#this happened yesterday after having taken a break with this therapist

[chemicalcarousel]

Us, a system: "I'd wish I could be open about the people in my head to people outside the internet, such as family and friends that I'm close to"

Therapist: "but why do you want that?"

Us:

[inevitably-johnlocked]

hey, steph! how are you, like, genuinely? not the small talk. i wanna listen

Hey Lovely 💜🖤

I want to apologize for putting this off for so long... which should be a clue as to how I am actually doing.

Honestly? Not good, but I'm trying my best. It's been... a time. Will put under a cut for those who don't want to read about the tagged items.

TL;DR – my real life is a bit chaotic, and I hide a lot from y'all because I REALLY try not to be negative here since my blog is where I come to be happy AND because I am a very private person, but I try my best to just keep going day to day as the chaos settles down slowly.

I've got some good things coming though, so I hope a week's rest next week when I'm off (and will probably take a break from here too) will reset my brain.

Work has been insane, and is most of the cause of my mental distress for the past few months. From Easter until Canada Day Weekend at my job is lovingly referred to as "Silly Season" simply because of how on-the-fly, balls-to-the-wall our workload is until summertime downtime officially begins for us. Without disclosing too much, it's basically non-stop, long hours for me until one of the 3 break weeks we get during the this long stretch happens where, incidentally because of the nature of my job and the team I work on, it actually gets BUSIER for us.

It actually ended earlier than we expected this year (yesterday) and we'll be "quieter" until the end of September now. See an opportunity, I actually took next week off between the two long weekends because my mental health has taken a severe hit and I'm having trouble just... enjoying things? I'm haven't gamed or drew in a few weeks, and blogging and writing feels like a chore. I literally just come home, file this blog, reply to one or two asks, and then go to bed, and do it all over again the next day. Day in and day out, for 3 months. On weekends I have to force myself out of my apartment because I KNOW I will sink lower if I don't leave.

On top of that, my brain has convinced me that literally everyone hates me: friends, coworkers, family, you guys, my damned plants. I just feel very alone these days and... I'll be real here, I've almost abandoned this blog a few times in the past few months. I feel like I make fic lists that no one reblogs or likes and tell me they're all shit. I post my art and I barely break 20 notes. I write something and I get maybe 2 likes. I can't really answer any thoughtful asks because my mental state's been in the shitter for months. I desperately want to reply to the few sexuality asks I have and I physically can't. Being on my computer – after working ON a computer for my day job for 12 hour days everyday – feels like too much, so I try to limit my time on the blog now too.

I just try to keep carrying on, encouraged by the once-in-a-blue-moon testimonial ask I get thanking me for still being here. I thank YOU guys for reminding me that people still like coming here.

Stressed about money and food and rent just like everyone else, and just getting frustrated at other things.

And finally, my uncle (my dad's brother and my godfather) hasn't been doing well health-wise, and he's being moved to assisted living next week. His health has been declining since Easter, so it's been a bit of worrying time for relatives.

Having my therapist helps a lot. She talks me through a lot of my complicated feelings, my sense of self and ways to cope with my anxiety and stress. I'm talking to her again next week, so no worries, gang. As I said, I just keep on keeping on.

Some positivity though:

I booked next week off to try to just... recenter myself. To forget about everything and TRY to get back to doing the things I love. I will probably take a break from this blog as well during that time to limit my social-media time. It's not ideal but I need a break from my computer, I think.

I go to the gym a lot more these days, which has helped with the seething annoyance I constantly have at work. Usually feel better after it.

And because of the gym and getting out more, I've been slowly feeling better physically, better than I have since before 2019. The break from work is for the mental health, LOL.

I'm getting my hair recoloured next week. Can't afford it, really, but I just REALLY need to feel better about myself again, and I always feel so different when I colour my hair. I was doing so good for awhile. I want that again.

Anyway, I'm sorry to bombard y'all with my complicated mess of a brain. I really do appreciate you asking, so THANK YOU. I rarely get asked in real life if I am okay because I keep very private due to past people betraying my trust. And I don't like seeing people unhappy, so I feel if I tell people about my problems, then I feel I am a burden, so I just... continue existing.

Thank you for letting me be a burden just this once.

[prodigal-explorer]

anaroceit week - day three - stove's on fire

@anaroceitweek

prompt: cooking/comfort

relationship: romantic anaroceit (a continuation of yesterday's fic!)

word count: 891

(cw -> past disordered eating, cursing, a bit of self-hatred, mention of existentialism)

---

The sound of a hot pan sizzling was starting to feel less like a threat and more like an invitation. 

It had been three weeks since Roman was released from the hospital, and progress was slow. A lot slower than Roman wanted it to be. But Virgil and Janus were being patient, even though Roman was sure that helping him through each meal had to be getting old by now. 

“Roman, can you pass the pepper?” Virgil asked. 

Roman’s therapist suggested that he help prepare the food. If he touched it with his hands while it was being made, it might make him feel less nervous about eating it. It would show his brain that it was completely harmless, and perhaps he would be more tempted to eat. 

Luckily, Virgil wasn’t treating him too fragilly. Ever since the incident, Remus had been acting like Roman was made of glass, like he would shatter into millions of pieces if he didn’t speak with the utmost kindness and gentleness. Considering Remus’ default personality, seeing him act this was way more unnerving than comforting to Roman. But Virgil seemed to get that memo, and he spoke to Roman like nothing had happened at all that day. It was a nice break. 

Janus was a little sweeter and kinder than usual, but he was still very relaxing to be around. One of the main things he did was stick close to Roman, showering with him when he wanted it and giving him all the company he could want. The thoughts weren’t so loud when there were people around to distract Roman. That was something he found out after around a week of being back home. 

Once Roman passed the pepper and Virgil shook a healthy amount into the dish, the room started to smell more spicy. Roman loved it. He was feeling especially like royalty lately, because Virgil and Janus had taken to helping him make all of his favorites: spicy curry, pasta with alfredo sauce, and pretty much every dessert imaginable. In a way, being able to decide every meal made Roman feel like he was regaining control, just in a different, more healthy way. 

“You guys are the best,” Roman said suddenly, overwhelmed by emotion as he hugged Virgil close from behind, kissing the top of his head. 

“That’s a lot for just me putting some pepper into the sauce,” Virgil teased. “But yes, you’re the best too, Roman.” 

“No, I’m being serious,” Roman said. “I’m being totally crazy and a complete control freak, and it’s like you guys don’t even care. You’re just there for me. No matter what. And- making me food I like, and giving me all the company I could ask for- I just don’t think I deserve it sometimes, you know? You guys are too sweet.” 

Virgil stirred thoughtfully for a moment, silent as he sprinkled a pinch of salt into the sauce and turned down the heat. Very slowly, he turned to face Roman, holding up the spoon. 

“Taste this,” he said, “Tell me what you think.” 

Roman blew on the contents of the spoon for a few moments before taking a slow, careful sip. Savory and fatty, the sauce tasted exactly as delicious as he thought it would. Virgil really was gifted. 

“It’s so good,” he said. “Seriously, don’t change a thing. It tastes amazing.” 

Virgil smiled. “It’s just as amazing as you,” he said. 

Roman gasped and laughed in shock, swatting Virgil with his free hand. 

“You devil!” he shouted. “Ruining the moment with your self-love agendas!” 

“Oh, did I hear self-love?” Janus asked, peeking his head into the kitchen. “You know that’s my speciality.” 

“Yeah? Well, Roman currently needs a few pointers.” 

“Hey! I do not!” Roman laughed, continuing to blindly swat at Virgil. “I was just saying- you guys have to admit that I’m being annoying right now.” 

“No we don’t,” Janus said. “And we never will. Out of spite now, more than anything else.” 

“Sometimes it’s okay to be a burden,” Virgil shrugged. “Lord knows we all have been a burden before. Remember my existential phase?” 

“Okay, that was more amusing than anything,” Janus chuckled. “Mr. What If We’re All In A Simulation And Nothing Is Real.” 

“Shut the fuck up, unless you want me to bring up when you got butthurt that Santa didn’t bring you a snake for Christmas,” Virgil shot back, his eyes glinting with amusement and challenge. 

“It was the only thing on my Christmas list!” Janus exclaimed, “The only thing!” 

To shut him up, Virgil dipped the spoon Roman had been holding into the sauce again, blowing on it a few times before shoving it into Janus’ mouth. 

“There,” he said. “It’s almost as salty as you.” 

Janus let out a muffled laugh as he swallowed the sauce and took the spoon out of his mouth, gently bopping Virgil on the nose with it. Roman sighed and took the spoon back, stirring the pot once more before turning off the stove completely. He was so lucky to be with these two dorks, even if they stopped at nothing to one-up each other. Roman couldn’t talk when he was the exact same way. 

Three burdens, existing together and helping each other through it all while eating some delicious curry. Now that sounded like something Roman could get behind.

[mortuaest]

Large rant, sorry. Please ignore if any of the trigger warnings are going to be an issue. I need to get it off of my chest because if I rant on FB I get hit with a character limit and I should make a personal Tumblr which I think I have but dont remember shit about.

Ive been having severe, and I mean severe as fuck mental and emotional breakdowns because of the fact that its literally been almost a year (Its going to be a year October 29th) since I've had to put down Ice Cube, my ESA of 14.5 years. He had cancer in his cheek and it was placed right to where it would effect his quality of life severely negatively if we tried to surgically take it out, and he would possibly die on the table if we did it because of his age, and he was declining (He wasn't eating, he was drinking, he really wasnt eating as much as I wanted him to, he was spitting back up the pills I was giving him, he was suffering) and my mental and emotional health has been severely suffering each and every day that passes without him.

I have another cat, I got him in April, thinking I was alright. Which I was I guess. Im being reminded via FB memories and just my own fucked up brain wanting me to join him to where I'm legit giving myself until December 31st, 2023 to have someone. Anyone give me a fucking sigh to keep on living. Im going to be going through a program my friend suggested to make a will, making her I forgot the words she used but shes going to make sure that my will is listened to and Albert Whisker, the cat I have now is taken care of.

I cant keep on living, and the fact that this heartbreak is fucking me up so badly to the point where the large baggie of medications (ranging from insomnia medications to Very STRONG painkillers and such, as well as my daily medications the day of me going to attempt) is very tempting to take now. And I mean very tempting. Meaning I almost took it yesterday, after my first mental break and me physically hurting myself by slamming a brush ungodly hard into my head because I legit believe I deserve everything that has happened to me (The physical, emotional and mental abuse that I got for 20 some odd years from my mother, the severe car accident from last year, the rapes, everything. My friends being murdered or dying around me, loosing the only thing that even brought light to my life).

No one in my life cares. No one seems to care. Ive been severely struggling and each time IVe even bothered to reach out for help via friends. Since my father hates me for being trans and my sister doesnt give a fuck to even bother to help me. My mother was the cause of my two rapes/sexual assaults in my life and wants me dead because Im autistic. No one wants to help, or no one seems interested in even keeping me around.

Cosplay isnt helping. Video games aren't either. I havent felt any happiness since last year. I could deal with this if he was still alive. But at the same time Im lying to myself, I havent known what made me happy other than my past cat Ice Cube. I stayed for him since I love him. I had him since he was five weeks old. We bonded. Its not the case with Albert and I feel he loves me but we dont have the connection and never will.

Im never going to feel anything other than severe misery and depression. At least, that's what I 100% believe.

TLDR: Im severely struggling and dont know what to do anymore. I dont trust my new therapist even though she has stated more than once and my friend who also goes to her has stated more than once she wont send me to inpatient or CPAP and she tries to avoid hospitalization if we can. But because of multiple decades of PTSD, abuse, and being denied the proper treatment, help, support from friends and family that I should of gotten Im at the point where Im giving myself until December 31st to find a reason to stay alive and if I dont then Im letting my queue run out.

[stfu-im-thinking-abt-blorbo]

Copy/Pasted from my other pages, a little update on my art and mental health, and wanted to leave my situation on a slightly more positive note than this morning.

So my Apple Pencil/stylus has died for good today. I've been having issues with it for months now, and today was officially it's last day. There's nowhere nearby to take it for repairs, and I'm more than likely not going to be able to send it away to be repaired. I've had this thing since 2019, and in the past three years it has served me incredibly well. I won't be able to reopen any commissions until I either get it replaced or figure out how to mimic my style on Procreate in a different program. Replacement is definitely not going to happen any time soon, especially so close to Christmas, so idk when I'll be comfortable with my art in FireAlpaca or SAI2 again. Pretty much all of my WIPs on my iPad are going to remain unfinished for a while.

I'm very upset at the moment, not just from my stylus. A lot of stuff has happened over the past few years, this has been the worst year yet, and all of it is making me reconsider every step I've taken as an artist. I'm not well, I haven't been well for years, and I won't be well for many many more. I don't really have a good way to vent nor anyone I feel safe with to vent to, and I don't really know how express what I'm feeling on my own. I don't make vent art because I hate how it makes me feel, plus I can barely bring myself to pick up a pencil when I'm like this anyways. And while I can still write in a state like this, writing about my problems just makes me spiral further into depression, anxiety and paranoia. I literally have a doc titled "Why My Life Sucks, From Before I Was Born to Now." If that isn't unhealthy idk what is. This situation particularly stings right now. Yesterday I made my list of what I wanted to do in 2023 in an attempt to feel more positive and hopeful about my future, but I've already been set back before the new year even started. I'm not at risk of hurting myself or others, but ngl it'd be pretty nice to simply not exist right about now.

Sorry if this was a downer to read, but I wanted to give an update on my art situation and let everyone know what my headspace is like atm. For what its worth, I'm not "giving up" in any sense of the phrase. I'm definitely taking a break from any serious work on my stories or reopening commissions, but not forever. I'll still be making silly doodles and reacquainting myself with my screen tablet and FireAlpaca or SAI2. I have a lot of editing I want to do so I can update my deco and themes for my pages and blogs. And I've also realized there's also a lot of writing requests building up on my fanfiction blog, so I could also tackle that. Even though it feels like positivity has brought my life nothing but negativity, I'm still trying. I've been a pretty decent therapist for myself after all these years, why would I stop now lol

Happy holidays everyone 💖

[bioomingsins]

Turbulent Serenity . . .

Silence is the purest form of serenity. It's when the world falls silent in the corners of your mind, regardless of the chaos that surrounds you.

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

"Braelynn..." Callum's voice, gentle and coaxing, broke through, urging me to turn away from the hypnotic dance of the ocean waves crashing against the dunes behind his house.

My therapist had advised that being close to a pillar of strength would aid in managing my overwhelming grief. My brother, who has always been my confidant, my anchor, and admittedly, a constant thorn in my side, rose to the occasion when I needed him most. He took care of packing up Casey's things when I couldn't bear to part with them, trapped in the throes of our shared memories. He packed up what remained of my belongings and sent them to his place in Ocean Shores, Washington, before our flight the next day. Night after night, as I was tormented by nightmares, Callum was there to hold me through the screams, witnessing my repeated breakdowns. Weariness had settled in as my new norm, my mind a fragmented tapestry of sorrow. 

Most days, you could find me nestled in the window seat of my brother's study, gazing out at the ocean as it mirrored the chaos that had become my life. Other times, I'd be out on the dunes, letting the salty ocean mist wash over me, almost as if I could let it carry me away and end it all. The cycle seemed endless, stretching on for months until Callum reached his limit.

"Braelynn," he called out again, his voice now edged with anger, a stark contrast to the softness that had been there just before. My eyes, which had been fixed on the sea as if under a spell, finally shifted towards him.

"Cal, I'm not up for another lecture. I'm fine." I replied, the chill in my tone causing Callum to visibly wince.Taking a deep breath, I turned back to the water, my voice dropping to a soft whisper, "Just leave."

"Brae, you're not okay. It's been tough since Casey passed, and that's alright. But the way you're living now, it's like you're fading away, and I can't stand to watch my sister suffer like this." He kneels before me, his face twisted in a silent torment. Seeing him, always the rock, now so vulnerable, hits me hard for the first time. "You've been unable to accept his absence, to move on. The nightmares every night... You still won't talk about it, and I don't know how to help. The therapist thought coming here would be healing, but you're not engaging with the process," he said, his hands cradling my face, making me aware of the tears streaming down. 

Brushing his hands aside, I wipe my tears, then bury my face in my hands as sobs shake me, my voice breaking. "I can still see him, as clear as yesterday, lying there so peacefully amidst the chaos. That awful scent of death, it lingers. Who could have done such a thing? Why him? Is it my fault, all this pain?" My words tumble out, a torrent of pent-up thoughts and feelings, as I cry out and beat against Cal's chest. He doesn't deserve my pain, my anger over Casey's loss, but he envelops me in his arms, ready to bear it all. "He's dead, Callum. He's not coming back. What do I do now?"

"You need to let it all out, grieve, and crumble. That's the path to healing, and I'll be right there to help you pick up the pieces. And it's not just me; everyone back in New York is waiting for you. When you're ready, and the pieces are in place, moving on will just happen. Casey wouldn't want you trapped in this cycle; he'd want you to find peace in letting go, even if it's hard for you. You understand that more than anyone else," Cal said, his words raw but true, as he released me only to grasp my hands and help me stand. "Come on."

Taken aback by the abrupt command, I trail behind him as we descend the dunes towards the shore. He lets go of my hands, and his gaze drifts to the ocean, beckoning me forward without a word. His voice breaks the quiet. "The ocean serves many purposes, but what I cherish most is the quietude it offers and the solace found within its depths. It's about shedding your sorrows, emerging anew, as if declaring to the world your enduring spirit..." His words fade as I'm drawn forward, compelled by an unseen force to experience just as he expressed.

The chill of the water sent a jolt through me as the waves kissed my ankles. It was a welcome respite from the constant sorrow that had haunted me for two years. Wading deeper, the ocean rose to my jean-clad hips, the black fabric of Callum's old shirt clinging to my dampening skin. With arms outstretched and eyes shut, I leaned back into the sea's hold, surrendering to the darkness behind my eyelids, sinking, letting go, as if to relinquish all the pain.

"Braelynn..." A voice whispered in my ear, making me exhale sharply. My lungs burned, craving air as I stayed submerged. His face appeared in my mind, vivid and haunting. My tears blended with the saltwater, my hand reaching out as if to touch his face one last time. "Brae... it's time," he said, his voice a melody I longed for and thought I'd lost. "Let me go." I exhaled again, shaking my head in denial. I yearned to see him more, to feel him, to love him more. – I was certain in my heart that it was beyond my capabilities. Accepting that reality is the toughest challenge I'll confront in the future, but confront it I will. 

Callum was right; accepting that Casey was gone and releasing the pent-up emotions felt like the ocean was embracing me, cleansing away my pain and nudging me towards tranquility. Summoning every bit of strength, I started to swim upwards, disregarding the searing pain in my lungs. As I broke the surface, I unleashed a final scream, a declaration to the world that I was shattered yet still alive.

I would be okay. In a world without him, I would find a way to start living again. Perhaps not in the same way as before, but the future was an open book. Would I reclaim the light I had lost? Or would I fall into the depths of hell? The only way to know is to go on living, and that's exactly what I intend to do.

. . . Letting go is only the beginning.

[justtogetthrough]

Some colleagues are very upset with me right now because they don’t understand what our respective roles are or that I am child focused, looking for solutions to a problem, and they are focused on their own weird need that makes zero sense to people who aren’t them and has no benefit to the child. They’re “taken aback” about what I proposed and that I got ED approval before approaching them about it, despite me explaining repeatedly ED approval is step 1 before seeking their input bc if ED says no, it’s a moot point.

I got pretty heated while telling my manager about it because they’re being so fucking stupid and unreasonable and my manager’s responses were complete parallels and repetition of what my therapist and me talked about yesterday and it’s like lol well I’m glad everyone’s on the same page at least when it comes to shit 😑

My manager regularly has to talk me down from being upset and riled up about my colleagues because they are *that* aggravating and I’m annoyed with myself. But not as much as I’m annoyed with them.

They’re entitled to feel what they feel, but feeling this kind of way about this situation is so fucking disproportionate and detached from reality and it’s unreasonable. They’re missing the point completely and this will have real consequences for a child and the foster family.

Yesterday they refused to meet further about the matter after we met in the morning (step 2) and so I wrote back great! Onto step 3 then! and got crickets. So today at training I went over to be like hey when do you wanna proceed with step 3 and they pulled me into the hall and gave me a verbal beating I was entirely unprepared for. When I got back into the room and recapped it with my manager, I think they saw me being heated about it through my face and body language because the manager came over to suggest we meet again on Friday. You know. A meeting they said yesterday was not necessary. 🙄

My manager is going to be at the next one because this is stupid, these colleagues are wrong, and if they won’t respect the things I say then they can hear the s a m e i n f o from my manager and maybe they’ll get it together and stop being assholes.

If they continue to be petulant idiots then fine. Let this placement break down. I did what I could. If they won’t even broach the topic with the foster parent then I might anyway just so she knows this is an option, despite her supervisor being against it. But I have problem solved a solution to her issues around support and it is her supervisor who is preventing it from happening. That if she wants this option we can do it. We don’t technically need her supervisor’s support, getting it was just be the right thing to do to maintain relationships and be collaborative and united in supporting children. But noooOOOOOoooo my colleagues are being selfish.

I’ll see how it goes on Friday at this pointless second meeting but if they continue to disagree with pursuing this, I have zero problem going behind their backs and informing the foster parent the support is available should she choose it. It is unethical for them to withhold that information to serve their own needs. And my confidence is growing when it comes to advocating for things I believe are right. I don’t work in this field to watch kids get fucked over repeatedly by adults who have the power to change things.

[00katrinka00]

Landcaster Legacy Gen 7 Update #17

Mads' phone began to ring shortly before she was going to get Rosie ready for bed. "Hello?" Mads answered confused. "Is this Madeline Landcaster?" asked a female voice on the other end. "Yes, what can I do for you?" "My name is Tori James, I'm Violet's therapist"

"Was there an issue during her session today?" Mads asked. "That's the thing, Violet never showed up for her session." "She, what?" Mads immediately began to worry, wondering where her daughter had gone. Was she okay? "Just wanted to let you know," Violet's therapist said.

"Well thank you for letting me know," Mads said panicked before hanging the phone up. She racked her brain trying to figure out what to do. Where did Violet go? Was she okay? Did someone take her?

The only other person home other than Rosie, happened to be Lacy. "Violet didn't happen to tell you where she was going after school?" "Therapy," answered Lacy. "Would you mind putting Rosie to bed? Violet never went to therapy, so I have to go look for her." "Do I have to?"

Lacy sighed, "Here we go stinky, upstairs, bedtime." "Not stinky." Rosie whined. "Sticky then," Lacy rolled her eyes. "Hmph," Rosie gave her a dirty look. "Mean Lacy." "Yeah, yeah yeah," Lacy brushed Rosie off. "Tell me something I don't know."

As Mads was about to leave she spotted Violet walking up the front path towards their front door. While she was relieved her daughter was alright, she was furious that Violet had disobeyed the rules, again. "WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN!" Mads wasn't one for yelling, but she was fuming.

"Mom," Violet began to say in defense. "You knew I had therapy today." "Don't lie to me," Mads snapped. "Your therapist called, said you skipped your appointment today. What's your excuse for that?" "I, um, I-" Violet began to stutter.

When Violet finally gained her composure she said, "Honestly it's none of your business. I'm not a child. I don't need you telling me what I can and can't do, I can take care of myself."

"You are 15, that doesn't qualify as an adult, you're a child under the law and therefore you're a child under this roof, and as your mother it's my responsibility to know where you are at all times, for your safety," Mads said her voice raised. "I was so worried about you."

"Oh my watcher, Mom! I know how to take care of myself," exclaimed Violet. "I snuck out to a party yesterday and you didn't even notice and look I'm fine." "A party?" Mads asked taken aback. Violet finally realized what she'd just said, "Oh, uh, study group. It was a study group"

"You're talking about Nat Wilkes party last night," Mads put the pieces together. "I know about it because Leo actually asked my permission to go." "So, if I'd asked you would have let me?" Violet asked hopeful. "No, you're still grounded." "Then why did Leo get to go?"

"I allowed Leo to go to the party because he's responsible" Mads snapped. "He doesn't break the rules, gets good grades, he's proven time and time again that your father and I can trust him. You on the other hand keep proving the opposite" "Mom I-" "Here's what's going to happen"

"Going forward, since it's clear we can't trust you," Mads began to tell Violet. "I will walk you to school each morning, and then I will walk you to either work or therapy, and then I will walk you home where you will do your homework and then go to bed, do you understand?"

"This is so unfair!" Violet exclaimed in anger. "You made your bed, not you have to lie in it," Mads told her. "Actions have consequences and the sooner you learn that the better." "YOU'RE RUINING MY LIFE," yelled Violet. "I HATE YOU!" With that Violet stormed up the stairs.

Lacy was busy practicing her lines for the school play when Violet loudly entered the room. "She's just trying to teach you a lesson," Lacy said. "She's so controlling" Violet complained. "You haven't seen controlling, need I remind you that you've never met Madeline the first."

"So, it's the name then huh?" Violet asked sarcastically. "Your Mom's a breeze," Lacy told her. "It's clear she loves and wants the best for you, my mother, on the other hand was mean, condescending and the only time she was ever proud of me was if I got good grades, so never."

"It'd do you some good to realize that not everyone is out to get you" Lacy told Violet. "You haven't even given your mother a chance to hear your music, you've just already made up your mind that she's not on your side. Give her a chance maybe" "What do you know?" Violet scoffed

"What do I know?" Lacy snapped. "If you keep going down this path you're on you'll get wherever it is you're going, but you'll have nobody to share your success with because you pushed every single person who ever cared about you away, poisoned them all with your own black heart"

"You don't know that" Violet rolled her eyes. "I do actually," Lacy glared at her. "I know because that's what happened to me."

Dear Diary, It's official, I think everyone in the house hates me, except maybe Rosie. It feels weird though, I have this ache in my chest and a pit in my stomach. I don't know what it means. Definitely a feeling I have never felt before. -Violet

That's it! All caught up to where I am with updates on Twitter. If you want to keep up in real time, then feel free to follow me on Twitter (00Katrina00). As for updates I post new ones on Twitter every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday at 8:00am CST.

[gernades]

Ace is gone. He’s been gone for five weeks. 

Nancy has had a lot of time to think. 

She sees the places where he used to be- the kitchen, his house, the spot in his driveway where Florence is always parked- and can’t stop looking at them. 

“Nancy?” 

Nancy blinks and looks up. Ace’s mother is watching her, hands resting on the dough, eyes concerned. “Are you okay?” 

Today they’re making babka-chocolate bread, braided in sections and glazed with egg wash. Nancy looks down. She’s not very good at braiding, but it mostly looks like Rebecca’s dough. 

“I’m fine,” she says, a half-smile working its way across her face. “It’s just been a long week.” Another week without Ace.  She doesn’t know why she’s here, in his house- in his kitchen- but Rebecca doesn’t seem to mind. She never has.

Nancy’s here every other day, now. They’ve made bread and biscuits and a dozen Jewish desserts that Nancy is now addicted to. 

Sometimes, Thom joins them. 

( “He’s taken quite the shine to you,” Rebecca whispers on one such day, eyes sparkling. “He’s not like this with everyone.” 

Nancy doesn’t bring up the ASL textbooks sitting new and shiny on her desk at home. 

Talking about me again, Thom signs over his shoulder, and Rebecca laughs, flicks him on the shoulder. )

Now, Rebecca gently sets down her dough and wipes her fingers off on her apron. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

No, thank you, is Nancy’s knee jerk reaction. She pauses before letting the words come out. She’s been doing that more often, as of late. Sana-her therapist- would be proud. 

Nancy purses her lips and drags a finger through the loose flour on the counter. “It’s nothing, really. I’m just… going through a lot with my dad’s business, and... I can’t help but feel like I’m never going to be happy again.” 

The last part she doesn’t mean to say out loud. “I’m sorry,” Nancy says immediately, and lifts her head up. “That was…” 

“Oh, honey,” Rebecca whispers. Her eyes are shiny. “I don’t know exactly what’s been going on, but I can tell that it’s been hard on you. You’ve always been so strong. Just like your mother.” 

“Hm,” Nancy manages, throat tight and vision blurry. When Rebecca bustles around the table and wraps her arms around her, she doesn’t pull away. 

Rebecca smells like soap and rosemary: she is warm and accepting and she makes Nancy’s heart hurt less. This will have to end eventually, but she can’t help but lean into it anyway.

                                                              *** 

“You’ve been spending a lot of time out of the house,” Carson remarks later that night. 

They’re sitting at the dinner table, doing their best to eat what is supposed to be spaghetti, courtesy of Ryan. He’s still learning how to use basic appliances: his cooking is dangerous.

 Nancy wrinkles her nose and stabs at a coagulated lump of pasta. 

“Yeah. Nothing bad. I’ve just been… baking.” 

Ryan hums and shoves a forkful of food into his mouth. Nancy and Carson watch in amazement as he gets it down without gagging. “You’re really good at it, too. That, uh, chocolate croissant thingy you brought home yesterday was amazing.” 

Nancy raises an eyebrow, amused. “The rugelach?” 

Ryan jabs his fork into the air. “Yes. So good.” 

“Spending time with Rebecca, I gather?” Carson’s voice is light and free of judgement. Before the whole Wraith thing, Nancy would have pulled up her walls, deflected the conversation. 

It’s a little different now, though, so Nancy just nods. “It’s just... nice to have someone to talk to who’s normal.” 

Carson sighs and rubs her shoulder. “I understand that completely.” 

“Hey,” Ryan states, expression pinched, “is pasta supposed to make my stomach bubbly?” 

Nancy and Carson exchange a long, tired look. 

They take Ryan to the ER for food poisoning. 

                                                              *** 

George slams a palm down onto the table. Her engagement ring sparkles in the afternoon light. Nancy jumps. “It’s been quiet, Drew. Too quiet. I don’t trust it.” 

Nancy takes a long look around the Claw. It’s nearly packed to the brim with customers- their Yelp ratings have skyrocketed since the staff have actually started working again. “This is your idea of quiet?” 

George groans and slides into the opposite booth. “You know what I mean. We’ve had nothing supernatural happen for almost a month. It’s driving me crazy.” 

“Good,” Nancy replies mildly, and takes another bite of her crab roll. “I’m taking a sabbatical from sleuthing.” 

Sana was the one to suggest a break from anything stressful- like sports or large events! Avoiding murder and possession via the paranormal probably isn’t what her therapist means, but Nancy can read between the lines. 

George screeches. Half the restaurant turns to look at them. They turn back when they see who it is. 

“What?” She narrows her eyes and leans in. “Okay. I never thought I’d live to see the Hero of Horseshoe Bay gives herself a break.” She crosses her arms. “I’m proud of you, Nancy.” 

Nancy’s heart hums. She sends George a grateful smile. “Thanks.” 

George smiles back. “Your lunch break was over ten minutes ago, by the way. I need you to clean out the grease traps.” 

Nancy’s smile drops. 

The grease traps are gross, hard work. They’re also the last normal thing Nancy did with Ace, which is equal parts sad and amusing. 

She grits her teeth and scrubs her cloth against the dirty metal. At least it’s cool here, in the kitchen, and away from the always-prying eyes of customers. 

The bell above the restaurant door tinkles faintly. Nancy sighs and dips her rag into the bucket of degreaser. 

Bess screams, high-pitched and excited. “Ace!” 

Nancy stands up so quickly that she knocks the bucket onto its side. No way. 

He can’t be back- it’s too soon, too late. Nancy needs to think more. If he’s back, she can’t go to his house again, can she?

Heart pounding, she creeps over to the window and peers into the restaurant. He’s surrounded by Bess and George- and, after a moment, Nick jogs in from the parking lot, smile blinding. 

Nancy wants to go see him. She does. Her feet seem to have other ideas, though. She can’t seem to move at all. 

Ace looks good. His hair is longer, and sun-bleached; his skin is tanned. Even from this distance Nancy can see the new freckles on his face. 

There’s a leather jacket, black and tight around his shoulders- and two new silver studs in his ears. He’s smiling. He looks happy.

 Nancy’s chest aches. 

“Hey,” she hears him say to George, “Where’s Nancy?” 

Nancy takes a half step backwards. 

“Cleaning the grease traps in the kitchen,” George replies, spreading her arms in a grand gesture. “The best job in the world.” 

Ace laughs. 

Nancy runs. 

She doesn’t really run- she simply makes a strategic, tactical retreat into the staff room and out the back door. 

There’s no time to overthink it- not yet, her brain and heart agree. Not yet. 

Nancy thanks her former self for parking her car at the very edge of the lot. Nobody notices as she pulls out onto the road, a full two hours before her shift is supposed to end. 

Ooh, she’s a little runaway! Bon Jovi croons on the radio. Daddy’s girl learned fast- 

Nancy grits her teeth and pushes her foot against the accelerator. 

All those things he couldn’t say! Ooh, she’s a little runawa-

Nancy spins the radio dial with fumbling fingers, and spends the rest of her drive listening to germanic opera. 

“Shit.” 

                                                               *** 

“Jesus,” Ryan says when he opens the front door. “You look worse than I do, and I spent three hours getting my stomach pumped last night.” 

Nancy pushes past him without a word. 

Ryan’s voice lowers, softens. “Nancy. Hey.” He reaches out, gently wraps a hand around her wrist. She stops walking. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing,” Nancy says, but her words come out wobbly, uneven. 

Ryan scoots a little closer. “Okay, well… that’s a lie.” 

Nancy snorts. “Ace is back.” 

Ryan smiles, relieved. “That’s great!” He pauses. “Isn’t it?” When she says nothing, he squints his eyes, searches her face. “Oh,” he says finally. “I see.” 

Nancy stiffens, alarmed. “How did you-,” 

Ryan sighs and taps his cheek. “We make the same kind of face, you know. Genetics and all that.” 

“Shit,” Nancy says again, and tries very hard not to sink through the floor. 

“Don’t worry,” Ryan promises. “I wont say anything.”

“What’s going on?” 

Ryan and Nancy turn to face Carson, who is wrapped in a purple robe, fresh out of the shower. He takes one look at the expression on Nancy’s face and rushes over. “Is there another entity-,” 

“No,” Nancy says vehemently. She drops her head onto his shoulder, breathes in the smell of his aftershave. “I’m just not feeling well.” 

Neither of her dads press her for more- they simply stand like that, the three of them, for a very long time. 

                                                              *** 

        George: where the hell are u?? 

        George: hello? nancy?

        George: are u ok

        Bess: ACE IS BACK!!!! :D

        Bess: wait where r u 

        Nick: Did something happen? 

        Ace: hey. i just got back. where are you? 

“No,” Nancy says softly, and turns off her phone. “I am not good.” 

She needs a plan. Something to protect herself, and to spare everyone from the complications that one-sided feelings often bring. It’s been a good five weeks, if she doesn’t include the whole Ace thing. It’s been peaceful. Happy. 

She doesn’t want to ruin that. 

Nancy draws her knees up to her chest and stares out the window. I think I’ll just have to pretend. It’s either that, or avoiding Ace altogether- which would be impossible.

No more baking with Rebecca and Thom, either. That hurts more than Nancy wants to admit- but she’s already made up her mind. She’ll keep her feelings on the back burner, and do her best to keep things normal. 

With a sigh, she stands, and goes upstairs to take a much-needed nap. 

She dreams again. It’s the same one she’s been having every night for the past five weeks.

Nancy dreams of silk and cigarette smoke- because Ace always has to light one up after he has a joint- and of the ocean. The waves lap at the shore, rhythmic and quiet. It’s peaceful, here. Safe.

She dreams about a cliff, soft grass: warm, roving hands and a familiar mouth against her own. If she calls out his name in her sleep, that’s her problem.

 If she wakes up sweaty and teary-eyed, that’s her problem, too.

[midnightsconspiracy]

Instincts

Instincts - @midnightsconspiracy

Summary: Jay’s past has caused him a lot of trauma in the form of PTSD, and an episode finally breaks your bubble of perfection

Warnings: PTSD Attack, Violence

Word Count: 1212

Requested: Yes!!

'Something where jay has a PTSD episode and scares the reader cause he had a nightmare or something and she leaves for the night but then comes back in the morning and she talks him into going to therapy maybe by revealing something that therapy had helped her with? Thank you!'

A/N: I didn’t know how to write a PTSD episode at all but I gave it my best shot, so I hope y’all like it! REQUESTS ARE STILL OPEN

Masterlist

The feeling of warmth took over your body, as you wrapped yourself further into the comfort of the blanket. Sleep was close, you could feel it, as it lulled you further into its trap. The comfort surrounded you, both from the feeling of your bed and the security from your boyfriend who laid next to you. Everything was just perfect at that moment, your own little bubble of perfection that came before you faded off into dreamland. But that was soon disturbed, as Jay shot up, bringing you back to reality as he pulled his arm away that had previously been underneath you. You'd witnessed one of his nightmares before, simply calming him down and returning to sleep. This was different though, there was a certain glazed over look in Jay's eye that you'd never seen before. So, as you called out his name to try and ground him, he turned to look at you, fury blazing from within, grabbing your neck and squeezing. Panic spread through every cell in your body, your survival instincts kicking in, just as much as his were. You clawed at his hands, begging him through your expression to let you go, nothing seeming to get through to him. Kicking your legs out, you managed to catch him in a weak spot, allowing his grip to falter for a second and you to escape. Running into the bathroom, you locked the door as quick as physically possible, sliding down the door to regain your composure.

The harsh impact of your kick had brought Jay back to the present, taking in his surrounding and what had just happened. His hands shook as anxiety ran throw his body, calming down from the life-threatening place he thought he was just in. As he calmed down, he surveyed the room, hoping to find you, his lifeline and saviour when it came to these things. He racked his memory to remember when he had last seen you, but only coming across flashbacks of his hands around your neck, your face draining of colour as he squeezed the life out of you. Hearing a faint sobbing from the bathroom, he knew what he'd seen wasn't just part of his nightmare but a reality. How could of he done that to you, the one person who helped him and he trusted most in this world? Guilt racked over him, he was a monster, so how could you two go on from this?

"Y/N?" He knocked on the door, wanting to make sure you were ok, despite what he had done.

"Y/N please i'm sorry, I don't know what happened." His voice portrayed it all, the guilt, the sorrow, the shame. But you couldn't comprehend that right now, only thinking about how the one you loved had tried to kill you, unconsciously or not. Bracing yourself for having to see him, you took a couple of deep breaths, unlocking the door and walking back into the bedroom. Keeping your head down, you collected your things, flinching when Jay reached out to stop you in the process. You knew he didn't intend to do it, it was just his trauma fighting back and that felt extremely bad, but you just couldn't look the man in the eye. So you packed only the essentials, walking past Jay's trembling body on the bed, leaving his apartment wearing only pyjamas, not having a destination in mind, only knowing you needed to get out of there.

The only person you had seemed to be able to get through to at that time of night was Adam, begging him over the phone to let you sleep on his couch for that night. When you arrived, he had tried to pry for answers of why you'd randomly turned up at his place, but you had brushed it off, telling him to save it for an acceptable time to be awake. After an extremely uncomfortable night on Ruzek's cheap couch, you had explained to said man on what had happened. He attempted to give advice to you, despite his rocky history with relationships, but you had taken it, not knowing what to do otherwise. And so after a burnt mug of coffee and a haste goodbye, you set off back to your boyfriend's apartment to confront the events of last night.

Pausing at the door, you were hesitant before putting in the key, nervous of what was about to happen. Pushing the door open, you were confronted by the sight of your boyfriend, sitting on the couch, head in his hands. He turned his head at the sudden disruption to his eerie silence, eyes softening at your frame coming into his view.

"Y/N" He broke the silence once again, scared that he had ruined everything that you had built up over the past two years.

"Jay," You said back, trying to show him you weren't angry now, just scared in the moment. Seeing his remorseful face broke your heart, knowing that none of this was his fault, he just needed help to deal with the traumas of his past. So you rushed forward, bringing him into your arms, showing him your love through just your actions.

"Im not upset with you baby, I was just scared yesterday," you reassured him, rubbing up and down his back in a comforting manner, trying to calm him down.

"I know Y/N, and im so sorry, I was reckless and this is all my fault." Crying out the words, he started shaking once again, tears flowing from his eyes, the shame he felt resurfacing again. Guiding him to sit back down, you let him sob in your lap, letting whatever pent up emotions he had out.

"No no no this is NOT your fault Jay, you did not voluntarily do that." Making him look you in the eye, you made sure he knew what you were saying was genuine, all the feeling you had experienced yesterday not mattering now.

"But Jay you have to promise me that you'll seek professional help because we can't have something like this happen again," you said trying to reach out through his sobbing.

"But Y/N I-i," he tried to protest

"No Jay listen to me. I know you haven't had it great with therapy in the past, but we'll do it right this time, get someone who specialises in this sort of thing and who you click with, ok?" You were so desperately trying to get through to him, knowing he had had a bad experience with his previous bout of therapy. But you knew it was effective, having resolved some of your own problems via that method. Although you were hesitant to reveal your past trauma, you kept it brief explaining what good it had done for you.

"Look I know you're sceptical but it does work, I know from personal experience. My therapist back in Atlanta helped me tackle my anxiety stemming from my trauma and I really think it could help you too Sweetheart."

"Ok," he answered, trusting you with his life.

And so as you kissed his forehead, whispering how much you loved him, you hoped something would finally change, not knowing if you could deal with another episode like that again.

----------

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[rouiyan]

𝘗𝘜𝘓𝘓 𝘔𝘌 𝘜𝘕𝘋𝘌𝘙 [ 𝘯.𝘫𝘮 ]

⧏ jaemin’s installment of the undone at twenty-one collective ⧐

synopsis: one estranged at the hands of love and the other tethered to his reputation. it's no wonder they find solace within each other.

✧ bartender!na jaemin x (fem.) reader (ft. ex!mark) ✧ college au, almost fwb au

✧ genres : fluff, angst, slight comedy ✧ word count : 15.5k ✧ disclaimers : swearing, alcohol consumption, insecurities, anxiety attacks, mentions of sex (no explicit smut, as per usual)

✧ author’s note — i'm so sorry to do this to you guys on a weekly, i swear, dropping double digit k fics is not normal and has definitely fucked with my sleep schedule ++ i hit 127 followers on thursday! for a total of four minutes but it was cool while it lasted! thank you! 

maybe it all started when na jaemin got the job at the bar. it certainly didn't suit him, not the sweet boy he was, keyword on 'was.' he'd taken a course on bartending over the summer between senior year high school and his first year of college, just for fun until he realized he could actually use his license to get a job that paid slightly above minimum wage. maybe, it all started when he'd seen a classmate at the bar, a pretty girl at that, who'd smiled in a way that could only be classified as flirtatiously. maybe that's what had jaemin winking back, for the first time in his life. maybe that's what got him laid later that night. and maybe that's how he started to identify as more of a fuckboy than a heartthrob. it was a far out though new feeling, he thought. high school jaemin could never, he thought. 

but maybe it all started to come to an end when you walked into the bar for the fourth time that week, eyes rimmed red and breath already tinged with alcohol. you ordered a draft beer from him, something light to keep you slightly buzzed but not completely knocked out. the hands of the clock were nearing two in the morning and the bar, especially the area of the counter he was tending, was beginning to empty out. jaemin struck conversation once you were the only one left and seven minutes before his shift ended. 

he realizes, again, that you have zero recollection of him though he'd also struck conversation for the three nights before.

"how was your day, miss?"

you look up, head propped on your right hand, hand propped up with your elbow. "me?" slightly wary, you sit upright in front of the guy behind the counter. his smile never falters when he nods. you blink twice before remembering to respond, "i- no, i mean, today was okay," you slouch back into yourself, "a little less than okay, actually." the bartender's eyes widen in consideration, remembering that you had stopped at just 'okay' for the past days he'd asked you. he takes from this to offer politely, "do you mind if i ask what happened?"

your eyes are focused on the sink behind him, distractedly. almost forgetting to reply, you gather your thoughts by clearing your throat and pondering for a few moments before beginning to speak, hesitantly, "well it's like when you just know something bad's gonna happen, and you know for awhile. then it does happen and you don't get to be surprised or shocked because you already knew. so all you're left to feel is just," you heave a sigh, "sadness, or maybe even regret."

the metal nametag pinned to his chest glints in the lights above as he moves forward to place his elbows on the counter, leaning casually. you notice it to spell out 'jaemin' and a part of your subconsciousness is trying to make you remember that you know this guy. you know him from school, from rumors, from your gossiping friends, you know him from the bar even. but all you're able to process is that he is one hell of a good-looking specimen.

jaemin's eyes glint in the light as well when he poorly guesses, "did bad on a test? late homework assignment?" laughing and completely missing the fact that this 'stranger' had correctly assumed you to be a college student, you shake your head, "if it were either of those, i'd be awfully dramatic for coming to a bar and drinking my days away instead of studying." he's laughing as well and you can't help but think that his smile, straight pearly whites and all, is probably the most welcoming sight your eyes have laid upon the whole day. picking the conversation back up, you decide that it probably wouldn't do much harm to indulge jaemin in the latest and breaking news of your life. "actually, i was dumped today."

he sucks in a long breath in understanding, licking his lips, "so, a bad breakup. those aren't too fun." agreeing, you shake your head. the atmosphere is good-natured when you quip, "would it be worse to say that it was the eighth time too?" jaemin's brows shoot up in surprise and he pushes himself off his elbows, shifting his weight onto his hands. "eighth? as in eighth breakup or eighth time you've been dumped?" a chuckle escapes your complexion, giving way to how vulnerable you were feeling, vulnerable to a laughable extent. your eyes are cast downward when you respond, "the second."

jaemin pries in a way that doesn't seem like prying, you wonder how he does so. "care to share?" it's possible his range of bartender-ly duties extends to the likes of a therapist, "i mean, i don't see why not." you quirk your lips, the only thought coursing through your mind consisting of how the bridge of his nose was so carefully structured and how oversharing with this man didn't seem so much of a bad idea. you were, after all, far too caught up in your drunken stupor to think anything otherwise.

"let's see, i was ghosted by my first boyfriend in ninth grade, cheated on by my second, figured out that my third was only dating me for a bet, fourth just straight up stopped liking me, fifth lied to me about his age, objectified by my sixth, thought i was dating my seventh but turns out he forgot he asked me out, and my eighth...well, that one's a bit different."

he's back on his elbows, in intriguement and also due to the new song that began to play from the speakers above, louder than the last, "how so?" you're afraid the feelings are going to pour back within your forefront thoughts so you keep your answer short, "we dated for two years."

"and?"

you're quiet for a few moments. those moments are taken to mull over the exact reasonings behind your shitty day, almost as if you had forgotten. blinking slowly, the dryness of your contact lenses becoming apparent, you respond hesitantly, "and, he said he didn't see a future with me. that i could only ever be his first love."

jaemin seems to mull over this as well, "and did you see a future with him?"

you haven't looked up at him in a while, instead, focusing your sights on the way you've let your acrylics grow out far too long, how the skin around your nails is peeling, and how your palms are also creased with dry lines. using the same hand to lift the bottle from its handle, you toss the rest of its contents down your throat, swallowing in one motion. setting it back down, tongue grazing over your lips to catch the spilt extras, you look jaemin in the eye. 

"yeah," you move to collect your things, "i guess i did." you pay. you take your leave.

he sees you again the following day, for the fifth time in that single week and he's led to wonder if there is a reason you seem frequent this one bar. the atmosphere possibly, the customer service maybe, or even him, though he's doubtful.

this time you're accompanied by two friends, one he knows to be jeno's best friend, eunmi, and the other, the crush of that same friend, jaein. jaemin's known eunmi for as long as jeno has, since the beginning of high school. jaemin also knows that eunmi, as of the late, doesn't like himself all that much. he figures it has something to do with the bit of a reputation his name now carries. 

jaemin thinks the girls are by your side for emotional support. perhaps, today proved even shittier than yesterday, but he's thwarted a few moments after when the three of you seem to be lost in the depths of interesting conversation, light-hearted laughter, and glasses that can't seem to fill themselves as fast as they empty into your stomachs, except for jaein, that is, but especially for you. 

it's 12:48 in the morning when he's thrown off guard for the first time that night, in the midst of whipping up a whiskey for the grumpy man down the counter, eunmi falls asleep, literal in the sense that she really does fall and would've completely sagged into the ground if the table had not been in gravity's way. jaemin watches as jaein lifts the poor girl's head off the surface, revealing an angry red splotch, and transfers eunmi's weight onto her lap. 

he's thrown off guard for a second time at 1:22, watching you stand straight from your seat, swaying a tad bit, but brows creased in strong will and determination. you're walking towards him, steps that would be quick if only you were even mildly aware of sidestepping the paths of others. you pant as you reach the table, head feeling a little too hot and too heavy to aid in clear thinking. squinting at him, though you were but a few feet away, "your name. what's your name again?" 

jaemin repeats the actions you'd done yesterday, slightly wary in expression and checking his posture, "me?" you don't reply but continue to scrutinize the way he looks. he supposes that's just as much of an answer, "it's jaemin, i believe we talked yesterday." your mouth parts in recognition and moves as if to form a word or two in response. jaemin watches as it opens and closes again and, even after much deliberation, the only thing you can find to say is, "well, you're fucking hot."

"oh-"

"shit, didn't mean to say that aloud." your lips smack in embarrassment, shifting your weight to your left foot. your mind is yelling at you to sober up, to save your face. 

a smile adorns the man's features as he bemusedly remarks, "i'm sure you didn't." there's a silence that hangs between the two of you, and you're on the cusp of excusing yourself from further embarrassment when jaemin blurts out, "if it helps, i think you're fucking hot too." it might just be the alcohol in your system that's making the heat rise in your countenance but you swear you blush, and you never blush!

fingering the lobe of your right ear, you fumble with your thoughts until settling on a quiet, "thanks." jaemin busies himself with swiping a rag across the counter, unaware of the awkwardness on your end. looking up, he offers, "would you like a drink?" nodding, you take a seat at the bar in front of him, eyes slipping back to the girls for a split second, only to see jaein on her phone and eunmi still asleep. returning your sights, you're met with a slight humor traced in jaemin's expression, "what?"

he lets out the smallest of chuckles, mouth moving but lacking words, sentences starting but never ending, until he finally makes himself clear. "you- would you mind ordering a drink then?" your hand comes up, as if you had a point to make, but returns into your lap as you realize you'd never elaborated. "oh," your hand resurfaces to massage your temples, "same as yesterday then."

jaemin doubts you even remembered what you'd gotten yesterday but goes on to fill a bottle of beer from the kegs behind him. you're staring at his back in wonderment at how lackluster in...social interactions you'd become, how lackluster in flirting you were. you guess two years of being cuffed would render anyone a little rusty. hell, it wasn't as if you were keen on flirting with every hot guy you saw but jaemin, not that you remember much, gave off the right feeling after a wrong relationship. that was surely a green light, right?

"here," he slides it across the counter with a wink, entirely out of habit. you wince at that, "ew no, don't do that around me, i'm not one of your fuckbuddies." retying his black waist apron, he replies with a, "right, you're not." he pulls a neat bow in place and sets his hands back on the counter, there's a lilt to his voice when he speaks, "but, if you ever feel like you need-"

you wave him off, "i'm good, thanks for the offer though." 

he watches you chug the draft beer. nodding, he replies under his breath, more to himself than anything, "i see." you finish the bottle in no time but it looks as if you were to vomit, or pass out, or maybe even black out, or all three at once. jaemin really does not mean to spur your flirtatious gene as much as his own but seeing you like this he offers, "it's on the house." you're definitely surprised for a good half of a second but in the other half, you drunkenly lean across the table, so far so that jaemin's nose is but a few inches away from yours. 

something in jaemin stirs. the stench of your breath, your hardened eyes, the delicate lines of your lips. jaemin finds that it isn't lust that rumbles beneath his carefully built expression. and though it might as well be some form of pity, he doesn't hesitate to take your phone from you when you ask, "can i have your number?" he doesn't mind the smile that graces your face as you take your phone back, as you turn around to head back with your friends, not even in the right mind to say a goodbye, and even as you exclaim, rather loudly, to jaein, "i got his number," a smile of his own is quick to light up his face. but na jaemin hides his silly smile and even himself a little later when jeno appears to drive the three of you home. he even goes so far as to hide the smile and the meanings behind the smile from himself, afraid that he'd uncover something that was very un-bartender-ly of him to feel for a customer. at least, that's what happens before he ends his shift. 

when you first wake up, it's at the sound of the door of your room clicking shut. jaein, you suppose, you'll thank her later. the ceiling is oddly comforting after a week that just didn’t start well, go well, end well. love isn’t your forte, loving yourself, loving others, anything to do with love. you supposed that getting dumped the seventh time would have made that quite obvious but you just had to throw yourself out there again, just to make sure. you fall once again to  sleep that night with nothing on your mind other than the thought that you might as well be single for the rest of your life. 

but you wake up in the love, not of a lover per se, but of a best friend. the post-it note on your bedside reads, text me when you wake up!, and the smile that lifts your face is instantaneous. jaein has never failed to care for you, despite being almost a year younger, and in that way and many others, you feel indebted to her. 

you fail to recall any of the events of the night prior, though if anything horrendous happened you knew jaein would be more delighted to share. you stumble across your phone somewhere in the sheets after searching aimlessly and you decide that making a call would perhaps be more thoughtful than a measly text. but as you scroll through the names in your phone, upset that you didn't have jaein's contact pinned in your favorites, you stop, well, your heart stops because right below her contact is listed na jaemin.

you are two thoughts away from crossing over to tap the shoulder of the girl a little ways in front of you, her silhouette a great deal similar to jaein's, when a hand is placed on your own shoulder. you don't have a chance to turn and see who it is because that hand has traveled a little ways across your front, latching from one shoulder to another and bringing your body flush with his. you tilt your head to get a glance, only to find jaemin smiling down at you, the strobe lights glaring a brief red across his features. "been avoiding me?"

yeah no shit you've been avoiding him, suddenly nowhere to be found at the bar you used to appear at every single day of the week. and though the two of you attended the same college, you made extra sure to-

"jeno told me eunmi asked him for my lecture schedule for you, wonder why." a smirk grazes his lips, playfully. he’s grinding on your ass now, slow compared to the music blasting from overhead. taking your shoulder in his hands, he spins you to face him, "why are you avoiding me? tell me." jaemin places a hand on the curve of your neck, brings you closer to him, either so that he could hear your response better or because of whatever lust was running through his eyes. somehow, even with the minuscule amount of alcohol in your system, you can’t bring yourself to mind that he’s looking at you like some starved animal. 

"what do you want, jaemin?" he doesn't hesitate to show you, a lazy kissed pressed to your lips before leaning in towards your ear, "i want you in my bed."

no objections are made when the arm around your shoulder tightens its hold, so as not to loose you in such a crowd. nothing is said in opposition when he ushers you towards the stairwell, brushing past people left and right. no sign of reluctance is apparent when you cross the threshold of his room, shutting the door behind you. and not a trace of hesitance is found as you find a spot beside the man who's already placing a strand of wide kisses onto your neck.

"what'd you say about not being one of my fuckbuddies the other day?"

"well," you hastily move to straddle him, allowing him to a wider expanse of your chest, "i was drunk, fuck whatever i said." you lean back for the slightest of seconds to catch his expression, lust lined his eyes. certainly, you felt like one of his fuckbuddies now but maybe this is what you need, a distraction. just one thing in your life, one time, one moment in time where it wasn't so frustratingly shoved up in your face that your world, your one love, hadn't been torn down right before your eyes. maybe kissing jaemin with such raw desire would finally give you the reigns over your goddamned emotions. his lips on your collarbone, tracing down slower and slower onto your breasts, his hands guiding you lower and lower into his bed, it felt exhilarating. in that one second, when his fingers moved to the hem of your dress, eyes shifting to meet yours in question, you nod fervently because really, you want to let him in, you feel safe letting him in. 

but it only lasts for that one second because the door is burst open in the next, and a tipsy man and a wasted woman are storming on inside, eyes raking the place until they land on you and yours land on theirs, on his. mark lee. it's mark lee's eyes and as you take in the sight of the rest of him, the familiar him, and the girl by his side, suddenly nothing has ever felt more wrong. jaemin's lips, his hard on pressing against your core, nothing has ever felt more wrong when mark lee is staring right at you. why is it that you feel like you've cheated on him?

he leaves, pulling the woman behind him.

the party is alive, it's at its height, it's roaring and it's ravaging fun. the party is in full swing yet, for once, you're not partaking in it. "are you okay? do you need some water?" you lick your lips and decide, "some water would be nice, thank you." jaemin leaves the room, door clicking shut behind him and signaling your immediate breakdown.

a shudder passes your lips, reverberates down your spine, curls your toes. you draw into yourself, bringing with you jaemin's blankets on which you were sat. there is nothing more that leaks from your countenance than bouts of undisturbed anxiety that you let wrack your walls of understanding and awareness. you don't bother to fight back with distractions, no alcohol this time, no quick fucks, nothing to ease the weight that settles in your gut, presses down your heart and blurs the visions of jaemin's room.

he returns in seven minutes, promptly enough, for you're just about to wither in the confines of loneliness. the blankets are pulled taut around your figure and your head is in between your knees, mind flitting between images of mark and images of the darkness that threatens to envelop you whole. jaemin places the cup of warm water on the nightstand and dips the bed to your right though you barely register his presence until his hand begins kneading lines down your back. 

the feeling returns. the one you know all too well by now. the one where the skin on your forehead feels too tight from being scrunched in frustration for too long, when your brain feels like it doesn't belong in your skull, when you feel ruptures in your heart, aches in your soul, as if you were to combust if you so much as moved in the slightest. your ragged breaths echo in your head, over and over, as if to remind you that you aren't okay, that nothing is real, that the only thing keeping you alive are your breaths, the only thing between life and death.

your breaths are also what grounds you, focusing on the in and out, the way the air fills your lungs, the way it exits. your hands begin to mellow their shake and you begin to gain some semblance of your being. you feel that jaemin is all around you. he's everything you smell, his breaths are all you hear, his lean body and arms are all you feel, and though you can't see him, you know he's there.

he's there when you turn in his embrace, looking up at him with eyes that tell age-long tales of hurt from delivering too much passion whilst receiving near to none. he's there when you wrap your arms around him, head tucking into his chest. he's there when your breaths even and he's there when you tell him you can't fall asleep. 

jaemin hands you a set of his clothes, a light shirt and sweatpants, and ushers you gently into the bathroom. you change without looking in the mirror, afraid of what you'll see. he tugs you by the hand, once you're out, to the car. you only question him thirty minutes into the ride, "where are we going?"

he doesn't quite answer you, "if i'm right, we should be just in time." scrunching your nose in the darkness, "just in time for…?" 

it's then that he turns into a dim parking lot and suddenly everything becomes clear when the wide screen comes into view, "jaemin...you 50's romanticist." the time is almost four in the morning, you didn't know the local drive-in theater had screenings that early and you're surprised that the man in the driver's seat knows. he offers you a hand and you take it, absentmindedly. 

the movie is interesting enough to keep your begrudging thoughts away until an hour or so passes and you're beginning to teeter from exhaustion. before you have a chance to pass out, jaemin gives your fingers a little squeeze, alerting you, and then slowly tugging you over the middle console of his car and into his lap while lowering his seat. again, you comply absentmindedly, you're in no mindset to be complaining. 

straddling him for the second time that night, you sigh into his chest. your eyes are fluttering closed when you begin to trace back the moments that brought you to this mess in the first place, the events that led to you in na jaemin's lap, the boy renowned in bed. you're a conscious thought away from voicing aloud your hatred of love. fucking love.

the prospect of love is addicting to you, like a drug in many more ways than one. you want to get lost in someone's eyes, you want to swim in the embrace of your other half, you want to be able to romanticize every aspect of your life, to be able to attribute your everything to one single person who would do the exact same for you. you can't part with the thought that love isn't for you.

and you know that there really are people who live just fine being single, people who don't feel the need to share their every joy and letdown with a special someone, people who feel enough just being in their own company. you know that yet, you're fully convinced you just aren't one of those people. because no matter how hard you want to say that getting left in the dust for the eighth time became the turning point in this endless chase, you can't see yourself ever stopping. there is not a single part of you that wishes to stop. 

your breaths are shallow and brimmed with sobs as you drift into rest. above all that's been said, the least you can admit is that love is only a feeling. just like any other. 

✧ ONE (01) YEAR AGO

"mark, what the fuck, we never go on actual dates." you complain, though you really don't mind all that much. the car pulls into a parking spot in front of the library, "and who's to say study dates aren't actual dates?" he opens the door for you and you roll your eyes graciously. 

the two of you take your usual spots, the two at the end of the long row in the central area. it's halfway secluded, one side shoved against the wall, but still enough in the open to keep you guys from entirely ditching school work and talking until shushed by a librarian. 

he's about to say something when a librarian appears just around the corner, pushing a cart of books. so instead, mark takes a piece of lined paper from his notebook, gently ripping it at the edge, taking his pen out and writing a line and passing the note to you. i'll take you somewhere nice next time. sorry babe, i just happened to have a lot of work today.

you press your lips together, eyeing the man that was eyeing you back, okay, my love. you pass it back, shooting him the most playful of smiles. he writes quickly and when he slides the paper back to you, you read his words quickly. sure thing, my world.

you giggle, the sound eliciting a glare from the stressed schoolmate beside you. quickly you jot down the words you've been wanting to say to him. fine by me, my future. you shuffle the paper towards the man across from you, unwilling to hide yet another smile that spreads across your face. you watch as mark takes the paper in his hands, skims the words you've carefully penned and then, he puts it away, tucks it into the front of his backpack. you smile fondly at him for safekeeping the paper, thinking he'd want to keep it as a little memento, a token of your love for him.

perhaps you should've thought a little more about it, the action, because in that moment it never occurred to you that he only put it away because he didn't want to respond, he had nothing in his heart that he could say to top that, and he most certainly did not see you as anything more, much less his future. 

that lined piece of paper has long been discarded by now, in the most literal and figurative sense. mark could chalk it up to the possibility that it was just the right person at the wrong time but he knows there's absolutely nothing wrong with the time. college was going to zip by quickly for the two of you, you guys could move in together maybe, tell each other about your new jobs, every pay raise you got, and when you guys begin to settle down, a house would be bought and a ring would be proposed, and kids and old age would follow. somehow, mark can't help but acknowledge the fact that it simply was the wrong person at the right time. deep down, he knows it's always been that way for him. not for you. and he could only hope to turn back time and tell you a little sooner, maybe lessen the pain he knew he was to eventually inflict upon you. two years was two years too long. mark’s a nice guy and the weight of being your eighth breakup had a tough hold on him, it really did.

✧ PRESENT

you lift your feet up onto the other side of the booth, back against the window and your arrangement of your textbooks and computer to your left. jaein, studious as ever, looks up at you for a brief moment, "break? already?"

it's only been thirty minutes since the two of you arrived with the set intentions to study. "yup, already." you sigh, with everything going on, it's hard to pay attention to just one thing. especially something that seems so insignificant in the whole scheme of things. "y/n, are you getting enough sleep these days?"

you look over at her, her hair swept into a small ponytail, eyes holding the stars. jaein had her own fair share of problems, especially when it came to boys, but she never halted to care for herself. you wish you could be like her. "enough, yeah i'm getting enough." she puts down her pen, wrinkling her nose, "well then, make sure to get more than enough, yeah?" you only nod in response. 

jaein's eyes rome until they settle upon a girl a few tables down, also studying. she cocks her head in inquisition, "hey, isn't that minyoung?" you wait for jaein to look away before you take a peek behind you, not wanting to seem conspicuous. you know her, you share some of your professors with her, you see her almost everyday, but you've never been riled up by just her presence being in the same room as yours. you look back at jaein, "yeah, that's minyoung."

"minyoung as in the girl that jaemin's datin-"

"they're not dating," you intercept. sighing in distaste, you follow up to cover your evident aversion of the girl, "just fucking around." jaein only nods, eyes wide in worry.

a few minutes pass and you're already sinking back into your workload when she speaks, "does it bother you? that they- they're fucking around?" now, you're sinking into yourself because you really have no idea what you're supposed to be feeling, how you're supposed to be feeling, or even if you're supposed to be feeling anything for this boy who you know little to nothing about.

but you guess it's because of what you do know about him that throws you off. na jaemin, the campus fuckboy, heart throb, and whatever other name that makes his image sound as vile as it is enticing. in some other universe, you're sure to have already let him eat you out over the course of the few weeks you've known him but somehow, you're glad that you reside in the universe where your head seems to be more securely fastened above your heart. you lick your lips in consideration but nothing comes to mind. 

it's frustrating because as much as you hate to admit it, na jaemin makes you feel something. he stirs up something within you, something that hasn't been there in a long time. maybe not since your first crush or when mark first asked you out or even in the heights of your relationship with him when you felt like you could feel nothing more than love for the wretched boy.

you tell her, "it bothers me. it shouldn't, but it does." because though you don't know why. why you're feeling so strongly, or feeling at all, for a man so far from what you need after the end of a long-winded and committed relationship. you don't know why you even care, if anything, him fucking around with a handful of girls served even more as a sign for you to just stay away. getting invested in his small, thoughtful actions and his intense, loving stares is just asking for a ninth breakup. you don't know why but the idea of him being in bed with another girl, bothers you. it shouldn't, but it does.

jaemin isn't ever invited to these types of outings. usually, on a weeks basis, he's invited to quite the number of houses instead. houses of girls and houses that housed parties. never a restaurant, and never in the middle of the day. jeno had let that he was invited because eunmi had some 'investigation' to do, so naturally, he'd expect you to be there as well. turns out this investigation was set up for himself only, seeing as he was now sitting at the far edge of the table, to the left of renjun, whom he had never personally met, and across eunmi, who seems to spend most the time scrutinizing him instead of eating. 

the purpose of his presence is made clear as eunmi sits up straight, gaze still fixed on him, and asks straight to the point, "what do you want with y/n?"

jaemin places his fork down calmly but his voice is anything but that, surprised, "i- what do i- what do you mean?" his hands are folded in his lap now, he wonders if this was the reason you didn't come, he wonders if eunmi asked him to come just to interrogate him in front of all your friends. she's still staring at him and though he's taller, he feels a great deal smaller when everyone's eyes are turned to him. hell, even jeno stopped ogling at jaein to give his attention to the scene on the other side of him. 

he clears his throat and reiterates, now with a sense of the atmosphere, "what do you mean?" jaemin blinks rapidly as eunmi heaves a sigh, placing two folded hands on the table and pushing her point to light, "why are you messing with her? you wanna fuck her? you know she's off limits for you." jaemin asks the two question he knows he'll end up regretting, he can't help the spite that curls at the edge of his mind for the girl who so fervently despises him, "why is she off limits for me, huh? got something against me?"

"yeah, yeah i do. you go around sleeping with every other girl you see, you, jaemin, you are the last thing she needs right now."

"who are you to decide what she needs-"

"i'm just looking out for her, okay? and, shit, i know she has every right to, i don't know, fuck around with you too, but i can't sit here and watch as she falls for someone that doesn't give two shits about how she feels."

jaemin finds that he has nothing to say. the words echo around in his head, fall for someone, fall for him. he stares down at his food, takes a sip of his water, wipes his clammy hands on a napkin. when he looks up again, eunmi's expression is a tenfold softer than it was before. 

"i'm sorry, jaem. it's just- i don't trust you anymore. you've changed a lot since, since…high school." jaemin only nods. 

revolutions are held within him as he drives home that day. jaemin notes that the feelings are nothing new, he thinks it has something to do with the little churns in his stomach on the fifth night of your week of 'get drunk, get wasted.' he doesn't bother to suppress the feelings this time, it's been too long, he thinks. 

it's been too long since he's liked someone for who they really are instead of just their pussy, he thinks. he, and his loving self, welcomes the feeling with open arms. it's been years since the giddy persona of a lovesick jaemin resurfaced. he's glad it's because of you.

"jaemin, hey, do you need anything?" you remove your eyes from your computer screen for the first time in a few hours, you barely register the strain when his voice is quick to respond from the other end of the line, "can you come down? i'm outside, got a lil something for you." eyes almost ejecting out of their sockets, you quickly mutter a, "sure, i'll be down in two," before hanging up, slamming your computer shut, throwing on a hoodie over your lazy study-day outfit, and grabbing your keys after almost forgetting them entirely. 

straightening down the stray strands of your hair as you tread down the steps of the stairwell, you take a minute to breathe, a minute to yourself, before exiting the building. the sky is dark, the time being a little after dinner, but the lamplight that falls onto the man's face makes your heart swoon at the sight. dangerous territory. 

"hey," you voice as he meets you in the middle. "what are you-"

"here," he holds out a teddy bear, medium in size, brown and fuzzy. you take it from him graciously and he tucks his hands into his jeans pocket, "i was just-i just thought that you'd...yeah." chuckling, you notice the hues of warmth rise in his cheeks. "wow, didn't think you were one to blush." he's laughing as well, from the embarrassment, hand coming up to cover his cheeks, to cover his smile, his stupid smile. 

his smile never falters when he asks, "may i ask you something?" you nod, unassumingly.

"can i take you out on a date? next week maybe?"

breathless and eyes sparkling, you look up at him as if he were the one who put the sparkles in your eyes. he really was. now, it's you that blushes, hands coming up to cover your own cheeks, "yeah, i'd- i would like that." you almost want to coo at him when you see the relief that washes over his expression. 

"you would?"

"yes, jaemin," you give a breathy laugh, "i'd like that very much."

fucking love. that one stupid feeling that could get you so emotionally intoxicated in ways no substance ever could. the kind of love that made you want to scream into the void, to exclaim your sheer and utter elatedness to the world. fucking love that you could never not chase, especially if it was jaemin.

mark never took pictures of you. not that you expected him to by default, he just never did. jaemin, however, shows up right outside your dorms, a camera hanging down from his neck. you can't say it doesn't charm your heart.

"what's that for?" you eye the camera as you slip into the passenger seat. you already know, you just love it when he says, "for you, of course." his hand holds yours as he drives and it stays that way until the two of you arrive. 

the botanical gardens are, for the most part, empty on the weekdays, working wonderfully in your favor as jaemin leads you, also by the hand, through the forests of greenery, the air so crisp that it fills your mind with clarity after a week of muddled studying. jaemin compares you to the likes of several flowers, all of which he implores for you to pose next to for a picture. he especially finds the daphne odora, the winter flowering of daphnes, to hold the highest esteem in regards to you. you have not the slightest idea why.

the two of you are strolling under the glass-covered conservatory when light conversation turns heavy. confusion lines your face as you look over at him, "jaem?"

"yes?" he takes an extra step or two to match your pace. you stare at his feet as you speak, "what's...what's different about me?"

"what do you mean by that?" hesitance sits in your every word, "you don't treat me like...one of them, like one of you're fuckbuddies."

"because you're not," he replies simply. in all honesty, there's something you're looking for, something you just need to know, though you are lost in how to phrase it. shaking your head a bit, to wrack the insides for an answer, you end up regurgitating the same question, "yeah but, what makes me different?"

jaemin doesn't seem to mind and answers to his best ability, "well, for one, we're not fucking. and then there's the fact that i- that…" he trails off, the words are right there at the tip of his tongue, waiting to jump out at you, to allow you to revel in his love. he doesn't dare voice them aloud, the threat of rejection is stemming and rooting itself in his bloodstream. unaware, you urge him on, "that…"

your date is lost in thought, eyes seeming to be particularly interested in a bloom of camellias. you suppose they're plenty interesting but you wonder how he'd lost the interest in speaking with you so quickly. was it something that you said? maybe asking him so upfront like that wasn't the best choice. jaemin, meanwhile, is panicking. sure, the camellias look beautiful but the millions of thoughts that course through his mind are each occupying too much space for his mouth to actually form a string of words that make coherent sense.

jaemin finally, finally settles on something to say, just as the two of you are rounding upon the exit. he subtly wishes he'd gotten a picture of you by the camellias. turning his sights back in your direction, he verbalizes, "are you going home for winter break?"

lips pursed, you shake your head, "no, i was just planning on staying at school-"

"do you wanna come with me? back home?" 

you stop in your tracks. jaemin walks on until the hand that's carrying yours is tugged to a stop. he looks back at you and sees the way you gulp, the way you refuse to return his gaze. he makes his way back to you, closing the distance he's created. jaemin is a few seconds, a few thoughts, away from recollecting his propositions with a 'nevermind' and a quick brush of a hand but you beat him to it, voice small, but instead of hesitance, it's laced in full conviction.

"yeah okay, i can do that."

it isn't until you're back in your dorms later that night, going over a couple of review sheets for your upcoming exam, that you think to do a little research. a new tab is opened, a few words are typed, and you're floored with what you're met with. 

the daphne odora (winter daphne), where 'odora' is latin for fragrant, is most noted, though not often, to be a symbol of doting love, as if to say 'i would not have you otherwise." it flowers in the winter and is primarily prone to wilting in hard soil and low sunlight…

✧ SIX (06) MONTHS AGO

mark's parents give you a once-over before letting you in. just the way they look at you speaks volumes. you can only hope they don't treat you any different. for some reason, his house feels cold, unpleasant, unwelcoming. and though you thought any homemade meal should bring about a sense of warmth, dinner is passed in tight-lipped smiles and the worst type of small talk, small talk about the weather. 

retreating into his room after dinner, you decide to bring to light your worries, "mark, i don't think they really-" evident, he's already two steps ahead of you, "it's fine, y/n, they just haven't seen me date someone in awhile."

treading carefully over to his bed and placing a knee upon the sheets, you offer, "so...overly critical?"

he gives you a look, one that opposes your quavering brows and reverts your worries, "exactly."

"right," you huff a sigh of relief, as far as you know, you're convinced but the underlying layer of disbelief still holds true, "i'm gonna go get changed, okay?" you hear a mumbled, "okay" in response as you reopen the door, sights already on the bathroom at the end of the hall. it's when you're at the top of the stairwell, just before your destination, that you hear the conversation from down below, his parents you suppose.

"i'm just saying we shouldn't take this too seriously," by the pitch, you tell it's mark's mom. you move for the bathroom, uninterested, until his dad speaks up as well, "i know, especially with how she looks, exactly like her don't you think?"

"it's the eyes, they have the same eyes," your hand, just above the doorknob, is held in place. your face, expressions of the shock and concern that comes with the revelation, is unmoved. and your breath is no longer coursing air through your lungs.

"mark must still be really hung up on her if he's stuck with that replacement for so long," your hands being to shake and you're afraid that whimpers will arise in their wake, you make haste into the room, closing the door after enduring one last sentence. his mom chuckles, "poor soul, i hope he tells her soon."

you can't find the light switch but you're trembling fingers are quick to latch onto what you assume to be the shower dial, turning on the water to mask your loud sobs. you lock the door behind you, sliding down the back of it while letting out the briniest of tears. the rubber bathroom mat underneath you squeaks and your feet hit the vanity across from you. hands in your hair you can only pull at the strands, the strings of curse words and pain that emit from your figure more mental than physical.

you've never wondered what it would be like to be filed under 'replacement,' or to have a spot in someone's life as merely a disposable placeholder, someone whose presence was dictated solely by how well you satisfied the other's needs for closure, or lack thereof. now you're wondering if that is really all there is to love, satisfying each other's self-serving desires. you wonder if mark served some sort of purpose to you. but you could not, for the life of you, think of one. never in your life as now have you wanted so badly to see the good in a person you swore to love for perhaps the rest of your life. 

you want to look him in the eye and tell him that you can't take it anymore, the disrespect, the mistreatment. maybe you could be dramatic and throw a hand across his face, a cup of water to douse his senses. you'd think that a man so kind would be the epitome of committed lover, never one to be agenda-oriented, not that the mark you now pictured was some scheming wretch, but you had to keep in mind that even going as far back as when he first laid his eyes on you, the interest you saw in them was in reality just familiarity. somewhere in you, something about you, maybe not even your looks, resonated with the memory of someone that was already held close to his heart, long before you came along. you were just there so he could relive his past, relish in his memories, prolong the inevitable. 

but more than everything, you despise yourself. it's because of who you are, your willingness to be unfalteringly loyal even in the face of something so wrong, that makes it so you are always the backup plan, the last resort, the dumped and not the dumper. it's who you are that keeps you silent till the very moment he ends the whole damned relationship, till the very moment when there's no point in speaking out anymore, so that all that's left to do is to cry out. 

✧ PRESENT

the sky is vast out in the countryside. the wind pays no mind to ruffling the leaves on the trees, branches already bare in the wake of autumn. you wished it could snow, just a little, though you doubt the early december rains would be so willing to fall into harsh winter so soon. jaemin ushers you to close the window your finger are flitting out of, he keeps ushering you, but you give him a shake of your head each time, you like the cool air. as he exits the highway, you finally slip them back in, tips of your fingers numbed raw, and jaemin looks at you in an 'i told you so' fashion before rolling the window up to keep the heated air within. 

as so many times before, he takes your hand in his while he drives. fussing, his own fingers now encasing and rubbing yours to build the warmth back up. you perk up as the surroundings start to speak more 'countryside' than 'middle of nowhere.' a gas station, diner, couple of shopping plaza are passed, "how much longer?" jaemin pulls to a stop at a red light, "four, maybe five." eyes sparkling, you turn towards him, bringing your legs up on the seat and pulling his hand in yours to your lap, "ooh, so we're close. really close."

the light turns green and jaemin waits for the car in front of him to move, "why? you nervous?" you squirm in your spot, under his gaze, "i mean, n- no," rubbing the back of your neck, "yeah, a little i guess."

"and why is that?"

your hand is still on the back of your neck, fumbling with your words, "well, i mean, your parents. and we're not even- yeah, i don't know." 

you say you don't know, yet, both of you know exactly what you're trying to say. 

jaemin's childhood home is quaint, with a big front and backyard, and the only house on his street that has offwhite siding paint and soft blue shutters. you'd never pegged him to be a countryside kind of boy. 

you've only known jaemin for the better part of two months, yet, the first thing his mom does is hold you in her warm, welcoming embrace. "y/n, dear! such a pleasure to have you here, you're all jaemin talks about over the phone." you blush at that, pulling away from her to give your most sincere smile. you wonder since when blushing was your thing.

his mother does her absolute best to learn your whole life story over the course of one single meal and his father is gruff but fails to hide a smile at your small attempts at anecdotes while jaemin full on chortles on his food. you're glad that not once do they bring up the questionings of your and jaemin's relationship because frankly, you have no idea what the whole deal with it is yourself. 

even after dinner, his mother is quick to pull you into the living room, tightly bound photo albums stacked high in her hands. as the two of you coo over two-year-old jaemin taking a bath, four-year-old jaemin at his first piano recital, seven-year-old jaemin's face smushed in his birthday cake, the actual jaemin finishes up washing the dishes and makes his way to his packed bags, unveiling a pack of...you're not sure.

he sits to your right, setting the paper envelope on the table. you pick it up just as he puts it down. peering in, you pull out a bundle of photos strapped together with a measly rubber band. slipping it off, your eyes soften when you realize that almost two thirds of the stack is just you, and then a flower or two, and then some more of you. 

jaemin and his mother are hovering over your shoulders on both sides when you reveal the last picture, one of you and jaemin that he had so kindly asked another visitor to take, the daphnes in the back. he had said something funny, you wish you remembered what it was, and in the moment you were looking up at him with your face scrunched in amusement, but it was too late, the picture had been taken. the man on your right takes the laminated photo from you, "i think," he starts, hands navigating the photo albums to find the most recent one. flipping it open, he slides it into the slot underneath a picture of him at his high school graduation, "i think it goes here."

jaemin gives his mother a look, unbeknownst to you, and she dismisses the two of you hurriedly to go off to bed, to get some rest after a long car ride. jaemin doesn't think much of that, apparent in how he does urge you to shower, unpack, and get comfy in his bed but also keeps you up, talking into the depths of the night.

he explains to you, later after you had asked, why his albums only went up until the end of his high school days. his head is propped up on the pillow, body strewn on the thin mattress of his bedroom floor, but both upturned to you perched on his bed. his room is a showcase of his younger years, far before you knew him, and even farther before you heard rumors of him. the walls are littered with certificates of merit, ribbons of academic excellence and his shelves, instead of books, have been cleared out for an abundance of trophies, for innumerable instruments, for perfect attendance, for anything and everything a person under eighteen could be awarded for. you'd never pegged jaemin to be a countryside boy, and added on to that, you'd never have pegged him to be the goody-two-shoes his childhood home so plainly made him out to be. 

he tells you, himself, how college had changed him, how freedom had changed him, how being admitted into the fraternity changed him, how parties, underage drinking, sex, how it all rewrote the person he used to be. he looks you in the eye and tells you how much he loved the thrill, the adrenaline, the popularity, the sheer magnitude of people he had swooning over him, at his feet, on their knees. he tells you he loved it and that he's not so sure if he loves it now.

"why the sudden change?"

jaemin could tell you that he doesn't know, really, that maybe he just grew up a little and saw his time wasted, that perhaps he realized all the fights he had with his parents were simply not worth it. or, he could tell you the truth.

"because of you."

"what do you mean?"

"i mean," he's scrambling to sit up straight now, so he can look you in the eyes. if he's going to do this, he's going to do it properly. his eyes level with yours, lips freshly licked, he dives in the deep end. "i think i just- i met you at your worst. and we talked, and we, i don't know, flirted, and everything was supposed to just pan out how it usually does. you know, in bed. but it didn't." you've sat up as well, feet hanging over the edge of his bed and barely scraping the floor. you reach to hold both his hands in yours, though you have not the slightest clue where he is going with this tangent. "it didn't, but even then, i- i never-" it seems that even he doesn't know.

jaemin's hands start to clam in yours but there's an underlying determination that still holds strong, he's nowhere near done. "i never stopped going after you, and not at all for the sex. i- it was really just for you."

your jaw unhinges itself, hand not bothering to cover, thoughts elsewhere. what you thought might've been his life-changing, inspirational, heart-spurring tale, is turning out to be something you were inexplicably unprepared for. your newly sprouted tears are at the brink of overflowing as you try to make sense of the mess your mind has already made for itself. the questions are almost pushed over the precipice of your tongue before jaemin clears the air with finality and a handful, of in-the-moment confidence.

"y/n," jaemin's fingers glide over your knuckles in half the rhythm of your heartbeat, "i met you at your worst and i think that somehow it made me realize that i was also at my worst. and i don't know what people have to say about two sad people falling in love, all i really know is that i like you. i really fucking like you."

as if on cue, you start crying right then. "fuck, jaem," you pull your hands from him to swipe at your face and he's moving onto the bed as he speaks, dumbfounded, "why are you crying, y/n? is this like a 'i like you back and i'm happy' or 'i don't like you back' kinda cry?" you throw your head back in unprecedented laughter as he takes you in his embrace. your head rocks back and rests on his shoulders, arms coming up to encase them. "it's a 'relieved that i'm not the only one' cry."

he draws back, hands still holding you at the waist, "so, i'm taking that to mean you like me back?" you lick your lips, "maybe...possibly, you'll have to find out on your own." jaemin shakes his head, the back of his right hand coming up to caress the apples of your cheek. chuckling he retorts, "you're saying that like i don't already know. eunmi kinda let it slip a few weeks ago." 

"she what?!"

"well, she kinda said that you were falling for me or something like that."

"well," you stop, in confoundment of being left in utter betrayal, "well, she's wrong. tell her that i said she's wrong."

"but you-"

"no, fuck what i just said, she's wrong."

"i- okay," jaemin watches you fall back onto your back with a huff, he follows shortly. the ceiling the both of you stare at and beyond is rightfully comforting after a week that just happened to start well, go well, end well. maybe love is your forte, after all, loving yourself after all that's happened, loving others despite all that might go wrong, anything to do with love. you suppose the getting dumped the eighth time would have made that quite obvious but you just had to throw yourself out there again, just to make sure. and boy were you glad you did just that.

jaemin is cutting fruit when it first begins to snow. apples are especially delectable in the winter, he knows he's bound to love them even more after this one winter. you're on the couch when it begins to snow, just shy of beating your long-withstanding high score on some game you were admittedly terrible at. jaemin joins you on the couch with the plate of apples, moments after it beings to snow.

"jaem," your lay a hand on his thigh, your sights elsewhere, "look, it's snowing."

you're scrambling to get a scarf around your neck, your boots zipped, the turtleneck underneath your coat pulled to your chin. the sky is almost dark, sunset not entirely visible under the veil of clouds. jaemin can't decide what is more enlightening, the snow or you and the ear-splitting grin that takes up half your expression. he decides that it's you. 

you aren't even allotted the time to make snow angels before his lips are on yours. it's not the first time the two of you have kissed but neither of you will deny how different it feels. jaemin guesses it's because the way his lips move against your is fueled by untainted adoration and he suspects the same from you. he molds them steadily, wanting to take delight in the feeling for as long as hig lungs would permit. specks of snow dust the crests of your cheeks and the tail ends of his eyelashes. they heat in contact with your skin and begin their descent, deliquescing as they stray down the curves of your cheeks, meeting at your mouth that so fervently moving again jaemin's. it's where the cold melts of snow meet the warm mix of salivation. 

you wield all the experience you will ever need, yet, it feels like it's your very first kiss, butterflies stirring down in your tummy and all. it never ends, it really doesn't. not when he first parts for air, or when you part the time after that, or even when you notice his mom, hands on her hips, from the window, or when the snow begins to clot at your feet. 

you think you love him.

despite all the thoughts that tell you it's cheesy, it's boring, it's lame and conventional, you tell him on valentine's day. 

the party is alive, it's at its height, it's roaring and it's ravaging fun. the party is in full swing and as what is now considered usual, neither you nor jaemin are eager in partaking in it, opting to simply hang out in his room, above the loud music and the moans from the opposite ends of all four walls. the door is locked this time and instead of joining the crowd in the main event of fucking each other senseless, the two of you have a small setup on his bed, littered with textbooks, previous exam papers, a fancy charcuterie board, courtesy of the dedicated chef, jaemin himself. you're on your back, feet hitched upon the headboard and laptop positioned at a ninety degree angle on your ninety degree angled legs. jaemin is on the floor rather, using the bed as a makeshift table even though he has an actual table not two feet away. 

"i wish we could go to your dorms, it's loud as fuck." in response, you heave a sigh, mind now sidetracked from your work, "a pity i live on the fifth floor, we have no chance in sneaking you in." a thought dawns on him and he wonders why neither of you thought of it before, "let's go to the car."

it's quite the sight and you're sure anyone who's actively paying attention would laugh. jaemin's arms are locked straight up, supporting yours, his computer, and three textbooks, as he navigates the swarm of people to the exit. you're, following in tow, arms held up in similar fashion but instead of a stack of books, you're hoisting the charcuterie board, still abundant with cheese and grapes and a dip of honey. the threat of everything toppling over is very much apparent.

he'd driven a little ways down his street so that the buzz of the party could be left fully behind. the only thing aiding your studying is now the low-grade yellow lights that come with the fold down mirrors. "holy shit, jaem," your mouth waters even as it anticipates its next bite. "what?" he glances over at you. the charcuterie board is hiked on your knees that are drawn to your chest, makeshift tables are all too common today it seems. all the cheese on the board have an identical bite on them, a result of your taste testing but it seems that only one has drawn your liking so much so that you have eaten most the portion provided. "this- the- what's this one?"

"petite jalapeño, why?"

you cover your mouth as you chew hurriedly, "it's so fucking good, babe, with the honey. oh my god, i love you." you've finished chewing but you don't notice what's left your mouth, definitely not food.

"you what?"

you're thoughtlessly thrown into his trap, "i love- fuck."

"you love fuck."

"wait no."

you put the plate on the dashboard, dusting off your hands while your cheeks dust rose under the dingy lights. "i- wait, yeah i," you shift a leg under you, turning to your boyfriend but refusing to look him in the eye. you speak to the outlines of the house two down from his, "i guess i do love you."

"y/n, look at me."

you shy away from him, embarrassed yet overcome with the sudden wash of feelings. you knew this, you do love him, so why is it so hard to voice aloud? he brings his hand to your chin, leans it towards him until you have no choice but to gaze into his loving stare. truth be told, you wouldn't have it any other way.

"i love you too."

your fingers play with your bottom lip, thrusting it up and down, left and right as you mull over which picture to post. "bummer, i look great in this one but you're blinking. ugh." swiping to the next one, you find that it's the last. "here," jaemin unlocks his phone with one hand, holds it out for you, "i think i have some that jaein took, she's better at taking pictures than jeno anyways." taking the device from him, you click into his photos and find the last two hundred or so to be just of you and the lavender fields, he hasn't changed a bit. 

jaein does have a lot more sense, "wow my legs look so long in this one," and "geez, that hair flip was entirely unintentional, i must be a natural." jaemin rolls his eyes at that, one hand of his on the wheel while the other makes its way over to your thigh, rubbing a soft, distracted massage. 

the first red flag that draws your attention. you're airdropping a cumulative 54 photos to your own phone when you see a name that you had long forgotten in his top three message chats, minyoung. you ignore it. you post the picture. you edit the caption seven times, each time becoming more indecisive than the last while jaemin gives you the incredulest of looks.

you decide to stay at his place for the night, not that it's an inconvenience to drive the extra two minutes back to your place, but just because he wants to spend the night with you. there's no objections, why would there be?

the second red flag that draws your attention. jaemin's showing you something on his phone, a video of a dog maybe, you've forgotten. the text that drops down while the two of you huddle over the screen holds your interest far longer. it's minyoung and she's telling him to come over. you're slightly alarmed, you're boyfriend even more so. he draws his phone back instantly, to your dismay, and you almost want to snatch it from him, to delve into the depths of the chat. you really almost do. 

"jaem, what did i just see?"

"y/n, it's not what you think," it irks you that he's so quick to defend. you keep your head on cool for now, "okay, then what was it about?" his eyes shift from yours to the wall behind you, you're surprised they're lined with annoyance. he shakes his head, "nothing."

you're thinking it's all the more reasonable for you to be the one who's annoyed. you bit down harsh on your lip, refusing to give way to any of your many impulses, "if it's nothing then why can't you tell me?"

jaemin glances over at you, fleetingly, "i- it's not something you should be worried about. just, trust me, will you?" rubbing your hands down the fabric of your- his sweatpants, you utter a sigh, not sure of how much longer, how many more times you have to be left in the dark, for you to snap at him. you hope it isn't soon. "jaem, i trust you, i do. but that doesn't mean i'll believe everything you say blindly." you note that, for whatever reason, his pupils are shaking. "at least, not after what i just saw."

"then i don't know what to say. you have to trust me on this."

na jaemin has never been stubborn, or, he's never had a reason to be. everything goes accordingly to the way he wants to, that's how it's always been. maybe it's because of his endearing charms that teachers can never fail him, that compliments are always showered upon him. perhaps it's the way he flatters that makes him so likeable, befriending people is as easy as reciting the alphabet when you've frequented too many parties and met too many people. he knows that when he kisses up, people will bow down, he's never been rejected. it's definitely because of his good looks that girls always spilt their legs open for him, they never say no. 

na jaemin gets what he wants, except when he doesn't.

"no."

you leave because you have trust issues, sure, who doesn't, who cares. who cares if there are tears streaming down your face for seemingly stupid reasons? it isn't the first time, it's nowhere near the first time. it's the same feeling you had when you realized your first boyfriend wasn't going to reply back, there's still a read seven years ago below your text. the same feeling when you saw your second kissing your 'best friend.' still all those years ago, when you were two steps away to the lunch table when you heard your third whisper to his friends, "just a stupid bet with a stupid girl." when your fourth told you he lost feelings for you when you were still madly in love with him and when you had to found out from your oldest sister that your fifth was her classmate, in grad school, while you were still in your last year of high school, not even old enough to vote. your sixth trying to strip you of your virginity right after you agreed to be his girlfriend and your seventh basically forgetting you existed. you were getting the same fucking feeling all those months ago when you finally realized your rightful position as 'replacement,' as 'number 2,' as 'poor soul.' maybe distrust is simply inbred in you and though you know the prospects of yours and jaemin's relationship are far from over, you can't deny the gut feeling that your bad luck in men is coming back to haunt you, that it's never left in the first place.

na jaemin forgets that he has a past he can't erase, just like you. the girls he's fucked over the past three years have hearts and they have reasons they began to fuck him in the first place. he couldn't heal their hearts, nor his, but sex did a great deal, made a great deal of people jealous, gave him all he needed at the time. he never expected them to simply go away when he decided to settle down but it seems that his reputation holds so much worth that it's proving hard to overcome it himself. jaemin hates that you date the campus fuckboy, he hates that people still whisper in your ear that he's fucking so-and-so in the dead of night. he hates that he can't get rid of the stigma around his name, even though you know, through and through, that he can't nearly live up to it anymore. you know yet, you leave because of it. his reputation. na jaemin, certified eye candy and delectable dick, wishes he was anyone but himself.

her bare feet shuffling down the hall is the only thing she hears. she wishes they let people wear shoes on the second floor so she could've busted her heels out and clacked her way to his room. she needs the rush of empowerment right now. she needs it. 

the next thing she hears is the sound of raised voices right as she is about to shove the door open, the door fifth on the left of the hall to the right of the stairwell, exactly where you'd told her he'd be, albeit reluctantly. 

eunmi is taken aback now that she recognizes one of the voices behind the door. minyoung. gritting her teeth, she presses her ear to the wood, careful to keep quiet. 

"so you're fucking her now? is that what you're trying to tell me?"

"minyoung, i'm not fucking her. we're dating, it's been that way for awhile," he sounds exasperated, maybe, eunmi can almost see the crease in his brows.

"why didn't you bother to ask me if i was fine with it? we had a thing going, you can't just bail on me like that."

"the only thing we had going was quick fucks every thursday. i'm sorry, but i don't think that's much of a relationship."

her voice is growing impatient, in desperation like she's grasping at loose strings, hanging on to whatever she can find, "this little bitch- does she even know? how much of a dick you are? are you just going to leave her like you did me?"

"stop, minyoung, please,"

but eunmi guesses her point is valid nonetheless, she herself doesn't think very highly of him. "how would she feel if i told her that? that leaving is your specialty? you can fuck me, and all my friends and leave, thinking that we'd never know, but we know, okay? and if you- if you ever think that you'll be satisfied with settling down for this chick, think again jaemin."

eunmi backs into the restroom across the door, for good measure and good sense because minyoung is storming out the second after, unaware of her eavesdropper. a minute and a glimpse later, she knows that jaemin is crouched by the foot of his bed, though she's unsure why.

she braves herself because she's here for answers. reappearing at his door, she calls softly as if raising a white flag, "hey there." jaemin's head snaps up instantaneously in surprise. "oh, hi, what're you doing here?" he lowers himself to sit on the floor and eunmi takes the spot in front of him, wariness in her movements. 

"well, i came here for y/n, obviously, but um, i just happened to hear-" she's cut off when jaemin lets out a low groan into his hands. eunmi makes her stance a little clearer now that she has a better feel of the situation, "i'm not here to break up with you for her or anything. she didn't really want me to come, but i guess, i guess i came because we've also had our fair share of...disagreements that i think we should set straight," she pauses, hands fiddling with her thumbs in her lap, "i'm sorry if this is too much after, all that."

he looks relieved at that, "no, it's fine. i- i'm glad you want to, i don't know, make up. i haven't really been all that great of a friend these past years anyway."

eunmi lets a smile slip at that, what an interesting turn of events, "so...friends?"

"friends."

"and just to set the record straight, you're not still fucking minyoung right?"

jaemin rolls his eyes, shakes his head, gesticulates with his hands, "no, i got y/n. she's all i really need." eunmi nods to fill the awkward silence that follows. she's reminded of another inquiry, "so why didn't you just tell her that?"

"i guess i just didn't want her to worry or like- or get involved with my past, stuff like that. i kinda hated how it's dredged up all the time, especially now that i've, i don't know, settled down, committed."

"should've just told her," eunmi deadpans. 

"i really should've," jaemin agrees.

"need me to drive you?" jaemin's extra careful with his words today, post-arguments can be fickle, particularly if they're only halfway resolved. your voice is muffled on the other end, "no, i'll walk." jaemin's wishes he'd insisted it instead of simply offering, late spring rains weren't all that uncommon, and even more so when the skies are darkening as they are on this specific day. "it might rain though," he tries again. you decline again, "i'll manage, thank you."

he sees you in ten, fifteen minutes or so, and sure enough, you're drenched head to toe, staring up at him with eyes that bear in mind the tension that hangs in between you and also border the bounds of laughter at how you're dripping wet with no one to blame but yourself. jaemin bites back the 'i told you so' and hurries to get you dried off with a towel, changed, and under the sheets. by then, the tension has subsided considerably.

"you wanna talk about it?"

you're tired, though it hasn't even struck five on the clock, "i thought that's what i'm here for."

"so, i'm not fucking her-"

"nice to know-"

"-just had some loose ends to tie up-"

"-and did you?" jaemin supposes you're far too tired to be emitting the same, resolute aggressions as a few days prior seeing as you're keeping your voice to a minimum and the words that come out are straight to the point, blunt. he does his best to reflect the same straightforwardness.

"i did, she's...off my back, our back...our backs."

you give him a look, scrunch your nose, and tug him by the arms into you. there's a blanket separating you two but he fits exactly against you anyways. you wonder how anyone could ever get in between the two of you if you so perfectly mold alongside him. the bridge of his nose nuzzles down your neck and you're laughing because it doesn't get any better than this, really. 

he shuts the light on the bedside table off with an inattentive hand, the blankets are drawn back and he's pulled flush into you. his body heat is welcome on a frigid night and the blanket that falls back on top of him seals the both of you within the confines of his bed for the hours to come. you're starting to think that coming here was more just to cuddle than it was to make up with him.

"i can't get enough of you," his face is in your neck.

"and why is that?"

"because- because everything about you- i feel like i'd be missing out if i never tried to start something with you," he buries himself further in your scent, "it's like i emptied my heart out just so you could fill it back up."

your chin rests on the crown of his head, it tickles him when you speak, now in half wakefulness, "could say the same for you." 

jaemin whispers into your ear, breath fanning down onto your neck, words that will only ever be for you, "i would not have you otherwise."

jaemin spent your spring break at your hometown, to meet your parents, both of which loved him dearly. he wouldn't dare voice it aloud but he thinks it's the sweetest that your mother holds you, her youngest daughter, in such high-esteem after bringing home who she thinks to be the 'most gorgeous man alive,' an utterance he was sure was not meant for him to hear.

he likes being the 'most gorgeous man alive,' especially if you were the one who thought so, but as he watches you stare intently at the flynn rider's jawline, his own jaw clenches. tangled is playing as the pre-movie for movie night, the movie that plays before people actually start to arrive since, donghyuck and eunmi are always destined to be at least an hour late. but it's not that that gets him the most riled up that night, riled up isn't even the right word. maybe agitation, at whoever thought it was a good idea to invite mark lee. mark fucking lee, the grad student. the whoever turns out to be chenle and although jaemin does not have it in him to beat the kid up, he is sure as hell watching over the dude from the moment he walks in to the moment he leaves.

more than that, he also keeps his eyes on you as well, tracing your expression with every word his goddamned senior ought to speak. "hey, y/n, how have you been?" jaemin glares. as far as his detective senses go, he figures that marks target for the night isn't you, but rather eunmi. he hopes he can get over this as quickly and neatly as possible. your face twitches into a smile, uncomfortable, he thinks. "fine, i've been fine. you?" jaemin wants to draw you back and tell you that you had no obligation to be so polite, that the 'fine' would have done its job splendidly on its own.

"pretty good myself, looks like things have been happening around here, huh," jaemin hates the way he wriggles his eyebrows, "hyuck and eunmi, you and him." jaemin hates how he just referred to him as 'him,' surely, there was a lot more due respect than that. "yeah, and jeno and jaein but that's-"

"oh psh, old news," the two of you laugh, you laugh with him, with him. jaemin is just about ready to throw hands when mark excuses himself to get a seat on the floor, serves him right, he thinks. you look comparatively calm next to the raging boy. why is he the only one bothered by this?

"you good there? didn't even say a word to him."

he gulps, "yeah, i'm great. just didn't feel like talking."

you're staring at him like you can see right through him, that's exactly the case, "i'm over him, you know?" jaemin scratches at his neck, "yeah, i know." head on his shoulder as the first official movie of the night plays, you sigh, "no need to get all worked up, i'm all yours." 

the twentieth century fox theme plays in the background of the romance novel you live in. na jaemin makes you feel that way, unfailingly, every single day. it's written in the ways he kisses you, lovemarks blooming under your skin. it's written in the way he stares at you, with nothing else except pure, unadulterated love. it's written in between the lines, his actions, his thoughts, everything that amounts to so much more than the past years of deprivation you've had to endure. it's written in the stars, out in the countryside where jaemin could never fake a smile, not in the presence of you. with you by his side, not in a million years.

it's here. summer fucking break is finally here. and if there's anything to prove that, it's the way you're currently sitting in a car with all your friends. taking a short little road trip out to the beach. now, mind you, these are the same friends that were there on your drunkest nights, slumped over bar counters and blatantly asking for any hot guy's number. the same friends that accompanied you on your most sober nights, holed up in your single-person dorm room, trying to study for an exam for a class you could never wake up in time for. and among those friends is one who has an added prefix, your boyfriend, na jaemin, who's in the driver's seat per your request since your carsickness prevented you from any other seats and you really wanted him by your side. jaemin didn't seem to mind driving, after all, he was next to you. 

the sun is setting too fast and eunmi, sitting in the seat in the far back, complains that they'd have to set up the bonfire right away instead of getting to play in the warm water while it's warm. donghyuck, beside her, is complaining too, but not about the bonfire or even the trip in general, but about eunmi and her legs which are hoisted on his lap, something about how his dingaling needs to breath. jaein, in the seat right behind you is musing on about how she thinks it'll be funny when they arrive and see yeseul and renjun's car torn up in two, neither of them could ever get along. jeno, to her left, is fussing with rubbing sunblock on her, getting angry at how her hair could never stay out of his way. 

you glance over at jaemin who has this smile on his face. this smile that makes it seem like he's in adoration of the whole scene panning out in the rearview mirror. he takes a glance over at you too and, if even possible, his smile beams wider, straight pearly whites and all. his hand finds yours.

it's already dark when the eight of you arrive but eunmi isn't complaining anymore since the boys make quick work in getting the bonfire set up while letting the girls play in the water. the ocean water licks at your feet as you watch eunmi and yeseul duel in how much water they could spray at each other, jaein sitting on the shore off to the side, watching as well. you're pondering going over to accompany her when eunmi's hand latches on your left arm and tugs the whole of you into the water with her. it's warm and wouldn't have been entirely unwelcoming had you gotten a notice in advance. 

you make fun in chasing them around, kicking up water in eunmi's face one too many times that she begins to choke on the saltiness. yeseul is now on the shore yelling at renjun. and jaein is doing her best with a tent. eunmi, who's back you were currently rubbing, is almost through with her fit and you think the mischievous face she's pulling means another round but she brings up a question instead, "how's he in bed?"

she's right if she assumed you'd chuck another armful of water in her face.

you sigh in annoyance as jaemin tosses the towel over your head once again, unsatisfied with how the tips of your hair were still wet. his fingers are ruffling fast and making quick work to dry the strands but you're upset. "jaemin, babe, we've been standing here for ten minutes, can i go now?" your head resurfaces as he gives the towel one more tug, smiling, "just making sure you don't get sick." he follows as you duck into your shared tent to get ready for the bonfire. "shit, jaem. i didn't bring an extra top," you frown but he only smiles wider and grabs his hoodie from the ground beside the sleeping bags. "lucky for you, then," he tugs the article of clothing over your head, only speaking again once your eyes peek out, "because i love seeing you wear my clothes." 

you give him a nose scrunch in return but every word of his, every single word that comes from his mouth is enough to get you swooning. you follow him out the tent.

"so," donghyuck's eyes are playful in the light of the fire, "what game are we playing today?" jeno groans, "do we always have to play some sort of game? why can't we just like…" even he's unsure of what to do. the eight of you are situated around the blazing fire that's, not quite large enough to be a bonfire, but does its job in keeping you warm. jaein perks up after much deliberation, "how about...we go around and each make a wish?"

donghyuck huffs, "fine by me." it starts with jeno, and though you truly value each and every one of your friends' wishes, there's only one that you really remember for the rest of the night, the day, the week, the month, and the years to come. jaemin clears his throat, the rest of the group watching him including you, the you he turns to. you're huddled over on the log beside him, wrapped up in his hoodie and hair an absolute mess. your eyes are heavy and he already knows that once everyone decides to call it a night, you will be the first to leave. you're looking at him in tired anticipation and mild interest, he hopes what he has to say tells you all he needs you to know. 

"i already have you, so there's nothing left to wish for."

the rest of the group breaks off into 'oohs' and 'ewws' but you swear that you and jaemin, jaemin and you are stuck in your own little world. his gaze is incredibly soft and endearing, you scoot closer and place a head on his shoulder, his hand coming around your frame in automatic response. leaning into his warmth, you feel closest to home than you ever have before. 

jaemin carries you to sleep later that night. and even later that night, or rather early in the morning, when you rustle awake, he's aroused by you as well. the two of you sit on a towel atop the dry sand, right before where the tides ride up the shore. basked in the moonlight, jaemin's skin beams a pale sheen and his eyes are cast over darkly, ethereally, divinely. your head is still on his shoulder and you feel the words vibrate through you when he speaks, "did you have fun today?"

you tuck a lip under your front teeth and nod for him to feel. he asks another question, "how are you feeling?" this time, you aren't able to part with just a shake of your head so you sit up, eyes never leaving the push and pull of the sunless ocean, "i feel...happy."

he looks over at you, not in surprise but in interest, "happy? why do you feel happy?" you shrug almost, musing off whatever comes to mind first, "i don't know, school just ended, this trip, summer break. i have a lot of reasons to be happy." jaemin isn't sulky at that but he does his best to pull his name from you, "and what about me?"

you dare a glance over at the man next to you, his eyes already boring into yours, "well, you too, of course." looking away as quickly as you'd looked over, you mumble quietly, "actually, more because of you than anything." in your peripheries, you see him give you a look that speak 'that's what i thought' and you clip down your smile in favor of a shake of your head. 

moving from your spot, you surprise jaemin when you block his view of the seaside. he settles you down into his lap with familiar control, arms cradling you tight to his chest. hand on his neck, you trace it up to his cheek and guide his head down to face yours. jaemin leans in for a soft kiss, lips suckling at your bottom as your teeth tug on his top, slow but sensual, tired but sweet. you pull away for a breath but it's as if he doesn't need to breathe anymore because he chases after your lips almost instinctively. soft kiss after soft kiss is all that's needed for you to pluck up your courage and look him in the eyes, lips detached, and speak the truth your heart has been singing in your ears all along. "jaem," his eyes are hazy as they find yours in the dim light. somewhere in the back, the sun is peeking over the horizon in all its glory but neither of you pay it any mind. "yes, love?" he brushes the hairs from your face, fingers gliding across your cheeks and then fumbling with your bottom lip with his thumb. you blink and you speak.

"i've been waiting for you all my life."

you think back over the past seven months, a little over half a year, that you've had this man in your life, five months of which he was your boyfriend. you wonder how you could've fallen so fast in such a short amount of time. then again, love is rarely ever about how short or how long. it's more about the timing in which everything falls into place, the intensity by which each person loves, their pasts and how willing they are to erase it. falling in love is not about getting it right the first time, to find someone to be your first and last. for you particularly, jaemin is your ninth, and though the prospects of him being your last are still far from true, you know in your heart and in your mind and in every part of your living being that with each coming second, he's a second closer to becoming your last.

copyright © 2020 rouiyan all rights reserved.

✧ end note — if my ex ever sees this, though i truly doubt he will, he gon know i stole one of his lines for jaemin. the wish one. yeah...he always had his way with words, that's about all he had though. but hey, it makes a hell of a good line in this story. i hope you had a good time reading this piece, it was such a pleasure to write. i will see you guys when i wake up for class in three hours hehe. with all the love in the world, rouiyan

[harley-sunday]

Encore [03]

Summary: The new Disney+ show ‘Encore’ brings together former castmates of a high school musical, tasking them with re-creating their original performance in a high school reunion like no other. Emotions run high as you face faded friendships, long-forgotten controversies, killer choreography, and an ex-boyfriend you haven’t seen in eighteen years.

Pairing: Chris Evans x reader [unnamed OFC, nicknamed ‘Ace’)

Warnings: Language. NSFW

Word count: 10.3k

AN: This chapter has everything: angst, swooning, smut, you name it. Hope you enjoy :)

Masterlist

“Hi, Nic,” you answer your phone with a faint smile, wedging it between your ear and your shoulder so you have both hands free to drain the pasta that has just finished cooking.

“Ok, I did something and you’re not going to like it, but-”

“Nicole,” you warn her, because even though you’re not sure what she’s talking about it doesn’t sound too promising. 

“Just hear me out, ok?”

You grab the glass of wine you poured yourself earlier and sit down at the kitchen table, “Fine.”

“So I went to go see Chris after you left yesterday and-”

“Nicole,” you draw out, pinching the bridge of your nose, your elbows resting on the table, “what did you do?”

“I gave him your letters,” she says matter-of-factly. “He needs to know.” 

“I can’t-”

“It’s been eighteen years, babe,” she cuts in, “and I’m not gonna let you two waste another minute.”

“You had no right,” your voice comes out barely above a whisper, the betrayal caused by your best friend weighing heavy on your, well, everything. You can hear she’s still talking but you hang up anyway, not interested in whatever excuse she comes up with to justify her actions. 

Your phone rings again, Nicole’s name flashing on your screen, but you decline the call, the hurt slowly turning into anger and so you empty your glass of wine rather aggressively before you decide you need something stronger. Might as well get the whiskey out, you reason, and so not much later you find yourself on the couch, your half-finished dinner long forgotten, nursing a whiskey and taking a rather painful trip down memory lane.

After you left Sudbury you found a job as a waitress at a diner in Boston somewhere and you were determined to leave the past behind you, taking on every available shift to keep yourself busy. It felt like you actually had your life together for about six months, but then ‘Not Another Teen Movie’ came out and suddenly Chris was everywhere and you had a rather embarrassing breakdown over it at work. Your boss, bless him, understood you needed something more than just a shoulder to cry on and referred you to a therapist who had helped his daughter after a particularly nasty divorce not too long ago. 

In the end it was Dr Lipinski who suggested writing letters rather than keeping a diary, because as he told you, the act of writing down your thoughts and feelings and then sending them to your person of choice, would offer you a sense of closure. You chose to send them to Nicole, mostly because, well, you missed your best friend terribly, but also because she was there for most of what happened while you were dating Chris and so she knew your history.

She didn’t reply until after the third or fourth letter, when she wrote to you and told you how hurt she was after you left. You were a little taken aback by her blunt reply but your therapist used her letter to make you understand that when you left Sudbury, you also left Nicole behind and that her feelings were very valid. Your next letter to her was a heartfelt apology that she accepted with grace and after that you started writing to each other regularly. 

Most of your letters those first few months were long, endless pages of you trying to understand why this break up had such an impact, why you couldn’t seem to let it go. Sometimes while writing, a happy memory from when you were dating would pop up and you’d share it with Nicole, but most of the time it was just you trying to figure out where things had gone wrong and why Chris seemed so unaffected by all of it. Another popular subject was trying to make sense of why people treated you the way they did after you broke up and why they went to such lengths to make you feel so bad up until the point where the only way out was to leave Sudbury. 

After a while, a good two years after you first started writing, your letters became less about Chris and more about whatever else was going on in your life. You kept writing Nicole as you moved from Boston to Pittsburgh to Baltimore before you ended up in Philadelphia almost four years ago. She was there with you for every new job, every date you went on, both good and bad, and during your four-year relationship with Dylan that slowly bled to death even though Nicole already told you to call it quits five months earlier. 

Except for the annual Christmas letter there was no telling how often you’d write her, sometimes mailing out as many as three letters in one month and sometimes taking several months between one letter and the next. There was always a peak in letters whenever Chris had a new movie out though, his media presence almost a cruel reminder of why you started writing in the first place. 

The Infinity War premiere earlier this year, which took place about a week after you were contacted about Encore, made you write two letters in rapid succession. The first one was upbeat, the words penned down almost in a hurry, as though you were afraid you’d run out of time, and almost giddy with excitement at the prospect of seeing him again. The second letter was way more subdued and took you several hours to write as you suddenly found yourself reliving the years right after you broke up with Chris, which in turn made you doubt if coming back would be a good idea. 

Your last letter was sent somewhere during the summer, where you let Nicole know that of course you were doing the show, not only because it would be stupid not to but also because you hoped it would bring you some sort of closure after all these years. She supported your decision and you could tell she was excited to finally see you again and introduce her family to you. 

Maybe what bothers you so much about Chris now having your letters, you realize, a few hours and two glasses of whiskey later, is that, even though you made the very conscious decision to go back to Sudbury, things are out of your hands now and you hate no longer being in control of what happens next more than anything. 

The rest of the week passes by in a blur, a new assignment with a tight deadline has you working long hours, all while Nicole keeps calling you at steady intervals. You never answer, still too upset and hurt by what she did. 

When Friday afternoon comes around you wonder if maybe you should call Dr Lipinski, just to hear what he thinks. You decide it would probably be weird to contact him after you stopped seeing him, what, fourteen years ago and so you don’t, not in the least because you know he’ll probably just say something like, “But how does it make you feel?”

Problem is, you don’t know. There’s a whole range of emotions you go through each day, from angry when you remember what Nicole did, to disappointed that she did it, to hurt that she did it without your consent. Giving Chris those letters was like giving away a piece of you that you’ve kept hidden for all these years and you’re not sure you want him to see now, because what if he no longer wants anything to do with you once he finishes reading them?

Last night you wondered if you should just call him and explain well, what exactly you weren’t sure, and so you spent the better part of an hour staring at your phone, willing for Chris’ name to pop up on your screen. You even contemplated calling Scott, only to realize you don’t have his number, which made you even more upset.

Your phone rings then, interrupting your thoughts and when you see it’s your boss who’s calling you take the call with the push of a button on your steering wheel, her voice filling your car in an instant. 

The call is short, but you know more will probably follow over the weekend, because for some reason your boss values your opinion too much not to run things by you before final decisions are made. Before you hang up you tell you’re available should she want you to come into the office, and even though she tells you she would never and to enjoy your weekend, you kind of hope that she does, because you could use some distractions in the next forty-eight hours or so, not particularly looking forward to the time alone. 

After a quick stop at the grocery story you finally make your way back to your house, cursing quietly when you see there’s no empty parking spaces along your street and you’ll have to park around the corner. Once you find one not too far away, you sling your purse over your shoulder and grab the brown paper bag from the back seat, supporting it with two hands once you’ve locked your car, because even though it’s not really heavy it’s just easier that way.

Your phone rings then and without looking you answer it, figuring it must be your boss backtracking on her earlier offer to not have you come in, “Linds, just tell me when and I’ll be there.”

“It’s me.”

You’re too stunned to say anything and stop at a bench, putting the groceries down to keep from dropping them.

“I know you don’t want to talk and I know you’re still angry, but I need you to listen for like, two minutes, and I promise I will stop meddling after this,” Nicole says so fast you almost want to tell her to take a deep breath, but then she clears her throat and says, “I gave him your address.”

“What?” You make a face because you don’t understand, “Who did you-”

“Just be honest with him, ok babe?” 

“What are you talking about?” You shake your head even though she can’t see you, “Nicole? Who has my address? Did Scott contact you-”

“I want you to know that I love you,” her voice is soft, “and that I’m always here for you.” Before you have a chance to say anything she continues, “Now go. I’ll talk to you soon, ok?” 

“Nicole!” It’s too late, she’s hung up already and you can feel yourself starting to get annoyed at her call. What the hell was she thinking, giving Scott your address? You stew things over while you pick up your groceries and continue on towards your house, not particularly paying attention to your surroundings. You’ve just made it to the front steps when you see something moving out of the corner of your eye and then someone steps into view and-

“Hi.”

Of course. You look at him from over your grocery bag, “What the hell are you doing here?” Then, because it’s quite busy out and you don’t want anyone to recognize him even though he’s wearing sunglasses, you rest the bag on your hip and fish your keys out of your pocket and nod towards the door once you’ve opened it, “Get inside.”

He waits in the narrow hallway for you to close the door and so you have to squeeze past him to the kitchen so you can finally put your groceries down. You take a deep breath before you turn towards him and it’s then you notice the duffel bag at his feet, which makes you scoff, “What are you doing here, Chris?”

“I wanted to check on you-”

“Well, you’ve seen me,” you say, gesturing at yourself, “I’m fine.”

He steps closer then, his eyes landing somewhere over your right shoulder, where you know there are four empty bottles of wine on the counter and so you try your hardest not to cringe, before he looks back at you, one eyebrow raised, “You sure about that?” 

You close your eyes for a second, trying to not lose what little composure you have left, “If you just came here to tell me my life is a mess, I really don’t-”

“I came here because we need to talk,” he takes his sunglasses off and runs a hand through his hair, which tells you he’s not quite as confident as he tries to make you believe. 

“And you thought showing up, unannounced, was the best way to do this?” You scoff and shake your head, “Do you even know me?”

“I thought I did,”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You hold up your hand when you see he wants to say something, “No, you know what, never mind, we’re not doing this now.”

“Ace-”

“The living room is on your right, go, make yourself comfortable, examine my life some more, I don’t care,” you tell him as you turn around and start unloading your groceries, “I’m gonna make us dinner first because I’m not doing this on an empty stomach.”

You think you hear him chuckle, but you’re too determined to prove your point and so you ignore him, instead getting everything you need to make a quick chicken stir fry. He leaves his bag in the hallway, almost like he wants you to know he’s not going anywhere, and it makes you go through a whole range of emotions while you cut the vegetables.

Dinner is awkward and silent and so the moment both of you finish eating you pick up the plates and disappear into the kitchen, mumbling something about doing the dishes. While you wait for the sink to fill up with warm water you start clearing away some of the things you’ve used while cooking and it’s at that moment Chris walks in. 

Your kitchen is small and definitely not large enough to host two people comfortably and so you can’t help but bump into him when you turn back around, and having him up in your personal space does nothing to improve your mood.

“You need any help with those dishes?”

You shake your head, hoping he’ll get the hint and leave you alone, but either he really doesn’t or simply chooses not to, because he stays, leaning against the countertop behind you. Fine, you think, and focus on the dishes instead. 

“You know what I regret the most?” His voice is soft, barely above a whisper, but his words pierce through the air like a scream and in response you start scrubbing a little harder. He doesn’t wait for your reply and continues, his voice a little louder now, “Letting you go that easily.” He clears his throat, “Did you know I came back for you after we broke up?”

Shit. The plate you were holding slips from your hand, falling back into the soapy water and making some of it splash over the edges, which only adds to your frustration.

“I thought maybe if we could talk and I could explain what really happened at that party, I don’t know. I thought maybe we could work things out, you know, that if you heard my side you’d understand, but-” he pauses for a second, “you weren’t there.” His voice catches on the last word and he clears his throat again, “When I found out you were gone I lost it. I asked Nicole to tell me where you went and when she told me she didn’t know I- Your parents, I called them every single day, begging them to tell me, to at least let me know if you were alright, but they just told me to let it go. To let you go.” 

Too much. It’s too much and you can feel the room starting to close in on you and so you try your hardest to just stay focused on the task at hand.

“I think they called my mom at some point, just to get me to back off, and she basically told me the same thing, that I should let you go and that if we were really meant to be together you’d find your way back to me in the end.” He scoffs, “Maybe not the best advice to give a heartbroken nineteen-year old who thinks this is the end of the world. I went off the rails after that and I’m not proud of some of the things I did, but at least the alcohol helped to numb some of the pain, so-” He sighs, “My manager gave me an ultimatum after I missed my third casting call in two months and, I don’t know, I guess that was the turning point, you know? I went back to Los Angeles and focused on work and for a while it helped because that city never held any memories for us so-” his voice drops, “I thought I could finally let you go, but-”

You don’t want to hear it. You don’t want to hear that the past eighteen years have been just as bad for him as they were for you, and it’s almost as if you don’t want to believe that what he just told you is actually true, because it would invalidate so much of the anger you’ve felt for all those years. You drop the glass you were holding back into the water and leave, the living room the only logical option for now because that’s where your liquor cabinet is. Just as you’ve poured two glasses of whiskey, putting one on the dining room table for him to take, he walks in, one eyebrow raised when he sees what you’re doing. You shrug, “I’m gonna need a drink for this.”

There’s a hint of something in his eyes, maybe relief that at least you’re talking again, before he says, “I just need you to hear me out, Ace. Please?”

You don’t say anything but take a sip of your whiskey instead, which he takes as his cue to continue.

“I thought I could forget you, thought that it would get easier after a while but-” 

You watch him as he leans against the table, more space between you now than there was in the kitchen. He looks down at his feet and you can see his eyebrows knit together, almost as if he tries to decide what to say next. 

He nods then and looks back up at you, “I never believed people who said you never forget your first love, thought eighteen years would be long enough to get over someone- To get over you but,” he tries to smile and shrugs, “then I saw you again last week and-” 

Shit. Shit shit shit.

“-turns out they were right after all.” 

He doesn’t say anything else, just looks at you with that half-smile that normally makes you melt a little but now only adds fuel to the fire and so you don’t give him the response you know he’s waiting for. 

He runs his hand over his face in frustration, “Well, I guess at least now you know my side.”

“Yeah,” you scoff, “I guess I should tell you mine but your new best friend Nicole made sure you already know everything, so-”

“That doesn’t mean we can’t still talk about it.” 

“Why?”

“Because that’s what people do, Ace,” he says, his desperation clear in the way he drops his hands. “I came looking for you last week, you know that? I went by your hotel because I didn’t want to leave things between us like that but you weren’t there and I-,” he shakes his head, “I felt like that nineteen-year old kid again.”

You don’t say anything, just scoff and take another sip, the amber liquid burning your throat in not an entirely unpleasant way. 

“So when Nicole offered me that lifeline, I- Reading your letters,” he says, his voice a little unsteady now, “it helped me understand that I fucked up. Not just eighteen years ago but also last week. That’s why I’m here, you know, I- I really hope we can try to work things out, because I don’t want to lose you again.”

“What do you want me to say, Chris? I don't-” 

“I just want to know if the girl I fell in love with all those years ago is still there.”

It’s too much. You’d like to believe you’re still angry. At him. At yourself. At Nicole. Because anger is an easy emotion. Safe even, at least it was for the past eighteen years. But it’s also slowly starting to dissolve, because the faint promise of something more that hangs in the air now makes you feel hopeful, maybe, and it confuses you. So, you put your glass down and walk past him, doing what you do best, “I don’t know what you had planned but if you want to you can sleep on the couch, I guess,” you tell him as you make your way to the stairs, “there’s a linen closet on the landing upstairs, next to the bathroom. Everything you need is in there.”

“Ace-”

“I need some-” You take a deep breath, “Good night, Chris.”

Sleep doesn’t come easy and you spend the night tossing and turning, sometimes drifting off in a restless sleep, but mostly awake, the events of the previous evening never far from your mind. By the time Saturday morning comes around you’re a little sleep deprived and a lot on edge. 

You’re still in bed, trying to figure out how to go about today, trying to figure out what to do with everything you found out last night, when you hear the familiar creak of the stairs. For a moment you panic, thinking he’s going to come in to tell you he’s leaving, but then you hear the tap being turned on in the bathroom and you let out a sigh of relief, if only because the inevitable has been postponed a little longer.

The shower turns on then and so you realize now is a perfect time to call the one person who you know will help you make sense of the whirlwind of emotions you’re feeling after last night. You roll over, grabbing your phone from the nightstand, and thumb through your contact list until you’ve found her number, letting yourself roll on your back once you’ve hit ‘Dial’.

She doesn’t answer right away and for a moment you’re worried she’ll ignore your call like you did hers the past week, but then you hear the familiar sound of her voice and it’s like a weight’s been lifted off your shoulders.

“You ok?” She sounds worried, must know that you wouldn’t call if it’s not urgent, and you love her for it. 

“No,” you answer truthfully, “not really.”

“Is he still there?” 

“Yeah,” you pause for a second, just to confirm you can still hear the water running. “He’s taking a shower,”

“So he spent the night?”

“On the couch,” you admit easily, “but yeah.”

“What happened?” There’s some noise on her end of the line and you can only imagine her sitting up on the couch, not wanting to miss anything of what you’re about to tell her. 

“I don’t know. It was so awkward at first, Nic,” you let out a sigh and look up at the ceiling, “and then he just sort of started talking, telling me his side of the story and-”

“So you know about what happened when he got back to Sudbury?”

“You mean, after we broke up?”

“Yeah,” Nicole confirms. 

“I don’t know.” You run a hand over your face, “He told me he sort of lost it for a while?”

“Oh honey,” Nicole scoffs, “he was a mess. He came by a few times, always asking if I knew where you’d gone, if there was a way to contact you, and each time he looked worse than when I last saw him. He even got pulled over at some point and they threatened to put a DUI on his record, but Michael’s dad was still Chief and knew the history between you two and what had happened, you know, so in the end they just took him home and warned him not to do it again. I think he went back to Los Angeles shortly after that.” 

“Oh,” 

“Yeah.”

You throw your blankets off and sit up, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed, “Why’d you never tell me this?”

She scoffs, “Would it have changed things?”

“No.” You sigh, “Probably not.” 

“Exactly,” she replies, and you can just imagine her nodding on the other end, “So now that you realize you were an asshole to him last night, what’s-”

“Nicole!” You try to keep your voice down and so it comes out in a hushed whisper. 

“Oh come on,” she says, her voice telling you that she knows she’s right, “like that’s not what’s happened.”

“Well yeah, but I don’t need you to rub it in.”

“That’s why you called me though, isn’t it?”

You nod, because of course it is, “Yeah.”

“Ok,” she agrees, “so then you also know what you need to do next.”

“Probably,” you tell her, running one hand through your hair, “but I know you can’t wait to enlighten me just in case,”

“You need to let him in, babe,” she says matter-of-factly. “All the way. Be honest with him. Only then can you two try to make this work.”

You sigh, “I just hope I didn’t fuck it up too much last night,”

“Babe,” she says, the accusatory tone in her voice very clear, “that man is so-”

“That man just finished his shower,” you whisper quickly when you hear the bathroom door open, “I need to go.”

“You got this, babe.” “Love you.”

“Love you too,” you say and push the end call button just as you hear Chris walk by. You wait for him to make it downstairs again before you get out of bed, grabbing some clean clothes before you head to the bathroom as well. 

You find him in the kitchen not much later, trying to figure out your coffee machine but so far not succeeding. Clearing your throat to let him know you’re there you lean against the doorframe, “Hey.”

“Hi,” he says and then gestures towards the machine, “I was trying to make us some coffee but,”

“Yeah, no, that requires at least a day of training,” you say with a small smile, the tension you left with last night still very much palpable. “I was thinking maybe we could go out for breakfast?” You were thinking no such thing, but it seems like a good idea. “Get out of the house a little? I know this great place not too far from here, it’s usually pretty quiet there, so-”

“Sounds great,” Chris says while he pushes the coffee machine back to its original spot on the counter. 

You grab your purse and keys and wait for him to put on his shoes before you walk outside, telling him your car is parked just around the corner. The drive over to Point Breakfast doesn’t take long but it’s filled with the same awkward silence as during yesterday’s dinner. You try to come with things to talk about but it all seems too unimportant and so you quietly hum along to the radio instead. A quick glance over at Chris tells you he’s nervous as well, flipping his phone in his hand over and over again. 

Surprisingly enough there’s a free parking spot not too far from the entrance of the diner and once you’ve filled the meter you lead Chris inside. There are two other booths occupied, and even though none of the patrons pay any particular attention to you, you still go for the booth in the far corner just in case. 

The waitress, who introduces herself as Agnes, is at your table the minute you sit down and pours each of you a steaming hot coffee after handing you the menu, “I’ll be back in a few minutes, ok?”

Both Chris and you nod in reply and you busy yourself studying the menu even though you already know what you’re going to get. Still, it’s a nice distraction. When you put the menu down after a while you find Chris looking at you with a half-smile.

“Banana pecan pancakes?”

“Yup,” you nod, a little surprised he still knows your breakfast order after all these years. Then, because apparently you feel like you have something to prove, “Eggs Benedict for you?”

“Always,” he says, smiling for real now.

It’s then Agnes comes back to take your order and you let Chris order for the both of you, watching him as he charms his way into Agnes heart for sure. You can’t help but smile when you listen to the easy banter between them. 

Once Agnes leaves to give the kitchen your order Chris turns back to you, “She reminds me of Mrs Linton.”

“She does, yeah.” 

He keeps looking at you, the way he’d always do whenever he wanted to talk about something important, and so you sort of know what’s coming next but still he surprises you when he asks, “Are we good?”

“I don’t know.” 

He doesn’t say anything for a while and it makes you worried and nervous and you wonder if you’ve fucked it up for good this time, but then he leans forward, “What do you need?”

The last eighteen years back, you think with a heavy heart, but instead you tell him, “I don’t know.” You offer a shrug in apology because you know it’s not a fair answer to give twice in a row.

“It’s ok,” he says, his voice kind, “I’m not going anywhere.” 

Breakfast is filled with smalltalk, Chris asking you about your job and your life here in Philly and in return you ask him to tell you more about his life in Los Angeles, which he does, although he admits he misses home terribly when he’s out west and says he hopes to start spending more time in Sudbury in the near future. You don’t miss the way he looks at you when he tells you that, an unspoken question lingering between you that you’re not sure you can answer right now.

You try your best to pay attention to the conversation but his words from earlier keep echoing through your mind and you can’t help but wonder what exactly he meant when he said he wasn’t going anywhere. Nicole’s voice joins the conversation in your head then, berating you for still being way too guarded. 

When you finish your plate just a little after he does you check your phone and see it’s just past noon. A bit too early to return to your house, you decide, trying to figure out what you could do instead. It’s then you remember something you would do whenever you had a date in Boston and you smile when you look up at him, “If you want we could go to Morris Arboretum next? The trees there are beautiful this time of year, so maybe we could just walk around for a bit?”

“I’d like that.”

You wave Agnes over and ask for the bill, which Chris lets you pay because well, you tell him to. You’re back in your car not much later, your drive taking you to the other side of the city in just under an hour. 

By the time you get to the Arboretum the sun is out if full force and it’s warm enough that you don’t need your jacket and so you leave it in the car. Rummaging through your purse you try to find your sunglasses, putting them on when you finally find them only to see Chris squinting against the bright light. You tell him to hang on for a minute and open the trunk of your car, quickly locating what you’re looking for, “Here you go.”

He eyes the cap suspiciously, and you hold your breath, hoping he might have forgotten about it, but then he turns it over in his hands and looks at the inside where his initials are still visible on the tag, albeit a little more faded now. His eyes widen in surprise, “You kept this all these years?” 

“Well, yeah, It’s a nice cap,” you try, hoping it sounds casual enough for him not to comment on it any further, “and I’ll always be a Patriots girl, no matter where I am.” It’s true. When you first started dating you didn’t really care for football but you always tagged along to watch games with either his friends or his family and it wasn’t long before you found yourself immersed in the sport. And even though you don’t keep up as much now, you still find yourself rooting for the Patriots whenever you catch a game. 

He doesn’t say anything but you think you see the hint of a smile when he puts it on and you wonder if he remembers the night he gave it to you, on your one-year anniversary, when he got tickets to a game and you spent the weekend in Boston together. 

You try to push back the memories, not wanting to find yourself getting lost in the past, and instead tell him, “Let’s go,” and head to the visitor center where you pay the entrance fee. You opt for the long trail, which, if you don’t stop at any of the features, will take about thirty minutes, but you’ve never been here before  so you’re sure it’ll probably take you a lot longer. Which is fine, because it’s still early and the weather is perfect for an afternoon outside. 

The first stop is a Tree Canopy walk that does exactly what it says and leads you through the treetops. It’s quiet, not too many people around, and at times it almost seems like you’re here alone. You walk side by side, quietly marvelling at the things you encounter being this high up, and there’s a familiarity to it all that both scares and excites you. 

The trail takes you through a rose garden next and several other features after, until about an hour later you find yourself at the step fountain and when Chris suggests taking a quick break you join him on the top step, which offers you a nice view of the lawn spreading out in front of the fountain. 

There’s some distance between you but still Chris manages to nudge your knee with his when he asks, “Where’s your head at?”

Immediately you hear Nicole’s voice, telling you to be honest and you decide that maybe it’s time to take her advice even though you’re not sure where to start. You take a deep breath and say the one thing it all comes down to, “Us.” 

You see him nod out of the corner of your eye and take it as your cue to continue, “I’m just,” you sigh, “I don’t know, Chris, I keep wondering if this would have happened had it not been for Encore.”

“Ace-”

“No,” you hold up your hand to let him know you’re not finished and smile even though you don’t look at him, “my turn.” You pinch the bridge of your nose and try to gather your thoughts, “I just think that maybe we both got caught up in the moment, you know? Maybe-”

“You’ve kept my baseball cap all these years,” he replies solemnly and there’s no accusation in his voice, it sounds like he’s just stating the facts. Standing up then, he hands you his cap back, and for a moment you worry that maybe this is it, maybe this is where he draws the line and walks away, but instead he takes his hoodie off, which has you even more confused.

“Chris, what-” 

He walks down the first few steps then, making sure he’s at eye level with you, and pushes the fabric of his t-shirt aside.

You look at him, your eyebrows knitted together because what the hell is he doing, but then you see the tattoo he’s just revealed and it’s like all the air is being sucked from your lungs. Shaking your head in disbelief, you take in the ace of hearts on his chest and you have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from crying when you see the heart in the middle of the card is broken. Without thinking you reach out and let your fingers ghost over his skin, tracing the lines that are tattooed over his heart.

“I got this on what was supposed to be our ten-year anniversary,” he says, the sadness in his voice mirrored by the look in his eyes that you see when you look back up at him. “I’m not caught up in a moment, Ace.”

“I-,”

Something else passes over his features then, but before you can recognize what it is he’s putting his hoodie back on and sits down again, much closer this time, his leg brushing against yours as he does. You much more feel than hear him take a deep breath and then he looks at you, “I meant what I said earlier.” He reaches over then and takes one of your hands in his, “I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’m not the same person anymore, Chris.” You look down at where your hand sits comfortably in his, “I’m just scared that you have this idea of me that-” you sigh and shake your head, not sure where to go next. You look back up at him, the tears from earlier starting to spill over slowly, “I’m just- I’m scared.” 

“I know,” he says and gives your hand a squeeze, “so am I, but-” he lets go of your hand and throws his arm around your shoulder, pulling you into him, “I don’t want to waste another eighteen years wondering what could have been.” 

When, after a while, he suggests continuing the tour through the Arboretum you agree, and when you get up he offers you his hand to help you down the steps, but doesn’t let go once you get to the bottom and so you spend the rest of the trail walking hand in hand, the silence between you now much more comfortable than it was before.

It takes you about an hour to make it back to the entrance, the sun a little lower in the sky now even though it’s still nice and warm out. Once you get to the parking lot he offers to drive back and so you hand him your car keys without too much protest, climbing into the passenger’s seat not much later. A quick glance at the dashboard clock tells you it’ll be almost six once you get back and so you suggest stopping at a Thai place not far from your house and get some takeout.

You give him directions where needed but other than that the ride over is silent, the only sound coming from a radio station that plays eighties rock classics that you always have on when driving. You’re simply too lost in thoughts to start a conversation, and you guess maybe he is too. You wonder where his head is at, because even though he keeps telling you that he’s not going anywhere he hasn’t really told you he wants to get back together with you either. Or is that just your mind playing tricks with you? Is him saying that he doesn’t want to waste another eighteen years enough?

More than anything you want to call Nicole, so you can tell her what happened and ask for advice, but you also know that wouldn’t be fair to her, Chris, or you. You’re going to have to trust yourself to make the right decision even though you’re sure that deep down inside you already know what that is. And you want to tell him, really you do, but it’s not necessarily a conversation you want to have now, driving down Broad Street in the middle of the Saturday afternoon rush, and so you decide to wait until you get home. 

When he pulls up to Ameri Thai about forty minutes later you tell him to wait in the car, assuring him you’ll get some extra spring rolls just for him. 

Mrs Zhang greets you enthusiastically, a little surprised when you give her your order, but then she realizes what’s going on and throws you a wink, “Ah, you got company, honey?”

You laugh and shrug, neither denying or confirming her question, but you’ve been coming here for at least once a week ever since you moved into the neighbourhood so by now Mrs Zhang knows your order by heart and so she also knows she’s right. To distract her you ask her how her grandchildren are doing and even though she answers rather elaborately, she keeps looking at you from behind the counter, almost as if she’s studying you. 

After a while she disappears into the kitchen, no doubt to tell her husband the latest gossip, and when she comes back with the takeout bag not much later, she actually rounds the counter to give it to you. You hold out your hand to take it from her, but it’s then she pats you arm and smiles at you, “You look happier, honey, I like it.”

“Thank you,” you say, a weird feeling in your stomach as you accept the bag from her and wave at Mr Zhang, who has appeared behind the counter, before you let yourself out and walk back to your car where you find Chris quietly singing along to Boston’s ‘More Than A Feeling’. He’s taken the cap off and you can tell he’s tried to get his hair back into shape, but it’s a little tousled and a lot cute. Damnit. 

“Ready?” He asks as soon as you’ve fastened your seatbelt.

“Yup.” You nod and point, ‘“Just take a left here and then you’re back on my street.” 

Dinner tonight is far more relaxed than it was yesterday, although you’re still mostly sticking to smalltalk, discussing your other castmates and the things they’ve been up to over these past years. Chris tells you he’s been to the ten-year reunion of his graduating class, but has really only kept in touch with Michael, even attending his wedding a few years ago. 

All too soon you’re both done eating and so once again you mumble something about doing the dishes, hoping it will buy you some time to gather your thoughts and figure out how where to start. 

“Need any help with those dishes?”

“Thought you’d never ask,” you counter with a grin this time and hand him the tea towel. After you’ve drained the sink you watch him dry off the remaining two plates, and when he puts the plates in a cupboard they definitely don’t belong in, you say nothing, too enamored by this weird moment of domestic bliss. 

When he’s done he hangs the tea towel on its designated hook and looks at you, almost as if he’s awaiting further instructions, hands back in the pockets of his jeans, trying to act cool even though the red spots in his neck tell you he’s anything but.

There’s so much you still have to say, so much you still want to tell him, but not now. 

Not now.

Now, you take a tentative step forward, slowly closing the space between you, and stand in front of him, biting your lip as you look up at him. His eyes widen and there’s a question in them that you answer with a nod and a mischievous smile. Your hands rest on his chest then, but it isn’t long before they move up so you can wrap your arms around his neck and pull him close.

“You sure about this, Ace?” His voice is low and full of promises and you answer the only way you know how, by pushing yourself up and letting your lips ghost against his. 

He leans forward then, catching your mouth with his as he sneaks his arms around your waist, pulling you even closer, kissing you with a determination that makes last week’s kiss pale in comparison. It isn’t long before his tongue darts across your lips and you let him in instantly, the taste of him infatuating you even more. His hands travel down then and when he taps your thigh you know what to do and jump up, throwing your legs around his waist. 

You feel him take a few careful steps forward, until you bump against the counter and he sits you down on it, now standing in between your legs, his hands cupping your face as you kiss him, and kiss him, and kiss him. Your hands settle on his chest, bunching up the fabric of his sweater in between your fingers, wanting more of him, needing him closer. Wrapping your legs around his waist again you press yourself against him, dragging your teeth over his bottom lip at the same time, not missing the groan that escapes him. 

He gets his revenge by pulling back, making you whimper at the loss of contact, a little out of breath and a lot turned on. He rests his forehead against yours and chuckles, “That was-”

“Yeah,” you agree, letting go of his sweater so you can run your hands through his hair before you let them settle at the base of his neck, only so you can keep him where you need him most as your mouth finds his again. There’s nothing gentle about this kiss, a want behind it that you know he gets when he takes a step back, his lips still on yours, and gently tugs at your hips, making you slide down from the counter. You have to brace yourself against him because your legs are a little wobbly, your hands now on his chest again, and you can’t help but smile into the kiss when he grabs your elbows to hold you steady. 

You feel yourself getting lost in him, but at the same time there’s something so familiar about all of this, about him, that almost makes it feel like you’re coming home. In a rare moment of clarity, you wonder if maybe that’s just it. Maybe you’ve been so restless all these years because you had this idea that home was supposed to be the city you grew up in, or any of the places you moved to after, where you tried so hard to forget the past. Maybe this always was where you belonged, simply because Chris always was your home.

The realization makes you hesitate, just a moment, but of course Chris picks up on it and he pulls back, a worried look in his eyes as he cups your face and makes you look up at him, “You ok?” 

“Yeah,” you say with a smile, even though you’re not surprised to feel tears coming to your eyes, “I’m not going anywhere.” 

The weight of your words hangs in the air until finally it hits him. There’s a whole range of emotions that pass over his face before he seems to settle on relief, when he leans in and kisses your forehead, “God, I’ve missed you, Ace.” 

“Show me,” your voice is thick, laced with emotion, and you can see his pupils dilate in response. 

His hands grab your legs again, lifting you up, and you wrap your arms and legs around him, your face buried in his neck as he carries you out of the kitchen and up the stairs to your bedroom. He doesn’t let go and so you’re still wrapped around him when he starts kissing you again, until after a while you feel yourself go weak in his arms and let go, trying to catch your breath. There’s not much respite, because his hands are tugging on the bottom of your sweater then, his fingers against your exposed skin sending shivers down your spine. 

Breaking contact just long enough for him to push your sweater up and over your head, you find yourself enjoying the way his eyes roam your body before one of his hands cups your breast, his thumb rubbing your already hard nipple over the fabric of your bra, which adds some extra friction. A soft moan escapes you and you can feel yourself starting to get wet almost instantly.

He licks his lips and then pushes the fabric aside as he leans forward, his tongue now replacing his thumb, sucking and licking in a way that makes you a little weak in the knees. You whimper when he lets go but his lips keep ghosting over your skin, slowly making their way up to your neck, where his tongue circles your pulse point before his lips latch on and he starts sucking in earnest.

Tilting your head to give him better access, your hands find their way to his jeans, the red belt you gave him for his birthday all those years ago holding no secrets for you and so you slide it open without giving it too much thought. You unbutton his jeans, tugging them down just a little, and let your fingers run over his abs, marvelling at how much more muscular he is now than he was then. 

His mouth finds yours again, one hand in your hair while the other has returned to your breast, softly kneading it while his tongue swirls around yours. He pulls back rather abruptly, eyes dark and full of want as he takes his hoodie and t-shirt off in one go, throwing them somewhere in a corner before he puts his hands on your hips and guides you towards the bed. When your legs bump against it you sit down slowly, looking up at him with your lip between your teeth as you scoot backwards. He wastes no time and pushes his jeans down, the outline of his cock visible against the fabric of his boxes, a bit of precum staining the material a darker colour. 

You keep looking at him while you unbutton your jeans, lifting your hips so you can push them down but his hands are already tugging on the fabric. Your jeans get thrown next to his and you watch him as he climbs on the bed, the mattress sagging a little under his weight, and you moan when he slowly lowers himself onto you. 

“Fuckin’ gorgeous,” he says, his mouth close to your ear and his voice a little rough, sending a shiver down your spine. His hand sneaks down your side to the hem of your panties and for a moment he teases you, letting his fingers run along the edge of the fabric. 

“Chris,” you breathe, hoping it will convey that you need more, pushing your hips up to make sure he understands.

He slips his fingers underneath the fabric, gently pressing them against your mound, his teeth dragging over the skin just below your ear as he does. There’s a trail of kisses then, from your collarbone to the swell of your breast, to the skin on your stomach, goosebumps appearing everywhere he goes. When he finally reaches your panties you help him, hooking your fingers on the elastic band and pushing them down quickly. It earns you a wicked grin from him as he helps you take them off, adding them to the pile of discarded clothes on the floor.  

You reach out, wanting to feel him in your hands, but before you have a chance to cup him through his boxers he gently swats your hands away but doesn’t say anything and instead puts his hands on your thighs and spreads your legs to give him better access. Slowly, slowly, he moves his fingers over your skin, his eyes never leaving yours as he makes his way to where you need him most. His mouth follows soon after, teasing you by leaving butterfly kisses wherever he goes, while his fingers inch closer and closer.

A whine escapes you just as he runs a finger through your folds and so it turns into a moan, because fuck. Your hands look for something to hold onto and you have to settle for the duvet cover, bunching up the fabric between your fingers when he slides one of his into you. He moves slowly, his finger sliding in and out of you in a languid pace, his other hand on your stomach to keep you in place as his tongue finds your clit. He adds another finger then and starts moving a little faster, and you can feel your orgasm starting to build. 

Feeling his beard scratch your skin only adds to the sensation and soon, with two fingers inside of you and your clit being sucked, licked, and flicked, you push your hips up in earnest, letting him know you’re almost there. He picks up the pace even more and you let out a quiet, “Fuck,” when the first waves of your orgasm wash over you not much later. He helps you ride it out by keeping his fingers inside of you but not moving them until you let yourself fall back, your eyes closed as he slowly pulls out. 

You feel his beard scratch against your cheek and find his mouth effortlessly, a shiver running down your spine when you kiss him and taste yourself on his tongue, and as he pulls back a satisfied sigh escapes you. When you open your eyes he’s there, looking at you with something that goes beyond lust and want, a tenderness in his eyes that you haven’t seen in a long time. You reach up, gently pushing some of his tousled hair back before you cup his face and pull him close for another kiss. 

He groans in response, mouth clashing against yours for a kiss that makes you see stars, before he pushes himself off and stands up at the edge of the bed. When he takes his boxers off, his cocks springs free, and you can’t help but bite your lips, suddenly remembering your first time together, all those years ago. He looks at you then, “Do you have a-”

“In the bathroom,” you reply, before you quickly add, “but I’m tested. And on the pill.” 

“Me too.” He grins then, running a hand through his hair, “Tested, I mean. Not the pill.” 

You can’t help but smile at the blush that creeps up on his cheeks as he stands there, this adonis of a man that has nothing to be embarrassed about. Pushing yourself up you sit down on your knees and hold out your hands, beckoning him over. He joins you on the bed, cupping your face and kissing you again, slower this time, like he wants to savour every second of it. You feel his cock rub against your stomach and can’t help but wrap your hand around it, sliding it up and down his shaft. When you run your thumb over the tip he shivers and pulls back a little, and so you put your mouth to his ear and whisper, “Make me yours again, Chris.” 

He reacts instantly, gently lowering the both of you back down until you're underneath him again. Supporting himself with one hand, he takes himself in the other, running his cock through your wet folds for some extra lubrication. He looks at you when he presses the tip against your against your entrance, silently asking for permission. 

You nod and watch as he slowly pushes into you, letting out a moan when he stops halfway through, allowing you to adjust to him. “Chris,” you breathe, and he takes it as his cue to push down further, only stopping when he’s fully inside. Your walls clench around him involuntarily, drawing a strangled groan from him that sets him in motion.

Leaning down he catches your mouth with his as he starts to move his hips, his thrusts slow yet deliberate and you marvel at the way your bodies still fit together so perfectly after all these years. You let your fingers run over the muscles in his back, grabbing onto his shoulders when he picks up the pace after a while, and stop kissing him so you can catch your breath. 

“Fuck, Ace,” he groans, mouth close to your ear, his warm breath hitting your skin like a forest fire. 

You wrap one leg around his waist, needing more of him, and with his next thrust he hits your sweet spot, making your eyes roll back in pure bliss, knowing you’re getting close and so you let out a staggered, “Oh, God-” 

“Gonna make you come so hard,” Chris growls before gently biting down on the exposed skin below your ear. Quickening his pace, you know he’s chasing the same high you’re so close to and so you clench your walls again, creating even more friction. He buries his face in your neck, cursing quietly against your skin. 

“Chris, I-” you start, but then he hits that spot again and all you can do is let out a quiet, “Oh.” You’re teetering on the edge and of course he knows, his fingers finding your clit and softly rubbing it. “Fuck,” you draw out, panting now.  

“Gonna make you mine,” he growls and pulls almost all the way out, holding still for a second. You whimper quietly but then he pushes all the way in, somehow deeper than before, pinching your clit at the same time, “Come for me, Ace.” 

Your orgasm is instant, wave after wave of pleasure rolling through your body, your nails digging into his skin when you feel him swell up inside you. “Let go, babe,” you whisper, and he does. You feel him come inside of you, his release coating your walls, and he lets himself collapse on top of you, even though he still makes sure to keep some of his weight off of you. His face is still in the crook of your neck and you move your hands, throwing them around his neck and gently running your fingers through his hair as you both come down from this high. 

He pulls out not much later and rolls off of you, pulling you with him, and you let your head rest against his chest after he places a kiss on your temple, your fingers running lazily through his chest hair. You stay like that for a while, a comfortable silence between you until his phone beeps from somewhere out of the pocket of his jeans, letting him know he’s got a new message.

He mutters something about getting that later before he presses a kiss to the top of your head, “Come on,”

You push yourself off him and get out of bed, waiting for him to join you before you make your way to the bathroom. 

Like everything in your house, the shower is tiny and so you’re pressed against each other, the warm water finding its way between your bodies as he lathers you up with soap. You’ve got your back towards him, his hands gently massaging the muscles in your shoulders while he softly hums a song you don’t recognize, and you secretly wish you could stay like this forever.

When you wake up on Sunday morning you can’t help but smile when you find Chris’ arm draped across your stomach while he still sleeps soundly next to you. You turn towards him, studying him for a while, taking in his face and his neatly trimmed beard. His brow furrows then and without thinking you place the palm of your hand against his cheek to let him know you’re there.

He smiles when he opens his eyes, “Mornin’,” his voice a little hoarse, the way it always was early in the morning. 

“Hi,” you scoot forward and give him a kiss. 

Wrapping his arm around you tighter, he nuzzles your neck, whispering sweet nothings in your ear while his fingers ghost over your skin. After a while he lets out a deep sigh and whispers, “I have to leave soon.”

Even though your heart drops, you nod, “I figured.” 

“My flights at two,” he says as he pulls back a little so he can look at you, “and then I’m off to Los Angeles on Tuesday.” 

“How long-” your voice catches and so you clear your throat, “How long will you-”

“At least two weeks.”

You don’t say anything and let your eyes drop, trying to decide if you have a right to feel upset about this. Probably not. This was never supposed to happen and so you doubt there’s any time allotted in his schedule for you.

“Ace,” his voice interrupts your thoughts, and he sounds worried, “talk to me.”

Trying to find the right words you just smile at him.

“We will make this work,” he says then, as if he’s read your mind. 

“How?”

“Los Angeles is just two weeks,” his hand now cupping your cheek, “after that I’m back home until I start filming again at the end of October.”

You nod, because that definitely offers some possibilities. The idea of maybe moving back to Sudbury flashes through your mind, but you don’t want to get ahead of yourself, and so you push it back. 

“We’re shooting in Boston, eight weeks tops, so-” he shrugs, “I’ll be back in Sudbury for Christmas.” There’s the hint of a smile playing on his lips then, but there’s a questioning look in his eyes, “Tell me you’ll be there too.” 

It’s exciting, this promise of something more, and you feel your lips curve up into a smile when you answer honestly, "I'd like that.”

[matchasprouts]

The Walls - Chapter 5

[ whoa! idk how i got this out but uhhhhhhh enjoy ]

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Felix was surprised to be woken up by Greta, three hours after he usually got up no less. Before he could ask why she let him sleep in, she cut him off with the answer. “You looked ready to drop dead yesterday. I figured you needed the extra rest.”

She was right, those extra hours helped dissipate some of the ache in his muscles. “Maybe you should take a break today,” she suggested, readjusting Brahms on her hip. “I know you usually don’t do that, the Heelshires told me that much, but you really need it.”

And then she left, and Felix was left wondering what she meant by that. Until, of course, he caught a look at himself in the vanity mirror.

He looked nothing short of awful. There were deep, dark circles under his eyes from the lack of proper sleep he’d been getting, his eyes themselves were bloodshot, and if he looked closely he could see there was still dirt in his hair.

Not to mention the screaming ache that shot through every muscle in his body, almost making him feel like he was about to collapse.

The last time his body felt and looked like this was in college, and he hated it. He hated looking weak, much less feeling weak. If a break was what it took for him to have the energy to kill someone if needed, then he would take that goddamn break.

Starting with a hot bath to soothe his body and finally get that fucking dirt off of him.

---

He almost died in the bathtub.

Or at least, that’s what he told Greta when he came downstairs with his hair still sopping wet and dripping water everywhere. She seemed concerned for all of two seconds before deciding she simply didn’t care.

What actually happened is that he fell asleep in the bathtub, woke up suddenly to the sound of a child laughing, and freaked himself out. To be fair, he did hit his head on the side of the tub at least twice.

Anyway, Felix wasn’t built for breaks, so instead of relaxing or even just doing something small like playing the piano, he spent his time helping Greta with her chores. Being taller than her, he could reach higher shelves when dusting the bookcase, so he did. When she was occupied with Brahms, he would take over vacuuming or the dishes. He even took to going around and fixing every slightly crooked painting that he was sure had been jostled by the wall thing.

Basically, he was no good at sitting still. Felix was either doing something every second of the day, or he was sleeping. There was just no in between for him.

That is, until there was literally nothing else to be done. It was late afternoon now, the sun was just barely starting to dip past the horizon. Felix was sitting at the piano, playing a soft and somewhat cheerful tune, since Brahms didn’t seem to like the melancholic melodies he knew.

“When did you learn piano?” Greta asked after a while, setting down the book she’d been reading to the doll. The suddenness of the question made Felix’s fingers stutter, hitting a sour note that made him cringe.

“I don’t remember,” he admitted after moving his hands to his lap, so he couldn’t get distracted while playing again. “I imagine it was sometime in my childhood, maybe in highschool? I think I took a class… I’m not sure. My childhood memories are foggy at best.”

At least he was telling the truth. While fresher memories were burned into his head, anything before his freshman year in college was a blank. The only therapist he’d ever seen told him it was repression, due to trauma. Since he couldn’t remember what the trauma was though, they could never work on it.

The only thing he truly remembered was his mother. Soft voiced, a brunette like him, piercing green eyes. She was beautiful. She also had a grip like the devil, and spoke like it too.

To some extent, he was aware that his insecurities came from her. He also knew that she had been… less than supportive when he told her that he was trans, and that it led to probably one of the worst arguments of his life.

Sometimes, when he looked down at his hands, he thought he could still see the bruises her grip had left.

He shook his head, clearing it of the images of her. ‘She’s no longer a concern,’ he reminded himself internally, ‘you took care of that. She’s gone.’

“Oh,” Greta spoke again, snapping him back to reality, “well, that’s too bad. You’re really good at it, you know. You must have been practicing for a long time.”

Right. They were talking about the piano. He mentally scolded himself for getting off track before clearing his throat. “Yeah, I played all through college. Most at frat parties and the like, it’s a great party trick. My hands still cramp up sometimes though. Guess that’ll never stop happening.”

He returned to his playing after that, due to the soft scratching in the wall behind him. Sometimes the thing would let him take a break, but apparently today was not one of those days. He liked that it liked his music, he really did, but it could be so demanding sometimes.

After a little while, it came time for Brahms to be put to bed. After glancing at the clock, Greta stood up with the doll, told Felix good night, and headed upstairs.

Once Felix had finished the song, and confirmed that the thing had taken off, he followed her up.

And, since both were upstairs, neither of them heard the door open. The door they never bothered to lock because no one ever came all the way out here.

Felix had just collapsed face first onto his bed when he heard the thing practically running through the walls, back downstairs. Following that, he heard the familiar sound of the billiard balls hitting each other.

He shot up without a moment’s hesitation, running almost full speed back down the stairs and to the room where the pool table was kept. He almost fell over once there, slamming full force into the doorframe.

There stood a rather greasy looking man with long hair pulled back into a bun, sporting a messy beard. He stared at Felix in confusion, who was glaring so harshly at him that he would be dead if looks could kill.

It wasn’t long before Greta and the doll joined them, interrupting their staring match. “... Cole?” she asked softly, sounding both confused and scared.

Oh? Oh Greta was scared of this man? And he invaded their house?? Oh.

Almost immediately, Felix stood in front of Greta, grabbing one of the pool sticks and holding it up as a make-shift weapon. “You’re not welcome here,” he spat at Cole who, for the most part, seemed unfazed.

Boy was he gonna regret that.

“I don’t even know who you are,” Cole brushed him off, looking around him at Greta again. Felix once again stepped to block him. He accepted this fate, choosing to just speak at Greta. “Greta, babe, you just left without saying anything.”

It was hard to tell, but Felix could feel Greta’s free hand brush up against his back, seemingly grateful to have a shield against the other man. “Getting- getting this job was kind of sudden… and you know we aren’t together anymore…”

Knowing that Cole was an abusive ex made Felix want to kick his ass even more.

Cole took a step toward them, and Felix immediately held the stick up higher, more than ready to take a swing at the bastard. That made him pause, clearly wondering if getting beat up by a gardener was worth it.

“So, where’s the little kid?” Cole asked after a moment of tense silence. Felix glanced back at Greta, silently willing her to ignore him, but she stepped forward anyway and showed him Brahms. Cole laughed, as expected. “No, seriously, where’s the kid?”

“This is Brahms,” Greta said, standing her ground. She and Cole stared at each other for a long moment, before he seemed to accept that she wasn’t joking.

“Well, that makes this easier at least. We’re going home tomorrow. I already bought the plane tickets,” Cole announced, making Greta actually flinch. It was clear she didn’t want to go. Felix’s patience was running thin- he knew he needed to cut this off before he did something rash.

Before either of them could continue their conversation, Felix stepped in. “She’s not going anywhere. She has a job to do, and she will complete it. The Heelshires expect it of her. You’re welcome to stay here for tonight, only because I pity whatever hole you crawled out of, but you will be gone in the morning. Do I make myself clear?”

At least he was smart enough to avoid a confrontation. “Crystal,” Cole replied, putting his hands up in a mock surrender.

“I’ll get him set up. Can you go lay Brahms down?” Greta stepped in again, a hand on Felix’s bicep. He nodded to her, setting down the pool stick and taking Brahms from her. He sent Cole one last glare before heading upstairs.

Normally he’d be able to hear the thing follow him into the bedroom, but not this time. He assumed it was because it was watching over Greta, which he was glad for.

He changed Brahms into his pajamas with shaky hands, trying so hard to contain the rage that threatened to spill over just from Cole’s presence in the house. Another broken fucking rule, and he hadn’t been good enough to stop it.

After tucking Brahms into bed and giving him the obligatory good night kiss, he went back downstairs to check on Greta, only to be stopped by her at the top of the stairs. “Thank you for not doing anything… rash down there,” she told him, looking genuinely grateful.

“Believe me, if there was no consequences in beating him until he was unconscious, I wouldn’t have hesitated,” Felix replied harshly, now turning on his heel and heading back to his room. Greta stood in place for a moment, surprised, before heading into Brahms’s room.

The doll was the only comfort she had at the moment, so she laid down with him, holding him close as she drifted off to sleep.

---

They woke up to Cole yelling downstairs, practically screaming for Greta. When she and Felix got downstairs, the offending asshole grabbed Greta by the arm and yanked her into the room.

“What the fuck is that!?” he yelled, pointing up at something written in red on one of the upper windows,

‘Get Out’. Huh. Clearly the wall thing didn’t like this bitch.

Felix tuned out Cole’s frantic yelling when he noticed Brahms sitting in one of the armchairs, a bag full of dead rats sitting in front of him. Greta noticed it as well, gasping at the sight of the boy and rushing forward to pull him into her arms.

Apparently Cole did not like this.

“Of course all you care about is that fucking doll! He’s not a real boy, Greta!!” he shouted, making both Felix and Greta flinch. “Now you tell me who the hell did this!”

“Brahms did,” Felix cut in, making Cole look sharply at him. He figured he’d rather Cole yell at him over Greta. “He doesn’t like you. You’re an intruder in his home. He was bound to lash out.”

“Oh, so you’re telling me that the fucking DOLL did that?” Cole snapped, taking an aggressive step towards Felix and gaining a low growl in response. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

“He’s not,” Greta cut in, her voice shaky. “Brahms… is very creative and- and he doesn’t like you. Not at all.”

Cole glanced between the two of them before letting out a frustrated yell and snatching Brahms from Greta’s arms, despite her protests. “Enough about this stupid doll!”

Before any of them knew it, they were upstairs and in the child’s bedroom. “Put him down Cole!” Greta begged him, staying a safe distance away but clearly wanting to run over to the boy.

Felix, on the other hand, was taking direct action. “Either you put him down, or I make you regret being born,” he threatened, grabbing the closest weapon- a small bat that he jokingly left in Brahms’s room “in case he needed it”.

“You’re not gonna touch me with this fucking thing here,” Cole retorted, holding Brahms up by the leg. He was right, because Felix just stood there, gaze glued on the doll.

Cole began to swing the boy around by the leg when he realized no one was going to do anything, quietly humming to himself. “Maybe… if this thing wasn’t here…” he mused, glancing at Greta.

Felix moved first, lunging for Cole, but he wasn’t fast enough. Not even close. Brahms’s head shattered on the chair before Felix managed to tackle Cole, sending both of them toppling onto the ground.

And then the walls started to shake, freezing both of them. Felix was up in a matter of seconds, truly panicking now. It had seen what had just happened.

And it wasn’t happy.

[give-seconds]

Back to You

Summary: You and Mark are all each other have, he’s easily the most important person to you. But something happens and you both are slowly separated, so you work your hardest to be accepted into a college in Korea so you can find your way back to a home with him again.

Masterlist | Main Masterlist

--- Part 11

“Hey y/n.”  

“Um hi Hyunjin,” you greet perplexedly. You’ve only spoken to your RA a couple of times, all of them at some sort of group gathering. “Do you need me for something?”

“Not exactly,” she sets her phone on the desk and looks up at you from behind the raised front desk, “A woman is waiting for you in the commons area. She said to tell you she’s Minhyung’s mom.”

“Oh,” you swallow dryly, clenching and unclenching your fists nervously. “Thanks.”

She smiles politely before picking her phone back up to resume whatever it was she was doing.

Nodding your head to yourself, you slowly turn around and begin walking to the common area. Why is she here? What could she possibly have to say to me? Does she know I’m meeting him today? She already told me she won’t ask me to leave, so it must be that she knows. I mean, what else could-

“Oh hello, y/n.”

You freeze for a second, reminding yourself to take a deep breath. Squaring your shoulders, you force a smile on your face. “Hi Eu-In, how are you?”

She motions to the chair opposite her. “Let’s skip the greetings.”

You feel your blood turn cold, and you force yourself to start moving again to sit in the chair. “What can I help you with?”

She smiles, and if you weren’t filled with anxiety, you might have rolled your eyes at how fake it is. “I want you to stay away from my son. But that isn’t anything too unexpected now, is it?”

You don’t know what to say. You had hoped you had settled this the night of the performance, but deep down, you knew she wasn’t done letting you know how much she dislikes you.

“I’ve told you this before,” she says, taking your silence as an invitation to continue. “You’re not good for him. You remind him of a time that was spent in an unhealthy atmosphere, and as his mother, I can’t in good conscience let him continue to be around you. It has nothing to do with you.”

You scoff inwardly; you never thought she would say it to your face. “With all due respect, I think Mark-”

“Minhyung.”

You blink at her interruption, thrown off for a second. “I think he is old enough to make decisions for himself. He’s in his second year of college, and I know you had him in therapy. He’s in a place where he can make his own decisions.”

“I don’t think you understand,” she hisses. “I’m done beating around the bush. I’ve tried everything to get you and Minhyung to come to this decision on your own. So now, I’m done with that, and I’ve decided to be blunt with you. I don’t like you, y/n. I’ve told you this, but you’re bad for him.”

“You don’t know me,” you say, surprised by the loud volume of your voice. Quickly looking around to make sure no one heard you, you take a deep breath to calm your nerves. “How can you not like me?”

“I don’t need to. You’re the daughter of the man who ruined mine and my family’s life. Because of you, John grew up an only child with memories of a younger brother. My husband and I didn’t sleep for weeks after he was taken, and every year on his birthday, we were reminded of the child we thought was dead. We had to bury an empty coffin. Do you know what that felt like?”

You remember the day he went to court to be legally resurrected. His parents had bought him a pair of nice pants and a nice shirt, styled his hair, and whisked him away early in the morning. When he got back, he had dragged his mom straight to your foster parents’ house, not even bothering to change.

That moment felt like it was yesterday. The smile on Mrs. Lee’s face had instantly disappeared as soon as he let go of her hand to hug you. If someone were to ask you the moment you knew she didn’t like you, you’d answer with that moment. If you had to guess, it was the moment she realized you were there to stay.

“I take no pleasure in your family’s suffering, Mrs. Lee. You know that, right?”

She sighs. “That’s not what I’m saying, and you know it.”

“But you blame me for something I had no control over?”

She stares at you, eyes void of any emotion outside of annoyance. That’s the thing about her, she never yells. She just looks at you like you’re lower than dirt.

“I never said you were to blame, y/n. You’re just an unwanted reminder. There’s a reason for the saying ‘like father like daughter.’”

Your breath catches in your throat, and for a second, you forget to breathe. Those have always been the words you fear the most. To hear you’re in any way like your dad terrifies you.

“You know,” you whisper, forcing yourself to make eye contact with her. “Your son isn’t the only one who got therapy. Something my therapist would say to me was ‘heredity is not destiny.’ I am nothing like my father; I have worked very hard to make sure of that. So while I understand you not liking me, I can’t promise you I’m never going to see your son again. He’s the only family I have, and I don’t plan on letting him go.”

“He’s not your family! You know that, right? That’s the crazy kind of thinking your father has. So while you may think you’re better than him, you’re not. As long as you think of my son as your family, your thinking is just as messed up as his.”

“I need you to leave.”

You know you don’t sound demanding with your voice, wavering the way it did. You didn’t know how else to respond. While Mark leaving had hurt, you did notice it was easier for you to get better with her gone. After she left, the thoughts telling you you were exactly like your father got smaller and smaller; eventually, they were practically non-existent.  

Now that she’s in front of you, telling you once again you’re exactly like him - it’s suffocating.

“What? I’m not done talking.”

“Yes, you are. I know what you want to say, and you know what I’m going to say. What’s the point in staying?”

“Because I can’t leave here until you understand why you can’t be around him,”  she says exasperatedly.

“Then I guess I’m leaving first.” With that, you shakily push yourself up and back to where Hyunjin sat, ignoring her calling your name.

“If she comes back, tell her to leave. I don’t want to see her again.”

Hyunjin nods her head, a surprised look on her face as she looks between you and Mrs. Lee.

Tapping your fingers together nervously, you quickly walk to the elevators. You know you’re just anxious, but you can’t help but worry she would follow you.  

Once you’re in the safety of your room, you allow the tears to escape from your eyes.

---

“So, how was going to the movies?” Mark asks, taking a sip from his smoothie.

You nod your head in affirmation, tearing off a bit of the fish-shaped pastry. “It was a lot of fun. It was the first time I got to have fun outside of tours.”

You haven’t told him about his mom coming to see you. You’re worried it would cause trouble between him and his mom. The last thing you need is for her to have another reason to dislike you. With that in mind, you had come to meet him with anxiety still settled in your gut.

When you met him, he knew right away something was wrong. You could tell he knew by the way he took your hand and jumped into talking about something that had happened in one of his classes. Back when you were little, the only way he knew how to comfort you was through touch. Whether it was holding your hand, hugging you while you cried, or simply resting his leg against yours as you sat side by side.

After a few minutes of walking from the bus stop, he stopped you outside a smoothie shop, where he told you this was yours and his new place. This was where you were going to pick up where you left off in Vancouver and try all the flavors. It was also where he promised you that, starting today, you were going to try all his favorite street foods.

Sitting here, eating bungeoppang and drinking a blueberry smoothie, you realize this is the happiest you’ve been in a long time. You have your brother back, you don’t have your dad or foster parents looking over your shoulder, and you have friends. Even if his mom would never like you, everything felt like it had fallen into place.

“That’s good, I’m glad you’re having fun here. I know this is early, but at your next break, we should go up to the beach. Oh, or we should make Donghyuck take us to his home in Jeju. That’s way better, we won’t have to pay for a hotel.”

You snort, taking a dink from your paper cup. “Nice to know you have your priorities straight.”

He shrugs his shoulders. “I mean, what’s the point of having friends if you can’t exploit them?”

You smile at him, letting yourself get lost in his eyes. Other than the fact he’s four years older, he looks exactly the same. The way his nose scrunched when he laughed, the way he tapped his fingers or bounced his legs, and the way he parted his hair. It’s all the same.

You chuckle to yourself. He’s definitely more handsome now.

“You got something to say?” he asks, cocking his head upwards dramatically and making his voice with a confident tone.

“Calm down my dude,” you respond, leaning back in your chair. “I’m just happy to be back with you. I really missed you, Mark, and I’m so glad I found you.”

His smile softens and he lightly taps his foot against yours under the table. “Me too, y/n, me too.”

---

Thank you to @softsungchan for proofreading this for me! I’ve figured the way I’ve been going about posting my series is wrong and I promise for any further series (if you’re interested in reading anything else of mine) that it’ll be different 😂.

I would love to know what you thought about this! Have a great day/night! 

Previous | Next 

[royaltee98]

The worst sickle cell crisis

September 25-October 3.2021

Saturday September 25.2021

This was Sunday 2:00 in the morning mom just finished changing my foot and I was watching the golden girls.I fell asleep for a few minutes feeling this awful pain in my lower back I called my dad to tell him that I was having pain and to tell mom but instead I called her. She came over and laid with me rubbing my back and gave me some Motrin, until the next morning…. to be continued

Sunday September 26.2021

This was Saturday afternoon I told my dad I was going to shower while in the shower I wasn’t feeling so good I had to rush and wrap myself in a towel and go sat under the ac because I was feeling very tired and shaking. My mom came in my room and said I didn’t so good, still in awful pain I had a nail appointment that I made last week so I went with mom feeling ok, it took like 30 minutes to do. I got back in the car feeling very tired again, I walked into my house put my stuff down I crawled into bed and continued to watched golden girls I fell asleep again and mom was still rubbing my back. I just couldn’t get comfortable I was moving all my bed.

My mom said do you want to go hospital I immediately said yes it was so hard to get dress my mom helped me while getting the hospital bag ready. I was in so pain it was very difficult to walk so my dad swung me over his shoulders and put me in my mom cars. While driving to the hospital I felt every single stop, bump, and turn in the road. I was crying”. I need relief, I need fast” for me to say that means the pain was sky high. Couldn’t get comfortable always turning and sitting still was so hard in the car.

I got to the emergency room at this point the pain was beyond a 10 more like 10,000 I felt like drawing out of my skin and curling up into a ball until the pain was 100% gone. Once I got in the back and the nurses started an IV for fluids I got strong *pain medication. I would sleep for 10 minutes and right back up balling crying, turning, asking for more relief.

I was being transferred to the 3 floor which was orthopedic floor with a clean hospital bed. I was going in and out of pain in between trying to sleep to the prior medication I was given back at home. My mom was always rubbing my back, hips, and legs. Getting up to use the restroom felt like my legs were set on fire and about to break at any moment. I spent that night and half the that next morning in so much pain and agony.

Monday September 27. 2021

It was the next morning still in was much pain. I did a chest X-ray and take and *nebulizer breathing treatment. This sweet nurse told my mom and I, I needed to be *I.C.U because my oxygen level was at a 45 and had pneumonia, no one on this planet earth should be at a 45. SIDE-NOTE: I cried but I remember when my auntie I wasn’t allowed in the ICU to say my goodbyes because I was to young I was 14 when she pass away from cancer. My body was asking for help and I was transferred to the I.C.U. Once I got into the ICU the nurses put me on the this *high flow oxygen machine. It felt like I was growing in my air the oxygen was going so fast up my nose and the taste was horrible.

I really didn’t have an appetite but I knew I eat something so I won’t have another on my hands. I took a few bites for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Still coughing, in an *active sickle cell crisis , pain was going on. I was in misery I just wanted home to see my sister.

Tuesday September 28. 2021

This morning I did so much such as go get a *CAT scan, do a *echocardiography and I need to use the restroom today. The nurse get a wheelchair for me, it felt so good to come out of ICU. I did a CAT scan before so I was use to it. I got to my room I made a thumbs up gesture to my mom. A few hours went then the echocardiogram technician came to my room, I was pretty nosey she allowed me to look. I asked questions because I was curious the way my heart sounded when she put on the audio gave me more power to fight my way out of the ICU.

The pain management doctor came to ask how is my pain and have went yet. I said my pain is ok and no I haven’t went he said ok and said that he would make a medical mixture for me. I was ok with that.

For rest of the day doctors and different labs techincan came in my room.

Wednesday September 29. 2021

I sat up the chair cause the bed was staring to get uncomfortable and by this time I haven’t went to bathroom and it was kind of getting painful by I still needed eat still taking a few bites of breakfast and I said to my mom that my stomach was hurting. In the ICU there is a little separator dividing the room in the corner was a toilet. ⚠️ TMI ⚠️ Ever since I was born I suffered and still suffer from constipation. That morning I took the mixture pill with my other medication. Let me tell you when I sat on that toilet it was like WW3 I could destroy the whole of Afghanistan the smell that came out my body could have taken me out. It went on for some time back to back ever for the next few days.

After I went I was so hungry any time a nurse came in and ask me if I wanted anything I said yes I usually got ginger ale and chocolate pudding, I love me some snack pack chocolate pudding.

I want to shoutout to my mom because I had so many wires on me, she did everything for me if you know what I mean 😉

Every hour my nurse came to check on me and my mom and ever 4 hours to me my iv medication and if I needed any pain medication. I started to wean off the pain medication because I didn’t want to get addicted to them but if I needed I would ask politely.

I had to sleep on my left side because I had the pneumonia was in my right lung. So I facing the door to my room I prayed to God basically saying: Dear God, please heal my lung so I can get out of ICU and to be able to see my sister and dad. I know that you can do it I believe in you.

Thursday September 30. 2021

Still in the ICU feeling much still can’t take a deep breath but I was working on the *breathing spirometer that is mess felt like hell. More doctors came in to update me and my mom, they said I looked perfectly fine but my CAT scan and X-ray was showing that I had fluid overload, a small amount of fluid around of heart, and pneumonia.

In my head I was like I need to get out of here. Still working on the breathing barometer trying to cleat my lung coughing like a maniac and sitting up off my lungs.

That night the new season of station 19 and grey anatomy came on so my mom and I watched while I ate my hospital dinner and mom had her dinner. After that I FaceTime my sister as I did ever night in hospital saying goodnight and making jokes I say goodnight and can’t wait to get home to her.

Ever other night my mom changes my wound I had of 10 years now; she was coming to the end of wrapping the rolled gauze around my foot. Around the same time the I got a new night shift nurse she would so sweet and her charge nurse pass her a piece of paper. She read it and wrote on my room board 2258 and said that I was switching floors. At that moment I knew God heard my prayer for the night before I was so excited that I was moving rooms.

My mom stared to packed our belongs and checking the room to see if we had left anything in the cabinet.

Friday October 1 2021

It was barley 1:00 in the morning on our way to the new floor. This floor was called *PCU entering our new room 2258 where we spent the next three days in. I told my mom one day closer to seeing my sister; the nurses slid me over to my new bed which was super uncomfortable. Now on this new floor between 12 and 4 they you sleep which was very comforting to hear.

I really didn’t sleep cause cause there was lab technicians taking my blood and nurses taking vitals sign. Once the sun came up my mom and I started to get up. I had such an appetite I ate all of my breakfast and was still hungry but my mom kept a sash of little snack from previous breakfast, Lunch, and dinner trays that I didn’t eat prior to being backed up so I had my favorite combo ginger ale and snack pack chocolate pudding.

The same doctor from the ICU came up was updated my mom and I still looked fine on the outside but the inside was still acting up. After they left I did so research why are keeping it is because I had a low grade fever due to pneumonia that’s all.

The physical therapist came in to work with me and my limp due to the wound I had and still have for 10 years. I walked the entire PCU floor, basic excise like in and out kicks, stepping in place, hip opener, and muscle resistance.

The more I felt better the more food was on my hospital food tray that night for dinner I had pasta and meatball with ice tea, and chocolate pudding. For the rest of night my mom and I watched tv and was heading to bed.

Saturday October 2. 2021

That morning my mom and I had a mission I was to freshen up, take my meds, let the nurses give me my Iv antibiotic and we were going for a walk on the PCU floor. After all that I decided to sit up in the chair again. The doctors came in and still I was feeling better but the x-rays were getting clearer still had pneumonia but I since couching and using my breathing barometer is was getting better. They wanted to still keep me over night to watch me for any fever spikes.

The fever spikes will only happened at 12:00 in the night so they still concerned about that. Physical therapist came to walked me and this time I didn’t even realized that I walked the over floor I was going my speed like yesterday but it seemed faster.

My dad stopped by to give me some really pretty flowers and to relieve my mom so she can go home and freshen up and checked on to my sister. My dad and I went for a walk and by the time we finished she was on her back to the hospital. She brought Popeyes and we watched the movie Selena I almost cried because I heard how she died by never got to watch it, it was the older one with Jennifer Lopez.

We continue to watch tv as we went to bed.

Sunday October 3 .2021

This was the morning I felt that I was going to be discharged form the hospital and on our way home. For breakfast I had some pancakes and sausage to drink I had some orange juice and the nurse gave me my medication and I was just chilling. The doctors came in by now it was just the fever spikes at night was reason they kept me an extra night. The nurse I had was trying to discharge me I really appreciated that.

Lunch time had just begun at the same time the nurse had came into my room to tell me I had been discharged in mid bite of my pasta and meatball I just felt it I was so happy to see my sister and dad. She said do you want to finish your lunch or just want to be discharge I said I wanted to be discharged so she was took off my heart monitor, pulse oximeter, and the IV I had.

She read me my discharge papers that I had to sign after that she went to go get a wheelchair and my mom went ahead down to get the car. For a moment I was left in the room by myself I turned on some gospel music and was praising God and thanking him for bringing me out of this one.

I told my mom to not to tell my dad I was being discharged cause I wanted to surprise him. He even called me I said the I using the bathroom the truth was I was sitting sign my discharge papers. While being rolled down to the lobby I kept thanking God for all his had done.

Pulling up to my house I got out of the car rang the doorbell and my dad opened the door and was so surprised and my sister was still sleeping so I waited until she had gotten up to tell her that I was in the ICU she just was surprised.

Now it has been four days I been home feeling much better still keeping up on my water intake and taking my temperature, oxygen levels and working on my breathing spirometer. God has and will forever been by my family and I side in times of needs he is just so good, caring, loving, merciful. Thank you God.

*pain medication: Dilaudid: treat moderate to severe pain

*nebulizer: A device for producing a fine spray of liquid, used for example for inhaling a medicinal drug

*I.C.U: a unit in a hospital providing intensive care for critically ill or injured patients that is staffed by specially trained medical personnel and has equipment that allows for continuous monitoring and life support

*high flow oxygen machine: Only offered if traditional oxygen therapy isn't helping, high flow oxygen therapy helps reduce the effort your body needs to put into breathing. By decreasing the effort of breathing and creating a small amount of positive pressure in the upper airways, this therapy helps improve oxygen delivery.

*active sickle cell crisis (in my opinion): is the pain the starts you feel it as the bad cells dies off

*CAT scan: n X-ray image made using a form of tomography in which a computer controls the motion of the X-ray source and detectors, processes the data, and produces the image.

*echocardiogram:a test of the action of the heart using ultrasound waves to produce a visual display, used for the diagnosis or monitoring of heart disease.

*breathing Spirometer:a common office test used to assess how well your lungs work by measuring how much air you inhale, how much you exhale and how quickly you exhale.

*PCU: The Progressive Care Unit or PCU is a telemetry (vital signs) monitored unit that provides care for adult patients requiring continuous cardiac monitoring

Love T.B.❤️

[happylifefanfic]

Safe Place Chapter 2

Emma nervously tugged at the bottom of her dress as she made her way towards Athena’s front door.  Balancing the baking dish of brownies and the bowl of pasta salad in one hand was proving to be quite the feat as she desperately tried to keep her skirt from riding further up her thighs.  

Once she got to the front door, she cleared her throat before ringing the doorbell.  A few seconds later, a very tall man with a welcoming smile greeted her as he ushered her inside.

“Emma!  It’s so great to finally meet you.  Athena has told me so much about you.  I’m Bobby,” he said as he took the dish and bowl out of her hands with one hand and offered her his other hand to shake.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Bobby.  I’ve heard quite a bit about you as well,” Emma replied with a laugh.  Bobby grinned at her in reply.

“I’ll put these on the table.  Why don’t you head out back?  Athena is right outside the door,” Bobby instructed.  Emma nodded before turning around to walk out onto the patio.  Her green eyes scanned the crowded patio for her partner, but someone else caught her attention first.

“Emma!” Christopher exclaimed as he left his father’s side to come greet her.  

“Hi there, Christopher.  How are you?” Emma said as she leaned down to hug the boy.  

“I’m great!  All of my favorite people are here.  Well, except my grandparents,” Christopher said with that easygoing smile on his face.  Emma smiled in return and glanced up as Eddie joined them.  She could see where Christopher got that amazing smile from as the firefighter came to stand beside his son.  

“Nice to see you again, Emma,” Eddie said.

“You too,” Emma replied.

“Stopped any arterial bleeding lately?” Eddie asked with a chuckle causing Emma to laugh in response.

“Not since the last time you saw me covered in blood,” she answered.  Eddie opened his mouth to say something else, but a tall blonde haired guy joined their group with a loud exclamation.

“Well, who do we have here?” he said in his loud, boisterous voice that had Christopher laughing and Eddie rolling his eyes.

“Buck, this is Emma Sullivan.  She’s Athena’s new partner.  Emma, this is Evan Buckley, AKA Buck.  He’s also a firefighter at the 118,” Eddie replied as he gestured between the two of them.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Emma said as she stuck out her hand.  Buck laughed before pulling her into a bear hug.  Emma laughed as he squeezed her tight and lifted her off of her feet.

“I have heard so much about you!  I can’t believe Athena actually agreed to have a partner,” Buck said loudly in her ear.

“You can put her down, Buck,” Eddie said as Christopher laughed.

“Buck!  What on earth are you doing?” Athena said as she walked up to them.  Buck gently put Emma back on her feet before turning to beam at Athena.

“I was just greeting the newest member of our posse,” Buck said as he threw an arm around Athena’s shoulders.  “You didn’t mention she was this cute!”

“And why would I say that to you?” Athena said as she shewed him away.  “Go help Bobby with the grill and give the girl some space.”

Buck dutifully followed her command while Athena looked to the trio of people standing before her.  What she saw had her smiling.  Emma was slightly rubbing her arms where Buck had gripped her, Eddie was tenderly examining her arms to see if she was hurt, and Christopher was smiling at the pair of them with a glimmer of hope in his young eyes.  

“I’m okay, Eddie,” Emma said as the dark haired man gently lifted her arm to see if a bruise was forming.  His brown eyes lifted to meet her gaze and Emma had to quickly suck in a breath.  Good Lord, this man is attractive, she thought.  

Eddie slowly dropped his hands before he nodded at her.  

“I’m sorry about Buck.  He can be a bit much sometimes,” Eddie apologized.

“It’s not a problem.  He reminds me of my older brother,” Emma replied with a smile on her face.  

“So, Emma, did you find the house okay?” Athena asked, causing the two adults in front of her to break their gaze and look at her.

“I did.  I took an Uber,” Emma said.

“Good!  Now come meet everyone else,” Athena said as she began to lead Emma towards the crowd.

“I’m coming with you,” Christopher announced as he moved to walk beside Emma.  “I’ll see you later, Dad!”

Emma smiled down at Christopher before Athena began introducing her to the rest of the 118 crew and their families.  

Several hours later, the party was dying down and Emma had begun to help Bobby and Athena clean up.  She glanced over to see Christopher and Buck asleep on the couch.  

“Those two are attached at the hip,” Eddie said from beside her, startling her slightly.  Emma glanced up at him and couldn’t help but smile herself when she saw the beatific smile on his face.

“I can tell,” Emma replied.  

“Although, you are just about all he talks about these days,” Eddie said.

“Really?” Emma asked, surprised.

“Oh yeah.  He has been dying to hang out with you.  He’s always asking if he can go over to your place,” Eddie said with a laugh.

“Well, he’s welcome anytime,” Emma said.  “I miss being around kids.”

“Oh yeah?” Eddie asked as they both began to pick up empty plates and cups to put in the trash bag Eddie was holding.

“Yeah.  My nieces and nephews live in Atlanta, so when I decided to move to LA from there, it was hard not getting to see them all the time,” Emma explained.

“I knew I detected a Southern accent there,” Eddie said, and Emma laughed.

“I was raised all over the world, but my parents are from the South, so the accent stuck,” Emma said.

“All over the world?” Eddie asked as Emma dumped a few more plates in the trash can.  

“My dad is Navy, so we’ve been all over,” Emma explained.

“Navy, huh?  I was in the Army,” Eddie said.  Emma paused to look at him.

“Well, thank you for your service,” she said and Eddie nodded in reply.  “What did you do in the Army?”

“I was a combat medic,” Eddie replied.  

“Impressive,” Emma said as Eddie cinched up the last of the trash bags.

“I think we’re done here,” Eddie said as they both turned to head inside.  “Christopher is staying with Bobby and Athena tonight because he and Harry have a party to go to tomorrow.  So, since we are neighbors, would you like to ride home with me?”

“Sure, that would be great,” Emma replied.  After saying goodbye to Athena, Bobby, and Buck, Eddie ushered Emma out to his truck.  Just as she stepped up to grasp the door handle, Eddie beat her to it and opened the door for her.

“Your chariot awaits,” Eddie said as he playfully bowed to her.  

“Why thank you,” Emma replied with a smile as she situated herself in the front passenger seat.  Minutes later, they were headed down the freeway towards the exit that would take them to their homes.  The ride had been quiet so far.  

“So, what made you decide to become a cop?” Eddie asked quietly.  Emma nervously picked at the hem of her dress before clearing her throat.

“I was all set to become a doctor when my best friend and roommate was murdered.  The aftermath of that was a complete nightmare, and I guess I just knew that I wanted to be the person to help stop something like this from happening again,” Emma said quietly in return.  Eddie sighed softly before he reached his right hand across the console to grab her left one.  He squeezed her hand lightly.

“I’m so sorry about your friend,” Eddie said softly.  

“Thank you,” Emma whispered.  “Even though it was 6 years ago, it still feels like it happened yesterday.  My whole life changed after that day.”

“How so?” Eddie asked.

“Well, the detectives connected her murder to a series of murders that had been happening for the past eight years.  The only problem was she didn’t fit the victimology.  All of the other victims were petite, blondes with blue or green eyes.  Rachel was African-America and tall with brown hair and brown eyes,” Emma paused to swallow.  Eddie gently squeezed her hand again.

“You don’t have to talk about it, if you’re not up for it,” Eddie said.

“I know, but it might be good to talk to someone other than Athena and the department shrink about it,” Emma said.  “I was gone to visit my family when she was murdered.  I had taken Rachel’s car instead of mine because my alternator was having issues and we were waiting on a part to come in.  I found her body when I returned that Sunday evening.  The detectives told Rachel’s family that they believed the killer had gone there to kill me.  They think that Rachel surprised him and he killed her so he wouldn’t leave a witness who could identify him.”

“Damn,” Eddie breathed as he maneuvered the truck off the freeway and onto the exit ramp.  “Did they ever catch the guy?”

“Yes, eventually.  Unfortunately, he killed four other women before they could catch him.  By that point, I was living in survival mode.  I barely made it through my residency each day, and I barely slept.  I had been so close to Rachel’s family, but after her death, things just weren’t the same.  Her parents were so heartbroken, her brother was angry at me, and I carried so much guilt because it should have been me instead of her,” Emma said as Eddie pulled into his driveway.  He put the truck in park and unbuckled his seatbelt before turning to face her.

“Don’t say that,” he said adamantly.  “You were meant to live otherwise you wouldn’t be here now.”

“I know,” Emma said quietly as tears silently made their way down her face.  Eddie softly reached over with his right hand to wipe away the tear that moved down her left cheek.  “My therapist always says that I can’t control what happened and that none of it was my fault.  It’s easy to say that, but believing it is another thing entirely.”

“I know what you mean,” Eddie said.  “I’ve seen friends get killed in the line of duty and I watched Christopher’s mother die right in front of me.  It sucks, and I don’t think you ever really get over that.  You just learn to cope with it and try to move on with your life.”

“That’s what I’m trying to do,” Emma said as she turned to face him.  “A change of scenery was very helpful, and Athena has been wonderful.  Speaking of Athena, what did Buck mean when he said he couldn’t believe Athean agreed to have a partner?”

“Athena hasn’t had a partner in years,” Eddie said.  “Being a field sergeant gives her the choice of having a partner or not.”

“So why would she choose me?” Emma asked.

“Well, I don’t know the exact answer to that, but I can take a guess,” Eddie said with a smile.

“And what would that be?” Emma asked as she tilted her head slightly.

“She saw a lot of herself in you, and she knew how hard it was to overcome a traumatic experience like you did.  Plus, Bobby told me that she has bragged about how smart and intuitive you are,” Eddie said with a smile on his face.  Emma blushed slightly and bowed her head for a moment.  When she raised her gaze to meet Eddie’s, she was surprised to see the smile gone from his face.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Nothing,” Eddie said quickly.  “It’s getting late.”

He got out of the truck abruptly and Emma followed suit.  They met at the front of the truck and silently stared at each other for a few seconds.

“Thanks for the ride home,” Emma said as she started to walk past him.  Eddie gently grabbed her hand to stop her.

“Thank you for telling me your story,” he said softly.  “I know that wasn’t easy.”

“Thank you for listening,” she replied as she gently tightened her grip on his hand.

“Let me walk you to your door,” Eddie said as he began to lead her across the small space between their homes.  Once they arrived at her front door, Emma pulled her keys from her purse and unlocked the door.  Then, she turned to face him one last time.  His body was only a few inches from hers and she could feel his breath on her forehead.

“Goodnight, Eddie,” she whispered.  Before she could turn to go inside, he lifted his right hand to cup her left cheek.  

“Goodnight, Emma,” he replied before leaning down to place a quick kiss to her forehead.  He quickly backed away and headed back to his own house leaving a stunned Emma on the front porch.  After a minute or so, she walked into her house and slumped against the closed front door.

Oh man, she thought.

In the next house over, Eddie braced his hands against his closed front door and let out a long sigh.

“What are you doing?” he said aloud to himself as his head slumped against the door.  “You just told everyone, including Anna, that you weren’t ready for any kind of relationship, and here you are pining after your neighbor that you barely know.  Get it together!”