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namfinessed · 4 months

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good "friends" - jennie.kim.

genre: fluff, angst (4.3k) (w!w)

summary: you couldn't help that you were in love with your best friend in the whole world, you couldn't help that you could never be her's, but you could make sure that no one else got to be her's either.

note: this is the first time i'm writing a gay fic, and i put everything i felt towards my first girl crush when i discovered i was bi, into this and i hope everyone who is brave enough to love who they love, enjoy this and of course, happy pride month <3

masterlist

“but you know, we would all just die anyway,” your best friend in the whole world, jennie, puffs out a cloud of smoke as your head rises and falls on her chest, matching her heartbeat, matching her breathing.

you were talking about a potential apocalypse, another viral outbreak, anything that would end the world as it was.

she passes the melting butt to you and as you suck in a breath, you feel the wetness her mouth left on the paper and you smile, “i would be happy to die, if it was with you.”

jennie lets out a giggle so soft, you almost don’t catch it but then she sits up, resting on her elbows, seeing your relaxed face on her body and she smiles too, “you’re feeling romantic tonight,” a teasing tone whispers from her mouth and you almost sit up, grab her face and tell her,

i want everything romantic with you,

i want everything with you.

but you laugh instead, snuggling into the warmth of her skin, you breathe out “that’s what friends are for, miss jennie kim,” and she doesn’t say anything, just shakes her head at you with affection and falls back on the bed.

you pass the cigarette back to her and wonder if she feels you on it too.

“and the statistics should come by tomorrow, we’ll discuss it again and take the necessary measure,” your co-worker, andrew, droned on, in a too confident and too boring way, you stifle a laugh when you catch jennie’s eye from across the table.

she rolls her eyes at the presentation and you roll your eyes back, both of you smile as if there weren’t thirty other people in the conference room who could turn and see you being lost in each other.

when you were dismissed, you wait for jennie by the door but just as she reaches you with eager steps, “ms.kim! would you mind staying back for a minute?” andrew’s voice booms from the other end of the conference room and you catch the wince on jennie’s face.

“of course, sir,” she turns back to you with a pout and it takes everything in you to not melt into the floor, “go, save yourself, i’ll catch you later,” jennie whispers to you and then runs away but the warmth of her whisper stays in your ears and burns in your cheeks.

on your desk, you click through photos that you and jennie took over the years, she looked gorgeous in everything, you looked pretty when you were with her.

and this wasn’t your insecurity speaking, you were happy when you were with jennie, and that happiness gleamed on your face more than any highlighter in the world. it made you pretty, you felt your most beautiful whenever you were with her.

you look up as you see her skirt float behind her, and you swear you don’t mean to stare, you really don’t but you do, anyway. you always do.

it wasn’t your fault, she sat there, flipping her hair and tying it into a ponytail, leaning over her screen with the faintest red cheeks, and her eyes narrowed and widened at her screen comically with every single click of her finger.

you wouldn’t look away even if you could, you had no better use of your time.

“she’s really pretty,” you hear andrew behind you and instinctively, you turn to agree, to say ‘she is, and she will never be yours’ but he was your boss, and you were in an office, whether you liked it or not.

but then, you realize he wasn’t even talking to you, he was just behind you and he was talking to someone else, about jennie, about your best friend, jennie.

your cheeks grow hot, not in the way jennie made them sometimes (or always), but with a simmering anger that you felt all the way down to your clenching toes.

“do you think i should ask her out?” andrew chimes again and you clench your teeth next, setting your eyes on the changing pixels in front of you, “why not? i’m pretty sure she’s single,” another voice comes in and you jerk your chair back, standing up.

“she’s not,” you say, louder than you intended to and they look at you quizzically before their faces go up in uncomfortable smiles.

“were you listening in on us?” the other guy accuses you, and andrew shakes his head, pulling the guy back, “she’s just telling us about her friend, chill man.”

he was being reasonable. unlike you.

you suddenly felt small.

small and petty.

small and petty and angry.

small and petty and angry and-

“but is it true?” andrew’s voice breaks through again and you look up, head a bit foggy with the truck of emotions that crashed your insides.

“yes, she is not single.” you say with a dismissive bow and plop back down on your seat to click through your screen frantically.

you hear andrew hum behind you.

as if he didn’t believe you.

and a new rage brew in you.

but before you embarrass yourself again, his footsteps recede from you and you breathe out.

jennie was single.

you wish she wasn’t. but she was.

and if andrew found out, well he couldn’t do anything but he was your boss.

and this was an office, whether you liked it or not.

“and then she started pissing me off, why would i want her boyfriend? has she seen his face?” jennie snickers, sipping her tea beside you and you laugh with her, “god knows she deserves better but all the pretty girls go for the worst guys,” you shake your head with your eyes rolling back and she nods in agreement, sighing out.

the office break room was far removed from the rest of the office, everyone came here for privacy and some came to make calls, some came to make out, some came to exchange numbers, and some came to watch their crush sip tea beside them.

“it’s really sad, why can’t pretty girls be with each other?” she shrugs her shoulders and you feel light-headed at her words.

pretty girls.

with.

each other.

“yeah, why don’t pretty girls date each other?” you ask back and jennie frowns, not understanding your question, “i mean, that would be ideal but most are straight so,” she sighs again as if she wasn’t one of those pretty girls who was straight.

but you weren’t sure about that either.

last she told you, she wasn’t sure either.

you were sure about yourself.

but because she never was sure, you never felt it was right to hurry her or even ask her anything about it.

today could be your lucky day though.

“hey jennie, can i ask you something?” she looked up at you with raised eyebrows, eyes narrowing down at your nervous tone and your mouth suddenly felt as if someone stuffed a roll of cotton into it.

both of you were past the point of asking to ask questions, you were past that point of politeness and formalities which made your question completely out of character for the two of you.

“shoot,” she whispers, deciding to entertain you and you clear your throat, chugging the last of your tea and gripping the cup to give you strength.

but pretty girls just can’t be left alone.

“jennie!” andrew came bursting in the door with his usual charismatic flair and the color in your face drained.

you three should never be in the same place, not after you lied to him and never told jennie that you lied to him.

she turns around with a smile to greet him, one you notice is a bit tight, the professional smile she gives at work, and your chest unclenches. a sigh of relief stays in your throat.

a professional smile.

in a professional setting.

she doesn’t smile at them like she smiles at you, she doesn’t hug them like she hugs you and she doesn’t see them the way she sees you.

right?

but then, you hear her soft laugh.

and your brain burns with green-lit flames.

he was making her laugh.

in the one minute that you looked away, got lost in your thoughts, tried to convince yourself that she would never be with him, the way she is with you, he makes her laugh.

“ah, you’re here too, always by her side” he snickers and jennie nods, she beams at you and you feel the flames cool. you catch the look on his face, the distaste at your presence that never seemed to leave her side, the disgust at your very face but you stared back at him, with just as much distaste, just as much disgust.

then he turns back to jennie with this dazzling smile and your flames return.

“i wanted to show you something, actually” he speaks through his smile to her and completely ignores you.

you’re fine with that.

what you’re not fine with is, when andrew moves closer to her, in the already cramped room and places his phone between them, swipes his fingers in a way that they barely caress the back of her hand and jennie sees the images of his vacation with an interest you never thought she had.

the whole scene kills you.

him, next to her, you felt his warmth through her and you didn’t like it.

her, next to him, laughing and complimenting his pictures because she was nice like that, you felt her warmth too but it was divided, it was between him and you, and not just you. you didn’t like it.

you, next to both of them, gripping your cup so hard that you heard it crack in your hands and your eyes gathered hot tears.

they were the kind of tears that couldn’t come from sadness, they were the kind to only arise from the deepest, darkest depths of your anger, they were the kind to blur your vision so badly that you couldn’t even see your own two feet in front of you.

you waited.

one minute.

two minutes.

three minutes.

you watch the clock as it ticks by and each minute, your tears enter and exit your lash line.

“by the way, how’s your boyfriend, jennie? all well?” his voice breaks your tears and now, your face went down with shame, as if the situation wasn’t upsetting enough already.

jennie tilts her head in confusion, that’s when she catches his pointed gaze towards you.

“i don’t know what you’re talking about,” she smiles unsurely and you see her hands clench and unclench on the sides of her body.

“oh, y/n was just telling us that you weren’t single, so i assumed, i’m deeply sorry if that made you uncomfortable,” he pleads with puppy eyes that make you gag and jennie whips her head to you, the gears in her mind creak loudly.

you only shake your head in defeat.

“oh that,” jennie starts and you hold your breath, you wait for the humiliation to crash and burn into you, “she must’ve been talking about my last date, i forgot to tell her that it went badly, that’s on me,” she laughs breezily, bumping your shoulder and for that minute, you could’ve gone down on your knees and popped out a ring.

“ah, i see,” andrew looks delighted at her answer but he seems to have the shame not to show it too much.

but you can’t stand being around them anymore.

“excuse me,” you mutter and walk out of the room as quickly as your legs can carry you, the last thing you hear before leaving is, “hey, so there’s this event next week,” and you never wanted to hear the rest.

but that day jennie came back home and sat on the edge of your bed, “hey, so there’s this event next week,” and you had to hear the rest of it.

“and you’re positive that he said it’s okay for me to come?” you ask for the fifteenth time, “i’m actually going to hit you,” jennie glares at you but then her face melts into the broadest grin which reassures you, she grabs your hands and squeezes, somehow you feel it in your chest “it’s going to be fine, i’m never leaving your side,” and that makes you slip in deeper into the pit you’ve made for her love.

and you were alone in that pit, grabbing at the edges and pulling yourself up, but a flash of andrew’s face, a flash of his heat, has you falling all the way back in its depth.

and it’s cold in the pit, it’s scary in the pit, wondering if she will ever like you or if you will have to feel her warmth forever and never be able to call it your’s.

andrew’s mansion didn’t surprise you, you had heard of how he grew up with a wealthy family, how his family’s connections directly made him your boss even if you and jennie had more experience, he was everything you hated in a man and he was everything jennie tolerated in a man.

which only terrified you.

“now, where is he?” jennie tries to look over the crowd of well-dressed people who were dripping in jewels that blinded you, that only reminded you that jennie liked shiny things and you were as dull as dull could be.

then, you see him, catch his eye over twenty heads and he nods at you with a smirk, you almost vomit on your feet.

you could ignore him, never tell jennie that you found him, and whisk her away, eat the expensive food, drink the expensive drinks, and take her back to the home you made together, where you would lay on her chest and share a cigarette.

so, you turn her away and use her shoulders to guide her towards the other side of the room, away from the boy who tried to follow but failed.

“i think i saw him that way,” you mumble into her ears and her shoulders drop in relaxation under your palms, she lets you pull her away and you think ‘i won, this one time, i won.’

you drink the expensive drinks, several of them actually, some of them only out of spite, and jennie eyes you, completely amused at your determination to bleed him dry (even if the drinks didn’t make the softest dent in his wallet.)

you eat the expensive food, all while complaining about the lightning of the room, the tacky furniture, and the overall disappointing vibe of the people, and again, jennie listens, she smiles and laughs with you.

when you reach the garden beside his mansion, you have no words of hate left in you, you stare ahead at the lush green bushes and flowers that move softly in the night, your hand is clutched in jennie’s and nothing can make the scene better.

“you know, this is the most fun i’ve had all day,” you whisper with your head on her shoulders and back pressed against the side of andrew’s home and you feel safe, you feel calm, you feel loved.

“me too, but it would’ve been fun going to some club together too.”

together.

you wanted to tell her that the ‘together’ you were right now, wasn’t enough and the ‘together’ you wanted, was…well, maybe something she would never want.

“jennie,” you breathed out, not knowing what you would say next, if the words you wanted would ever come out, but then she looks at you, her head tilts, her hair falls in her eyes and she stares at you with earnest, with the kind of love that you would move mountains for.

every movement of her body that faced you, a face that breathed out air that you took in, hair that flowed with the wind, fingers that brushed the side of your body, toes that dug into her heels, all of it dug itself under your skin.

“yeah?” she hums, waiting for you, always so patient, always so sweet, always so close but so, so far.

and you almost say it, always let your words leave you and go to her, where they belonged.

“jennie!”

and your words crawl back to you.

the pit reopens under your feet as andrew’s shape breaks the night, he breaks the circle of calm that you and jennie floated in, and suddenly, its straight backs and fake cheery greetings.

but then.

he steps forward.

his arms go up.

she steps forward.

her arms go up.

and she is in his arms.

he is in hers.

he steals your warmth in a second.

he doesn’t even look at you.

and your fists curl so hard that your nails break the soft skin of your palm.

for anyone else, it’s just a hug, a friendly hug.

to you, it’s the end of the world.

they pull back with smiles.

if maybe you weren’t so livid about the hug, you would notice her smile, her professional smile.

but you were.

you were so livid that you could throw andrew into a thorny bush and never regret a thing, you were so livid that the open wound on your palm was the last thing on your mind, you were so livid that you could-

“..great party, we’re having so much fun, you organized it well,” jennie speaks and andrew laughs, waving his hand, “oh this is nothing, i’m glad you’re having a good time, did you find the address alright?” his hand returns to her shoulder and you watch as his fingers brush the skin beside the fabric of her top.

“yes, your message helped a lot,” she nods and smiles, and his hand falls from her shoulder. but the skin he touched, stares back at you, mocks you, laughs at you.

and tears gather in your eyes again.

they were texting.

were they flirting on text?

did he ask her how her day was?

did he ask her if she ate?

did he tell her a flower that he saw on his way to work, reminded him of her?

did she tell her day was good, it was better when she would see him?

did she say she ate well, did he?

did she giggle at her phone and send him a heart when she talked to him?

falling off a mountain would be easier to get up from.

getting run over on a highway would be softer than this.

death would be kinder than this for you.

then, she laughs at something he says.

and your fists curl again, more blood smears on your palms and your tears blur your vision.

the whole scene kills you.

you feel your body shutting down as their voices swim around you, as their laughs dig into your spine and drop you to your knees, as their combined warmth knocks you off your feet.

“let me show you this painting i have inside,” andrew says and you panic.

if they go inside together, that was it for you, that was all the confirmation you needed to know that whatever hope you held for you and jennie, you could burn it to the ground and sing it goodbye.

it was now or never.

you either tell jennie now or stay silent forever, bury your love so deep into your pit that no one could unearth it.

“i would love that,” jennie cheers and you watch her take his hand, you watch as she eyes him, but you still don’t notice her tight smile.

then, you see her hand dangle in the back, reaching for something…and you are the only one behind her.

it was now or never.

it was now or neve-

it was not something you thought you could do.

up until the minute your skin touched hers, you thought you never should.

but your hand grabbing her elbow, and gently pulling her back, makes you question everything you were ever capable of.

maybe you could always do this, but you just never did.

when jennie turns back, you take a deep breath and only shake your head.

you stare right at her as your head moves and she stares, for a second, a minute, an hour, no one knows.

but her eyes widen and her hand drops from andrew’s.

“i think i’ll be there in a minute,” she smiles at him and this time, you see the tightness in her smile.

he stares at you, sneers at you, and whips his head back to enter his home.

maybe you will be out of a job tomorrow.

but that didn’t matter.

jennie stepped closer to you, a bit unsure and hesitant, and all the courage you had drained out of you.

“what was that?” she asks, and you know what she’s talking about but your words are too scared now, they don’t want to come out and you’re their slave.

“i’m talking to you,” she says again, her voice wavering.

she waits.

but she isn’t patient anymore.

she sees your head facing the ground, your hair falling around your face and she wants to shake you to get an answer, she wants to hug you and she wants to yell at you.

“i-“

“i hate everything,” comes out from you, and jennie quiets, the night quiets too, the leaves stop rustling, the trees stop moving and the flowers turn up to listen to you.

more important than all of them, jennie listens to you.

“i hate everything when i’m not with you,” you sniffle, your tears running their track across your face and collecting under your chin, “i hate everyone when they’re with you, i hate every inch of their skin that touches you, i hate every word they say that you listen to, i hate every joke they make that you laugh at,” you wipe your face furiously, remembering every person who you hated and feeling pathetic for hating them.

“and i don’t know what to do, i don’t want to hate them because they’re not bad people, but when someone else is beside you, i feel lost, as if the place that was mine in this world, is stolen” your heart burns as you speak senselessly, your own words sound ridiculous to you but when you look up and see tears at the edge of jennie’s pretty eyes, you keep going.

“i don’t want you to be with someone else, i don’t want you to laugh with them, i don’t want them to be what i am to you,” you suck in a breath and laugh bitterly, “i want all of that with you, i don’t want to be your friend, i hate being your friend, i always have wanted to be something more, i always want to have everything with you.”

a pause.

a look at her.

the relief of her attention.

“sometimes, when we lay in bed, i want to ask you if your chest is tight too, if you feel me on the tip of your cigarette, if you ever want to kiss me but i can’t. still, i’m asking now, p-please let me be everything to you too,” and then you see her, really see her, not her pretty eyes and her soft hair, you see just a girl, holding back tears with a trembling jaw and shaking hands.

“tell me you want it too jennie, please,” you feel no shame when you beg her, you only feel the weight crushing your chest lift from you and go to her.

you just have to wait to see if she carries it or not.

for a few seconds, the world moves around you but you feel suspended, out of motion, out of energy to move or breathe or feel, you feel like ash flying away with the air.

but then, she steps forward.

eyes still so full of tears.

you want to wipe it away.

you want to cry it all instead.

but then.

she takes your weight, she makes it hers.

her arms loop around your neck and they tug your head down, you smile at how much you have to reach down to face her but that smile wipes away when her lips brush against yours.

slowly.

with a hint of hesitation.

but you pull her closer.

and for the next few minutes, you kiss her as if searching for stars in her mouth, right outside of andrew’s home and you smile again.

on the way home, you are surrounded, by her scent, her touch, and your most favourite, her warmth.

and now, her warmth, was all yours.

you lean on each other as you wait for the bus, then you watch as your bus passes you.

and then.

you just cuddle into each other even more, and you smile, as if you weren’t capable of doing anything else with your face.

when you reach home, it’s pitch black but you see her, she sees you and your cigarette lights up to guide the both of you back to where you belong, on your bed, with your head on her stomach and her fingers in your hair and the hand that she bandaged, plays with her fingers.

and as jennie passes her cigarette to you, you know she feels it this time, you on the wilting paper of it and you feel her, as you always have.

the feeling of belonging to someone and having them belong to you, eclipses everything else in your life and you feel it especially when she props up on her elbows and whispers,

“i would be happy to die, if it was with you too,” and when you say, “you’re feeling romantic tonight,” she smiles and falls back on the bed.

“that’s what girlfriends are for.”

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thirtysomethingloser92 · 3 days

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1. If It Makes You Happy, It Can't Be That Bad.

Mini-series based off Cherry Lips. Summary: One night with world famous Remy Lebeau turns into something neither one of you expected. Warnings: Smut, Daddy Kinks, Bondage, Spanking, Choking, Threesomes (Amongst so much more), angst, fluff, romance. Chapter Warning: Light Phone Sex. Taglist: bontensbabygirl

“Funny thing,” you began with a playful smile, lounging comfortably on your bed as your phone screen lit up with the familiar face of Remy LeBeau. His signature smirk was already in place, as if he could anticipate exactly where you were going with this. His dark eyes glinted with mischief as he looked up from the notebook he'd been scribbling in, his fingers still idly strumming the strings of his guitar.

“Oh yeah? What’s that?” he drawled, his Cajun accent thick and smooth, like honeyed whiskey.

You bit your lip, trying to suppress a grin. “So, I was doing my weekly grocery run, you know, minding my own business,” you teased, dragging the moment out just to toy with him a little. Remy leaned in closer to the camera, clearly intrigued, though the playful glint in his eyes said he probably already had an idea of what was coming.

“Mhm, sounds serious,” he said, placing the guitar aside on the hotel bed behind him. The faint sound of fans screaming outside his window made you chuckle. He might’ve been sitting across the world in a luxurious hotel suite, but right now, it felt like he was right in the room with you.

“Oh, it is,” you continued, your grin widening as you held up a finger, signaling for him to wait. “Hold on.”

You kicked off the blankets that had been wrapped around you, crawling across your bed to reach the nightstand. The movement made the oversized shirt you were wearing ride up slightly, revealing the sliver of underwear underneath. You caught the flicker of Remy’s gaze over the screen, his eyes briefly tracking your movements before a knowing smile tugged at his lips.

When you sat back down, you held up a glossy gossip magazine, flipping it around to show him the cover. “Look what I found,” you announced triumphantly. There, plastered across the front page in bold letters, was the headline: Sexiest Man Alive: Remy LeBeau, accompanied by a smoldering picture of him leaning on his famous guitar, his tousled hair and sharp jawline doing most of the work.

“Oh, fuck…” Remy groaned, leaning back in his chair and dragging his hands over his face in a dramatic display of exasperation. He shook his head before peeking at you from between his fingers, that ever-present smile never really leaving his face. “How did I know you were gonna bring that one up?”

You shrugged, feigning innocence. “Because you know I enjoy stirring you up,” you replied, flipping through the pages of the magazine. “I mean, come on, ‘Sexiest Man Alive’? That’s a bold title.” You paused, then added with a playful glint in your eye, “Personally, I thought it would’ve been Chris Evans this year.”

Remy let out a low chuckle, his smirk growing wider. “Always keepin’ me humble, huh?”

You looked up from the magazine and arched an eyebrow. “Well, someone’s got to! I can practically hear the screams of your fans outside your hotel room,” you teased, motioning to the background noise that was impossible to ignore. “Bet they’re giving you an even bigger head than usual.”

Remy’s grin turned mischievous, and without missing a beat, he leaned closer to the camera and said, “Funny, don’t recall you ever complainin’ ‘bout my head before.”

Your face instantly flushed at the double entendre, eyes widening in surprise. You looked away, shaking your head as you tried to regain your composure.

He laughed, the sound deep and rich, clearly enjoying how easily he could fluster you.

You looked back at him through the screen, shooting him a mock glare, though the smile tugging at your lips betrayed your amusement. “Yeah, okay, fine. You got me,” you muttered, flipping the magazine closed and tossing it aside with a huff. “But I’m still not letting you get away with that.”

Remy leaned back in his chair, folding his arms behind his head in a relaxed, almost cocky posture. “Oh, cher, I’m countin’ on it.”

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth spreading through your chest betrayed the effect his teasing had on you. Even with half the world between you, Remy had a way of making the distance feel small, of making you feel like you were the only person he cared about in that moment—despite the dozens of fans clamoring for his attention outside his hotel room.

“Well,” you sighed dramatically, “I guess it’s my job to keep you grounded, what with all the ‘Sexiest Man Alive’ nonsense going to your head.”

He winked at you, his voice lower now, almost a purr. “Y’ do a damn fine job of it, cher.”

Your heart fluttered at the compliment, but you quickly masked it with a smirk. “Good. Someone has to keep you in check, after all.”

Remy’s eyes softened for a moment, the teasing tone fading just slightly as he gazed at you through the screen. “Ain’t no one else I’d rather have doin’ it.”

You felt your cheeks warm again, the sincerity in his voice catching you off guard. For a second, you forgot about the magazine, the fans, and the fact that you were on opposite sides of the world. It was just you and Remy, sharing a quiet moment in the midst of the chaos that surrounded his life.

“Well,” you said softly, leaning a little closer to the camera, “I guess I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Remy’s smile turned gentle, his eyes never leaving yours. “You should.” He reached back behind him and grabbed the guitar again. Remy’s fingers danced effortlessly across the strings of his guitar, the soft strumming filling the quiet space between you. You watched him through the screen, your eyes following the familiar way his hands moved, coaxing out a melody that seemed to wrap around you like a warm embrace. Every now and again he’d grimace, pausing and scratching something out in front of him before starting again. The sound was soothing, intimate, and in moments like this, it was easy to forget that this wasn’t just any man. This was Remy LeBeau—a world-renowned musician, adored by millions, and somehow, inexplicably, a part of your life.

You pulled your blanket tighter around you, cocooning yourself in its warmth as you curled in further on your bed. The soft glow of your phone illuminated your face, but the rest of the room was dim, casting everything in soft shadows. You’d been doing this for weeks now—late-night calls, quiet moments shared through screens, and sometimes, stolen words that felt like secrets between you and him. But it still felt surreal, like you were living in someone else’s life.

Had it really only been four months since he had walked into your world?

You thought back to the night it all began, the memory still fresh in your mind despite the whirlwind that followed. It was supposed to be an ordinary night—well, ordinary if you didn’t count the fact that your ex had just left you for the woman he’d been cheating on you with. You’d gone to the concert hoping to escape, to drown out the hurt with music and a few too many drinks. But then, in a moment of anger and impulse, you’d poured your drink over him right there in the middle of the crowd.

That should have been the end of it. A mortifying moment you’d regret later. But then you looked up, towards the stage, and there was—Remy LeBeau, larger than life, looking right at you through the chaos with that same stupid smirk on his face that he was wearing now.

He’d invited you backstage, and that’s where everything changed. What was meant to be a brief encounter turned into the most intense night of your life.

You could still feel the weight of his hands, the heat of his body pressed against yours in that dressing room. It had been raw and passionate, the kind of thing that left you breathless and reeling. You’d never experienced anything like it. The way he met you in the middle with every demand, he made sure that you knew ultimately, you were in charge no matter what happened. It took almost two full weeks for his handprint to leave your ass and the bruises from his fingers to leave your hips. And when it was over, when you were both spent and you were trying to get dressed, he’d looked at you with those piercing eyes and asked for your number.

You never expected him to actually text you. Not Remy LeBeau, the man who had his pick of anyone in the world. But when his message appeared on your phone the next morning—You get home safe?—you’d stared at it for what felt like hours, unsure of how to respond. How were you supposed to talk to someone like him? Someone whose face was on billboards and magazine covers, whose name trended on social media every other day?

Every reply you typed out felt wrong, too casual or too eager, like you were trying too hard. Eventually, after hours of overthinking, you’d sent a simple Yeah, thanks. It was embarrassing how much you agonized over those two words, but somehow, that small exchange turned into more.

It was Remy who had suggested the coffee date before he left for Europe. You still remembered the way he’d asked, almost too casually, as if he wasn’t one of the most famous men in the world making a simple offer to grab coffee. But then, that was Remy—effortlessly cool, as if fame was just something that hovered around him, not something he actively sought.

The café he’d chosen was tucked away in a narrow alley, hidden from the bustling city streets, a place only locals would know. It wasn’t the kind of spot that would attract paparazzi or the curious eyes of fans, and that made it perfect. The little bell above the door had chimed when you walked in, the smell of freshly brewed coffee mingling with the faint scent of cinnamon and vanilla from the pastries behind the counter. There weren’t many people inside, just a couple of elderly patrons and a barista working quietly behind the counter.

You spotted him immediately, sitting in a corner, his back to the wall. He looked different in daylight, softer somehow. His usual rockstar edge was muted, replaced by something more relaxed, more real. He wasn’t wearing his signature leather jacket, just a simple sweater that clung to his lean frame, and his hair was tousled in a way that looked less deliberate than usual.

He smiled when he saw you, that slow, lazy grin that had undone you so easily the night before. “Cher,” he greeted, his voice low and warm, like a secret meant just for you.

You smiled back, a little nervous but trying to play it cool. “Hey.”

His security detail was nearby, but they were discreet, standing by the entrance, blending in with the ambiance of the café. For all intents and purposes, it felt like you and Remy were the only two people in the world.

You slipped into the seat across from him, the small table between you making the space feel more intimate than it had any right to. A steaming cup of coffee was already waiting for you. You took a sip, and for a moment, you let the warmth of the coffee and the coziness of the café settle your nerves.

The conversation started easily, like it always did with Remy. He had a way of making you feel comfortable, as if there wasn’t an ocean of difference between your worlds. He asked about your day, your work, and for the first time in a while, you found yourself talking about normal things—things that had nothing to do with the whirlwind of his fame. You talked about your favorite books, the places you liked to go when you needed to clear your head, the little things that made up your life.

And then, as the conversation naturally drifted back to the night before, his voice grew softer, more intimate. “You know,” he said, his eyes on you, “last night….I don’t meet a lot of people who can match me like that.”

His words hung in the air between you, heavy with meaning. You felt your heart skip a beat, but you didn’t say anything, waiting for him to continue.

“I meant what I said,” he added, his gaze never wavering. “I want you to come with me.”

He let that statement linger for a moment before leaning forward slightly, his elbows resting on the table. “Six months,” he repeated, his voice low but firm, as if the offer was something solid, tangible. “Come with me to Europe. We’ll travel, see the world. You can leave all this behind for a while.”

Your mind raced. Even though he’d made the same offer last night, hearing it again in the light of day felt different. More real. Last night, in the heat of the moment, it had been easy to brush it off as something said in the throes of passion. But now, with the sun streaming through the café windows and the world feeling far more grounded, it felt like an impossible choice.

You looked at him, studying the way his eyes held yours, serious and unwavering. He was offering you something that most people would kill for—a chance to escape, to see the world with him, to live a life you’d only ever dreamed about. It was tempting, so tempting that for a brief, fleeting moment, you let yourself imagine it. Traveling across Europe, waking up in different cities, spending nights wrapped in each other’s arms with no responsibilities, no worries. Just the two of you.

But then reality came crashing back in.

You had a life here. A job, bills, responsibilities that couldn’t just be put on hold for six months. And the idea of being followed by paparazzi, of having your every move scrutinized, wasn’t exactly appealing either. The thought of being thrust into his world—the world of bright lights, flashing cameras, and constant attention—made your stomach twist with anxiety.

“I—” You hesitated, unsure of how to put all of that into words. “I don’t think I can.”

His expression didn’t falter, but you saw the flicker of disappointment in his eyes. He leaned back slightly, his fingers tapping absently on the table. “Why not?” he asked, his voice still soft, but with a hint of something else—maybe frustration, maybe hurt. “You scared?”

You shook your head, though a part of you wondered if he was right. “It’s not that, it’s just…” You sighed, trying to find the right words. “I have a life here. A job, bills to pay. I can’t just drop everything and follow you around the world.”

He nodded slowly, as if he understood, but his eyes still held that intensity. “I get it, cher. But I’m not askin’ you to disappear forever. It’s just six months. You could take a break, live a little, see the world with me.” His voice softened, almost pleading now. “You don’t have to worry ‘bout money. I’ll take care of everything.”

You swallowed hard, torn between the desire to take the leap and the overwhelming sense of responsibility that weighed you down. “It’s not that simple,” you whispered.

Remy leaned back in his seat, his fingers tracing the rim of his coffee cup, his eyes never leaving yours. The soft murmur of the café around you faded into the background, leaving just the two of you in this intimate bubble. He had a way of doing that—making the world shrink down to just him, making you feel like you were the only thing that mattered in the room.

He glanced out the window for a moment, watching as the late afternoon light filtered in through the glass, casting golden shadows across the table. Then, without looking back at you, he spoke, his voice low, carrying the weight of the conversation you’d both had the night before.

“You remember what we talked ‘bout last night?” he murmured, his tone softer now, more serious.

You nodded, your mind drifting back to the previous evening, when you’d both let your guards down a little more than usual. The memory of it was still fresh—the way you’d both spoken honestly, the way he’d peeled back the layers of charm and showmanship for a moment, revealing something raw, something real.

He had said it then, the words coming out in that smooth, deliberate way of his, but with an undercurrent of vulnerability you hadn’t expected.

“Ain’t easy findin’ someone who matches y’r crazy, cher,” he had said, his eyes fixed on yours, even as his tone remained casual. “Most people, they don’t wanna go there. They don’t wanna dive deep into the wild parts of themselves—or y’. They wanna keep it safe, keep it easy.”

You remembered the way you’d nodded, feeling the truth of his words settle in your chest like a weight. “Exactly,” you’d agreed, your voice a little quieter, a little more thoughtful than usual. “It’s like… they want the thrill, but not the risk. They want the passion without the storm that comes with it.”

For a moment, the two of you had sat there in silence, the air between you thick with unspoken understanding. And then Remy had let out that low, knowing chuckle, shaking his head as if the whole thing was some cosmic joke he was all too familiar with.

“Yeah, well,” he had said, his tone threaded with both amusement and something darker—something that hinted at past disappointments, at scars that hadn’t quite healed. “I ain’t met anyone yet who could handle my storm. Ain’t found no one who could match me, not all the way.”

He had paused then, his eyes lingering on yours, and for a moment, the lazy smirk that usually played on his lips returned. But this time, there had been something different behind it, something more serious. More real.

“That is… until tonight,” he had finished, his voice dropping to a low, intimate murmur that had made your heart skip a beat.

Now, sitting across from him in the quiet café, you could feel the echo of those words reverberating between you. Remy was watching you closely, his dark eyes searching yours, as if trying to read the thoughts you weren’t quite ready to say aloud.

He leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on the table, his expression softening in a way that made the moment feel even more intimate. “Cher,” he began, his voice quieter now, almost tentative in a way that surprised you, “I know you got reasons to stay. I get it. But I ain’t talkin’ ‘bout forever. I’m just askin’ for a chance. Six months... No strings if y’ don’t want ‘em. Just you and me, seein’ where it goes.”

You met his gaze, your heart tightening in your chest. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to take that leap. God, you wanted it more than you could admit. But the reality of it—leaving everything behind, stepping into his world, a world that was so different from your own—was terrifying. And maybe, in the quietest part of your heart, you were afraid of what might happen if you couldn’t keep up with his storm.

“I…” You hesitated, your voice catching in your throat. You didn’t want to hurt him, but you couldn’t ignore the practicalities of your life. “Remy, I can’t just pack up and leave like that. I’ve got a job. Responsibilities. I can’t just… drop everything.”

His eyes softened, and you could see the flicker of disappointment there, though he hid it well behind that easy charm of his. “I know, cher,” he said quietly, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the edge of the table. “I ain’t gonna push y’. I just…” He trailed off, as if searching for the right words, before locking eyes with you again. “Look, if y’ can’t come with me, I get it. But would y’ mind if I called y’? Maybe we could keep in touch, yeah?”

You blinked, a little surprised by the sincerity in his request. For all his confidence, there was something almost vulnerable in the way he asked, like he wasn’t just offering you an escape from your life, but hoping to keep some kind of connection alive between you. As if he didn’t want you to slip away completely, even if you couldn’t be by his side.

The thought of hearing his voice, of staying connected, even from a distance, made your heart ache in a way you hadn’t expected. Despite the whirlwind of emotions you were feeling, despite all the reasons you knew it was crazy, you found yourself nodding.

“Yeah,” you said softly, meeting his gaze. “I’d like that.”

Remy’s lips curled into a slow smile, the kind that always made you feel like you were the only person in the world. “Good,” he murmured, his voice warm and rich with something you couldn’t quite name. “I’ll call y’ then, cher. And who knows? Maybe after a few weeks of hearin’ my voice, you might start to miss me enough to change y’r mind.”

You chuckled, shaking your head, but there was a warmth in your chest now, a flicker of something that felt dangerously close to hope. “We’ll see,” you replied, your voice teasing but gentle.

The tension that had been hanging in the air between you seemed to ease, and for the rest of the conversation, things felt lighter, easier. You talked about music, about his upcoming tour, about anything that didn’t carry the weight of decisions and life-altering choices. But that connection—the one that had been lingering between you since the night before—was still there, humming quietly beneath the surface.

When it was time to leave, Remy stood up, pulling his sunglasses on with that effortless grace that always made him seem larger than life. He gave you one last look, his smile soft, his voice low. “Take care of y’self, cher. I’ll call y’.”

You nodded, your heart doing strange, unsteady things in your chest. “You too.”

And then, with one last glance, he turned and walked out of the café, his security trailing behind him. You watched him go, the door swinging shut behind him, and for a long moment, you just sat there, staring at the empty seat across from you.

It wasn’t until you reached for your phone and saw his name still sitting in your messages that you realized you were already waiting for his call.

And so, here you were, four months later, wrapped in blankets and watching him strum his guitar through a video call. The soft, melodic chords floated through the speakers, filling your room with warmth, as if he were right there beside you. You couldn’t help but smile as you watched him, lost in the music. It was moments like these that felt so intimate, so personal, that you forgot for a second who he was to the rest of the world—Remy LeBeau, the rockstar. To you, right now, he was just Remy, the man who somehow made you feel like you were the only person that mattered.

But things hadn’t always been so simple.

The first few weeks after that night at the concert had been a blur of conflicting emotions. You’d tried telling yourself that this was nothing more than a fling, a brief distraction to help you move past the betrayal of your ex. You had convinced yourself that you could keep it casual, that it was just fun—a wild story you’d look back on one day and laugh about. But Remy? He had a way of making it impossible to keep your distance.

It started with the phone calls, almost every night. At first, they were lighthearted, teasing, filled with playful banter and flirtation. He’d call after a show, his voice still buzzing with adrenaline, and tell you about the crowd, the energy, the chaos of it all. You’d listen, intrigued, laughing when he’d slip into stories about the wild things he’d seen on tour. But then, as the night wore on and the conversation slowed, there came a shift. His voice would drop to that familiar low timbre that sent shivers down your spine, and suddenly it wasn’t just words you were exchanging anymore.

The first time it happened, you hadn’t expected it. It was late, and your conversation had drifted, like it often did, into the easy, comfortable rhythm you’d fallen into over the past few weeks. You were talking about nothing in particular, just the small details of your day, the way the moon looked outside your window—big and full, casting a pale glow across your room—or how his hotel room was too cold even though it was the middle of summer. He grumbled lightly about the AC, about how it never seemed to work right, and you had laughed, teasing him about his preference for luxury despite his grungy rockstar persona.

It was familiar, relaxed, the way you talked most nights. There was always an underlying tension, of course—a kind of charged energy that lingered between the words, between the silences—but you’d gotten used to it. It was part of the dynamic you shared, the playful flirtation that never seemed to cross a line.

But then, something shifted.

You didn’t notice it right away. Not at first. You were too lost in the comfort of his voice, in the way it wrapped around you, warm and easy, making you feel like you weren’t alone in your bed, but curled up next to him, sharing the same space. But then his tone changed, just slightly—a subtle drop in pitch, a softness that wasn’t there before.

“What are y’ wearin’ right now, cher?” he asked, his voice suddenly low, intimate, like a dark velvet caress that sent a shiver down your spine.

You blinked, surprised, letting out a breathy laugh, unsure of whether he was joking or not. “What?” you asked, your voice light, trying to play it off even though your heart had already started to race.

He didn’t laugh. Instead, you heard the faintest sound of his breath on the other end of the line, slow and measured. “You heard me,” he murmured, his words edged with a playful challenge. “Tell me what y’r wearin’. I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout you all night, and I can’t get the image out of my head.”

Your heart was pounding now, heat rising to your cheeks. You hesitated, unsure of how to respond, your mind racing. You weren’t used to this kind of attention—at least, not like this. Not from him. There had always been this tension between you, this pull, but he’d never crossed that line after that one night you both shared.

And yet… the way he said it, the way his voice curled around the words, made it impossible to ignore the desire that was already stirring inside you. It was as if he knew exactly what he was doing to you, as if he could feel the way your breath hitched, the way your body tensed in anticipation. You could hear the smile in his tone, the teasing edge that both excited and unnerved you.

You hesitated for a moment longer, but then you found yourself answering, your voice quieter now, a little breathless. “Just… a t-shirt,” you murmured, feeling shy despite the fact that he couldn’t see you. “And, um… nothing else.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and you could almost hear the way his breath caught, the low sound of approval that hummed in his chest. “Mmm, that’s what I thought,” he drawled, his voice a slow, seductive rhythm. “I knew y’d be layin’ there, all soft and warm. Bet y’r lookin’ real pretty right now, cher.”

Your pulse quickened, heat blooming in your chest, spreading down to your core. The way he spoke to you—so direct, so sure of himself—was intoxicating. There was no hesitation in his words, no uncertainty. He knew exactly what he was doing, exactly how to pull you in, and you found yourself powerless to resist.

“Remy...” you whispered, unsure if you were trying to slow things down or encourage him to keep going.

He let out a low chuckle, the sound warm and rough, sending another shiver through you. “You like it when I say y’r name like that, don’t y’?” he murmured, his voice dropping even lower. “I can hear it in y’r voice, cher. You’re gettin’ all worked up, just from hearin’ me talk.”

You swallowed hard, your mouth suddenly dry, your body reacting to his words in ways you couldn’t control. He was right, of course. You could feel the way your body was responding, the way your skin was heating up, the way your thighs pressed together beneath the blankets. It was ridiculous, really, how much power he had over you, even from thousands of miles away. And yet… you didn’t want him to stop.

“Tell me what y’r doin’ right now,” he coaxed, his voice soft, soothing, as if it were the most natural thing in the world for him to be asking you this. “Are y’ touchin’ y’rself already? Or are y’ waitin’ for me to tell y’ what to do?”

Your breath caught again, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond. But then you realized he wasn’t asking for permission. He was drawing you in, coaxing you into a space where nothing else mattered but his voice and the way it made you feel. It was like he was right there with you, his words tracing over your skin, lighting you up from the inside out.

You closed your eyes, sinking deeper into the warmth of your bed, letting yourself get lost in the moment. “I’m waiting,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, but you knew he heard you. You could hear the way his breath hitched slightly, the satisfaction in his next words.

“Good girl,” he whispered, his voice a low, throaty purr that sent a wave of heat straight through you. “Now, I want you to take that hand of yours and slide it down... nice and slow. I want y’ to feel every inch of yourself, cher. Like it’s me touchin’ you.”

Your breath quickened, your body responding to the command before you even had time to think about it. You could feel the heat pooling low in your belly, your skin tingling with anticipation as you did as he asked, your hand moving slowly beneath the blankets, your fingers brushing against the soft skin of your thigh.

He continued to speak, his voice guiding you, coaxing you further, his words like a slow burn that ignited something deep within you. And before you knew it, you were completely wrapped up in him, in the sound of his breathing on the other end of the line, in the way he whispered your name like it was something sacred, something precious.

It was intoxicating, the way he made you feel so desired, so wanted, even from hundreds of miles away. It was as if the distance between you didn’t exist, as if he were right there beside you, his hands on your body, his lips at your ear, whispering every sinful thought that crossed his mind. And you wanted it. You wanted more.

The rest of the night passed in a blur of breathless whispers, of quiet moans and soft gasps, of his voice guiding you through every wave of pleasure. And when it was over, when you were both spent and quiet, he stayed with you on the line, his voice soft and soothing as he murmured sweet things into the phone, grounding you, bringing you back down from the high.

“Y’r somethin’ else, cher,” he had whispered, his voice warm and full of affection now, as if the heat of the moment had given way to a deeper intimacy. “I can’t wait to see y’ again. Gonna make sure I take my time with y’ next time we’re together.”

You smiled, your heart still racing, though there was a different kind of warmth in your chest now. “I can’t wait either,” you whispered back, feeling a little shy despite everything that had just happened.

And after it was over, after the heat and frenzy of it had passed, he’d stay on the line with you, his voice softening as he asked about your day, about your life. He’d talk about the things he wanted to do with you when he saw you again—places he wanted to take you, moments he wanted to share. And though the words were often filled with playful flirtation, there was an undercurrent of something deeper, something that left you wondering if it was more than just a casual fling for him, too.

But for all the passion, for all the heat, there remained that same phrase, echoing in your mind every time you spoke to him: We’ll just see where it goes. He had said it so many times, always with that teasing smile, as if the future was something neither of you could—or should—try to predict.

And yet, the more time you spent talking to him, the harder it became to keep your walls up. At first, you had tried to convince yourself that it was just physical, that it was the thrill of being wanted by someone like him. But the truth was, Remy had a way of getting under your skin. It wasn’t just the phone sex, though that certainly had its hold on you—leaving you breathless and aching for more, night after night. No, it was the way he spoke to you afterward, the way he asked questions and actually listened to your answers, the way he remembered the small details about your life that you hadn’t even realized you’d shared.

He had a way of making you feel wanted, even when he was thousands of miles away. And that scared you.

Because how could you possibly let yourself fall for someone like him? Someone whose life was a whirlwind of fame, fortune, and endless attention. Someone who could have anyone, anywhere, yet somehow was choosing to spend his nights strumming his guitar and talking to you. It didn’t make sense. You weren’t naïve—you knew the kind of life someone like Remy led. The constant travel, the adoring fans, the temptations of a rockstar’s world. And you… well, you were just a small part of that. Weren’t you?

A part of you wanted to believe that maybe it could be something more. That maybe, for all his charm and effortless cool, Remy was looking for something real. Something deeper. But the other part of you—the part that had been burned before, the part that had learned to be cautious—was terrified. You’d been hurt before. You knew what it felt like to open yourself up, only to be left shattered in the end. You’d built these walls for a reason, after all. You couldn’t afford to let yourself get hurt again.

But as you sat there, watching him through the screen, his fingers moving effortlessly over the strings of his guitar, you felt your heart ache with the familiar pull of emotion. The way he looked at you—his brow furrowed in concentration as he lost himself in the music—it was like you were the only thing grounding him, the only thing keeping him anchored in the chaos of his life. And that made it so much harder to keep your distance.

“Whatcha thinkin’ ‘bout?” Remy’s voice broke through your thoughts, pulling you back to the present. His eyes were on you again, sharp and curious, as if he could sense the shift in your mood.

You hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to answer. How could you possibly put all of this into words? The swirl of emotions, the fear, the longing. But then you smiled softly, shaking your head. “Nothing,” you lied, your voice gentle. “Just… enjoying the music.”

His lips curled into that familiar, lazy grin, the one that always made your heart skip a beat. “Good,” he murmured, his voice low and warm. “’Cause I’m playin’ this just for you, cher.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, and for a brief moment, you let yourself believe it. You let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t just a passing fling. That maybe it was something more. Something real.

You sighed softly, snuggling deeper into your blankets, the warmth of the music and his voice lulling you into a comfortable, if bittersweet, peace. You didn’t know what the future held. You didn’t know if this thing with Remy was destined to burn out as quickly as it had begun, or if it could turn into something lasting.

All you knew was that the more time you spent with him—whether it was through the phone, through late-night video calls, or in that breathless space between passion and vulnerability—the harder it became to guard your heart.

“You look tired,” you commented, your voice soft and muffled as you lay half-buried in your pillow, your body wrapped in the comforting warmth of your blankets. The glow of your phone screen illuminated your face, casting a soft light over the room, but all you could focus on was him—Remy, sitting there on the other end of the video call, his eyes heavy with exhaustion.

He paused, his gaze meeting yours through the screen, and for a moment, he didn’t say anything. Then he let out a soft chuckle, his lips curling into a familiar, crooked smile. “I am,” he admitted, running a hand through his tousled hair. “But as you always tell me, there’s no rest for the wicked.”

You smiled at that, a small, tired smile of your own, remembering how often you had teased him about his relentless schedule, about how he never seemed to stop moving. You licked your lips, your voice softening with concern. “You should get some sleep, Remy. Have you slept at all?” you asked, the worry clear in your tone.

He shook his head, his smile fading just slightly as he leaned back in his chair, his body visibly tense, though he tried to hide it. “Nah,” he said with a shrug, as if it were no big deal. “I’ve got to be up in a few hours anyway. Some interview with one of those late-night talk show things.” He watched as you shifted deeper inside your covers, your face barely visible now except for the soft glow of your eyes on the screen. His expression softened, and there was something else there too—something more vulnerable, more real. “But I wanted to run something by you anyway.”

Your interest piqued at that, and you pushed yourself up a little, propping your chin on your hand, your sleepy eyes fixing on him through the screen. “What is it?” you asked, your curiosity laced with a hint of anticipation.

Remy hesitated for a moment, his eyes flickering away from the camera as if he were gathering his thoughts, or maybe his courage. Then, with a quiet sigh, he looked back at you, the familiar teasing smile slipping back onto his lips, though there was a softness behind it. “We’ve got a few days off, and I was thinkin’...” He paused, his voice trailing off for a beat before he continued, “I was gonna fly there and come see y’.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, and you felt a small smile tug at the corners of your lips, the kind you couldn’t suppress even if you tried. It was one thing to talk to him on the phone every night, to share your moments through a screen—but the thought of him being here, in person, made something flutter inside your chest. You tried to keep your voice calm, but there was no hiding the excitement that slipped through. “For how many days?” you asked, though you already knew that his schedule probably wouldn’t allow for much.

He laughed softly, the sound warm and familiar, though there was a trace of weariness behind it. “Like… one and a half,” he said, shaking his head as if the idea itself was ridiculous. “Not much, I know. But I’d make the most of it.” His voice was playful, but there was a sincerity in his eyes that made your heart ache a little. “Wha’dya think?”

And then, suddenly, he went quiet. For a moment, the playful energy drained from his expression, replaced by something more cautious, more unsure. It was rare to see him like this—Remy, who was always so confident, so effortlessly charming. But now, he looked almost hesitant, as if he wasn’t sure how you’d react, as if he wasn’t sure if you’d want him to come at all.

The silence stretched between you, and you could feel the weight of his question hanging in the air. He was waiting for your answer, and for once, it felt like more than just a casual suggestion. There was something deeper behind it, something that made your chest tighten with both excitement and fear.

You let out a soft breath, your smile widening as you looked at him, your heart already knowing the answer before your mind could catch up. “I think,” you said slowly, your voice warm and teasing, “that you should come for a visit.”

For a split second, relief flashed across his face, followed by that familiar grin—the one that always made your heart skip a beat. “Yeah?” he asked, his voice lighter now, the tension melting away. “Even if it’s just for a day and a half?”

“Even if it’s just for a day and a half,” you confirmed, your voice soft but sure. “I’ll take whatever time I can get.”

He smiled at that, a genuine, almost boyish smile that made him look younger, softer. “Good,” he murmured, his voice low and full of warmth. “’Cause I’ve been missin’ you, cher. More than I should, probably.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, and you felt a warmth spread through your chest, a mixture of happiness and something else—something deeper that you weren’t quite ready to name yet. “I’ve missed you too,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper, but you knew he heard you.

For a moment, neither of you said anything, the silence between you comfortable, filled with the unspoken things that neither of you were ready to put into words just yet. But it was enough—just knowing that he wanted to see you, that he was willing to fly across the country just to spend a day and a half with you. It was enough to make you feel like maybe—just maybe—this thing between you was more than just a passing fling.

“Alright,” he said after a while, his voice soft but filled with a kind of determination. “I’ll book the flight tomorrow. And when I get there, I’m gonna make sure I make up for lost time.”

You smiled, your heart full as you snuggled deeper into your blankets. “I’ll hold you to that, LeBeau.”

“You better,” he teased, his grin widening. But as you both fell into a comfortable silence again, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted between you—that this wasn’t just another night of playful banter and teasing promises. This was real. This was something more.

A lazy smile crossed your face as you shifted slightly under your blankets, your phone propped up against your pillow. “So, where’re we gonna meet?” you asked, your voice light, teasing, though part of you was genuinely curious. The thought of seeing him in person again, after all the late-night calls and whispered conversations, sent a thrill through you that you couldn’t quite suppress.

Remy leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing slightly in that way they always did when he was thinking, the faintest hint of mischief already dancing behind them. He shrugged casually, his lips curling into a smirk as he stretched his arms behind his head. “We’ll figure it out,” he drawled, his voice smooth, that lazy Southern charm dripping from every word. “But I think we both know it don’t really matter where we meet, cher.” His gaze lingered on you through the screen, his eyes dark and intent. “It’s what happens after that, that’ll count.”

You felt a soft flutter in your chest at his words, warmth spreading through your body as your smile grew wider. You gave a small shrug, pretending to think it over for a moment. “Well, there’s not a lot to do around here,” you teased, your voice light but your mind already wandering to what could happen when you were finally in the same space again, without a screen between you.

Remy’s smirk deepened, his eyes flashing with a hint of something darker, something more playful. He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to that low, intimate tone that always made your heart race. “Y’r makin’ it sound like I’m gonna let you leave the hotel while I’m in town,” he murmured, his words slow and deliberate, each one sending a shiver down your spine.

Your breath caught for a moment, heat rising to your cheeks as you tried to suppress the grin that was threatening to break across your face. But it was no use. You leaned closer to the camera, your voice dropping to a soft, teasing whisper. “Is that a promise?” you asked, your heart pounding in your chest, though you kept your tone playful.

He chuckled softly, the sound low and rich, and you could hear the unspoken promise in it. “Oh, it’s more than a promise, cher.” His voice was velvet, the kind of smooth that wrapped around you and pulled you in, leaving you breathless. “I’ve got… some ideas. Things I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout. Things I’ve been wantin’ to try.” He paused, letting the words linger in the air between you, his eyes watching you closely through the screen, gauging your reaction.

Your skin tingled at the suggestion, your pulse quickening with the anticipation that was building between you. You could feel the heat rising in your body, the way his words sent a thrill of excitement racing through you. It was the way he said it—so casual, so confident, like he already knew exactly what he wanted to do with you, and exactly how he was going to make it happen.

“Oh?” you breathed, your voice soft as you bit your lip, trying to play it cool even though your mind was already racing with possibilities. “Care to elaborate?”

Remy’s eyes darkened, his smirk widening as he leaned even closer to the camera, his face filling the screen. His voice dropped another octave, his words coming out slow and deliberate, each one sending a fresh wave of heat through you. “Let’s just say,” he began, his tone smooth, teasing, “I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout how much I wanna take my time with you, cher. How much I wanna make up for all the nights we’ve spent apart.” He paused, his gaze intense, his voice softening even further. “I’ve got plans. And I promise y’... you won’t be leavin’ that bed anytime soon.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, your breath catching at his words. The way he said it, the way he looked at you through the screen—it was like he wasn’t just speaking about physical intimacy, but something deeper, something that made your skin tingle and your mind spin with possibilities. It was as if he was telling you that this wasn’t just about passion, but about the connection you’d been building, the intimacy that had grown between you, even from a distance.

You swallowed, your voice coming out a little more breathless than you intended. “You’ve really thought this through, huh?”

His grin softened, though the intensity in his gaze didn’t waver. “Oh, I’ve had plenty of time to think about it,” he said, his voice low and warm. “Every night we’ve talked, every time I’ve heard your voice, I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout what I’d do when I finally got y’ in front of me again. And believe me, cher, I plan on takin’ my time.”

You shivered at his words, your entire body reacting to the promise in them, the way his voice curled around the syllables like a caress. The idea of finally being with him, of feeling his touch, of experiencing all the things he had hinted at during your late-night conversations—it was almost too much to think about.

But it wasn’t just the physical that drew you to him. It was the way he made you feel seen, the way he could shift from playful flirtation to something more serious, more intimate, without missing a beat. It was the way he spoke to you as if you were the only person in the world, the way he made you feel wanted, desired, in a way that went beyond just attraction.

And now, with the promise of seeing him again so close, you could feel that pull between you growing stronger, the anticipation building like a current of electricity that you couldn’t ignore.

You smiled, your voice soft as you replied, “Well… I guess I’ll just have to clear my schedule then.”

Remy chuckled, the sound low and rich, sending another shiver down your spine. “Good,” he murmured, his voice full of affection, though there was still that teasing edge beneath it. “’Cause once I get there, cher, I ain’t lettin’ you go.”

You grinned, your heart full as you curled deeper into your blankets. “I’m counting on it.”

And as you both fell into a comfortable silence, the weight of his words lingering in the air between you, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of warmth, of excitement, mixed with just a hint of nervousness. Because this wasn’t just another phone call, another night of teasing and playful banter. This was real. He was coming to see you. And when he arrived, everything between you would change.

But for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel scared. You felt ready. <><><><>

Remy sat quietly, just watching you. The dim light from your phone screen illuminated your face, casting a soft glow over your features as you lay nestled under the covers. Your eyelids were heavy with sleep, but you were still trying to hold on to the conversation, your voice fading in and out with exhaustion. The day had clearly worn you down, and he could see it in the way your body slowly gave in, sinking deeper into the bed, your breathing becoming slower, more rhythmic.

He should’ve told you to go to sleep, to rest, but selfishly, he didn’t want to end the moment. He wanted to stay here, with you, for just a little longer.

There was something about these late-night (Or early morning for him) calls that always left him feeling unsettled—but not in a bad way. There was something about you that made him feel… different. He wasn’t sure when it had happened, but somewhere along the way, you had become more than just a voice on the other end of the line. You’d become a part of his day, a part of his routine. And, more dangerously, a part of his thoughts.

And that scared him more than anything else.

He sighed softly, his gaze still lingering on you as he reached for his guitar. His fingers found the strings instinctively, the familiar weight of the instrument settling in his lap like it always did.

He began to strum softly, the opening chords filling the quiet space between you. You recognized the song immediately—of course you did. He could see it in the way your face softened, a small, sleepy smile tugging at your lips as your eyes fluttered closed. This was one of your songs, one of those tracks you’d both talked about at length during long, late-night conversations. There was something about it that resonated with both of you, something unspoken and shared.

He hadn’t sung this song in a long time, and now, with you lying there, on the verge of sleep, the meaning behind the lyrics hit him in a way he hadn’t expected.

Because the truth was, he didn’t know how to navigate this. He wasn’t used to caring this much. He wasn’t used to letting someone in, especially someone like you—someone who didn’t fit into the chaos of his world.

You didn’t care about the fame. In fact, you hated it. He knew that about you. You’d talked about it before, how the idea of paparazzi, cameras, and flashing lights made your skin crawl. You were the kind of person who valued your solitude, your quiet life. You loved your little apartment with the garden bed out front, where you grew herbs and flowers, tending to them like they were your own private escape from the world. You’d once joked about the crack in the ceiling that drove you nuts, how you’d planned to fix it yourself, but never got around to it. It had become an inside joke between you, the crack that you swore had "character" and "personality."

You liked your anonymity. You liked being able to walk down the street without anyone noticing you, without anyone caring. You had your own space, your own life, and you cherished it.

And that’s where the problem was.

Remy’s life was the complete opposite. His world was all flashing lights, screaming fans, and relentless attention. There was no hiding, no escaping the cameras or the constant buzz of people wanting something from him. He couldn’t disappear into the background, couldn’t just enjoy a quiet moment in a small apartment without the risk of someone snapping a photo or leaking details to the press. His life wasn’t built for the kind of peace you cherished.

And that terrified him. Because how could he ask you to be a part of that? How could he drag you into the chaos of his world when he knew how much you valued your privacy, your independence? Remy felt the familiar tug in his chest. He knew that his feelings for you had already grown deeper than he’d anticipated. He hadn’t meant for it to happen, but it had. You’d become important to him, in a way that scared him because it made him vulnerable.

He watched you as your breathing slowed, your body sinking deeper into the mattress. You were asleep now, completely relaxed, your face so peaceful, so content. And yet, you still wore that small, faint smile, the one that made his heart ache in ways he couldn’t quite explain.

But that thought—the thought of pulling away, of protecting himself from the heartbreak that could come with letting you in—came with its own set of problems. Because the truth was, he didn’t want to pull back. He didn’t want to protect himself.

He didn’t want to lose this. He didn’t want to lose you.

His fingers moved effortlessly over the strings, but his mind was somewhere else entirely. He thought about all the times you’d joked about your quiet life, about how you loved your little apartment, your garden, your anonymity. And as much as he loved hearing you talk about it, a part of him always felt a pang of guilt. Because if this—whatever this was between you—kept growing, he knew he’d be pulling you into a world that was the opposite of everything you valued.

For a long time, he just sat there, watching you sleep, his thoughts a tangled mess of emotions he wasn’t sure how to handle. He hadn’t planned for this. He hadn’t planned for you. But now, you were here, in his life, and he couldn’t imagine it without you.

But how could he move forward? How could he let himself care about you the way he wanted to, knowing that his life would inevitably pull you into the spotlight, into a world you didn’t want to be a part of? The more he thought about it, the more he realized just how complicated things could become.

Yet, every time he considered pulling back, distancing himself to protect both of you from the chaos and the heartbreak, he hesitated.

Because the truth was, he didn’t want to lose you.

He didn’t know the answer yet. He didn’t know how to make this work, how to bridge the gap between his world and yours. But as he looked at you now, sleeping peacefully with that faint smile still lingering on your lips, one thing was clear: he wasn’t ready to let you go.

And before he could stop himself, he whispered the opening line of the song, barely loud enough for even him to hear

"So lately, been wonderin'... Who will be there to take my place…When I’m gone….You’ll need love….to light the shadows on your face…"

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