaking your head out of your retrospective thoughts, you look around in confusion when the convertible starts to slow on a thinning road, towering evergreens blocking the sky from view.

Leading the car through another winding path, it emerges on the other side within acres of grassy fields and wildflower paths that circles a grandiose, central estate home. Marble blocks stretch across its stone ledges like ivy — an intimidating facade if you’ve ever seen one. Taeyong looks at you through the rearview mirror. His eyes crease in pride when he sees the wonder in yours, enraptured by the sight before you.

“Remember when Johnny said that he’d always wanted to go to a local car show?” your brother starts, grinning at his friend beside him. “Well, yours truly saw an ad at the record shop yesterday for one just outside of town. Someone compliment me, I feel like I just made all of our afternoons a thousand times better.”

“This is actually insane, Yong,” Jungwoo breathes out, eyes widening at the unfamiliar setting.

Retro cars of all brands and models are parked across an acre, their shiny coats glinting in the sun as masses of people linger near and talk amongst themselves. The white pillars of whoever’s home is hosting the car show serves as a gathering place for lovers to mingle, precariously held champagne flutes an ironic contrast to the grit and dirt of the event itself.

Johnny lets out a low whistle before resting his weight on the center console and lowering his sunglasses, observing the scene.

“This is exactly my type of place. Old, rich people and hot girls.”

“Oh my god, Johnny,” you laugh out, not at all surprised that those words came from his mouth.

You tear your gaze away from the outside view to look at Jaehyun after hearing his embarrassed groan at Johnny’s words. To your surprise, he’s already looking at you. With his piercing gaze on your face, you look away, flustered, playing it off with a small cough.

Taeyong parks his timeless Cadillac besides others of the same nature before leaving to roam around with Johnny and Jungwoo, buzzing with excitement. It’s no surprise that they make their way over to the group of girls huddled around a vintage truck model first, their giggles ringing out across the field as they throw sly glances to the boys headed their way. You catch sight of your brother leaning towards one in particular before deciding you’ve seen enough and turning to explore by yourself.

Thrilled to be left to your own devices, you follow your own little path off to the side towards a pastel-colored Corvette that had caught your eye earlier. Circling it for a few minutes and capturing it slowly through the lens of your camcorder, you smile happily to yourself while replaying the footage in the shade of a lonely willow tree. The cool breeze brings tangs of clementines and vanilla — from where, you don’t know — as well as the unmistakable scent of petrol and cigarettes as it picks up pieces of your hair before rustling the leaves of the willow.

“Can I see?” a familiar voice startles you. You look up to see Jaehyun’s lean figure making his way over to your crouched one, gesturing to your open camera with his head tilted. “If you’re comfortable, of course,” he adds, the corners of his lips quirking up. Mouth agape slightly for a few seconds, you shake yourself out of your momentary funk and nod, thrilled at his interest.

“The colors show up really well with this lighting, especially ‘cuz I just changed my saturation settings,” you mumble, stopping yourself when you realize he probably doesn’t care that much. Tucking your knees to your chest, you wait nervously as you hand the device to him.

You think your heartbeat just about stops when he replies with a “that’s so cool” under his breath.

Jaehyun holds the camera carefully to his chest before sitting down beside you, leaning against the tree trunk before flipping through your gallery. He takes his time watching every little video clip and picture, giving you a little noise of approval every few clicks.

You’re caught off guard when he sighs and puts the camcorder back in your lap, turning to you with the most serious expression you’ve ever seen grace his features.

“Y/N, you seriously might be better at this shit than the literal mixed media majors at my uni,” he deadpans. Taken aback, you can’t stop the rosy warmth that creeps up your cheeks. “I’m being so for real right now. Don’t ever stop.”

You pause.

“Do you know how reassuring that is to hear, especially from you?” you say with sincerity, holding eye contact with him.

“Hmm? Really, me?”

“Yeah. It feels like I’m doing something right, like I’m not wasting my time on a fruitless hobby.” Confessing one of your biggest fears to someone who’s familiar to you but not, close to you but not — now that’s probably one of the craziest things you’ve done this week, and you do a whole lot of crazy things in a week.

Jaehyun’s expression changes with your words. He doesn’t reply for a while, just seeming to take in the world around him with only his eyes. Looking from the drooping branches of the willow to its dirt-ingrained roots, his face is cast downwards with a faint, melancholic smile.

Now the mood is ruined, you think to yourself, bitter. Why do I always do this?

Before you can change the subject and move on from your awkward burt-out, he clears his throat.

“You know, I admire you a lot Y/N. You and Taeyong,” he starts, the slim chain around his neck glittering in the afternoon sun when he turns back to you. “Both of you have always been unafraid to pursue the arts, even though I know how your strict parents are about future careers and all that. I wish I had the courage to just… do what I like instead of being a pushover with my dad. Maybe I would be doing music with your brother instead of barely living day by day in pre-med.”

His usual confident eyes are tinged with regret and a little vulnerability as he ruffles his hair in the wind. You tilt your head at him, trying to come up with comforting words when you aren’t so sure if you’re qualified to give him advice in the first place.

“Well… I admire you a lot, Jaehyun. You’ve always been that one person who consistently looks like they have their life in check, someone who’s able to put their all in everything that they do. It’s really a quality to be proud of,” you say to him honestly. “I think you’ll do well wherever you end up. So don’t worry too much, okay?”

The boy stares at you like no one’s ever said that to him, and no one has; even if this might be a passing comment for you, it’s something that he feels relief to finally hear.

“Thanks.” He says it so quietly that you almost miss it, but you can hear the gratefulness in his voice nevertheless. You both look away for a few seconds when a brilliant yellow bird flutters past the two of you, settling on the ground in front to peck at a white speck in the soil. “Pretty,” he mumbles under his breath, blinking at the animal.

And with that, Jaehyun shakes his head a bit before resuming back to his relaxed demeanor. He lets out a breath of air and runs his tongue over his teeth.

“Sorry for getting so deep all of a sudden,” he apologies, sheepishly rubbing his neck as you let out a little laugh.

“No, it’s nice to hear that the Valentine Boy has troubles too,” you tease lightly, recalling the God-like aura he used to carry 24/7 when you were younger and the nick-name that followed him around as a result. Jaehyun visibly cringes at your words, no doubt getting high school flashbacks.

“Not that,” he replies, embarrassed. “Anyway, I feel like I haven’t gotten the chance yet to ask you how you’ve been these past few years.” You glance up at him in surprise. He sounds strangely sincere for someone you weren’t that close with out of your brother’s friends, and the confusion must show on your face because he finds it in himself to clarify. “Oh come on, Y/N. I feel like we’ve known each other since forever but I’ve missed a crucial part of your growing up. You’re like a whole different person now.”

“I’d hope so,” you lament, fiddling with your camcorder. “I’ve gone through too much shit to be the same as sixteen-year old me.” Jaehyun laughs out loud at your answer, knowing exactly how you feel as someone who was once a fresh, high school graduate.

“Yeah? Well it seems like just yesterday when you were complaining about being bored after school from not having enough homework—” he stumbles over his words when you push his body with a light shove, the boy barely able to get breaths in with how much he’s laughing at your past cluelessness of how hard high school would really be.

“None of you guys warned me about the horror of calculus, so that is not my fault Jaehyun,” you pout, shaking your head at him.

“So it’s my fault?” he smiles, questioning your statement.

“Yes.” A lie.

“And I’m the reason why you almost failed second semester math?”

“Yes.” Another lie. Wait. “What— how do you even know about that?” You demand, incredulous. Jaehyun just raises his eyebrows and hides his growing grin behind his hand. “Fucking Lee Taeyong.”

He looks overjoyed at your seething, playfully poking out his bottom lip in a mock-frown before getting up and dusting off his pants. Offering a hand to you, Jaehyun uses his strength to pull you to your feet; you’re hyper-aware of the warmth of his palm as your hands linger for a millisecond before he pulls away.

I’m so screwed, you think to yourself, blinking at the sky with fervor. Shaking your head, you tuck your hand to your side and try not to think of his skin on yours.

“They’re finally done flirting,” he notes with a hum, making an acute observation as you both spy the three other boys heading back to the car, their reluctant forms obvious when you see one girl hold up her hands in a ‘call me’ sign.

Smirking, you skip ahead of Jaehyun before turning back and waving your wallet at him.

“25000 won that we’ll see one of those girls walk out of Tae’s room tomorrow morning,” you chant as Jaehyun jogs to catch up with you. Chuckling, he pushes your wallet away.

“Nah, that man doesn’t give a fuck about the time of day. 25000 that she’s gonna be at your house in twenty,” he counters, snorting when you gag at the thought.

You can’t help but light up at his content face; this feels like this is the first time you’ve ever had a real, honest to goodness, conversation with him as a young adult.

And you’re in trouble, because you think you like it more than you should.

…

“I did it,” Chaewon confesses over the phone, the sound of a knife against a chopping board from her end revealing her current position.

“What,” you inquire, “you finally passed your license test?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Never.” You flash a wicked grin at the sheet music in your hands, shuffling through the never-ending leaflets.

When Taeyong had said he’d pay you to organize his papers, you clearly weren’t thinking straight enough to be saying yes to this hell. He’s been out for an hour already and not even a third of the pile is sorted through. You slump forward on the couch and shake out your tired hands, groaning when your knuckle hits the coffee table with a painful thump.

“For your information, I don’t need to drive. Hot girls take public transportation,” she retorts with a humph.

“Can’t argue with you there, passenger princess.”

“Oh please, I can literally feel the sarcasm dripping from your voice.”

You laugh, a “you know me, Chae” accompanying the sound ringing out through your empty house. Gathering Taeyong’s work into your arms and dumping the rest on the table, you slide onto the carpeted ground with a sigh. Your bones are overly sore from sitting for too long and the couches seams have made painful, little white imprints on your thighs. With a click of your tongue, you inwardly curse your brother for offering such good deals to a minimum wage paid, about-to-be uni kid, or else you wouldn't be spending a perfectly good Saturday afternoon on whatever this is.

“So,” you prompt, “what did you do this time.”

“Ha,” Chaewon starts.

“I’m scared.”

“Ran into Jaehyun today.”

“Aaand that’s my cue to hang up now,” you sing, slipping the phone between your shoulder and ear, the warm device tucked neatly in the crevice of your neck before you hear the sound of your doorbell ringing out.

“Wait—”

“Hold on for a sec, Chae. Someone’s at the door.”

You will yourself to get up from the carpet before making your way over to the front of the house, preparing yourself for a blast of hot summer air to hit you. The silver knob twists under your hand as you swing the door open slowly, expecting the mailman or a delivery on your front porch. Certainly not—

“—Hey.”

Your eyes flick up in surprise.

“Oh shit,” Chaewon whispers over the phone. “That’s not who I think it is, right?”

It’s been a week since you last saw Jaehyun face to face, and your conflicted inner thoughts have been battling in your conscience for the entirety of it. Well, this isn’t great.

“Hi Jaehyun,” you manage to sound out, mentally chastising yourself for sounding so nervous.

“And that’s my cue to hang up now,” the voice at the other end of your call snickers, the long beep of it ending blaring into your ear.

Your arm drops to your side, phone in hand, as you stare pointedly at Chaewon’s contact info lighting up the screen, her eyes mocking you through her profile picture. Jaehyun lifts an eyebrow as he looks between your phone and your face, seemingly questioning if you’re currently busy through his eyes alone.

“Umm…” your gaze flits around in flusteration, looking just about anywhere but him. “Taeyong’s not home right now, if that’s why you’re here.”

“Oh? Do you know when he’ll be back?” he asks, relaxed as he leans his body against the doorframe.

“He’s picking up stuff from Johnny’s across town, so like,” you glance up at the clock, “an hour? I could uh… call you when he gets back if you want.”

Jaehyun simply pokes his tongue into his cheek in contemplation before tucking his hands into his pockets.

“Nah, it’s okay. I’ll just stay.” With a small smile, he adds on, “if you're okay with that, of course.”

You peer past him to see his shiny black Mustang sitting in front of your house, before returning to your original position and shrugging at the foyer. Losing your shyness momentarily as you let out a puff of air, you follow Jaehyun in before deciding to answer.

“My company is a blessing in itself, isn’t it,” you think out loud, displaying a cheeky smile when Jaehyun turns around to playfully scoff at you.

“Now that’s a sure thing, Y/N.”

The boy seats himself on one of the kitchen barstools and places his chin in his hand, leaning over the counter to stare at you as you busy yourself with the fridge.

In all honesty, you weren’t prepared to see him again. He’s already been occupying your mind a little too much for your liking during this past week, the idea of his return to your life teetering you on the edge of insanity. You didn’t know high school crushes hit that hard two years later, and it certainly doesn’t help that his golden skin and constellation of tawny freckles have made an almost daily appearance in the Lee household — just like the old times.

“I think we still have that special glass-bottled lemonade from the farmer’s market last weekend, unless,” you pause, sifting through the multitude of items in the ice box. “Yup. Nevermind. Taeyong finished all of them.”

Jaehyun snorts, already familiar with his best friend’s midnight tendencies of clearing out the fridge whenever, wherever.

“We also have water? And um… milk. And Vodka.”

“This sounds like Yuta’s fridge, and that thought alone is like, genuinely terrifying,” Jaehyun observes from behind you. You shake your head, recalling the first time you saw the said boy’s freezer stash of condiments and liquor at a house party a few years ago. Only condiments and liquor.

“Oh! And cold noodles,” you hold up the container with a little shake. “I remember you liking my mom’s version of them,” you mumble quietly, willing yourself to turn around when the cold air from the fridge starts to sting your eyes.

Jaehyun observes you curiously, a question at the tip of his tongue. You remember?

He stops himself from blurting it out when you seat yourself across from him and push the container towards his direction.

“You practically live here anyway. Help yourself,” you say a bit louder, embarrassed about the fact that you remember such a miniscule detail about him.

You squint at the countertop — which you honestly wish would swallow you whole — as Jaehyun moves around you to pour himself a glass of water. His muscles strain against his loose t-shirt as he moves around your kitchen with familiarity, and you turn away with wide eyes when you realize you’ve spaced out while staring at his back.

It’s a situation that younger you would have never imagined; you had simply never been left in a room with him alone. Your brother and his other friends were always there, a subtle reminder of the distance between you two and the fact that he was probably still worlds away.

But you’re an adult now, and it’d be a lie if you said that you don’t want Jaehyun to notice you in that way.

Feelings are too complicated to think about sober. You grimace to yourself, pressing two fingers against your temple as you lean your cheek against the cool, hard marble of the countertop.

“Y/N?” you lift your head up at your name, flinching back in surprise when Jaehyun’s face appears at the edge of your vision, his figure buzzing with excitement as he gapes at you. “This is yours, right?”

Your eyes drift to the black canisters in his palm. My film.

“Oh yeah— wait. I forgot to develop those ones,” you make your way over and take the undeveloped film rolls into your hands, the boy observing you with wide eyes.

“That’s sick. Do you develop them yourself?”

“Hm? Nah, I bring them to the camera store downtown. Left them in the fridge to preserve for a while so they should be good to go now.”

It’s only when you look up from the canisters that you spy his expression, the pure giddiness painted on his features catching you off guard. Jaehyun’s body language tells you that he is unnervingly thrilled about his new discovery.

“You were never into this kind of stuff when Taeyong and I were still here in high school,” he brings up slowly, letting the words sit on his tongue before following you when you head towards the stairs. “If I had known…” he trails off, pursing his lips to the side so that his notorious dimples show.

You peer at him over your nose bridge curiously. If he had known, he would've what?

Jaehyun pokes his tongue into his cheek and furrows his brows, thinking about the times when he was over at your house after school and you would be nowhere to be seen. Is the dark room where you were, or were you out taking pictures at the rink and shooting short films with your friends? Maybe at the park with your old camcorder and skateboard? The fact that he never knew about so many of your hobbies is almost troubling considering how long he’s known you, and it makes him shift in place. He supposes he never really took the time to know his best friend’s little sister, but looking at you as you stare back, you’re so much more than that.

Had you always shared so much in common?

“Well, imma go upstairs and watch a movie,” you resume your climb before pointing upward. “You can come up until Tae comes home, if you want?”

The boy glances at the door momentarily, contemplating how Taeyong would react if he found him in his sister’s room. Would he kill me? Maybe.

He shrugs. Fuck it, I could totally beat him in a fight, Jaehyun reasons, smiling to himself. He doesn’t know how he reached that conclusion, but he thinks he’s joking. Mostly.

“The real question is, what’re we watching? If it’s some romcom shit I’m leaving,” Jaehyun raises a challenging brow with his smirk as he follows you nonetheless, hand following yours dangerously close on the wooden handrail.

“Not my problem you’ve got no taste.”

“Oh please,” he rolls his eyes, pushing his body into view as you push open your bedroom door, “I might actually die if I see DiCaprio’s face one more time, and you can’t tell me it’s not you that has all of his movies in the living room cabinet, ‘cause they’re definitely not your brother’s.”

“That seems a bit of a personal issue between you and him, Jaehyun,” you let out a laugh with your words. Turning around to flick on the light switch, you’re met with his face closer than it was before. “What.”

“What?” he repeats, almost mockingly. “Oh, sweetheart. You think this face isn’t DiCaprio level?”

Your face heats up without your consent, flustered at the sudden proximity and the fact that you most definitely think Jaehyun’s better than all of your favorite actors combined. You would never admit that to him for the life of you, though.

You swallow before pushing him lightly, making your way into the center of your bedroom.

“Admit it,” he sings, not giving up as he relentlessly parks himself in front of you with his legs set further apart so that he can look at you at eye level. “I bet even Ji Chang-wook’s got nothing on me.”

“Woah woah woah,” you gasp in offense, throwing a hand up to your chest. “Now that’s crossing the line, buddy. Ji Chang-wook’s got something on everybody.”

“I bet,” Jaehyun drawls out sarcastically, eyes flipping to the ceiling ludicrously slow. He seems to glitch for a few seconds, mouth open but no words coming out. “Especially with the way his face is plastered… on… your ceiling? You fall asleep to that?”

Your eyes widen when you have the sudden realization that Jeong Jaehyun is in your room, in your personal space, looking at your things. And that most certainly includes the poster of Ji Chang-wook next to the plastic stars above your bed, glassy, plastic-y eyes staring down at your ruffley bed sheets and everything. In your defense, it was the result of a lost dare — but he doesn’t know that. Wow, you think to yourself, regretting all of your life decisions, I’m just so good at first impressions.

“Yes,” you give up somewhat dejectedly, offering him a (hopefully) confident smile before pulling a projector from under your bed and setting it up on your bedside table.

Jaehyun just shrugs and seats himself on your bed, muttering a little “cute” that you miss before observing as you give the machine a few good slaps so it’ll turn on. Settling against the wall, he lets his eyes flutter over your decor and multitude of things plastered across every inch of your space. If anything, the way your room’s changed since the last time he was in it gives him an outlook into your life that he wouldn't have known otherwise.

From the blockbuster movie ads on your door to the unfiltered sunlight reflecting off your mirror, the shoelaces tied around your closet door to the origami threaded around your ceiling fan, he feels like he’s falling. Maybe, just maybe, he even finds a bit of himself in the painted shoe boxes shoved under your desk and your circular record shelf. Even the stars he and Taeyong stuck on years ago are still there too. He recognizes bits and pieces here and there, but thrown together in one place, a cohesive picture forms in front of him. It’s suffocating — in a good way — as if he’s been thrown into the unknown and is hit with a new side of you at full force; everything, everywhere, all at once.

“Ha!” you exclaim, holding out a fist for Jaehyun to bump when your projector flickers on. With a bright grin, you flop onto the bed beside him and wait for the whirring of the projector to start with a hollow click.

The beginning few seconds of the film you’ve chosen roll onto your makeshift movie screen, a white sheet hanging by its threads from your vanity, as the bright images light up your figures with a burning white.

Jaehyun figures out what you’ve done just as a familiar face blurs into view, the moving calligraphy of The Great Gatsby scrawled across your bedroom wall while you poke out your tongue at him, high off of the mere fact that you’ve gotten your way. You hear him let out a defeated sigh from beside you, his knee hitting yours as he settles into your comforter nevertheless.

“Sharp as hell, aren’t you. I should’ve known DiCaprio would show up in my sight sooner or later.”

…

Summer tastes like melted sugar crystals in cherry garcia — or rather, summer tastes like Mark Lee’s Strawberry-Rouge Extravaganza, the latest, state-of-the-art item on his Record Shop menu. When you ask why the random French is thrown in there, he defends himself adamantly, claiming that his three years of secondary French language classes have practically made him a local.

“It’s like a metaphor for saying, ‘I love you,’” Mark claims with sass, even though you don’t make the connection (“That’s not what a metaphor is…?” you mumble quizzically under your breath). He ignores the weird look you throw at him and goes back to his mixing on the counter of the cashier station. “And it feels like a warm hug, because what better to express that than sparkly, drunk goodness.”

“Wow,” Chaewon deadpans, not even looking up from her nails that she’s painting right next to him. The mix of nail polish and liquor makes you scrunch your nose as you organize the main display, a rotating shelf that headlines Blondie. “You should be a poet. You have such a way with words.”

“I don’t need your negativity in my life, girly.” You almost choke on air when you hear a sharp snap of Chae’s gum in retaliation, her icy glare making Mark wilt under her gaze.

Their intense, non-verbal argument is saved by the dinging of a customer opening the door to the shop. You whip around to greet them only for your words to die right in your throat. Two silhouettes step in, their tall stature and familiar features blocking the sun from shining through the entranceway.

“…Jaehyun, Jungwoo! How are you guys?” Mark offers when he sees you fall silent.

The two greet happily right back, sliding past you to pat him on the back and exchange handshakes. Jaehyun lingers by your side for a little, holding his fist out for you to tap like you did just the other day in your room.

“We knew we’d find you guys in here,” Jungwoo laments, looking around the shelves before his eyes land on Mark’s… setup. You have to admit, this one looks a bit more pleasant than his past drink recipes, and you can tell that Jungwoo agrees wholeheartedly. His hand lingers on a bottle of sparkling vanilla wine as Mark slices red fruit ardently with a plastic, cafeteria knife. A paper cup holds the rest of his special ingredients: rock candy on wooden sticks, shattered candy hearts, and star-shaped ice cubes. You’d be lying if you didn’t admit that it looked delicious, like something you would order at a beach-side bar.

Jungwoo seems to find the situation amusing, a trio of barely-adults passing slow, withering days in their own little makeshift paradise. Leaning against the countertop like he’s on the cover of Parisian Vogue, he nicks his baseball cap up a bit higher to look into the three of yours’ eyes better.

“Johnny’s throwing a party.”

That’s all anyone needs to say before Chaewon’s attention is snagged, her eyes gaining an undeniable gleam.

“We’re going,” she speaks for everyone in the room, especially looking you square in the eyes as if saying, you’re not escaping this time, young lady.

“Mhm,” Jaehyun confirms, a hand rubbing at his pulse as he swings an arm over Jungwoo’s shoulders. “A fancy mixer, kinda, the day after tomorrow. We’ll have all the booze, so the only thing you need to bring is yourself.”

“And,” the latter chimes in, “it’s at Johnny’s countryside estate, so y’all can do whatever illegal shit you kids get yourself into without worrying about anything.”

Chaewon lets out a small scoff at his words, mumbling a “we still do here it anyway” under her breath and throwing a knowing look at the alcohol in front of Mark that’s very blatantly in every passerby’s sight.

As Jungwoo relays more information about the plans to them at the front of the shop, Jaehyun turns to follow your path as you diligently place records back in their places in the depths of the store.

“Do you wear silver or gold?”

You jump at his appearance out of nowhere, glancing at him with a certain hesitation at his question. Your confusion as to how this topic appeared so suddenly is painted blatantly across your face as you close the last turntable with a click.

“Why?” You pause. “But both. Depends on my mood.”

“Because this is yours now.”

He reaches into his jeans’ front pocket, pulling out something in his fist before reaching for your hand and dropping a small, plastic ring in the middle of it.

It’s neon orange and ugly as hell, like something you would find stuck to gum on the underbelly of a school desk. But hey, who are you to complain when Jaehyun looks so pleased at himself as he looks between your face and the ring, trying to gauge your reaction to his surprise gift. And, you’re definitely not complaining when it’s a gift from Jaehyun himself.

“Thank you…? Also,” you squint, picking up the ring to slide onto your pointer finger, “this isn’t silver or gold.” He shrugs half heartedly.

“Sucks to suck.”

You kick the tip of his Converse as he laughs with his whole body, the boy’s deep voice filling the small space.

“It’s from the coin toy machine outside,” he explains. With a broad grin, he pulls his other hand from out of his pocket and waves it in your face. The whole rainbow has found its home on his fingers, all silly swirls and squiggles of nylon with glued on googly-eyes half falling off.

It’s the pure childish elation you share which makes you unknowingly sink deeper and deeper into the ocean that is Jeong Jaehyun, and you would have felt the metaphorical gasps of air your lungs so desperately need if not for the momentary distractions he provides.

You suppose all of this is your own doing anyway.

…

It feels as though Autumn has made a reverse pit-stop in the middle of summer.

If not obvious by the way the seasonal trees are drooping with a sudden dewy chill, it’s the sudden absence of people in general that serves as a telltale sign. There’s almost no cars on the road, fewer students out and about, and less frequent public transportation.

The last one in particular really speaks to Jaehyun.

Scrunching his nose at the crisp air, he exits the hole-in-the-wall café he usually frequents when he’s bored, the biting coldness of a mid-August day unfamiliar to him. The boy spent almost the entire day inside; switching between staring at the weather app on his computer and deleting emails from his overflowing inbox for two hours wasn’t the way he thought he’d spend the afternoon, but alas, waiting that long at the crumbling bus stop wasn’t ideal either. He much prefers being warm, caffeinated, and pretending to read a scientific journal than freezing his ass off on a metal bench.

Anyone would think the same, Jaehyun shrugs to himself… at least until he starts nearing said bench.

Jaehyun stops mid-step when he spots something strange, side-eyeing the undeniably familiar blob crouching at the bus stop approaching on the right.

Why? Well, it's swathed in an oversized hoodie, has a keychain-ful backpack hanging low on its shoulders, and is suspiciously Y/N-shaped.

And if that doesn’t tell him anything, well, the way your eyes go comically wide when you turn to the right and coincidentally meet gazes with Jeong Jaehyun of all people definitely does. It’s the way he’s standing there like a runway model with his hood over his head, dimples on full show as he raises his eyebrows at you and his expensive-looking leather bag hanging off of one shoulder that almost causes you to fall over. Luckily, you pull yourself together before something embarrassing happens, like losing your balance and crashing into the road (not that it’s happened before, of course…). You’re well aware that you tend to get distracted easily, and you’re definitely in trouble because that man is one hell of a distraction.

Getting up quickly and dusting the invisible dust off your legs, you offer him an embarrassed wave as he approaches you.

“How long have you been sitting there? It’s fucking cold outside,” Jaehyun calls out, concerned, glancing down at your skirt and the way you hide your hands in your hoodie sleeves. Sidling up next to you, he bounces on the balls of his feet a little before stuffing his own hands in his pockets.

“It’s okay,” you smile down at the way your shoes match next to his on the sidewalk, “I’m used to the bipolar weather. Plus, it’s not that cold when you’ve got these!” Tucking your lip between your teeth, you rustle around in your sweater-paws before popping out your hands proudly in front of you. Nestled in your palms are old hand warmers, their heat fading but worth their purpose nonetheless.

“Only you would have hand warmers in stock during the middle of summer, Y/N,” he shakes his head in disbelief, but the smile threatening to take over his face makes his eyes crinkle up in amusement.

“Mhm,” you say, distracted as you see the bus pull up to the sidewalk from down the road, “I’ve got a whole box in my backpack. Who knows, maybe an ice storm will hit one day and I’ll be the only one with hands while everyone else’s freeze off.”

He pauses in place, speechless at your comment. You simply shrug at him, as if saying that’s the way life goes, before nodding to the bus driver and climbing up the vehicle’s steps. “Don’t worry, I’d share mine with you.”

Jaehyun lets out a breath in disbelief.

Your attitude is truly refreshing, and he can’t even begin to describe what a breath of clean air it is to talk to you everyday; he’s used to girls coming up to him with hidden intent, their eyes tinged with lust as they disguise their interest with false pretenses and flowery words. Flattery is what it began with, but after years of receiving nothing from their end while he found himself aimlessly hoping for someone genuine and it was disappointing that he couldn’t find even one. He’d wish they would just treat him normally and act like themselves, a person not afraid to be genuine with him and let their inner child show.

It’s as he observes the way you hum as you climb up and give a playful salute to the driver that he realizes you’re the perfect balance of both, the maturity in you shining admirably at the times when it is needed while never acting like something you’re not.

Jaehyun blinks at your figure before tugging on your arm to move around you, swiping his bus pass twice before you can even register what’s happened. He lets a smug grin take over his face before pulling you to the back of the bus and plopping down beside you.

“Thank you for paying for me,” you tilt your head at him, tucking your card back into your pocket. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to, though.”

You give him a grateful smile before remembering something that you had meant to show him, pulling out the walkman you found in your grandmother’s cellar yesterday from your backpack, a dusty old thing that still works perfectly fine. Looping its built-in headphones around your neck, you tilt the player towards him before offering him the small device. Turning it around in his hands, he gapes in undeniable awe as he taps the plastic cover with intrigue.

You knew he’d like it.

“I haven’t seen one of these in so long. Whose grave did you raid to get this, the hell?”

“Found it yesterday in my grandparent's cellar, and before Taeyong got his hands on it. I thought that you’d find it interesting so I was planning on showing you later this week, but hey, look who I happened to run into today.”

He simply shakes his head before bringing the machine up to his eyes and popping open its cover, a finger coming up to trace the dust out of the inside of it.

“Do you have a cassette to put in it or…?” he begins, looking up at you. You shake your head. “We can go to the vintage shop downtown later to get you some, if you want.”

“Really? You’ll go with me?”

“Yeah, Y/N. You’ve always got the coolest things to play around with, and we can go shove this in Yong’s face too. He’s gonna be so jealous.”

“You just wanna annoy my brother,” you snort, nudging his arm.

“You’ve got me there.” He holds up his hands in mock surrender before poking his tongue inside his cheek, eyebrows furrowing in thought. “Or… I could make you a personalized mixtape?” Your jaw drops comically, no words coming out of your mouth as you just stare at him.

“Are you being serious right now?”

“So, so serious.”

“If you did, I would actually lose my mind,” you finally close your mouth in amazement. “You’d probably be my favorite person ever.”

“Well, then that would be well worth it. I’ll work on it when I’m back in the studio at uni,” Jaehyun smiles genuinely, handing you your walkman back before swinging his leather bag back onto his shoulder as the bus pulls to a halt. With a parting pat on your shoulder, he mouths a goodbye before descending the aisle.

“This is my stop. See you at the party, Y/N.”

…

When you had received the call on a quiet Saturday afternoon from Mark that he and Chaewon would be leaving earlier to help set up for Johnny’s weekend party — the one that Jungwoo and Jaehyun had only told you about just a few days prior — the possibility of not having a ride to bring you hadn’t even struck yet. You were too busy thanking your friends that they had granted you two more hours for an afternoon nap, and an extra 60 minutes to get ready; a truly ideal day in your opinion.

It’s only when you’ve given yourself a final look in the mirror, admiring the new dress that you’ve donned at the last minute, do you hear the undeniable honk of a car outside. Brushing aside the curtains and trying to get your eyes to focus in the dark, you make a noise of panic when you spy Jaehyun’s car outside your house.

What’s he doing here?

You'd spent far more time with Jaehyun in the past few days than you have in your entire lifetime, running small errands with him when Taeyong's not there and browsing through retro stores in nearby towns for old cassettes. With every hour more spent together, it felt like you were getting closer to knowing his feelings, and that in itself excited you to no end. He'd end every drive together with a knowing look and some sort of physical touch, and each goodbye left you in anticipation for the next time you'd see him.

Sprinting down the stairs and grabbing your shoes as fast as you can, you rush out into the street where the Mustang’s tinted windows prevent any passerby from making out any faces from the outside.

As you approach the driver’s side, the window rolls down to reveal the owner of the car.

“Hey,” Jaehyun grins at you, his pupils dilated and the faint smell of smoke lingering on his breath.

It feels like forever since you’ve seen him, even if it’s only been a few hours since you last saw each other. You can feel your head fog up when you fully take in his appearance; with his hair slicked back and his button-up undone to reveal sharp collarbones and a dangling, silver cross, he looks godly as the moonlight basks him in a paper-white glow.

“Chaewon and Mark had to stay later to help set up more and Taeyong’s been pregaming since six, so he sent me to pick you up. You can get in the back.”

You hum in understanding before climbing into the backseat, tucking your hands under your thighs before looking up at the front of the car.

Your heart drops.

“Hi,” the girl in the shotgun seat lilts, her bleached hair falling into wavy ringlets against Jaehyun’s leather seats. “Y/N, right? I remember you! You’re Yongie’s baby sis.”

You itch to fill the silence that follows, even though you assume she would have no trouble clearing it with her well-known, extroverted dynamic. There’s an unnamed tension in the car between the two people in the front seat, and it’s so intense that you could cut it with a knife.

You take shallow breaths, not sure what to make of your position. I’m sitting in a car with my crush and his former situationship— holy. How did we get to this point? She’s literally—

“—Lim Sae-mi,” you attempt to give her a genuine smile, flashing your teeth in what you pray isn’t an awkward expression.

Saemi simply twinkles in the rear view mirror, her delicately painted lips stretching up before she twists around to observe you.

“You do remember me! Look at how pretty you are too,” she exclaims, reaching back to pat down a strand of your hair, her voice laced with sticky sweetness. “You could be a model, just like Yongie. And your hair is so healthy, I’m jealous. Isn’t her hair so so nice, Jae?”

Jaehyun snaps to attention at the mention of his name, seeming to be in some sort of haze with the way he looks like he’s holding his breath for as long as humanly possible.

“Yeah.” You find yourself wilting in the slightest at his monotone voice. Looking out the window as he starts driving towards the outskirts of town, you try not to let yourself be too disappointed at the way he loses such distinctive qualities when around the girl sitting next to him.

Jaehyun freezes up when Saemi turns to him all doe-eyed, flashbacks flitting through his mind of the days when he’d anticipate the moments he’d see her again when they were younger. Strangely enough, the effect that she used to have on him — palpitating heart, nervous ticks, rosy cheeks, uncanny attraction — seems to have dissipated. Now, highschool-Jaehyun seems so far away, and their memories even further.

What’s changed?

“Um,” you start as you watch suburban lights zoom by less and less frequently, your brain working just as fast to eliminate some of the weird, awkward tension happening in the car. You don’t really know enough to make conclusions, but something must have happened in the past for them to react to each other like this. “How’s SNU? Do you guys run into each other often on campus?”

Jaehyun chuckles lowly, a tinge of uncertainty lining his tone as he waits for Saemi to answer your question.

“Right, you’re going to uni next year right? Hmm… we don’t really see each other on campus at all, now that I think about it,” she simpers, frowning at the road in front of her before brightening up in less than a second. “But that's because Jae’s so busy, preparing to be a future doctor and all. He was always the smartest one out of all of us.”

You watch as he falls silent, knuckles tightening on the steering wheel as his jaw clenches ever so slightly.

“Hey, we should catch up sometime Jae,” she adds on with a tone like she doesn’t really mean it before turning her gaze to him, tacking on a noise of agreement with herself as if she's already decided that they will.

She knows they won’t.

You watch their eyes meet briefly before Jaehyun breaks it to turn the steering wheel left onto a never-ending stretch of a lone, empty road.

Saemi’s a hard person to figure out. You know that she’s charming when she wants to be and firm when she needs to be, but you also know from Taeyong that she has a personality she can flip on and off like a switch; it’s almost as if mind games with the people around her are amusing, and it’s up to the other person to figure out what her true intentions are. It’s understandable why so many people find her alluring.

Glancing up at the back of her head once more, you observe as she leans back with a faint frown before swallowing something in her hand that looks like a bottled shot. She looks uncomfortable as she shifts in her seat every few minutes, and you’re not sure if she’s more put off by the alcohol or by Jaehyun. Your guess would be the latter, even if her voice makes it seem like she’s the most confident person in the world.

You don’t even attempt to start another conversation, instead opting to roll down the window so that you can watch empty land flash by, an occasional plant breaking the smooth ground. The car picks up speed on its own with no other vehicle in sight, the only light coming from the rising crescent moon and a solo gas station situated further down the road.

The three of you perk up as you approach the oil refill and the only other car at the station, a big pick-up with dressed-up figures leaning out of its windows and sitting around the back cargo bed. You assume they’re heading to the same place you are with the way they all shout at each other as they pass a dark bottle back and forth. A boy gets out of the driver’s seat to walk over to Jaehyun’s car and lean through Saemi’s side of the window, shades pushed up into his hair and beads and cuban links dangling out of his shirt. You don’t recognize him, but you’re not surprised when Johnny knows just about every young person in the world.

“Jaehyun, man! And Saemi, damn, I haven’t seen you guys in a while. Headed to Johnny’s?” he exclaims with a loud voice and wide smile, reaching in to pat a long-lost friend on the shoulder. Just like that, the extroverted Jaehyun and Saemi are back, conversing with him as if their awkward energy and off demeanors didn’t just dictate the ride over.

The guy notices you in the back when your eyes meet accidentally, both of you taken aback.

“And who might this be?” He smirks at you, gaze never leaving yours as he directs the question to the other two in the car. You smile back just to be friendly, but with the way he’s staring at you, you’re not sure if that’s the right way to go about things.

“Lee Taeyong’s sister,” Jaehyun speaks up, glimpsing back at you with an unreadable look. A look of recognition flashes over the stranger’s face as his mouth opens in surprise.

“So this is the sister. Shit, is that why I’ve never seen her around?”

“Yeah.” There’s a bitter undertone to his voice, expression faltering before he raises his eyebrows with a smile. “And that’s why she’s off limits, man. I know that look all too well.”

You look at your brother’s friend in question, leaning forward, but Jaehyun doesn’t even glance at you. Both of you know that Taeyong isn’t really the overly protective type, so why would he say that? Maybe he knows that this guy is bad news, so he’s warning me. You nod to yourself, satisfied with your quick thinking. That sounds about right.

You’re about to offer a comment yourself, but you’re stopped by a—

“Lim Saemi! No fucking way, is that really you?” another shrill voice calls from across the expanse of the gas station, a former classmate stalking across the black cement in teetering heels as she waves dramatically at the girl in front of you. “It is you! I can’t believe we ran into you like this, you gotta join the party truck now!”

Saemi seems to recognize her, waving dramatically out the window to her friend. In a matter of seconds, the girl has pulled her out of Jaehyun’s car as she laughs at her friend’s antics of tugging on her wrist to string her along, drunk. Saemi throws you and Jaehyun a look that seems to say everything and nothing at the same time; if you were to interpret it in your own language, it would spell out: So sorry I’m ditching you guys! I love both of you to pieces but I’d honestly rather drink bleach than get back in that car. Hope you understand. Muah.

And with that, you watch Saemi switch cars in a matter of moments. The boy follows them back to their chaotic ride to Johnny’s after waving goodbye at Jaehyun, who’s watching them without any emotion bleeding through his stoic face. You can’t even begin to guess what's going through his mind as his eyes flick back to his dashboard, spaced out.

You pause.

“...and then there were two.”

Biting your bottom lip when you realize you mumbled that out loud, and you’ve genuinely never wanted to be six feet under more because the man hasn’t even said a word since she left you two.

Jaehyun freezes at your voice, almost as if he forgot you were in the car. Letting out an airy laugh after a moment, your shoulders relax when you sense that his weird, Saemi-caused demeanor has faded with her sudden absence.

“Wanna move to the front? It’s lonely up here.” You perk up at his belated response, excitedly getting out of the back to slide into the shotgun seat at his invitation. The man next to you seems to visibly relax, stomach releasing and shoulders drooping with less tension as he starts the car and turns back onto the stretch of empty road.

The silence doesn’t bother you this time when Saemi’s absent; it’s pleasant and full, as if both of you needed this momentary break from nonstop life to collect yourself. Staring at the dust picking up along the wheels while the needle on the speedometer rises up and up, you find the scene before you therapeutic in unexplainable ways.

Jaehyun feels the same, his eyes spacey as one hand rests languidly on the steering wheel with ingrained muscle memory. The vehicle coasts past blank acres and rolling hills, the burning moon engaging in hide-and-seek as it appears and disappears behind their peaks. He doesn’t even feel the need to turn up the stereo as he usually does when your audible, light breaths are sufficient enough. It’s comforting in ways he didn’t know he needed.

You recognize how close you are to Johnny’s estate when you see the road before you thin into dirt and pebbles, a grandiose silver gate barely visible in the far distance. Behind the gate is the unmistakable gleam of polished stone, no doubt the road that leads up to the party and an onslaught of cars. If you concentrate hard enough, your mind can even conjure up the deep bass of the music that the host prefers at his mixers, their heavy resonance flowing through the thick soil to the bottom of Jaehyun’s car and all the way up to the soles of your feet.

You’re just about to point your strange observance out when Jaehyun makes a sudden swerve, pulling off to an edge of mangled weeds and tree roots, the car rolling to a shuttering stop just before a barren field of dead plants. Your body lurches forward a bit with the movement, the boy apologizing profusely when he sees you adjust your seatbelt with confusion written all over your expression.

“Fuck, sorry sorry sorry,” he mumbles, moving his hand in front of you as if you could fall out of your seat at any minute. “I just… the stars are stunning right now, we gotta stop for a sec. You don’t mind if we…”

He trails off, distracted, as he pulls the car door open hastily, rushing out to take in the night sky in its full glory. It’s as if he doesn’t move fast enough, the stars will pull a disappearing stunt on him.

It’s endearing to see Jaehyun like this, a smile subconsciously finding its way onto your face when you spot him bouncing on the balls of his feet lightly. His eyes are completely enamored with the sight above him, neck craned up at an odd angle to see everything; from the way his fingers dig into his palms in excitement to the cold flush on his cheeks from the biting evening chill, it’s like he doesn’t know what to do with himself when encountering such a beautiful product of mother nature.

The thought of Johnny’s party evaporates from both of your minds as you find yourself mirroring Jaehyun’s position.

After a few minutes of stillness, he looks at you with the very stars from the sky in his eyes.

“Can we stay here for a bit?”

He beams at your “of course” before hoisting himself onto the cool hood of his Mustang and offering a hand out for you to grab. Pulling you up onto the spot beside him with a huff, he pulls your wrist to shift your body closer to his before smiling contently to himself.

You try not to let your mind spiral at his warm touch, instead focusing your attention on the blanket of constellations that greet you from the inky stretch of night sky. The cold metal of the hood cools your burning skin as your legs stretch out in front of you, skin ghastly as your arms support your weight from behind you.

When he hears your faint intake of breath, Jaehyun allows his eyes to leave the pretty view above him to the pretty view beside him for a few seconds, letting them linger on your side profile as you stare up in awe. They fall from the slope of your nose to the open curve of your lips, circling around your neck and raking over the ornate gems decorating your skin. You’re breathtaking in 1001 ways, and it’s such a pressing realization that he blinks away in shock when your gaze suddenly meets his.

“Do you do this often?”

“When I need to get away for a bit. All of my best ideas come to me at night, I think. There’s just something about darkness and non-artificial light which is curiously inspiring.”

You nod, leaning back on the windshield and resting your head against its glass. Nighttime lets you think in the abstract, where the shadows don’t take shape and remind you to think in a direct and methodical way.

“I get that,” you empathize. “After Taeyong left, I used to climb onto my roof after dark and just sit there alone for hours. I wouldn’t know how much time had passed until I got back into my room, and to be honest, that was my favorite time of the day. It took my mind off things, even if it was only for a few hours.”

“You know, Yong and I used to do that when we were younger. You were too little to remember I think, but we’d go up after your parents fell asleep and throw basketballs down the side of your house to see how far they would bounce up… we probably hit your window too a few times. Only a few.”

“That was you?” you jut, incredulous.

“Oh, so she does remember,” Jaehyun laughs under his breath, playfully avoiding eye contact when you scoff at your brother and his' antics. “Anyway, I wanna go up there again someday.”

“Our roof? I’ll bring you.”

Jaehyun turns to face you.

“Promise? I’m counting on it, Lee.”

You don’t hide your bashful smile this time, looking away when the boy flashes his dimples at you. Your insides flood with warmth as you secretly bring the back of your hand up to feel your cheek, scared of its betrayal of your feelings.

Jaehyun sighs, content, after a few moments, his neck lolling at the joint to stargaze once again. He feels entirely relaxed at this moment; there’s nothing that Mother Nature can’t fix.

“History revolved around looking at the stars and just talking, you know? I wish I could stay here forever and never grow up.”

You tilt your head curiously.

“Why, you don’t like being an adult?”

“Not that,” he shakes his head. “It’s more of, I pretend to be collected and mature and all-knowing, but the feeling of having no control over life magnifies as I get older. My head and heart haven’t grown up fast enough to catch up.”

“Jaehyun.”

“Hm?”

“You don’t ever have to pretend. It’s… it’s okay to not know what you’re doing or what the future looks like, and it’s okay to let yourself go at times too. Being an adult doesn’t mean always knowing the right things to do or figuring out every little detail right now,” your words stumble a bit as they spill out, but he seems to catch onto every word perfectly. “I’m scared too, so it’s kinda ironic that I’m giving you this advice when I can’t follow it myself.”

“We can trade words of wisdom,” Jaehyun offers more lightheartedly. “It’s so much easier to give advice to other people than to yourself.” You can’t think of a better way to phrase it than that.

“And I think simply moving forward with what you can muster is the best we can do,” you add on. Jaehyun just stares at you as you talk, chin in his palm as he takes in your advice with sincerity. “Things will just come and go naturally as we go on.”

“You’re right. Time tells, Y/N. And frankly, you’re so much more mature than me.”

“Me?” You frown, surprised at the fact that he thinks you are. “That’s so strange to hear, because I feel like I’ll never be independent in the way that you and Tae are. Even though we’re not that far apart in age, I’ve always thought you guys were from a different galaxy, like fear wasn’t a word in your dictionary and maturity has always just come naturally.”

“It’s all in the way we carry ourselves, but maturity itself doesn’t come from this,” Jaehyun waves his hand around to outline your body in an imaginary circle, “but from this.” You watch as he taps a purposeful finger against your temple. “And you have more of it than anyone my age. You have a mind that people would die for, and I think that’s something to be very proud of.”

The wind whistles soundly as the two of you take in the world with new perspectives, sitting up a little straighter and legs just barely touching as he moves closer without even noticing. You don’t say anything for a while, and you don’t need to. He recognizes how you need a few minutes to let his words soak in, and that’s what makes you so you. Jaehyun knows you won’t just take his words on a whim and forget them ten minutes later; you’re the kind of person that internalizes everything he says with genuine feeling and gratefulness, and that quality is what makes you, in his opinion, celestial.

“You always know just what to say,” you finally whisper, and he almost doesn’t catch it.

You receive no reply except for the most adoring look in his eyes as he smiles fondly at you. The breeze blows wisps of your hair around your face, and Jaehyun can’t help it when he reaches out to tuck a stray strand behind your ear. His fingers linger — longingly, if you dare say — before he makes himself pull away.

You’re scared to let yourself believe that you might have a chance this time; everything floods back and hits your heart at full power, and you think that your newfound connection you’ve found with the boy over this summer has trumped all of your past memories. Your feelings are fragile, and the way he looks at you is terrifying. He makes your heart race violently; your feelings from when you were fifteen don’t even compare.

“It’s too chilly for a summer month,” he speaks up suddenly, rubbing his arms and trying to lighten the mood. You shake your mind out of its storm of complicated emotions before offering a small smile back.

“Always speaking the truth, aren’t you?” You tease, playing with the hem of your short dress. Jaehyun makes a noise of agreement before a boyish grin stretches across his face.

“Yeah, which is why Leonardo DiCaprio is not—”

“—UH,” You stop him mid sentence, shushing him. “Let’s not finish that sentence.”

“—peak acting which is why—”

“La la la lala,” you sing, covering your ears with your hands childishly and squinting so that you don’t have to see Jaehyun raising an eyebrow at you, amused. “I can’t hear youu.”

“I take back the part about you being more mature than me.” Only one boy is capable of making your moods flip like this, and he’s sitting right next to you as your laughs ring out in tandem through the night.

Eventually, after a few more back-and-forths under the dark sky, Jaehyun takes it upon himself to teach you some astronomical terms. You doubt you’ll remember them, but he promises he’ll make it easy for you to hold in your mental library.

“You need to be prepared,” he stresses, “if you’re gonna come with me next time.”

“Next time… stargazing?”

“Yup,” he answers matter-of-factly. “Let’s see… there’s a triangle of importance in my opinion. The true triune, holy grail of astronomy.”

You watch him sink into his element, musing upon the milky way above.

“Stars,” he air-traces the Orion constellation slowly. “Moons,” he continues, moving his arm in front of you to point at the claw of the silver crescent moon. Jaehyun lets his hand fall, the tip of his finger grazing your skin in the slightest as it hovers in front of your heart. “And celestial bodies.”

…

You mentally prepare yourself to get an earful from Chaewon as the drive up to Johnny’s resumes…

…two hours late.

In your defense, it wasn’t completely your fault. Jaehyun says you can blame it on him when she throws her fit at you being late — and boy, do you know she will — but you also know that when you recount what happened to cause your tardiness, she’ll excuse it. Partially. Maybe even throw in a sushi dinner and smoke sesh, then all of your sins would be forgiven in her book.

You try to distract yourself from Jaehyun’s sweet actions just a few minutes earlier by thinking about where you might find Chaewon and Mark when you get there; maybe the drink-stocked kitchen, where Mark will surely be… or outside, where people like Chaewon usually go with their ziploc bags and scratched-up lighters.

Where would Jaehyun go?

You groan inwardly when you catch your brain drifting to the idea of the man next to you once again, said man driving with a dopey expression on his face as Johnny’s estate comes into full view. You can’t tell if it’s because of a well-needed down-time with the stars (and time with you, if you dare to think optimistically) or because it looks like there’s strobe lights flashing out of every window of the ground floor—

“—holy shit, they really went all out,” Jaehyun gapes, hands slacking on the steering wheel as you both take in the scene before you. “Johnny’s fucking insane. Maybe even like, should-be-checked-into-a-facility insane.”

Your eyes widen as the building unfurls itself before you, a mansion so grand that it’s comparable to Gatsby’s in every way. It’s got a certain vintage charm to it, something you assume Johnny’s parents built in homage to their roots with veiny, marbled stairs and towering Roman columns. The chaos that’s happening in and around the home itself, however, is a different story. You can see the drunk bodies already as they move around to invisible music, and waves of people climb spiral staircases up to the upper levels as they fumble drinks around. Silhouettes of the party-goers are littered across the vast, arched windows, stone trims decorating their sills with impeccable detail; the estate is truly a needle that shines brilliantly in a haystack of country homes, the nearest house being a whole 20 minute drive away. You’d been to his countryside home only once with Taeyong when you were younger, but seeing it in all its glory during the nighttime is a whole different experience.

“Nah,” you grin when he puts the car into park behind a train of assorted automobiles that cover the driveway. “He's that special kind of chaebol-insane. I propose not eating the rich, because what would the world be without Johnny Suh.”

Jaehyun simply chuckles lightly before getting out of the car and walking around to your side, opening the door before helping you out. You’d be lying if you said that the butterflies in your stomach didn’t just seize at his actions.

But nothing good lasts forever.

Just as soon as the butterflies come, they die off when you notice the immediate, uncanny switch in Jaehyun’s disposition.

You’re not sure if it’s the deafening bass-boosted music flooding into the air or the multitude of bodies in front of the house alone as the two of you approach the open door, but he seems to be pushed into a different element the closer you get. You recognize it as the one that you’d only heard of in high school, the one who frequented house parties on school nights with your brother, the one who shone in a room full of people, the infamous heartbreaker Jaehyun.

You can see the shift in his eyes, the way his pupils dilate slowly as they gain that undeniable gleam. You can feel his muscles lose a tension you didn’t even know was there, especially when he swings his arm around your shoulders casually, letting his hand rest against your collarbone. You can hear the calls of his wicked name already from both females and males alike, their shouts pulling him away from you as multiple people are drawn to him right away.

You recognize a few of them, hometown names that make their presence known as they clap Jaehyun on the back and reach out for intoxicated hugs. It’s also now that you realize the sheer amount that the boy you practically grew up with — the very one who spent his school day afternoons playing in your living room — changes when with other people. His popularity was never a mystery to you, but seeing it in person like this… he acts like he’s finally at home. A true socialite who flourishes when surrounded by people.

And you would never hold that against anyone, except until—

“Hey, Y/N, I’ll catch up with you later, okay? Promise.”

Ah.

His voice rings out flippant and unfamiliar, arm slipping from your shoulders like deadweight, and his fingers don’t linger on your skin longingly this time. Without looking back, he’s swept away by a myriad of high school friends as they drag him off to only God knows where. They hand him drinks and jostle around with each other between heated bodies, his silver rings glinting under the lights as he throws his head back for a bitter shot.

You watch as their forms retreat into the depths of the party until the shadows swallow him up and your eyes can’t follow him anymore.

Left to hover awkwardly by yourself at the door of Johnny’s house with no drink in hand and a bewildered twist in your expression, suddenly, all the moments that have led up to now feel like a fever dream. Everything just happened so fast. One minute he’s next to you, and you’re sure you’ve fallen again. Hard. And the next moment he’s gone with the wind, like a figment of a dream flickering in and out of consciousness. Sure, you hadn’t expected to spend the whole night with him, but you thought that after your many little talks he would want to stay with you a little longer than three seconds.

At least he promised to find you later, but you’re still left feeling unsure about where you stand with him in contrast to the bubbling feeling of affection you had felt earlier in the night. The way he acts is giving you emotional whiplash.

I have to find Chaewon and Mark, you think to yourself suddenly, trying to shake your head of Jaehyun-related thoughts. The way he’s plagued your thoughts far too many times these past few months terrifies you, and it feels like you’ve lost your mind for real this time. You’re charged with a new determination to not think about the boy until he comes back to you himself. It’s not worth ruining your night over maybe’s.

Weaving through sweaty figures and waving instinctually at the people who happen to recognize you, you find yourself in a sort of trance as you strain to catch a glimpse of one of your friends. The bass-boosted music fills your ears with a heavy buzz as you make your way through what feels like hundreds of people.

A cold hand abruptly reaches out to grasp your wrist when you approach the closed off kitchen, causing you to cautiously glance back at its owner with your other arm ready to push them off.

“Babe, what are you doing here all alone?”

You jump slightly before giving him a childish slap on his arm as a grinning Mark reaches out to embrace you, and the strong smell of twisted tea pungent on his breath. His hand comes up to tuck your head into his neck familiarly, an old habit from when you were young that tends to come out in his drunk endeavors.

“You scared me,” you mumble into his shirt, voice muffled by the fabric. “I was trying to find you, but there’s literally thirty million people in this damn house.”

Feigning hurt, Mark pulls away to put a hand to his heart. “You can’t recognize me from a house away?” His sarcasm makes you squint at him, your hand reaching out to tug him along with you.

“No, Mark. I actually can’t recognize you from a house away,” you bite back, mumbling an extra, “surprisingly too, because I could probably hear your loud-ass laugh from another country if I really wanted to.”

“Literally shut up.”

“Never. Come find Chaewon with me?”

“I-” Mark sighs, giving in to your pleading eyes. What can he say, he has a self-destructive soft spot for his best friend. “Fine. But only if you get her to play one of the drinking games with me, ‘cause you never want to,” he tsks. You offer him an innocent smile before turning towards the back balcony. Gripping Mark’s arm tightly as the two of you make your way through clusters of people, you glance back every so often to make sure he’s still with you. You don’t want to be left alone again.

Again. Like Jaehyun just did when he said he wanted to spend time with me…

He seems to sense your uneasiness when you pause for a moment to look down, the fluorescent lights that lead to the back glass doors making your eyes sting as your fingers tighten their grip on his wrist.

“Hey hey hey,” the boy pauses to move in front of you with worry creasing his brows. “You good?”

You blink away from him, mumbling an unsure “yeah,” before clearing your throat. “Yeah, I’m okay. Just got dizzy for a sec.”

Mark puts his hands on your shoulders carefully, eyes scanning the way your face looks more apprehensive than usual and your head isn’t held just as high as the Y/N he knows would. He’s had almost his entire life to study your moods and the rises and falls of your expressions, and he knows that something heavy is bothering you to the point where you’re letting him see it bleed through your normal, carefree facade. It’s something serious, and he also knows you’re not gonna tell him until you’re ready.

So for now, he simply smooths down any invisible tensions in your arms and straightens your posture for you like he would in your younger school days, gentle and nimble fingers adjusting the straps of your dress like a parent figure would.

“I like this number on you. You should wear it more often.”

“Thank you,” you smile gratefully at him, forcing your feet to move forward once again. It's not unusual for Mark to compliment you, but it feels particularly comforting tonight after so much of your confidence in yourself has been built up and torn down in a matter of hours.

You don’t let your gaze take in anyone except a potential Chaewon as the two of you finally make it outside, scared of potentially seeing someone you don’t want to see. Out of the corner of your eye, Mark gestures animatedly to the lit up garden, far fewer people mingling in its flowering, winding paths than inside.

“Oh! Chaewon’s right there,” he pushes you lightly in her direction, a poised figure leaning, relaxed, on one of the ivy-slinked marble balconies. “I’m not gonna go far, but I’ll get some drinks from the kitchen for us and be right back, okay? I won’t leave you guys for long.” You’re silent for a moment.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry, Y/N? You’ve done nothing wrong, but whoever or whatever’s bothering you should feel ashamed for making you apologize for nothing,” he chastises immediately, indignant towards the fact he has an inkling of who’s made you feel this way. It pains him to see his best friend hurt silently.

You nod before he gives you one last pat and nudges you in the direction of Chaewon. She turns on her heel just as Mark leaves, face lighting up when she spots your form heading in her direction.

“Took you long enough!” She calls out over with a hand reaching out for you, her other occupied by a flute of some mysterious fizzy liquid. “I’ve been waiting so that we can try the colorful shots in Johnny’s fridge together. I know you secretly like those.”

You snap yourself out of your thoughts before managing a grateful smile as she pulls you into a side hug. “Sorry, the uh… drive took longer than anticipated,” you mumble, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear.

“Who’d you come with again? I feel so bad that we couldn’t pick you up, but the setup literally took the living energy out of me.”

You bite your lip nervously, eyes flicking to the night sky in reassurance.

“I came with— I came with Jaehyun,” you spit out quietly, already predicting her reaction in your head.

“Damn, for real? I told your brother to call one of your other friends, but this is so much better. Did you guys get time to talk or what?” Chaewon lifts her drink to her lips as she waits with wide eyes, anticipating an answer that you know you can’t give her. If anyone has always rooted for the possibility of him liking you back, it’s her.

“I don’t know,” you finally whisper, giving up as you tug your fingers through your hair. “It’s just… he’s a confusing person. Like yeah, we talked, but I can’t figure him out at all. He goes back and forth from being the closest I’ve ever felt to a boy to an almost distant stranger in a matter of seconds.”

Your friend’s face falls at your words, clearly noting how much you’re beginning to get stressed out over him. It kills her to see anything but a smile on your face, and the fact that it’s because of someone who you’ve pined over for so long is detrimental to watch.

“Y/N…”

“It’s fine. I’m making a big deal out of nothing, probably.” Your voice cracks slightly in the middle of the sentence, but you mask it with a quiet laugh. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a real chance with him to begin with, so try not to expect much.” Chaewon’s bitter smile reflects her inner confliction as she reaches out to take your hand in hers.

“Stop, don’t think like that,” she mutters.

“But don’t worry, there’s still,” you whisper, putting your pointer finger and thumb up to approximate the size of the tiny moon in the sky above you, “a little hope. There’s always been.”

You nod to yourself, almost like a subtle reassurance. You’ve always had faith and confidence in your own feelings, and a little hope has never killed you. If anything, it’s brought you closer to Jaehyun than you’ve ever been, and getting to know him in ways that you were never able to has been a silver lining in itself. Just maybe… deep down, not in the way you know you wish you had.

“I love how you’re always been so sure of what you want,” Chaewon confesses. It’s both a blessing and a curse. “But tonight’s about having fun, okay? No use wasting time on a boy that can’t get his own shit straight.”

With a giggle, she pulls you towards the house once again. “I want to see you get wasted. His name is not allowed as far as I’m concerned.”

“Jaehyun’s name…?”

“Who?”

You shake your head with a smile as she feigns confusion with an innocent expression. I don’t deserve my friends, you think to yourself, heart warming at how much they try to make you feel better.

“Come on, Y/N. Look around at all the people,” she laughs out in the tone of a true socialite as she tugs you towards where most of the partygoers are congregated, littered across every corner with their short dresses and sweaty skin. Noticing that your mouth is still tinged with a hint of apprehensiveness, she stops in her tracks and turns to you. “You’re telling me that you’re gonna let him do this to you? This night is for us, not waiting for a stupid boy that’s had the chance of a decade to love on you, pretty girl.”

She fiddles with your dress and smoothing down its invisible wrinkles as you nod along with her, mind willing itself to focus on yourself and your friends instead of—

Right. He doesn’t exist right now.

“And you look so good right now that anyone would be stupid not to feel lucky for having your attention,” she affirms, shiny hair tumbling under fluorescent lights as she beams at you. You can’t help but wrap your arms around her, the comfort of her mere presence and consoling words making your heart burn.

“Love you, Chae. I think we should just date instead,” you mumble into her shoulder, her signature, bright laughter ringing out at your words.

Her eyes brighten even more when she spots Mark appearing back behind you with entire bottles of liquor in his hands.

“Where the hell did you get those, my god,” she ooh and aah’s at him as your face lights up at the appearance of the boy.

“Johnny’s hidden stash in one of the guest bedrooms. He thinks he’s slick,” he snorts, putting a finger up in a shushing motion when Chaewon gasps dramatically. When you giggle at your best friend’s antics, he turns to look at you with a hint of worry on his face.

You seem to have cheered up a bit since he left you to get drinks, but he also knows how good at hiding your true feelings you are. From poker faces to fake laughs, you’ve got it all under your belt. He just wishes you would just let go sometimes, but it’s understandable when he thinks about you as a person. It’s simply in your nature to be selfless, and ever since the two of you were young, you’ve never been one to bother anyone with your own worries. No wonder he’s worried as you crinkle your eyes in elation at him, a complete 180 from five minutes ago.

Glancing at Chaewon, she nods at him discreetly, seemingly having a conversation with just their eyes. You’re okay now.

Letting out a short breath of relief, Mark loops his arm with yours before pulling you into the lion’s den of a party haven.

“Let’s get fucked up, hmm?”

…

You don’t know how much time has passed as you trudge through the garden with your heels in one hand, Chaewon’s fingers laced with yours in the other.

You’re sure it’s been at least three hours since you arrived. No, two. Maybe four?

To be honest, time isn’t even a concept in your book as you swing your arm with your friend’s, a drunken-dopey smile on your face as you relish the feeling of the dirt and grass against your bare skin.

Maybe you would’ve known when Mark had handed you the first shot, eyes flicking absentmindedly to the mounted clock in Johnny’s spacious living room — but you hadn’t cared enough then to figure out the numbers and read the time properly. In fact, you don’t think you were even thinking about anything except getting a bit of alcohol in your system. Forgetting was the first thing on your mind.

And boy, did everything spiral from there.

You recall vague bits here and there, from getting too close with familiar faces to being handed funky glasses with sparkly liquids. It was all a blur of overdue laughter and shots after shots, and you have to admit, completely letting loose for the first time in a while felt numbing in the most beautiful way.

You remember Mark drunkenly laying his head down in your lap at one point, tapping the hard liquor in your solo cup and mumbling a happy, “water fountain?” up at you. You weren’t seeing double just yet, but you certainly weren’t thinking straight enough either to comprehend his words fully. So, with absolutely no hesitation and a tipsy giggle, you poured the rest of the contents in your cup into his open mouth as carefully as you could (read: not careful at all). He had sat up with a cheeky smile, wiping the surprisingly dark, bloodred liquid from his bottom lip before it dribbled down and stained his skin.

Everything after that moment felt muggy, like a heavy blanket was wrapped around your head and knotted twice around your neck. You suppose that the alcohol added up at some point, pushing you past the point of clarity.

And suddenly now, you’re here. In the grass with Chaewon, doing only God knows what in a freezing night chill with your short dress and absence of a cozy summer jacket. You don’t even know how you got outside in the first place.

The cold air is good for you, however, as you can feel the blurriness start to fade away bit by bit. You’re not stumbling around as much anymore, but your grip on your friend’s hand is as tight as ever as you make your way through pretty flower bushes and onto a stone path.

“Oh no, someone dropped their phone,” Chaewon laments with exaggerated sadness — no doubt the alcohol talking — before leaning down to pick up the shiny device. Dusting it off with her fingers, she traces a frowny face into its glass, causing it to suddenly turn on.

“Jesus,” you squint into its blinding screen, mentally cursing the person who had the brightness turned all the way up and causing tiny white dots to appear in your vision. “What time is it?”

“You have eyes, look yourself,” Chaewon turns her head towards you dramatically, words slightly slurred as she throws you an unimpressed look. “But it’s 2:43 am. I can’t believe we’re still conscious.”

You groan, rubbing lightly at your eye before she’s talking again, swaying slightly as she speaks. Letting your gaze wander, you let yourself linger on the few people either passed out on messy lawn chairs or calling their friends for late night rides. Some are standing around like you and Chae, heads hanging down and clearly not in their best condition. There’s people with their arms thrown over the shoulders of their friends too, providing obvious support for their less coherent counterparts.

A couple half hidden behind the edge of the balcony catches your eye, your muggy mind inwardly gushing at how cute they are. You want a relationship like that. Their figures are hidden by the shadows of the house, but you can still see how the boy holds her forearm with care as he leans against the stones with her, head tilted impossibly close to the girl’s to display his full attention on whatever she’s telling him through her hushed whispers.

“—it’s okay ‘cause we’re sleeping over at Johnny’s tonight anyway. And, he has like a thousand guest bedrooms so we can choose any one of them—”

The couple lean into the wall more, the light repositioning as they shift their bodies closer, obviously very comfortable with each other. The girl moves further into the light, shiny hair catching onto the glow as she turns in place. He chases her movements, following her into the beam of the balcony lights as their faces are lit up under the sudden absence of shade.

You breathe out.

No way.

“—and I’ve always wanted to stay at Johnny’s and experience that rich kid life, you know? I wonder what it’s like to—”

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck.

You think that your heartbeat physically stops as you take in the scene before you. Like a thin arrow slicing right through the flesh and tissue of your heart, and it’s violently humbling. Bruising, even.

Stop.

There’s Saemi. And there’s Jeong Jaehyun too in all his glory, looking at her with the stars glittering in his eyes as she tilts her head up towards him.

Your mind goes blank.

“Hey, Y/N, I’ll catch up with you later, okay? Promise.”

That was what, four hours ago?

Ha.

You sober up immediately, like your head has just just been ruthlessly plunged into a bucket of ice cold water. Like God himself is telling you to face the fucking music and come back down to reality. And if you concentrate hard enough, you can even hear your soul shattering, its pieces clattering down and settling at the bottom of your stomach because you actually feel like you might throw up.

I should’ve known, is the phrase that repeats like a mantra in your head, manically getting louder and louder as you blink in pain. Your eyes refuse to leave them for some reason, watching the way his hand comes up to rest on the junction between her neck and shoulder with a delicate touch.

A bitter taste floods your mouth. You feel like you’re playing a one-sided game of push and pull, and it’s worn you out; it’s not disappointment, or even jealousy that fills your body, but fatigue. It’s tiring to let yourself hope, and then get let down time after time and you feel stupid. Disgusted at yourself, even, for attempting to appeal to a boy who had never given you the time of day in the past even though everyone was aware of how blatantly obvious your crush on him was.

You’ve always prided yourself on how true to your own character you are, but in this moment, you feel like a child watching real adults in the real world. Two years' age difference isn’t much in retrospect, but at this moment, Lim Saemi seems like a whole generation above you. Her maturity shines through every part of her — from her gait to the way she dresses to the way she leans into Jaehyun — and you can’t help but let your worst insecurity get to you as they get impossibly closer.

It hurts, because he’s not even mine.

“Y/N, are you listening?”

You don’t answer.

And when the soft plush of his lips come down to place a gentle kiss against her forehead, you decide that you’ve seen enough.

…

Your mouth feels like paper, your head feels like it’s about to split open, and you feel like shit.

Blearily blinking one eye open and then immediately shutting it after getting a glimpse of an unfamiliar ceiling, you groan out loud before stuffing your face into your arm.

Somehow, the little bit of willpower left in you forces your body to get off of the bed you’re on, stumble through the darkness (you think you accidentally trip over a stray body on the ground too), and feel your way to the hallway. Your brain has completely shut off, but you’re also fucking parched and nothing will get in the way of you and water right now.

Your feet miraculously lead you to the empty expanse of Johnny’s kitchen, little sunlight reaching its pristine tiles at such an early hour. Glancing at the red clock numbers on the oven, you blanch when it displays a mocking 6:04am. You’re lucky that your hangovers don’t hit too hard. Pouring yourself a glass of water, you can finally swallow and lean back against the counter in relief as you take a deep breath.

And that’s when it hits you. That’s when everything hits you.

You almost choke on your water as your mind pulls last night from the depths of its sleepiness, from the drinking to the unwanted feelings to the sensation of blacking out. You remember it all.

Taeyong taking a body shot in front of you (scarred). Johnny making out with one of your close school friends in front of you (scarred x2). Mark handing you drink after drink. Chaewon leading you into the garden for fresh air. And… and seeing the boy you like with a girl you thought he had nothing to do with anymore.

Like a floodgate of torturous memories, your mind automatically replays every little interaction without warning as you throw your head back against a cabinet in regret. It’s as if you have no control over what you get reminded of and what you don’t, because of course, the first thing that flashes before you is the feeling you felt when you saw Jeong Jaehyun in the courtyard.

His arm wrapped around the shoulder of Saemi’s as your best friend desperately vied for your attention, the girl finally following your line of sight to eventually see the scene you were watching in chilling silence. And Chaewon had noticed it all, from the way he smiled down at her to the very moment he looked up in your direction.

“Y/N…” she had whispered, the pity clear in her tone. You’d turned your head away quickly, not wanting her to see the tears gathering on your lash-line, but she couldn’t help but notice the way you reached up to wipe them away. Your body had gone into autodrive, quickly moving to the side to get away from the two as fast as you could. Chaewon reached out for you before turning back to glare at Jaehyun, surprised to see him already staring right at you.

He seemed unfairly distraught and guilty in her eyes, his gaze conflicted as his hands fell from Saemi’s face in a flash and hovered in the air in shock. A few seconds later and he snapped out of it, leaving her standing alone and rushing over in your direction, seemingly trying to reach you before you got lost in the mass of people inside the mansion.

As he passed Chaewon’s lingering form, her hand flew out to latch onto his shoulder.

Shaking her head at him — as if saying, you lost your chance ages ago — it was then that she truly felt awful about the inner turmoil her best friend was constantly subjected to when liking a boy like that.

Wincing, you press a cheek to the cold marble countertop of the kitchen as all of your thoughts flitter through your consciousness at once. You wish the dull throbbing in your head would stop, and even thinking about it makes you shift uncomfortably in place, itching to just get outside and clear your mind with fresh air.

Fuck it, you decide, no one’s awake anyway. I need to get away, even if it's only for a few moments.

Pushing your hair out of your face, you finish your water before heading out. There’s an unusual smell of artificial roses as you move through the hallways and descend the grand staircase; it’s eerie to walk in a silent house, all of the hallways dark and stoic. Johnny’s mansion looks like a mini natural disaster with the way decorations and bottles are strewn across its marble floors, almost like savages making use of a castle. It’s like a presentation of physical evidence of what took place last night.

Finally making it outside into the crisp morning air, you relish in the chirping of the songbirds and empty expanse of a dew-tipped garden. Taking a deep breath, you shiver slightly before heading down a small hill behind the garden. You recall there being a lake behind the property that Taeyong and Johnny used to bring you to when you were younger, one with a small dock that retreated far enough into the water that you could be alone without having the urge to constantly look towards the house again.

You don’t expect anyone to be awake — or even outside — this early, but it comes as a surprise when you almost trip over a figure sitting on the bottom-most stone step. Putting a hand to your heart, your eyes widen as they turn to look up at you.

“Oh… hi. I didn’t expect anyone would be awake this early.”

“Yeah, I just needed some fresh air,” you say, nervously playing with the hem of your shirt. “So I’m going down to the dock…”

“Ah. I see… um. You- you wouldn’t mind if I joined you, right?”

…

Life is funny sometimes.

As you swing your legs gently above the light waves, you can’t help but think about the irony of the situation you’re in. You bite your lip before turning to the person next to you, their knees pulled up to their chest as they stare out into the water.

“Saemi…”

The girl turns to you, a hesitant smile on her face as she reaches out for your hand.

Lim Saemi takes your fingers between hers before letting out a deep sigh, the talkative persona she normally holds, gone, as she looks between each of your eyes. The hesitance between the two of you is awkward in a way. You’ve never had a full conversation with her and you’ve always assumed things about her based off of others’ recountings, but she couldn’t be more different now.

The little imaginary devil on your shoulder shakes her pitchfork at you, as if saying, “you should be hating her, remember?”

You look down to hide your slight frown.

“I think we have a lot to talk about,” she starts, voice tentative and slow as she purses her lips in contemplation. You still. Nodding your head, you let her move closer to you on the wooden planks of the dock before she makes eye contact with you again.

“You know, sometimes it scares me how alike you and Taeyong look. It’s like staring into a mirror image, and I feel like I see memories in you that I associate with your brother.”

You cock your head at her words. “...we’re pretty similar people too, I think,” you whisper back, an automatic smile reaching your face as your mind finds its own way to him.

“I think so too,” she grins. “Actually, Taeyong and I have been friends for a long time, and he’s always speaked of you so fondly that I couldn’t help but anticipate meeting you. I would see glimpses of you here and there, and he would constantly mention his baby sister and how much he worried about her. He was the best older brother, and anyone could see it.” She pauses, taking in a deep breath. “Yet he treats his friends the very same way, with the same adoration and care. It doesn’t matter how much Taeyong will grow in the future with his escalating popularity and growing talent in music, he’ll always have the kindest soul in my eyes. I’m genuinely so thankful for him, Y/N.”

To hear someone speak about your brother like that triggers an emotion in you that you didn’t even know you had, gaze curious as you wait for her to continue.

“I don’t really know how to start this conversation to be honest, but- I bet you know how hard high school is.” You nod, grimacing at all of the particular more negative memories you have. “You’re balancing on that fine line between feeling too adult to be in school and feeling too childish to live your own life yet, and I, for one, most definitely didn’t know how to deal with such a sudden change in my social and academic surroundings. I think I changed physically a lot then, too. My face, my body, everything. I started morphing into someone that I couldn’t recognize in the mirror, and I came to the realization that boys liked me first for my appearance, not my personality. And… and you know what I regret the most? I learned how to use my body as a weapon.”

“I learned how to change the way I talk, how to talk to boys so that I could get them to do what I want, and suddenly, everything changed even faster. People flocked to me, which is what I had always secretly wanted, but the person that they wanted wasn’t me. I had flown a bit too close to the sun and now I was stuck with this facade that I couldn’t get rid of. It was never just ‘Saemi,’ I was always simply the object of their desires, something to be acquired. And I had brought it upon myself.”

Recalling the Saemi you knew and recognized in high school, you have a bit more of an understanding of her now. She held up a front in order to protect herself, and as a result, she lost touch with her own self. Your heart hurts for her as you hesitate to reach out and offer comfort.

“Your brother was the first one who understood me right away. We met in detention during our second to last year, and he saw right through me in the first ten minutes. Sat me down in the teacher’s empty chair and told me that I was a bitch for breaking one of his friend’s hearts.” She closes her eyes as she recalls that very afternoon. “Taeyong gave it to me plain and straight that day: I shouldn’t have promised false love to so many boys if I wasn’t planning to give it in the first place. Your brother may have been a player too, but the boundaries he always set with his girls made him a thousand times better than I was.”

You place your hand on hers, Saemi giving you a grateful smile in return.

“I thought hard about myself and my decisions after that, and I decided that if I wanted to enjoy the last years of my secondary schooling, I needed to take back control of my own actions. After I apologized to his friend, he offered me genuine friendship in the weeks following, one without the jealousy and lust that I was always caught up in before. I had always been surrounded with so much toxicity, and he was able to pull me out of it so easily that I finally felt seen for the first time.”

She pauses, glancing at you briefly before staring up at the sky.

“That was also… the first time I met Jaehyun.”

You shift, staring down at your shoe laces as they sway lightly with the wind.

Ah, you smile sadly to yourself. We’ve gotten to this part of the story.

“Your brother brought me along with him one day to one of his parties, and I had truly never been enamored with a boy that quickly before.”

You can tell that Saemi’s choosing her words carefully with you, and they hit a lot harder when you relate to what she’s saying. You’re certainly no stranger to his charm.

“We started talking that night and Jaehyun had somehow broken down all of the walls I had carefully built up within the first month of knowing each other. It was new for me. My personal mantra had always followed the lines of, ‘if they like what they see and feel, I might as well use it to my advantage.’ But it was different with him. I didn’t want us to be a one time thing, and I certainly did not want him to think of me as something who couldn’t do that kind of serious relationship shit. I wanted him to like me so badly without thinking about if I had genuine feelings towards him in the first place.”

She takes another deep breath, as if she’s collecting her thoughts, before leaning forward with an airy laugh and sadness clear in her eyes.

“Have you ever mistaken love for dependency, Y/N?”

Have you?

You think back to all the people you’ve liked throughout your teenage years, ranging from hallway crushes to�� well- Jaehyun. Your pupils dart to the water as you think about the idea of depending on a person. Do I depend on the people I like, or do I know when to distance myself?

You shake your head.

“Jaehyun and I… we jumped into everything too quickly. It wasn’t even a right person, wrong time situation; we simply weren’t ready. We tried putting our all into this lone spark that we felt without stepping back and really looking at our relationship.” She stops to observe the rising sun above the lake, its golden reflection casting a healthy glow on her skin. Saemi’s beautiful like this, her feelings bare and raw before you as she lays out her emotions so vulnerably.

“I guess I never really loved Jaehyun in the way he loved me. He was looking for something tender and real, and younger me was not in the capacity to give that to him. I tried to convince myself every single fucking day that I liked him in that way, but even I knew deep down that my I would never convince myself. I still had this lingering, detrimental mentality of seeing boys as something I could win over, and my fascination with him intertwined with that in ugly ways.”

Saemi’s face falls a little before she takes both of your hands in hers, eyes sincere as she peers at you.

“The reason I’m telling you all this is because… I saw you,” she whispers carefully, watching your reaction. “Last night. When Jaehyun and I were together in the garden… I saw you watching before you walked away.”

Your heart drops as you look down at her hands holding yours so carefully, her pretty fingers encompassing your wrist as you unwillingly recall the worst emotions you had felt in a while.

She saw.

You only manage to get out a small, “oh,” before she squeezes your hand reassuringly.

“Hey hey hey, look at me,” she leans down slightly to put herself at eye level with you. The edges of her lips quirk up in the slightest, her hair falling elegantly against her face as the wind picks it up and puts it back down again. “I don’t want you to misunderstand. Why? Because all those years ago, Jaehyun misunderstood, and I misunderstood, and it was all of these assumptions and forced feelings that drove our relationship to its grave. We were shit at communicating with each other properly, and that eventually hurt both of us too deeply to heal the right way.”

You nod at her hesitantly, taking in what she’s saying with a newfound understanding. Saemi sighs before smiling again at you.

“I’ve hurt a lot of people in the past,” she says, forlorn, her eyes crinkled as she sniffs in the cold of the morning. “And I never got the chance to apologize to them properly. But last night, I finally worked up the confidence to revisit our high school days with Jaehyun.” She stops, leaning back onto the dock with her hands behind her. Her eyes close as she soaks in the morning sun, and you can’t help but mirror the position as your heart warms for her. “We finally got our much needed closure last night, and I was feeling a bit down afterwards so he was simply comforting me. And I won’t weigh you down with all the nitty gritty details, but we were able to see our ending all the way through without letting our emotions get in the way.”

You can’t help but reach out and hug the girl, your arms wrapping comfortably around her shoulders to express your awe and gratitude. With a little noise of surprise, Saemi pauses for a few seconds before embracing you back. Everything makes more sense now, and you can’t help but feel a little ashamed for jumping to conclusions so easily.

“I’m so grateful that you shared all that with me,” you mumble into her shirt, her chuckle ringing out into the lake as she rubs your back like an older sister would.

“Of course. If anyone deserved to hear all of this, it would be you.”

“Why?”

Saemi snorts, pulling back from your hug before lifting an eyebrow at you.

“Oh please, Y/N, you should see Jaehyun from everyone else’s eyes. We can all see the way he looks at you.” Your mouth drops open slightly, tilting your head in confusion.

“He looks at me a certain way?”

“God, I have never met two more stupid people in my lifetime,” she groans, bringing her fingers up to her temple. “And I say this lovingly, of course.”

With a fond look on her face, she nudges your shoulder. “But I’m really glad Jaehyun has someone like you.”

You bashfully look down at the water, a rosy blush creeping up your cheeks at her words. You were never 100% sure of where you stood with him, but that familiar feeling of hope has started to creep up once again. Could I go through that again, though? That same push and pull?

Seeming to sense your sudden aversion, Saemi loops her arm through yours in one smooth motion and sets your hand in her lap.

“Hey. Promise me you’ll go talk to him?”

You hesitate to reply, mouth dry as you think about everything she’s poured out to you. You think about your own feelings, and you think about the possibility of having something more with Jaehyun. You think about his history with Saemi, and how this issue of communication has ruined your confidence so many times. But what is it all worth if you don’t try?

With a slow nod, you offer her a reassuring smile before dusting off your clothes and standing up. “Promise.”

Saemi grins at you.

“That’s my girl.”

“Jaehyun?” she asks, putting a hand out on his arm as he looks behind her, distressed. She’s never seen him like this, a nervous jitter in his hands as his eyes dart around at the scene behind them.

Turning around, she just manages to catch a glimpse of a girl rushing towards the back of the house, her head downturned but not masking the obvious face of discomfort in her features. Her friend turns around to glare at them before following close after.

“Fuck,” he breathes out, chewing on his lip as he hesitates to run after your escaping form. “I fucked up so bad, Saemi.” Running a hand through his hair in frustration, he lets out a noise of exasperation as he watches you get farther and farther away.

“What?”

“She’s leaving, Saemi. What do I do, what do I do,” he mumbles under his breath. “I just know she’s gonna think I hurt her on purpose. I always fuck it up somehow.”

“Woah, let’s breathe first,” she holds him steady at the shoulders, grip strong as she turns his body to face hers. “Breathe slowly.”

After a few panicked breaths, he looks back at her and attempts to inhale at a slower pace. A few seconds pass and he’s calmed down already, but a worried crease still flits across his features nonetheless.

“Listen to me, Jaehyun. Don’t leave her in the dark.”

His body loses tension bit by bit as he nods back a little, a heavy look in his eyes.

“We both know how that feels, better than anyone.”

…

Twenty-three missed calls.

That’s how many you’ve accumulated over one day.

You do the math on your bedroom ceiling as you lay splayed out on the mattress like a starfish. Each glow-in-the-dark, plastic star represents a missed call, and they swim across your vision as you point up at them with your hand to count them.

There’s seven from Mark, another seven from Chaewon, four from Taeyong, one from Johnny, and the remaining four? Mentally moving the glowing stars across the solar system of the ceiling, you pick four of the brightest glowing stars before keeping them hidden in a little group at the corner of your eye.

4 missed calls from Jeong Jaehyun, your phone reads from beside you on the mattress, the screen habitually lighting up throughout the day.

Your hand itches to grab it and just call him like you so desperately want to, but you exercise self-restraint as you roll over and stuff your face into your pillow. It’s unfairly hot tonight — the sticky, humid type — and being surrounded by all of your fluffy blankets and pillows does nothing to help your condition, but you don’t want to move out of your room. Letting out a muffled scream into the fabric, you groan to yourself when you realize that all of the problems floating around in your head won’t just magically disappear.

A normal Sunday would have gone like this: waking up mid afternoon with an abnormally large appetite, eating the entire contents of your kitchen to your heart’s content, and then going back to bed. Unfortunately, today was a bit different.

For the entire day, you’ve been busy. Busy thinking.

You had quickly left Johnny’s estate after your talk with Saemi early in the morning, borrowing one of Johnny’s cars from his garage and leaving him a little note that you’d return it soon (to be honest, you doubt that he’ll even notice). You’ve been in your room ever since.

With your eyes trained out the window, your record player ran through entire sets of albums as you lay on your bed in contemplation for the entirety of the afternoon. The fan in your room barely kept you cool as it picked up the fabric of your sundress every few minutes, marking another block of time that had gone by without you getting up and doing something about your position.

You let out a humph before throwing an arm over your eyes and retreating back into deep thought.

I’ve been distancing myself from him the entire day, and that’s the opposite of what I want to do, right? I’m turning into exactly what Saemi warned me not to.

Biting your lip, you turn your body over to stare at your motionless phone. But what should I do?

In a single impulsive movement, you reach out to grab the device before you can change your mind. Your fingers lead you to your contacts before your brain can catch up.

You can’t even fully register what you’ve just done, but Jaehyun’s name flashing across your screen certainly makes it all very much real, your phone waiting for him to pick up on the other side of the line. Your face gets hotter and hotter as the seconds tick on, the beeping of a no-caller reply heightening your nerves.

Finally, with a little click from your hand, he picks up. Your eyes widen. You really didn’t really think this through; now you had to actually talk to him.

“Hey,” Jaehyun sounds out, his voice breathless. “I- are you okay?”

“Yeah.” At least I think I am, you add on to yourself, grimacing. “Um… are you free today?”

“Am- am I free today? Yes! I mean yes, yes I’m free today.”

You can’t help but smile at the way he trips over his words a bit, his nervousness bleeding over your speaker.

“Well then, rooftop at mine at 10?”

“For real?” Jaehyun exclaims, checking the time on his alarm clock. That’s in twenty minutes. “Wait, I’ll be there. I promise.”

And with that, the two of you hang up with a million unspoken words and unfinished sentences. You let out the breath you were holding in, because you genuinely thought you would pass out when you heard Jaehyun’s voice again after finding out all that you did. Throwing yourself against your bed, you let yourself indulge in your feeling of hope again.

“He’ll be here,” you sigh in happiness to yourself. You relax into your pillows before springing up immediately, a look of horror taking over your face. “Oh my god, he’ll be here.”

Rushing around your room with a newfound energy, you make sure you don’t look like you just rolled out of bed (although you technically did just roll out of bed, but he doesn’t have to know that) before unlatching the window of your bedroom and carefully climbing out onto your roof.

It’s well past dusk now, and the sky is abnormally clear with not a single cloud in sight. The moon shines brilliantly in its place as it casts an eerie glow on the panels you’re sitting on, their bumpy texture making it seem like the material is constantly shifting.

You let yourself go for a moment, resting your head in the palms of your heads before staring out at the roofs of your city. They create a complex, urban terrain: a mix of timely balconies and rooftop gardens, orange lanterns and fairy lights alike.

The beeping of a car horn brings you out of your daze. Peering down into the street below you, a familiar, classy black car is visible through all of the telephone lines.

Okay Y/N, deep breaths.

Jaehyun gets out of the front seat, immediately looking up in hopes of catching a glimpse of you before you notice he’s there. However, when his eyes follow the length of your house up, he finds that you’re already staring at him with an unreadable expression.

He doesn’t think he’s ever felt this nervous in his life. With cold hands, he lifts himself onto the electrical box beside your house before climbing up onto the slope of the roof, climbing over to you with an uneasy smile on his face.

“Hey.”

You tuck your chin into your arms, leaning forward to look at him curiously. “You could’ve taken the window, you know, but that works too.”

“What’s life without any risks, hm?”

As he settles himself, you can’t help but think that there’s a double lining to his words. “That’s the most Jaehyun-esque thing I’ve ever heard.”

His laugh warms your heart in a way you didn't know it could.

The first few moments are quiet, just two pairs of eyes looking up at the stars before Jaehyun breaks the silence with a small cough.

“We got lucky, there’s no clouds tonight. Pure stars.” You look over in his general direction, his gaze not even directed towards the sky anymore.

He pauses, so you turn and happen to meet eyes at the same time. Both of you open your mouths to talk, prompted by the invisible tension between you.

“Let me just say that—“

“I just wanted to tell you—“ he starts at the same time you do, eyes widening when you both go quiet once again. “You go first.” Giving him a grateful smile, you think a bit about how to express yourself before twisting your body completely so that you’re facing him.

“I just wanted to apologize first,” you start, holding up a hand when Jaehyun starts to protest. “Wait. I really want to tell you this before I get too nervous to.”

“I know everyone was worried when I went kinda off the grid this morning, but I needed some time alone with my thoughts. I shouldn't have ignored you like that, especially when things seemed so off between us. This is really hard to say to your face but,” you glance away from him as he waits patiently for you, “I always feel this rush of different emotions whenever I’m around you. And sometimes it’s confusing, but other times—“ stopping to exhale, you notice Jaehyun’s grin from the corner of your eye.

“Hey, why are you laughing? I’m trying to be serious right now,” you whine. He simply puts his hand up to his mouth to hide the elated expression on his face.

“You’re just too cute, that’s all,” he replies adoringly, his eyes creasing behind his hand.

“I can’t take this,” you mutter in embarrassment, stuffing your face into your arm to hide the blush of your cheeks. “See! Stuff like that. You make me experience, like, thirty different emotions at once.”

He simply giggles at you, throwing out a little “my bad,” but he doesn’t sound very sorry at all. You nudge him in the arm.

“Sorry sorry, Y/N. Wait, I’ll be serious now.”

Both of you taking deep breaths, you put your hand up to your heart to calm its erratic beating as Jaehyun composes his expression back to normal.

“I really wanted to apologize too.”

You glance at him in surprise as the words leave his mouth, sincere and heavy.

“I’ve been pretty shitty to you, and I recognize how confusing it must have been for you to watch me constantly go back and forth between different personas. Honestly, being back home forced me to face the people here, and suddenly I was thrown into this internal conflict between my high school life and my present self. That’s still no excuse for how many mixed signals I gave you these past few months, but I want you to know that it was never my intention to hurt you.”

Reaching out to brush a small leaf off your shoulder, his hand trails down your arm until he’s taken your hand in his. You can tell how much he means it by the way he’s looking at you — like you hold the entire galaxy in your eyes. You think that you finally see a replication of how you look at him yourself; after all, it’s being reflected back to you right now.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“I hope you can tell, but I really like you,” he whispers, bringing your hand up to his chest. He wants you to feel how much his nerves are racing just as fast as yours.

You think that your heart just about stops. You’ve dreamt of this moment since you were younger, and now that it’s finally coming to life, it’s unreal to think that he feels the same.

“I think you know how I feel,” you reply back quietly, looking down at your hands entwined with his.

“Say it?” he asks with a pleading face, the corners of his lips quirking up when you roll your eyes.

“Jeong Jaehyun, do you really think I believe that you didn’t know that I’ve liked you ever since we were kids?” Shaking his head innocently at your suspicion, he pouts in a manner that’s very unlike him.

“Fine,” you give up, unable to hide the smile creeping up on your face. “I like you Jaehyun, I like you so much that you don’t even know how happy I am right now.”

“Oh, I know. Come here,” he scoots over before tapping the side of his shoulder with his finger. Not getting the memo, you tilt your head inquisitively before he reaches over himself and puts your head on his shoulder himself. If your heart was skipping beats before, it’s probably failing to beat at all now.

“I want you to trust me,” he murmurs under his breath, his grip tightening on your hand. “I know I don’t have the best track record right now, but I’ll prove to you how much I like you.”

You furrow your brows in confusion. “You don’t have to prove anything…“ You wholeheartedly believe and trust in his feelings, but with the way he’s looking at you right now, you decide to humor him and raise an eyebrow prompting him to go on.

“Wait, you’ll do anything?” You ask, looking up at the stars to hide your telling grin.

“Anything. Even suffer through another one of those awful DiCaprio movies.”

“Suffer?” you exclaim, your head lifting off of his shoulder with his words.

“Shit- no no not suffer. Who said suffer? You must’ve misheard me, I most definitely said enjoy.”

“You’re on thin ice, Jeong.”

He snorts at your threatening expression, an arm snaking behind you to wrap around your waist protectively.

Turning his head to look down at you, you’re met with his nose almost touching yours. You can see every eyelash, every freckle adorning his skin as neither of you make the motion to move away.

Jaehyun loses his breath at the sight of you so close. He keeps his teasing eyes on yours before taking that extra step forward to bump your noses together. Glancing down at your lips, he steadies himself so that his voice can sound as confident as he envisions it in his head.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Please, Jaehyun.”

With your consent, he pulls you forward by the waist before slotting your lips together carefully. You’re not sure if it’s the pressure at which he’s holding you, or the fact that you’ve waited for this moment for almost your entire youth, but kissing Jaehyun is glorious.

He moves a hand up to cup the back of your neck before pushing forward impossibly closer, tucking your hair behind your ear in one smooth motion as his mouth moves in tandem with yours.

You make a noise of surprise when he takes your bottom lip between his teeth, giving you a little nip before licking over the skin carefully. The passion and lust that seeps through his tongue is made clear as the minutes pass, and your reactions only spur him on.

Th mix of his skin on yours burning its way across your body and the delicacy at which he touches you makes your heart alight for a completely different reason. Threading your fingers through his hair, you're delighted to find that that particular motion makes him shudder under your hands, and kiss you more like his life depends on it.

After a while of marking each other's skin and exchanging sweet nothings between his kisses, you tap his chest to pull apart for air, your breathless mien making him grin smugly.

“I’m that good, huh?”

“Shut up, Jaehyun.”

…

The rings on your fingers clink with his as you hand him a metal camping cup, its silver surface hot to the touch even at night. Glancing up at Jaehyun, you laugh when you catch his skeptical expression.

“The hell is this…” he asks in borderline horror as the liquid in his cup sloshes around.

“Mark’s gonna love hearing that,” you remark, putting your own cup to your lips as you bring your knees to your chest.

It’s the most comfortable when you’re with Jaehyun like this, sitting on the hood of his car in the dead of the night to stargaze into the early hours of the morning.

It’s been a few weeks since that night on the rooftop, and you’ve never felt more alive. From long drives with Taeyong to mini adventures with Mark, and from jukebox diners with Chaewon and constellation hunting with Jaehyun, you finally feel at home in a place you’re about to leave. University is close on the horizon, but that doesn’t mean you can’t spend your last free evenings with the people you love the most.

“Is this your recipe?” Jaehyun asks, pulling up your legs so that they rest over his lap. You shake your head with a cheeky smile.

“Stole it,” you whisper, scrunching your nose at the distinct smell.

“And what did Mark’s creative ass come up with this time,” he laments back, taking your cup to compare it with his in confusion.

“Our cups hold the same exact thing, Jaehyun. I didn’t secretly poison your drink if that’s what you’re thinking, and I know you are.” You take back your cup before taking another sip and taking a little piece of paper out of your pocket to read from. “But anyway, it's ‘orange liquor, orange juice, lime juice, maple syrup, sliced jalapeño, and agave blanco sugar in the rim.’ You can steal the recipe too, but don't tell him that I gave it to you. He’d murder me.”

“Mm,” he muses, nuzzling into your neck. “I wouldn’t want my girlfriend dead.”

You freeze in mid-air, mind turning the title over and over again in your head. “Girlfriend?”

Jaehyun sits up immediately, looking at you with the most mortified expression on his face. “Fuck, I never asked you to be my girlfriend, did I?”

With a small giggle at his antics, you simply lean against him and pat his arm in consolation. “It’s okay, I don’t need a label to know how you feel about me.” Jaehyun hums contently before suddenly wrapping his arms around you, your delighted shriek ringing out as he pulls you down with him and falls back against the metal roof of the car.

“Can we just stay like this forever?”

You sigh in satisfaction as your body follows the rises and falls of his chest. The stars above seem to blink happily at the two of you as they make their way across the sky, the little, twinkling lights of overpassing planes highlighting their presence.

Intertwining your fingers with his, he gently kisses the side of your face before closing his eyes.

Even if the two of you hadn’t realized it yet, it had always been like this: two childish souls crafting the idea of mature love. Two blooming young adults, with fizzing feelings and cherry picked lips, daring to love one another like the grownups in black and white colored movies.

Your summers are defined by sticky ‘n sweet cherry cola, rides around the abandoned carousel with your friends, and “borrowing” quarters out of your brother’s Cadillac to insert into the jukebox of the local diner. They’re tinged with the taste of Mark’s special drinks and Chaewon’s sweet words, with Taeyong’s cheery voice ringing out throughout your house and your parents’ weekly sitcom reruns. And most of all, summers are made of Jaehyun’s lavender cologne and the way he holds you close when you need it the most.

“Don’t be surprised if the moon calls you by name, Y/N, because I tell her about you all the time.”

…

<3 you can find their character profiles HERE.

[ for Y/N, mark, chaewon, jaehyun, taeyong, and saemi ]

…

xoxo

2K notes · View notes

enviedear · 11 months

Text

i've been going solo now ⟶ ben solo

description ⌙ when you get a distress signal from your dad and his life-long goon you're quick to try and come to their rescue. only problem? so is ben solo.

pairing ⌙ smuggler!ben solo x f!reader

warnings ⌙ childhood crush/frenemies turned adults with horrible communication skills, reader is the daughter of lando (biologically or not you decide), ben is a jerk, reader is a brat, petty arguments, forced proximity trope, inner conflict all the time, han and lando are just two pals getting into serious issues that their kids have to fix don't mind them (they're just mentioned), most likely incorrect knowledge of the falcon & starship parts, smuggler!ben solo au because that's canon to me, ben calls reader kid (affectionate, kinda), typos probabaly

word count ⌙ 4.1k

— request | masterlist

i just think ben solo is very much solo by future coded and i wanted to write about smuggler!ben and his smug attitude. special thanks to @crucifiedfaerie for letting me gush over this idea constantly in our dms <3

you never had the stomach for killing— the thought of it or the act itself. the notion of ending someone's life has always been abhorrent to you, leaving a sour sensation in your mouth that lingers long after the deed is done. but right now, you sit, filled with a growing and seemingly unstoppable rage that practically demands blood.

"don't even think about jumping into hyperspace, solo!" your voice is loud but erratic.

the black-haired man piloting the ship gives you a side eye, "and waste hours getting there? sure thing, kid."

you grip the co-pilot seat as hard as possible as he sends the absolutely geriatric ship into lightspeed. the force of it sends your head back onto the headrest, and you screw your eyes shut until the motion of the ship stills.

you've been flying with ben solo on the millennium falcon for a day and a half now, and this isn't even the first time you've wanted to kill him.

no, you'd harbored a hatred for ben solo for as long as you could remember. when you were little your father frequently left you in the care of the organa-solo's. any trip too risky for you to follow him on had you spending time on chandrila han and leia— and ben.

he was a few years older than you and so insufferable - spoiled rotten and full of mischief. the two of you would inevitably end up in scuffles over something, whether it be who got to shower first or which holovid show to watch. you often wondered how your father, han, or leia had managed to handle both of you. a hardheaded pair of troublemakers that needed little excuse to start bickering with one another.

but beneath it all, there had been another layer to your complex relationship with ben solo. even though you feigned anger whenever near him, deep down there had been an admiration growing since those early days spent together. your naive heart fluttered when he would absentmindedly flash his ever-present smirk in your direction. but you'd never admit or act upon any such feelings.

naviagting your crush had been difficult at first. especially having lando calrissian as a parent. you were forced to spend weeks around the source of your teen angst because of your father.

what use is a dad that can sweet-talk a jablogian if he can't fix your unwanted crush on his best friend's son.

you've cursed at his image in your mind every time you look at your ridiculous companion. if not for him, you wouldn't be with ben right now— you'd have never had the displeasure of his company.

you got away from the young solo, and most everyone else, for a good five years, hopping from planet to planet, picking up any honest work. which usually meant boring work— factory jobs, service stuff, a few instances of babysitting.

your life without ben solo is predictable and a little boring.

but you'd rather be bored than deal with the recklessness that becomes your life every time you see the smuggler.

but here you sit beside him, forced to spend an unknown amount of days with him until the both of you find your idiotic fathers.

you had gotten a rouge comm-link message from your dad just days ago. he sounded fine, voice still leisurely and warm, but it was his words that were worrisome, "han's got us in a bit of trouble, little star. would you mind coming to help your old man out? we're somewhere in the trilon sector— i'd try batuu first!"

when you got the message, your mind had gone into autopilot. you had rushed to comm leia, which had been a fatal mistake, as she had ordered her son to pick you up and accompany you. so now you're here, stuck with ben solo and his frightening flying.

"you know, dad should have warned me i'd be flying with a coward." ben's lips are curved into a grin, as usual with his teasing.

you whip your head in his direction, eyes ablaze, "well my father should have warned me that you've gotten even more annoying, somehow."

ben narrows his eyes, a stupid smirk still plastered to his face, "whatever you say, kid."

you feel your blood go hot, why he decided to start calling you kid, you didn't know, but you do know you hate it.

ben's barely your senior, only twenty-three years of age in comparison to your twenty. besides he behaves like an out-of-hand teen away.

"stop calling me that." you groan.

ben chuckles, "aw, what's the matter, kid? tired of following orders already?"

you grit your teeth, the way he talks down to you will forever get under your skin, "i don't take orders from you, solo."

"sure you do. you're on my ship, remember?" ben retorts, his eyes focused on the coordinates displayed to his left.

you cross your arms over your chest, "we're supposed to be working together to find han and my father and get them out of trouble, not bickering like children."

ben rolls his eyes, "it's not my fault you're so uptight."

you take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down. you can't afford to lose your temper and start a fight, not when you're relying on him to get you to your destination safely. so, you force a smile, "look, can we just be civil? we're both here because we care about our dads and want to help them."

ben's expression softens a little, "fine. but if you start nagging at me again, i can't promise i won't call you kid."

you roll your eyes, "deal. now, can you tell me more about what's going on? my dad was pretty vague in his message."

ben hums, "same with mine. all i know is that lando got mixed up in some kind of shady deal, and now he's in trouble with a gang of criminals called the ninth sun. my mom's been trying to negotiate with them, but they're not ones to bend the knee."

you groan, "of course not. what's the plan?"

he shakes a stray black strand of hair from his eye, "no plan, just find them and go from there."

"lovely, that's totally going to work," you bite your lip, "oh and, it was han who made the sketch deal, not my dad."

ben shrugs, "and who told you that?" he rests his elbow on the armrest and brings his hand to his chin, "lando?"

you clench your fists, "let's just focus on finding them. no need to dwell on the semantics."

ben glances at you and for a moment, you swear there's a flicker of something in his eyes. something other than his usual teasing, mischievous demeanor, but it's gone as quickly as it came and he turns back to the console.

the ship hums steadily beneath you, and the silence between you two stretches on, broken only by the occasional beep from the controls. you fidget in your seat, uncomfortable with the unfamiliar hush. you've never been around ben so long without saying anything, and you're about to speak up before he interrupts you.

"we'll have to make a pit stop, i need to refuel." his voice sounds tired.

you nod, "alright. any nearby planets we can stop at?"

ben checks the navicomputer, "yeah, there's one a couple of light years away. i've been there before, it's not too bad."

"okay solo, lead the way." you say, leaning back in your seat.

as he pilots the ship toward the destination, you can't help but study him from the corner of your eye. he's changed since the last time you saw him. the boy who used to pull your hair and steal your toys has grown into a man. he's lean and toned with longer hair, still as sable black as ever. it falls into his eyes, despite how much he wills it not to, giving him a slightly disheveled look that you can't help but find attractive.

you rue the thoughts plaguing your own mind.

the embarrassment you used to feel over your crush has come back ten-fold. the feeling shocks you. he's trying to act all suave and mature, but you know deep down that he's still the same old ben who annoyed the life out of you. you can feel the familiar tug in your heart every time he speaks, and you know he can't have changed much over the years. not when he's making you feel just like you're fourteen again.

but there is something different about him now. maybe it's the way he pilots the ship with ease– no longer the boy who'd cover his ears ar take off, or maybe it's just the way his muscles flex under his tight-fitting shirt. he's almost mesmerizing.

it's clear that he's been doing this for a long time, navigating the stars all alone with nothing but his shitty attitude and perfect hair. you find yourself marveling over him, sure and smooth, his hands deftly moving over the controls.

ever the realist, you try to shake off the feeling, but it's proving difficult. you feel a strange urge to preserve your current addiction.

as you watch him fly, you feel a fixation building within you. it's a sentiment you haven't felt in years, not felt since the last time you saw him.

you try to push the feeling down, knowing that it's not the time to have those kinds of thoughts. you're supposed to be focused on finding your fathers and not getting killed by some lethal syndicate, not lusting after your childhood nemesis.

you feel wrong stealing glances at him, trying to understand what's changed and why you're feeling this way. you're towing a dangerous, line. especially if those feelings are inspired by ben organa-solo.

finally, after what feels like hours, you arrive at the refueling station. as soon as ben lands the ship, you stretch your legs inside the falcon, looking out at the new scenery. the planet is bathed in the evening light, and the scene around you is wide awake. the station itself is a bustling hub of activity, with all kinds of alien species milling about.

ben leads the way to the fueling station, where he begins filling up the ship's tanks. you stand by the ship's entrance, people-watching. your eyes find ben's figure again, and you let them stall. when he looks your way, you advert your gaze and step out of the falcon, swiftly approaching him.

the evening air is cool as it hits your skin. this planet is a strange one, with vibrant purple plants and thick, white fog swirling around. but you don't pay too much attention to it, your eyes are locked on ben.

he's leaning against the ship, checking over the fuel meter with a frown on his face. you walk over to him and clear your throat, expecting to get his attention.

he looks up at you, eyes meeting your own. you feel your heart skip a beat, and you curse yourself for being soft for him.

"you know, you didn't have to follow me out here." he mumbles, hand coming to brush the hair from his eyes.

you hum, "i didn't have anything better to do."

he ignores you and looks back at the fuel gauge, his eyebrows furrow, "i found something for you to do." his voice is monotone, but you're all too familiar with the subtle cut of annoyance within.

"what does that mean?" you own voice comes out a bit too anxious.

ben groans before looking at you, "one of the damn tanks has a leak— i told chewie to fix that weeks ago." he follows up his words with a few curses before kicking the faulty gas tank.

you roll your eyes, "can't we just get another one? i'm sure if we go inside someone would know where we could get another one."

"the problem isn't finding one," he tsks at you, "the problem is that this tank has been leaking fuel into the beacon finder. without that, we're never finding our dear old dads."

your heart sinks. you had been so sure that you would find your dad quickly, but now it looks like that might not be the case. "so, what do you suggest we do?" you ask, crossing your arms over your chest.

"i'll have to fix the beacon," he sighs, "luckily i have the tools for it, but i need to find one more part, and with the sun setting soon…" he trails off, letting his silence complete the sentence for him.

you take in a deep breath at his implication. you can tell what he is suggesting without explicitly stating it.

you will be stuck on this planet with him tonight and forced to share the same cramped room. you thank god for separate cots, at least.

you try to ignore the warmth creeping up your ears, but you know that it's a losing battle. you haven't shared a room with ben solo since you were kids, endless unwilling sleepovers at each other's houses. but those instances were filled with innocent pranks and arguments, not the tension and longing glances you've found yourself giving him.

"alright," you say, trying to keep your voice even, "we'll just get the part and fix the beacon. the faster we fix this, the faster we can find our fathers and get back to our lives." you move towards the entrance of the fueling station, wanting to put space between you and ben.

"you mean so you can get back to your life." he calls out to you, and you look back at him only to be met with contempt in his brown eyes, "the one where you avoid me."

you give him a sharp eye roll before making your way toward a small gaggle of vendors, much more interested in finding this part. ben follows closely behind you, and you can feel the weight of his stare on the back of your head.

you're at a loss as to why ben solo would ever care that you've been avoiding him for the last five years. the ben you remember would've never batted an eye. when did that change?

you find a vendor selling the part that ben needs, and you both split the payment before heading back to the falcon. ben sets to work on the beacon, and you sit nearby, supposedly looking over the coordinates but mostly watching him work.

there's an abnormal sense of calm that fills you as you watch him. concentration is etched on his face, lips bitten bright red. you can't help but admire him, not for the sake of not trying.

you're brought back to reality when he starts cursing under his breath, "what's wrong?" you ask, moving closer to him.

"this damn thing won't budge," he grunts, trying to pry apart two pieces of the beacon.

you move to his side, peering down at the device. his breath is hot on your cheek, and you feel an urge to shiver. trying to focus on the task at hand you take a few breaths.

your eyes keep drifting to his lips, the way they move when he curses. you shake your head, trying to clear the inappropriate thoughts from your mind. "let me help," you offer, reaching for one of the tools he's using.

he hands it to you, and you lean in closer, your sides pressed together as you work the tool. you can feel his heat exuding into you, a warmth that isn't just from the planet's humid air. you try to focus, but it's becoming increasingly difficult. every time he moves, you catch a whiff of his scent, musky and rich, and your mind starts to wander to places it shouldn't.

finally, after what feels like an eternity, the piece pops free, and ben lets out a sigh of relief. he turns to you, a small smile on his face, and you can't help but smile back. his eyes lock onto yours, and suddenly, the air between you is charged with something foreign.

you let your tone come out sardonic, "looks like i saved the day. you're welcome, solo."

ben tilts his head, eyes narrowing, "you're a brat, kid."

"i thought i told you to stop calling me that." you want to hit him.

"i said i had a condition," he pauses, arms coming to either side of you, palms pressing into the falcon's floor, effectively trapping you against him, "a condition you just broke. so you're back to kid, kid."

you feel your resolve slipping, "you're the worst. you always have been, and i can see now that will never change."

he has the audacity to let out an amused breath, "if you're going to say shit like that, at least mean it."

your brows furrow, "pardon me? as if i don't mean that."

his hands creep from the ground and to your hips, you gasp as he pulls you in closer. if he were anyone else, you'd expect him to kiss you next, but he's not anyone else. so instead, he cranes down and whispers in your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "i know you want me," he growls, his fingers digging into your clothed flesh. "don't act like you don't,"

you're completely caught off guard, and before you can respond, he's pulling away from you and grabbing the beacon. you watch in silent horror as he makes for the falcon's exit, leaving you confused on the floor.

you sit there, rooted to the spot, your mind and body in turmoil. you know if you follow him you'd just be throwing yourself into a petty or embarrassing altercation.

what did he mean by that anyway? how could he possibly know?

taking a steadying breath, you turn away from your seat and make for the other side of the ship. you need to keep yourself busy until nighttime, and you know that there's some maintenance to do on one of the storage bays. when you get there, however, it's already been taken care of. your fists clench in frustration as you realize ben must have done it earlier.

you start searching around the ship for any other tasks that might help keep your mind off things and pass the time more quickly- checking cords, tidying up shelves or going through supplies lists so nothing gets low.

the hours seem to stretch on endlessly despite how much work you manage to do, and all too soon darkness begins to fill the sky outside of the cockpit windows. with a heavy sigh, you head back towards where you and ben had been working earlier. he's back now, tinkering away with the beacon as if nothing had ever happened between the two of you earlier— as if his words hadn't sent a tremble down your spine and confused the emotions tumbling through your mind.

you catch an expectant glance from him when he finally notices your presence. you're sure he's expecting you to say something to him. maybe he wants you to yell.

you don't say anything though, instead offering only a terse nod before checking the endless cords around you.

your fingers move quickly and expertly over the tangled cords, your mind too preoccupied to focus on anything else. but you can feel his gaze on you, burning through the back of your skull like a branding iron. his presence is suffocating and you know that if you don't get a handle on your emotions soon, you'll combust.

eventually, you're so lost in thought that you almost miss the soft footfalls approaching you. you turn to see ben standing beside you, his eyes locked onto yours. the air between you is thick with strain, unspoken words, and feelings. there are so many things you want to say to him, but you don't know where to begin.

"so," his voice breaks through the silence like a blaster shot. "when are we going to talk about it?"

you hear the depth in his baritone voice and it's all you can do to keep your face neutral, your thoughts collected, "talk about what?" you ask, even though you know perfectly well what he's referring to.

"about me and you," he says, voice low but insistent, "or we can just keep ignoring it. the tension seems to be getting us pretty far."

your expression shifts as you take in his words, the longing that had been coiled in so tightly before now coming to the surface. you can feel yourself flustering under the intensity of his watch but you refuse to look away, instead lifting your chin higher and narrowing your eyes.

"there is no us, solo," you say firmly, though your voice is riddled with a hint of something else entirely, "there never has been, and never will be."

ben seems unfazed by your words, his eyes steady and intense. "you say that," he says, his voice softening. "but i know you better than anyone else. and i know there's some part of you that actually likes me. i bet it pisses you off, doesn't it?"

he's right— it does piss you off that your heart can't seem to let him go. no matter how annoying you find him, he's beautiful and confident. and he does know you better than anyone. he knows what buttons to press and how hard. with ben, there's always the thrill of how perceptive he is— that he can see through the walls of anger and indifference you try so hard to build up around yourself.

you can feel your will crumbling under his words, your heart throbbing in your chest, but still, you push back, "even if there is something there, solo," you say, your voice shaking slightly, "it doesn't change anything. we're two different people living two very different lives."

ben smirks, "you don't know anything about my life."

you let your eyes roll, "as if the life you lead is some kind of mystery," you take a deep breath, "i mean, what's to know? you fly alone, smuggle, and rack up credits. that's your life, solo."

he hums, right hand finding a home beside your head on the wall, "you know me so well, kid. you should write a book."

you feel inexplicably hot, "maybe i will. a long book of all the reasons you piss me off."

he doesn't respond, just looks down at you for an uncomfortable amount of time. he pushes himself from the wall and you, twisting and letting his back hit the durasteel wall. his face is turned to you, eyes downcast.

"you know," he says finally, breaking the silence, "i remember when we were kids, it was always you who used to be the one to instigate. you probably don't remember it that way, but i do, and i loved it. you never hesitated. you were fearless."

you look at him incredulously, wondering what this has to do with anything. but he continues, "you were the only girl that would play with me, and not just that, the only one that could beat me. but then one day you just stopped. you ignored me completely."

you stiffen, unwilling to admit even through body language that he might be right. a pre-teen you found avoiding your ben sized crush the most viable option. you just never thought he'd care.

he continues, eyes unwavering from yours, "you used to look at me like i was the only person that mattered. and then, you just stopped. it's was like… like you had something to hide."

it's like he can read your mind because he reaches out and grasps your wrist in his hand. his touch is nice against your skin, sending a comfortable feel through your veins.

"i miss you, the girl who wasn't afraid of liking me," he whispers, his voice low and husky. "and i want you to admit that you miss me too."

you struggle to find words, to make sense of everything inside of you, but before you can speak, his lips are on yours. his kiss is hot and demanding, and instinctively lean into him, body melting against his in perfect harmony. his hands slide around your waist and hold you close as the kiss deepens, and you can feel all of the frustrations of the past slipping away. when he finally pulls back, his eyes are bright with emotion and a hint of a smile graces his lips.

he looks down at you for a moment before speaking in a low voice, "you want me to do that again?" he steps closer to you and cups your face in his hands, his eyes twinkling with amusement. you can feel the warmth radiating from his body and if it weren't for his strong arms around you, you would have melted into a puddle.

you nod slowly in agreement, too lost in the moment to say anything else. he leans down and brushes his lips against your cheek before pulling away completely, "then be honest. right here, right now. you like me."

you screw your eyes shut, basking in the shame of being found out, "i like you, solo. i like you a lot, but if you don't get off your pedestal and kiss me again i'll withdraw the opportunity."

he gazes down at you with an expression that's tender yet mischievous all at once. "i like you too," he whispers before chuckling lightly, you open your eyes to see.

his dimples are on full display, and for a second, he's the spirit of the little brat you fell in love with all those years ago. "c'mere, kid." his voice is soft as he pulls you back into him, lips meeting yours.

#ben solo x reader #ben solo #ben solo x y/n #ben solo x you #kylo x reader #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren #kylo ren x you #ben solo fluff #ben solo angst #kylo ren fluff #kylo fluff #kylo ren angst #kylo angst #ben solo x female reader #kylo x you #kylo ren x y/n #smuggler!ben solo

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starlostastronaut · 4 days

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SUNSETS AND BUCKET LISTS

han jisung × reader - fluff, childhood friends to lovers, college au - 1.8k

summary - spending your last day with your best friend before school should be sad, but this time it took an unexpected turn

cw - use of yn?

links - masterlist

so! i'm almost late but, still made it in time. i guess you could call this ji's bday fic (tho there will be more sunshine twins content coming soon), but most importantly, happy birthday katsy!! ( @catiuskaa ) this one is for you <3333

and shout out to my mars who saved me several times writing this. not proofread and idk what is that ending, but i hope you like it! <3

“Morning, sleepyhead,” Jisung whispered into your ear, his hot breath spilling over your skin, making you shiver and instantly startling you awake. Or mostly awake. Still half asleep, your brain only registered that someone is in very close proximity to you and we do not like that, before your hand tightened on your plushie and you whacked Jisung in the face.

“Ow, what’s that for?” he whined, dramatically holding his palm to the right side of his face. His mischievous grin was replaced by a scowl and he looked at you like you just stole his dog, not simply hit him with a stuffed cat. With your consciousness finally catching up to speed, you realized that it was not an alien coming to abduct you, but it was Han Jisung, your best friend since you were three years old. And he carried the title proudly, always mentioning your sixteen years long friendship to anyone who (did not) care.

“Sorry, Ji, oh my god!” You swiftly rose up on the bed, it was a miracle your head didn't collide with Jisung's as well. “I thought you were, I don't know, a pervert or something.”

“YN,” Jisung sighed. “It's literally just us two and our parents. There's a security system in the house. How would a pervert even get in?”

He was right. Growing up in the same town, just three houses away, your families have known each other very well. It was a tradition that started when you and Jisung were old enough to travel and actually understand a vacation. Your families always rented out the same beach house to spend the last two weeks of summer holiday together.

By now, you knew the place front to back, being able to move around while blinded and you would be just fine. So Jisung was right, but you couldn’t possibly let him have the win so easily.

“I don't know,” you shrugged. “They always find a way?” Jisung gave you an unimpressed look. “Okay, okay. But it's still your fault. You shouldn't have woken me up like a creep.”

“Blah, blah, blah.” Jisung rolled his eyes and grabbed your hands, quite literally dragging out of bed and out of the warm comfort of the covers. You hissed and a shiver ran over your skin as your, due to the summer heat barely clothed, body made contact with the cold floor. “Come on, get up, we have so much stuff to do!”

Jisung let go of your hands, bouncing around happily. You shook your head, amazed at the amount of energy he had so early in the morning. Had he eaten just sugar for breakfast?

You slowly stood up, rummaging through the closet for some clothes. “Turn around at least, perv,” you laughed, smacking him over his chest with a shirt. Jisung laughed, but left the room, giving you privacy to change. Not wanting to keep him waiting, you put on the first shorts and shirt you found. It's not like you were going to meet many people so who cares, right? On your way out you grabbed a hoodie too. The summer was in fact nearing its end and the mornings were often chilly. And knowing Jisung, you will have breakfast outside.

As per your prediction, the small outside table was full of food, with Jisung impatiently waiting for you, bouncing his leg and playing with a fork.

After a quick breakfast, Jisung shared his plan for the day. You listen in disbelief, wondering how he wanted to fit all of that into one day. Despite your doubts, you were going to do everything for it to happen though.

This was your last day together. In pursuit of your respective dreams, you and Jisung not only attended different universities, but in different cities too and the distance made it even harder. In order to visit each other, you would have to spend several hours traveling, and that was a luxury you couldn’t afford. You tried, but then a test came up, or a friend's birthday party or Jisung was sick… After three months you gave up trying, resigning to seeing your best friend on Christmas and summer only.

It was hard enough to leave him last year, but you called each other a lot. In the beginning that was. Once you got your bearings and university properly started, you were often so exhausted you fell asleep on the video call. Or didn't call at all, because Jisung forgot to charge his phone in the whirlwind of classes and deadlines.

You never knew it was possible to miss someone so much. Being without Jisung felt like someone was slowly tearing off your limbs. And when you saw him at Christmas, it felt like the puzzle finally found its missing piece. A week later, in your dorm room with friends and soju, some revelations were had, but by the time summer came around, your mind was in a completely different place.

And this time, knowing what kind of year you were up against, letting go of Jisung for another several months suddenly felt impossible. Knowing this shared vacation was coming, both you and Jisung made a list of activities to do and places nearby to visit. But with how excited you both were, you put off checking boxes in favour of lazing around, watching anime, going to the pool and talking for hours.

So there you were, left with a list impossible to complete by the end of today. Yet nothing would deter you from trying.

“I think I'm actually gonna die.” You fell onto your towel, lying motionlessly on the beach. Not even having enough energy to watch the sunset, which you would have taken countless pics of any other day.

By some miracle, you managed to complete Jisung's entire checklist for the day, which left you completely exhausted. You were seriously thinking of asking Jisung to carry you back, because unlike you, he seemed as if powered by the air he breathed - he hadn't run out of energy the whole day.

“Noo, you can't die yet. We still have to check off the paddleboard at the sea,” Jisung said. And there it was, he actually brought the paddleboard down to the beach. You saw it lying next to your things when you sat back up.

“Ji, seriously?” you laughed. “You can't swim? And it's dark.” The idea seemed a little funny and a whole lot crazy. It was one thing to be at the pool, where there was a bottom and a limited amount of water. To go to the wild, open sea, in the dark, and tired after the whole day? k

“Actually… I can. Kinda. Lix taught me,” Jisung admitted. You knew who he was talking about, Jisung wouldn't shut up about his roommate and new best friend Felix, he actually mentioned him in about every conversation he could. It was kind of cute actually. You were worried Jisung would struggle, being an introvert with social anxiety, but Felix waltzed into his life and saved him for you.

“Okay…” Felix teaching him solved one problem at least. But you still didn't feel like it was a good idea. “Ji, do we have to? What if something happens? We're tired, we're alone here…”

Jisung’s shoulders slumped. “Right, yeah you're right. I just had this plan and I wanted to… nevermind.”

That wasn't fair. Now you felt bad. God, why was Jisung so cute? “Maybe we could… I don't know. Put it just by the shore and sit on it?” you suggested, wanting to make Jisung happy. You would do anything to make him happy, even go out on the sea when you thought about it.

Alone together on the beach, the sun setting over the water, the atmosphere was romantic. And thought your brain, because all your feelings that you pushed aside to focus on quality time with Jisung, now came rushing back all at once.

Jisung's face lit up. “Yeah, we can do that. I guess it counts as completing.” You helped Jisung push the paddleboard just behind the first waves, sitting on it with your feet in the water, still in the safe distance to the shore.

You looked over the horizon, the sun reflecting on the water begging to be photographed. “Selca?” you asked. Jisung nodded and leaned closer, posing for the low quality picture. With barely any natural light left, the photo was bound to be blurry and dark, but you always liked that kind of aesthetic anyway.

Feeling daring in the moment, you pressed your lips to Jisung's cheek. Barely, just a few seconds, but enough to capture on your phone.

“YN…” Jisung whispered. If it wasn't so dark, you would see the pink dusting his face.

“Sorry, I just… I just had to,” you said. What did you have to lose anyway? You were leaving tomorrow morning and wouldn't see Jisung for another few months. “I had to know what it feels like,” you whispered.

Jisung lowered his gaze, choosing to look at the waves rather than looking at you. Somehow, the silence was scarier than a rejection of your implied confession.

“Say something Ji, please,” you begged, not knowing how to bear the crushing weight of the silence anymore. You feared what message it carried.

“You crossed the last box for me.”

Before you could ask what it meant, Jisung took out a crumpled piece of paper and handed it to you. His checklist of activities for the vacation. When you unfolded the small ball of paper, your eyes skimmed over the completed activities, all the way to the last one.

Kiss YN in some super romantic moment.

“I planned to tell you,” Jisung spoke up. “How I feel. I guess you beat me to it.” He lifted his head to look at you. “I did understand it correctly, right? It wasn't a platonic friend kiss, because Felix sometimes gives me those and if it was then forget everything I said because-”

You surged forward, interrupting his rambling with your lips on his. It was a wonder you didn't fall off the paddleboard, with how much force was used. You felt him freeze and smile, as he slowly kissed you back, overcoming the initial shock and surprise.

And you kissed, until there was no sun in the sky and your parents had to go look at why you took so long. That night, you laid in Jisung's bed, making promises and wishes for the upcoming year, already making plans, determined to not give up this time.

Somehow, coming back to campus and the insanity your university could be sometimes, wasn't as hard as it was last year. This time around, you had something new to look forward to in the darkest moments of endless texts and assignments. You had a boyfriend and a promise to keep. No giving up this time. And you both dutifuly kept it.

Jisungie <3

still alive after that test?

YN <3

barely

i'm dead inside and lonely

my roommate's out this weekend on a family thing

leaving me all alone in this dorm

Jisungie <3

good thing i have no classes this friday

see you then ynnie <3

taglist: @stayconnecteed @hanjsquokka @starseungs @starlostseungmin @ivaneedssleep @143horny-core @lakoya @rylea08 @caitlyn98s @oddracha @sweetbokji @feybin @qwonyoung23 @jiaaabbahng @hope69world @palindrome969 @alicedawitchbish @hyunjinshairband7 @nattisbored @ermahgerd-larry-and-ziam @kayleefriedchicken @extrhotjne @kirakombat @kmgfeels @freyjhasdesiredreality @dazzlingjade @boldy-49 @naarmzz @rei-reia @cookiesandcreammy @urfavblondy @chlodavids @armystay89 @btskzfav @vegetablesarefuntables @tearzzuu @ch4nn13luv @kisses-too-the-moon @mellhwang @lolareadsimagines @missmajdastark @drewsandsebastianswife @mitchii @chillichillicrabcrab23 @laniminchanlix @dearly-somber @greyyeti @linosazuna @na-tas-post

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#( all works⎯ 🗃 )#neverendingdreams #han jisung #han jisung x reader #han jisung imagines #stray kids #stray kids x reader #stray kids fanfiction #fluff #han jisung fluff #stray kids imagines

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 months

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Forget-Me-Not 6

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Loki

Summary: You return to your childhood home to put the past to rest.

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You sit in the cold room, shivering as your fingers pulse numbly, toes too. They’ve taken your shoes, your clothes, and your freedom. You won’t let them break you though. You won’t let those damned Odinsons win. This isn’t a victory. There are some things they can’t win.

You shift, taking some of the weight off of your bound wrists. You lean against the wall, shoulders pressed to the plaster, ankles crossed as your keep your knees to your chest in an effort to stay warm. The dampness of the hotel basement adds to the deep chill in your bones as the noise of rumbling washers and dryers whirring from down the hall. You would scream if your could.

The cloth is dry and gritty in your mouth, remnants of dirty caught in the fabric from your struggle. You fought as hard as you could. You always did and yet it always turned out like this. You were never strong enough.

You hang your head. You always knew the Odinsons were scum. That there was something twisted about them. Their entitlement always reeked, but this, you couldn’t predict they’d go this far. And for what? A dead woman’s rotting old house.

No, this isn’t about the house. This is about you. This is because you didn’t let their spoiled little son break you.

You snicker darkly. How it must burn him to know he couldn’t crush the town slut with his wormy dick. That the girl who was already cracked, didn’t just shatter against his inflated ego.

He’s not as clever as he thinks. Look at you. This is not great trick. This is arrogance. This is desperation. It’s the Odinson way; if you don’t get what you ask for, you take it.

Your laughter trickles off as you hear the footfalls approach. You hate that you know his gait. That you’re certain it’s him before he even appears. You don’t look up, you won’t suffer the sight of him.

“I tried to play nice,” he taunts as he closes the door. “I even asked...”

You lean your head to one side and close your eyes in a yawn. He huffs and his toes taps, the polished leather glinting in the corner of your eye. He steps nearer and looms over you.

“It didn’t have to be like this.”

“It does,” you say blithely, “do you really think you are the worst thing that ever happened to me?” You snort, “please.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t believe so. It must be hard to compare between so many,” he mocks, “do you even recall how many there were? Hm?”

Your lips tauten and you clench your jaw.

“You always were a pathetic little loser, Loki Odinson,” you sneer.

“I’m certain you thought so when we met by the river, hm? When you cried to me--”

“Oh, get on with it,” you snap. “I’m over this. I’m over you,” you lift your chin and glare up at him defiantly, “I haven’t thought of you in twenty years and if you weren’t standing here in front of me, I’d not even know what you look like or how your voice makes my skin crawl. I do not think of you. You are nothing. We both know if you left this forsaken village, you be just another snake in the grass and soon enough you’d be trampled under someone else’s boots--”

He moves quickly. You can’t react, can’t defending yourself as he kicks to in the chest, putting his sole flat to it as he pins you to the wall. You wheeze and cackle. That’s it. You got him.

“Let’s think about who is under who’s boot, dear,” he slithers.

“I...” you rasp, “you know... people talk...” you take tight, tortured breaths under the crush of his boot, “so much and I never heard... of a wife... or children... nothing but... dejection...”

“Shut up,” he barks.

“You’re trapped here,” you croak, “by your own fucking... fear. Because you’re scared... that Loki Odinson... is no one--”

He brings his toe up to your chin, kicking you so your jaw snaps shut and your teeth pinch your tongue painfully. You taste blood as you land on your side. You groan and try to blink away the silver stars in your vision.

“Aw, baby...” your legs fold over limply, “did I hit a nerve--”

He squats down and fists your hair, ripping your head up violently. Twisted on your side, your eyes roll with the lingering impact of his kick. You grin with blood coated teeth.

“You never used to talk so much--”

“Ptah!” You spit your mouthful into his face. He lets you go and you barely keep your head from hitting the floor. He wipes his cheek and grimaces. “You always talked too much.”

He doesn’t say a word. You hear a metallic tink, the unmistakable sound of a belt buckle. How many times had you heard that? How many times did you close your eyes and just wish it was over?

You brace yourself and use all your strength to move. You roll onto your back and plant your feet. You turn yourself as fast as you can, leaning your weight on your shoulders as you use your legs to maneuver. You fling your foot up and land your shot true.

Your foot crunches into Loki’s crotch as he stands pompously over you. He gurgles and goes rigid as his legs lock. He grips tight the leather of his belt and trembles before he falls to his knees. You kick again, this time catching his stomach. He puffs out with a gasp and you go for a third.

You miss his face as he shields himself with his forearm. He grunts as he cups his pants with one hand and grabs your ankle with his other. He yanks you, twisting your foot away from his face as you aim your heal at his jaw once more. He latches onto your other ankle and flips you over, swinging around to straddle you as you flail your legs.

Your knees hit the floor painfully as he pins you. He turn himself around so he’s facing your head and he smacks the back of your skull. He growls and lifts himself slightly. The buckle clinks again and leather swishes against fabric. You snarl as he hooks the belt around your neck and pulls it tight, forcing your head back.

“I know you remember this feeling,” he bends to hiss against your scalp, “I know you think about this every night. I want you to think about it every second of every day...” he yanks the belt until you can’t breathe, “you will never forget me. Never.”

#loki #loki x reader #dark loki #dark!loki #forget-me-not #series #drabble #au #backwoods #mcu #marvel #thor #avengers

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soloroomies · 3 months

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lifemate (Chapter 5/ Sakusa x f!reader)

summary: the day you're tying the knot with your very dear friend, Kiyoomi word count. 2.1k cw. marriage pact au a/n. another update! I'm happy that I can update this story quickly. Writing this is really fun for me hehe <3

Masterlist

Not long after you and Sakusa discussed your plans, you both decided to share the exciting news of your upcoming marriage with your families and closest friends. The reactions were nothing short of dramatic. You think it’s a mix of shock at how quickly you both decided to tie the knot and genuine happiness for you. Some of them called you immediately, the most popular question being, “How did this happen so fast?!” So, you shared the love story you and Sakusa have crafted together. Some responded with a knowing “I knew it!” claiming they had a gut feeling you’d end up together. You just laughed at their responses, finding it amusing because there was no way they could have predicted this—both of you were truly just friends before. Your psychology textbook was right about hindsight bias.

Since the wedding is simple and you both hired a wedding organizer to handle most of the planning, there isn’t much left for you to do except look for your wedding dress. You also chose your bridesmaids. At first, you want four people as your bridesmaid, including Tami. Unfortunately, Tami is incredibly busy this month with business trips. Even Tami, who knows all your plans, was surprised. She didn’t expect your wedding to be held in the second month of the year. You explained it’s because you both want to do this before the volleyball season starts. Luckily, she doesn’t have any plans on your wedding day and assured you she would attend. Therefore, the people you chose as your bridesmaids are two of your cousins, Yuuki and Nana, and one of your childhood friends from home, Aya. They’re all thrilled to be part of your special day.

Today is the day you choose your wedding dress, just two weeks away from your wedding day. You actually have a lot of fun looking up wedding dress inspiration. Weddings used to make you kind of emotional when you were a teenager and a hopeless romantic. But then, as an adult with a hectic life, you weren’t really expecting a wedding for yourself. Yet here you are now, somehow able to have one. So, you’ll enjoy this process as a gift to your teenage self.

It’s Saturday, and you’re glad that everyone is available. All of you have a group chat discussing the stores you’ll visit. So, you go through those stores, seeing the dresses they display online, trying some of them on, and deciding which one is the best. After a few stores and trying on more than ten dresses, one dress stands out. It’s a classic and elegant gown with a fitted bodice and a full ball gown skirt. It features a sweetheart neckline and off-the-shoulder sleeves. The skirt is made of layers of tulle and organza, giving it volume and a fairytale-like look. The back of the dress is adorned with covered buttons and a long flowing train, adding dramatic flair.

Your three companions seem to have the same thought as you. Nana even starts to shed tears, making the other two emotional as well. You turn to look at them and can’t help but feel a bit emotional yourself. “Guys, please don’t cry! You’ll make me cry,” you say. You stare at your reflection in the mirror and feel a sense of enchantment and awe. This is the dress, you think.

In the days leading up to your wedding, you frequently communicate with Kiyoomi, juggling to find time between your work and his practice. You handle some legal matters and move many of your belongings from your apartment to his, leaving only the essentials for the remaining days. This often brings you to his apartment, where you arrange your things with him, assisted by people from the furniture moving and rearrangement services you hired. Some furniture is no longer needed, so you sell those pieces.

Two days before the wedding, you arrive home after work and are suddenly overwhelmed by an indescribable feeling. You've already finished some of your project-based side jobs, giving you more spare time than usual. Your apartment, now mostly empty, feels strange, as most of your belongings have already been moved to Kiyoomi’s place.

Your phone vibrates, and you see new texts from Kiyoomi. He sends a picture of a painting you made on a medium-sized canvas that used to hang in your living room. Initially, you wanted to leave it behind, thinking you had already brought too much. But when Kiyoomi visited your apartment, he asked about the painting and suggested it would look great in "our" living room, meaning his apartment where you will soon move in. The picture he sent shows the painting now hanging in the living room. His next text asks, ‘Is this too far to the right?’ You examine the photo and find the painting perfectly centered, so you respond, ‘no! it’s perfect.’

You then realize that you feel a swirl of excitement and nervousness, as the reality of starting a new chapter in your life and leaving behind the familiar truly sinks in.

For this wedding, there were no pre-wedding events like engagement parties or bridal showers. As agreed upon, the entire event was to be simple. There was no honeymoon planned either. When some of your cousins inquired, you explained that you both wanted to wait for a better season and were eager to enjoy your newlywed life in your own home.

The sound of your alarm wakes you up, and you look around the unfamiliar bed, momentarily confused. Then it hits you—you’re not in your apartment but in the hotel of your wedding venue. The bridesmaids, groomsmen, parents, and some family members are also staying here. And, of course, Kiyoomi, too. Shaking off the sleepiness, you decide to take a shower and call room service for breakfast.

Checking your phone, you see a few messages from family and friends who have arrived in town, expressing their excitement to see you later. You smile, responding to each message with heartfelt gratitude.

Suddenly, there’s a knock on your hotel room door. Expecting it to be your bridesmaids or parents, you open it and are surprised to see Kiyoomi’s mother standing there. She looks at you and smiles warmly. Bowing slightly, you welcome her into your room, mentioning that you’ve just finished breakfast and inviting her to sit beside you.

Unexpectedly, she wraps you in a warm and comforting hug. Taken aback for a moment, you quickly return the hug. Then she looks at you, caresses your hair, and holds your hand. Her gaze is soft and carries warmth.

“I want to tell you how grateful I am to have you joining our family,” she says, her voice filled with genuine emotion. You look at her, your mind blank, unable to find the words to respond. She continues, “You remember you used to come to our house, right?”

You nod, the memories flooding back. You recall the nostalgia of your high school days, when you often visited Kiyoomi’s house with Komori. Kiyoomi’s mom was always more outgoing than Kiyoomi and his father, often inviting you over for dinner. You usually brought your homework along, finishing it with Kiyoomi at their kitchen table.

“I’ve admired you since then,” she says. “I know we haven’t seen each other much since you both graduated high school, but I’ve always known you will leave a lasting impact on Omi's life. I often asked him about you, you know?” She laughs, a light, joyful sound.

You smile at her words, touched by her sincerity. “I’m happy that you’ve always stayed in touch with each other. And I was overjoyed when I heard the news. I’m just... I’m glad it’s you. You complement each other so beautifully, and I couldn't be happier to see my son marry such an incredible person.”

She pauses, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Know that you have my unwavering support, love, and respect. I look forward to many happy moments together as a family.”

Tears well up in your eyes at her genuine words. “Thank you so much for your kind words. They mean a lot to me,” you manage to say, your voice thick with emotion.

You hug her, feeling the warmth and acceptance in her embrace. She holds you tightly, then pulls back slightly to look at you. “Please call me Mom, okay?”

You nod, a tearful smile on your face.

After she leaves your room, you're left with your thoughts. You feel a wave of gratitude for Kiyoomi’s supportive mother, but a tinge of guilt also lingers. You and Kiyoomi had to fabricate your love story, making it seems like you are deeply in love. It feels wrong that she believes you and Kiyoomi are head over heels for each other. However, you genuinely care, adore and respect him as a friend. You promise yourself that you’ll hold onto these feelings throughout your marriage.

As the afternoon sun casts a warm glow over the bustling city, you stand by the window, taking in the view of the skyline. Nana, Yuuki, and Aya bustle around your hotel room, helping with the final touches on your wedding gown. You opted to do your makeup yourself, choosing a natural and fresh look, and now, as you gaze into the mirror, you feel satisfied with the result. Aya hands you your bouquet of white roses and eucalyptus. Your wedding photographer snaps a few photos of you and your bridesmaids before it's time to head downstairs.

You hear the sound of laughter and chatter from the poolside area of the hotel, where everyone’s waiting. Stepping outside, you take in the beautiful wedding venue. At one end of the pool, a stunning gazebo draped in sheer white fabric and entwined with ivy and blooming flowers serves as the altar. The aisle leading to the gazebo is lined with lanterns and rose petals.

You stand at the edge of the aisle and take a deep breath. The late afternoon sun casts a golden glow over the pool, and you see the familiar faces of your family and friends turned toward you. Your father takes your arm, gives it a reassuring squeeze, and smiles at you.

As you approach the altar, your eyes lock with Kiyoomi’s. He looks unbelievably handsome in his tuxedo, the black fabric fitting perfectly on his broad shoulders and slender frame. You've never felt quite like this seeing him before. His black wavy hair is neatly styled, but a few rebellious curls frame his face, adding to his effortlessly charming look.

His eyes scan you and he gives a genuine smile he rarely shows to anyone. When you finally reach him, he gently takes your hand. Then, the officiant begins the ceremony.

After a few words, the officiant says “Please face each other and join hands,”. “Do you, Sakusa Kiyoomi, take ___ to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, in joy and sorrow, for as long as you both shall live?”

You look up at Kiyoomi, feeling a flutter of nerves under his intense gaze. “I do,” he says firmly, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Do you, ___ , take Sakusa Kiyoomi to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, in joy and sorrow, for as long as you both shall live?”

You take a deep breath, remembering your meeting with Kiyoomi’s mother and the thoughts that followed. “I do,” you reply, smiling at Kiyoomi.

As the officiant pronounces you both husband and wife, your hands tremble slightly. You think Kiyoomi notices because he squeezes your hand, his touch warm and reassuring, melting away your nerves. “You may kiss the bride,” the officiant announces. Kiyoomi cups your face, his touch sending a shiver of electricity through you. As you look up, you see his gaze soften and his lips curve into a tender smile.

When he leans in, you realize this will be your very first kiss with him, and it will happen as husband and wife! You try to calm yourself and place your hands on his chest. Closing your eyes, you focus on the sensation of his lips meeting yours. The kiss is soft and tender.

As you part, his forehead rests gently against yours, and your breaths mingle. You open your eyes to find him looking at you with adoration you’ve never seen before, taking your breath away all over again and stirring emotions you can't quite describe. You notice his hand still lingering on your face before the crowd around you erupts into applause and cheers. He smiles at you, making you smile at him too.

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from-memphis-with-love · 5 months

Text

A Cowboy for Clementine - An Elvis Presley AU Cowboy Fanfic

Summary: Clementine looked to Elvis, her expression coolly determined. "If there's nothing else, I'll go unpack and change. See you at the barn."

With that, Elvis turned on his heel and strode off, spurs jingling. Clementine released a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Lord, what had she gotten herself into? Wrangling cattle was one thing. Wrangling a surly cowboy with an itchy trigger finger and an apparent grudge was quite another. She had a feeling this Elvis Presley would prove as untamed as the land itself.

Word count: 26,000 (first four chapters)

Chapter 1

The stagecoach lurched and swayed as it wound its way through the rugged mountain pass. Inside, Clementine Olivetti gripped the worn leather seat, her knuckles white from the effort. She peered out the dust-caked window at the forbidding landscape rolling by—jagged peaks, skeletal trees, sun-baked earth. A far cry from the cobblestone streets and genteel townhouses of New York.

What am I doing out here? Clementine thought, not for the first time since beginning this journey west. Traveling across the country to take ownership of some rustic ranch she'd never laid eyes on, bequeathed by an uncle she barely knew. It was rash, reckless even. Very out of character for the practical, level-headed Clementine. A girl who always had a plan.

But perhaps that was precisely the point. To do something unexpected, impulsive for once. To break free from the comfortable confines of her predictable city life. There was a certain romantic notion to it all—a young woman striking out on her own to start anew in the untamed frontier. Like something out of the dime novels she and her best friend Bonnie used to giggle over late at night.

Bonnie Mae Blakely. Her vivacious partner in crime since childhood. The yin to Clementine's yang—bold where she was cautious, impetuous where she was measured. They had shared so many dreams and secrets over the years. When Clementine told her about the surprise inheritance, Bonnie had squealed and hugged her fiercely.

"Oh Clemmie, it's just like a storybook! A rugged ranch out west, waiting for a plucky heroine to make it her own. Promise you'll write and tell me every adventure! And maybe I'll even come visit once you're all settled."

Clementine smiled at the memory, picturing Bonnie's pretty face alight with excitement. In truth, having her friend's unconditional support had given Clementine the courage to undertake this journey. To believe she could reinvent herself and start fresh, even without any family left to tether her to New York.

Her parents had passed on years ago and she had no siblings. Just an uncle out west she scarcely remembered from childhood. The letter from the lawyer informing her of Uncle Ned's death and his bequeathing of Windy Creek Ranch had come as a shock. Almost as much as his written words, which she now withdrew from her handbag to read once more:

"Dearest Clementine,

If you are reading this, then I am gone and the Good Lord has finally called me home. I regret that I did not make more of an effort to be a presence in your life. But know that not a day went by that I did not think of you and wish for your happiness.

I leave to you my most prized possession: the Windy Creek Ranch. Six hundred and forty acres of prime grazing land nestled in the heart of cattle country. It isn't much to look at, but it has potential. Like a rare gem in the rough just waiting to be polished. I built this spread from nothing, with just grit and determination. I know you have that same strength within you.

There is a small town close by called Crossroads. You'll be able to purchase any supplies there and the townsfolk are generally amiable. But be warned, there have been rumors lately of cattle rustlers and claim jumpers looking to prey on the local ranches. Trust your instincts and keep your wits about you.

I wish I could be there to guide you as you begin this new chapter. But I take comfort knowing the ranch is in capable hands. Take care of it and it will take care of you. Never forget, you are my niece. We are made of tougher stuff than most.

Yours, Uncle Ned"

Clementine folded up the letter, blinking back tears. She barely remembered Uncle Ned—a grizzled, wild-eyed man who would occasionally blow into town like a tumbleweed, his clothes smelling of leather and horses and endless sky. Her father's eldest brother. A dreamer. An adventurer. Everything her straight-laced father was not... and did not approve of. The brothers had a falling out when Clementine was just a girl and Ned rode off into the sunset, never to return.

She used to envy his freedom, his daring. While her days were filled with needlework and piano lessons, she imagined Uncle Ned out there living a thrilling life. Herding cattle, exploring the wilderness, sitting around a campfire under a canopy of stars. It all seemed terribly romantic to her younger self.

But as she grew older, Clementine came to accept her lot. Became the obedient daughter, always striving to please, to fit the mold of a proper young lady, accepting decisions made for her and on her own behalf. She buried those yearnings for adventure deep down where they couldn't hurt her. Convinced herself that she was content with her sensible, uneventful existence.

Until that letter arrived and reawakened something within her. A spark. A hunger for more that she could no longer ignore. It was high time Clementine Olivetti started living life on her own terms. Even if that meant venturing into the unknown wilds of cattle country to claim her unexpected inheritance—a ranch that would be hers and hers alone. The prospect both thrilled and terrified her.

The stagecoach hit a particularly deep rut, jolting Clementine from her musings. She clutched her carpet bag closer and said a silent prayer that her worldly possessions would survive the journey intact.

As if reading her thoughts, the driver called out, "Almost there, miss! Crossroads is just up ahead."

Clementine's heart rate quickened. This was it. No turning back now. She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and prepared to meet her destiny. Whatever that may be.

The stagecoach rumbled down the main thoroughfare of Crossroads, kicking up clouds of dust in its wake. Clementine peered out at the rustic frontier town, all wooden storefronts and hitching posts. Rough-hewn men ambled down the street in dungarees and cowboy hats. Bonneted women swept front porches and corralled children. A distant clang rang out from the blacksmith and the mouthwatering scent of baking bread wafted on the breeze. Quaint yet industrious. A town where everyone knew everyone else's business and no secret stayed buried for long.

The coach rolled to a stop and the driver hopped down to assist Clementine. A few coins were plunked into his hand. She stepped out into the bright sunlight, stretching her travel-weary limbs. Her legs wobbled a bit, unaccustomed to solid ground after so many hours.

"Miss Olivetti?" a voice inquired. Clementine turned to see a short, wiry man hurrying toward her, his bald pate gleaming.

"Yes, I'm Clementine Olivetti," she replied.

"Hezekiah Gruber, attorney at law," he said, pumping her hand enthusiastically. "We exchanged telegrams about your inheritance. My condolences for your loss."

"Thank you, Mr. Gruber. It was a shock to us all."

"Your uncle was one of a kind, that's for sure. Now then, I imagine you're eager to get out to the ranch and take possession. I won't keep you but let's get your signature on a few documents at my office to make it all official-like."

Clementine followed him down the creaking wooden sidewalk to the lawyer's storefront, noting the curious glances directed her way. She was used to it—a fashionable girl with a funny surname drew attention even back east. She could only imagine the gossip her arrival would stir up here.

"Here we are," said Gruber, ushering her into his cluttered office. "Won't take but a minute to get you squared away."

He shuffled some papers on his desk and handed Clementine a pen. She dutifully signed her name on the dense lines of legalese, the gravity of the moment not lost on her. With a few strokes of ink, she was now the rightful owner of Windy Creek Ranch. Her future.

"It's all yours, Miss Olivetti," said Gruber, blotting the documents. "I'll file these with the deed office today. In the meantime, let's get you on your way to your new home. I'll have Jebediah bring 'round the rig."

"The rig?" asked Clementine, perplexed.

"For your baggage. Unless you were planning to carry those trunks to the ranch yourself?"

Clementine blushed. Of course. This wasn't New York where deliveries arrived directly at one's doorstep. What would Bonnie say if she could see her now, preparing to rattle off in a dusty wagon toward an uncertain future? Probably clap her hands in glee and tell her it was the start of a grand adventure, the kind they'd always dreamed of having.

"Much obliged, Mr. Gruber," Clementine managed, her smile bittersweet. "I'm afraid I have a lot to learn about life out here."

"You'll get the hang of it," he assured. "Now remember, if you run into any trouble out there at Windy Creek, you just send word. I've been looking out for the place since your uncle took ill. I'd hate to see it fall into the wrong hands."

Something in his tone gave Clementine pause. Was that a note of warning? But before she could inquire further, Gruber had ushered her out into the dazzling daylight where a rickety wagon waited.

A grizzled old man sat hunched on the bench. He squinted at Clementine and gave a gap-toothed grin. "All aboard for Windy Creek Ranch!"

Trepidation pricked at her insides but Clementine forced a smile, determined to meet each new challenge with pluck and poise. She clambered up beside Jebediah, her trunk secured in the wagon bed.

"Much obliged," she told the driver. He clicked his tongue and snapped the reins. The mules lurched forward and they set off at a bone-rattling pace. Clementine gripped the sideboard, already regretting her choice of footwear. Perhaps button-up kid boots weren't the most practical for a cross-country trek.

The road out of town quickly turned to a rutted dirt track winding through a patchwork of ranches and farmsteads. Jebediah kept up a steady stream of chatter, pointing out local landmarks and the neighboring spreads.

As Crossroads receded behind them, the landscape opened up into a vista of endless grassland and rolling hills. Herds of cattle grazed in the distance, mere specks on the horizon. The air smelled of sage and leather and something else... of possibility.

"That there's the Circle J, belonged to old Joe Abernathy nigh on forty years 'til he passed on last spring. His boys run it now. And over yonder's the Triple Cross—biggest outfit in the county, but too big for their britches if you ask me."

She thought again of the cryptic warning from Mr. Gruber. Claim jumpers and cattle rustlers, he'd said. The untamed frontier was full of dangers she knew nothing about. As if sensing her unease, Jebediah spoke up.

"Yep, Windy Creek is a right fine piece of property. Yer uncle was real proud of what he built out there. 'Course, ranch life ain't for the faint of heart. Takes grit and know-how to make a go of it."

"I'm a quick study," replied Clementine with more confidence than she felt. "And I'm not afraid of hard work."

"That's good 'cause there'll be plenty of it," said Jebediah with a dry chuckle. "Between the repairs and the brandin' and the drives, ranch folk earn ever' penny of their keep. And that's assumin' the weather cooperates and the rustlers keep their distance."

"I've heard tell of such threats," said Clementine carefully. "Have there been many incidents hereabouts?"

"More'n there oughta be," said Jebediah. "Buncha no-good varmints that'll stop at nothing to line their own pockets. Thievin' cattle, cuttin' fences, raidin' homesteads. Even murderin' folk that get in their way."

Clementine suppressed a shudder, trying not to let her imagination run away with grisly scenarios. If only Bonnie were here to bolster her courage with a saucy quip or two. Her friend had always been the brave one, ready to take on any challenge with a laugh and a toss of her auburn curls. But Bonnie was thousands of miles away, living her own life. This was Clementine's adventure now. Her dream to chase, for better or worse.

"Still, a body can't borrow trouble," continued Jebediah. "Windy Creek's got a solid crew of hands to help you protect what's yours."

Clementine nodded, somewhat reassured. She knew there would be cowhands and ranch staff to assist her, though Uncle Ned's letter had been scarce on specifics. No matter. She would learn everyone's roles and prove herself a capable mistress. How hard could it be?

The wagon crested a hill and suddenly the breathtaking expanse of Windy Creek Ranch stretched out before them—640 acres of pristine range, just like Uncle Ned had said, framed by distant blue mountains under an endless dome of sky. Clementine's heart swelled at the sight of the whitewashed ranch house, the red-roofed barn, the towering windmill spinning lazily in the breeze. Cattle dotted the pasture, fat and healthy. Chickens pecked in the dust and a pair of ranch hands paused in their work to regard the newcomers with frank curiosity. It was more beautiful than she'd dared imagine. Raw and wild and brimming with promise. And it was all hers.

Clementine drank it in, marveling that this was all a part of her uncle's spread. Her spread now. Doubt niggled at her again. What did a city girl know about running a cattle operation? About negotiating with cowhands and driving livestock to market? There was so much to learn, so much riding on her getting this right. She couldn't afford to fail, not when Uncle Ned had entrusted her with his legacy.

As they rolled to a stop in the front yard, Clementine gathered her skirts, preparing to descend with as much dignity as possible given her ungainly boots and the long journey. But before her foot touched the running board, a rifle shot cracked the air. Clementine yelped as a bullet gouged a tree trunk mere inches from her hand.

Heart pounding, she whirled toward the source to see a tall, black-clad figure emerge from behind the water trough, his features obscured by a low-pulled Stetson. He racked the lever of his Winchester with fluid ease and took aim again.

"That's far enough," he growled, his voice rough as saddle leather. "This here's private property. State your business or hit the road."

"Don't shoot!" cried Clementine, throwing up her hands. "I'm... T-this is my ranch now. I've c-come to take possession."

The man lowered his rifle a fraction but kept it at the ready. "That so? Got any proof?"

With shaking fingers, Clementine fumbled to produce the deed from her handbag. "It's all here. Signed and notarized."

She held out the document but he made no move to take it, his stance unwavering. Clementine bristled at his rudeness. Of all the welcomes she'd imagined, being shot at by her own ranch hand was not one of them.

Jebediah, who had wisely taken cover, peeked out from behind the wagon bench. "Now Elvis, what's the big idea? This here's Miss Clementine, Old Ned’s niece and heir."

Elvis? Clementine looked again at her antagonist. Was he one of the hardworking ranch foreman Uncle Ned had spoken so highly of? He certainly hadn't mentioned the man's alarming propensity for gunplay.

"Never heard of her," said Elvis flatly. "And I ain't about to hand over the keys on the say-so of some pretty city gal. Could be anyone—a rustler scoutin' the place or worse. Ned never said nothin' 'bout no niece."

Clementine scowled at his dismissal. "Yes, well, I suspect there's quite a lot Uncle Ned neglected to mention all around. Starting with the presence of an armed squatter on my property!"

Elvis darkened at that but before he could retort, a hulking bear of a man in a sweat-stained union suit came lumbering out of the barn.

"What's all the ruckus?" he called, scratching his fiery beard. "I heard shootin'."

"Stay back, Red," ordered Elvis. "We got us a trespasser."

The big man squinted at Clementine and broke into a slow grin. "Well I'll be hogtied. If it ain't Miss Clementine in the flesh! Spittin' image of ol' Ned, ain't she? 'Specially 'round the eyes."

"You know her?" demanded Elvis.

"'Course I do! Ned's been braggin' on his pretty niece comin' to take over the place for weeks now. Clear 'fore he passed."

Red was a huge bear of a man with a shock of fiery hair and a bushy beard to match. Clementine thought he looked like he could lift a steer with one hand. He stepped forward, his face split by a friendly grin. "Pleased to meetcha, Miss Clementine. I'm Moses Redding, but everyone calls me Red on account of, well..." He gestured to his hair self-consciously.

Clementine couldn't help but return his smile. "A pleasure, Red. I look forward to working with you."

Realization dawned on Elvis' stony features. "Hellfire," he muttered. "Reckon that's my cue to start packin'."

"What on earth are you talking about?" said Clementine.

Elvis met her gaze, resigned. "Way I figure, a fine lady owner ain't gonna want the likes of me hangin' around. Know when I'm not wanted."

Comprehension clicked into place and Clementine gasped. Good lord, Uncle Ned hadn't just failed to mention a few cowhands. He'd neglected to tell her about the man living on the ranch itself! This Elvis character had obviously made himself quite at home in her absence, acting the lord of the manor. And now with her arrival, he assumed he was out of a job and a place to lay his head.

She ought to be livid at the presumption. Ought to send him packing that instant for his insolence and trigger-happy reception. But something in his defeated posture and faraway look stirred an inconvenient pang of sympathy in her breast. Curse her soft heart. As satisfying as it might be to give him his marching orders, the fact remained that Windy Creek was woefully shorthanded. She couldn't afford to lose a single man, especially not one who knew the spread top to bottom. Elvis had been Uncle Ned's right hand. It stood to reason he would be valuable in her transition to ownership, prickly attitude notwithstanding.

Clementine drew herself up, mustering an air of unruffled authority. "That won't be necessary, Mr... Elvis, was it? I've no intention of displacing anyone, provided they pull their weight. If you've been a loyal employee to my uncle, I see no reason why that should change on my watch."

Surprise and something like relief flickered across Elvis' rugged features before he could school them into impassivity. "That so?"

"It is," said Clementine firmly. "I'll need all hands on deck to keep Windy Creek thriving. Starting with a thorough tour of the premises and a briefing on daily operations. As the new owner, I plan to take a very active role in management."

Elvis looked as if he wanted to argue but thought better of it. He gave a curt nod. "Whatever you say, boss lady. Reckon we best start in the barn then. Red can see to your bags."

"Very well," she said crisply. "I'll change into suitable attire and meet you at the barn in half an hour."

Elvis looked mildly impressed by her ready acquiescence, but his expression quickly shuttered. "Suit yourself. But I should probably introduce you to the rest of the gang before you get too high on that horse of yours."

He turned and hollered over his shoulder. "Slim! Rusty! Get on over here!"

Two men materialized from various corners of the ranch yard, ambling over to join them on the porch. The first was a wiry old-timer with a weathered face and a wad of chaw bulging in his cheek. The second was a gangly youth who couldn't have been more than eighteen, all freckles and awkward limbs.

"Boys, this here is Miss Clementine Olivetti," Elvis announced. "Ned's niece and the new owner of Windy Creek. She aims to learn the ropes, so I expect you to show her the same respect you would've shown Ned. We clear?"

The men nodded, touching their hats respectfully. The old-timer spat a stream of tobacco juice and nodded curtly. "Slim Jackson. Been wranglin' beeves since before you was born, missy. You need any pointers, you just holler."

The young man ducked his head shyly, scuffing a boot in the dust. "Rusty Calhoun, miss. I'm real sorry about your uncle passing. He was a fine man and a heck of a boss."

"Thank you, Rusty. I hope I can live up to his example." Clementine turned back to Elvis, her expression coolly determined. "If there's nothing else, I'll go unpack and change. See you at the barn."

But Clementine was no shrinking violet. She had not traveled hundreds of miles to be cowed by one ornery ranch hand, no matter how unsettling his smoky gaze or how broad his shoulders. She would meet this challenge as she intended to meet all others—with grace, gumption, and a stubborn refusal to back down.

Elvis looked Clementine up and down appraisingly as she approached.

"Well now, don't you clean up nice," he drawled. "Those dungarees suit you. Almost take the city polish off."

Clementine wasn't sure if it was meant as a compliment or an insult. Likely both, knowing this man. She tilted her chin and replied evenly, "I believe in dressing for the occasion. So, show me around the barn?"

Lifting her chin, Clementine marched after Elvis, determined to assert her authority and begin this new chapter on her own terms. Ranch life was already proving far more complicated and unpredictable than she'd bargained for. But she had to believe that with hard work, an open mind, and perhaps a bit of that famous Olivetti pluck, she would find her way.

She thought fleetingly of Bonnie, no doubt going about her day back in New York, blissfully unaware of the upheaval in her friend's life. What would she make of all this—the sprawling ranch, the motley crew of cowhands, the arrogant and mysterious Elvis? Clementine could almost hear Bonnie's laughter, could picture her delighted grin and twinkling green eyes.

"Oh Clemmie, it's better than any dime novel!" she would say. "Handsome cowboys, wild horses, wide open skies... and you, the unlikely heroine out to prove herself and tame them all! Just think of the adventures you'll have!"

The corners of Clementine's mouth twitched with an unbidden smile. Trust Bonnie to see the romance in even the most daunting of circumstances. Perhaps there was something to that unshakable optimism. With any luck, Clementine would live to write her friend a bushel of thrilling letters detailing her exploits as the mistress of Windy Creek Ranch.

Provided she survived her first day as Elvis' employer, of course.

Clementine forced down a flutter of trepidation as she neared the looming barn door. Steeling her nerve, she stepped across the threshold into the cool shadow, the pungent scents of hay and horses and honest sweat enveloping her. Her heels sank into the earthen floor, the faint clucking of chickens and a few falling feathers drifting from the loft above.

Elvis stood at the far end of the aisle, backlit by a shaft of sunlight. He had one hip cocked against a stall door, arms crossed over his chest as he watched her approach with an inscrutable expression. Clementine tried not to notice the way his chambray shirt pulled taut across his muscled torso or how his worn denims hugged his lean thighs. She had no business admiring the physical attributes of a subordinate, no matter how undeniably attractive.

He started further into the barn, glancing over his shoulder with a smirk. "You alright there, princess? Need me to fetch you a fainting couch?"

Clementine glowered at him behind his back.

"Welcome to the heart of Windy Creek," he said as she drew near. "This here's where the magic happens."

Clementine arched a brow. "Magic?"

Elvis' mouth twitched, his eyes glinting with something suspiciously like amusement at her primness. "Figure of speech. I mean this is where we break the horses, mend the tack, store the feed. Pretty much everything that keeps the place runnin' starts and ends right here."

He pushed off the stall and gestured for her to follow. "C'mon, I'll show you the layout. Reckon you'll be spendin' a fair bit of time in here, seein' as how you're aimin' to be a hands-on boss and all."

Clementine chose to ignore the note of condescension in his tone and fell into step beside him. For the next half hour, Elvis led her through the barn and corrals, rattling off details about everything from the hay inventory to the farrier schedule to the breeding records of the small remuda. His taciturn demeanor thawed by degrees as he spoke of Windy Creek's prize bloodlines and the foals he hoped to see come spring. It was clear this ranch was more than a job to him; it was his life's work, his pride and joy.

Despite herself, Clementine found she was hanging on his every word, absorbing the intricacies of a world so different from her own. The easy confidence with which Elvis navigated this domain, the surety of purpose in his every move, was oddly compelling. She could see why Uncle Ned had trusted him implicitly.

As they circled back to the main barn, Elvis nodded to a large fenced pasture dotted with grazing cattle. "That there's the heart of the herd. 'Bout 300 head of prime Hereford. The real moneymakers. They'll be your bread and butter once we drive 'em to market come fall."

Clementine shaded her eyes against the glare, marveling at the sea of dun backs and lowing faces. Never in her life had she been responsible for so many living creatures. The weight of it settled on her shoulders like a tangible thing.

"And you're certain we have enough hands to see them safely to market?" she asked, her brow furrowing. "I won't pretend to be an expert, but it seems an awful lot of ground to cover with just the few men I've seen so far."

"We're a lean crew but we're solid," said Elvis. "Me, Red, a couple fellas who drift through as needed. Ain't never lost a steer yet and don't aim to start now." He cut her a sidelong glance. "Course, an extra pair of hands come drive time is always welcome. You any good with a horse?"

Clementine's cheeks warmed at the challenge in his eyes. "I'm a fair rider," she said, lifting her chin. She had ridden in Central Park quite a few times when she was younger. "Though I'll admit it's been a while since I've sat anything beyond a sedate little mare on a bridle path."

"Ain't nothin' sedate about the mounts we raise here," said Elvis with a slow grin that did funny things to her insides. "But I reckon we could find you a steady cow pony, get you back in the saddle."

"I'd like that," said Clementine, pulse quickening at the thought of flying across the open range with the wind in her hair. Yearning for speed and freedom and a taste of the untamed life that had always been denied her.

Something shifted in Elvis' gaze, his eyes darkening as they dipped briefly to her mouth. "Bet you would."

The air between them thickened, charged with a sudden crackling tension that raised the hairs on Clementine's nape. For a long, suspended moment, neither of them moved. Clementine hardly dared breathe, caught in the snare of Elvis' penetrating stare. What was happening? Why did it feel as if the very ground had tilted beneath her feet?

Then Elvis blinked and the spell was broken. He took a measured step back, features shuttering. "Best we get you settled in the house," he said brusquely. "Red's probably fixin' to break down the door wonderin' where we got to."

Clementine swallowed, her tongue darting out to moisten her suddenly dry lips. "Of course," she managed. "After you."

They walked in silence back to the ranch house, a palpable charge still shimmering in the scant space between their bodies. Clementine's mind raced as she tried to make sense of the strange, heated little moment in the barn. Surely it was just a trick of the light, an odd fluke of exhaustion and overwrought nerves. There could be no other explanation for the way her skin had flushed and her stomach fluttered under Elvis' intent gaze.

She was just tired, that was all. Tired and overwhelmed and in desperate need of a bath and a good night's sleep in a proper bed. Everything would seem much more manageable in the clear light of morning. Including a certain confounding cowboy who seemed to swing between hostility and allure at the drop of a hat.

By the time they reached the house, Clementine had convinced herself she had imagined the whole unsettling interlude. Elvis deposited her on the front porch with a perfunctory nod and a promise to have one of the hands bring up a hip bath and hot water. Then he was gone, striding off towards the corrals with that swagger that drew entirely too much of her attention.

Clementine pushed through the door, resolved to put the perplexing man out of her head for the time being. She had more pressing concerns, like acquainting herself with her new living quarters and trying to impose some order on the chaos of this abrupt upheaval.

But as she climbed the creaking stairs to the second floor, dusty carpetbag in hand, she couldn't shake the feeling that her true adventure was only just beginning. That Elvis and Windy Creek Ranch might wind up changing her life in ways she had never dared dream.

With a flutter of nervous anticipation, Clementine stepped across the threshold of her new bedroom, ready to embrace whatever challenges and surprises lay ahead. She could only hope she proved equal to them.

As Clementine explored her new bedchamber, she couldn't help but feel a sense of awe at the rustic charm that surrounded her. The room was simply furnished with a sturdy oak bed, a weathered dresser, and a washstand bearing a chipped porcelain basin. Faded calico curtains fluttered at the open window, letting in a breeze that carried the scent of lavender and distant pine.

It was a far cry from her cozy apartment back home, with its gas lamps and indoor plumbing and nosy neighbors just a thin wall away. But there was something undeniably appealing about this rough-hewn space, with its sense of history and hard-won comfort. She could almost imagine Uncle Ned sitting on the edge of this very bed, pulling off his boots after a long day in the saddle.

A lump rose in Clementine's throat as she thought of her uncle, of the legacy he had entrusted to her. She still couldn't quite believe he was gone, that she would never again hear his booming laugh or see the twinkle in his eye as he regaled her with tales of the wild west. He had been a larger-than-life figure, a beacon of adventure in her otherwise orderly world.

And now he had given her the greatest adventure of all. A chance to build something of her own, to carve out a place for herself in this untamed land. It was a daunting prospect, but also an exhilarating one. For the first time in her life, Clementine felt truly free. Free to make her own choices, to chase her own dreams, to become the woman she had always longed to be.

Oh, there would be challenges aplenty. She was under no illusions about that. Running a ranch was backbreaking work, and she had no experience with any of it. She would have to learn everything from scratch, would have to earn the respect of the men who worked for her. Men like Elvis, who seemed determined to undermine her at every turn.

Clementine's mouth tightened as she thought of the infuriating cowboy. He had made it abundantly clear that he thought she was in over her head, that a city girl like her had no business trying to run a cattle operation. Well, she would just have to prove him wrong. She would work twice as hard as anyone else, would study and practice until she knew this ranch inside out. She would show Elvis and everyone else that Clementine Olivetti was more than just a pretty face in a fancy dress.

With renewed determination, she set about unpacking her trunk. She carefully hung up the simple frocks and sturdy boots she had brought for work, then tucked away the few more fashionable items she couldn't bear to leave behind. Her fingers lingered on a photograph of her parents on their wedding day, their faces alight with joy and promise. She placed it gently on the dresser.

A knock at the door startled Clementine from her reverie. "Come in," she called, smoothing her skirts self-consciously.

The door swung open to reveal a plump, motherly woman with greying hair and a flour-dusted apron. She bobbed a curtsy, her lined face creasing into a warm smile.

"Beggin' your pardon, miss, but I thought you might be ready for some supper. It's been a long day for you, I reckon."

Clementine's stomach rumbled at the mention of food. She hadn't eaten since breakfast, too nervous to do more than nibble on the journey. "That would be wonderful, thank you. Mrs...?"

"Jameson, miss. Ida Jameson. I've been cookin' and cleanin' for Windy Creek nigh on twenty years now. Ever since Mr. Ned hired me on after my dear Henry passed."

"I'm so pleased to meet you, Mrs. Jameson," said Clementine sincerely. "I hope you'll be patient with me as I learn my way around. This is all quite new to me."

"Oh, don't you fret none. We'll get you settled in right quick. Ain't nothin' to runnin' a house once you get the hang of it." Mrs. Jameson's eyes twinkled with kindly amusement. "And don't mind that Elvis none. His bark's worse than his bite. He's just used to havin' things his own way."

Clementine felt her cheeks heat at the mention of the exasperating foreman. Did her consternation show so plainly on her face? "I'll keep that in mind, Mrs. Jameson."

"You do that, miss. Now, let's get you fed afore you faint dead away. I've got a nice beef stew on the simmer and fresh bread just out of the oven."

Clementine's mouth watered at the thought. Suddenly ravenous, she followed Mrs. Jameson down to the kitchen, the delectable scents wafting up the stairs making her stomach growl audibly.

The kitchen was a large, homey space, dominated by a massive cast iron stove and a long wooden table that could easily seat a dozen. Bunches of drying herbs hung from the rafters, jars of preserves lined the shelves, and a motley collection of skillets and kettles dangled from hooks on the walls. It was a far cry from the convenient, modern kitchens Clementine was accustomed to, but there was a cozy charm to it that put her instantly at ease.

Mrs. Jameson bustled about, ladling steaming stew into a blue willow bowl and cutting a thick slice of crusty bread. She set the meal in front of Clementine with a flourish, then poured a tall glass of cool, creamy milk from a stoneware pitcher.

"There you are. Eat up now, and don't be shy about askin' for seconds. Lord knows there's plenty to go around."

Clementine breathed in the savory aroma, her eyes fluttering shut in anticipation. She couldn't remember the last time a simple meal had looked so enticing. Murmuring her thanks, she dug in with gusto, the rich flavors exploding on her tongue.

For a few blissful minutes, there was no sound but the clink of Clementine's spoon against the bowl and the occasional appreciative hum as she savored each mouthful. Mrs. Jameson puttered about, wiping down counters and setting a pot of coffee to brew, a small, satisfied smile on her face as she watched her new mistress eat.

But the peaceful moment was shattered by the sudden bang of the screen door flying open. Elvis strode into the kitchen, his spurs jingling and his hat pulled low over his brow. He drew up short at the sight of Clementine, his eyes narrowing imperceptibly.

"Mrs. J, we got any of that stew left? I'm powerful hungry after wranglin' that new string of horses all afternoon."

"Sit yourself down, Mr. Elvis, and I'll fetch you a bowl," said Mrs. Jameson placidly, seemingly impervious to the sudden tension in the room.

Elvis hesitated, his gaze flicking between Clementine and the empty chair across from her. For a moment, she thought he might make some excuse and flee, but then he shrugged and sank down onto the bench, his long legs stretching out beneath the table.

Clementine kept her eyes fixed on her bowl, her appetite suddenly deserting her. She could feel Elvis watching her, could sense the coiled energy radiating off him like heat from a stove. It made her skin prickle and her heart thump erratically in her chest.

Mrs. Jameson set a heaping bowl in front of Elvis, then tactfully withdrew, muttering something about needing to tend to the laundry. Clementine silently cursed the woman for abandoning her, even as she understood the impulse. The air between her and Elvis was thick with a strange, charged energy that made it hard to breathe, let alone carry on a normal conversation.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Clementine pushed a chunk of potato around her bowl, acutely aware of Elvis' every move as he tore off a hunk of bread and sopped up the rich gravy. She could hear the soft, wet sounds of his chewing, could catch the faint scent of horse and leather and sweat that clung to his skin.

It was all suddenly too much. Too intimate, too unnerving. Clementine pushed back from the table, nearly upending her milk glass in her haste. "Please excuse me," she mumbled, not meeting Elvis' eyes. "It's been a long day and I'm quite exhausted."

She fled the kitchen before he could respond, her cheeks burning and her pulse pounding in her ears. She didn't slow down until she reached the sanctuary of her bedroom, the door slamming shut behind her with a satisfying bang.

Clementine leaned back against the solid oak, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. What on earth was wrong with her? She had never been one to let a man fluster her, had prided herself on her poise and composure in even the most trying of circumstances. But something about Elvis made her feel off-balance, unsettled in a way she couldn't quite define.

It was more than just his rough manners and challenging attitude. There was a rawness to him, a sense of barely leashed power that sent a thrill down her spine even as it set her nerves on edge. When he looked at her, she felt stripped bare, as if he could see straight through her proper facade to the wild, yearning heart beneath.

It was terrifying. And if Clementine was being honest with herself, it was also strangely exhilarating. All her life, she had played by the rules, had done what was expected of her. She had been the dutiful daughter, the demure debutante, the efficient employee. But here, in this rugged land so far from everything she had ever known, she could feel those old constraints falling away. Here, she could be anyone she wanted to be, could chase dreams she had never dared voice aloud.

Even if those dreams involved a certain brooding, impossible cowboy with eyes the color of a stormy sky.

Clementine pushed off the door, shaking her head at her own foolishness. She was being ridiculous. Elvis was just a man, no different from any other. A bit rougher around the edges, mayhap, but certainly not worth losing her head over. She had more important things to worry about, like learning to run this ranch and proving herself worthy of her uncle's trust.

With a resolute nod, Clementine began to undress for bed, her fingers deftly unfastening the long row of buttons down the back of her bodice. She slipped the heavy garment off, sighing with relief as the cool air hit her sweat-dampened skin. She reached for her nightgown, a simple cotton shift that fell to her ankles in soft folds.

But as she lifted the garment over her head, a sudden gust of wind from the open window sent the curtains billowing inward, the fabric brushing against her bare skin like a lover's caress. Clementine shivered, gooseflesh rising on her arms and legs. For a moment, she imagined it was Elvis' hands on her, his callused fingers tracing the curve of her spine, the hollow of her throat, the swell of her breast...

With a gasp, Clementine wrenched the nightgown down, her face flaming with mortification. Good heavens, what was she thinking? She must be more tired than she realized, to let her mind wander down such inappropriate paths. Elvis was her employee, nothing more. To allow herself to entertain such lurid fantasies was not only foolish, but dangerous.

Flustered and out of sorts, Clementine crawled beneath the patchwork quilt, the bed creaking beneath her weight. She thumped the pillow a bit harder than necessary, then lay back with a huff, staring up at the shadowy rafters above.

Sleep. That was what she needed. A good night's rest to clear her head and settle her nerves. Tomorrow would be a new day, full of challenges and opportunities. She would rise with the sun, would throw herself into the work of the ranch with all the energy and determination she possessed. And if her thoughts should happen to stray to a certain dark-haired, blue-eyed cowboy, well... she would just have to deal with that when the time came.

With a sigh, Clementine closed her eyes, willing her racing mind to quiet. But even as she drifted off to sleep, she couldn't shake the feeling that her life was about to change in ways she had never dared imagine. That Elvis and Windy Creek Ranch would test her in ways she had never been tested before.

And that maybe, just maybe, she was ready for the challenge.

Chapter 2

The shrill crow of a rooster jolted Clementine from a dreamless sleep. She sat up with a start, momentarily disoriented by the unfamiliar surroundings. Then memory came flooding back - the long journey west, the startling confrontation with Elvis, the strange, charged moment in the kitchen the night before.

Clementine groaned, flopping back against the pillows. She had hoped that a good night's sleep would clear her head, would settle the unsettling flutter in her stomach whenever she thought of the taciturn cowboy. But if anything, the light of day only made her confusion and trepidation worse.

How was she supposed to face him this morning, after fleeing from him like a frightened rabbit? He must think her a complete fool, a silly city girl who couldn't handle the slightest hint of rough manners. And what must the other ranch hands think, seeing their new boss so easily flustered by their foreman?

Clementine set her jaw, a spark of determination igniting in her chest. No. She refused to let Elvis or anyone else rattle her. She was Clementine Olivetti, mistress of Windy Creek Ranch. She had faced far greater challenges than one surly cowboy, and she would face this one with the same grit and grace that had gotten her this far.

With a resolute nod, Clementine threw back the covers and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She winced as her feet hit the cold floorboards, the chill of the early morning air raising gooseflesh on her arms. Shivering, she hurried to the washstand and poured a measure of tepid water from the pitcher into the basin. She splashed her face and neck, the bracing coolness helping to chase away the last vestiges of sleep.

As she toweled off, Clementine caught sight of herself in the small, spotty mirror hanging above the washstand. Her reflection stared back at her, wide-eyed and a bit wan. The long journey and the stress of the previous day had taken their toll - there were shadows beneath her eyes and a pinched look to her mouth. But there was also a new resolve in the set of her chin, a glint of steel in her gaze.

She was not the same woman who had left New York. The old Clementine would have balked at the idea of manual labor, would have blanched at the thought of getting her hands dirty. But the new Clementine, the Clementine who had crossed a continent to claim her inheritance, was ready to roll up her sleeves and get to work.

With that thought firmly in mind, Clementine set about dressing for the day ahead. She chose a simple frock of sturdy blue calico, the skirt full enough to allow for ease of movement. Over it, she layered a crisp white apron, the bib protecting her bodice from any stray bits of dirt or debris. She pulled her hair back into a practical bun at the nape of her neck, then topped the ensemble with a wide-brimmed straw hat to shield her face from the sun.

Looking at herself in the mirror, Clementine felt a surge of satisfaction. She looked like a woman who meant business, a woman ready to take on whatever challenges the day might bring. With a nod of approval, she turned away from the glass and made her way downstairs.

The kitchen was already a hive of activity when Clementine entered. Mrs. Jameson stood at the stove, stirring a pot of bubbling oatmeal with one hand while flipping pancakes with the other. The air was thick with the scent of frying bacon and fresh coffee, making Clementine's stomach rumble in anticipation.

"Good morning, Mrs. Jameson," she said, taking a seat at the long wooden table. "That smells heavenly."

"Mornin', Miss Clementine," the housekeeper replied, casting a smile over her shoulder. "I hope you slept well. I know the first night in a new place can be a bit unsettlin'."

"I slept just fine, thank you," Clementine lied, not wanting to admit to the restless thoughts that had kept her tossing and turning half the night. "Is there anything I can do to help with breakfast?"

Mrs. Jameson looked scandalized at the very idea. "Heavens no, miss! You just sit right there and let me take care of everything. It's my job to make sure you're well-fed and rested, not the other way around."

Clementine opened her mouth to protest, but the housekeeper cut her off with a stern look. "I mean it, miss. You've got enough on your plate as it is, learnin' the ropes of runnin' this ranch. Leave the cookin' and cleanin' to me."

Chastened, Clementine sat back in her chair, feeling a bit useless. She was used to being busy from sunup to sundown, to having a full day's work ahead of her. The idea of sitting idle while others bustled about made her itch with restlessness.

But before she could dwell on it too long, the kitchen door swung open and Elvis strode in, his spurs jingling with each step. Clementine's heart gave a traitorous leap at the sight of him, her skin prickling with awareness as his gaze landed on her.

"Mornin', Mrs. J," he said, tipping his hat to the housekeeper. Then, almost as an afterthought, "Miss Clementine."

"Good morning, Elvis," Clementine replied, proud of how steady her voice sounded. "I trust you slept well?"

Elvis shrugged, hooked his thumbs in his gun belt. "Well enough. Got a full day ahead, so I reckon I'll sleep when I'm dead." His blue eyes glinted with something that might have been amusement, or might have been challenge. "You ready to get your hands dirty, boss lady?"

Clementine lifted her chin, meeting his gaze squarely. "I am. Just tell me where to start."

Elvis' mouth twitched, as if he were fighting back a smile. "Reckon we'll start with the chickens. Gotta collect the eggs and feed the birds 'fore we do anything else."

Clementine's nose wrinkled at the thought of mucking about in a chicken coop, but she nodded gamely. "Lead the way, then."

Elvis cocked a brow, looking almost impressed by her easy acquiescence. He jerked his chin toward the door, then strode out into the morning sunlight without a backward glance.

Clementine hurried to follow, her heart hammering with a mix of nerves and excitement. This was it - her first real test as mistress of Windy Creek. She could only hope she was up to the challenge.

The chicken coop was a ramshackle affair, all weathered wood and rusting wire. It stood at the edge of the yard, a few dozen scrawny birds pecking and scratching at the dirt around its base. They scattered as Elvis approached, clucking and flapping in agitation.

"Little bastards," Elvis muttered, kicking at a particularly bold rooster who dared to dart across his path. "More trouble than they're worth, most days."

Clementine eyed the birds warily, keeping a safe distance as Elvis unlatched the coop door and ducked inside. She could hear him moving about, the soft cluck and coo of the hens as he gathered their eggs. A moment later, he emerged, a basket hooked over one arm.

"Here," he said, thrusting the basket into Clementine's hands. "Hold this while I scatter the feed."

Clementine took the basket gingerly, peering down at the warm, speckled eggs nestled in the straw. They were still faintly damp from the hens' nests, and they gave off a rich, earthy scent that made her think of new life and green growing things.

As Elvis scattered handfuls of cracked corn across the yard, the chickens swarmed around his feet, pecking and jostling for position. Clementine watched in fascination as they darted and fluttered, their beady eyes bright with greed. She had never seen anything so vibrantly alive, so utterly unconcerned with human affairs.

"They're quite something, aren't they?" she murmured, almost to herself.

Elvis glanced up at her, surprised. "What, the chickens? I suppose so. Never gave 'em much thought, to be honest. Just another chore to be done."

Clementine shook her head, a small smile playing about her lips. "There's a lesson in that, I think. They don't worry about yesterday or tomorrow. They just live in the moment, taking what they need and letting the rest go."

Elvis straightened, dusting his hands off on his chaps. He regarded her with a new intensity, as if seeing her for the first time. "Ain't you just full of surprises, Miss Clementine."

Clementine felt a flush creep up her neck at his words, at the way his gaze seemed to linger on her face. She ducked her head, suddenly fascinated by the eggs in her basket.

"We should get these inside," she said briskly, turning back toward the house. "Mrs. Jameson will be wanting them for breakfast."

She could feel Elvis' eyes on her back as she walked away, could sense the weight of his regard like a physical touch. It made her skin tingle and her stomach flutter, made her feel alive in a way she never had before.

But she couldn't let herself dwell on it. Couldn't let herself get distracted by the way he made her feel. She had a ranch to run, a legacy to uphold. And she would do it with or without Elvis' approval.

With a determined set to her shoulders, Clementine marched up the porch steps and into the kitchen, ready to face whatever the day might bring. And if her thoughts kept straying to a pair of piercing blue eyes and a crooked, knowing smile, well...that was nobody's business but her own.

As the morning wore on, Clementine found herself thrown headlong into the daily rhythms of ranch life. After breakfast, Elvis put her to work mucking out stalls in the barn, a task that left her sweaty and aching but oddly satisfied. There was something soothing about the repetitive motions, the earthy scent of hay and horse, the soft whickers and snuffles of the animals as she worked.

Next came a lesson in saddling a horse, Elvis' hands guiding her through the intricacies of cinches and stirrups. Clementine tried not to think about how close he stood, how the heat of his body seemed to seep into her skin through the layers of her dress. She focused instead on the task at hand, on the supple leather beneath her fingers and the solid weight of the saddle as she hefted it onto the horse's back.

By the time the sun reached its zenith, Clementine was sore and sweat-streaked but buzzing with a sense of accomplishment. She had never worked so hard in her life, had never pushed herself to such physical limits. But there was a deep satisfaction in it, a pride in knowing that she was capable of more than she had ever imagined.

As they made their way back to the house for dinner, Elvis fell into step beside her, his long legs easily matching her shorter strides. Clementine glanced up at him, surprised to find a glint of approval in his eyes.

"You did good today," he said gruffly, as if the words pained him. "Reckon you might just have what it takes to make a go of this place after all."

Clementine felt a warm glow of pleasure at his praise, even as she bristled at the note of surprise in his voice. "Did you doubt it?" she asked archly.

Elvis' mouth twitched, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Let's just say I had my reservations. But you're full of surprises, Miss Clementine. Reckon I'm gonna have to keep an eye on you."

There was something in the way he said it, a hint of challenge and something else, something that made Clementine's pulse skip and her skin tingle. She met his gaze squarely, refusing to back down.

"I suppose you will," she said, her voice steady even as her heart raced. "But I intend to keep an eye on you as well. We're in this together, Elvis. Whether you like it or not."

For a moment, Elvis just stared at her, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he nodded, a glimmer of respect in his eyes.

"Reckon we are," he said, his voice low and rough. "Reckon we are."

And with that, he turned and strode off toward the barn, leaving Clementine to watch him go, her heart hammering in her chest and a new determination burning in her veins.

One morning, Elvis gathered the ranch hands for the afternoon's work—a cattle drive to the south pasture to check on the herd and survey the fence lines. Clementine insisted on going along, despite Elvis' skeptical look and Slim’s poorly concealed grin.

Elvis gestured to a small bay mare tethered nearby. "That there is Nutmeg. She's gentle as a lamb and sure-footed on any terrain. Figured she'd suit a greenhorn like you."

Clementine eyed the saddle and tack warily. She knew she was badly out of practice. But she'd be damned if she let Elvis see her falter.

"Lovely," she said brightly, untying Nutmeg's reins and leading her out into the sunlight.

Now came the tricky part. How in blazes did one mount a horse unassisted whilst wearing trousers? Clementine's mind raced as she tried to recall the particulars. There had been talk of a mounting block or some sort of assistance from a groom...

Before she could make a bigger fool of herself, a large, work-roughened hand appeared in her peripheral vision.

"Allow me," Elvis murmured, his breath tickling her ear.

Clementine stiffened but managed a jerky nod, steeling herself as he gripped her waist and practically tossed her into the saddle as if she weighed nothing at all. Good lord, the man was strong as an ox!

"There now," Elvis said, sounding faintly amused. "Snug as a bug. Let's hit the trail."

He swung aboard his own horse, Rising Sun, with effortless grace and set off at a brisk trot, leaving Clementine scrambling to gather her reins and urge Nutmeg to follow. The mare fell into step readily enough, but the motion of the saddle had Clementine lurching and sliding like a sack of potatoes. She clung to the horn for dear life, her teeth rattling and her hat threatening to fly off with every jolting stride.

“You alright there, city slicker?” Elvis offered with a smirk.

Clementine scowled at him, her face flushed with exertion and embarrassment. "I'm perfectly fine, thank you. It's just been a while since I've ridden."

"I can see that. You're bouncin' around up there like a flea on a hot griddle." Red, Slim, and Rusty chuckled.

Clementine's temper flared. "Well, forgive me for not being born in the saddle like some people. We can't all be insolent, arrogant cowboys!"

Elvis' eyes narrowed, his smile fading. "Careful now, missy. That insolent, arrogant cowboy is the only thing standing between you and a long walk back to the house. Might want to mind your manners."

“Aw hell, Elvis, leave the little lady alone,” Slim attempted to diffuse the budding argument.

Clementine knew she should back down, should swallow her pride and apologize. But something about this man just rubbed her the wrong way, stirring up a reckless, contrary streak she didn't even know she possessed.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said sweetly to herself, not expecting anyone to hear her. "I thought I was the boss around here. My mistake."

Elvis' jaw clenched, his hand tightening on the reins. "Boss or not, out here you're just another greenhorn. And greenshorns who don't listen to good sense often end up buzzard bait. So you can either stow that snippy attitude and let me teach you a thing or two, or you can take your chances on your own. What'll it be?"

Red, Slim, and Rusty slowed their horses down, holding their breath and waiting for her answer. Clementine glared at Elvis, her pride warring with her common sense. As much as it galled her to admit it, Elvis was right. She was out of her depth out here and antagonizing her only guide was foolish at best, deadly at worst.

"Fine," she bit out. "Teach away, oh wise one. I am your humble student."

Elvis snorted, shaking his head. "You sure don't make it easy, do you? Alright, first things first—loosen up on them reins. You're holding 'em like you expect Nutmeg to bolt any second. She ain't going nowhere, trust me."

Clementine forced her white-knuckled grip to relax, letting out a shaky breath as the mare flicked an ear back curiously.

"Good. Now, stand up in them stirrups a bit. Let your knees absorb the motion 'stead of your backside. And keep your heels down for balance."

Clementine did as instructed, wobbling precariously for a moment before finding a rhythm. To her surprise, the ride smoothed out considerably, Nutmeg's rocking gait almost pleasant now that she wasn't being jounced to pieces.

"Well, would you look at that," Elvis drawled. "She can be taught. Keep that up and we might make a passable rider out of you yet, Miss Clementine."

Clementine felt an absurd flush of pleasure at his gruff approval. Honestly, what did she care what this uncouth lout thought of her? Still, perhaps it wouldn't kill her to bend a little, to put aside her wounded pride in service of the greater goal. She needed Elvis' cooperation if she hoped to make a go of this venture. Catching more flies with honey and all that.

Red’s mare caught up to hers, and he gently squeezed Clementine’s arm. “Don’t pay old Elvis no mind. He’s always a little ornery in the morning.”

The four of them rode on in relatively companionable silence, the raw beauty of the landscape stealing Clementine's breath. Towering buttes and mesas rose up from the sun-baked earth, their banded layers glowing red and gold in the slanting light. Gnarled junipers dotted the hillsides, providing scant shade for the cacti and scrub brush that clung tenaciously to the rocky soil. In the distance, a band of wild mustangs kicked up dust as they fled across the flats, tails streaming behind them like banners.

It was a harsh, unforgiving land, but stunning in its austerity. Clementine tried to imagine her uncle Ned riding these same trails, his weather-beaten face creased in a smile as he surveyed his domain. She may not have known him well, but she sensed a kindred spirit—someone drawn to challenge and adventure, to pitting themselves against an untamed wilderness and emerging the victor.

Well, here I am, Uncle Ned, she thought. Following in your boot prints at last. I just hope I'm up to the task.

Lost in thought, Clementine scarcely noticed when Rusty reined in his horse at the crest of a rise, his keen gaze scanning the horizon.

"There," he said, pointing to a distant smudge of brown against the green and gold. "The herd's just over that next ridge. About three hundred head of prime Hereford, Ned's pride and joy. Let's ease up on 'em slow and quiet-like. Don't want to spook 'em into a stampede."

They approached the grazing cattle cautiously, Clementine's heart thudding with anticipation. Her first real look at her newfound livelihood. What would Ned have thought, seeing her astride a ranch horse, ready to take the reins of his empire? Would he be proud or appalled? Amused or aghast?

"You sure you're up for this, Miss Clementine?" Red asked, his blue eyes twinkling with mirth. "Ridin' herd ain't no picnic, 'specially for a greenhorn."

Clementine lifted her chin, giving him a cool smile. "I'm tougher than I look, Mr. Redding. And I'm a quick study. I'll be just fine."

The cattle regarded the riders placidly, chewing their cud and swishing their tails at the flies. Up close, they were even more enormous than Clementine had imagined, their heavy bodies and wickedly curved horns dwarfing the horses. She felt a flicker of unease, remembering tales of cowpokes gored and trampled by unruly steers.

As if sensing her trepidation, Elvis murmured, "Easy now. They're more scared of you than you are of them. These are good, docile beasts, well-used to human handling. Just keep your movements slow and predictable and you'll be fine."

Clementine nodded jerkily, fighting the urge to wheel Nutmeg around and gallop in the opposite direction. She trusted Elvis' expertise, even if she didn't particularly like or respect the man himself. He'd kept this herd thriving for five years—that had to count for something.

They meandered through the milling cattle, Elvis pointing out choice specimens and explaining the finer points of branding, breeding, and husbandry. Clementine did her best to absorb the onslaught of information, her head fairly spinning with talk of bloodlines and feed supplements and market prices.

One thing was becoming crystal clear. She was hopelessly out of her depth when it came to the day-to-day realities of running a ranch. Short of a miracle or divine intervention, Windy Creek would be bankrupt and in ruins within a month under her ignorant guidance.

Clementine's throat tightened with despair at the thought of failing her uncle, of losing this land that meant so much to him. And what of the people who depended on Windy Creek for their livelihood? Red and Slim and Rusty and the other hands she had yet to meet—how could she face them if her incompetence cost them their jobs, their homes?

No, it was unthinkable. She needed help, loath as she was to admit it. She needed Elvis.

Clementine was just working up the nerve to broach the subject when the quiet afternoon exploded into chaos. One moment the cattle were grazing peacefully, the next they were bellowing in alarm, eyes rolling and hooves churning the earth. The cause of their distress soon became apparent—a pair of snarling, yipping coyotes had burst from the underbrush, harrying the herd's flanks in search of an easy meal.

"Damnation!" Elvis swore, spurring his mount towards the threat. "Slim! Red! Rusty! Get after 'em 'fore they scatter the herd!"

Clementine watched in amazement as the cowhands sprung into immediate action, whooping and hollering as they rode to head off the predators. Red in particular was a sight to behold, his enormous frame dwarfing his horse as he thundered after a fleeing coyote, his lasso whirling overhead.

In the midst of the pandemonium, Clementine lost sight of Elvis. She reined in Nutmeg, heart in her throat as she scanned the milling herd for any sign of him. Panic clawed at her insides as horrible visions flashed through her mind—Elvis thrown from the saddle, trampled beneath a hundred hooves, bleeding and broken on the unforgiving ground...

A flash of movement caught her eye and Clementine shrieked in alarm, instinctively wrenching Nutmeg to the side. Too late, she realized her mistake as a coyote darted from the brush directly underfoot, spooking the mare into a wild, twisting buck.

Clementine felt herself slipping, her tenuous grip on the saddle horn failing as Nutmeg crow-hopped and whirled beneath her. She had one instant of sickening clarity, the knowledge that this was going to hurt, before the ground rushed up to meet her with stunning force.

The impact drove the air from her lungs in a whoosh, black spots crowding the edges of her vision. Dimly, she registered the thud of approaching hoofbeats, the bawl of frightened cattle, someone shouting her name with increasing urgency.

"Clementine! Clementine, goddammit, answer me!"

Rough hands seized her shoulders, rolling her onto her back. Clementine blinked up at Elvis' ashen face, his blue eyes wide with fear.

"I'm... alright," she croaked, wincing at the stabbing pain in her ribs. "Just had the wind knocked out of me."

"You're hurt," Elvis said roughly, his fingers coming away from her temple sticky with red. "What the hell were you thinking, pulling a stunt like that? You're lucky you didn't break your damn fool neck!"

"I was thinking that I didn't particularly want to be some coyote's dinner," Clementine snapped, struggling to sit up. "What was I supposed to do, let it take a chunk out of Nutmeg?"

"Better the horse than you!" Elvis shot back. "Christ almighty, do you have any idea what it would've done to me if you'd been killed on my watch? On your first day here?"

There was something raw and desperate in his voice, an emotion Clementine couldn't quite name. She stared at him, struck speechless by the intensity of his reaction.

Before she could formulate a response, the sound of pounding hooves announced the return of the other cowhands. Red reined up hard beside them, his ruddy face creased with concern.

"Miss Clementine! You okay? We saw you take that spill and feared the worst!"

"I'm fine, Red," Clementine assured him, accepting Elvis' hand up with as much dignity as she could muster. "Just a little tumble. No permanent damage."

Rusty looked skeptical, eyeing the bloody gash on her forehead. "That's gonna need some doctorin'. We best get you back to the house and have Juanita take a look."

"I said I'm fine," Clementine insisted, swaying slightly as a wave of dizziness washed over her. "There's no need to fuss."

Elvis made a wordless sound of frustration, scooping her up into his arms as if she weighed no more than a sack of flour. "Stubborn woman! You're gettin' patched up and that's final. Rusty, ride back to the ranch and tell Juanita to put the kettle on and set up a place on the porch.”

"Yessir, boss!" Rusty wheeled his horse and took off at a gallop, stirring up a cloud of dust.

"Slim, you get this heard settled and head on back when you can. Red, you lead Nutmeg back. I'm takin' Miss Accident-Prone here home before she finds more trouble to get into."

Elvis plunked Clementine onto his saddle and swung up behind her, caging her in with his long arms. She opened her mouth to protest the indignity of it all, but a stern look from those flinty blue eyes had her subsiding into sullen silence.

The ride back to the house seemed to take an eternity, every jolt and jostle sending fresh sparks of pain through Clementine's battered body. She could feel the heat of Elvis' chest at her back, the tickle of his breath ruffling her hair. It was unsettling, being in such close proximity to him. Like trying to relax with a loaded gun at your temple.

By the time they reached the ranch yard, Clementine's head was throbbing and her stomach was churning alarmingly. Black spots swarmed her vision as Elvis lifted her down from the saddle, his hands exceedingly gentle for all their strength.

"Easy there, darlin'. I got you."

Clementine leaned into him, too woozy to protest the endearment. He smelled of leather and sweat and something uniquely male, a scent that made her pulse flutter in a way that had nothing to do with her injuries.

She was only vaguely aware of being carried up the porch steps and settled onto a low cot, clucking female voices buzzing around her like concerned hens. Cool hands smoothed her brow, a damp cloth dabbing at the sticky mess at her hairline. The sting of alcohol made her hiss, flinching away.

"Hush, child," crooned Juanita, the middle-aged Mexican woman who served as the ranch’s de facto doctor-slash-veterinarian. "This will clean the cut, keep it from putrefaction. Drink this now, for the dolor de cabeza."

A cup was pressed to Clementine's lips, bitter tea laced with something sharper, medicinal. She gulped it obediently, desperate for anything to dull the relentless pounding behind her eyes.

Gradually, blessedly, the pain receded to a distant ache, her limbs growing heavy with languor. Clementine felt herself sinking into the downy embrace of the cot, the muted sounds of the ranch fading to a distant hum. Just before oblivion claimed her, she thought she felt the calloused touch of a hand smoothing her hair, the gruff timbre of a voice rumbling something that sounded suspiciously like "rest now, wildcat."

But it was probably just a dream, a product of her exhausted, concussed brain. Elvis Presley would never be so tender, so solicitous. Not to her. Not in a million years.

Clementine slept, and did not dream at all.

She awoke slowly, surfacing from the depths of unconsciousness like a diver ascending sunlit waters. Her head felt muzzy, her mouth dry as cotton, but the pain had faded to a faint, distant throb. Blinking gummy eyes, she struggled to focus on her surroundings.

She was lying on the cot on the front porch, a patchwork quilt tucked around her legs. The sun was setting in a blaze of orange and pink, the long shadows of the outbuildings stretching across the yard like grasping fingers. Somewhere nearby, a lone cicada buzzed in the cooling air, a herald of the approaching dusk.

"Well now, look who's back among the living."

Clementine turned her head, wincing at the twinge in her neck. Elvis was seated in a rocking chair a few feet away, his long legs stretched out before him and his hat tipped low over his eyes. He looked relaxed, indolent even, but Clementine could sense the coiled energy beneath the languid facade, the watchful tension of a predator at rest.

"What happened?" she croaked, struggling to sit up. "How long was I out?"

"Couple hours," Elvis replied, leaning forward to hand her a tin cup of water. "You took a pretty good knock to the head when that mare bucked you off. Juanita cleaned you up and dosed you with one of her concoctions. Said you'd be right as rain after some rest."

Clementine sipped the water, frowning as memory returned in fits and starts. The coyote, Nutmeg's panicked thrashing, the sickening weightlessness as she flew through the air...

"The cattle!" she exclaimed, slopping water down her front in her agitation. "Did they scatter? Was anyone hurt?"

Elvis shook his head, a faint smile playing about his lips. "Nah, we got 'em rounded up and settled quick enough. And other than a few bumps and bruises, everyone came through just fine. Except for you, a'course. Damn foolish stunt you pulled out there."

Clementine bristled at the censure in his tone, even as a tiny part of her acknowledged the truth of it. "I was just reacting on instinct. I didn't want Nutmeg to get hurt."

"And I didn't want you to get dead," Elvis retorted, a sudden edge to his voice. "Do you have any idea how close you came to dying today? How it felt to see you layin' there in the dirt, bleedin' and still as a corpse? Christ, Clementine, you 'bout stopped my heart."

Clementine stared at him, caught off-guard by the admission.

She flushed, both at the scolding and the backhanded compliment. "Yes, well, I suppose I've learned my lesson about playing the hero. Ranch work is a sight more dangerous than minding a shop or keeping accounts."

To her surprise, Elvis chuckled. "Reckon that's true enough. But you showed some real grit out there today, greenhorn or no. Not many city gals would have stuck it out like you did."

His praise, grudging as it was, warmed Clementine down to her toes. She ducked her head to hide her pleased smile, suddenly very aware of his nearness, of the way his knee brushed her hip through the quilt.

"I guess I'm tougher than I look," she said, aiming for nonchalance.

"Guess you are," Elvis agreed. Something in his tone made Clementine look up, her breath catching at the intensity in his blue eyes. For a long, charged moment, they just stared at each other, the air between them fairly crackling with an unnamed tension.

Then Elvis blinked and looked away, clearing his throat gruffly. "Best you get some more rest," he said, rising from the rocker. "I'll have Ida bring you up some supper later. Holler if you need anything."

And with that, he was gone, leaving Clementine alone with her whirling thoughts. She lay back against the pillows, her heart racing and her skin tingling where his gaze had lingered. What on earth had just happened? One minute Elvis was his usual gruff, scolding self, the next he was looking at her like... like...

Like a man looks at a woman he desires, a traitorous voice whispered in her head. Clementine shook the thought away, scandalised. Surely she was imagining things, seeing more than was there. She and Elvis were like oil and water, always rubbing each other the wrong way. He tolerated her for the sake of the ranch, nothing more. The idea that he might feel something deeper, something tender and passionate and real... it was impossible.

Wasn't it?

Clementine groaned and turned her face into the pillow, suddenly exhausted. Her head ached abominably, and her heart felt like a bird beating its wings against the cage of her ribs. She needed sleep, needed time to sort through the jumble of her emotions and the strange, unsettling effect Elvis Presley seemed to have on her good sense.

But even as she drifted off into a fitful doze, Clementine couldn't shake the memory of his eyes on hers, intense and searching and full of something that looked achingly like longing. It haunted her dreams, that look—a promise, a challenge, a invitation to something thrilling and terrifying and utterly forbidden.

Something Clementine knew she shouldn't want... but lord help her, she did.

She wanted it with every fiber of her being.

Over the next few days, as Clementine recovered from her injuries, she had ample time to reflect on her growing feelings for Elvis. It was maddening, the way he seemed to invade her every waking thought. She would be in the middle of some mundane task—shelling peas with Ida in the kitchen, or mending a torn shirt in her room—and suddenly his face would swim before her mind's eye, those piercing blue eyes and that crooked, knowing smile making her stomach flutter and her cheeks heat.

It was ridiculous. It was inappropriate. It was... inevitable, if Clementine was being honest with herself. From the moment she'd first laid eyes on Elvis, standing tall and proud on the porch of Windy Creek Ranch, she had felt the pull of him. The attraction, the fascination, the infuriating urge to crack that stony facade and see the man beneath.

But it was more than just physical allure. As the days turned into weeks and Clementine settled into her new life at the ranch, she began to see glimmers of the real Elvis: the loyal friend, the tireless worker, the unexpected jokester. Oh, he could be maddening, with his gruffness and his stubborn pride. But he could also be unexpectedly kind, unbelievably patient, and downright entertaining when the mood struck him.

Like the time he'd caught her trying to sneak a peek at his guitar, the one he kept propped in a corner of the bunkhouse. She'd been sure he would scold her for snooping, or worse, laugh at her clumsy attempts to pluck out a tune. But instead, he'd just shaken his head and smiled that crooked smile of his, then sat down beside her and showed her how to hold the instrument, his callused fingers guiding hers over the strings until she could pick out a passable melody.

Or the night he'd found her crying in the hayloft, homesick and overwhelmed and halfway convinced she'd made a terrible mistake in coming to Windy Creek. He hadn't said a word, just sat down beside her and pulled her into his arms, letting her sob into his shirt until she was spent. Then he'd tipped her chin up and looked into her eyes, his own gaze fierce and tender all at once.

"You're doing just fine, Clementine," he'd said, his voice low and rough. "You're right where you're meant to be."

It was moments like those that made Clementine's heart ache with a longing she couldn't quite name. A yearning for something more than friendship, more than partnership.

Something that felt suspiciously like affection.

But it was impossible. She and Elvis were too different, too stubborn and set in their ways. They would drive each other mad within a year, Clementine was sure of it. And even if by some miracle they could make a go of it, there was still the ranch to consider. Windy Creek needed her, needed Elvis. They couldn't afford any distractions or entanglements.

No, it was better to put such foolish notions out of her head. To focus on her duties and her goals, and let her heart's desire remain just that—a secret, wistful dream.

But oh, how she dreamed.

As the weeks passed and Clementine grew stronger, she threw herself into life at Windy Creek with renewed determination. She rose with the sun each morning, joining Mrs. Jameson in the kitchen for a hearty breakfast before heading out to tackle the day's chores. She rode herd with the cattle, mended fences with Red and the boys, even tried her hand at roping and branding.

She still felt hopelessly out of her depth at times, but she was learning fast. And she had Elvis to thank for that. He was a patient teacher, though a demanding one. He pushed her hard, expecting nothing less than her very best effort. But he was also quick with a word of praise when she got something right, or a steadying hand when she faltered.

Slowly but surely, Clementine could feel herself changing. Growing tougher, more resilient. The blisters on her palms turned to calluses, the ache in her muscles to a pleasant sort of soreness. And though her prim city dresses were a thing of the past, she found she didn't miss them all that much. There was a freedom in denim and calico, a practicality that suited her new life.

She knew she still had a long way to go before she could truly call herself a rancher. But for the first time since arriving at Windy Creek, Clementine felt like she might actually belong here. Like she was exactly where she was meant to be.

And if her gaze still strayed to Elvis more often than it should, if her heart still raced at his nearness and her skin tingled at his touch... well. That was her secret to keep. Her cross to bear.

But lord, what a sweet burden it was.

One evening a few months later, as the sun dipped low on the horizon and painted the sky in shades of gold and pink, Clementine found herself alone with Elvis on a bluff overlooking the ranch. She'd gone up there to get away from the noise and bustle of the house for a while, to let the peace of the prairie soak into her bones and ease the remnants of the day's tension.

She hadn't expected Elvis to follow her. But then, he seemed to have a knack for turning up wherever she was. A coincidence, she told herself each time. Just a quirk of ranch life, two people whose paths were bound to cross often. It didn't mean anything.

But as Elvis came to stand beside her, his shoulder brushing hers as they looked out over the rolling expanse of Windy Creek, Clementine felt that old familiar flutter in her chest. The hitch in her breath, the skip of her pulse.

It meant something. It had to.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The only sound was the wind rustling through the grass, the distant lowing of the cattle in the pasture. Clementine breathed it in, let it fill her lungs and settle in her bones. This place, this land. It was a part of her now, as vital as her own beating heart.

"It's beautiful," she murmured, almost to herself.

Elvis hummed in agreement, his gaze never leaving the horizon. "Never get tired of this view. No matter how many times I see it."

Clementine glanced at him, struck by the wondering note in his voice. "You really love this place, don't you?"

Elvis nodded slowly. "It's in my blood. Has been since I was old enough to sit a horse. Used to dream about having a spread like this, a place to call my own." He paused, his jaw working as if wrestling with some inner debate. Then, quietly, "Never thought I'd find someone to share it with, though."

Clementine's heart stumbled, then began to race. Surely he didn't mean... no. He couldn't have.

They rode home in silence.

Chapter 3

The sun beat down on Clementine's back as she rode across the pasture, her eyes scanning the herd for any signs of trouble. It had been just over a year since she'd arrived at Windy Creek Ranch, and in that time, she'd learned more about cattle and cowboying than she'd ever thought possible.

She'd also learned a thing or two about herself. Like the fact that she was stronger than she'd ever given herself credit for, and that the wide-open spaces of the West felt more like home than the bustling streets of New York ever had.

As she turned her horse back towards the ranch house, Clementine couldn't help but smile. Despite the long days and the hard work, she'd never been happier. She had a purpose here, a place where she belonged.

She had Elvis.

Of course, he was as quiet as ever. Truly, the strong and silent type. But somewhere along the way, through all the disagreements and teasing, a comfortable companionship had grown between them, and Clementine was grateful.

She dismounted in front of the house, handing the reins off to one of the ranch hands. "Take good care of him, Johnny," she said, giving the boy a pat on the shoulder. "He worked hard today."

Johnny grinned, his freckled face beaming with pride. "Yes, ma'am, Miss Clementine. I'll give him a good rubdown and some extra oats."

Clementine nodded, grateful for the enthusiasm and dedication of her crew. Over time, the workers at the ranch had become like her family. In addition to Red, Slim, and Rusty, there was Johnny, the eager young newcomer; Hank, the grizzled old-timer who'd been working the ranch since before Clementine was born; Juanita, the no-nonsense veterinarian who kept the animals healthy and her affable husband Gerónimo; Ida, the motherly housekeeper and cook whose fried chicken was legendary around these parts; and a handful of other steady, reliable hands.

She made her way into the house, sighing with relief as the cool shade enveloped her. She had just taken off her gloves and settled down at her desk to go over the day's receipts when a letter caught her eye. It was postmarked from New York.

Clementine smiled as she unfolded the pages, eager for news from home. But before she could read more than a few lines, the door burst open and Elvis strode in, his face grim.

"We got trouble," he said without preamble. "Rustlers hit the Falling Tree Acres last night. They're missing a dozen head."

Clementine's blood ran cold. Rustlers. The scourge of the open range, the nightmare of every rancher west of the Mississippi. She had heard the stories, had listened to the ranch hands swap tales of cattle thefts and midnight raids. But she had never thought it would happen here, in their peaceful valley.

"Are you sure?" she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Elvis nodded grimly. "They found tracks this morning, out by their western pasture. Looks like the bastards cut the fence and drove off a dozen head in the night. Took ‘em 'til now to make sure there weren't no stragglers."

Clementine sank back into her chair, her knees suddenly weak. A dozen head. It didn't sound like much, but she knew that every animal counted, that even a small loss could be devastating to any ranch.

“What’ll they do?” she asked, hating the tremor in her voice. "What if the rustlers come here?"

Elvis sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. "Ain't gonna be easy. These rustlers, they're smart. They know how to cover their tracks, how to disappear into the wilderness like ghosts. We could spend weeks chasin' 'em and never see hide nor hair."

Clementine's heart sank even further. Something had to be done, but... weeks of fruitless searching, of neglecting the ranch and the rest of the herd? They couldn't afford it, not now. Not when they were just starting to find their footing. Then again, they needed to do something about it—prevent any losses before they happened.

But then, a sudden thought struck her. A memory of something her uncle had said, long ago, when she was just a girl. Something about the importance of neighbors, of community, of banding together in times of trouble.

"What about the other ranchers?" she asked, sitting up straighter in her chair. "Surely we're not the only ones who have been hit by these rustlers. What if we joined forces, pooled our resources and manpower?"

Elvis looked at her in surprise, as if the idea had never occurred to him. "You mean, like a meeting?"

She took a deep breath, her mind already racing. "Yes," she said, standing up from her desk. "Let's get the word out. I want every rancher in the valley here tonight. We need to figure out a plan."

Elvis nodded, his jaw tight. "I'll send Rusty and Johnny to spread the news. You want me to ride over to Big Sky, let them know?"

Clementine hesitated, remembering the last time she'd seen Nathaniel Hawthorne. The man had been cold and dismissive, making it clear that he didn't think much of a woman running a ranch. But Big Sky was one of the largest spreads in the area, and they needed all the help they could get.

"No," she said finally. "I'll go myself. It's time Nathaniel and I had a little chat."

Elvis's eyes narrowed, but he didn't argue. "Alright then. I'll hold down the fort here, make sure everything's ready for tonight."

Clementine nodded, grateful for his support. She knew that Elvis had his doubts about her plan, but he trusted her enough to follow her lead. It meant more to her than she could say.

She rode hard for Big Sky, her thoughts churning as she tried to come up with a way to convince Nathaniel Hawthorne to join their cause. The man was as stubborn as a mule, and twice as mean. But if they had any hope of stopping the rustlers, they needed Big Sky on their side.

When she arrived at the ranch, she was surprised to be greeted not by Nathaniel, but by his son Aaron. The young man was a few years older than Clementine, with sharp hazel eyes and a no-nonsense air about him.

"Miss Olivetti," Aaron said, his tone cool but polite. "I'm afraid my father is indisposed at the moment. What can I do for you?"

Clementine dismounted, dusting off her hands on her skirt. "I'm sorry to hear that," she said, though she wasn't entirely sure she meant it. "I've come to talk to him about the rustler problem. We're calling a meeting tonight, and I was hoping Big Sky would be represented."

Aaron’s eyes narrowed, and Clementine got the sense that she was being sized up. "I see," the young man said finally. "Well, I can't speak for my father, but I'll be there. Big Sky takes the rustler threat very seriously."

She rode back to Windy Creek feeling accomplished, like they might just have a chance against the rustlers after all. But as the sun began to set and the ranchers began to arrive, Clementine felt her confidence waver.

The main room of the ranch house was crowded, the air thick with tension and the murmur of voices. Clementine looked around at the gathered men, recognizing most of the faces. There was Jake McAllister from the Circle B, his weathered face set in a scowl. Tom Hawkins from the Rocking H, his fingers drumming an agitated beat on his thigh. Hank Brewster from the Lazy J, his shoulders slumped with weariness. Of course, Jake Dawson from Falling Tree Acres was there, too, hopping mad. And a half-dozen others, all looking to her for answers.

Her own men were there as well—Red and Slim and Rusty, their expressions grim. And a few more she'd come to rely on over the past year: Jeb Thompson, a grizzled hand who could coax a calf from the orneriest of heifers; young Billy Turner, eager to prove himself; and Lyle Davis, quiet and steady, with a gift for gentling horses.

But there was one face Clementine didn't recognize—a woman, standing slightly apart from the rest. She was tall and slim, with honey-blonde hair and sharp blue eyes. When Elvis saw her, he stiffened, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face.

"Katie," he said, his voice carefully neutral. "Didn't expect to see you here."

The woman—Katie—smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Desperate times, Elvis. My father and Aaron sent me in their stead." Aaron Hawthorne. Katie was Aaron’s brother, and Nathaniel’s daughter.

There was a story there, Clementine could tell. A history between Elvis and this Katie Hawthorne. But now was not the time to dwell on it. They had bigger problems to deal with.

As if on cue, Tom Hawkins spoke up, his voice tight with anger. "We all know why we're here. These rustlers are bleeding us dry, and something needs to be done about it. But I think we ought to wait and see." A murmur went around the room, heads shaking and fists clenching.

"And what good would hunkering down do?" demanded Sam Johnson, his fists clenched at his sides. "They'd just pick us off one by one, like lambs to the slaughter. No, we need to take the fight to them, hit them hard and fast before they can hit us again."

"Are you out of your mind?" Hank Brewster's voice cut through the din like a knife. "You're talking about going up against armed men, men who won't hesitate to put a bullet in your back. It's suicide, plain and simple."

"I say we let the law handle it," said Hank Brewster, his tone weary. "It's their job, ain't it?"

Jake McAllister snorted. "The law? You mean Sheriff Hodges? That old drunk couldn't find his own ass with both hands and a map. We'd be better off hiring a pack of coyotes to guard the henhouse."

A ripple of uneasy laughter went through the room. Clementine frowned, her patience wearing thin. They were getting nowhere with this bickering. Soon, the men all erupted into argument, voices rising and tempers flaring. Clementine looked from one angry face to another, her heart sinking. This was exactly what she'd been afraid of—that the ranchers would be too divided, too set in their ways to find common ground.

"We have to do something," she said, her voice ringing out clear and strong. "We can't just sit back and watch everything we've worked for be taken away."

"And what do you suggest, Miss Olivetti?" Katie asked, her tone faintly mocking. "That our men go out there, guns blazing, and get themselves killed?"

Clementine opened her mouth to retort, but Elvis beat her to it, his deep voice cutting through the din like a knife.

"Seems to me," he said slowly, "that we don't have much choice in the matter. Either we take the fight to the rustlers, or we sit back and watch everything we've worked for get stolen out from under us. I don't know about y'all, but I ain't too keen on the second option."

A heavy silence fell over the room, broken only by the occasional cough or shuffle of feet. Clementine could see the indecision on every face, the warring impulses of self-preservation and solidarity.

But then, slowly, heads began to nod. Shoulders straightened, jaws set with determination. "The man's right," Jake McAllister said grudgingly. "We can't just sit back and let them pick us off one by one. We have to stand together, or we'll all fall alone."

There were murmurs of agreement from around the room, a sense of purpose beginning to take hold. Clementine felt a surge of pride and gratitude, her eyes seeking out Elvis's across the sea of faces. He met her gaze steadily, something warm and reassuring in the blue depths.

"Alright then," Elvis said, his voice ringing out with confidence. "Let's get to planning. We'll need every able-bodied man who can ride and shoot. We'll track the rustlers to their hideout, and we'll make sure they never trouble us again."

The meeting broke up soon after that, the ranchers dispersing to make their preparations for the evening. As she was lighting a candle, Clementine caught a glimpse of Katie Hawthorne deep in conversation with Elvis, their heads bent close together as they spoke in low, urgent tones.

Something twisted in Clementine's gut at the sight, a flare of jealousy that she didn't quite understand. But she pushed it down, focusing instead on the task ahead. There would be time to worry about Katie Hawthorne later.

Later that evening, Clementine found herself wandering the quiet halls of the ranch house, her mind too full of worries to settle. She was just about to open the cupboard when she heard a noise from the living room, a soft clink of glass on wood.

Curious, she padded over to the doorway, peering into the dimly lit room. Elvis sat at the table, a half-empty bottle of whiskey in front of him and a troubled expression on his face. He looked up as she entered, his eyes widening in surprise.

"Clementine,” he said, his voice rough. “What are you doing up?”

She shrugged, suddenly feeling self-conscious in her nightgown and robe. “Couldn’t sleep. Too much on my mind, I guess.”

Elvis nodded, his gaze dropping to the glass in his hand. "I know the feeling," he said, taking a swig of whiskey.

Clementine's heart clenched at the weariness in his voice, the vulnerability he so rarely showed. "You don't have to go tonight, you know," she said softly, reaching out to lay a hand on his arm. "The other men can handle it. You've done enough already, Elvis. More than enough."

He looked up at her then, something fierce and determined in his eyes. "Ain’t no way," he said, his voice low and intense. "I promised your uncle I'd look after this place, Clem. I ain't about to break that promise now."

Clementine felt a rush of warmth at his words, a flutter of something deeper and more complicated than gratitude. But she tamped it down, focusing instead on the danger ahead.

"It's going to be risky," she said, her voice wavering slightly. "I don't want you getting hurt on my account, Elvis. I couldn't bear it if something happened to you."

He covered her hand with his own, his skin warm and rough against hers. "Good thing I ain't planning on gettin’ hurt, then," he said, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Besides, it’s just a search party. We ain’t gonna do no shooting tonight. We’re just gonna track the rustlers, that’s all.”

Clementine laughed, the tension draining out of her in a rush. "Well, I suppose I can live with that," she said, her eyes sparkling. "Just promise me you'll be careful out there, alright?"

"I promise," Elvis said, his voice solemn. "And you promise me, Clementine. You’ll be waiting when I get back?"

She nodded, her throat suddenly tight. "I promise," she whispered, meaning it with every fiber of her being.

They sat like that for a long moment, hands clasped and eyes locked, the silence stretching out between them like a promise of its own. And then Elvis cleared his throat, releasing her hand and standing up from the table.

"Best get some rest," he said, his voice gruff. "Got a long day ahead of us tomorrow."

Clementine stood as well, her heart racing as she followed him to the door. "Goodnight, Elvis," she said softly, her hand on the knob. "And thank you. For everything."

He paused, his hand coming up to brush a strand of hair back from her face. "Anytime, Clem," he murmured, his eyes soft. "Anytime at all."

And then he was gone, the door closing softly behind him, leaving Clementine alone with her thoughts and the pounding of her own heart.

The ranch house was quiet that night, the usual bustle and chatter replaced by a tense, watchful silence. Clementine wandered the halls like a ghost, her mind spinning and her heart aching.

She couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong, that some disaster was looming just beyond the horizon. And she couldn't help but wonder if she had made the right choice, staying behind while her men out to face the danger alone.

She found herself in the kitchen just as dawn was breaking, staring blankly at the coffeepot as it burbled and hissed on the stove. She couldn't remember how she'd gotten there, or why she'd come. All she knew was that she needed something, anything, to take her mind off the worry and the fear.

And then, like a miracle, Elvis appeared in the doorway. He looked haggard and worn, his face lined with exhaustion and his eyes shadowed with some dark emotion. But he was alive, and whole, and Clementine felt her heart leap with relief.

"You're back," she breathed, stepping forward to meet him. "What happened out there? Did you find them?"

Elvis shook his head, his jaw tight. "No. We rode hard all night, followed their trail as far as we could. But they're clever bastards, know how to cover their tracks. We lost the scent somewhere around Coyote Creek, and by then it was too dark to go on."

Clementine's heart sank, disappointment and frustration welling up in her throat. "So what now?" she asked, her voice small. "What do we do?"

Elvis sighed, running a hand over his face. "We start again the day after tomorrow, at first light. Keep searching until we find them, or until we can't search no more."

He looked at her then, his eyes dark and intense. "I need you to be strong, Clementine. I need you to keep this place running, keep the men in line. Can you do that for me?"

Clementine swallowed hard, forcing down the lump in her throat. "Of course," she said, her voice steadier than she felt. "I'll do whatever needs to be done, Elvis. You know that."

He nodded, something like pride flickering in his gaze. And then, to her surprise, he reached out and pulled her into his arms.

Clementine stiffened for a moment, unused to such displays of affection from the taciturn cowboy. But then she melted into him, her hands fisting in the back of his shirt and her face pressing into the warm, solid strength of his chest.

"I'm scared, Elvis," she whispered, the words muffled against his skin.

He tightened his hold on her, his chin resting on the top of her head. "I know, darlin'. I'm scared too. But we can't let that fear control us, you hear me? We gotta be strong, for each other and for this ranch."

Clementine nodded, drawing in a shuddering breath. And then, before she could lose her nerve, she tilted her head back and pressed her lips to his.

The kiss was quick and chaste, a gentle exploration that made her heart race and her blood sing. Elvis made a low, desperate sound in the back of his throat but before things could go any further, he tore himself away, his breath coming hard and fast. "I’m sorry. I shouldn’ta done that." he said, his voice rough with wanting. "We can’t. I ain’t gonna take advantage of you.Not when we both don't know what tomorrow might bring."

“I—you’re right.” Clementine knew it, even as her body screamed in protest. She stepped back, wrapping her arms around herself as if to ward off the chill of his absence. "I'm sorry," she said, her voice trembling. "I don't know what came over me. It's just... the thought of losing you..."

"Shh." Elvis placed a finger over her lips, silencing her.

"Don't talk like that. We're gonna make it through this, you and me. And when we do, we'll have all the time in the world to figure out what this is between us."

Clementine nodded.

He leaned in, pressing a soft, chaste kiss to her forehead. "But for now, we gotta focus on the task at hand. We gotta be strong for the ranch. Can you do that for me, Clem?"

She looked up at him, her heart in her eyes. "I can. I will."

He smiled then, a real smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes and made her heart skip a beat. "That's my girl. Now, let's get some rest. We got a long day ahead of us tomorrow."

The first rays of the sun were just beginning to paint the sky in shades of pink and gold when Clementine stepped out onto the porch, a rifle slung over her shoulder, two pistols at her hip, and a steely glint in her eye.

The ranchers were already gathered in the yard, checking their tack and loading their saddlebags with grim determination. Elvis stood at the center of the group, his black hat pulled low over his brow as he issued last-minute orders and instructions, saddling his mount quickly and efficiently.

He looked up as she approached, his eyes widening in surprise and something like consternation. "What do you think you're doing? I thought I told you to stay put," he demanded, striding over to block her path. "You ain't comin' with us, Clementine. It's too dangerous."

She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze squarely. "The hell I'm not," she said, her voice ringing with conviction. "This is my ranch, Elvis. My land, my cattle, my responsibility. My men. And I'll be damned if I'm going to sit back and let someone else fight my battles for me."

He opened his mouth to argue, but she cut him off with a sharp gesture. "I know what you're going to say," she said. "That I'm just a woman, that I don't know how to handle a gun or ride with a posse. But you're wrong, Elvis. I've been learning this past year. I can shoot as straight as any man here, and ride twice as quick."

Red’s face split into a big, knowing smile. Elvis elbowed him, and his ruddy companion stood ramrod straight. She saw the flicker of surprise in Elvis’ eyes, too, the grudging respect that warred with his instinctive need to protect her. But she wasn't about to back down, not now, not when so much was at stake.

"I'm coming with you," she said, her voice low and intense. "And that's final. You can either accept it, or you can try to stop me. But either way, I'll be riding out of here at your side, come hell or high water."

For a long, tense moment, Elvis just stared at her, his jaw working as if he were chewing on a particularly tough piece of rawhide. Then, slowly, he nodded, his eyes glinting with something that might have been pride, or exasperation, or a little bit of both.

"Alright, then," he said gruffly. "But you stay close to me, you hear? And if I give you an order, you follow it, no questions asked."

They rode out in a thunder of hoofbeats, the sun high overhead and the wind whipping at their faces. Clementine could feel the adrenaline coursing through her veins, the thrill of the hunt mingling with a cold, creeping fear. She knew that they were riding into danger, that there was no telling what they might face out there on the open range.

But she also knew that she was not alone, that she had Elvis and the others by her side, ready to fight for what was theirs, and that knowledge gave her the courage to keep riding.

They rode for hours, following the rustlers' trail across the rugged terrain. The sun beat down on them, the heat shimmering off the rocks and the scrubby brush. Clementine could feel the sweat trickling down her back, the dust caking her face and hair. But she hardly noticed, her mind focused on the task at hand, on the need to find the stolen cattle and bring the thieves to justice.

It was nearly sundown when they finally caught sight of the rustlers' camp, a thin plume of smoke rising from a hidden canyon up ahead. Elvis called a halt, his hand raised in warning.

"We'll have to go in on foot from here," he said, his voice low and tense. "Can't risk them hearing us coming."

Clementine nodded, her heart pounding in her chest. This was it, the moment of truth. She slid from her saddle, her legs stiff and sore from hours of riding. She checked her rifle, making sure it was loaded and ready, then fell in behind Elvis as he led the way toward the canyon.

They crept through the underbrush, the only sound the crunch of their boots against the dry leaves and twigs. Clementine could feel the tension in the air, the sense of impending danger. She knew that the rustlers would be armed, that they would fight to keep their stolen herd. But she also knew that they were outnumbered, that the posse had the element of surprise on their side.

As they neared the edge of the canyon, Elvis held up a hand, signaling for them to stop. He peered over the edge, his eyes narrowing as he took in the scene below.

"They're down there, alright," he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. "Looks like they've got the cattle penned up in that box canyon. I count six men, maybe seven."

Clementine swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry. Six men. Six armed, desperate men who would stop at nothing to keep what they had stolen. She knew that the odds were in their favor, that they had the rustlers outnumbered and outgunned. But she also knew that anything could happen in the heat of battle, that there was no guarantee that they would all make it out alive.

She looked at Elvis, saw the grim determination in his eyes, the set of his jaw. And she knew that he was thinking the same thing, that he was weighing the risks and the rewards, the need to protect their own against the danger of the unknown.

"What's the plan?" she asked, her voice steady despite the hammering of her heart.

Elvis took a deep breath, his gaze still fixed on the canyon below. "We'll split up, come at 'em from both sides. Jake, you take half the men and circle around to the north. Tom, you take the other half and come in from the south. Clementine, you're with Jake. I’ll go straight down the middle, try to draw their fire and give the others a chance to get in close."

Clementine felt a sudden, sharp fear at his words, a sense of dread that she couldn't quite shake. She knew that Elvis was putting himself in the greatest danger, that he was using himself as a distraction to give the others a chance. And she knew that she couldn't let him do it alone.

"I'm coming with you," she said, her voice brooking no argument.

Elvis looked at her, his eyes widening in surprise. "Clementine, I don't think—"

"I'm not asking, Elvis," she said, cutting him off. "I’m coming."

For a moment, Elvis just stared at her, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he nodded, a flicker of something like pride in his eyes.

"Alright then," he said, his voice gruff. "Let's do this."

They made their way down the steep slope of the canyon, the loose shale and gravel sliding beneath their feet. Clementine could hear the low murmur of voices from the camp below, the soft lowing of the penned-up cattle. Her heart was pounding in her ears, her palms slick with sweat on the grip of her rifle.

As they neared the bottom of the canyon, Elvis held up a hand, signaling for her to stop. He peered around the edge of a boulder, his eyes narrowing as he took in the scene.

"Alright," he said, his voice low and tense. "On my signal, we move in. You stay close to me, you hear? And if things start to go south, you get the hell out of there and don't look back."

Clementine nodded, her throat too tight to speak. She knew that he was trying to protect her, that he was willing to lay down his life to keep her safe. And she knew that she couldn't let that happen, that she would fight to her last breath to keep him alive.

Elvis took a deep breath, his hand tightening on the grip of his pistol. Then, with a nod to Clementine, he stepped out from behind the boulder, his voice ringing out across the canyon.

"Drop your weapons and let the cattle go!" he shouted, his pistol leveled at the nearest rustler. "You're surrounded and outnumbered. There's no way out!"

For a moment, there was silence, the only sound the low moan of the wind through the canyon. Then, with a shout of defiance, the rustlers opened fire, their bullets whizzing past Clementine's head and shattering the rock at her feet.

She dropped to the ground, her heart pounding in her chest. Beside her, Elvis was returning fire, his pistol barking in the still air. She could hear the shouts and curses of the rustlers, the panicked bellowing of the cattle as they milled about in their makeshift pen.

Clementine leveled her rifle, her hands steady and her aim true. She squeezed the trigger once, twice, three times, watching with grim satisfaction as the rustlers fell, clutching at their wounds.

But then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw something that made her blood run cold. Elvis, locked in hand-to-hand combat with one of the rustlers, his gun lying forgotten on the ground.

The man was huge, easily a head taller than Elvis and twice as broad. He had a knife in his hand, the blade glinting wickedly in the sun, and a feral grin on his face as he bore down on the smaller man.

Clementine didn't hesitate. She got up from her position, charging towards the two men with a shout of fury. She leaped, tackling the rustler around the waist and sending them both tumbling to the ground.

They grappled in the dirt, the man's knife slashing at the air as Clementine tried to wrestle it from his grip. She could hear Elvis shouting her name, could feel the impact of bodies hitting the ground all around her as the battle raged on.

And then, with a final, desperate twist, she wrenched the knife free. The man lunged for her, his eyes wild with rage and desperation, but Clementine was faster. She plunged the blade into his chest, feeling the sickening give of flesh and bone.

The rustler's eyes went wide, his mouth opening in a silent scream. And then he was falling, his body hitting the ground with a dull, final thud.

Clementine staggered to her feet, her breath coming in great, heaving gasps. She looked around wildly, taking in the scene of carnage and chaos.

All around her, the canyon exploded into chaos. The posse had burst from cover, guns blazing as they bore down on the rustlers. She could hear shouts and screams, could smell the acrid tang of gunpowder on the air. Bullets whizzed past her head, kicking up puffs of dust at her feet.

It seemed to go on forever, that nightmarish battle in the heart of the canyon. But in reality, it was over in a matter of minutes. The rustlers, outnumbered and outgunned, threw down their weapons and surrendered, their hands raised in supplication.

Clementine sagged with relief, her knees suddenly weak. She looked around, taking in the scene of carnage—the bodies sprawled on the ground, the wounded men groaning in pain, the cattle milling about in confusion.

And then her gaze fell on Elvis, and her heart stopped.

He was lying on the ground, his face pale and his eyes closed. There was a spreading stain of red on his shirt, a wound in his chest that pulsed with each labored breath.

"No," Clementine whispered, stumbling forward on numb, leaden feet. "No, no, no."

She fell to her knees beside him, her hands shaking as she pressed them to the wound, trying desperately to stem the flow of blood. Elvis's eyes fluttered open, glassy and unfocused.

"Don't you dare," she said fiercely, her tears falling hot and fast on his face. "Don't you dare leave me, Elvis Presley. Not now, not like this."

"Somebody help me!" Clementine shouted, her voice raw with desperation. "Please, he's hurt, we need to get him back to the ranch!"

The others crowded around, their faces grim as they took in the sight of their fallen comrade. Tom Hawkins knelt down on Elvis' other side, his fingers searching for a pulse.

"He's alive," he said, his voice tight. "But he's lost a lot of blood. We need to get him back to Windy Creek, and fast."

Clementine nodded, her vision blurring with tears.

“Put him on White Lightning!” Rusty cried, “Clem’s horse is the fastest.” She watched as the men lifted Elvis onto the back of her horse, his head lolling limply against his chest. She wanted to go to him, to gather him into her arms and will the life back into his broken body. But she knew that she couldn't, that she had to be strong now, for him and for herself.

"I'll go with you," said Jake, swinging up into his own saddle. "Red and Tom, you, round up the herd and head on back. The rest of you, tie the rustler up. We'll meet you there."

The ride back to the ranch was a blur, a nightmare of dust and sweat and clenching fear and Elvis’ limp form cradled against her chest as she urged White Lightning onward. She could feel his blood soaking through her shirt, could hear the rattling wheeze of his breath in her ear.

But she refused to give up hope, refused to let the fear and the despair take hold. Elvis was a fighter, a survivor. He would make it through this. He had to.

They reached the ranch just as the sun was setting, the sky painted in shades of orange and gold. Clementine leapt from the saddle, shouting for Juanita and the ranch hands as she half-carried, half-dragged Elvis inside.

"Help him!" she demanded, her voice tight with fear.

Mrs. Jameson hurried over, her face creased with worry. "They took him straight up to his room, miss. Juanita's with him now, doing what she can to stop the bleeding. But he's in a bad way, I won't lie to you."

The next few hours passed in a haze of activity and dread, the ticking of the clock on the mantel the only sound in the silent house. Juanita worked tirelessly, cleaning and stitching and bandaging, her face set in grim determination.

It had been hours, and Clementine had no news. "I need to go to him, Ida" she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I need to be with him."

The housekeeper nodded, her eyes soft with understanding. "Of course, miss. You go on up. I'll see to the hands and the stock."

Clementine managed a grateful nod, then turned and fled into the house, her heart pounding and her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. She took the stairs two at a time.

She burst into Elvis' room without knocking, her eyes wide and wild as she scanned the dimly lit space. He was lying on the bed, his shirt torn open to reveal the ugly, seeping wound in his chest. Juanita was bent over him, her hands bloody as she worked to staunch the flow.

"How is he?" Clementine asked, her voice thin and reedy to her own ears. "Will he... will he live?"

Juanita looked up, her dark eyes unreadable. "I don't know, Clem. He's lost a lot of blood, and the bullet's still in there. I've done what I can to clean and bind the wound, but he needs a real doctor, and soon."

Clementine nodded, her throat too tight for words. She sank down onto the edge of the bed, her hand reaching out to brush the sweat-soaked hair back from Elvis' brow. He was burning with fever, his skin hot and dry beneath her palm.

"Oh, Elvis," she whispered, the endearment slipping out before she could stop it. "What have they done to you?"

She sent Red to fetch Doc Jamison from town, his saddlebags laden with all the medical supplies they could spare. And then there was nothing to do but wait, and pray, and hope against hope that Elvis would pull through.

The sun rose and set, the hours bleeding into days.

Clementine sat by Elvis's bedside, holding his hand and whispering words of encouragement. She barely slept, barely ate, her whole world narrowed down to the rise and fall of his chest, the fluttering of his eyelids, the faint pulse at his wrist.

And then, on the eighth day, a miracle. Elvis's fever broke, his breathing easing and his color returning. He opened his eyes, blinking up at Clementine with a weak, crooked smile.

"Hey there, darlin'," he rasped, his voice hoarse from disuse. "Fancy meeting you here."

Clementine let out a sob, tears of relief and joy streaming down her face. She threw herself into his arms, burying her face in his neck and breathing in the warm, familiar scent of him.

"Don't you ever do that to me again," she whispered fiercely. "You hear me, Elvis Presley? Never again."

He chuckled softly, his hand coming up to stroke her hair. "Yes, ma'am," he murmured. "I promise."

The next morning, Clementine awoke to Elvis screaming in agony. Before long, Doc Jamison was at his bedside, procuring a large needle from his medicine bag and injecting it into the patient’s arm. Clementine watched with bated breath as Elvis slowly settled back into a comfortable sleep, floating in the twilight of morphine.

She sat at his bedside, keeping vigil, praying for him. At one point, he whispered something.

"Marry me," she thought she heard. "Be my wife, Clementine."

Chapter 4

Clementine sat at her desk, sorting through the mail that had arrived the previous week. Among the various bills and correspondence, one letter caught her eye. The familiar handwriting on the envelope made her heart skip a beat. It was from Bonnie.

With trembling fingers, Clementine opened the letter and began to read:

"My Dearest Clemmie,

I hope this letter finds you well and thriving in your new life at Windy Creek Ranch. I miss you terribly, and the city feels empty without your laughter and companionship.

I have exciting news! I've decided to take a break from the hustle and bustle of New York and come visit you at the ranch. I long to see the beautiful landscapes you've described and meet the intriguing characters you've mentioned in your letters.

Expect me to arrive within the fortnight. I cannot wait to embrace you and hear all about your adventures.

Your loving friend, Bonnie"

Clementine clutched the letter to her chest, a wide grin spreading across her face. The prospect of having Bonnie at the ranch filled her with joy and excitement. She couldn't wait to show her best friend around and introduce her to everyone, especially Elvis.

Elvis. The thought of him made Clementine’s smile falter.

Since his injury, their relationship had been somewhat strained. She had been tending to him diligently, changing his bandages and ensuring he was comfortable. However, every time she tried to bring up his morphine-induced mumblings, Elvis would change the subject or feign exhaustion. It was starting to worry her.

A knock at the door startled Clementine from her thoughts.

"Come in," she called, setting the letter aside.

To her surprise, Katie Hawthorne stepped into the room, her blonde hair perfectly coiffed and her blue eyes sparkling. She looked stunning in a sage green day dress that complemented her fair complexion.

"Good morning, Clementine," she greeted, her voice polite but cool. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything important."

Clementine forced a smile, trying to ignore the twinge of unease that Katie's presence always seemed to evoke. "Not at all, Katie. What brings you here?"

Katie walked over to the desk, her posture poised and confident. "I was hoping to visit Elvis. I heard he's recovering well, and I thought he might appreciate a familiar face."

Clementine's stomach churned at the thought of Katie spending time alone with Elvis. She knew there was a history between them, but the details remained a mystery. "I'm sure he would appreciate that," she managed to say, her voice even. "He's in his room, resting."

With a nod and a polite smile, Katie left the room, leaving Clementine alone with her thoughts. Unable to concentrate on her work, Clementine decided to take a walk around the ranch to clear her head.

As she stepped outside, the warm sun and gentle breeze greeted her. The sound of laughter caught her attention, and she spotted Red and Slim engaged in a lively conversation near the stables.

"Miss Clementine!" Red called out, waving her over.

Clementine made her way over to them, eager for a distraction. "You're just in time. Slim here was about to share a story about the time he singlehandedly fought off a pack of coyotes."

Slim grinned, puffing out his chest. "It's true! I was out on the range, minding my own business, when suddenly..."

But as Slim launched into his tale, Clementine found herself only half-listening. Her mind wandered to the conversation she had overheard earlier between Katie and Elvis. She had been passing by Elvis' room when she heard their voices, low and intense.

"Elvis, I know things ended badly between us," Katie had said, her tone sincere. "But I want you to know that I still care about you. I always have."

"Look, I appreciate you coming to see me, but things are different now," Elvis had replied, his voice firm but not unkind.

Katie had scoffed. “I know you don't mean that—”

“Katie, I’m not the same man I was back then.”

"I know that, Elvis. And I respect it. I just... I don't want us to be strangers. We have too much history for that."

There was a pause, and Clementine could picture Elvis considering her words. "You're right. We can be friends, Katie. But that's all we can be."

Clementine hurried away before she could hear Katie's response, her heart racing and her mind reeling. What exactly had happened between them? And why did the thought of them together make her feel so unsettled?

Feigning a stomachache, Clementine gently extracted herself from Slim and Red and started back for the house.

Lost in her thoughts, she didn't notice Ida approach until the older woman placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Miss Clementine, you look troubled," Ida said, her kind eyes filled with concern. "Is everything alright?"

Clementine sighed, offering Ida a weak smile. "I'm fine, Ida. Just a lot on my mind, I suppose."

Ida nodded, understanding dawning on her face. "It's about Mr. Elvis and Miss Katie, isn't it?"

Clementine's eyes widened. "How did you know?"

Ida chuckled softly. "I've been around long enough to notice things, Miss Clementine. And I can see the way you look at Mr. Elvis, and the way Miss Katie looks at him too. Frankly, I’d look at him that way too if I were younger,” she chuckled.

Clementine felt her cheeks heat up. "I don't know what you're talking about, Ida."

The housekeeper smiled knowingly. "It's alright, Miss Clementine. You don't have to pretend with me. I know it's not my place to gossip, but I feel like you should know the truth about Mr. Elvis and Miss Katie."

Curiosity got the better of Clementine, and she found herself leaning in closer. "What truth, Ida?"

Ida glanced around to make sure they were alone before lowering her voice. "Mr. Elvis and Miss Katie were engaged to be married once, years ago. They were young and in love, or so they thought. But then Miss Katie got it into her head that she wanted to see the world, experience life beyond the ranch. She left Mr. Elvis behind without so much as a goodbye, broke his heart into a million pieces." She sighed, shaking her head. "It was a terrible thing to see."

Clementine's heart sank. "I had no idea," she whispered, her voice trembling.

Ida patted her hand reassuringly. "Mr. Elvis was never the same after that. He threw himself into his work, closed himself off from the world. But then you came along, Miss Clementine. I've seen the way he looks at you, the way he smiles when you're around. You've brought light back into his life."

Clementine felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes. "But what about Katie? She's beautiful, and wealthy, and she knows this life. How can I compete with that?"

"Miss Clementine, you listen to me. You are a smart, strong, and kind-hearted young woman. You have brought so much good to this ranch, and to the people who live and work here. Don't you ever doubt your worth."

Clementine nodded, blinking back her tears.

The housekeeper smiled warmly. "Now, why don't you go and check on Mr. Elvis? I'm sure he could use some company."

Taking a deep breath, Clementine squared her shoulders and made her way back upstairs. She waled down the hall to Elvis' room, her heart pounding in her chest. She raised her hand to knock on the door, but hesitated when she heard voices coming from inside.

"... and do you remember that night by the creek? The stars were so bright, and you held me so close. I felt like I could stay in your arms forever." Katie's voice was soft, tinged with nostalgia.

“Sure do.” Elvis’ deep chuckle reverberated through Clementine’s bones.

"Hold still," Katie's voice was soft, almost tender. "This poultice will help with the pain."

There was a moment of silence, followed by a sharp intake of breath from Elvis. "Ouch! Careful, Katie."

"Don't be such a baby," Katie chided, her tone playful. "You've had worse."

Then, a sigh.

"Katie, we can't keep doing this. I told you things are different now." Elvis sounded tired, his voice strained.

"Are they? When I'm with you, it feels just like old times. We sure had something special, didn’t we, Elvis? Don't you miss it?"

Clementine's stomach churned as she imagined Katie sitting close to him, her hands gentle on his skin. She knew she shouldn't be eavesdropping, but she couldn't seem to make herself move.

There was a long pause, and then Elvis spoke, his words hesitant. "I... I don't know, Katie. It's been so long. I’m not the same man I was before."

Katie's voice turned pleading. "But you could be. We could be happy again, Elvis. Just like we used to. If you just give me a chance—"

Another pause, heavy with unspoken words. "I can't make any promises, Katie. But... I won't deny that being with you brings back a lot of memories. Good ones."

Clementine's heart raced, her palms sweating as she listened to their exchange. Did Elvis still have feelings for Katie? Was she just a temporary distraction, a way to forget his past heartbreak?

“Why, Elvis? Why can’t you make any promises? Is it... because of her?” Katie asked, Katie asked, a hint of bitterness creeping into her voice. "The city girl who's come to play at being a rancher?"

"Don't do that, Katie."

Katie scoffed, the sound sharp and brittle. "Oh, Elvis. Can't you see? She doesn't belong here. She's not one of us. Sooner or later, she'll realize that and go running back to her fancy city life. And where will that leave you?" She got up, dusting herself off. "Sometimes, you're a damned fool, Elvis Presley."

Clementine backed away from the door, her mind reeling. She couldn't bear to hear any more, couldn't face the possibility that Elvis might choose Katie over her. With a choked sob, she turned and fled down the stairs, out into the yard where she could breathe, where she could think.

Shaking her head, Clementine decided to focus on the one thing she could control—her work. She made her way downstairs and out to the barn, determined to throw herself into the daily chores and put all thoughts of Elvis and Katie out of her mind.

As she mucked out the stalls and fed the horses, Clementine found herself falling into a comfortable rhythm. The physical labor was soothing, allowing her to clear her head and focus on the task at hand. Before she knew it, she was hours deep into her tasks, the sun was setting, and it was time to head home.

She was so absorbed in her thoughts that she didn't hear the sound of hoofbeats approaching the front yard until a familiar voice called out, "Clemmie!"

Clementine turned her head, her eyes widening in disbelief. There, sitting in a stagecoach, was Bonnie, her fiery red curls blowing in the breeze and her green eyes sparkling with mischief in the golden hour.

"Bonnie!" Clementine exclaimed, dropping her pitchfork and rushing forward to embrace her friend. "What are you doing here? I thought you weren't arriving for another week!"

Bonnie laughed, hugging Clementine tightly. "I couldn't wait that long to see you, darling. I hopped on the first train out of New York and made my way here as fast as I could."

Clementine stepped back, taking in the sight of her best friend. Bonnie looked radiant, her cheeks flushed from the ride and her smile as wide as the sky. "I can't believe you're really here," Clementine said, shaking her head in amazement.

Bonnie grinned, linking her arm through Clementine's. "Well, believe it, darling. I'm here, and I'm ready for an adventure. Now, show me around this ranch of yours. I want to see everything!"

Clementine laughed, feeling lighter than she had in weeks. With Bonnie by her side, everything seemed brighter, more manageable. She led her friend around the ranch, introducing her to the horses and the cattle, showing her the sprawling fields and the cozy bunkhouse.

As they walked, Clementine found herself pouring out her heart to Bonnie, telling her all about Elvis and Katie and the confusion she felt. Bonnie listened intently, her brow furrowed in concentration.

"It sounds to me like you're in love with this Elvis fellow," Bonnie said finally, her tone matter-of-fact.

Clementine sputtered, her cheeks turning crimson. "What? No! I mean, I care about him, of course, but love? That's ridiculous."

Bonnie raised an eyebrow. "Is it? Clemmie, I've known you since we were in pigtails. I've never seen you this worked up over a man before. And from what you've told me, it sounds like he feels the same way about you."

Clementine wilted. "But this Katie… She's beautiful, and accomplished, and she understands this life in a way I never will."

Bonnie took Clementine's hands in hers, her green eyes fierce and determined. "Now you listen to me. You're smart, and strong, and you have the biggest heart of anyone I know. If this Elvis character can't see that, then he's a fool."

“Thanks, Bon. You always know just what to say. What would I ever do without you?”

“Shrivel up and die of sadness and boredom, most likely,” her best friend laughed. “Now, let's go find some trouble to get into. I've been cooped up on that train for far too long."

Clementine laughed, feeling a rush of affection for her friend. "I think I know just the thing. How do you feel about a little horseback riding?"

Bonnie's eyes sparkled with excitement. "Lead the way, darling. I'm ready for anything."

As they made their way to the stables, Clementine spotted Red and Slim leaning against the fence, deep in conversation.

Red's eyes widened as he took in Bonnie's fiery red curls and sparkling green eyes.

Bonnie smiled, holding out her hand. "I’m Bonnie, Clementine's friend from New York."

Red took her hand, holding it a beat longer than necessary. "New York, huh? What brings a city girl like you out to our humble ranch?"

Bonnie laughed, her eyes sparkling. "Oh, you know. Adventure, excitement, the chance to see my best friend in the world."

Red grinned, leaning in closer. "Well, I can certainly promise you adventure and excitement, Miss Bonnie."

Slim rolled his eyes, elbowing Red in the ribs. "Ignore him, Miss Bonnie. He's all talk and no action."

Red chuckled, his cheeks flushing slightly. "I don't know about that, Miss Bonnie. I do my best to make all our guests feel welcome."

Bonnie raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corners of her mouth. "Is that so? Well, I guess I'll just have to see for myself."

As Bonnie and Red continued their flirtatious banter, Clementine felt her spirits lift. It was good to see her friend getting along so well with the ranch hands.

Suddenly, a shout rang out across the yard. "The fence is down! The cattle are escaping!"

Clementine's heart raced as she saw the herd of cattle stampeding through the broken fence. "We have to round them up!" she cried, running towards the stables.

Red and Slim were already saddling up their horses. "Miss Clementine, you take the north pasture," Red called out. "Slim and I will head south. Rusty, Billy, head east. We'll meet up at the old oak tree." He looked back at Bonnie. “You alright to stay here a spell?”

Bonnie nodded as Clementine swung herself up into the saddle, her face set with determination.

They rode hard, the wind whipping through their hair as they chased down the errant cattle. It was a minor crisis, but it forced everyone to work together to resolve the issue.

Finally, after several hours of hard work, they managed to herd the last of the cattle back into the pasture.

Exhausted but triumphant, Clementine, Red, and the rest of the ranch hands made their way back to the house for a very late dinner, where Bonnie was helping prepare a bountiful spread.

As they entered the dining room, Clementine was surprised to see Katie sitting at the dining table.

"Katie!" Ida exclaimed, setting down a steaming pot of stew. "I'm so glad you could join us for dinner."

Katie smiled, her flaxen hair gleaming in the candlelight. "Thank you for asking me to stay, Miss Ida. It's always a pleasure to share a meal with friends."

Clementine's stomach churned at the sight of Katie, memories of the woman’s earlier conversation with Elvis still fresh in her mind. She took a seat at the table, trying to ignore the way Katie's eyes seemed to be searching around the room. For him.

Bonnie leaned over to Clementine, her voice low. "So that's the famous Katie Hawthorne? I can see why she's got Elvis all twisted up."

Clementine sighed, nodding. "Yeah, they were going to get married until she up and left one day. They’ve got... history."

Bonnie raised an eyebrow, her expression skeptical. "I see."

As they sat down to eat, Clementine found herself seated across from Katie. The blonde gave her a polite smile, but there was a guardedness in her eyes that made Clementine uneasy.

"Clementine, I hear you had quite the adventure today," Katie said, her voice cool but not unkind. "I'm glad to see you're settling into ranch life so well."

Clementine forced a smile, determined to be civil. "Thank you, Katie. This year’s been a learning curve, but I'm enjoying the challenge."

Katie nodded, taking a sip of her water. "It's not an easy life, but it can be a rewarding one. If you're cut out for it."

Clementine bristled at the implication, but before she could respond, the door opened and Elvis stepped into the room. He was moving slowly, his face still pale, but there was a determined set to his jaw.

"Elvis!" Ida exclaimed, her face lighting up. "It's so good to see you up and about!"

"Elvis, darling, you're here," Katie purred, patting the seat beside her. "Come, sit with me. We have so much to catch up on."

Elvis hesitated, his gaze flickering to Clementine before he nodded and took the offered seat. Clementine felt a stab of jealousy, her appetite suddenly deserting her.

"Evening, everyone. Sorry I'm late."

He made his way to the table, his steps measured and careful. As he neared Katie, she reached out and touched his arm, a look of concern on her face. "Elvis, are you sure you should be out of bed? You're still recovering."

Elvis patted her hand. "I'm fine, Katie. Just a little sore, is all. Nothing a good meal and some good company can't fix."

He settled into the chair between Katie and Clementine, his leg brushing against Clem’s under the table. She felt a flush creep up her neck at the contact, her skin tingling where they touched. She forced herself to focus on her plate, not wanting to give away the effect he had on her.

As the meal progressed, Bonnie regaled them all with tales of her adventures in New York, her quick wit and easy charm winning over even the most taciturn of the ranch hands. Red, in particular, seemed taken with her, his eyes rarely straying from her face.

Even so, Clementine couldn’t focus on anything but the strange situation she found herself in. Even as she laughed and chatted with the others, Clementine could feel the weight of Katie's presence, assessing and calculating. It made her feel off-balance, unsure of her place in this world that Katie knew so well. Her stomach roiled.

She couldn't help but notice the easy familiarity between Elvis and Katie, the way they laughed and reminisced about old times. It was clear they shared a deep bond, a history that Clementine could never hope to match.

"Do you remember old Samson's face when he caught us sneaking out of the barn that night?" Katie giggled, her hand resting on Elvis's arm.

Elvis chuckled, shaking his head. "I thought he was gonna skin us alive. But you sweet-talked him out of it, as usual."

"What can I say? I've always been good at getting what I want." Katie's eyes sparkled with mischief, her lips curving into a seductive smile.

Clementine's heart sank as she watched their interaction, doubt gnawing at her insides. Did Elvis still harbor feelings for Katie? Was he considering rekindling their romance?

Bonnie, ever observant, leaned across the table to whisper in Clementine's ear. "Don't let her get to you, Clemmie. She's just trying to stake her claim."

Then, never one to let an awkward moment pass, Bonnie eased back into her chair with a mischievous grin. "So, Elvis, I hear you’re quite the foreman," she said, her voice carrying across the table. "Tell me, what's a handsome cowboy like you doing running a ranch all by your lonesome?"

Elvis choked on his stew, his eyes widening in surprise. The other ranch hands snickered, their faces red with barely suppressed laughter. “Nice to meet you too, Bonnie.”

“No, really! Do pray tell,”Bonnie grinned.

"Well, I... uh..." Elvis cleared his throat, clearly taken aback by Bonnie's forwardness. "I'm not running it alone, y’know. I have a whole team of hardworking folks helping me out."

Bonnie nodded, her expression serious. "Of course, of course. But still, it must get lonely out here sometimes. Don't you ever wish for a little companionship?" She wiggled her eyebrows.

Clementine kicked Bonnie under the table, her face flushing with embarrassment. But Bonnie just laughed, clearly enjoying the effect she was having on the usually unflappable Elvis.

As the dinner wore on, Bonnie kept up a steady stream of witty repartee, peppering Elvis with questions about life on the ranch and his plans for the future. The other ranch hands could barely contain their laughter, choking on their food as Bonnie's New York City directness clashed with Elvis's stoic cowboy demeanor.

At some point during the night, while everyone was in their sixth fit of laughter in a row, Bonnie cleared her throat and made an announcement. "I've been thinking," she said, her eyes twinkling with excitement. "I'd like to stay at the ranch for a while longer, if that's alright with you, Clementine."

Red, who had been hanging on Bonnie's every word throughout the meal, sat up straighter in his chair. "That's great news, Miss Bonnie," he said, his voice eager. "I'd be more’n happy to show you around the ranch, if you'd like."

Bonnie smiled, her cheeks dimpling. "I'd like that very much, Red. Thank you."

Clementine nodded, forcing a smile. Her best friend in the world was always welcome. But even as everyone laughed around her, she felt melancholy. Doubts lingered, gnawing at her heart. Somewhere between the second and third course, she felt lightheaded. She stepped out onto the porch, taking a deep breath of the cool night air. The evening's events swirled through her mind—Bonnie's arrival, the weird tension at dinner, sitting next to Elvis and nearly jumping out of her skin when his knee touched hers...

"Clem?" a familiar voice called out softly from behind her.

She turned to see him standing in the doorway, his handsome face illuminated by the warm glow of the lanterns.

He came to me, she thought, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"Y’know, I wasn't sure if you'd be joining us tonight, Elvis, what with you still on the mend and all."

He stepped out onto the porch, his spurs jingling with each movement. "Aw shucks, you know me. I never could resist a party. 'Specially not with that firecracker friend of yours lightin' things up."

Clementine laughed. "Bonnie sure is something, isn't she? Hope she didn't put you too much on the spot in there."

Elvis leaned against the railing beside her, a slow grin spreading across his face. "Nothin' I can't handle. Your girl's got a tongue quicker'n a rattler's strike, but she means well. Kinda reminds me of someone else I know." He shot her a wink.

"Wonder who that could be," Clementine teased, bumping his shoulder playfully with her own. She took a moment to really look at him, warmth blooming in her chest. The past weeks had been hard on him, but he was finally starting to look like his old self again—color in his cheeks, that familiar glint of mischief in his blue eyes.

"I'm real glad you're feeling better, Elvis. We were all so worried about you, you know."

He ducked his head, suddenly bashful. "Shucks, ain't no need for worryin'. Can't keep a stubborn ol' mule like me down for long."

"I have never met a mule half as stubborn as you, Elvis Presley," Clementine ribbed.

"You got me there," he conceded with a chuckle. Then his expression softened. "I never did thank ya proper, Clem. For takin' such good care of me when I was laid up. Ida told me how you were always there, changin' my bandages and makin' sure I took my medicine... I 'preciate it. More'n you know."

Clementine felt a sudden lump in her throat. "Of course, Elvis. There wasn't anywhere else I would've been. I couldn't have bared it if... if we'd lost you. Windy Creek just wouldn't be the same without you."

Elvis looked at her intently, something flickering in his gaze that made her heart skip. "That so?"

"It is," Clementine whispered, feeling pulled in by some invisible force between them.

Elvis reached out, tenderly brushing a stray curl behind her ear. His fingertips lingered on her cheek and Clementine's breath hitched. "Clem, I..."

Just then, the sound of raucous laughter erupted from inside the house, breaking the spell. Elvis dropped his hand and they both took an unconscious step back, the air suddenly thick with words unsaid.

Clementine cleared her throat, trying to calm the riot of butterflies in her stomach. "We should probably head back in soon. Wouldn't want Bonnie to commandeer the whole evening."

"Heaven forbid," Elvis agreed, the corner of his mouth quirking up.

But neither of them actually moved. Clementine and Elvis lingered on the porch for a moment longer, not quite ready to rejoin the clamor inside. The night air was cool and sweet, the distant sounds of crickets and lowing cattle a soothing backdrop to their companionable silence.

Elvis fished in his pocket for a moment before withdrawing a battered harmonica. At Clementine's curious look, he just grinned and brought it to his full lips, blowing a few soft, experimental notes.

"Huh, I didn't know you played," Clementine said, pleasantly surprised.

Elvis shrugged, his eyes twinkling in the low light. "There's a lot you don't know about me, darlin'. I'm a man of many talents."

"Is that so?" Clementine arched a brow, fighting back a smile. "And here I thought I had you all figured out. The strong, silent type with a heart of gold."

"Aw shucks, you'll make me blush," Elvis teased. He leaned back against the porch rail, cradling the harmonica loosely in his hands. "Nah, I ain't nothin' special. Just a cowpoke who likes a good tune now and then."

"I don't believe that for a second," Clementine said softly. "I think you're a lot more than you let on, Elvis Presley."

He looked at her then, something raw and unguarded in his gaze. "Maybe so. But I could say the same about you. When you first blew into town with your fancy city clothes and your high-falutin' ideas, I reckoned you wouldn't last a month out here."

Clementine huffed out a laugh. "Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence."

"Lemme finish," Elvis chided gently. "What I'm tryin' to say is you surprised me, Clem. You're tougher than you look. Stronger. You've taken to this life like you were born to it, and you ain't afraid to get your hands dirty or speak your mind. It's a rare thing, and I admire it. Admire... you."

Clementine felt a flush creep up her neck at his words, her heart suddenly racing. "I... I don't know what to say. Thank you, Elvis. That means a lot, coming from you."

He ducked his head, suddenly bashful. "Ain't nothin' but the truth. Windy Creek's lucky to have you."

"I think I'm the lucky one," Clementine said softly. "I never knew how much I needed this place, these people, until I found myself here. It's like... like I finally found where I belong." She laughed self-consciously. "Listen to me, getting all sentimental. Bonnie would never let me hear the end of it."

"Secret's safe with me," Elvis promised with a wink. "But I know what you mean. This ranch... it has a way of gettin' under your skin, makin' you feel like a part of somethin' bigger. It ain't always easy, but it's a good life. An honest one." He raised the harmonica to his lips again, blowing a few mournful notes that seemed to hang in the night air.

Clementine closed her eyes, letting the music wash over her. When it faded away, she opened them again to find Elvis watching her, an unreadable expression on his face. "That was beautiful," she said honestly. "Will you teach me to play like that?"

Elvis's face split into a delighted grin. "You want to learn? Well alright then, c'mere." He beckoned her closer until they were standing side by side, shoulders almost brushing. He handed her the harmonica, arranging her fingers on the holes. "Now, purse your lips like you're gonna whistle, and blow real gentle-like."

Clementine did as instructed, letting out a breathy, off-key squeak. She dissolved into laughter. "I sound like a dying cow!"

Elvis chuckled, shaking his head. "Nah, that was good for a first try. You just gotta adjust your embouchure a little, like this—"

“Embou-what?”

“Embouchure. What, you don’t speak Eye-talian?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s French.”

“Oh.” The two erupted into laughter, a deep belly ache that had them soon doubled over the porch railing and wiping tears from their eyes.

“Your mouth position, silly girl. Look at me, teachin’ a fancy New York City girl something!”

Clem playfully slapped him on the arm. “I am not fancy!” She bent her leg to show him her well-worn, mud-covered boot. “See?”

Elvis laughed and brought his own hands up to cup hers, guiding the harmonica back to her mouth. This close, she could feel the heat of him, could catch the faint scent of leather and soap and something uniquely Elvis. It made her head swim pleasantly.

Under his careful tutelage, Clementine managed to produce a passable chord. She beamed up at him, giddy with the small success. "I did it!"

"Sure did," Elvis praised, his eyes warm and proud. "Stick with me, kid, and you'll be a regular vir-tu-o-so in no time. Or... is that another word I gotta teach ya?”

“Ha ha. Very funny.”

They stayed like that for a while, huddled together in the pool of lantern light, trading the harmonica back and forth as Elvis taught her a simple melody. It was a rare moment of peace, a stolen pocket of time where the rest of the world and all its troubles fell away.

As the moon climbed higher in the star-strewn sky, Clementine finally straightened up with a sigh. "I suppose we really should head back in. Bonnie's liable to send out a search party if we stay out here much longer."

Elvis huffed out a laugh. "Lord have mercy. I don't think I'm ready for another interrogation quite yet." He hesitated for a beat, then reached out to take Clementine's hand in his. "Clem, I... I just wanted to say..."

But before he could finish the thought, the porch door banged open and Bonnie's vibrant red head poked out. "There you are! I was starting to think you two had run off together." Her green eyes sparkled with mischief as she took in their linked hands and close proximity.

Clementine felt a blush stain her cheeks and she stepped back self-consciously, dropping Elvis's hand. "Bonnie! We were just... Elvis was showing me how to play the harmonica."

"Uh huh," Bonnie teased, waggling her eyebrows suggestively. "Well, hell, don't let me interrupt. I just came to tell you that apparently Ida's famous peach pie is being served, and if you don't get in there soon, Slim's liable to eat the whole thing himself."

"We'll be right there," Clementine promised. Bonnie flashed them a knowing grin and a jaunty salute before disappearing back inside, leaving them alone once more.

Clementine turned back to Elvis, an apology on her lips, but he just shook his head with a rueful smile. "Never a dull moment with that one around, is there?"

"Welcome to my world," Clementine said dryly. "I love that girl to pieces, but subtlety's never been her strong suit."

"Seems to me she's just lookin' out for her best friend," Elvis mused. "Can't fault her for that. You're lucky to have someone who cares about you so much. Hell, we all care about you."

For a suspended moment, they just stared at each other, the air heavy with unspoken longing. Elvis's gaze dropped to her mouth, his thumbs sweeping over the delicate arch of her cheekbones. Clementine's lips parted on a shallow inhale, her body thrumming with anticipation.

But before either of them could close that final distance, a sudden crash sounded from inside the house, followed by a peal of laughter and Red's booming voice calling out an apology.

The spell was broken. Elvis released her and stepped back, clearing his throat roughly. "We should, uh... we should probably get in there. Before they tear the place down around Miss Ida's ears."

"Right," Clementine agreed, trying to calm the riot of her pulse. "We wouldn't want that."

Elvis held out his arm to her, a small, crooked smile on his lips. "Shall we, boss lady?"

As the evening wound down, Katie stood up, smoothing her skirts. "Well, I should be getting back to Big Sky. Early morning tomorrow." She turned to Elvis, a soft smile on her face. "Walk me out?"

Elvis hesitated, glancing at Clementine. But then he nodded, pushing back his chair. "Of course."

Clementine watched them go, her heart sinking. She knew it was foolish to read too much into a simple gesture of courtesy. But she couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted, that Katie's return had stirred up old feelings best left buried.

Bonnie, sensing her friend's distress, reached over to squeeze her hand. "Don't worry, Clemmie. He'll come around. He just needs time to sort through his feelings."

Clementine nodded, trying to take comfort in her friend's words. But the doubt lingered, a small, insistent voice in the back of her mind.

“Yeah, well, maybe by then I’ll already have moved on.”

Clementine sat at the card table, trying to focus on the game of poker in front of her. But her attention kept drifting to the table across the room, where Elvis and Katie sat huddled together, laughing and whispering like old friends.

She couldn't help but compare their easy intimacy to the tender moment she and Elvis had shared on the porch just a few nights ago. The way he had looked at her, the gentle brush of his fingers against her cheek... it had felt so real, so meaningful.

But now, watching him with Katie, Clementine couldn't help but wonder if she had been reading too much into it. If the connection she thought they shared was nothing more than wishful thinking on her part.

"Clemmie? It's your turn, darling." Bonnie's voice snapped her out of her reverie, and Clementine blinked, realizing she had been staring off into space.

"Oh, right. Sorry." She studied her cards, trying to remember what game they were even playing. Across from her, Red and Lyle exchanged knowing glances, their eyes flickering between her and the other table.

Clementine felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment and frustration. Was she really so transparent? Did everyone on the ranch know about her foolish, unrequited feelings for Elvis?

She was just about to make a halfhearted bet when the door to the bunkhouse swung open and Ida bustled in, a letter clutched in her hand.

"Miss Clementine, I'm so sorry to interrupt, but I completely forgot to give you this earlier. It arrived with the afternoon post." She held out the envelope, her face creased with a smile.

Clementine took the letter, recognizing Joseph's familiar handwriting. She had been corresponding with her old friend for weeks, sharing stories about life on the ranch and seeking his advice when things with Elvis got complicated. It had become a comforting routine, a way to stay connected to her old life while embracing her new one.

She opened the envelope, expecting to find another friendly, chatty letter full of news from home and words of encouragement. But as her eyes scanned the first few lines, Clementine felt her stomach drop.

"Oh no," she muttered under her breath. "Oh no, no, no. I’ve really made a mess now."

"Clemmie? What is it? What's wrong?" Bonnie leaned in close, her voice low and concerned.

Clementine looked up, her face pale. "It's Joseph. He's... he's coming to Windy Creek. Says he's booked a ticket and everything."

Bonnie's eyes widened. "Joseph? As in, your Joseph?"

Clementine nodded miserably. "I've been writing to him, just as a friend. I never thought he'd actually come out here. Oh, Bonnie, what am I going to do?"

Bonnie reached out, squeezing Clementine's hand. "Don't panic, Clemmie. We'll figure this out. It's not like you invited him, right?"

Clementine shook her head. "No, of course not. But... what if Elvis finds out? What if he thinks..." She trailed off, her gaze drifting back to the other table where Elvis and Katie sat, still deep in conversation.

Bonnie followed her gaze, her expression thoughtful. Even she had to admit it: "Clementine, honey, I don't think you have anything to worry about on that front. Elvis is clearly still hung up on Little Miss Perfect over there."

Clementine sighed, her heart sinking. Bonnie was right. Elvis had made his feelings for Katie abundantly clear. What right did she have to be upset about Joseph's visit when Elvis was practically fawning over his ex-fiancée right in front of her?

Still, the thought of her former beau showing up unannounced, stirring up old memories and complications... it was enough to make Clementine's head spin.

She took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing thoughts. "Okay," she said, more to herself than to Bonnie. "Okay. I can handle this. It's just a friendly visit from an old friend, right? No big deal."

Bonnie nodded, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Exactly. And who knows? Maybe a little competition is just what Mr. Stubborn over there needs to pull his head out of his rear and realize what he's got right in front of him."

Clementine couldn't help but laugh at that, some of the tension easing from her shoulders. Trust Bonnie to find the silver lining in even the most awkward of situations.

Across the room, Elvis glanced over at the sound of Clementine's laughter, his brow furrowing slightly. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss, that the letter Ida had delivered had upset Clementine in some way.

But before he could dwell on it further, Katie was leaning in close again, her hair brushing against his cheek as she whispered something in his ear. Elvis forced a smile, trying to focus on the conversation at hand, but Katie’s perfume smelled so good.

Taglist: @whositmcwhatsit @ellie-24 @arrolyn1114 @missmaywemeetagain @be-my-ally @vintageshanny @prompted-wordsmith @precious-little-scoundrel @peskybedtime @lookingforrainbows @austinbutlersgirl67@lala1267 @thatbanditqueen @dontcrydaddy @lovingdilfs @elvispresleygf @plasticfantasticl0ver @ab4eva @presleysweetheart @chasingwildflowers @elvispresleywife @uh-all-shook-up @xxquinnxx @edgeofrealitys-blog@velvetprvsley @woundmetender @avengen @richardslady121 @presleyhearted @kendralavon7 @18lkpeters@lookingforrainbows @elvisalltheway101 @sissylittlefeather @eliseinmemphis@tacozebra051 @thetaoofzoe @peskybedtime @shakerattlescroll @crash-and-cure @ccab @i-r-i-n-a-a @devilsflowerr@dirtyelvisfant4sy @elvislittleone @foreverdolly @getyourpresleyfix@gayforelvis @headfullofpresley @h0unds-of-h3ll @hipshakingkingcreole @p0lksaladannie @doll-elvis @tacozebra051 @richardslady121 @jaqueline19997 @myradiaz@livelaughelvis @deke-rivers-1957 @atleastpleasetelephone @sloppiest-of-jos

#elvis presley #elvis fanfiction #elvis #elvis fanfic #elvis fans #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presley fanfic #elvis presley fic #elvis fic #elvis x oc #elvis au #alternate universe #alternate universe fanfic #wild west fanfic

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pr0cyon-lotor · 11 months

Text

Something reawakened my Alien Stage obsession! Have some modern AU headcanons/brainrot™ :D

(The alien keepers are just their parents or something)

General rambles

Till is a god in the kitchen. Mizi can only bake b/c she has set instructions, but can tweak the recipe if she needs to. Sua can't cook/doesn't know how to. Ivan burned something and isn't allowed in it again. LUKA IS NOT ALLOWED IN THE FUCKING KITCHEN OH MY GOD DON'T LET HIM COOK THEY HAD TO CALL THE FIRE DEPARTMENT LAST TIME. Hyuna can't cook for shit w/o proper instructions. Her ass cannot improvise in the kitchen.

Sus and Ivan are siblings (twins if you will) and absolutely terrible to each other (like normal siblings). They could be sitting together and suddenly Sua kicks him off the couch and puts her feet up. Or Ivan throw something at the back of her head unprompted. They are literally the most chill people in the group, until they're in each other's arms length. Then, they might as well be wild cats fighting over a piece of fish

Mizi and Till are childhood friends and talk shit together

Till knows how to apply makeup (both on himself and others) b/c Mizi would test out things on him.

Almost everyone is a cat person. Except for Sua, who is neutral, and Mizi, who likes dogs more.

Mizisua rambles

Neither of them are the warm hands to the other's cold hands. They sleep with a lot of blankets and a heater on

Mizi doesn't know how to braid hair. Sua barely knows how to braid hair. They were so used to their parents/servants doing their hair for them that they don't know how to do anything fancy. But Sua did learn how to braid hair for Mizi.

Sua was/is a rich kid. And she's SUPER irresponsible with money when it comes to Mizi. "You want this dress? Sure. Don't look at the price tag, you liked it so you're getting it."

They're both clingy if the other has to leave for an extended period of time.

Mizi likes climbing up places and napping. And Sua got really good at hide and seek.

They don't have separate wardrobes b/c both of them stole each other's clothes so often they lost track what was originally theirs or the other's.

Ivantill rambles

Till is cold constantly. Ivan is a walking heater. My point is they hold hands and cuddle.

Ivan definitely turls a piece of his hair, while kicking his feet and giggling when he's calling Till. At this point Till is unfazed by it

Ivan calls Till "my star" "my universe" or any other space related petname. (l accidentally predicted that in an old post oops) Till refuses to call him any pet name b/c he'd die of embarrassment

They also steal each other's clothes, but they can tell who's is who's b/c they both have very distinct styles

Till fumbled the bag with Mizi so bad he accidentally fell into lvan's arms and I think that's a funny concept

Have we ever considered that Till might be just as cringe with lvan as he is with Mizi once he starts catching feelings. Like it's possible. Till can just be cringe with the people he likes. Probably not as bad with lvan, but even a fraction would make me happy.

Hyuluka rambles

Luka is shockingly needy and clingy. He would prefer to get dragged through the mud than let go of Hyuna. Hyuna finds it endearing and worrying

There's a lot of heels and dresses in their home. None of them are Hyuna's

Luka is the type that NEEDS TO LOOK GOOD AT THE HOSPITAL! What if the doctors thinks he's not hot enough 🥺 Hyuna has to drag him to the hospital b/c he's fixing his eyeliner. And no you can't just put a little bit of blush on, your bone is stabbing through your calf

Hyuna's love language is acts of service and food sharing. Luka's is being a little shit and physical touch

#mizisua #Ivantill #hyuka #hyuluka #alien stage #ivan alien stage #till alien stage #luka alien stage #hyuna alien stage #mizi alien stage #sua alien stage #headcanons anf rambles

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bluemantics · 2 months

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hii, do you have any fantasy fic recs?? (btw i loved midnight snacks don't exist in space!!)

OMG thank you so much!! sometimes i forget people actually read the stuff i post lmfao <3

Here are some fantasy fic recs!

1. Take my hand (we’ll dive into the sea) by noblegambit

Mermaid AU | T+ | 5.3K

A mer has four gifts for humanity.

The tear of a mermaid gifts strength. The scale of a mermaid gifts invulnerability. The kiss of a mermaid gifts breath underwater. The heart of a mermaid gifts long life. If one possess all four? No one knows, for no one has ever possessed the heart of a mermaid.

2. til we meet the dawn by angstinspace

Knight AU | T+ | 75K

Keith is a mage and Lance is a knight, and they've been best friends since childhood. For years, Keith has known that Lance carries a dark secret: that if he doesn't kiss his true love before he turns twenty, he'll die.

Now only three days remain before Lance's twentieth birthday, and Keith and Lance are sent on a dangerous quest to rescue Romelle––who Lance believes will be the one to break his curse. ... But what he doesn't know is that Keith is already hopelessly in love with him.

3. I have crossed the horizon to find you by somethingmorecreative

Mage/Familiar AU | M | 36K

onight, The Wicked Nightshade was filled with a vibrant crowd, rowdy, loud, and buzzing in excitement at what was to come.

The Bonding was tomorrow, and New Altea was ready for it.

Keith Kogane, on the other hand, was not.

4. you build your tower (but call me home) by parchmints

Curse AU | T+ | 63K

In the land of Arus, the youngest Nalquodian prince—Prince Leandro—is hidden away in a little castle that overlooks the kingdom; a countermeasure to protect him from the Galran assassins that have sworn to take his life.

And in the tallest tower of the castle, behind a grimy rose window and under a dusty sheet, is an enchanting gargoyle that the prince finds himself compelled to visit every day.

Almost as if by a spell...

5. a warlock and a djinni fall into a rift by bwyn

Urban Fantasy AU | G | 6.2K

“You planning on explaining what’s going on here?” Keith returns, thankfully now standing so that he’s blocking some of the sun in Lance’s eyes. “Or were you just going to leave again? Without warning? Without contact?”

Lance smiles as though the words aren't a punch to his gut. Really, he should’ve predicted this, but…

“Could you at least let me sit up? My head isn’t busting through dimensions, right?”

Keith’s lip curls, but he waves a finger tipped purple with ink, and Lance feels the chains slide free from his neck, arms and chest.

6. breathless by zxrysky

Mermaid AU | 6.3K | T+

"You shouldn't go out to the sea at night," their grandmother says. She's in a rocking chair, old and creaky, her withered body settled with a shawl around her shoulders, wrinkled fingers gripping the edges of the arm rest. "Don't risk it."

"Risk what?" Shiro asks, eyes wide. He's fourteen, just a young boy, on the cusp of maturity, arms wrapped around his younger brother as they sit before their grandmother.

His grandmother pauses for a while. "There is danger in the sea."

7. steal the air from my lungs by zxrysky

Siren AU | T+ | 10K

“Read the news,” his grandma told him with something sad in her eyes, and passed him the newspapers lying on the table. She lifted him on her lap and turned the page, flipped through the black and white words until it landed on a picture of the ocean, wide and blue, stretching out far into the horizon.

“Missing people at sea,” Lance read out dutifully, and his eyes grew big. “They don’t come back?” He asked in a small voice. He couldn’t imagine- he couldn’t imagine just leaving. He couldn’t imagine going missing. He thought of James, barely two, holding on to Lance’s hands as he toddled along the ground, and shuddered.

“They don't, baby. These missing people at sea, they don’t ever come back.” His grandma looked old and tired, and Lance abruptly thought of his granddad, lost at sea long before Lance came into the world, and all that was left was this huge house.

8. Siren's Call by wittyy_name

Siren AU | M | 21.6K

The once bloody war between man and siren has come to a tremulous truce once the siren prince had been captured. The people of Altea retreated, and mankind was once more free to roam the sea. Shackled and locked away within a mountain cavern, the prince watches, and he waits. Biding his time.

Keith has never truly fit in, no matter how much he’s tried. Ever since Shiro found him, wild and alone in the northern mountains, something has burned deep inside him, something dangerous and terrifying. A simmering need for something more. To protect those he loves. To tear apart those who hide behind falsities and carefully sculpted smiles. Those who hide behind laws of their own creation.

Two beasts, shackled and bound, each in their own way. Keys to each other’s freedom.

9. It Never Rains on Saturday by TheLegendOfChel

Demon AU | T+ | 22K

In the magical kingdom of Altea lies an ominous tower filled with monsters. Every day, adventurers battle through the tower’s levels in a never-ending quest to slay the Demon King who lives at the very top.

Lance, a talented archer, is one such adventurer. However, Lance doesn’t want to kill the Demon King.

Lance wants to marry him.

10. The Fallen and the Wandering by creeshtar

Gen Fantasy | T+ | 106K

Keith was born into a world of ice and darkness, with no sun to rise or stars to shine. In spite of humanity’s best efforts, the world is meeting a slow, but certain doom, which can only be stopped if the sun is found and replaced in the sky. Keith, meanwhile, is content to collect stars and eventually replace them in the sky, alongside a new partner that he can’t seem to help but gravitate towards--until a mysterious person with inhuman power goes on a warpath to find the sun for herself. Keith and his partner are unwittingly thrown into the race to find the sun first, only for Keith to discover, to his dismay, that it may be closer than he could’ve ever wanted.

I lovvvee fantasy aus! Thanks for the ask <3

#voltron #ask bluemantics #send asks!#lance mcclain #keith kogane #klance #vld #klance fic #lance voltron #klance fanfiction #keith vld #bluemantics recs fics #klance fic recs #fantasy klance

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tinytinyblogs · 8 months

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Make you mine

His only wish: to make you his.

(best friend to lover au, non-idol, lil angst) 2,1k words

💬@sta4 I'm so grateful you reached out with your request. While I apologize if the story didn't quite hit the mark, I hope you still found some moments of enjoyment in it. Your feedback is invaluable to me, and I'll strive to do better next time. My request box is wide open, so fire away with whatever creative ideas you have in mind!

Stray kids masterlist here

Tears traced salty paths down your cheeks, landing with a silent plop on the forgotten check you clutched in your hand. A wave of inexplicable stupidity washed over you. Hadn't they all warned you? Jisung, your ever-vocal best friend, had practically built a mountain of red flags out of his concerns. Yet, you, blinded by some deluded version of happily-ever-after, had stubbornly dug in, convinced your love story would defy the predictable cliches. You'd anticipated heartbreak, sure. In the past few months, caution had begun to gnaw at the edges of your naivety. But to see him, your so-called boyfriend, entangled with another, not a shred of remorse on his face – that was a dagger straight to the heart. Exhausted from the herculean effort of bottling up your tears, you collapsed onto the floor. Sobbing erupted, a dam finally giving way. The sound echoed through the silent apartment, drawing a swift response.

Through blurry eyes, you saw a familiar figure materialize - Jisung, hair askew in messy sleep-tousled waves, clad in his mismatched comfort uniform of ratty slippers, faded T-shirt, and those ridiculously comfy shorts he swore by. He skidded to a halt, catching his breath after the rushed trip from his place. He sank down in front of you, knees brushing yours. Your teary gaze took in the sight of him, a beacon of comfort in the storm. "I told you," he said, voice thick with barely contained anger, "I told you he was bad news." The words weren't harsh, but they carried the weight of countless unheeded warnings, each one a stitch in the tapestry of your heartache. The sting in your eyes mirrored the chill clinging to your skin, a double-edged blade of betrayal and January wind. Every step leading to this moment had been paved with Jisung's warnings, each one a cobblestone you'd stubbornly skipped over, convinced your love story could defy gravity.

Today, with the truth sprawled open like a discarded map, he'd pleaded again, a desperate chorus of 'Stay home, stay warm' battling the icy winds outside. 'Better a movie night with me than another heartbreak in the cold,' he'd said, his voice laced with the quiet ache of knowing, of seeing. His presence in your now tear-stained apartment was a balm, a flickering candle in the wreckage of your dreams. You didn't understand, the question a bitter whisper on your lips: why even bother looking beautiful for someone who couldn't see your worth? Through the veil of your tears, Jisung saw not a mess, but a person worthy of unwavering support. In his eyes, you shone brighter than any star, even in the storm cloud of your sadness. And now even Jisung ragged breaths, a testament to the sprint he'd made to your side, offered a strange comfort. Ignoring his own fatigue, Jisung sprinted to you, driven by a fierce desire to be your anchor in this storm.

His embrace wasn't meant to fix anything, but to offer comfort and unwavering support. "Should've punched him harder," he growled, anger searing through the concern in his eyes as he watched the tears carve silver tracks down your face. "The only thing worse than seeing you cry is seeing him make you cry." Your voice, choked with sobs, barely registered the accusation in his words, "I told you not to make a scene," it croaked out, an echo of the countless unheard pleas he'd offered. His reply, a mirror reflecting your own unspoken anxieties, hung heavy in the air, "And I never hear you, just like you never hear me." The happy love stories, spun from childhood fairytales, seemed cruelly distant now, mocking your naivete. How could you have so readily offered your heart to someone who didn't know its language, its whispers of hope and fears? The question, a hollow echo in your aching chest, remained unanswered, another tear slipping down your cheek, joining the silent chorus of regret.

Tears streamed down your face, mirroring the blurry rain outside your window. Each one felt like a choked sob escaping a silent funeral, each one carrying the weight of a shattered dream. You looked at Jisung, his own sigh a heavy counterpoint to your storm of grief. "I should've kept you close," he whispered, his voice husky with emotion. "Never let anyone else have a chance to make you cry like this." There was an undercurrent in his words, a tangle of unspoken feelings twisting and churning beneath the surface. You and Jisung – you were different. Two halves of a whole, tethered by an invisible thread that stretched back through childhood shared secrets and whispered worries. It was an unsettling comfort, like a melody stuck on repeat, both familiar and foreign at the same time. You were used to it, yet lately, the notes had begun to shift, the rhythm to quicken, and the fear of the unknown had started to gnaw at your heart.

Was this what loving your best friend felt like? This confusing tangle of emotions, the fear of losing and the yearning for something more? Your relationship with your boyfriend had felt like a desperate attempt to silence the questions swirling within, a way to deny the feelings blossoming towards Jisung. He'd seemed perfect, a distraction in a well-tailored suit, a way to escape the itch in your heart that only grew stronger with each passing day. Jisung's world shifted on its axis the moment you announced your new boyfriend. A storm, silent and potent, began to gather within him, even as he plastered a smile and showered you with congratulations. He convinced himself he was happy, truly happy, that seeing you find love was all that mattered. But the truth, like a riptide pulling him under, was far more complex. "I told you, you shouldn't trust him," his voice grew firmer, cutting through the haze of your tears.

"He used you, and you still clung to him until he showed his true colors." His words echoed the doubts you’d held close, the whispers of truth you'd tried to ignore. "And you told me to find someone, anyone, so I wouldn't be alone," he continued, his gaze locking onto yours, intensity crackling in the air. "But no one else makes me feel the way you do." Jisung's calloused hands, surprisingly gentle, cupped your face, his thumbs tracing the damp paths your tears had carved. His voice, husky with emotion, rumbled around you, "We're such a mess, Y/N. I don't know who's truly lost here. You, for being with someone who hurts you, or me, for burying these feelings so deep." The warmth of his touch sent shivers down your spine, blurring the lines between reality and fantasy. You ached to melt into his embrace, a familiar haven where you always felt protected, cherished.

"I don't know if I'm making this better or worse," he murmured, his breath tickling your skin. "Just stop crying for that jerk." His voice, tinged with frustration and concern, washed over you like a warm wave, carrying you away from the storm raging within. The clock ticking became a distant thrum, its rhythm lost in the hypnotic beat of your heart against his touch. Caught in the maelstrom of his unspoken emotions, you surrendered to the comfort his presence offered. Your tears slowed, replaced by a hesitant hope that flickered like a flame in the wind. Was this a fleeting reprieve, a stolen moment in the forbidden zone of what could never be, or could it be the spark that ignited a long-dormant ember? You found yourself leaning into his touch, savoring the way his calloused thumbs gently brushed away the remaining vestiges of your pain.

In the dimly lit room, your cheeks, flushed pink from the aftermath of tears, reflected the soft glow of the single lamp. As Jisung spoke, his gaze locked on yours, his own eyes shimmering with unshed tears. His voice, raw and vulnerable, spilled forth like a confession whispered in the dead of night. "I swear, Y/N," he began, his hand hesitantly reaching out to brush a stray strand of hair from your face. "There's nothing else I've ever wanted in my life. I've chased so many dreams, pushed myself towards countless goals, but..." He paused, the air thickening with unspoken words. You could see the turmoil playing out in his eyes, the battle between his heart's yearning and the reality that stood between you. His hand lingered near your cheek, the warmth of his touch sending shivers down your spine. You remembered countless moments like this, stolen glances across crowded rooms, shared laughter echoing in the moonlight, his unwavering presence a constant comfort.

In his dreams, he held you close, the memory of your happy laughter his lullaby. Even now, with the words teetering on his lips, he dreamt of a future where he could claim you as his own. "Remember when you asked me about my birthday wish, blowing out the candles on that golden cake? Or staring up at the endless starry sky on New Year's Eve, our voices a whisper against the silence? Every year, every breath, every prayer was for you, Y/N. All I've ever wanted... is to make you mine." His words hung heavy in the air, a declaration that cracked open the dam of his emotions. You saw the vulnerability beneath his strong facade, the raw yearning that mirrored your own. In that moment, the world narrowed to the two of you, the past and future forgotten, all that mattered the whispered truth that bound your hearts together. His voice, raw and laced with desperation, shattered the silence.

"Even when someone else holds your hand," he breathed, his eyes burning into yours, "some selfish part of me keeps finding its way back. You wonder why I invent excuses to stumble into your space, when my own is filled with distractions? It's because I need you, Y/N. I crave the air you breathe, the warmth of your presence." He moved closer, the space between you shrinking until it was nearly nonexistent. Your tears dried mid-fall, forgotten in the face of his raw confession. His words, heavy with unvoiced longing, hung between you, a tangible web of emotions threatening to pull you both under. The air crackled with unspoken desires, the boundaries between friend and something more blurring with each passing moment. His confession, a tidal wave crashing against your carefully constructed walls, left you breathless, adrift in a sea of unspoken possibilities.

In that space of vulnerability, amidst the tears and confessions, a new question arose, burning bright in the depths of your gaze. Was this a fleeting moment of vulnerability, a whispered truth destined to remain in the shadows, or could it be the spark that ignited a future neither of you dared to dream of? The answer, like the path forward, remained shrouded in uncertainty, yet the intensity of his need, the naked honesty in his eyes, offered a sliver of hope, a promise that in that moment, at least, you weren't alone. In the hushed twilight, the world faded away as Jisung's words washed over you. "Let's forget about him," he murmured, his thumb gently skimming away the last traces of your tears. His warmth enveloped you as he pulled you close, your face finding refuge in the safe harbor of his chest. His heartbeat thudded against your cheek, a rhythmic lullaby urging you to surrender to the comfort he offered.

"You don't know how beautiful you are? You light up the whole world when you smile. Forget him, just look at me." The world narrowed to just this – the steady beat of his heart, the soft scent of his skin, the whispered promise in his voice. Everything else, the hurt, the confusion, the doubts – all lost in the intoxicating haze of his confession. "Forget it, and be mine," he pleaded, his voice husky with yearning. You knew, with a certainty that defied logic, that this was where you belonged. Your hand reached up, hesitantly at first, then with a growing urgency, finding its home on his back, returning the embrace. Jisung's arms open, a portal to a world bathed in love's warmth. No need to hesitate, no need to deny. His haven awaits, a whisper of 'forever' in his eyes. In his embrace, fear fades, joy ignites. He's your home, your haven, woven from starlight and trust. Step in, where laughter dances and every beat of your heart finds its rhythm in his. "I'm your Jisung," you whispered, your voice muffled against his shirt, yet each word echoing in the silence with the weight of a thousand unspoken promises. "I'm yours."

©Tinytinyblogs

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dreamyzhou · 4 months

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31st Alternate Universe by Elinor

To: @sanaxo-o who accompanied me since I opened this account, @from-izzy who sees the worth in me, and finally @quaissants who i can talk to almost about anything and the rest of @deoboyznet who I just realized helped me find joy in writing again. Seeing you all thrive makes me want to soar along with you.

"31st Alternate Universe" is an upcoming non-idol AU series filled with fluff and angsts for the members of TBZ. Below are the fic ideas for each member. Let me know in my ask box of you want a tag for one of them!

Lee Sangyeon: It was another day in the year of 2085. When your barista coworker crush Sangyeon was framed to diffuse a deadly gas in the train you took to go home, nobody was alive as the train stopped at Station 11. Yet, surveillance camera showed a girl and Sangyeon leaving the train.

Bae Jacob: A comet was approaching. People were panicking here and there, performing their own chaos. So did Jacob by trying to find a safe bunker or anywhere to survive with you. Jacob found the train to the last bunker 15 minutes prior to the predicted time of impact… but it only lets 1 more person to go in.

Lee Hyunjae: When Eric said he will sit in Chair 16 in Chemistry, he knew you were about to come early to pull it before he gets to sit. And when you did, you realized it was a set up. "Lemme guess, you're trying to get onto my pants, so some friend set you up to pull my chair?" It's the way, you said "not exactly" with a tomato face that made him think you could be different.

Kim Younghoon: You didn't like small dogs, but when a poodle with a tagged collar named Bori slept in front of your gate cold and lost, you took her in and let her sleep with you. After missing posters were spread around the neighborhood, you thought the poodle was ready to go home. Not until she barked to her own owner, Younghoon, and bit him. He then suggested to visit Bori everyday to your house until Bori goes home, but now that she did, why did Younghoon felt like he was more at home with you than Bori was?

Lee Juyeon: You and Juyeon had to make a couple dance project. In your head, you asked the leader of your crew to set him up with you. In his head, the moment you choreographed suggestive moves, confirmed your feelings for him since he usually could tell when a girl had a crush on him. However, something about the way you tried to earn his trust and love was different. None of the girls who liked him even knew he loved dancing. It scared him a little… but excited him enough that he stayed to know more.

Moon Kevin: Kevin loved being an artist. What he hates is not being able to be one for a living. One day, you came up to him in front of an ice cream truck. You told him you know his works and you recognize the meaning. On the other hand, Kevin was too stunned to remember to ask for your phone number. As soon as her got a chance to exhibit his art, he submitted his artworks so that only you can get the hints.

Ji Changmin: Sci-Fi AU where humans are no longer the dominant species anymore. As clans of humans hide in futuristic domes that disguises as gigantic rocks, humans who reached adult age have to prove their worth by searching for food. You were just doing so by trying to find spices and animals. What you didn't know is you took another clan's food by mistake. . and the only one from that clan who would help you escape was a guy named Changmin.

Choi Chanhee: Both of your parents are enemies. Your mother is a scientist who ditched her family for a theory, his mother is a mathemathician who is distant with her own family for her math theory to prove your mom's invalid. As you go to the same school, both of you gain each of your mother's loves in exchange that you both fight in an uneccesary academic battle. One day, you both realize that you didn't want any of this, and the only way to heal your wounds is to love each other.

Ju Haknyeon: Haknyeon and you were childhood friends, but Haknyeon befriended people who peer-pressured him into not treating girls right, and sadly it included you. One day, you cried at the way he treated you, but Haknyeon didn't know why hurting you hurt him more than it should.

Kim Sunwoo: You didn't know the spinning vision you see every day is a symptom of a life-threatening disease. So when there was a mail from the hospital to your house, Sunwoo opened it first and put it in the trash. That's how 15 minutes later, he got down on one knee.

Sohn Eric: Eric was frustrated when he felt like he wasn't talented enough to make you, his crush, impressed. But what he didn't know is that you listen to a soundcloud account with @/youngjae_sohn as their username.

All will be released before July (Not a promise, just in case I can't keep it)

Toodles,

Ellie

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jeanbie · 1 year

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WAYS TO SAY I LOVE YOU #3 ★ masterlist.

pairing: armin x reader

genre: fake dating au, modern au | wc: 1.5k

⏤ Imagine the first time they say I love you. Imagine them bursting forth in the middle of a laugh, childish in their enthusiasm but shocking enough to silence all sound.

There are times where Armin looks back on his life and regrets it all.

Times when he cheated on tests, times when he overreacted in an argument with his friends. Times when he had pushed his grandfather further and further away from him, and times when he stupidly, stupidly fell in love with his childhood friend.

Although at the time, it was something that even he couldn't have even predicted. To be frank, Armin can’t quite remember the exact moment when he came down to the conclusion that he was in love. Love. He had never expected to fall in love so soon, let alone with you.

Love- something that is enormous and unavoidable. Something that makes up a whole relationship, something that leaves butterflies swarming in your stomach, something that leaves you with a warm sensation pooling out into a smile every time they walk into a room you’re already in. His parents had been in love, once. The thought of him falling in love, though…it terrified him.

But, it had happened. So unpredictably and unexpectedly that Armin didn’t know what had hit him until it was all too late, and at entirely the wrong time. His handful of regrets surrounding you started to pile up, reaching high for the sky, all from the moment you first stepped into his life. The moment you asked if you could sit by him during lunch, to the moment you kissed his knee better when he fell off the swing at the park. Armin knows for certain this time that the moment where things started to go wrong was the moment- the exact hour, minute, second- that you had uttered those words that haunt him: “I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend.”

Originally, he had refused. To jeopardise a friendship like that…he couldn't risk losing you to it. But, noticing the way your eyes seemed to beg without words, and the way you meant what you said about him being the only one good enough to pretend with, the only one you want to pretend with. The boy doesn’t know what came over him but all that matters was that he said yes, without ever really doubting it again.

Until today.

A bundle of blankets surrounded the lovers as you sit, comfortably, in the lap of your ‘boyfriend’. A cheek snug against your temple, you shift slightly to angle yourself perfectly towards the television at the front of the room. Across sits Eren and his girlfriend of three years and Jean and his girlfriend of two months. Both couples watch cautiously from the corners of their eyes as Armin raises both arms to let you settle between his legs, a perplexed look upon his features, a crimson heat on his cheeks.

“You’re so uncomfortable,” you huff, finally setting with your body sideways between him. As he raises a brow to argue, you add: “you’re too squishy that everywhere I move to, I’m too comfortable that it makes me uncomfortable.”

He sighs, “you’re so picky. Sit somewhere else then-”

“Why would I want to sit anywhere else?” you respond. “When I’ve got my boyfriend as my body pillow?”

A small, almost smug, smile appears on Armin’s lips as you settle once again. “That’s true. Sorry, Eren…anime body pillows are so 2013-”

“That was one time!” the friend argues, and Armin is partly distracted whilst you settle between his legs, a hand gingerly placed on his leg as you push yourself up, rubbing all the wrong places, hair in his mouth, feet touching underneath the blanket.

“Guys,” Jean proposes, “we should get some snacks for the movie. Pizza, anybody?”

A chorus of cheers erupts in the room as the boy rises to a stand, followed by his lover who mutters something about the menu on the counter. Then, Eren’s girlfriend rises from the couch to rush after Jean- “please get pineapple pizza!” “who the FUCK eats pineapple on pizza?”, followed by Eren standing up and yelling, “me!”-. as if by coincidence, the room begins to empty until it is only you and Armin, alone, in the living room. You barely register the fact, still trying to get comfortable.

“God damn, have you got the TV remote wedged down your pants?” you joke, and Armin whines, holding your hips as you rise and move to a less compromising position.

“Stop moving and it might go away!” he pesters. “It’s embarrassing for me, too, you know.”

“I’m sure,” you sigh. “It’s poking me, Armin-”

Armin can’t help but laugh and taunt- “Just like good old times.”

Eren’s girlfriend and the man himself peek their heads around the kitchen doorframe, watching as you scoff and turn in his lap. She squeezes Eren’s arm with anticipation when you almost straddle Armin’s lap and his hands, as if on instinct, come to hold your thighs, a grin on his face, his eyes bright and wide.

“You did not just say that,” you seethe, jokingly of course, and he knows this. It's a show. The grin only widens and he pouts, pawing your thighs with his hands.

“I think I did, babe,” he answers quietly. For a split second, a shocked look masks your features and Armin has minimal time for it to give him a kick. Rather quickly, he finds himself laughing as your lips upturn to a wide-mouthed grin, a baffled yet amused scoff leaving where your voice should. He pauses, although he can’t move anyways, in his movements as you turn in his lap, crotch over his thighs, grasping at his hands which extend over his head as he attempts to move away.

“You’re such an asshole,” you mutter, and Armin lets out a large laugh, releasing his hands from your fists and quickly, and tactfully, embraces you with his arms, grinning up at you. To be honest, he hasn’t actually realised the raunchiness of your position on his thigh, but, even if he had noticed, he wouldn’t be the first to complain.

“You love it,” he reminds sweetly.

“No, I don’t.”

“Sure you do!”

“Nope.”

“Come on, don’t lie. It’s just us here.”

“Armin,” you murmur, “the guys are in the other room…”

He hums thoughtfully, “they can’t hear us.” But he totally knows Eren and his girlfriend are watching from the kitchen doorframe. To them, this only looks like an ordinary scene between the two of you- play fighting isn’t limited to couples and trust me, Eren has seen this happen plenty of times before. What’s new about it? Upon thinking of that, the boy beneath you begins to panic internally, wondering if at any point of the night they have caught on. It’s not like they didn’t already doubt your relationship, anyways…it was rather sudden, and nobody expected it to actually happen.

Thinking quick, Armin sighs and looks back up at you, his thumbs smoothing crescent moons in your lower back, and a quiet hum slips from his throat.

“I love you,” he says. No, admits- no, declares.

The silence that follows is painful. But, Armin doesn’t mind; the way your lips part in pure shock and the way your cheeks burn to a sangria shade makes it somehow worth it, and after that, he can’t stop the bubble of laughter that leaves his lips: “didn’t you hear me? I love you. I love you!”

“Hey,” you manage out, squirming as his fingers run across your skin in a tickling motion. “Yeah, hey! Stop! C-cut it out!”

“I love you, I love you, I love you-”

“I love you too!” you breathe, gasping for air until he stops, promptly falling still: “I love you too.”

It’s later, now.

Roughly 2 hours after Eren announces that he has a “food baby” that needs tending to, Armin thought that was a good time to leave with his hand in yours, tackling the December breeze as it bites at your skin. The journey home is short and painless- only with a few sentences of him nagging you for not wearing something warmer. Eventually, though, the snow thaws and your feet arrive at the three steps up to your front porch, Armin’s hand lingering on your lower back as you turn to face him: “tonight went perfectly.”

Then, he nods, “right?”

“We had them fooled,” you grin, over the moon. “Honestly, thanks so much. You’re saving my life here.”

He is? “I am?”

You nod, “of course.” Even though a silence falls, you sigh and glance up at him, “what you’re doing for me…it’s a lot to ask. I’m really thankful, Armin. You’re an amazing friend.”

He winces, almost. “Anytime. Anything for you,” he replies.

Bringing you into a hug was easy. Saying goodbye with a simple kiss on the cheek was easy, too.

But watching you leave with his heart in his throat, knowing that nothing will ever be the same again, was something Armin had little ease in doing.

#armin arlert #armin arlert x reader #armin x reader #armin imagine #armin fanfic #armin angst #attack on titan armin #attack on titan #aot #aot x reader #snk #mine #armin au #fake dating au #ittojean

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towriteloveontheirarms · 1 year

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"Prologue"- The kissing booth AU

part 1 of 4 || series masterlist || next part

pairing: modern!Aegon II Targaryen x Reader, side modern!Aemond Targaryen x modern!Floris Baratheon

summary: You hadn´t been kissed at the ripe age of sixteen years old, that is no secret to Aemond. After all you grew up together, however throughout all your childhoods and even know you have a different secret to keep. One that could possibly destroy your longest friendship.

word count: 1,4k

warnings: language, mentions of character death and grief, mentions of fighting

note: Here it is my darlings! The prologue for my first ever series. Let me know what you think.❤️

You are born in Kings landing memorial hospital. Same day, same time as Aemond Targaryen, your best friend. Your mother and Alicent Hightower were bffs ever since before people even knew the term. Thus you grew up basically as twins. You were inseparable. For as long as you can remember Aemond and you loved to dance. If there was one thing at your young age of six years, it was that dance machine at the arcade, which would turn out to be your favourite place to dance. That year Aemond got a scooter for Christmas, which you tried riding. Big emphasis on tried, seeing as you almost immediately broke your leg. Aemond signed the cast and started something that would soon turn into a tradition between the two of you. He bought ice cream as an apology.

After your leg is healed you go to the pool with Aemond and his older brother Aegon, who against a protection fee consisting of ice cream, chases of some bullies for you.

Not too long after that you fond yourself in the hospital again. This time it is Aemond who sits on the shitty, small bed. Crying as he tries to process the fact that he would soon lose sight in his left eye. The sight in that eye had been gradually getting worse for a while. It is the hardest you had ever seen him cry.

At age eleven you watched Aegon in his first fight at school. He won.

Then your world as you knew it got shaken up, as you ound out that your mom was sick. It was strange seeing her in the hospital for the first time. You try to stay strong for your father and your younger brother though and try to get used to seeing her there. To say it wasn´t easy is an understatement.

Getting into a fight with Aegon for beating up Aemond a while later brought some normality back. Especially as you made it up to Aegon by letting him fix your bike. He is so handy.

Afformentioned normality brought you to the realization that you really liked soccer. In fact you were really good at sports.

After you visit your mother around your fourteenth birthday and before you leave the building, your father pulls you aside for a talk. Your mothers condition had gotten worse and the doctors predicted she most probably wouldn´t have much time left. After getting those news even dancing with Aemond didn´t feel the same for a while after that, but he was there for you like no one else. You spent a lot of time in the hospital that year, just sitting with your mom and trying to create somewhat happy memories. You even tried to help her put some make up on, even though you weren´t of much help. You also held her hand for a long time and only cried when she was asleep. You didn´t want your tears to pull her down more than the medical procedures did already.

You also tried to score your first kiss with Jason Lannister. It´s safe to say it wasn´t exactly a love connection. If only for the fact that he sneezed on your face as you inched closer. So instead you watched Aegon getting really, really cute.

The same year you went as a pirate for Halloween. Aemond as the black swan, going all out to include the tutu and makeup and everything. It made you laugh the most you had in years.

Only to have the floor pulled from underneath your feet the next year, when you had to say goodbye to your mom. She had lasted a lot longer than the doctors had thought and that made you proud and happy. You had a lot to say to her. Sitting in the grass beside her grave for endless hours as you told her all about Aegon. Who you didn´t realize you had a crush on just yet.

Months later you watched Aegon ride his motorcycle for the first time. Only to then watch Aemond try to ride Aegons motorcycle. Ending in Aegon teaching Aemond a lesson for sitting on his motorcycle. A lesson consisting of pulling up Aemonds boxer briefs until he gave in and apologized. Only letting him go with the warning to never do that shit again.

Your sixteenth birthday Aemond and you start out by celebrating that he got his dream car. Only to learn not too long later the full extent of just how mean girls really can get.

Your next fail at a first kiss happens while playing seven minutes in heaven. You are alone with Cregan Stark and everything looks like it finally is playing out fine. Your Faces inch closer and you are about to celebrate that he, unlike Jason, hadn´t sneezed in your face yet, when you feel your foreheads bump together painfully. It was no big deal you, tried to tell yourself, but still it gnawed on you, that at the ripe age of sixteen, you still hadn´t been kissed or even been on a single date yet.

The pit in your stomach got bigger when you finally realized you had a crush on Aegon. As probably the last person in your life. Well, other than Aemond, who you hoped, would remain blissfully unaware of the fact until you got over your crush.

Which you did… mostly.

Savouring the last fleeting moments of summer at Aemonds pool. You are painfully aware of the passage of time. The end of summer and the start of the school year, but it´s moments like this that make you wish things could stay this way forever. Aemond sits on the pool lounger beside you. Lathered in sunscreen and sunglasses shielding his eyes from the mid-afternoon heat. The peace of the moment doesn´t last long though as school doesn´t want to wait until the end of summer to torture you.

“Student council expects an idea of our dance club this week, for the fund raiser. We need to come up with something. Something good. Fast.” You turn towards him. Lazily sitting up on the lounger you were lying on before. Aemond looks at you, opening his mouth to reply something when you are distracted by his brother walking in. It´s like the scene in one of those guilty pleasure romance movie. You push your sunglasses up to watch Aegon´s bare upper body glistens with sweat in the sun as he comes walking up the stairs to that lead to the area you and Aemond are chilling in. Shirt slung over his shoulder casually as his free hand runs through his silver hair. Everything feels like it was happening in slow motion.

“Hey, princess.” Aegon´s teasing as usual tone pulls you back to reality. He knows that you hate being called that.

“Hello, Aegon…” You shoot back in an equally teasing tone. You know he hates being called that.

“You, when did you get those boobs?” He points to your very well formed cleavage, that is hidden only by a skimpy two piece you decided to wear to tan.

“That must´ve been about when you were in Football camp, Asshat.” Aemonds interference is well meant, but not helpful at all. Prompting you to scoff at him.

“Aemond! Number two, please.” Number two of your friendship rules stated to `Never share our secrets with anyone else.´

Aegon laughs and shakes his head. “Mum and dad are out of town this weekend. Party starts at eight. No assholes.”

“Does that include you?” Aemond means to say it quietly, only for your ears, but somehow his brother hears. Prompting him to shove your friend in the pool.

You join in with Aegons laughter as he walks away.

“Gods, he´s such an ass.” Aemond grumbles, crawling out of the water, grabbing a towel to dry himself off. You however don´t see any of that. Instead your gaze is fixated on Aegons rear as he walks away.

“I know right…” You whisper distracted but appreciatively.

“Hey! Do I have to remind you of rule number nine again?” Rule number nine was Aemonds responsibility and it was a big one for him. `Relatives of your bestie are totally off limits.´

“What? No, come on! Ew” You huff at him.

“Yeah? You got a bit of drool, right there.” He motions to the corner of his mouth.

“Oh really?” You ask with a mischievous glint in your eyes. It is the only warning he gets, before you throw Aemond back into the water.

The rest of the afternoon the two of you spend pointlessly brainstorming ideas while tanning and drinking ice cold lemonade, homemade by Alicent, who had become much like a bonus mom to you by now. Until the sun starts to set and it is time for you to return home.

#aegon targaryen x reader #aegon ii #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii x reader #aegon x reader #modern hotd au #modern house of the dragon au #house of the dragon fic #hotd fic #hotd x reader #hotd #house of the dragon

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quixoticall · 8 months

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This Could Get Ugly Track 1: Before the Beginning

Summary: It's 1983 and The Downsides need another lead singer and you just happen to need a band--it's a perfect match. The only issue? You have to pretend to be in a relationship with your bandmate, Steve Harrington, but you can't help but be drawn to the band's broody guitar player.

pairing: s.h. x fem!reader, e.m. x fem!reader, j.b. x n.w.

warnings: It's the Daisy Jones and the Six!AU, Enemies to friends to lovers, Love triangles, sex, drugs, rock and roll, etc., fake relationships, bad parents all around, era-typical misogyny and sexism, mentions of reader's looks (as being very beautiful), partially interview format, no use of YN

AN: Hi, if you're a longtime TCGU reader, please read this note from me explaining this new format. If this is your first time coming across This fic, welcome! Please enjoy my attempt at a Daisy Jones and the Six!AU with some Fleetwood Mac-messiness thrown in.

MASTERLIST🎸

Prologue 🎤

WC: 8.6K

***

STEVE: Right, so I just start talking into this microphone thing?

INTERVIEWER: Yes, but you need to introduce yourself first.

STEVE: You know who I am, we’ve known each other for—ah, okay, okay sorry. I’m Steve. Harrington, obviously. Former lead singer and guitarist of The Downsides. So, uh, where do I start?

INTERVIEWER: The beginning—tell me about how you first got involved with music.

STEVE: Right, okay, I can do that. I grew up kinda lonely. My dad was this big real estate investor but we lived in Indiana of all places, so he was always traveling. I don’t think I remember him ever being home for more than a month straight growing up… and my mom was there but she wasn’t there, ya know? She drank a lot and spent a lot of time in bed, that sort of thing.

***

1962-1972, Los Angeles California

Your childhood is a lonely one but it’s also a boring and predictable one.

Born in sun-soaked LA to a movie director father and his much younger model wife, two people who didn’t know each other well enough to either love or hate the other. They maintained a similar distance in their marriage as the one they tried to uphold in their individual relationships with you, their child.

So, your infancy was spent in a rotation of different nanny’s arms with your parents’ presence only dotting the periphery of your life. Who could blame them, after all? Infants are so contrived and boring compared to the big, wide, world of art that was Los Angeles in the 1960s. Your parents were far too busy trying to cement their legacy in the art they created and inspired to spend too much time looking after you.

(Much later in life, you would find yourself wondering if your parents ever saw the irony in the fact that your art ended up eclipsing their entire existence in the end and their only legacy was that of being your parents.)

As a child, however, you spent little time thinking of legacy and instead spent your time trying to feel less lonely.

***

STEVE: When I was a kid I would wonder why my parents even had me. Sorry, that’s like a total bummer thing to say during an interview. But it’s true. And you said to tell the truth. I never felt wanted by them. Until I got famous, and even then… but that’s not new, a lot of kids grow up feeling lonely, right?

***

The employees who raised you were nice enough, but they saw you for what you were: a means to an end. A paycheck with big, sad, beautiful eyes that may beget sympathy, but they couldn’t get too close to. The children you came to meet at your elite California private school seemed palatable enough at first, but the more you interacted with them, the more you found yourself at a loss. It was like they spoke a secret language you did not know—a language of price tags, and ever-changing hierarchies and thinly-veiled insults. One that your mother spoke perfectly, but never bothered to pass down to you.

You end up turning to books instead. The home library your father kept up for appearances’ sakes became your favorite room in the house and your teenage growth spurts were fed by any and all novels you could get your hands on from historical biographies to soapy romances, you read them all. You loved them all, but you loved poetry the most— emotive and raw in ways you were unfamiliar with. You liked the way the syllables rolled gracefully into one another and how each word served a purpose—compact with meaning and so unlike the people around you who were so careless with their words.

As you began to age, and the meaningless mess of childhood shifted into the sharpness of adolescence, you began to write yourself. One day, somehow you had the idea of putting your poetry to music. If you could write songs good enough to be played on the radio then maybe you could earn people's adoration through your art like your parents had, you reasoned. Maybe you could even earn their adoration. You beg your parents for piano lessons, and they scoff at the thought. “But what’s the point of having one if no one can play it?” You ask, referencing the piano in the grand foyer.

“That piano is not meant to be played,” your mother explains, slowly, “it’s meant to be admired by our guests.”

She walks away from the conversation before you can even protest.

Instead of giving up, though, you went to the library and borrowed all the books you could on music and piano playing and slowly began to teach yourself. You were not very good, at first, and both your parents made a habit of reminding you whenever they were around to hear you practicing. Luckily, they were rarely around.

***

STEVE: My parents signed me up for every single activity and extra-curricular you can think of: karate, basketball, pottery. The one that really stuck though, was guitar lessons. Soon, that was the only thing I wanted to do it was something I was actually good at. Not something I had potential in, not something I was passable at. It was something I was good at. My dad did not like the idea of me going into music at first—he wanted me to take on a “manlier” hobby—but even he couldn’t deny that I was talented, and he sent me to this specialized music school in Indianapolis. That’s where I met Robin. That’s when I stopped feeling so alone.

ROBIN: Robin Buckley, brass, bass, and synth for The Downsides.

I met Steve when we were thirteen, I think, at this fancy music school in Indianapolis. I was there on scholarship. I’m not going to lie, he was obnoxious, but most thirteen-year-old boys are. Even then, though, there was something about him that made everyone want to be his friend. He was also really talented. He never had to work very hard to be good at something, but he worked hard anyway. I hated him at first, but he wore me down and we eventually became best friends.

***

1978

Your music became a good outlet for all your loneliness and anger and disappointment, but it was not a cure for any of those things. You craved friendship and commonality and to be liked beyond the surface.

One day, when you were towards the end of seventeen, you decided to go exploring. You had heard Emily Cooke whispering salaciously in the girls’ bathroom at school about sneaking into the Whiskey A Go-Go to see The Six playing and an idea began to blossom.

Your home was only a walking distance from the Strip, the aptly named piece of street that was lined with clubs and musical venues, so that day, after hearing Emily’s plan you decided to try your luck at the Whiskey. You loved music, after all, and you wanted to be good at it, like the musicians that played there. Plus, there were others that shared those interests and the was a chance that some of them would be more tolerable than Emily Cooke.

You waited in line, by yourself, donning an outfit that you hoped made you look older than you were in an organic, cool way. When you made it to the doorman, you smiled trying to look more confident than pleading. His eyes raked over your body once, then twice and you resist the urge to flinch away. You had known then that you were beautiful—mostly because it was the only thing your mother valued in you— but what you hadn’t known was how far just being beautiful could get you. The doorman had let you in the club, not even questioning when your voice wavered while you had told him you were older than you actually were.

***

ROBIN: Don’t tell anyone I told you this, but Steve was my first kiss.

INTERVIEWER: Uh, Robin?

ROBIN: Oh, right…. Well, whatever, Steve Harrington was my first kiss. He was also the first person I told that I liked girls. I knew from a really early age that I didn’t find men attractive but when Steve kissed me at our high school dance I had this immediate realization and I sorta burst out, “Steve, I like girls.” It was a really great moment of self-awareness for me—growing up as a girl, they always try to put you in this box of like feminity and being whatever men wanted you to be, including an object to be looked at or pawned over. I didn’t know how being gay fit into all that, until that moment.

I don’t think it was that great of a moment for Steve, though.

STEVE: She told you about that? Well, for the record, it wasn't that I wasn't happy for her, it's just when you're a teenage boy and if your first crush admits she's a lesbian moments after you kiss her for the first time, well, it does not do your ego any favors, does it?

***

The moment you walked through that door, your life became severed in two: the before and the after. You watched, from the fringe of the crowd, as Billy Dunne crooned soulfully, and the audience sang his own words back to him.

You briefly imagine yourself on the stage, being someone that people would actually want to come see, someone that people would listen to. Someone people would love.

***

STEVE: I always knew I wanted to be in music. It was the only thing that ever made sense. Wait, no, that’s not right… It’s the only thing that ever made life make sense. So, I started working at it, like seriously working it at, when I was 16. I bought as many records as I could, figured out what I liked, what I could do, and I practiced all the time. Like all the time. Robin did, too. I would play the guitar and sing, and she was insane on the trumpet and bass. I don’t think we ever sat down and had a conversation about whether we wanted to form a band or even what we wanted for ourselves in the future. We just always knew it was going to be the two of us, and we were going to be making music. Of course, you can’t have a band with only a guitar and a trumpet, so we had to start looking for more members.

***

1980

From that point on, your life had purpose.

You began to study everything about music—obsessively. You collected records, you played the piano until your fingers became cramped and sore or until your mother yelled at you to stop.

You filled notebook after notebook with lyrics, some good, many bad.

But you also kept your eyes on the tabloids and the gossip rags and the fashion magazines. To be a successful musician, you had to be good of course, but you also had to be well-liked. Growing up in the environment you did had given you a very unique perspective on this. Since infancy, you had seen hopeful artists-to-be approach your father for a chance, or ask your mother for advice. The most successful of them were not always the ones who had the best things to say, but those who said what they had to say in the best way.

You practiced giving fake interviews in front of your mirror and in the shower. You stayed on top of trends and bought the best-fitting clothes. And most importantly, you tried to associate yourself with all the right people.

By the time you turned 18, you were well-known, even beyond the Strip. Photos of you standing next to the bass player/drummer/guitarist/lead singer of whatever band might have been riding a momentary wave of popularity at the time began to appear in tabloid magazines.

Most of them were men. Most of them wanted something out of you. You became a master in the art of giving just enough for them to think they had a chance with you if it meant that you could learn from them or convince them to listen to one of your songs. But every time you would even mention the idea that you wrote music, you would come hit a wall of patronizing, feigned interest followed by a grab at your chest.

Then came Jason Carver. Lead singer of the Letterman’s, Jason Carver. You dated him for a few weeks, right after you had turned 18. He was 25 and just charming enough for you to overlook his frequent condescension. Plus, he had promised that he would teach you a few chords on the guitar.

One day, you had come over to his apartment and he was getting all worked up because the band’s label was on his ass about writing a song and he couldn’t quite get it right. He needed to write a love song, something introspective and sweet but Jason could only churn out party anthems and songs meant to be played in dive bars.

Eventually, after hearing him gripe for what seemed like an eternity, you sent him off to take a shower and in the meanwhile compiled all of his shreds of half-lines and began to work filling in the gaps. Forty minutes later, you had a solid chorus and first verse to present to him for a song you thought should have been called “All At Once”. You thought that this would’ve made him happy, after all, you had gotten him one step closer to a possible song. (And maybe, you had secretly hoped, in all of his gratitude he could be swayed to give you a writing credit on the song). Instead, he laughed at you like you were a child pretending to do an adult task and asked you to leave with a hasty promise that he would call you later that week. He never called. The hurt you felt was only a pin-prick. Six months later, you heard The Letterman’s on the radio: a new song by them called, “All At Once”. You tried to convince yourself for a moment that there would be no way that Jason could blatantly steal your song after having mocked you for even trying to write. But, boy, were you wrong. Those were, in fact, your lyrics, on the radio. Yes, the band had added another verse but, ultimately, your lyrics were all there. The same lyrics Jason had so easily dismissed six months prior.

That was when you realized if you were going to get ahead in the industry, you were going to have to play dirty, like Jason Carver.

***

ROBIN: We met Argyle in Chicago. Once we graduated high school Steve and I started working as subs for small bands in the Midwestern circuit. Yes, it was as grim as it sounds, but it paid the bills and helped us meet people. Argyle was the drummer of some Reggae band that needed a bass player for a few weeks when their bassist got arrested on possession charges. I subbed in and was immediately super impressed by his skills. People always underestimated Argyle, to this day, because of the whole vibe he gives off, you know? But he’s smart and adaptable. Anyway, when his bassist lost his case, the band broke up indefinitely and I tried my best to convince Argyle to join Steve and me. There were two of us, we’d never played an official gig, and we didn’t even have a name, but Argyle said yes. Next was Nancy. We held open auditions for a keyboardist once Argyle was onboard. After five passable auditions, Nancy Fucking Wheeler walks in in this long skirt and bows in her hair. She had a book of Debussy sheet music for God’s sake. I almost burst out laughing when I saw her because I thought she must have been lost but then, in true Nancy Wheeler fashion she blew us all away. Ugh, was that woman talented. And gorgeous. Steve’s jaw had to be crane-lifted off the floor, it was love at first sight.

STEVE: It was not. She’s exaggerating.

1980

Ironically, you met Murray Bauman at one of your parents’ parties.

You knew he was a music producer for Starcourt Records because he kept loudly boasting to his date about it. The same Starcourt Records that the Letterman’s were signed on to.

You waited until he was two gin martinis in and standing alone admiring your father’s latest art purchase before you approached.

“Hello,” you said, brandishing a dazzling smile, your whole body angled and ready to perform this familiar dance.

“Aren’t you the producer for the Letterman’s?”

He shot you a grin that borders on swarmy and said, “why yes, I am and you look like you’re out past your bedtime.”

You didn’t react to his statement and instead marched onwards, “I loved their latest song, ‘All At Once’ right? It’s so romantic.”

“Between you and me, I’m not sure how Carver popped that one out, he’s a bit of a meathead if you catch my drift.”

He didn’t wait to see your reaction before laughing at his own joke.

“Yeah, actually, I’m not surprised to hear that considering I dated him,” your eyes flashed in a way that you hoped came off as dangerous, “and that I wrote that song.”

He regarded you for a moment before breaking out in a laugh. When he saw your expression remained unchanged, he stepped back in assessment.

“Oh shit, you’re being serious.”

You only nodded grimly.

“Okay, well that’s a new one. Usually, girls come up claiming that one of those idiots impregnated them, not this.”

He regarded you again, searching for a trace of a lie. He sighed, “So let’s say that you did write the song, which, knowing what I know about those Neanderthals, I am willing to entertain the possibility of this being at least partially true, then what does that mean? You’re going to blackmail Starcourt? Do you want money?”

You gestured vaguely behind you, sure that he must have known who your parents were. “I don’t need money.”

“Then, what is it?”

“I write music. Obviously. I want to write for your label.”

A grin broke out across his face, “Oh, boy.” He started to laugh: a deep chuckle that floated up from his belly.

“You and every other Joe Schmoe in Hollywood, sweetie.”

“But not every other Joe Schmoe wrote a song for one of your most popular bands.”

Murray regarded you again, he gave you a look you’re all too familiar with. One that says he did not expect such a fight in such an unassuming package.

“Here’s the deal,” you start, taking his brief lapse to pounce, “all I want is for you to take my demo tape and listen to it, like actually listen to it. Do that and we never have to mention this again.”

“And if I say no to your little proposition?”

You smile at his question before offering a small piece of paper, “Then here’s the business card to my lawyer he’ll be reaching out.”

This, puzzlingly, makes the man burst out laughing once again.

“Let me get this straight, you just want me to listen to your tape? That’s the grand blackmailing scheme? No record deal, no music video?”

You shake your head in response, “No, I think my music speaks for itself. I just need to get it in front of the right person.”

Murray’s still chuckling to himself as he extends his hand out signaling for you to drop the tape you are now holding in his hands.

“Fine, but you are one shitty blackmailer.”

You were signed to Startcourt Records a month later.

***

STEVE: Once Nancy joined, we were a band, and so we needed a name. I suggested the Steve Harrington experience but the girls shot me down like, right away. We ended up fighting about names for like an hour. It was actually Argyle who ended up coming up with our name. The Downsides, he had said, since we were all so negative about everything. He had said this after Robin had said I was 'all hair and no brain'. Not the best of origin stories, I guess. But we liked it and that’s how we became The Downsides.

***

NANCY: Nancy Wheeler, former keyboardist for The Downsides.

I had been playing piano since I was eight, it was just one of those things my parents signed me up for to make me more well-rounded for college applications but I ended up loving it more than they had hoped.

I auditioned for the band on a whim, I was going to Indiana State at the time, getting my teaching degree but I loved playing the piano more than I would ever love being a teacher. To be honest, when I auditioned, I didn’t think they were going to take me, not even after I saw they had another girl in the band. Don’t get me wrong, I knew I had the talent for it, I just didn’t necessarily give off Rock and Roll vibes, but they accepted me anyway.

I had a feeling Steve liked me from the moment we met, I would be lying if I said I wasn’t attracted to him then. He’s Steve Harrington for God’s sake. Girls had posters of him up on their walls for the better part of the 80s. I just—I didn’t want people to think I got the spot because I was involved with the lead singer. I wanted people to know that I earned my place through talent. Steve was really disappointed when I turned him down, but he was always really respectful about it.

That didn’t mean he stopped being interested or that I didn’t feel his eyes on me during every rehearsal in the summer of ‘81.

1981

Of course, you knew that when you had been signed to Starcourt Records it wasn’t completely because of your talent.

You had started to wonder, however, if Starcourt had given you a shot because they didn't want to risk litigation or maybe because those record execs had seen your name floating around in a magazine or, more importantly, your picture.

The more you thought about it, the more insecure about your place you had felt, like an imposter among others who had earned their spots. But, after one week of rubbing shoulders with the musicians over at Starcourt, you realized that to be able to make it, you were going to have to ooze confidence, even if that confidence was fake.

***

NANCY: We started playing gigs together around the Midwest. In the beginning, we mostly played covers but eventually, we started writing our own music. I’m not a great songwriter and, to be frank, neither is Steve, so a lot of the stuff we were coming up with was pretty simple but it worked for us. We went from playing weddings to actually getting gigs that paid money. I mean it was barely enough to cover gas to get there but it was something. I guess, for the sake of transparency, there is one more thing I have to talk about while we’re talking about this time in the band’s life.

Steve and I spent a lot of time writing music together. It was great, being able to get close. I thought we were becoming friends. He was still a bit hung up, though and one night, when we were up late writing at his tiny apartment, he kissed me. And I kissed him back.

The next day, I told him that that couldn’t happen again. I gave him my reasons and he respected that but still, I could tell he was crushed. I think that between the kiss and us having this talk, he had begun to hope that something would happen between us.

I think that’s what made me and Jonathan hurt him so much more.

1982

You didn’t necessarily like Murray when you first began to work with him but you did trust him. In the professional capacity at least. He never tried anything with you, which you appreciated although that bar was abysmally low.

You hadn’t known what to expect on your first day in the studio but you had a feeling that as far as the music was considered, you were in decent hands.

Boy, were you fucking wrong.

The moment you had stepped into the studio, Murray had handed you a stack of music, all unfamiliar and definitely nothing you had written.

“What’s this?” You had asked, eyes crinkling in confusion.

“A few contenders for an EP. The team over at marketing came up with some branding concepts and this is what we landed on.”

He then pulled out a thick folder overflowing with pictures of what you assumed the studio had wanted to mold you into. It was all bubblegum and teased hair and not at all what you had envisioned.

“Wait, Murray, I don’t understand. I have a brand, one that I've spent a lot of time curating along. This isn't me and this is definitely not my music. You said I could sing the music that I’ve written.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Murray hummed, condescendingly, “I never said that.”

“Well, if I can’t sing my music then I just won’t sing at all.” You were the full image of a petulant child, arms crossed and lips dangerously close to a pout.

Murray feigned concern for a moment before hunching down so that he was at eye level with you.

“You signed a contract,” he spoke slowly, “Starcourt owns you, and if you don’t like it, then talk to a judge.”

He turned away from you, leaning against the mixing console. He speaks again after what seems like an eternity.

“Listen, sweetheart, I’m not saying it’s ethical or right, but if you want to make it in music, you got to play the game. You can’t come in here, swinging your metaphorical dick around, calling the shots when you haven’t proven you can rake in the dough.

“Sure, you’ve got talent, but who doesn’t? Right now, there’s a line of girls around the block who can sing and write and are probably better at following directions, waiting to take your spot.

"Plus, I read the songs you sent over, you have some good lines but there's not a single song worth attaching Starcourt's name to. Take this as an opportunity to learn, to be better, to actually work for something for the first time in your life. You have nothing right now, so nothing is below you, not even this pop dribble they're giving you to sing.

"I’m not saying it’s always gonna be this way, but you have to prove to them that you can play before they take you seriously, and then if you got what it takes, you can start writing your own music. Hell, if you make them enough money, they’ll let you play the fucking didgeridoo and go out in a nun’s habit… well, maybe not the habit, but the point stands. So, can we stop acting like the spoiled princess we are for just one afternoon and get to rehearsing?”

You snatched the book of songs from his outstretched hand and with a smile on your face, tore it down the middle before stomping off.

It had taken five days of Murray, along with various other executives at Starcourt, pounding on your door at the Chateau Mormont—the hotel that was your permanent residence since you had turned 18— before you had even considered setting foot in Starcourt again.

All it took was a gift basket full of Champagne and half a dozen threatening letters from their legal team.

***

NANCY: Jonathan came on as our second guitarist. I remember when he came to the audition he was this quiet, super shy kid who barely managed to make eye contact, but once he had a guitar in his hands, he had this way of coming alive. He wasn’t a showman like Steve, but he was electric when he played.

We—I never meant for things to turn out the way they did but with Jonathan, it wasn’t much of a choice. I know this sounds so cliche, but we were drawn to each other. I remember, during rehearsals, even before we really knew each other, he and I would lock eyes from across the room and I would know exactly what he was thinking.

Soon, we were sneaking around together. We were getting more and more serious, it was only a matter of time, honestly, before the others found out. Jonathan wanted to come clean early on, he could tell it was causing me so much stress, but I didn’t want to tell anyone else. Part of it, was Steve, of course, but also, what Jonathan and I had felt precious and personal and ours. I wanted to stay in this bubble we had built for ourselves.

Of course, it was Steve and Robin who eventually caught us, making out in Jonathan’s car after rehearsals one day.

To say that Steve took it hard is probably an understatement. He skipped rehearsal for five straight days and when he showed up he had this new song he had written, this ballad called, “Regret You”.

“If I never had you, then why can’t I forget you / I hate myself because I could never regret you.”

Yeah, that was an awkward one to rehearse but, to his credit, it was a great song. It was the song that got us noticed.

1982

You had spent months recording your first EP, a five-song collection the studio had decided to name “The Setlist”. It was meant to be a play on your groupie status, or at least that’s what some intern over in the marketing department had claimed, a little too proud of himself for your liking.

While you couldn't ignore the sense of accomplishment that bubbled below the surface, you mostly felt empty.

The whole thing made you think of your father, whom you hadn't spoken to in years but had a very staunch view on artistic integrity. He despised artists who 'carelessly churned out poor imitations of real art for money'. "To make art is as close as one can get to being god," he had explained to you once, with self-important tears in his eyes, "why would anyone sell that off? Art should mean something to the artist. Otherwise, they are a peddler of fake divinity."

Your father had never had to worry about money a day in his life.

That empty feeling was only exacerbated when, the Friday after you had officially finished recording, Murray had invited you to lunch with a particular proposition in mind.

“No, Murray, not gonna happen. Over my dead body and all that,” you spat from across the table.

“Listen, I don’t want to pull the contract card on you, but I will,” he warned with no real heat as he swirled his gin martini in one hand.

“Nice try,” you mirrored his pose, martini and all, “but the contract doesn't cover this, only original work. Not duets. You know that, I know that, so why don’t you try again and give me one good reason why I would even consider a duet with The Letterman’s.”

Murray gave you a look you had come to familiarize yourself with—one that was equal measures of pride and annoyance. It was the look he gave you whenever you bested him.

“How about the fact that they’re one of the hottest acts right now and being on a track with them would guarantee you a spot on the charts which is a great place to be at any point in time, but especially when you’re about to release an EP?”

Your face dropped in the way it only did when you knew Murray was right about something you didn’t want him to be right about. A look he had been starting to familiarize himself with.

"Fine, I’ll do it, but I want to spend as little time as possible with Jason. He’s a pompous ass.” “No disagreements there, sweetheart.”

The day you were scheduled to record with Jason and the rest of his band, he was an hour late. You hadn’t doubted for a moment he had done this on purpose.

When he finally had shown, he pretended not to know you, a game you had quickly caught on to, and made sure to respond with, “It’s so nice to meet you, Jackson” after he made a show of introducing himself to you which made the rest of his band and Murray guffaw.

Jason narrowed his eyes at you, his voice struggling to stay level, and said, “Watch it. We’re the ones doing you a favor here, remember?”

“I did you one first,” you responded, your eyes meeting his gaze, “remember?”

It had taken 20 minutes for his bandmates to calm him down, but eventually, the two of you got into the booth.

Your only priority had been to do your best job in as few takes as possible because you did not know how much longer you could tolerate being in Jason’s presence.

In the end, after a two-hour session, Murray had sent you both home, either happy with the finished product or at his wit’s end with the tension. Either way, three weeks later you had a duet with The Letterman’s called “It Was You” and just as Murray had predicted, it was quick to climb the charts.

You were getting noticed.

***

NANCY: Not long after Steve wrote “Regret You” we got noticed by a scout from Starcourt Records. I think at first we thought it was some sort of scheme, but it was legit. They had us record a few demos and in something like six months, they moved us to a house in Culver City.

The whole thing had felt like some sort of fever dream. I had to quit school and tell my parents. They didn’t even know I was in a band. Or seeing anybody. Needless to say, they didn’t take any of it well. When we got to LA, we did more test recordings and they even had us playing some shows at a few clubs on the strip.

Like I said: total fever dream.

But, when you’re under the thumb of a label like that, there are certain stipulations. One of the first things they told us was that they wanted to make our sound more modern and pop. We kinda

had an alternative, experimental sound back then. They said synth was going to be the new thing so they wanted Robin to learn how to play the synthesizer which meant that on certain songs, Jonathan would have to take over for bass. Also, they wanted Steve to be more of a frontman and less of a guitar player. Steve could always work a crowd, and they wanted to use that, especially with this new sound they had envisioned for us. All of this meant we needed another guitar player and, believe it or not, the label already knew who that was going to be. Eddie Munson.

***

EDDIE: Okay, here we go.

I’m Eddie Munson, lead guitar for The Downsides.

I grew up trailer trash in some town that no one’s ever heard of. My mom died when I was eight and my dad was in and out of jail pretty much my entire life--well, until those royalty checks started rolling in, but I'm getting ahead of myself.

People always use the dead mom/jailbird dad thing to either turn me into a sob story or villainize me, so I generally tend to avoid talking about it but since it's you, I'll say this: the thing I remember most about my mother is her absence and there is not a single redeeming thing about ole' Munson Sr. but I don't think they're responsible for any of the ways I've fucked up over the years. Nah, kid, that was all me.

Let’s get to the good stuff, shall we?

At the tender age of ten, I was gifted an old beat-up guitar by my uncle. Clearly, something he had picked up at the local Goodwill to try and keep me occupied and out of trouble. The neighbors hated us after. They hated us, even more, when it turned out that I could actually play.

When I was 18, Uncle Wayne got the idea that I was ready to commit to a life of indentured servitude over at the factory and that did not sit well with me, at all. I wanted to be a musician. But, instead of talking to him about it, you know, like a rational person? I just ran.

I sold my van and got a one-way ticket to LA. The metal scene was starting to pop up on the strip and music—metal—was the only thing I was good at, so I thought, ‘what the hell!’ and booked it. I slummed it for a few months and then, through some stroke of luck, I heard about a band that was auditioning for a new guitar player since their last one got hitched and quit. The Metal Gods smiled down on me the day of the audition because that same afternoon they called me back and told me they wanted me on as lead guitar.

1982

“It Was You”, your duet with The Letterman’s peaked at number 6 on Billboard’s Top 100 in October of 1982.

Suddenly, everyone wanted you to be featured in their songs. Your EP did well enough, but it didn’t even crack the top 30. That didn’t keep you from being the hot new thing on the scene and a

huge part of that was your reputation.

Of course, people knew who you were because of your groupie days, and you unintentionally built a reputation for being romantically involved with different musicians. So, when you broke out on the scene with a romantic duet, people started talking, and the tabloids began to spin stories about you and Jason being romantically linked which only caused a buzz for the song. You, of course, hated this and vehemently denied being involved with Jason to anyone who would listen. Jason, meanwhile, played it coy with the press, only fueling the rumors and your rage.

“Listen, I hate the guy as much as you do, sweetheart, but you got to respect the strategy,” Murray had said after hearing you gripe about one particularly salacious headline.

Before the year was through, you had been featured in five other duets. All with male artists. All resulting in more and more outlandish dating rumors. And all enjoying a lengthy stay on the top of the charts.

Starcourt had begun to push you to take it a step further and Brenner had asked for Murray to arrange outings between you and whatever male artist you were collaborating with. The meetings—you refused to call them dates—were always somewhere that was strategically public, somewhere where there was always at least one paparazzi with their cameras locked and ready. The pictures they would take would always make it to at least one gossip magazine, which resulted in even more publicity for the song.

Your partners—you refused to call them dates—were, at their best, cordial and business-like, one or two of them even asked for your permission before holding your hand. At their worst, though, they were handsy, entitled, and rude. None of them ever tried to ask you out on a real date and you weren't sure what that said about you.

Soon you were racking up duets and notoriety in equal measures. Radio DJs would make jokes about you every time they would play one of your songs—and they played your songs a lot. Once, while you were walking around Rodeo, a woman stopped you in the middle of the street and told you, very brazenly, that you needed to stop sleeping around so much. Before you could even tell her off, though, she proceeded to gush about how much she loved your duet with The Letterman's.

It seemed like everyone seemed to see you in a similar light though: they thought you were some sort of despicable maneater but all they wanted was more of a reason to talk about how you were a despicable maneater.

Murray had his work cut out for him, “We just need to find a way for you to have this same buzz all the time.”

***

EDDIE: Things started to pick up with Corroded Coffin. We were playing shows pretty much every night. As I said, metal was on the rise and we were at the forefront. Eventually, record label bigwigs had no choice but to acknowledge that.

Some of them got smart and started poaching bands early on, like Starcourt. Corroded Coffin signed with them in ‘82. We thought we were hot shit after that.

There’s a certain lifestyle that goes along with that, though, you know? A reputation that you have to uphold.

I'm not trying to make excuses for myself here, trust me. I'm just...trying to explain myself.

People always love to talk shit. They'll call you all sorts of names before they see you as an actual person. Trust me, I would know. But, these interviews are an opportunity to set the record straight, to finally be seen as an actual person.

So, there I was, a nineteen-year-old kid from Bumfuck nowhere, finally making it big, finally feeling like I belonged somewhere--like for the first time I wasn't a freak whose mom died or some trailer trash high school dropout--of course, I was gonna get swept up in it all. Of course, I was going to start picking up the bad habits and doing drugs. There was no one there to tell me otherwise.

It started out as something to get us through the madness that was our schedule: between the live shows and the studio time, we needed uppers just to keep us on our feet. Then, obviously, you needed the downers so you could fucking relax because the uppers made you so tense.

I stopped enjoying the drugs pretty early on, but at that point quitting wasn't something that I was willing to put that much effort into.

1983

The first time someone asked for your autograph, you were at a show at Whiskey a Go Go. Murray, acting as a sort of manager, had set up a photo opp with Charles Riva, your latest duet partner. He hadn’t shown that night but you never walked away from a live show.

Two girls, not much younger than you, appeared behind you as you were ordering at the bar and tapped you on the shoulder.

“See, I told you it was her,” the shorter one, a strawberry blonde with severe bangs whispered excitedly to her friend, a taller brunette.

Before you could ask either of them exactly what they wanted, the strawberry blonde spoke again, “Can we have your autograph?”

You could only nod dumbly as they handed you a cocktail napkin and a pen. You tried to think of something meaningful to write, but in your shock, could only come up with “Best wishes, xoxo”. You didn’t even ask them their names. The best you could do was offer to buy them a drink, which they happily accepted.

You regretted the offer as soon as you registered how young they looked underneath all that makeup, an observation that made you unsettlingly sad. You were reminded of your first days on the Strip: lonely and young and wanting someone to notice you for the right reasons.

Your thoughts became too heavy to deal with at that particular moment and you abruptly excused yourself, leaving the two confused girls behind. A shame, you thought to yourself, in another life you might’ve all been friends, but no one really wants to be your friend these days. They just want to tell people they’re your friends. Walking away saves everyone the disappointment.

You needed a drink.

By the time the main act had taken the stage, your vision had started to haze at the edges as a result of the multiple drinks you had procured for yourself. You watched, half-interested as a band you’d never heard of, Corroded Coffin took the stage, your eyes tracing after each member, eyeing the things only a fellow musician would: the models of equipment they had, the way the band queued each other up.

You didn't know enough about metal yet to know whether you'd consider yourself a fan or not but even with the little familiarity you have, you can tell this band is good. Their playing is unpolished but overflowing with energy and the crowd is feeding into it, screaming the lyrics along with the lead singer.

All of it reminds you of your first show at the Strip—what seemed ages ago—and that memory summons a whole other thought entirely: the reason that you had gotten into music was to actually make music you liked, not to be a topic of discussion in a gossip magazine, getting no say in the music you created.

You don't even remember the last time you had even written a lyric.

You think to yourself that maybe you should wander backstage after the show, like you once did and talk to the band. Maybe you could pick their brains about songwriting. They clearly didn’t care about mass appeal if they were making metal music which means they were probably doing it for the art.

At the very least they probably had a decent stash of pills.

Either way, it would be worth it.

***

EDDIE: It was pretty much love, at first sight, the moment I saw her in the crowd that night at Whiskey a Go Go. I remember seeing her for the first time halfway through our set and it was like I went blind for a moment. I had completely forgotten what I was doing, I think I even missed a cue. After the show, I made a beeline for the bar where she was standing, trying to act as cool as I could but I was shitting it.

***

Once that band had wrapped up, you made your way to the dressing rooms. You maneuvered to the dressing rooms like you had dozens of times before, but the band wasn’t there.

You milled about for a bit, before growing bored and leaving wondering if maybe they had seen you coming and left.

***

EDDIE: I ordered a drink just as an excuse to get closer and it worked. She was even more beautiful up close and so, so kind. Told me she loved our show and even pointed out specific guitar solos of mine that she liked. She always had a way of making you feel special like that. Chrissy Fucking Cunningham. Even her name was perfect, not a syllable too few or too many.

I asked her for her number that night and we went on a date two days later, I could hardly keep it.

together having to wait two days to see her again. Then, after a few weeks, we were going steady, as the kids say. It was perfect. I never really had anyone to myself, you know? She was the first person that ever made me feel seen and cared about.

I remember one time; she was hanging out at my place while the band was in the studio. When I came back, she had done all my laundry. When I asked her why she had done that, she just said “I dunno, just because” then, all of a sudden there were tears streaming down my face. I couldn’t remember the last time someone had done something like that for me “just because".

My life had never been better--so of course, I fucked it up.

***

While you did not manage to meet Corroded Coffin, you couldn’t stop thinking about them, even days later. It was like seeing them play had awoken you from a daze you didn’t even know you had been in.

You spend a few days getting incredibly drunk by the pool after that. But no matter how much you drank or how many pretty dresses you bought yourself or how many pill you took, you could not shake the feeling.

A few mornings later, you had called Murray, “This stops now, Murray. No more duets or features or whatever else. I want to meet with Brenner. I want to do this my way.”

Murray, not used to being awake so early, gave a weak attempt at talking you down.

“No,” you urged on, “you said once I started making money, I could have a say. Well, now I’m making money and I’m tired of Starcourt just using me for that. So, I want something permanent and I want to write my own music, got it?”

“You have a contract,” Murray parroted back, half-heartedly.

“Yes, I do, and I plan to honor that contract but so help me God I will make life a living hell for you and for Brenner and any other exec that tries to get me to do another duet with Jason fucking Carver. In fact, I will find a way to lose Starcourt money if you don’t get me out of this. Am I clear?”

“Crystal.”

“Great, I’ll see you at lunch Murray.”

He signed, “See you then.”

***

EDDIE: My drug use was getting more out of hand. Chrissy hated it, but I couldn't bring myself to quit. Especially the things that I thought I needed to make it through the day.

Chrissy was a saint throughout the whole thing, until one night when she caught me in the dressing room of Whiskey with a girl who was not her. She walked away and I don’t really blame her. Out of all the regrets of my life—and trust me, kid—that was one of the biggest.

She moved out that day and refused to take my calls, moved in with one of her friends and I spent days just calling her, sending her flowers, the works.

She told me she wouldn’t budge unless I got clean. So, I checked myself into rehab. She was a good enough reason to quit. 45 days later, I checked out, clean as a motherfucking whistle.

Chrissy was gone though, I had no clue where she had disappeared to, but wherever she went, she didn’t want me to find her.

On top of that, my band was fucking pissed. I left the band for 45 days without telling anyone, right as we were finishing recording our debut album. Yeah, they weren’t happy. I was in something called “breach of contract” with the suits over at record label and they wanted to take me to court, and not the Star kind.

I definitely didn’t have lawsuit type of money back then, so it was in my best interest to work something out with Starcourt and jump back on fulfilling my contract. Problem was, Corroded Coffin didn’t want me back anymore, even though the guy they replaced me with wasn’t half as good as I was.

I thought that because my old band didn’t want me, that meant that I would be free of my contract. I was wrong. What actually happened was that my fate was then put into Starcourt’s hands and they could place me in whatever podunk production or band they wanted. They owned my ass.

And that’s how I ended up with The Downsides.

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