#this was written in half an hour and barely edited

[xingchens-eyeballs]

i need to write an essay rn but my monkey brain wont stop thinking about jayvik

kill me now

[strangersatellites]

posting this feels like I'm crawling out of my grave and gasping for air

anyway- inspired by this post by @inthedarknessofnight

here's 1.3k of concert photographer!Steve and rockstar!Eddie because I couldn't get this out of my head

gimme, gimme more

1.3k words | this is the most g-rated thing I've ever written, it won't happen again

Steve’s feet hurt.

They always do after a show, but this one was particularly hard on him.

He’s been at this venue for two years now and shot countless shows in that time. But never in his career has he been challenged so– athletically. 

The photo pit at this place is light years better than his last venue. There’s more than enough room for all of the photographers and their gear without stepping on each other. Usually Steve is grateful for this because surely there is only so many more beatings his 35mm can take before it kicks the bucket. Today though, he’s grateful for the space because of the full-tilt sprint this band had him in. 

He’s never seen anything like it.

Well, less so did the band have him in a sprint and more so the frontman but, semantics. 

The guy is everywhere. Steve could barely keep up with the way he ran around stage, jumping, climbing on equipment, leaning off-stage toward the barricade.

It was fun but Jesus, what is his deal?

Steve hadn’t even known who Corroded Coffin was 24 hours ago. Now he’s burned through two SD cards in an hour and a half. 

The guy’s hot and a good photo subject, sue him.

Well, he thinks he’s a good photo subject at least. He won’t know until he’s culled through every single shot. Steve’s a good photographer, took to it naturally the first time he picked up a camera. His downfall though, according to his college professors at least, was that he pays absolutely no attention to what he’s shooting while he’s shooting it. Hence the overshooting. 

On more than one occasion he’s gotten started on editing and someone is wearing an outfit he’s never seen before, someone’s got sunglasses on in every photo, a tag hanging off their jacket. All he’s concerned with is the framing, the lighting, and the focus. The content can be a problem for Future Steve. Everything can be fixed in post.

Almost.

Anyway, his feet hurt and he hates culling, so he pours himself a full glass of wine and plops down on the couch in front of an episode of trash tv with his laptop and props his feet up. Settles in for a long night.

2,461 images.

He throws his head back with a groan. Ugh. 

The first hundred or so are garbage.

They always are.

A few shots spent fucking with the exposure, a few the focus, some the flash.

He denotes the purple flag as his ‘good’ tag and orange as his ‘trash’ tag. The orange is stacking up fast. Around 163 he starts finding some good images. Ones that aren’t tainted by motion blur from his running around after this frontman. 

His photos of the drummer are pretty sick; he can't lie. The lights and the smoke and the near-manic smile on his face make for great photos. He’s not even this band’s personal photographer but he can imagine at least one of these will get posted to the band's socials. He’s good, what can he say?

He has a good bit of the bassist, his energy infectious enough you can almost feel it through the screen. Purple is making a comeback.

He finally gets through some crowd pics, some more drummer, some guitarist, some detail shots before he finally makes it to the frontman. 731 photos later. 

What did Wikipedia say his name was? Eddie, he thinks.

Weird, the very first shot Steve has of him he’s making fierce eye contact with the camera.

Ew.

No matter how long Steve does this, photos of people looking directly at the camera never get less jarring. 

Orange tag. Trash.

The next one is exactly the same.

Shit. 

He’s really bad to fall victim to the high speed shutter on this camera and often finds himself with a dozen copies of the same picture. Looks like he’s done it again.

Orange.

More piercing eye contact.

What? He squints and flips back and forth between the last two photos.

They’re not even remotely similar. As a matter of fact, Steve was in a completely different location in the pit for the second one. 

Green tag. Come back to this.

Taking a long swig from his glass he shifts so his laptop is closer to his face. Thinks that surely he’s not seeing this right. 

He takes to forgoing his tagging system and just flipping through every photo as fast as his fingers can press the arrow keys.

He’s clicked through about 200 when he starts getting worried, his heart rate speeding up. Surely he got something usable.

“What the fuck?”

He’s clicked through 50 or 60 more when he decides that, no he did not fall victim to the shutter speed at all. This guy is just making direct eye contact with his camera in every single photo.

Steve’s not mad, the opposite really. He didn’t spend much time looking at the guy during the show and now he gets to have an eyeful while he works. What’s there to be mad about? 

He is, however, mildly concerned that he won’t have a single decent photo to use for the venue socials when he posts about this show.

Whatever. Maybe fans of their music are also fans of uncomfortable eye contact. Who knows?

He finishes sifting through the rest of the photos, Eddie staring directly down the lens in every one, one’s where he’s not the subject included. Throws them all in an editing software and mass edits them all at once. He’ll detail edit later.

While the eye contact was a little unsettling, he did get one photo he’s particularly happy with. One that makes it look like the staring was on purpose.

It’s during the second to last song, a ballad– or as close as you can get with a metal band. Eddie’s standing center-stage and Steve had snagged the spot directly in front of him. He’s looking straight down, backlit with red spotlights, surrounded by smoke pumping from side-stage, and just close enough that Steve can see the sweat dripping down his neck. He looks a little bit scary, but that’s how Steve likes ‘em. 

That’ll be the cover photo for sure.

He shoots an album link to his boss to review before he distributes them anywhere, then spends  the next twenty minutes laughing to himself while he collects the goofiest photos of Eddie staring straight at his lens.

He puts them in a new album and copies the link.

When he opens up Instagram and searches Corroded Coffin he lets out a low whistle at the six million followers. Maybe he really should know who these guys are. With that many followers he doubts they’ll even see a message from his personal account, but whatever. He clicks on the message button on their profile and hits paste.

@ steveharrington.jpeg Great show tonight! Somebody tell this guy that he is allowed to look away from the camera though…

He only waits a few minutes for the reply.

@ corrodedcoffin HOLY SHIT THAT WAS YOU

@ corrodedcoffin Wait hang on

His phone pings with a message from a new account.

@ whoiseddiemunson HOLY SHIT THAT WAS YOU

@ whoiseddiemunson Sweetheart I wasn’t looking at the camera

Steve furrows his brows, confused. Starts typing a response but gets interrupted by another message.

@ whoiseddiemunson I was looking at the smoking hot guy behind it. Kinda hard to get a good look when he’s hiding behind the camera though.

Steve feels his cheeks flush and huffs a laugh to himself.

@ steveharrington.jpeg Well the guy behind the camera did manage to get a few good ones even though he was under surveillance the whole show. Wanna see those?

@ whoiseddiemunson Hell yeah I do. I just scrolled through your profile, your work is amazing. Do you want to show me the rest? Maybe over coffee tomorrow?

Steve smiles. His earlier heart palpitations replaced with butterflies.

@ steveharrington.jpeg Is this a date?

@ whoiseddiemunson It better be

[fear-less]

₊˚⊹˚ 𐙚 she ignored my letter!

pairing: james potter x f!reader

➥ In which, James writes you a love letter and hides it into your luggage carrying your clothes, not knowing he put it in a pocket you never open.

Warnings: angst, fluff, james pov, this inspired by awae (aka the best show ever)

a/n: heyyy... i had sm fun writing this, can't wait to write the rest of this bc i literally LOVE anne with an e and this is inspired by it ofc!!!! anyways, im barely writing now..smh, its cause im reading manacled and its literally heart breaking... im also editing on ae and its so hard so im slowly learning😭 but i want to finish this mini series by next week!!

series masterlist ! - divider creds: i-mmaculatus & dollywons

James had liked you for a while now. He wasn’t quite sure when it started—maybe it was the way you laughed at his jokes, always the loudest in the room. Or perhaps it was when he’d catch you staring at him, your gaze lingering just a bit too long, thinking he was too distracted to notice.

With the Christmas holidays fast approaching, James knew he had to make a move. He had to let you know how he felt. If you didn’t feel the same, maybe the time apart over the holiday would make it less awkward. But he couldn’t let another term slip by in silence.

Knowing your love for all things old-fashioned, James decided there was no better way to confess his feelings than through a handwritten letter. It felt personal, genuine—something you’d appreciate. But writing it turned out to be harder than he imagined.

He’d written and discarded at least a dozen drafts, each one crumpled and tossed aside in frustration. Finally, after half an hour of agonizing over the perfect words, he settled on this version. It was short, straightforward, and sincere:

Dear, (Y/N)

I don’t know how to say this without sounding like a complete idiot. I’ve tried a hundred times, and every single attempt has been worse than the last. So here’s the truth—I’m hopelessly in love with you.

You’ve probably guessed I’m not great at being subtle. But what I’ve never been able to say outright is how much you mean to me. The way you laugh, the way your nose scrunches when you’re concentrating—Merlin, you make it impossible to focus on anything else. I want you to know that you’ve made me braver, happier, better. If you don’t feel the same, that’s okay—I just needed to get this off my chest.

Yours, James

He sighed deeply, folding the letter carefully before slipping it into an envelope. Your name was written on the front in his slightly shaky handwriting. Taking a steadying breath, he tucked it into the inside pocket of his robes. He’d leave it somewhere you’d find it tomorrow, just before you both left for the holidays.

As he lay awake that night, James tried to figure out the best way to deliver the letter. Should he hand it to you directly? No, that was too nerve-wracking—he’d probably end up babbling like an idiot. Maybe he could slip it into your bag and avoid the risk of witnessing your reaction.

The morning was crisp, the kind of cold that painted your cheeks red and sent little clouds of breath swirling in the air. On the platform, the train sat waiting, puffing out plumes of steam that mingled with the frosty air. It was alive with the sound of students saying goodbye and dragging their luggage over the cobblestones.

James walked beside you, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He was doing his best to appear casual, though every step he took felt heavier with the weight of the letter in his robe.

“Let me take that for you,” he blurted suddenly, nodding toward your luggage.

You blinked, surprised by the offer, but your lips curved into a warm smile. “Oh, thanks, James. That’s really sweet of you.”

He shrugged, trying to play it cool, but his ears turned a telltale shade of pink at your words. “What kind of bloke would I be if I didn’t help you out?” he mumbled, his voice tinged with nervous humor.

The two of you chatted as you strolled toward the train. You told him about your plans for the holidays—how you were excited to see your family, how your mum always made far too much food, and how you couldn’t wait to decorate the tree. James listened intently, nodding and laughing at all the right moments, even as his mind raced ahead to the task at hand.

Then, his opportunity came.

You turned away for a brief moment, waving at one of your friends across the platform. James acted quickly, pulling the envelope from his pocket and slipping it into the outermost compartment of your bag. His fingers brushed the fabric for only a second, but it felt like an eternity.

His heart was hammering so loudly he was certain it could be heard over the clamor of the platform. He straightened up just as you turned back to him, completely oblivious to what had just transpired.

“Thanks again for carrying that,” you said with a smile, your eyes meeting his.

James gave a small, lopsided grin and shifted your bag on his shoulder. “Anytime,” he replied, his voice steady despite the storm of nerves swirling inside him.

As the train’s whistle blew, signaling it was time to board, James knew there was no turning back now. All he could do was wait—and hope that when you found the letter, you’d read it and understand the words that had taken him so long to say.

It had been days since you’d left for the holidays, and James still hadn’t heard from you. Each passing day only worsened the sinking feeling in his chest.

Did you not feel the same? Did you hate him for ruining the friendship? Or worse, were you so disgusted by his confession that you couldn’t even bear to send him a letter saying so?

By Christmas morning, the knot of worry in James’s stomach had become unbearable. He’d stopped pacing and pretending not to care. He spent the early hours staring at the window, waiting for an owl that seemed as though it would never come.

But then, just as the first rays of sunlight streamed through his frosted window, he saw it—a familiar owl perched outside, clutching a small envelope in its talons. His heart leapt with a desperate flicker of hope. Maybe you’d only just found the letter. Maybe you’d taken your time because you wanted to write something perfect.

James hurried to open the window, shivering as the cold air rushed in. The owl extended its leg, allowing him to untie the letter. “Thanks, mate,” James murmured, absently offering the owl a treat before it flew off into the winter sky.

His fingers trembled as he opened the envelope, eager to see your handwriting. But his heart sank the moment he read the first line.

“Happy Christmas, James!”

No mention of his letter. No response to his confession. Just a short, cheerful note wishing him a wonderful holiday and apologizing for not writing sooner. You explained that things had been hectic at home and promised to catch up with him soon.

James felt his chest tighten, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. The hope he’d been clinging to was slipping through his fingers.

You’d ignored his letter.

You’d chosen to act as though he’d never written it at all, as if he’d never poured his heart out on that piece of parchment.

James scoffed, his grip on the letter tightening. Fine, he thought bitterly. If you were going to pretend his confession didn’t exist, he could do the same.

He shoved the letter onto his desk, glaring at it as if it were the source of his frustration. Deep down, though, he knew the truth: he didn’t want to ignore you. He wanted to write back, to ask if you’d found the letter, to make sure you weren’t upset with him.

But pride was a stubborn thing, and James Potter wasn’t about to let his vulnerability show again—not now.

As the snow fell softly outside his window, James sat in silence, staring at the letter and wondering if he’d made a mistake by ever writing to you in the first place.

When it was time to return to Hogwarts, James made no effort to find you. Normally, he’d scan the platform, pretending it was a coincidence whenever his eyes landed on you. This time, he couldn’t bring himself to look.

He saw you anyway, just briefly—standing near your family, your face lit up with that familiar smile. His heart leaped in his chest, and his legs almost betrayed him, ready to stride over and say something, anything. But he stopped himself.

Instead, James turned sharply, mumbling a quick goodbye to his parents before heading onto the train. He didn’t want to see you—not now.

The walk through the train felt heavier than usual. He knew exactly where his friends would be—the same compartment they’d claimed since their first year—but it felt like an eternity to get there. When he finally slid open the door, the familiar faces of Sirius, Remus, and Peter greeted him.

“Oi, Prongs!” Sirius called cheerfully, but his grin faltered when James slumped onto the seat next to Peter with a loud huff.

James leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. He could feel Sirius’s gaze on him, curious and probing.

“What’s got your wand in a knot?” Sirius asked, unable to resist.

“Don’t.” James’s voice was sharp, firm. It was rare for him to be in a foul mood, let alone snappish.

Sirius raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. I won’t say a word.”

The tension in the compartment was palpable. The train rattled on, and the usual chatter of the four friends was noticeably absent. Sirius kept stealing glances at James, who sat brooding, arms crossed. Peter fidgeted nervously, while Remus flipped through a book, clearly uncomfortable with the silence.

Finally, about an hour into the ride, James broke.

“She ignored my letter.” His voice was low, bitter, but it shattered the quiet like a hex.

The others exchanged looks before Peter spoke hesitantly. “She really ignored it?”

“Yes, Peter,” James snapped, his tone sharp enough to make Peter flinch. Realizing what he’d done, James sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine,” Peter mumbled, avoiding eye contact.

“Maybe she didn’t see it,” Remus offered, his tone calm and rational. “What if it got lost in her luggage? Or someone else found it and hid it? Maybe you gave her another piece of parchment? There’s always a chance—”

“Moony, no.” James cut him off, his voice strained. “I double-checked. It was the right letter, in the right spot. And who doesn’t check their trunk full of clothes over the holiday?”

“Maybe she doesn’t,” Sirius said with a shrug, trying to lighten the mood. “You know, women can be unpredictable. Maybe she’s got a secret stash for random letters in her trunk.”

“No, she checks,” James said with certainty. “I’ve slipped plenty of things into her luggage before, and she’s always found them. She just doesn’t fancy me back.” His voice cracked slightly at the end, but he forced a small, bitter smile. “And it’s fine. I’ll get over it. I always do, right?”

The compartment fell silent again, the weight of James’s words sinking in.

Sirius leaned forward, a flicker of frustration in his eyes. “It’s not fine, James. If she didn’t fancy you back, that’s one thing. But ignoring you? That’s—”

“Don’t,” James interrupted quietly, his gaze fixed on the floor. “Don’t make it worse, Padfoot.”

Sirius bit back a retort and leaned back in his seat, muttering under his breath.

The rest of the ride passed more comfortably, but the shadow of James’s disappointment lingered. His friends cracked jokes and told stories, trying to lift his spirits, but even when he laughed, it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Deep down, James wondered if he’d ever stop wishing that you’d read his letter and felt the same way.

Hours later, everyone had gathered in the Great Hall. The enchanted ceiling reflected the dusky evening sky, and the buzz of students catching up after the holiday filled the room. Normally, James would sit with Sirius to his left, you to his right, and Remus and Peter across from him. It was a familiar arrangement, one you’d fallen into without question.

But tonight, James broke the routine.

He subtly nudged Peter into the spot on his right before sitting down, leaving the space where you’d usually sit conspicuously empty.

You walked in a moment later, scanning the Gryffindor table until you spotted your usual group. But when you approached, your steps faltered. Peter sat where you always did, looking apologetic but saying nothing.

Your eyes darted to James, silently questioning him, but he avoided your gaze, his attention fixed stubbornly on his plate.

Confused, you looked to Remus for an explanation. Out of all the Marauders, he was the one you trusted most to give you a straight answer. But Remus only shrugged, his expression carefully neutral, though the twitch at the corner of his mouth hinted at discomfort.

You scoffed, your chest tightening. First, James ignored you all through the holiday, and now he didn’t even want to sit near you? Fine. If he wanted to sulk like a child, you weren’t going to beg for his attention.

Without another word, you turned on your heel and walked further down the table, sliding into a seat beside your other group of friends. You forced yourself to laugh at their jokes and join in their chatter, but your mind kept wandering back to James.

At the Gryffindor table, James’s eyes flicked toward you more often than he’d admit. Every time he saw you laughing with your friends, his stomach twisted.

“Why is she acting like I’m the one in the wrong?” James muttered under his breath, jabbing at a piece of roast potato with his fork.

“Maybe because you’re acting like a prat?” Sirius replied, his tone laced with amusement as he leaned closer.

James shot him a glare.

“Look, Prongs,” Sirius continued, dropping the teasing. “She doesn’t know what’s going on. You didn’t even give her a chance to explain, and now you’re sulking like a first-year who lost his chocolate frog cards.”

“Explain what? She ignored my letter, Padfoot. What’s there to explain?” James hissed, though his tone lacked its usual conviction.

Remus sighed, setting down his goblet. “Did it ever cross your mind that maybe she doesn’t even know what letter you’re talking about?”

James froze, his fork hovering mid-air.

“Just talk to her, mate,” Sirius said, giving James a nudge. “Or don’t. But if you keep this up, you’re only making it worse—for both of you.”

James huffed, slumping back in his seat. The truth was, he didn’t know if he had it in him to face you just yet.

From across the hall, you caught the way James’s shoulders sagged, and for a brief moment, you considered walking over. But pride held you in place. If James wanted to act like this, fine. Two could play that game.

You and James hadn’t spoken in what felt like weeks. The once effortless connection you shared had been replaced with an awkward silence that weighed heavily on you. It wasn’t just James—it felt like the whole group of Marauders had grown distant, their usual antics and inside jokes missing their spark when you were around.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that you’d done something to upset him. But what? You racked your brain for answers, replaying every interaction from the past few months. James had always been one of your closest friends—why was he acting so strange?

Charms class was the hardest part of it all. You always sat beside James, sharing notes, exchanging whispers, and stifling laughs when Professor Flitwick wasn’t looking. Now, you sat in the same spot, the chair next to you glaringly empty.

You tried to focus on the professor’s instructions, but your thoughts were louder than his voice. Scribbling aimlessly in your notebook, you hardly noticed when someone approached your desk.

“Are you alright?”

Startled, you looked up to see a boy with a blue-and-bronze tie standing beside you. His face was vaguely familiar—you’d seen him around in class but had never spoken to him.

“Yeah—yes, I’m fine,” you stammered, blinking in confusion. Why was he talking to you?

He gave a polite, slightly amused smile. “Well, can you move your stuff? I’m sitting here now. We’re partners for the project.”

“Oh!” Heat rose to your cheeks as you hurriedly shoved your books to one side. “Sorry about that. I didn’t realize.”

“No worries,” he said, settling into the chair beside you. “I figured you weren’t paying attention—no offense. But I was, so I’ll explain what Professor Flitwick said.”

You managed a small smile, relieved by his casual tone. “Thanks. That’s… helpful.”

While he began outlining the project details, your focus wavered, glancing at James out of the corner of your eye. He was across the room, seated next to a loud and enthusiastic partner who seemed to be trying desperately to get his attention. But James wasn’t listening.

His gaze was fixed on you.

There was a flicker of something in his expression—jealousy, maybe? Regret? Whatever it was, it made your stomach twist.

You quickly turned your attention back to your new partner, nodding along to his explanation, even if you weren’t entirely listening. You felt James’s eyes on you the entire time, but you refused to look back.

Across the room, James’s jaw clenched. His partner waved a hand in front of his face, snapping him out of his trance.

“Oi, Potter! Are you even listening?”

“Huh? Yeah, sure,” James muttered, though his eyes drifted back to you moments later.

He hated this—seeing someone else sitting beside you, making you smile when that used to be his seat, his job. But he didn’t know how to fix it. The letter. The silence. The way he’d avoided you. It all felt too big now, too messy to undo.

Still, James couldn’t stop watching you, his heart sinking further with every laugh you shared with your new partner.

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[wildflowersandvibranium]

Escape My Mind

Pairing: TFATWS!Bucky Barnes x Neighbor Fem!Reader

Summary: In the quiet hours of a sleepless night , a man haunted by his past finds an unexpected moment of solace on a fire escape with someone who refuses to let him face the darkness alone.

"Tell me every terrible thing you ever did , and let me love you anyway"

Word Count: 1.9K ish

Warnings/Tags: Angsty start but nightmare comfort fluff fic

canon level violence , wintersoldier and hydra mention , nightmares/terrors , buckys trauma and past mention , mentions of guns , injury , death all from a nightmare , smoking/cigaretts / food

I think thats all if i missed anything let me know! 🌷

Author Note: nothing really to say excpet i love writing so much and after posting this im editing 3 other fics i ahve written eeeee. ty for every like reblog and and the love bbys. see you later :33

REQUEST 💖 ASKS BOX ALWASY OPEN MY MASTERLIST

The man was sobbing borderline choking , terrified sobs that ripped through the freezing snowy air and bounced off the concrete walls. 

His hands were raised , palms trembling , as he knelt on the icy ground. Blood stained the collar of his shirt from a cut steadily oozing. His lip was split. His eyes were wide and pleading locked with Bucky's. 

No. 

The Winter Soldier’s.

"Please don’t... please , I have a family," the man whispered , voice cracking terrided. "Don’t do this. I’m not who you think I am. Please..."

Winter’s breath was visible in the air , a harsh fog of ice and smoke. The hydra soldier’s gloved hands didn’t tremble , didnt move. The gun didn’t lower. His finger curled , mechanical and precise , against the trigger.

"Please...No!"

A single shot rang through.

The scream that tore from Bucky’s throat was raw and animal , punching through the walls of sleep like a bullet shattering bone.

He jolted awake. Drenched in sweat , gasping , his throat scorched from the scream that had apparently left him while he slept. 

He wasn’t in that alley. He wasn’t behind that trigger. He was on the hardwood floor of his living room, a thin grey blanket tangled around his lap and nothing but his underwear and dog tags clinging to his damp body.

The chains around his neck felt like they weighed a thousand pounds. Clinking with each harsh breath.

His hands shook as he dragged them through his damp hair. His breaths came hard and fast , each inhale like a punch in the ribs. He sat there for a long time, trying to breathe, to ground himself, to remember what was real.

Tears pooled in his eyes as he held back the sobs that threatened to unleash. Knowing once they started , he couldn't stop.

Four walls. Brooklyn. Apartment 3B. The ancient radiator was humming softly in the corner. His gun was still locked in the safe. He hadn’t hurt anyone. 

Not tonight.

It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real.

But it felt real.

Everytime. 

Every nightmare.

He pushed himself up slowly , legs unsteady beneath him , blanket falling away. 

He winced as his feet touched the cold floor , then reached for the pair of black sweats discarded near the edge of the worn couch. 

Tugging them on , he grabbed the half-empty pack of cigarettes from his corner table and padded silently through his apartment to the window that led to the fire escape.

The chill outside slapped him in the face the second he pushed it open , and he welcomed it.

Brooklyn was still and dark. A few streetlamps flickered below. Distant sirens howled , a few cars honked in the distance.

He stepped out onto the rusty fire escape , his bare chest rising and falling as he lit a cigarette with shaking fingers. 

First drag hit his lungs hard , then dulled the edges of the panic clawing at him.

It was an awful habit. One he should’ve dropped years ago. But right now , it was the only thing keeping him from spiraling.

The cherry at the tip glowed faintly in the dark. He was staring into it , almost hypnotized by the smoke whispering into the air , when a sudden voice drifted down from above him.

"You know smoking is terrible for you."

His heart leapt—more from surprise than fear. He looked up sharply.

There you were.

Apartment 4B. His neighbor. The one who always held the elevator door open , who laughed too loud when she got tipsy with her friends , who sometimes wore fluffy socks out on her fire escape and waved at pigeons like she knew them by name.

And the one who , unfortunately for Bucky’s heart—he couldn’t stop thinking about.

She was perched near her window , wrapped in an old hoodie , hair tied up messily , a cigarette of her own between two fingers as she scanned a book laid out on her thighs.

He grunted in reply.

She raised an eyebrow. "Still charming as ever. You know the drill , climb up."

He hesitated. Not because he didn’t want to. But because it had been one of those nights. 

He was still shaking. Still too close to the edge. Still not sure he deserved to sit near someone like you when the smell of gunpowder still clung to his skin—even if it was just in his head.

But you were already leaning back and lighting your own cigarette. Like you knew he’d come. He always did.

So he stood up.

He climbed the old metal ladder, groaning and creaking slightly as the cold bit into his palms , and hauled himself onto your platform. 

You didn’t say anything as he settled beside you , just held out your cigarette so he could light his next one off yours.

Your fingertips brushed. Just barely.

The warmth lingered. Sending a tiny spark through each of you.

The two of you sat in silence for a while , shoulders close but not quite touching. The kind of silence that was full of noise. Full of knowing.

The drag of a cigarette. The hum of the city. The quiet rasp of your shared breaths.

After a while , you glanced at him , voice soft. "Why are you up this late?"

He didn’t answer at first.

You waited him out , eyes focused on him as you brought the cigarette to your lips..

Then he exhaled smoke slowly , watching it curl into the air. "You already know Y/N."

"Yeah I do.”

His jaw clenched. 

You didn’t press. Just whispered, “One sec.”

You stood up quickly slipping slightly from your socks on the slick metal. One of Bucky's hands shot out to steady you. 

You gave him a thankful smile and crawled back through your window , the soft thud of sock clad feet hitting the floor muffled by your rug. 

A few minutes passed. He finished one cigarette and tapped the ash off the side of her fire escape. Closing his eyes for just a whisper of a second.

You returned , balancing two greasy paper-wrapped burgers and 2 bottles of Coke between your hands.

"Peace offering," you said , holding them out.

He just blinked. "You... had burgers just lying around?"

You grinned , sitting cross-legged beside him and unwrapping one. 

“I was gonna eat both. But I suppose I can be generous.” Sending him a teasing smirk.

He took the one she offered , hands still faintly trembling. 

It smelled like heaven. Bacon and Cheese. 

You cracked open the soda , handed one to him without a word.

You ate in silence. Him in his sweats and you a hoodie , both smoking in between chewing and ignoring the fact you weren’t sitting in the echo of Bucky’s scream.

Then—softly, carefully , you asked, “What was this one about?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just stared at the street below , taking a bite slowly. The words sat in his chest like cinderblocks.

He looked up in your eyes and answered.

His voice was still hoarse. Still rough from the scream he didn’t remember letting out.

“There was a man,” Bucky said quietly , setting the burger down in its wrapper on the iron platform. 

“Didn’t know him. Doesn’t matter. He was begging begging me , him not to-.”

You didn’t move , didn’t speak , just listened.

“Said he had a family,” he went on. “Wife , kids. Told me not to shoot. Said he wasn’t who Hydra thought he was. Just... wrong place, wrong time.”

His eyes were hollow now. Not because he didn’t feel—but because he felt everything.

“I pulled the trigger anyway. Didn’t even hesitate.” He gave a humorless chuckle , knuckles clenching.

“Sometimes I think the nightmares are worse when I don’t fight it. When I just... carry out the order like a machine.”

“You weren’t you then,” you said softly.

He looked up again in your gaze , eyes bloodshot from unshed tears , tired , raw. 

“Doesn’t stop it from feeling real.”

The weight of it pressed down between them. He looked away again, blinking fast.

“They always look at me the same way. In the dreams. Like they know me. Like they can see through me and see the person I used to... someone better. And I destroyed that.”

You reached over , brushing your fingers gently over his metal forearm. The touch wasn’t heavy. It wasn’t even a full grip. Just a light reminder that he wasn't alone at that moment.

“James… you didnt destroy that , Hydra did , everything you did was not your fault , you were brainwashed , at the hands of terrible , awful people”

He flinched slightly at the softness of your touch and voice. His name on your lips. 

Not Sergeant Barnes. 

Not the Soldier. Not even Bucky.

 Just James.

“I don’t deserve you being kind to me ,” he muttered , almost more to himself than to you. 

“You shouldn’t be giving me food and listening to my horror stories. I should’ve stayed down there. Should’ve kept my window closed. , protected you from all the blood i have on my hands and the mania in my mind”

You pulled your hand back , only to grab the soda and take a sip. “If you closed your window , how could I rescue you when you need it from your own mind?”

He blinked. Tears falling down his face this time.

“Also” she added , laying her head on his shoulder , “you’re not a horror story. Just someone who’s survived one.”

He didn’t reply. Couldn’t. Because if he did , something might crack open.

You  sat in silence again. Not the awkward kind , but the kind that stretches,  folds into you , lets you breathe without having to fill the air with empty words. Some may call it peace.

After a while , you nudged what you didn't eat of your second burger toward him again. “Eat more. You look like you just fought off a gargoyle.”

He huffed a dry laugh. “That’s not far off.”

You smiled faintly , chewing the last  bite you took. 

You finished your food just like that. Side by side on the cool , old metal. The cigarette butts littered the space between your legs. 

The midnight air was quiet , with only the occasional breeze rustling through the nearby trees.

After a while , you yawned , stretching your arms above her head. “It's at least gotta be past two.”

Bucky didn’t answer. His head had dipped slightly , chin nearly brushing his chest. The food and the cold and the trauma had caught up with him all at once.

You looked at him.

His eyes were closed now. Lashes dark against pale skin. Shoulders finally relaxed , breath slow and deepening. Like just being next to someone who didn’t recoil or run had drained him completely.

“You’re dead on your feet,” she murmured. “C’mon , sarge. Time to crash.”

He stirred slightly, blinking blearily. “So sorry didn’t mean–.”

“I know,” you whispered. “Go back to sleep. Crack your window, yeah?”

He nodded groggily , already turning to crawl back toward the ladder.

She called after him , voice still sof t, but loud enough for him to hear. 

“If I hear you again... I’ll come rescue you.”

He paused , halfway onto the ladder. Looking up at her.

There was something in his eyes. Not fear. Not even pain.

Hope. He felt love.

Loved.

“Thank you,” he said, voice barely audible, smiling through heavy eyelids..

You smiled. “Go. Before you fall asleep on the ladder, I have to call the fire department.”

With a grunt , he disappeared down toward his apartment.

You stayed a little longer, letting the night air nip at your shoulders , the glow of your fresh cigarette slowly dimming to nothing. 

Your mind couldn't rest now , not from terror or fear but simply just the thought of the supersoldier now , downstairs who you were helplessly in love with.

-end

[rae-writes]

⊹ Candles [reversed] ⊹

since it's my birthday, I wanted to do a little special self-indulgence, so here's this! || 2.k || written with poly!Mc in mind + our son Luke

4 am 

Early in the morning, before the faux light has even spread across the Devildom, Mammon is in your bed. He’s pushed his way through your door, half asleep himself, stumbled over and climbed underneath your covers (that he swears are softer than his), and has pulled you into his arms. 

Every year, he insists on being the first person to wish you a Happy Birthday, and if not that, then the first who gets to tell you in person— so he's found that coming to your room before the day even begins gets him his title of ‘first’ and gives him alone time with you.

It’s much too early to be awake right now, so he’s content with falling back to sleep with you. His body is in complete contact with yours and he sleepily swears not to let go because he loves you too much. 

5 am 

An hour later, or maybe even less than, Asmo comes to sneak you from his brother’s grasp, gently hauling your barely conscious frame to his room. He wants you to keep getting as much beauty sleep as you can, but he still wants to start getting you ready for your big day! 

Of course, Azzy’s been planning this for weeks, so he has everything prepared and laid out. His alone time with you consists of him lowering you into the steaming bath and massaging you well, scrubbing your hair and body until you’re squeaky clean and practically shining, before toweling you off and dressing you in the clothes he’d set aside. 

Your skin care is done and your hair is fixed flawlessly, nails cut, filed, and painted; everything is all done up by the man himself and he tops it all off with excited kisses and pictures now that you’re [mostly] awake. 

6 am 

After you’re ready for the day, Lucifer takes over and hides you away in his study, selfishly holding you on his lap as you both drink coffee to get properly started. The drink is as bitter as ever, lips glossy with the remnants of it as you both chat quietly. 

He’s your soft start to the day, the calm before the lovable chaos, and the first born makes sure to whisper sweet words alongside the comforting crackle of the fireplace. His hour of alone time is lazy and physical, because he can’t go more than a few seconds without running his gloved hands over you. 

If anything, he’s unwilling to let you go, but Lucifer knows it would throw a wrench into the day’s layout and cause more fuss than necessary— plus, he has some things to do before tonight, so he’ll let you go with a slow kiss.

7 am

You’re handed over into Beelzebub’s capable hands, ensured to be served with a filling breakfast. He’s more than excited to show you what he, personally, cooked for you (even if there are just a few bites out of some of it). His cheeks are stuffed and a cute little smile is spread across his cheeks as he points to all the things on your plate. 

When  your plate is spotless, and your tummy is full but not too full, Beel guides you on a small little walk around the house corridors to make sure you digest properly. He’s still eating, of course, but his pleased hums are filling the air comfortably, making for a nice atmosphere. 

Your little walk ends at the entrance hall, where he bids you goodbye with a cozy little hug, and a promise that you’ll love every second of your special day.

8 am

With a hand at the small of your back, Satan leads you out of the house and straight to a bookstore, wanting to keep a slow start to the long day. With it having just opened, only the two of you and a few others are inside, giving plenty of room to stroll and browse (and goof around). 

He points out things you’ve had your eye on, new editions that weren’t there the previous visit, or special copies that were for limited time. The fourth born wants at least two books in your hand and a little collectible maybe- or a bookmark. Can’t have too many.

Once he’s spoiled you a little, and after you’ve both pet the local cats outside, he’s reluctantly handing you over with a lingering kiss to your hand, and a promise to read one of your books together soon.

9 am

Levi took his place, fingers lacing with yours, as he raved about a nearby anime store, gushing over the items he saw online that reminded him of you. By the time you get there, you know every section that’s going to be inside, yet it’s still exciting as you get pulled in. 

You both get lost in the cool merch, having to wave your hands over the stands or jump in place to find each other occasionally, but end up staying side by side for the most part, whisper-shouting with big smiles. 

Leaving the store, there is a pretty good sized bag on your and his arm, but he couldn’t be more thrilled about the lightness of his wallet since he got to spend money on you. He takes your bag, and your previous bag, in a promise to tuck them safely in your room, before giving you a location.

10 am 

Waiting for you outside of a small little amusement park is Diavolo, who is positively beaming in anticipation. He’s already got two colorful wristbands in hand, which he latches around your wrist, and lets you do the same to him, before heading inside. 

There are rides of all kinds and he lets you choose each one of them, pointing out ones he thinks you’ll like as you pass. You play a few booth games, getting a pretty flame salamander plushie as a prize, or totally failing and having a good laugh. 

His only request is the photo booth, which you both do two different times, to get a silly border and a normal border. He pouts a little as he walks you out, assuring you’d see him later, before leading you a few blocks back into the townsquare. 

11 am

For lunch, Simeon takes you off the paths and to a somewhat secluded gazebo, where a sweet little picnic was spread out; celestial realm dishes were rationed onto baby blue plates, two shiny cups on either side, with polished silverware. 

The breeze is just right as the two of you eat, chatting and sitting closer than usual. Butterflies go by, and your eyes follow, as you both take turns pointing out different kinds you see and what flowers they seem to like better. 

You take your time neatly packing everything up, fingers brushing and shoulders bumping, before he parts with a, dare you say it, angelic kiss to your forehead.

12 pm

Luke, naturally, is in charge of dessert, promising a light, yet satisfying, treat as he leads you down the sidewalk and into a cute looking bakery. He wants you to save room for the many things that were cooked and baked for your party, so he gets a little pile of oreo balls and other small things like that. 

He holds nothing back as he tells you how happy he is to be spending your birthday with you, how he’s so very glad he met you, and anything else along those lines. He has to get them all out now, just in case he doesn’t get the chance to later! 

The sweet angel is nearly bouncing on the balls of his feet as he leads you to your next location, waving excitedly as he promises to help make your party one of a kind.

1 pm

You’re actually given to Raphael next, who’s standing outside of a library with that barely perceptible smile on his face. He explains that he wanted somewhere quiet and cozy to wind down with you, suggesting that you shouldn’t do too much before the big celebration. 

The very back corner of the library becomes yours for now, complete with a pretty view of swaying trees. The archangel almost shyly asks if you’d sit closer, loosely holding your hand as he begins reading to you. 

He stalls a bit at the end, toying with your fingers, before telling you that he’ll see you later…but he’d like to do this again, sometime, okay?

2 pm

Hocus Pocus becomes your next destination, Solomon wasting no time in wrapping an arm around you as you browse the store. It’s slow and unhurried and drawn out as he talks about certain items, explaining a few origins, and listens to how your day’s been so far. 

He dabbles a bit in glittery, washable, body paint, joyously painting random shapes onto your skin (even rolling his sleeves up so you could return the  favor). The sorcerer makes it a point to paint his name along your wrist, taking a picture of it, before helping you wash it all off. 

With a quick spell, he takes away any aching your feet might have, or any sort of headache, teasingly kissing at your jaw, before wagging his fingers as he teleports you somewhere new. 

3 pm

A familiar shade of gold greets you as you're sent sprawling out onto the Castle’s floors. Barbatos chuckles and chides Solomon’s delivery as he helps you up, dusting you off gently. He makes sure you’re alright, boldly carrying you anyway, regardless of your answer.

A soothing, palate cleansing, tea spread is set out on the table as he settles you into the chair, pouring it as delicately as ever, before joining you. Instead of adjacent, he sits beside you, eagerly listening to anything you have to say. 

He may or may not cheat time, prolonging his alone time with you just a little, unwilling to let you go now that you both finally have a minute together. He does have much to get done still, however, and with a [deep] kiss, he politely escorts you through one of his portals. 

4 pm

In the heart of the forest, amongst a wave of flowers, lies Belphie. He’s not asleep, but it’s clear he’s just woken up, as he gestures for you to come lay down, offering a peaceful break. 

Instead of star gazing like usual, he settles for cloud gazing, lazily pointing up and whispering descriptions here and there. It’s serene and quiet and, in his opinion, the perfect way to kill time. 

While he doesn’t want to get up, he does at least hug you and nuzzle close in a send off, watching you go, before flopping back down.

5 pm

Mephisto is more than ready, and honored, to be the one escorting you to your big birthday bash. He takes you on the long path through the forest, deciding that if the others got time alone, surely he could have his own slot, too. 

He keeps close, talking about daily matters, continuing to take small detours as you both make your way through the Devildom. His eyes don’t leave your face much at all as he basks in the moment. 

With a grand, flourishing gesture, he officially announces your arrival, and presents you to your birthday party!

6 pm

Confetti, balloons, changing led lights, and glitter are everywhere. There’s a long table with many presents littering the surface, and another one next to it with small party snacks and desserts. Music plays faint in the background, not really needed over the fun and chaos that comes from the party games picked out, or from the karaoke. 

When the time comes, a cake as astonishing as the previous ones is brought out and magically lit up prettily. Voices harmonize as they all sing you happy birthday , none being able to fight the smile on their faces, but…you couldn’t either. 

And as you circled around the cake, blowing out each of your candles, you wished for what you did every year since coming here: to always be able to stay with your boys. 

With cake and presents over, it delves into more chaos as they all argue over a) who you’re going home with tonight (and that it would be no fair if Mephisto took you, since he’d have you alone), and b) if you went home with a group, who’s room you would be staying in (Solomon taunted Mammon so much, you swore he’d blow a gasket). 

Oh, yeah. You loved them to death.

[lostatsea-blog]

Bringing Home the Gold (Part 2)

Alexia Putellas x England Reader

Alexia starts to understand the mistake she had made

(Take two on this one as it was pointed out to me that the way I had written it was a little confusing to keep up with. If you have already read the first edit that I have deleted, please read this edit and see what you think)

Part 2

Alexia stared at her phone screen reading the message over and over again as though she could somehow force the words to change. She felt her chest tighten as the meaning set in, you were not going to return to Spain tomorrow but had said nothing else in the message. Alexia did not know where you were or where you were going to be staying and that caused an unnerving sense of panic to rise inside of her. Without thinking, Alexia hit the call button waiting anxiously but the phone did not ring and she was met with a robotic voice telling her the phone she had called was switched off. Barely waiting a second, she hit the call button again and again the same message blared through the phone. By this point, Alexia was desperate to speak to you and desperate to make things right.

The Spanish captain had been confused at first, not understanding why you had reacted the way you had. In her mind, surely you knew that it meant nothing and that it was just a friendly thing – Solidarity between two people in a difficult time and situation. She quickly realised that the rest of the world saw it differently when the first thing Alba did was tear into her. Alexia’s sister had pointed out that Alexia and Jenni had been the only two people on the team to swap shirts the way they had so it wasn’t a team thing it was a her and Jenni thing. Alexia had been disappointed when you declined her offer to go and celebrate as you were the only person she really wanted to celebrate with but she knew that she needed to give you time so did not push it further. When she had seen the papers the next morning, Alexia knew that she had fucked up. The internet, social media and newspapers were rife with speculation about what the shirt swap had meant. Some were speculating that she had split with you and resumed her relationship with Jenni or worse that she had cheated on you. Some of the comments had left her feeling sick. There were people celebrating the idea that the two of you were no longer together implying that you were punching above your weight and that Alexia and Jenni were soulmates. Alexia knew that she had to try and fix this but she did not know where to start and worst of all she had no idea where you were.

Sleep did not come easily to Alexia that night. She spent the whole night attempting to make contact with you. Every half an hour she would hit the call button on your number and every time she would be greeted by the same phone switched off message. Somewhere around 6AM she felt the tears start. Wave after wave hit as she realised that she might have just ruined the best relationship that she had ever had. When Alexia woke to a loud thumping on her door, she realised that she must have cried herself to sleep. Her head felt fuzzy and her face puffy as she pulled herself off the bed and stumbled across the room to the door. When she pulled it open her mother stood on the other side and again tears started to stream down her face as she allowed herself to fall into the safe, familiar arms.

Alexia’s mother had been shocked by her appearance and demanded to know what was going on. Alexia explained about your message and explained that she had been unable to make contact.

“Mami, I messed up” Alexia cried, wiping furiously at the tears that continued to fall. She was amazed that she had any left at all. “Now, I have no idea where she is because her phone is off”

Eli, as ever, tried to be the voice of reason and asked if you had mentioned when you were coming back but Alexia showed her the message and Eli knew that wasn’t good. When Eli suggested to Alexia that she go to Ibiza as planned to give you space, Alexia felt a rage build up inside her but knew that she could not take her frustrations out on her Mami, so she just shook her head explaining that she couldn’t and that she had to try and fix things with you and show you how much she loved you.

Alexia could not bare the uncertainty anymore. All people kept saying was to give you time but that wasn’t an option to her. She knew that you had gotten on the flight back to England with the rest of the team and so her decision was made. She could not fix anything from the other side of the world and the thought of waiting in Spain for the next few weeks, hoping that you would return tore at her heart; she would catch a flight to England and try to track you down.

Alexia quickly began throwing all of her things into a case, with little regard for her usual tidiness. Elia had tried to show Alexia that her decision was somewhat impulsive but before she had even spoken, she knew that it was a battle she would lose. Her daughter was nothing if not stubborn and determined (it was how she had achieved so much in football). Alexia had reasoned that England was a small island once there, she could figure out where you were. Within ten minutes of making the rash decision, she had booked an outbound flight to Manchester.

When the rest of the Spanish team saw Alexia with her bag checking out they were stunned. After the incident with Jenni and Rubiales the team had rallied. They all felt that Alexia (as the captain) needed to be seen supporting Jenni and while she did fully support and stand with Jenni, she knew, in her heart, that going to England and trying to find you was what she needed to do.

At 1:30PM, two days after winning The World Cup, Alexia took her seat on the 12 hour flight destined for England. She had no real plan except find you and convince you to give her another chance so that she could show you how important you were to her…

[goldfades]

i definitely think that hard launch - joe burrow should become a series!!!!

i wanna see the parts on what exactly happened the night they met, their first kiss, first time, everythingggg

★ FIRST KISS

❪ for my kelce sister x joe burrow series ❫

─ warnings | first kiss stuff!!! just a fluffy little blurb to start off my series

─ ev's notes | guys, i have so many fics already written for this series, i just need to edit and they'll be out!

⇨ missing out on updates? check out my masterlist!

It had been an easy kind of night, the kind that unfolded naturally, without the weight of expectations or the pressure of anything more than just being in each other’s presence.

The two of you had ended up at his place after a late dinner, neither ready to say goodnight just yet. It wasn’t unusual—some nights stretched longer than they should have, conversations spilling past reasonable hours, neither of you wanting to be the first to leave.

You weren’t sure when hanging out alone with Joe had stopped feeling like something casual, when the ease of your friendship had started carrying a different kind of tension underneath. Maybe it had always been there, lingering just beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to break through.

You were on the couch, half-curled into the corner, feet tucked under you. Joe sat next to you, his long legs stretched out, one arm resting lazily along the back of the couch. A game had been on earlier, but neither of you had been paying much attention to it. The conversation had drifted from football to music to a bunch of random, inconsequential things.

Then, somehow, you started laughing.

It had been over something so unbelievably stupid—something Joe had said in passing, something you had responded to in a way that sent you both into a downward spiral of uncontrollable laughter. It was the kind that snuck up on you, the kind that made your stomach ache and your face hurt.

Joe had tipped his head back, shoulders shaking, laughing so hard he could barely get a breath in. And you? You had collapsed into the cushions, gasping between giggles, barely able to sit up straight.

“Stop,” you wheezed, pressing a hand to your face, trying to catch your breath.

“I’m not even doing anything,” Joe shot back, grinning, but even as he said it, he let out another breathless laugh.

You turned to him then, still laughing, still breathless, and that’s when it happened. It was subtle, that shift. The kind that sneaks up on you, the kind you don’t notice until it’s already too late.

You were both still smiling, still catching your breath—but suddenly, the air felt different.

You weren’t thinking about the joke anymore. You weren’t thinking about anything except the way Joe was looking at you, the way his laughter had softened into something quieter, something almost thoughtful.

Your breathing slowed.

Joe’s eyes flickered down—just for a second—to your lips.

It was fast. Barely noticeable. But you noticed.

Your heart thudded against your ribs.

You didn’t know who moved first. Maybe it was him. Maybe it was you. Maybe it didn’t even matter.

Because one moment, you were just sitting there, too close, still grinning, still catching your breath—and the next, his lips were on yours.

Soft. Warm. Gentle, at first, like neither of you wanted to shatter the moment, like you were both hesitating at the edge of something unspoken.

The taste of laughter still lingered between you, the remnants of whatever joke had led you here, but now, it felt like something else entirely. Something heavier. Something real.

Joe’s hand found your jaw, his thumb grazing your cheek as he tilted his head slightly, deepening the kiss just enough to make your fingers tighten against his chest.

And then—just as quickly as it started—you pulled back, gasping for air. But neither of you moved far.

Your forehead rested against his, noses brushing, and when you opened your eyes, Joe was already looking at you.

There was something in his gaze—something unreadable but intense, something that sent a shiver down your spine.

You could speak. You could laugh it off, pretend like it hadn’t just changed everything.

But you didn’t.

Because Joe didn’t move away.

And neither did you.

[shhhsecretsideblog]

You have to go see your professional athlete husband play in the championship game: only problem is you're 42 weeks pregnant. You've been having contractions all day, but you tell yourself they're just Braxton Hicks, and you can go to the hospital after the game and have the baby. But once the game starts you can't ignore the urge to push any longer...

Great prompt! Exactly what I was in the mood to write this evening, ty! Hope you like it (fyi written in an hour and very much not edited or checked or read-through lol)

Half-Time Full-Time Baby-Time

Despite being overdue, suffering practice contractions all day, and having a baby nestled deep in my pelvis - I was not going to miss the big game. I’d never missed any of my husband’s matches and I wasn’t going to start now.

Thankfully, as my hubby was a star player on the team I was watching the game from the Executive Box. My parents were supposed to have joined me but they couldn’t make it, so I was on my own in the luxury private suite that had a large window and a glass door overlooking all the action on the pitch below. Inside the room was a fancy dining table with chairs, a mini bar, and a few high stools beneath the tall bench table lining the window so people could sit and drink and eat while watching the game.

Unfortunately I wasn’t able to do any of those things. My tight and round belly and the pain flaring in my hips had me pacing around and around the room. Cupping the underside of my bump I breathed deeply through each rising wave.

“Hmmmmm… not now baby, please.” I whimpered.

The practice pains had gotten closer and closer together during the first half. I’d tried to ignore them, breathe through them and walk around to stop the braxton hicks, but they didn’t disappear. They only got worse. Just before the whistle blew at half time my waters broke and I was forced into the realisation this was no false alarm.

But it would be fine; labour took hours and hours and the game would be long finished before we would need to go to the hospital. That’s what I thought.

Midway through the second half I’m standing by the window, my hands clasping the high bench in a white-knuckle grip, my hips swaying side to side. My throat rattles as I release involuntary groans with the constant squeezing and tightening of my belly. The baby felt so damn low… my legs were in a wide stance and my belly hung down off my hips. I was glad to be wearing a lightweight summer dress with the amount I was sweating. I wanted to open the door, to let in a breeze, but I was scared to with the labouring sounds I was emitting. I didn’t want to attract attention and I did not want to go anywhere and miss the game. I would stay here until you were finished and then we would go to the hospital together.

Another contraction rolled across my belly and the pressure built and built towards boiling point. It felt like I was going to explode, to burst, that feeling of fullness paired with an urgency and pressure was becoming too much to handle. My legs started to tremble as I fought against my body’s instincts, a low rumbling roar slipping past my lips.

I leant forward over the tall tabletop, my arms folded on its surface and my head dropped against my arms. My legs were buckling, sinking lower into a squat. The pressure was building, the round and heavy bowling ball of a head was so low… I wanted to push— my body needed me to push—

“Noooo…. Oh god! Don’t- hoooo- don’t push. Just stay in there baby…. Wait for your daddy to f-finish the g-game—mnghhhhhh!!!”

There was no controlling it, the head was getting lower and pressing against my opening. My body was pushing and I couldn’t stop it. More amniotic fluid hit the floor as I pushed, my bare feet standing on the damp carpet.

In between uncontrollable pushes I glanced up desperately and looked at the timer hanging over the pitch. There was still 15minutes to go, plus injury time. Oh god, the baby was not going to last that long. It felt like it was already starting to crown.

With a trembling hand I feel under my dress between my thighs and nearly vomit when I feel the curved surface of the head pressing against my underwear.

“Oh baby, no… you can’t come out yet…”

But my body and mind are not in sync and a second later I’m back to uncontrollably pushing. I sink into a deep squat, my arms stretched high above my head as I cling onto and almost swing from the high rise table.

“Nnnmghhhhh!!!!” I grunt and low, bearing down into my bottom, running completely on instinct. The baby was slipping further and further out, my labia was stretched thin and the burning of a full crown made me howl.

At the same time one of the teams had scored and the stadium erupted with a frenzy of screams and cheers. The crowd’s jubilance was my own encouragement and I gasped a breath and pushed again, hard. My body was shaking head to toe, the burning… the fullness… the desperation for it all to stop… I had to get the baby out, and it had to come out right now. Giving it my all the head popped out dramatically into my underwear and I collapsed down onto all fours.

The game was nearly over and the baby was almost here. I scrambled to pull down my panties before the next contraction hit. I could hear the noises in the stadium, the crowd cheering and chanting, the final minutes being played. Meanwhile the baby was turning inside of me, the shoulders beginning to press and stretch me open once more. When the next contraction hit I submitted to it entirely, rocking forward and back with each push as my body worked hard to birth the babe. I roared and pushed with the final whistle of the match and raised up on my knees, my hands flying between my legs to catch my newborn baby.

“Oh my goodness… hi little one.” I sobbed as I brought the child up to my chest, wiping its face and blowing gently against their cheeks. The newborn gave a cough and started crying and relief and exhaustion took hold. That was when I noticed the crowd around the Exec Box was cheering. I crawled to the door, babe in arms, and awkwardly got back to standing.

Looking out across the pitch I could see my husband’s team had won, all the men jumping and hugging each other. I could spot my husband easily amongst the sea of coloured jerseys.

“That’s your daddy.” I said to the baby.

My husband looked up at the box, knowing where I’d be, and his jaw dropped when he saw me standing at the glass door, a newborn baby wailing in my arms.

[urprettylittlething]

In The Shadows

Purge Alternate Universe

Yandere - Gojo Satoru x Reader x Geto Suguru

A/N - Okayyyy I've been working on this for like a week and it's the longest I've ever written for one thing, I had a shoulder injury which is mostly healed up now during the week which hindered my progress a little because I originally really wanted this to get out nearer Halloween time, but oh well TT at least its here now right? Lmao, but I hope you guys enjoy it, I tried my best and lowkey kind of hate it, I wished I could've done more or something, but if you have any ideas around this for a possible part 2 let me knoww, although no promises ;) Consider this a massive thank you story, I now have over 100 followers and the likes and reblogs and comments, you guys, I'm crying, I love you all so much <333333 I love interacting with you guys and your comments on my stories or in my inbox <3333 you all make my day ilysm <3 :( AND IM SORRY I COULDNT HELP IT, they're kind of really mean so its more harsh yandere than the soft you all wanted :( I couldn't help myself its a purge AU TT, but I promise ill make something softer in the future <33 sorry this is so long omfg, but let me know your thoughts pretty please &lt;3 and if you actually read all of this ily

summary - Another purge night is here and you think your safe and sound, but let your guard down and you'll find yourself bound.

warnings - purge, mentions of 'off screen' murder, actual 'off screen' murder, kind of gore but reader doesn't see it, blood, rope, reader gets tied up, gags?, tape over readers mouth, they're actually kind of really mean lol, especially Geto, descriptions of panic, anxiety, overthinking, stalker situation kind of, swearing, crying, brief hair pulling, if there's any more let me know ml <3

genre - Oneshot

wc - 7.2k

~spelling and grammar fixed already~

Edit - the top photo 6/11/23

The tip tapping of fingers on keys echoed around the silent room. The occasional footfalls of people around her walking up and down. Picking up books to further aid their studying would slip past the music playing in her ears when they were loud enough.

Every time she would hear someone being a little too loud for the library they were in she would glance up and shoot a half-hearted glare their way.

They’d never see her but it was the thought that counted. A barely audible sigh escapes her as she brings a hand up to massage her cold fingertips into the throbbing skin at her temple. 

Nervous nibbling was occupying her teeth and lips, chewing away the flesh and creating tender spots her tongue would soon soothe. 

She’d been staring at the same empty document for two hours now. No more than two sentences she was able to come up with before she’d erase them in a fit of frustration.

Abandoned textbooks lay closed behind her laptop, she’d deemed them no use around thirty minutes in, but she couldn't bring herself to get up and search for better ones. 

She was antsy, not able to focus on her assignment due in a week's time. Her brain was all fogged up, too many thoughts going through her mind and yet she's not able to focus on a single one.

The purge was tonight. March 21st. And it was currently 1pm. 

Why did she even bother to come to the library in the first place? Was she hoping to distract herself even just a little bit before she had to hunker herself down in her dorm for twelve hours? 

Maybe. Yes.

Was it working? Absolutely not.

She was too skittish. Overthinking everything that had the potential of happening later and things that have previously happened. 

‘Someone's not going to come and try to kill me just because I forgot to return their pen that one time, right?’ 

The amusing, albeit a little dark, thought did make the corner of her lips twitch just the smallest amount. 

Taking off her headphones after stopping her music, she closes down her laptop and starts to move it into her bag. 

She spares a quick glance around the few tables next to hers as she stands with the library's books in her arms. Her eyes locked with a man sitting roughly two tables down. Slumped back in his seat.

Gojo Satoru. Bright white and fluffy hair paired with a set of dazzling blue eyes. The ones currently peeking over the tops of his round shades that had slid down his nose as he tucked his head down slightly. 

Sitting in front of him and abstracting her view of Gojo only slightly is who she assumed was Geto Suguru. Two peas in a pod and never seen without the other. The long black and silky strands of hair tied up in a half up bun was a giveaway to who he was as well.

Both of them were originally from Tokyo, Japan. Coming over to America over five years ago. Or at least that's what she’s heard from around the place, not knowing them personally. They were the most popular boys in school when she had joined a little over a year ago and they still held the title strong.

She doesn’t think she's ever really interacted with them. At Least not on any kind of personal level. Sure, maybe from a few friends of friends or passing each other in the hallway and being polite to her upperclassmen, but nothing all that memorable. 

Which is why this prolonged eye contact is sending a very noticeable shiver down her spine. The smallest twitch of a smirk on his face and she was breaking eye contact, gulping down the pooled saliva in her mouth as she turned around and hastily made her way in between the towering bookshelves.

Leaving the library after stacking the books she’d previously taken back on the shelves, she hastily makes her way down the long corridors. Keeping her head down, her hands clutched tight on the strap of her bag. She passes very few people in the hallway.

Even after pushing through the doors and trekking her way to the dorms at the end of the path, there were very few people loitering around outside. Some of the people she passed looked like they could be stoned, not that she could really blame them. Some looked a little too relaxed and happy and some were just trying to get to their destination as quickly as possible. Like her.

As the doors came into view, and then the stairs, she slowly began to relax, her fast pace lessening up. Successfully getting to the safest place she could for when the purge would start. 

It was also a massive relief that her two good friends would be staying with her during the twelve hours of horror. Last time she was by herself there had been multiple scares throughout the night. Nothing too big but something she didn’t think she could handle alone again. 

Reaching her door on the third floor she fiddles with her keys for a few seconds before her door clicks open and she pushes her way inside. Closing the door and locking it again for good measure. 

It was 1:43 pm.

A few minutes after she had arrived back at her dorm did she realize she still needed to pick up some food items. Being a broke student meant she had essentially nothing in her cupboards or her fridge. And if she was ‘hosting for the purge’ this year, it meant she had to stock up at least a little bit. 

‘Imagine trying to hide from a killer and your stomach growls, I think I would just die on the spot.’ She thinks, the smallest smile gracing her face. Humour is usually her way to cope in situations like these. It’s either that or panicking and she’d rather try to save that for the main event.

With a heavy sigh and hesitation weighing her limbs down, she slowly puts her shoes and jacket back on. She can make this quick. In and out. Easy peasy. 

With a quick jump while shaking her limbs out to get rid of her last minute hesitation, she quickly opens her door and steps out before shutting it behind her. No going back now. Locking the door behind her, she starts making her way back down the stairs and out the doors, walking in the direction of the food store. 

Her nerves were still playing up though, eyes darting this way and that as if trying to find a reason for her to panic. ‘It’s okay, the purge hasn’t started yet, all those things are still illegal.’ Is what she keeps telling herself while taking a deep breath. But the fact they won’t be in a few hours was still cause for some panic. 

Arriving at the store, she wizzes around, collecting any good looking snack and throwing it in her basket before hastily paying and leaving. The heavy plastic carrier bag hanging from her fingers gave her reason to think she went a bit overboard. 

Her quickened steps and accelerated breathing were all she could hear for a while. Her walk back to her dorm was supposed to be a quiet one, less and less people were loitering around meaning less and less noises to distract her. 

Especially from the new set of footsteps that have appeared behind her.

As soon as her mind clocked the extra set of footsteps there, it went into overdrive. ‘Who is that? Are they following me? No, you're being delusional, they're just trying to get back home. But are they? They just appeared out of nowhere. Are they going to try and kidnap me? Rape me? Stuff me in a van? Drag me down a dark alleyway and murder me?’

Her mind was racing, steps quickening and breathing silenced under the new threat. ‘Oh god, what if they’re stalking me? Waiting until the purge starts to come and slaughter me? They’re going to kill me. They’re going to kill me. What should I do? What should I do? What should I do?’

And then they were gone. 

It barely registered in her mind that the fast paced footsteps from behind her had vanished. A sharp breath escaped her before her head whipped around on a desperate whim. No one. Not a soul on the path behind her. 

Her shoulders sank with relief and a watery laugh broke free from her trembling lips. ‘I’m losing my mind.’ She thought. Even though that feeling in her gut had faded, it never fully disappeared. Her racing heart never slowed and neither did her footsteps. 

Y/n hurried back to her dorm, almost running through the doors and up the stairs to fumble with her keys and quickly burst in. Double checking she locked the door behind her, and then checking every other lock on her third story apartment. Only when she had made sure they were all secure could she finally relax. 

Her body shivering and hands shaking from the after effects of adrenaline. Her breathing is still a little shaky as she pulls a bunch of pillows and blankets into her tiny living room. Pushing her chair and sofa away to make more space as she lays everything out as neat as she could, making the floor a comfy space for her and her two friends to crash for the purge. 

She empties the snacks from out of the plastic bag and piles them in a nice little corner near the TV. A small stack of movies there for when they’re all waiting for the purge to start. Some cards in a pack were also placed there. 

The three of them are wanting to be as quiet as possible while the purge is going on. Everything locked, curtains drawn, lights off, TV with no volume and only subtitles, quiet games to play in case they got bored, etc. 

They weren’t taking any chances. It was doubtful anything would happen, since nothing really ever did in the dorms. No student here would go as far as murdering somebody, everyone mostly stayed inside, not wanting to risk anything. She only knew of a few people that have snuck out before to rob a few stores, or do some petty revenge like smashing someone's car without getting into trouble.

But overall, it was best to remain quiet. They didn’t want to get murdered because the TV was turned up too loudly and attracted some wrong attention. 

It was 5:15 pm.

This is the time her friends arrived. Knocking some made up code on the slab of wood before messaging just for good measure that it was really them outside. 

After unlocking the door and letting her two good friends inside her dorm she swiftly closes and locks it again. Relieved greetings transpire as well as nervous whispers about the purge and some small gossip of who they think would actually go out this year and who are likely to stay inside. 

The three of them start to make their way around her dorm, closing all the curtains and double checking the locks on all the windows and doors. Especially the balcony and front door. 

After they’ve secured the apartment, they turn off all the necessary lights, flicking on a few electrical lanterns and setting them up around the living room, but away from the windows. They’ve left one lantern in the bathroom and one in her bedroom, both turned off, just in case of emergencies.  

The three of them settle in a spread out pile on the blankets she put down in the living room. Some snacks are passed around already and a movie is slotted into the TV, playing as background noise mostly while they talk.

Erica, a sassy but kind of dumb girl, with choppy shoulder length hair that had been bleached and dyed a light green. She's donned in a crop top and sweatpants, comfy.

Don, a friendly giant, very kind in nature but also a little muscly. He has short black hair and a sculpted jawline. He also came in sweatpants and a baggy white T-shirt, also comfy.

Her two very good, and only, friends here. They’re in a few of her classes and all regularly hang out together. 

“So,” Erica begins after her mouthful of powdered donut. “Who do you think is going to actually purge tonight? Like, actually actually. My moneys on them two hotties in my class.” She finishes, wiggling her eyebrows..

Don hums around his half empty soda can. “Yeah, honestly I wouldn't be surprised if they did.”

Y/n pipes up, “Wait who?” sitting up against the sofa behind her, getting comfy like she's about to hear the gossip of a lifetime.

“Oh, Em, G! You haven’t heard of it? You’ve seriously been, like, living under a rock or something.” Erica says jokingly. Picking apart pieces of her donut and eating them. 

Don perks up too. “Really? You haven't?” Y/n shakes her head in denial as Don shrugs. “I get it, it’s mostly stayed in our class, hasn’t spread much further than that.” He says before crawling forward and rummaging around for more snacks.

“So get a load of this right!” Erica sits up too after finishing her donut. Waving her hands excitedly as she tells her latest gossip. “You know them two really hot upperclassmen right?” She draws out her ‘really’ and waits patiently at the end of her sentence for the other girl's confirmation. 

When she nods in slight confusion, Erica continues, “There were some major rumours in class that the two of them were late this one day because they were beating someone up. And I don't mean like a few slaps or hair pulling, I mean punches. You know?”

Y/n nods again, this time with furrowed brows and Erica continues, “At first, I didn’t believe it, obviously. But then, the two of them came into class and I swear there were blood stains on their clothes. Blood stains! Not to mention all the plasters and bandages all over their hands! I just had to believe it then! Wouldn’t you?”

After the end of her long rant she slumps back against the front of the sofa and mumbles incoherently to herself shaking her head while pouting.

Don, who had been listening silently, pipes up, “It was true, I was actually there for once.”

Y/n’s eyebrows raise in disbelief at what she had just heard. Fighting, here? She couldn’t help but to doubt it, if only just a little. Stuff like that has never happened here. Or at least while she had been here. It was just unheard of.

And for an attack so vicious to result in blood being drawn, then there must have been somewhat of a good reason for it. That was the conclusion she came to.

“I mean, there had to have been a good reason for it.” Y/n says, “They’re pretty nice people aren't they? It is Gojo and Geto were talking about here, right? They’re really popular here too.” Her eyes darted between her two friends, looking for more answers on this unexpected juicy gossip.

Erica sighs wistfully, “No, it got shut down pretty quick, which I guess is why so little people have heard about it. God, would I pay to see them fight though. Their muscles must have looked amazing.” 

They stop talking about it after that, Don getting distracted by the snacks and whining about how she didn’t get his favourite. Erica smacking him with a few pillows and complaining how he’s getting in the way of her movie she was barely even watching. 

Their playful banter did little to distract from her inner turmoil. A small shiver went down her spine again. The memory from earlier in the library resurfacing in her mind. Gojo staring her down, the creepy walk back from the shops and now learning the two had at the very least helped in injuring someone.

It could just be because it was purge day, but everything was beginning to creep her out and she was overthinking again. ‘What if he wants to attack me next? What if all of those things were connected and someone really was following me home? What if he wants to kill me? What if both of them want to kill me? Have I ever done anything to offend them? I haven’t, have I?’ She knew these were far fetched and ridiculous, but she couldn’t help but think of them anyway.

Her spiralling thoughts were halted when a stray pillow smacked her in the face. “Oops, haha, sorry.” Erica sheepishly apologized, bringing her hand up to smooth down Y/n’s ruffled hair. Don was laughing in the background.  

Y/n was stunned for a few seconds before replying, “Oh, don’t worry. How about we put something else on? This movie is kind of boring.” crawling across the piles of pillows and blankets to reach the stack of movies.

This caught the other two’s attention, eagerly rushing to the stack as well to try and get first pick. Arguing for a few more minutes before settling on a movie they all loved. Snuggling back into their original positions.

This was how the next few hours went before the announcement appeared.

It was 6:59 pm.

At exactly 7 on the dot, the TV went black before turning blue, the government announcing the commencement of the purge. Big bold letters and ‘Emergency Broadcast System’ and ‘This is not a test’ were displayed on the screen.

They were all quiet as it played out. The mood quickly turned sombre.

“Weapons of class 4 and lower have been authorized for use during the Purge. All other weapons are restricted.”

Don gulped.

“Government officials of ranking 10 have been granted immunity from the Purge and shall not be harmed.”

Erica huffed.

“Commencing at the siren, any and all crime, including murder, will be legal for 12 continuous hours.” 

Y/n shivered.

“Police, fire, and emergency medical services will be unavailable until tomorrow morning at 7 am when The Purge concludes.”

She released a shaky breath. The announcement ends with “...A nation reborn.” before stopping. The screen turned black again.

No one moves or says anything. Each of them were frozen in an array of emotions. Fear being the most prominent. 

The silence stretched on for minutes. Eerie in its wake, not even being able to hear other people in their dorm rooms like she normally would.

Eventually, after releasing another shaky breath and rearranging herself with trembling limbs, they all snap back into the present. 

Don coughs and Erica shuffles awkwardly. 

“Cards, anyone?” Y/n meekly speaks up. The other two nod as they sit in a small circle. 

It was 7:36 pm.

This was when the first explosion of some kind was heard by them. Each of them froze in the middle of playing their mostly silent game of cards. The noise was distant, but the impact remained.

A scream from a few doors down echoed in the silent space.

They waited with baited breath for any follow up, but when nothing happened, they slowly relaxed. Each of them assumed it was the explosion that must have scared someone. Sometimes it’s better to think of the positive, rather than what that scream could have been for.

A few minutes later a siren bellows in the distance, a few car alarms wail.

Nothing too bad, but knowing that it could mean someone was being murdered out there didn’t give them any ease.

It was 8:02 pm. 

This is when the banging starts. Y/n thinks it could be a few doors down again. Erica thinks it’s below them and Don thinks it’s above them. 

Wherever it was, it was concerning. 

Erica releases a small nervous chuckle. “Maybe someone is just having a good time?” A fake smile plastered on her face to try and mask her worry. Even she didn’t believe her little theory. Not during a time like this, during The Purge.

It was a few minutes later, after they had quietly resumed their game, that footsteps were heard.

Clacking down the hallway. 

1, 2.

1, 2. 

1, 2. 

1, 2. 

They were walking at a leisurely pace. Taking their time. Strolling down the hallway and getting closer and closer.

All three of them looked towards the door, as if someone were to burst in at any moment.

The footsteps slow before coming to a stop. Right outside her door.

The three of them hold their breath, bodies flinching when a light knock rings out into the open space.

Complete silence.

Another knock.

None of them had even noticed the earlier noises had stopped, too focused on the potential threat now right outside the door. Seemingly wanting someone to open up.

Three pairs of eyes dart between each other. Silent questions trying to push their way out without being heard. A few panicked half shrugs and furrowed brows with downturned lips later, another knock rings out.

This time it was a little louder.

Barely audible whisperings of ‘you go’, ‘no you’, ‘fuck no’, ‘who even is it?’ cut through the silence. No one wanted to ask the question. To even speak a hint of it lest it result in it coming true.

Eventually after a solid minute of panicked, almost silent, squabbling later. A frustrated and frightened Erica pushed herself up. Taking a very obvious deep breath. Eyes closed and silently mumbling to herself before taking a few steps over to the front door.

She tried to be as quiet as she could but each step sounded like it weighed a ton. Every creek and every wobble made to sound the loudest. 

Very quietly bracing her hands upon the door, she leant up on her tiptoes. Peeking into the peephole positioned in the centre of the door.

The two left in the pile of blankets still. Not wanting to even breathe in fear of disturbing whatever was happening in front of them.

A sudden screech of pure panic and fear tore from Erica’s throat. Flailing before landing with a harsh thud on the floor beneath her. Scrambling backwards on her hands and feet, keeping her eyes on the door the entire time.

The two startle and immediately jump up, laboured breathing hindering their lungs from the sudden scare.

“What the fuck? Erica what happened? What was that?” Don frantically whispered. His eyes were also locked on the door. 

Y/n also whispered to her, “Who was that? Erica?” her eyes locked onto her friend, not able to bring herself to look at the door yet.

“It was.. Oh god.. The peep..” Erica wheezed out. The fright took too much out of her with her frantic gasps for air.

A sudden bang echoed into the room. A few more followed before they all realized it was coming from the front door. 

Erica screeched and threw herself back into a standing position, rushing for the kitchen and grabbing any sharp knife her eyes first laid on.

Don stood frozen in fear. Not able to move or barely breathe from the looks of it.

Y/n wasn’t any better herself. Downright terrified. This was her dorm. Her dorm. Which means whoever was outside, was looking for her.

The banging persisted, the person on the other side seemingly determined to get in. This proved correct when the handle started turning whichever way it could. 

She didn’t even realize, terror clouding her senses because when she looked back to her two friends, Don had collapsed into himself, wheezing with little air entering his lungs amidst his panic. Erica was cornered in the kitchen, sobbing, tears flooding her cheeks and ruining her mascara she had in place.

The persistent banging stopped for a second. The faint sound of another pair of footsteps approached from the hallway outside. Muffled talking pursued but it was hard to make anything out, between her pounding heart, Erica’s sobs and the slab of wood in the way, didn’t make for easy hearing.

For Y/n, it seemed there was one second of complete silence. No sobbing, no voices, no distant alarms or explosions, no racing heart, no wheezing lungs. Before chaos sprung onto them.

Suddenly the people outside, because there was another person now, resumed banging on the door. But it didn’t seem like they were ‘just knocking’ anymore. No.

They were trying to break the door down. 

She could see it from the way the door groaned and creaked under the relentless kicking. She couldn't quite tell if they were using their feet, or an object, or whatever. 

All that mattered was that they were trying to get in. And they were going to succeed.

“Move! Hide! We need to hide!” She whisper-yelled. Rushing to Don and tugging on his arm to try and get him to move. He stared at her for a few seconds before his brain caught up, registering what was happening around him. The real danger he was in right now.

“Hide.. Oh god..” He panted, sprinting for the bathroom, the first place his eyes had landed on.

With Don now searching for a place to hide, she ran her way to Erica. Still trying to be as quiet as she could, in the little hopes that they would think she wasn’t here.

“Erica, we need to hide! They’re getting in!” She frantically whispered to her hyperventilating friend. Trying to shake her shoulders, even resorting to lightly slapping her face to try and get her attention. She was desperate.

“Please!” The sound of splintering caught both of their attention. Heads whipping towards the door starting to cave. She wasn’t all that surprised, that slab of wood was a shitty excuse for a door anyway.

Erica suddenly sprung up and dove for the piles of blankets in the living room. Trying to bury herself amongst them, taking the knife with her.

And now that all her friends had been taken care of, she ran for her bedroom. Trying her best not to stumble and fall in the dark hallway. 

As soon as her door came into sight, she gently opened it, gunning for her wardrobe tucked into the corner of the room. Not even looking towards the turned off lantern, she didn’t need them knowing her hiding spot from something so obvious. 

It was already messy anyway, so in her frazzled brain she didn’t bother caring where she tossed piles of clothes and shoes in her room.. They’d hopefully think it was like that in the first place.

After quickly clearing a space big enough for her to curl into, she did just that. Situating herself just right, back pressed against the side of the wardrobe, knees tucked to her chest and pressed against the boxes in front of her. She was sitting on old shirts she hadn’t seen for months.

Hearing the door breaking even further, she grabbed any clothes within her reach and threw them over herself. Shutting the door when she was mostly covered, she could have sworn she could hear laughter coming from the hallway.

A loud crash and splintering tore through the air. She knew it was her front door. And now they were inside. 

Her hands slowly went up to cup around her mouth, trying to muffle her breathing as much as she could. Her body froze. Even when she already began to feel muscle cramps settling in, she dared not move. She forced herself to breathe slowly. Every inhale a struggle along with a reminder that she was still alive at this very moment. Even if she was convinced she wouldn’t be for much longer. 

The thought brought tears to her eyes. The original shock wears from her body and settles into something akin to despair. 

Her throat started clamping up, muscles seizing and throbbing with the need to cry. 

It was the thudding of footsteps that shook her out of it. Snapping her half way back into a nightmarish reality. 

She gulped. Closing her eyes and straining her ears for any information they were willing to receive.

Just as she thought. Two pairs of footsteps. 

With every thud of a shoe or a spike in their muffled talking, her body would tremble. 

It remained like this for a few more minutes. The footsteps or talking occasionally pausing. 

It was during one of these silences, where a different sound was heard. She couldn’t identify the exact sounds, just ones of commotion. They were still all muffled. And then she heard muffled yelling. 

It sounded so dulled, between the walls and layers of wood and clothes, she could barely make out anything, her ears straining for any hint as to what was happening. Being left in the dark like this, literally and figuratively, was terrifying her. 

And then this horrible, awful noise carried its way between the cracks in the wardrobe. Crunching. Cracking. Stomps. 

That muffled yelling from before kept getting cut off. Eventually dwindling down into a barely audible groan. Those thuds never seemed to stop either. Never ending, crunching, cracking, and now wet thuds. 

Her brain was trying its hardest to process, to catch up with the information that it has been provided with. 

More footsteps, only one pair, accompanied with muffled laughter. And a more distinct sound traveling through the air. 

A scream.

Even more laughter, hurried footsteps and pleas of ‘no’, ‘please’, ‘don’ts’. 

It was now, with the wet stomps still in the background, her screeching friend, that eager laugh, that her brain had finally caught up.

She was going to be sick.

They’re hurting them. Killing them.

Her friends.

Her body moved out of its own violation. Shaky hands and feet kicking and pushing their way out of the pile of clothes. Wardrobe door swinging open with a creak.

She collapsed out of it. Slumped on the floor, dry heaving. Her lungs not seeming to take enough air in but yet holding in too much. She couldn’t function. Fear overwhelmed every part of her. As well as grief. 

Her ears were ringing and she was left gasping, drool dripping onto the hard floor beneath her as a result of her attempted vomiting. Eyes wide open, blurry when she tapped back into her mind. 

Tears, clouding her vision and dripping audibly on the floorboards below her. 

In the distance she could hear muffled talking. Two men, she could make out more clearly. Not only that, but squelching, wet, gooey noises seemed to mingle in the air. Gurgling was the next before silence.

A minute passed, maybe two before the footsteps started up again. Those goddamn footsteps. 

1.. 2.

1.. 2.

1.. 2.

But they were slower than before. Steady. Taking their time. 

And getting closer.

Her instincts kick in, blinking profusely to try and clear her eyes from the tears, looking up and darting around before landing on the space under her bed.

She wouldn’t have enough time to fix her spot back in the wardrobe. She couldn’t run past them, not even in her best state which she certainly wasn’t in right now. She had considered her bedroom window as an option, but it was locked, which would take time to open. Not even mentioning the fact she was on the third floor, so jumping out would break at least something important. They would be quick to notice as well, and if they came for her, it was likely they would decide to chase her down.

Under her bed seemed to be her best option at the moment, and she was running out of time. Scrambling as quietly as she could, she slid herself directly under her bed, trying to center herself in the middle of it, tucking herself into a tight ball.

The footsteps stopped right outside her bedroom door, she had enough sense to shut it on her way in, thank god. But that clearly wouldn’t be enough to stop them. 

Almost as if the person was teasing her, they slowly clicked the door open. The distinct creak she had grown accustomed to over the months making itself known. 

Her muscles are tense, tightening in the presence of her predators. 

In the dark space from under her bed and in her room, it was obvious when the light from inside the hallway started spilling in the more the door got pushed open. In the vague depths of her mind it registered that they must’ve either turned the hall lights on, had taken one of her lanterns,  or were carrying one of their own.

Her lungs were burning with the effort to keep her body running with the little air she was allowing them to have, all for the sake of trying to keep quiet.

It was all too silent once again, only for a second or two before the second pair of footsteps came towards her. A lot more hasty compared to the other ones. 

Her breath silently hitched, the new person pushed their way into the room, stepping past their company before a thunk was heard. The sound forced her body to startle, jolting her muscles and kick starting her trembling again. An uncontrollable reaction to the fear she was under, the unrelenting motions causing a deep ache in her ribs.

The sound of rustling was now heard. It seemed they were looking for something. ‘They’re going to kill me. They’re digging around for a weapon to stab me with, to bash my head in, to murder me like they did my friends. I’m dead. I’m dead, I’mdeadI’mdeadI’mdead-’

Her racing thoughts consuming her fear riddled mind failed in picking up the sound of the other pair of footsteps slowly creeping round to the end of her bed. 

The person paused, silently crouching down low before a pair of hands reached under.

The sudden tight grip on her ankles followed up by the sudden pull had her screeching. Pure terror flooding her veins. She had been yanked out from under her bed, lying sprawled on the floor and gazing up at the towering man stationed above her. 

Her lungs burned, seizing up before a sickening scream escaped her. Fuelled by genuine, unrestrained horror. 

They had found her.

One of her lanterns they had brought in illuminated his face in a haunting light. The darkened shadows stretching and contorting behind him to create the most grim image for her mind to paint. Not that it was far off.

A foot standing on either side of her hips, straddling her if it wasn’t for his standing position. Hands nestled comfortably back in his trouser pockets now they had done the job of retrieving her. A comfortable looking long-sleeved shirt adorned his figure. Dark splatters starting from the bottom of his shoes and creeping their way up his legs, tapering off into a few spots that painted one of his cheeks.

An easy smile softly ingrained on his face, followed by gentle looking eyes peering down at her if it wasn’t for the malicious spiral she found herself paralyzed in. Dark locks of hair extended down his back, past where she could see from her position, with the top layers sectioned off and tied back into a bun.

His mouth opened and he spoke. “Well, well. Look what I’ve caught for us Satoru.”

Satoru. The other man must be Satoru Gojo, and this was Suguru. Suguru Geto. The most popular guys she knew, the supposedly kindest. And then staring in the library, the walk back from the shops, the gossip her most likely dead friend had told her.

Her body suddenly felt like it was pumped full of adrenaline. Pushing herself up as fast as she could, using the bed as support all the while stumbling over her numb riddled legs. She took off, running towards the open door she so desperately wanted to pass through. 

A sudden arm snatched her from around her waist and she screeched. Pure instinct driving her at this point as she scratched and kicked and flailed in his, Satoru Gojo’s, hold.

The sound of something dropping before his other arm came round, collecting both her wrists in one hand of his. His grip tightened the more she fought. Her body pressed tight against his, her back to his front. His head situated itself on her shoulder, tucking over and pressing his cheek to hers even while she cried and panted and kicked.

She could feel his grin pressing against the side of her face. “Such a pretty little thing we have here. Can’t let her get away so easily now, can we? Not after all the trouble we’ve gone through.” The last part practically whispered into her ear as she turned her face as far away as possible from him. 

A little laugh boasted out from Geto. “Of course not.” He strolled over to them, bending down to pick up what Gojo had dropped in order to restrain her.

Rope.

Fucking rope.

The moment her eyes zoned in and processed what Geto was unravelling in his hands she tried to fight back even harder. Eyes flooding with tears that spilled down her cheeks. Short mumblings of ‘no’ being repeated over and over while becoming louder until she was yelling. 

“Please don’t do this! Let me go! Please, please.. Stop!” She shrieked while sobbing, convinced they were going to kill her or torture her or something horrible like that.

Gojo walked the two of them to the edge of her bed before forcefully pushing her down, manhandling her onto her front and bending her arms to rest pressing against her back.  

She sobbed into her ruffled sheets as she felt Geto fastening the rope tight around her wrists, the rough material digging into and pinching the sensitive skin. Raw and red marks already forming amidst her struggle. 

Her legs still hung off the bed, trying their best to kick and hopefully injure one or both of them, but she knew it was a losing battle. None of her landing blows made them falter in any way.

When her wrists were successfully restrained Geto kept them pressed to the small of her back while Gojo let go and reached down to grab her ankles. Pulling them up and bending her legs at the knees while they both worked in finishing the task of tying her up.

When they finally stepped back to admire the work they’d successfully done, Y/n deflated. Tears soaking into her bed in which she rested on top of. Her lungs still burned, having never stopped. The hogtied position she had been forced into leaving her nothing to work with in terms of escaping. Not that she could think clearly anyway. The distress she was under proved too much.

“Oh, Shh Sh Sh… There, there, sweet thing. Settle down for us now. We aren’t going to kill you.” Cooed, who she could only guess right now was Gojo.

Geto reached forward from his position of kneeling on the bed, gentle soothing pets stroking her hair. Her sobbing tapering off into hiccupped breathing even while flinching with every touch. “There you go, good girl. See that wasn’t so hard now, was it?”

He pulled away from her, stepping down off the bed and heading towards the previously discarded bag on the floor Y/n hadn’t noticed before..

Y/n slowly turned her head round, no longer pressed into her sheets. Her eyes were red and bloodshot, swollen from all the crying she’d been doing. Little hiccups and groans left her while her lungs tried to recover. She’d given up struggling right now, it had done nothing but cause her pain as the rope dug and squeezed the skin of her wrists and ankles. 

Gojo piped up from behind her, only now feeling the heat from his legs pressing into hers causing her to flinch. “You know, this would’ve gone a whole lot easier if you had just let us in sweetheart.” She could practically hear the smug smile in his voice. “Look at where you are now, tied up all pretty for us. Ripe for the taking.” He pressed closer to her at that, voice practically dripping with need. 

She whined in fear and started squirming at his words. Panic flooding her senses again for just a second before a sharp tug to her hair had her yelping, halting her movements.

“I thought I told you to quit that.” Geto was back to kneeling on the bed in front of her, his hand gripping tight onto her hair, eyes narrowed. 

Her bottom lip trembled, breaths picking up with every second he glared down at her. 

“Don’t be so mean, Sugu.” Gojo said, a teasing lilt in his voice. 

Geto glanced back at him before humming and letting go of his harsh grip, her scalp burning in turn. “I suppose you’re right. She’ll have plenty of time to learn when we take her back home.”

Gojo hummed and she felt him leaning away from her, hearing him crouch down and fiddle with something from the bag as well. 

“Back home?..” She stuttered, voice hoarse and throat dry.

Geto looked back down at her, amusement painting his face. “Yes. Home.”

“Where..” She started, face formed in a twist of concern and confusion. “Please.. I.. Just let me go. I won’t- I won’t tell anyone, I’ll- I’ll leave you alone, I’ll do anything, please..” She gasped out, tears gathered freshly in her eyes again, voice cracking every few seconds. 

An amused eyebrow raised with the hint of a smirk at the corner of his mouth was all she got as a response. 

Gojo had come back, reaching round and fastening a strip of duct tape around her mouth in a sudden flurry of movement. Giving her no time to process what he had done until after he had done it. 

She cried out, the sound muffled thanks to the tape, worried eyes darting around in panic as she tried squirming again for the third time. 

Gojo pressed up behind her once again. “You’re not going anywhere, sweet pea! You’re ours now. We’ve had you picked out for a long time now.” The joy in his voice didn’t fail to put her on edge, his words doing their part in helping the tears gathered in her waterline to finally spill down her cheeks. Wetting the tape situated over her lips.

“He’s right.” Geto replied. Bringing one of his hands up to show what he had collected from the bag a few moments ago. The mobile phone in his hands glowed brightly in the dark room, the lamp from before having been moved, the light now dim.

“We’ll bring you back with us soon enough, but we still have a few more hours to kill before that. And why waste them.” Gojo said, the grin in his voice unsettling her, keeping her frozen in fear.

An easy smile pulled at Geto’s cheeks at that, head tilting to the side to gaze down at their pretty prey. 

“Well what are you waiting for then, Satoru?”

A pause. Smile pulling into a predatory grin.

“Have at it.”

[sturniololuvz]

Can you do a really angsty sister fic but with a cute ending but it’s very angsty

yesss! here ya go!

“Unnoticed”

Sturniolos x sister

Warnings : none rlly.

Y/N had always been the odd one out.

She knew her brothers loved her—of course, they did. But love and attention weren’t the same things, and lately, it felt like she had been completely erased from their world.

Chris, Matt, and Nick had each other. They always had. Three inseparable pieces of the same puzzle. And Y/N? She was just the extra. The fourth wheel in a group that never needed one.

At first, she tried to brush it off. They were busy, that was all. Filming, traveling, editing, working on their brand. She told herself it wasn’t personal.

But then the missed dinners started.

Then the unanswered texts.

Then the times she walked into a room only for them to leave moments later, too wrapped up in their own lives to notice her standing there, screaming on the inside.

She stopped trying.

If she didn’t reach out, would they?

If she didn’t show up, would they even notice?

Days turned into weeks, and it became painfully clear that the answer was no.

The final straw came on a night that should have been normal. She had been in her room for hours, curled up in bed, feeling the weight of her own insignificance pressing down on her chest. She wasn’t crying—she was past that.

Then she heard them downstairs, laughing. Loud, carefree, completely oblivious.

She checked her phone. Not a single message from any of them.

They were all together.

And she wasn’t even a thought in their heads.

Something inside her snapped.

She grabbed her jacket and slipped out the front door without bothering to text them. It wasn’t like they’d care.

It was cold. The wind stung her skin, but she barely felt it. Her legs carried her forward, away from the house, away from the suffocating loneliness that had settled in her bones.

She ended up at an empty park, sitting on the swings, her hands gripping the rusted chains as she stared blankly ahead.

She wanted to disappear.

Not in a dramatic way—she didn’t want to die or anything. She just wanted to stop existing in this way. Half-there. Half-seen. Half-loved.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, but she ignored it. Probably just some random notification.

But then it buzzed again. And again.

Frowning, she pulled it out.

Chris: Where are you?

Matt: Y/N, answer the phone.

Nick: Are you okay? Where’d you go?

A bitter laugh bubbled up in her throat. Now they noticed? Now they cared?

She stuffed the phone back in her pocket, ignoring the way her hands trembled.

Minutes passed. Maybe hours.

Then—footsteps. Rushed, frantic. And suddenly, all three of them were there, panting, their faces pale with worry.

Chris was the first to speak. “What the hell, Y/N?” His voice was sharp, but his eyes were soft. Scared. “You just left without saying anything!”

Y/N stared at them, expression blank. “You would’ve noticed eventually.”

Matt flinched. “Of course we would have—”

“Would you?” she interrupted, her voice cracking. “Because I don’t think you would’ve. I don’t think you would’ve even realized if I stayed in my room for days, or if I stopped coming home at all.”

Silence.

Nick took a shaky breath. “Y/N… that’s not true.”

“Yes, it is,” she whispered, feeling the lump in her throat grow. “I’m invisible to you guys. I’m just there—some extra piece that doesn’t fit. And you don’t even see me.”

Chris stepped forward, guilt written all over his face. “Y/N, we—”

She shook her head. “I used to be your sister. Now I’m just a background character in your lives.” Her voice broke on the last word, and she hated herself for it.

Matt looked like he wanted to argue, but he couldn’t. Because she was right.

And they all knew it.

Nick ran a hand over his face, looking like he was about to cry. “I’m so sorry,” he murmured. “We never meant to make you feel like this. We just—” He exhaled shakily. “We fucked up.”

Chris swallowed hard, his hands balling into fists. “You’re not invisible to us, Y/N.” His voice was thick with emotion. “You’re our sister. Our baby sister. And we love you more than anything. We just… we got so caught up in everything else that we didn’t realize we were pushing you away.”

Y/N wiped at her eyes, shaking her head. “I don’t need some guilt-driven apology.”

Matt stepped closer, his voice gentle. “We’re not just apologizing. We’re fixing this. Because you’re right—we haven’t been there for you. And that’s not okay.”

Nick nodded. “We miss you, Y/N. And we’re not letting this happen again.”

Chris hesitated for only a second before pulling her into a crushing hug, burying his face in her hair.

And for the first time in forever, she felt seen.

Matt and Nick wrapped their arms around them too, holding her tightly, as if afraid she’d slip away if they let go.

She sniffled. “You guys are so annoying.”

Chris chuckled, his voice muffled. “Yeah, but we’re your annoying brothers.”

A small, watery smile tugged at her lips. Maybe—just maybe—she wasn’t so invisible after all.

[erinwantstowrite]

asking as i'm super nosy ( don't feel like you have to answer) but how long does it take for you to write each chapter? because they're so long and detailed and amazing, i just am being nosy so i don't feel as bad for how long i take to write things

usually it doesn't take me this long (i think it's officially been a month or so since i updated) but action scenes are my kryptonite. trying to write them cohesively is a struggle.

i typically spend a couple days after posting a chapter not writing and doing some art or reading or exercise, so i can have a more fresh mind when i get back to it. then i spend like 3-5 days (sometimes a week) looking at my overall outline for the fic, triple checking my plot points and how we get places/where we've gotten, adjust the overall outline, then write up a scene by scene outline for the chapter i need to write next (and then look at my overall outline a couple more times to make sure it fits). my outlines change a LOT during the process because when i get hung up, it usually means i don't like something in the outline/pov/set up to the scene.

it really depends on how i'm feeling or what type of scene i'm writing, but most days i can write like 2000-2500 words once i have my outline written, and on really good days i can write 4000. however for anyone who's like "what the fuck! i can't do that :(" it took me YEARS to get that kind of standard, and even now, i have weaknesses that i'm still figuring out. the amount says barely anything to the quality. sometimes i write like half of a chapter and then scrap it all because i hate it. and like i said above, action scenes are my biggest weakness as a writer. so i've been writing like 100-600 words a day. sometimes i don't make a dent in the word count but edited the entire time i was writing. sometimes i have a stare down with my draft and write nothing

(this is also thanks to having a good few hours of my day blocked out for writing time. i also write when i'm out doing things and have a moment to myself to jot something down real quick before i can forget it)

so it varies from 2- 3 weeks when i'm doing well, and then it can go longer if i'm really struggling

[thequeenofthewinter]

I swear I am normal...sometimes. Earlier I saw this post by @emmg and GLASSES, and I just...I am a degenerate. I am going to jail. I am not even going to try to defend myself. This is the second smut work I have written in two days (and I didn't even really truly finish this one but I was just possessed to write something.) Don't look at me.

“Leave them.” 

“I beg your pardon, Rook, but what—”

Emmrich had been sitting at his desk all afternoon, pouring over a new tome in his collection, half-moon spectacles perched on the bridge of his nose and totally unaware of the world around him. As far as she could gather it was special edition on metaphysical properties of the Fade. How she had wished it were her instead.

Without answering him, she shoves the papers, quills, and ink to the side before sitting unceremoniously on the edge of his desk, thighs spread wide enough so that he can see a small sliver of skin. Just enough to temp, just enough to tease, just enough to see—

“Rook,” he swallows, “are you not wearing…”

Her lips lift into a teasing smile as she places a hand gently on his shoulder. “I have been thinking of you in those damned glasses all afternoon.”

No reply.

“You know,” her fingers trace their way up his collar until a hand cups his chin, “there are much better places where your nose could be buried.”

“And what would you suggest, darling?”

She spreads her legs wider, bearing herself entirely to him before running a finger over her slit. “Right here, of course. It only stands to reason, does it not? I have been tortured thinking about what it would be like to have you between my thighs, tongue deep inside of me for hours. The image is terribly arousing.”

"I--" Emmrich forces himself to swallow around the sudden lump in his throat.

“I know you are a gentleman and a scholar, so…if you need any proof, you can seek it out yourself.”

Maker, the implication of her words. He feels himself stir at the thought as he leans forward, eyes not leaving hers until he is halfway under her skirts. 

Deep breaths, Emmrich, he reminds himself, yet somehow that is worse. The scent of her skin, the arousal he can already smell wafting off of her, causes him to twitch again.

There is no flower more tempting, no bouquet more exquisite. Rook has already given him permission, so what could one taste hurt?

His hand reaches out, fingers curling into the softness of her thighs as he spreads her further.

A moment later she feels it—the warmth of his tongue along with the sharp edge of his glasses. “Emmrich!”

Already wet, and he has barely even touched her. His tongue dives in further as he presses the flat against her, running it until he finds her entrance.

Rook’s hips lift, rutting against him desperately as she moans. The combination of pleasure coupled with the bite of glass almost sends her over the edge.

“More.” Her hands fist in his hair, twisting into the strands as she brings him closer.

And who is he to deny her?

He dives in with fervor, tongue teasing at her before dipping inside. Hot, wet, and sweet, he thrusts inside her, tongue fucking her as she squeezes her thighs lightly around him.

What he ever did to deserve her he will never know. All that he can think about are the delightfully obscene noises she makes, and how hard his cock has become. 

For a moment, he pulls back to adjust himself only to notice the smear of her slick across the lenses of his glasses, Rook’s face a vague blur looking back at him. 

Just when she thinks he is going to wipe the surface clean, he lifts them to his mouth, the tip of his tongue licking herself off of them.

Fuck.

[lincolndjarin]

Best Kept Secret

chapter twenty seven : the apostate

ao3 link ✿ series masterlist ☆ main masterlist ✧

pairing : bodyguard!Din Djarin x afab!princess!reader

rating : 18+ mdni

word count : 6.0k

summary : judgement day. (din's version)

warnings: language, angst, violence, gore, blood, torture, murder, death, ro makes things up about infection bc they're too scared to google it (what if there's gross pics??), din is morally grey at times, pregnancy

a/n: worked a ten hour shift, got home, made an iced coffee, hammered away at my anvil until this was written and edited. now it's bed time lol

Silence.

That’s all there is in his brain. 

It’s hard enough as is for him to hear. It doesn’t help when he’s been beaten half to death. All it had taken was a few firm punches to the side of the head and any remaining hearing in that ear was lost. 

It’s not looking great. Or sounding great, all he can hear is ringing as he hits the ground, hard. He knows someone is yelling at him but how the fuck is he supposed to know what they’re saying when he can feel a thin bead if blood dripping from his ear canal. 

He never manages to figure out what they’re saying but he gets the gist of it when his armor is ripped from his body. He puts up as much of a fight as he can manage, his efforts skyrocketing when they yank his helmet off, leaving him bare before a couple of guards. 

For the first time in his life he knows what it's like to have that choice taken away from him. 

And he cannot hide the fear and discomfort that come with losing his helmet behind a mask any longer. Thankfully he isn’t exposed for very long, per Kodo’s orders his face is to remain covered. Of course they go with the most humiliating option, a fabric bag thrown over his head. It’s somehow worse than being exposed, now he can’t hear or see. 

So there’s no warning for the beating that immediately follows his imprisonment. 

He’s been in countless fights through the course of his life but nothing like this. He’s never been unable to fight back. They restrain him and beat him senseless, and he can’t so much as hold his hands up in defense. 

And then they leave.

He has no way to tell the time. So he simply sits and waits in the emptiness that is his life now. 

Until someone new comes in to beat the shit out of him. 

It’s a horrific existence, to sit in the cold darkness, unable to hear an approaching threat until they’re actively upon you. He doesn’t know when it happens but at one point he loses all feeling in one of his legs, he knows he was cut there but he has no idea how bad it is. He spends his time trying to assess his wounds, he stretches out what parts of himself he can as he does his best to keep his blood flowing. 

And the entire time all he can think of is you.

He knows nothing of what’s become of you. He did everything in his power to ensure that you would be blameless but he has no idea if it worked, that itself is a worse torture than any of this. He’s in agony wondering if you’re down here in a cell receiving the same treatment as he is. 

☆

He didn’t think things could possibly get worse. 

Until the day when the footsteps stopped before his cell and the door to Elaine’s swung open instead. 

He heard most of it. 

Every wet, gory sound. 

He took his time with her, laughing all the while and when he was finally done Din called out to her. 

All he got in response was the faint, distant sounds of her agony. 

The next day he feared they had returned to finish her off when he heard the ear piercing screech of her door opening but Elaine’s screams turned to soft whines. After a while his own door shrieked open, it took him a while to realize who it was but after she repeated herself a few times he was able to make out the word Lysa and was able to relax briefly. She tried to feed him but he told her he was fine, despite the twisting pain in his stomach, he’d lost too much. 

His face is all he has left. It’s all he can cling to now.

She tries every day despite his protests but he doesn’t mind. He likes having someone to talk to, it helps his hearing when he can focus on one person speaking at a time. 

Then came the day where he felt hands on his chest and he tensed in anticipation of a hit that never came. 

It took a while to register and for a moment he thought it was a trick but he recognized the smell of you, and the familiar, gentle nature of your touches. 

You were an angel. 

Feeding him, being with him, loving him. 

He would have done almost anything for five more minutes with you when Lysa told you it was time to leave but he knew you couldn’t be caught down here, it just wasn’t safe, so he let you go.

And he found peace in the knowledge that you were unharmed. 

From that point forward he endured for you. 

Not in hopes that you would find some way to get him out, or that he might find his way back to you. He endured simply for you. For the idea that he might get to look upon your face one last time before he goes.

He had just about accepted his fate when Lysa came to him, unlocking his cuffs. 

“I messed with the shift schedule.” She speaks in a hushed whisper directly into his ear so he can hear her.

“What?”

“I messed with the schedule, for the next two hours there will be no guards, one empty window. I’m taking Elaine, gonna get her off planet.”

“Nevarro.” They’ll be safe there, maybe someday he’ll bring you to visit them. 

“Where is that?”

“It’s an outer rim territory, go there, find Greef Karga and tell him Din Djarin sent you.” 

“I will.” She presses the key into his palm. “You won’t get a second chance. Don’t waste this.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m not doing this for you.” It isn’t said with cruelty, it’s a fact. 

That’s okay, he’s doing this for you as well. 

And just like that she’s gone, when he takes the bag off his head he’s alone. Immediately he gets to his feet, nearly screaming in pain as he tries to figure out what his next move is. 

“Don’t waste this.” 

She’s right. 

He won’t get another chance, he can’t mess this up. 

If he leaves Naboo he knows he’ll never get you back. They will lock you away, you’ll be hidden in some tower making heirs for that monster, never allowed back in the public eye while the “dangerous” Mandalorian is free. 

That’s his reasoning. He tries not to think too hard about the other aspect of running away. 

That you might think he left you. 

Finding you and taking you with him sounds like a good option but when he really thinks about it he realizes the risks are simply too high. 

If they realize he’s gone and you’re gone before you can get on a ship they’ll close every port on Naboo, you’ll be trapped on this wretched planet and hunted like animals. 

It wouldn’t matter much anyway, getting that far would require him being able to run. With the condition he’s in he isn’t even sure he can walk. It takes some work, and a lot of biting his own fist to silence himself but he manages to stumble across his cell. 

So running isn’t an option. 

And he can’t leave you. 

He promised himself he would never leave you again, he stayed when you told him to go, he stayed those four days of waiting, and he’ll stay now. 

But he has to be smart, and he has to be lucky. 

So he sits back against the wall, sliding his wrists back into the cuffs, leaving them unlocked.

And he waits. 

☆

He can’t make out much of what the man is saying but he recognizes the low, gravely timber. It’s the same man who’s tormented him several times but more importantly it’s the man who hurt Elaine. 

The bag is ripped off of him and he can’t help but light up at the sight of only one man. 

He can handle one man. 

He’s weaker than usual, and he isn’t expecting it when his mouth is forced open, a knife slicing into his tongue. 

It’s more difficult than it ever has been to fight, every muscle and injury screams for him to stop but he still manages to get the man on his back, from there all he has to do is slam his head into the stone. 

It’s been a long time since he had to kill someone. 

He thought it would feel worse, he’d be lying if he said that being around you hasn’t softened him up. But he feels fine, almost accomplished. He’s one step closer to you. He drags the body to an open cell a few down from his, taking the man’s uniform he dresses himself and takes his own clothes, tossing them back into his cell as he moves as fast as he can with a barely working leg. 

The guard's uniform fits but the man's skin is significantly paler than Din’s, he’ll never pass as him. 

“You won’t get a second chance.” 

Walk and think. 

Think of a plan on your way to it. 

He marches out of the dungeons, every step is agony, and his mouth continues to bleed as he tries to think of people he wouldn’t mind killing who wouldn’t raise any eyebrows. 

The answer comes to him while he’s rubbing the raw skin of his wrists. 

He’s known since he started working here just how shitty the security is. Even in his current state it’s rather easy for him to sneak into the guards station at the front entrance of the castle. It’s even easier for him to search through their bracelet database and find out exactly where the bastard is. 

He wasn’t sure why he planted the bracelet on him that day in the market, a small part of him always did want to go back and find him, maybe teach him some manners. It was easy to slip the tracker into his bag, he even truly considered killing him at one point just to send a message to any one else who might try to touch you but you wouldn’t have wanted that, so he let it be. 

He hopes you won’t be too mad. 

He simply finds the tracker labeled ‘Mandalorian - LOST’ and memorizes the location, thankfully it appears to be in a residential area just outside the castle. He takes one extra moment to search through a few extra files, when he finds the staff lists he’s met with three blank spaces.

He fills in one of them.

Every step is blistering pain but he breathes heavily through his mouth, continuing to push through as he descends the steps towards his goal. He can’t help but wonder if he even has the strength to do any of this but what else is there to do? He has to get back to you. 

Whatever it takes. 

Later on, when he tells you what happened on this night he makes up a story, simple and believable, because in all honesty he doesn’t even know how he did any of it. His own strength in that moment frightens him a bit, all he knows is that he was looking for the man who accosted you in the markets all those moons ago and the next thing he knew he was standing in a halo of broken glass in the man's home. 

He knows you probably wouldn’t approve but he had wanted to kill him the first time he had grabbed you in the market, after the second time he wanted to make it hurt. The dungeons are a mercy compared to what Din would do to him. 

He’s running out of time so he has to improvise, he knocks the man out when he finds him in his bedroom, tearing the welding goggles off the nameless man's head. He cuts his hair with a shard of glass from the window, trying and failing to make it resemble his own.

It’ll have to do. 

He tells himself before dragging the body in through the back servant's entrance he’s used several times to sneak in and out of the castle with you.

He’s slick with sweat, at least his leg doesn’t hurt anymore, by the time he gets to the bottom of the steps there's barely any feeling in it at all. 

It’s one hell of a task, getting the nameless man into the cell and chained to the wall unnoticed but by some stroke of luck he does it, finishing his task by removing the man's tongue in one swift motion with a knife. Silencing the only witness to his escape. 

He looks over everything, making sure it’s all in its perfect place before adding the finishing touch, a bag over his head. Once it’s done he rushes towards the dungeon's entrance. 

He should move, get out of there and fast but he can’t help himself. Not after what they did to Elaine. 

So he checks the shift schedule, he waits until the last possible moment, when the next shift of guards arrives he hands them the tongue, trying not to wince at the undisturbed look on their faces, and he tells them that he’s going to do one last sweep before they switch. They all seem more than happy to have someone else doing the rounds. And he takes his time, slowly and methodically checking every cell until he gets to Elaine’s, and even then he waits just a little longer, giving them as much time as possible to get on a ship and far away from here. 

Even if it’s just a few extra seconds. 

Then he yells. 

His words make no sense and are garbled because of the state of his tongue but he gets the message across just fine. 

He yells that there’s been an escape, that a prisoner is missing and in the commotion of it all he slips away. On his way back to you. 

He’s so focused on seeing you again it never even crosses his mind just how many people have now seen him without his helmet. 

☆

“You won’t get a second chance. Don’t waste this.”

Lysa’s words continue to echo through his head. 

He has to do this exactly right. Or he’ll lose you all over again. 

He has to get into the castle. The quickest way to you is going to be being a staff member, but first he has to make himself presentable. So he goes to the cabin. Surprisingly untouched, Kodo must not have cared enough to have it vacated. 

He’s barely standing when he stumbles in through the door, heading straight to the fresher and peeling back the boards that hide his bacta stash. 

He is so fucked up when he finally looks in the mirror. He's practically a wild animal as he scrambles to get a vial of bacta open.

It’s unbelievable that no one asked him if he was okay, his face is mangled. Large gashes originate at his mouth and move up and down his face. A deep cut runs across the bridge of his nose, coincidentally directly over a scar he already had. 

He makes quick work of it. Lathering a thick layer of bacta onto each wound before opening his mouth. Thankfully his tongue is still attached in some places, it’s easy to coat in the healing ointment but it’s difficult to keep it from bleeding, but he manages. The real challenge is his leg. He limps out to the kitchen with a bottle of bacta between his teeth. Grabbing himself a knife from the drawer as he sits at the kitchen table, propping his leg up on a chair with a groan. 

Fuck. 

He’s seen enough battle injuries to know just how bad it is. Dark lines that he knows mean infection run along his calf. 

“Fuck.” He verbalizes his distress as he peels back more of his pants.

Okay.

The infection doesn’t go past his knee. 

Okay.

He doesn’t have time to be in denial over how bad it is.

He has the credits to cover a prosthetic but he doesn’t have the time. He’ll be in recovery for ages and that simply isn’t an option now. He can fight off the infection for a few more weeks but after that there’s no way he’ll be able to keep his leg. 

He can’t leave you alone in that castle with Kodo. 

So he steels himself, grabbing a wooden spoon off the counter to bite down on as he cautiously cuts away any decaying flesh as well as chunks of meat where the infection is worst. He’s lightheaded when he fumbles through one of his drawers for his cauterizer, sealing each wound with an unsettling sizzling sound. 

He feels half dead when he finishes, haphazardly pouring the contents of the bacta bottle onto his leg before passing out on the kitchen floor.

☆

As eager as he is to get back into the castle he knows he needs at least one more day to recover. So he tends to his wounds, and tries to teach himself how to walk all over again. 

He takes no breaks, keeping himself in a constant state of motion until the next day. He dresses in the provided clothes from the cabin, a wave of self consciousness washes over him as he walks up the palace steps in broad daylight, face on display for all. 

He gives the name he had put into the files at the door. 

Written on a slip of paper.

Din Djarin

His tongue is still healing, when he tries to speak all he can manage is a few incoherent syllables so he doesn’t bother.

He barely holds it together when he’s face to face with Kodo, he can’t believe that he’s directly dealing with servants until he begins explaining to them that they are to report any and all strange behavior from the queen back to him. 

And then he’s taken into a room. 

And he gets to see you for the first time in weeks. 

He doesn’t even get to feel a fleeting sense of joy because there is something terribly wrong with you. 

That’s the first thought that crosses his mind when he’s finally brought before you. 

It’s the scariest thing he’s ever done, to stand before you, face bare. His good leg shakes like all hell and he can’t figure out what to do with his hands. Being found out isn’t even a concern at this point; he just hopes you’re okay because it’s more than clear to him that you aren’t well. 

Your face looks hollow and his immediate worry is that you haven’t been eating. Your eyes have gone dull, his heart aches as he realizes the fire that he fell for is gone. 

He yearns to step forward and fix it. To reignite what’s burned out but you won’t even look at him. 

He so badly wishes you would just look, maybe, somehow you’d know. 

But you never do. 

You just leave, locking yourself away once more and he’s stuck with a week of staff training before he gets to see you again. 

☆

You aren’t the same after the execution. 

He had tried to warn you, to give you some kind of sign that you weren’t alone, but you’d thrown the daisies into a wall and he couldn’t do a thing to help you. He wanted so badly to say something, anything, to let you know it was him but he was only just starting to get singular words out and he just couldn’t keep up when you ran, his leg getting worse by the day. 

You just wouldn’t look at him. 

He had managed to purchase a hearing aid for his still working ear so he was able to hear the rumors the other servants said about you.

They were all mostly the same.

That you’d lost it. 

That Kodo had driven you mad and you were going to snap. 

He kept a closer eye on you after that, he had even tried leaving a different flower, blue lilies, like the ones you had back home, but they received the same treatment as the daisies. 

It was the day he started talking again that you snapped. 

After two weeks of bacta treatments he had regained feeling in his tongue completely and could speak, it was late at night when he’d finally done it and he wasted no time going to find you. Instead he found your room empty, when he knocked the guards told him you’d left. 

So he searched for you.

As quickly as someone with a barely working leg could. 

He caught sight of you just as you started making your way up the tower steps, Kodo’s hand in yours. The sight made his stomach drop but he followed you regardless. To say that he was in anguish was an understatement. He had been avoiding stairs for a while now and suddenly he had to climb an entire tower's worth. 

He was slow moving, making progress at a snail's pace until he heard your screams. High above him he heard raw and pained cries and suddenly it was like he had no limp at all, as he ran the rest of the way to you. 

When he found you he couldn’t stand upright any longer, he collapsed on the floor and pulled you to him, his hands shook as he got to feel your warmth for the first time in ages. 

Any pain he was in temporarily fizzled out when you held him back.

He made it back to you.

☆

You can’t stop looking at him. 

You’re aware of the circumstances, you should act first, look later but he’s here. Actually, really here. You aren’t imagining it, you can feel him under your trembling palms, he’s real. 

Your Din. 

You don’t even know where to start. 

How did you miss all this? 

The hawkish nose you’ve felt against your skin countless times. Plush lips, thick eyelashes, and dark eyes you’ve only ever dreamed about. It’s hard in the darkness but you can see just how pretty he is. Your pretty boy. 

“We should run. No more wasting time, no more excuses. Just you and me on a ship.” His voice becomes urgent and you know he’s right but you can’t get on a ship, they’ll never let you leave the grounds. 

“They’ll never stop looking for us. Maybe before I killed Kodo we could have gotten away with some cunning escape, but now? I just committed regicide. They won’t let us go.” Your voice is starting to go shrill as your panic rises. 

“What other choice do we have?” 

Kriff.

Can’t stay, can’t leave.    

Your mind races as you close your eyes to think, letting the pieces fall together until you have a coherent plan. 

“What if there was a way no one would ever come looking for us?” You take his hand, intertwining your fingers. “We wouldn’t have to hide. No more secrets, just us. We live here and no one objects.” 

“Cyare, that just isn’t a possibility.” 

But it is.

“I’ve been reading a lot, when I lost you, I read a lot. And not just romance books, every book I could get my hands on, I learned a little about this planet's history. According to Naboo royalty traditions, I take Kodo’s place as the reigning monarch.” 

“I thought it passed to the closest living male relative.” He gives you a skeptical look.

Not if they think you’re carrying the last king's child.

“No… it goes to me.” You mumble, thinking over everything else. You have to think fast and you have to think smart. He doesn’t dare interrupt as you focus.

You’ve covered everything on your mental checklist when a dark thought crosses your mind. 

“Would you think less of me if I did something out of spite?” You whisper, holding him tighter. “If I wanted to do something terrible?” 

“I would kill a man for looking at you if you asked me to.”

You don’t doubt that. 

“Do you trust me?” You start to stand, taking his hands as you help him to his feet. 

“Always.” 

“Then I need you to get Leo for me.” He frowns the moment you say his name. 

“You’re sure?” You nod, pressing your face into his neck. 

“I need you to do it, I can’t.” He knows you aren’t just asking him to bring Leo here, you’re asking him to end this. 

“Of course.” He murmurs. “One last terrible thing.”

One last terrible thing. 

Then you’re done.

“Bring him here, then I need you to follow my lead from there, there’s no more time to deliberate. We have to act, now.” You both know you’ve spent too much time planning, you pull him close, hugging him tightly before letting him rush back down the stairs. Your brow furrows when you see just how hard walking seems to be for him. 

You spend the few minutes that he is away trying to steady your breathing. Your mind is having a hard time deciding what to focus on. All you want to think about is Din but you know you’ll have plenty of time to do that once the two of you are safe. 

 It doesn’t take long, eventually you see Leo making his way up the stairs, Din isn’t far behind. 

You consider for the briefest moment, just forgiving him. 

For the longest time you considered Leo to be nothing more than someone who could be a bit annoying, you never thought of him as downright cruel. 

But then you see his expression. 

He looks at you as if he’s owed something and all your resistance snaps. You know he can’t see Kodo’s body in the darkness so you let him walk to you. 

“My queen…” He approaches skeptically as Din blocks the entrance.

“I wanted to talk to you about the Mandalorian.” You clear your throat and he immediately frowns.

“I do not think that is wise.”

“Did you know him, at all?” This has nothing to do with your plan, you just need to know. 

“I only interacted with him in brief instances.” You nod slowly. 

“And you knew how much he meant to me when you handed him that death sentence, right?” At this moment it doesn’t matter that Din is alive and well. You don’t care about that. You care about the days of agony he was put through, the pain Elaine had inflicted upon her when she got caught in the crossfire. 

“There’s no reason for us to have this conversation.” He almost turns to leave but you speak again. 

“I love him.”

“Loved.” He snaps back quickly, as if this entire ordeal is exhausting to him. 

Your jaw twitches. 

“Do you think he suffered down there?”

“Not at all, he was given a swift death, I’d consider him lucky.” 

“What about Elaine?” You’re surprised when Din speaks, Leo seems just as taken aback as you are. 

“She got what she deserved for witnessing an act of treason and doing nothing about it.” 

That’s the final straw for both of you.

“You know what, I think you are deserving of a reward, Leo. Din?” You look just over Leodall’s shoulder where Din’s eyes have gone nearly black. 

“Turn around and cover your ears.” The voice that speaks is one you didn’t think you’d ever hear again, it isn’t Din, it’s darker, deadlier. The Mandalorian is speaking now and you do exactly as you’re told. You turn, squeezing your eyes shut, you put your hands over your ears but even that cannot keep out the sounds of the carnage behind you. 

He takes his time. 

At first you aren’t sure how he kept him so quiet but when Din turns you around to face him you see how. It would be hard to call for help with a broken jaw, especially after your own tongue was shoved down your throat. 

You squint, searching over the damage to his body and see where Din carefully wrapped Leo’s stiff fingers around the vibroblade. 

“Are you okay?” He’s covered in gore when he asks and you simply nod, a few stray tears in your lash line. 

“I’m going to finish this.” You mumble, giving him one last look of reassurance before you do the thing you’ve been doing quite a lot of lately. 

You scream. 

You shriek, holding yourself closely to Din. It’s mostly an act, your wails of terror that echo through the halls. But a small part of you truly wonders if you’ll ever recover from the things you’ve done tonight.

After a few nerve wracking minutes you’ve got dozens of guards taking in the sight of your mess. 

You both play your parts perfectly. 

You cling to Din like a lifeline as you tell the head guard what happened. 

“Kodo and I, we- we were walking around the castle, he wanted to show me the view from the tower.” With a quivering finger you point to the window you know has the best view of the castle grounds. “We were celebrating. We were so happy we didn’t even see Leo following us.” You hide your face in Din’s tunic, letting out a shuddering exhale to imitate a sob. “I had just told him I was with child when Leodall attacked me.” You make a real spectacle of yourself as you weep against Din’s shirt, Din who notably goes rigid. “Kodo tried to protect me, he wanted to protect his heir but Leo just- he-” You whimper, earning yourself a room full of sympathetic gazes. “I screamed for help and thankfully this servant was here, he saved my life.” 

That’s all they need to be convinced, after all, who wouldn’t believe the queen.

At one point you’re asked why Leo would ever do such a thing. 

You tell them he hated Kodo.

Because he refused to make him a lord. 

And you speak loud enough for every guard in the room to hear you when you tell them that Elaine was innocent, that Leo falsely accused her. 

There were never any follow up questions. All of it made sense to them and even though it came from a terrible thing you’re free. You’re more than free. According to the way the monarchy on Naboo is structured you’re technically queen regent until your child comes of age. 

Kodo gets to die a hero.

The king who sacrificed his life for his unborn child. (That bothers you for quite some time.) 

But he dies nonetheless. 

And you can live with that because at the end of the day they’re putting him in the ground and you’re up here, with Din. You’ll have to wait an appropriate amount of mourning time before you take his hand in public, but he’s yours now. No one can tell you otherwise, what kind of person tells a widowed queen what she can and can’t do?

When the room clears you take him to your chambers, dismissing the guards who stand watch. 

“Kodo’s dead, leave me be.” Is all you say as you push past them with Din, you hear a brief worried discussion outside your door before they leave in a hurry. Din looks around the destruction of your room with a look of concern before his eyes settle on you. “Sorry, I- uh, didn’t handle things well when I thought you were- well.” You mumble apologetically but his look of worry is no longer focused on your room, it’s on your stomach as he makes his way over to you, carefully stepping over the mess.  

“Are you- are you really…?” 

“Yeah.” You smile at him but his reaction isn’t exactly what you were expecting. 

He cups your face in his hands, searching your eyes for any signs of distress but you know he won’t find any. Right now it doesn’t matter that you’ve done unimaginable things. It doesn’t matter that you’ve killed. Because somehow, despite it all, Din is okay. 

“I’m so sorry. If I had known I would have killed him long before you did.” He murmurs. 

“Hmm?” You hum softly, unable to tear your eyes away from his intense gaze. In the light you can see a little scar across the bridge of his nose, you want to reach out and touch it. 

“It doesn’t matter to me. We can do whatever you want, I’ll raise them as my own. I am more than willing to love this piece of you.” There’s a painful sincerity in his face and you become hyper aware of the fact that he assumes your baby really is Kodo’s. 

“Din-” Almost immediately he interrupts you; he drags his hands down your body, resting them on your stomach. 

“And we can live in the cabin. I’ll build a nursery the moment everything settles down, I will be the only father they ever know.”

“Din.” You say a bit more stern, trying to snap him out of his rambling. 

“Sarad’ika.” His thumb rubs a small circle against the fabric of your nightie. 

“It isn’t Kodo’s.” You give him a reassuring smile as he freezes in place. 

And you get to see it all. 

Every emotion you never got to enjoy when he was hidden behind steel. 

You get to watch as his concern melts away into a brief confusion that is quickly replaced with shock and processing. You get to see the way his eyes soften, and his lips part ever so slightly as he inhales a shuddering breath. If you had known just how expressive he was you never would have let him wear the helmet in the first place. He chews on his bottom lip briefly as he stares at you. Swallowing loudly.

“It’s mine?” The single sentence is shaky and breathless as you nod. 

“All yours.” You whisper back. 

His arms cage you in as he pulls your body flush with his, nearly lifting you off the ground.

“How is that- we were so careful…” He turns his head, pressing a series of kisses into your hair. You give him a skeptical look as you laugh.

“Were we?” 

“I guess not.” He shrugs, grinning from ear to ear as he looks at you. 

“It’s really mine?” He leans down to kiss you before you can even answer, making you laugh against his lips. 

“It’s really yours, and I already picked out a name.” Your heart flutters as his eyes light up, you just want to stare at him all day, partially because a part of you is worried he’ll disappear from your life all over again.

“Without me?” He sounds genuinely hurt, you lean up to kiss him again, hoping to soothe him.

“I think you’ll like it.” You mumble against his mouth after a moment. 

“How do you know it’s going to suit them, it’s too early.” He chuckles. 

“I just know.” You really do. A part of you had always had a vision of them, a little carbon copy of Din. A baby boy with his dark eyes and hair, you can feel it. “Can we go to the cabin? I don’t think I can stomach another night in here. The next few days I’m gonna have to deal with everything I did tonight, and I just want to spend tonight with you.” He nods, pulling you into one more embrace, unable to keep his hands off of you as he smiles. As much as you adore finally being able to look at him you suddenly worry that he might not be comfortable. “I have your helmet, if you want it.” You turn to fetch it but he keeps you pinned to him. 

“Don’t bother.”

“Are you sure? What about the creed?” The corners of his eyes crinkle as his smile softens. 

“You’re my creed. Everything I have, everything I am, it’s all for you. For both of you.” 

“You know you don’t have to be so poetic with me, I’m already yours, you’ve already wooed me.” You tease. 

“Then let’s go home.” He whispers. You smile as you leave your room, sneaking out the back entrance until the two of you are walking hand in hand across the courtyard and into the trees.

a/n : did a classic bks all nighter for this and im so tired, the edit was done through weary eyes lmao, feel free to lmk if there's any glaring issues

i no longer have a tag list!! follow @lincolndjarinnotifs for updates!!

[inknopewetrust]

𝐍𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐚𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐨𝐝𝐬

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐎𝐧𝐞: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐎𝐥𝐝 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐚 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐭 𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐡𝐮𝐧𝐭, 𝐒𝐚𝐦 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐚 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮—𝐚 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐭. 𝐀𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐮𝐧𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐥, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐛𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐜𝐜𝐮𝐥𝐭, 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐟𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐮𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐲.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭, 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬, 𝐧𝐨 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲/𝐧. [𝐰𝐜: 𝟔.𝟒𝐤] (editing font currently!)

𝐐𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬: 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

The gas station was empty at that hour.

Earth’s sun had long gone down over a middle-of-nowhere town in rural Arkansas and the buzzing florescent lights hummed over head. Freezers stocked with half-expired options; a clerk at the front paid no mind to the man who walked in—beat from a day beyond his comprehension.

Sam’s feet dragged on top of the titles as he rubbed his eyes. The words had been blurring together as the seconds ticked down on each day. The clock inched faster and faster to leave while another story laid behind the tracks of Dean’s beloved, yet leaving a lingering uncertainty of whatever was to come next. He stared at the bags of chips for too long in the aisle, spaced out in thought. Sam’s gaze could barely decipher the difference between the plastic of Lay’s and that of Doritos. Everything was melding together from his memories to effort, Sam was a shell of himself when he had a moment with nothing but his mind.

While Dean pumped the gas outside, Sam lost his will aisle after aisle.

His shoes scraped against the linoleum roughly like a ghoul in a cartoon. Sam approached the counter with a frat boy’s diet gathered in his arms to which the chaser did not care to scorn or notice. Chips, candy, energy drinks that would send a grandma into a coma were all the two of them could run on as they burned the midnight oil to race to whatever unlucky town was next in line of undescribed terror. Sam’s eyes scoured the boxes of cigarettes behind the counter and onto the magazine racks the flanked them on either side. On any normal day, Dean would have flipped through the state or local journals if they hadn’t received a call—but Dean wasn’t there to choose the next path forward.

There was no internet on the road. There was nothing but the written word of strangers and the mangled police scanner that worked… sometimes, and their father’s beat-to-shit journal.

It wasn’t that Sam wanted to know what came next in the grand scheme of “Monster Hunting.” A large part of him still held the envy, or annoyance, that nothing was normal and the man who caused the “not normal lifestyle” was missing out there. In the late delirium he found himself in, Sam accepted he wasn’t going to leave Dean to rot alone in the search of their father.

So, as the cashier rang up the assorted items, Sam walked over to the magazine racks and began picking up and stacking the ones he deemed important. Local news, world news, classic magazines such as Time, The New York Times, and a random one-off crossword book. He truly didn’t think twice about the collection as he scattered the prints along the countertop and the cashier sighed.

In the back of his mind the choices had been intention even if he hadn’t realized it completely. They had been selected carefully as he had been chosen to see the things he’d been unlucky to witness.

“Cash or card?” The older man asked with an irritation of a quiet night disturbed.

Outside the gas station, Dean leaned against Baby as the price at the pump continued to soar. There was a buzzing of insects, the crickets chirping loudly as the town streets were silent and the only people awake seemed to be himself, Sam, and the poor soul stuck with the third shift. The air was starting to cool but not quite yet biting—a benefit of consistent travel. He saw it all even if he felt he saw so little of what he wanted to.

Through the windows of the small market attached to the station, Dean watched Sam’s exhaustion bleed from his body. He could tell his brother was a ghost walking the earth lost for reason, but Sam was relentless in his assurance. Nightmare after nightmare, sleep deprived and agitated, Sam ignored the help he desperately needed—and all Dean could do was tap his foot with his own anxiety as the price continued to climb on the pump. The fumes of his own anger festering inside waiting for an option to blow.

Ignorance of necessity was their specialty, Dean concluded.

The feelings were driving the blood in his veins into overdrive. The last few weeks had been consistently draining while death lingered in the space between here and there, wherever there truly was. From forests to colleges to hole-in-the-wall towns surrounded by the most beautiful things he’s ever seen, Dean was growing restless for an easy case that would never come. There were five hundred steps to every process. The steps forward in success, those backwards in defeat, and those stagnant as the records of the tortured souls he desperately needed to face led him down the rabbit hole of self-pity.

Not that he would ever voice the truth of it aloud—he was Dean Winchester, after all.

Baby’s tank stopped filling with a thud. The handle of the nozzle clicked in warning as Dean sighed with exhaustion and ran a hand over his face. When he deposited it back into the pump, Sam came rustling out of the mart with two bags being lugged in his hands.

“Anything good?” Dean asked.

Sam shrugged. “Steak and lobster, a Marie specialty.”

Marie, Arkansas. Dean had been quick to forget the name of the small town. They were just passing through, however.

“Great,” he scoffed as Sam walked around to the passenger side and tossed the bag of food into the back. He kept the other bag in his hands.

“Some light reading? You miss the library that much?”

“No.” Sam was near instant in his aggravation. He squared his eyes and sat down in the car roughly.

“𝑱𝒆𝒔𝒖𝒔,” 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐦𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐝. “𝐀𝐫𝐞𝐧’𝐭 𝐰𝐞 𝐚 𝐛𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐣𝐨𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠.”

“𝐖𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐰𝐞’𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐜𝐢𝐫𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐚𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈’𝐦 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐝-𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬,” 𝐒𝐚𝐦 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐬𝐮𝐛𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐟𝐥𝐲. 𝐇𝐞 𝐨𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐚𝐭 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧’𝐬 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬.

“𝐖𝐞𝐥𝐥—“

“𝐖𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕, 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧?” 𝐒𝐚𝐦 𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐝. “𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐰𝐞 𝐠𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐞’𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐫-“

“𝐖𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐞!” 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐫 𝐝𝐨𝐨𝐫 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐦.

“𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐞’𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭! 𝐖𝐞’𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐧𝐨 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐮𝐬.”

𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐚𝐦’𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐮𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝.

𝐈𝐧 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧’𝐬 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞, 𝐢𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐚 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬. 𝐈𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤—𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐃𝐚𝐝 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐝, 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐚𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐞𝐝 𝐚 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐦, 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭—𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐈𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐛𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐫𝐲. 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐫 𝐠𝐚𝐳𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐁𝐈, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐥𝐚𝐰 𝐞𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐫 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦. 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐨𝐱𝐢𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐬. 𝐇𝐞’𝐬 𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐮𝐩 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐫 𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐠𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐒𝐚𝐦 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭.

“𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐝𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐞 𝐝𝐨, 𝐡𝐮𝐡?” 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝.

𝐇𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐁𝐚𝐛𝐲, 𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐩𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐭 𝐨𝐧.

“𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰.” 𝐒𝐚𝐦 𝐠𝐚𝐳𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐰 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭, 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞. 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐮𝐩𝐨𝐧. 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐭𝐞. 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐩 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.

“𝐈 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐒𝐚𝐦.” 𝐒𝐚𝐦 𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧’𝐬 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞. 𝐈𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐝, 𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐯𝐞.

“𝐍𝐨, 𝐈…” 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐡 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐦𝐢𝐱 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐚 𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚 𝐥𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡. 𝐈𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐮𝐧𝐟𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐮𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲. “𝐈 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕, 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧. 𝐈-𝐈 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭!”

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐠 𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐩𝐬.

“𝑴𝒎,” 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐝. “𝐈’𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐭 𝐚 𝐡𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐠.”

“𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭?” 𝐒𝐚𝐦 𝐟𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐬. “𝐖𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐩𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞! 𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞—“

“𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑵𝒆𝒘 𝒀𝒐𝒓𝒌 𝑻𝒊𝒎𝒆𝒔?”

𝐒𝐚𝐦 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞. 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧’𝐬 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐚 𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐥𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐧𝐞𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐧𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞. 𝐇𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐠 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡. 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐧𝐭 𝐬𝐢𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲.

“𝐈𝐭’𝐬 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚 𝐩𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐫.”

“𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐞.” 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐝 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐚 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐲 𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐇𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐚𝐦 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧’𝐭. “𝐆𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐫.”

“𝐍𝐨.” 𝐒𝐚𝐦 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲.

“𝑺𝒂𝒎,” 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝.

“𝐍𝐨! 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐢𝐭!”

“𝐖𝐞’𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐭. 𝐈𝐭’𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐝𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐧 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐡. 𝐆𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐠, 𝐒𝐚𝐦.”

𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐥𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐚 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝. 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐞 𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝, 𝐒𝐚𝐦 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐨𝐫—𝐚 𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐤, 𝐢𝐥𝐥-𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐭 𝐚𝐭 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐬.

“𝐉𝐞𝐬𝐮𝐬! 𝐂𝐚𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐦 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧?” 𝐒𝐚𝐦 𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐲𝐞𝐭 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐩𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐚𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐞𝐟𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐝𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐞’𝐝 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭. “𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐢𝐭!”

“𝐈𝐭’𝐬 𝐚 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐥𝐞, 𝐒𝐚𝐦! 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥!”

“𝐖𝐡𝐨 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮? 𝐃𝐢𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐰 𝐚 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭? 𝐃𝐢𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐮𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐲? 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐟𝐚𝐤𝐞—𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐟𝐚𝐤𝐞.”

“𝐈𝐭’𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲, 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐞, 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐚 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐛𝐮𝐜𝐤.”

“𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐬. 𝐈𝐟 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲’𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭, 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐫.”

“𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐮𝐬,” 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐒𝐚𝐦’𝐬. “𝐈𝐭’𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝. 𝐀 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐩 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐮𝐬.”

“𝐖𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐢𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐚𝐥, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐭 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐢𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠,” 𝐒𝐚𝐦 𝐥𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐝. 𝐇𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐤𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲’𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐭. 𝐍𝐨 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦. 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐲, 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭. 𝐄𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐊𝐨𝐨𝐥-𝐀𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐳𝐲 𝐭𝐨𝐨.

“𝐏𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞, 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧,” 𝐒𝐚𝐦 𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐝. “𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐫 𝐧𝐨𝐭, 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐩𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐰𝐞 𝐝𝐨. 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐬 𝐚𝐠𝐨 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐥𝐞 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐬—𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐤𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐀 𝐟𝐞𝐰 𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐤𝐬 𝐚𝐠𝐨 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐰𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐝.”

“𝐒𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐬, 𝐡𝐮𝐡?” 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐩𝐞𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐝. 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐪𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐞, 𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐮𝐩 𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐮𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐫.

“𝐈𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐨.” “𝐈 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨,” 𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐝𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐥𝐲. 𝐒𝐚𝐦 𝐭𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭.

“𝐈 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰.”

“𝐖𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩, 𝐒𝐚𝐦.”

“𝐈 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭.”

“𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐭.” 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐭 𝐒𝐚𝐦 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐟 𝐒𝐚𝐦 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧, 𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐭.

“𝐈𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐬𝐨 𝐛𝐚𝐝?” 𝐒𝐚𝐦 𝐩𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝.

𝐇𝐞 𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐠 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐬𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐮𝐧𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐭. 𝐒𝐚𝐦 𝐮𝐧𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐜𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐬.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐦𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐚 𝐛𝐢𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐧𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐢𝐭 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐚 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥, 𝐮𝐧𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐧𝐞𝐰𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐚𝐧�� 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐟 𝐢𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐬. 𝐈𝐭 𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬, 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞’𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐟𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠’𝐬 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬. 𝐈𝐭 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐠𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧, 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐝.

𝐈𝐭 𝐣𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐟𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐬𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐝 𝐚 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐡𝐞’𝐝 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐦 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐤𝐞—𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐨, 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞, 𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝.

“𝐘𝐞𝐬, 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐛𝐚𝐝,” 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐝. 𝐀 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐧, 𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞. 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐞𝐭. “𝐖𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞, 𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲. 𝐄𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐮𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬.”

𝐒𝐚𝐦’𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐡 𝐟𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬. “𝐒𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐚𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐬. 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲’𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬, 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐧𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧, 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐞.”

“𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐛𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐬𝐧’𝐭.”

“𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭,” 𝐒𝐚𝐦 𝐦𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐝.

𝐒𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐫 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐩. 𝐈𝐭 𝐬𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐝𝐥𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐠𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧’𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐛𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐧 𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐲. 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐚 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐢𝐧 𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐞. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐥𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐭𝐡 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐁𝐚𝐛𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧. 𝐒𝐚𝐦 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐰𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬.

𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐥𝐞, 𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐬𝐚𝐰—𝐧𝐚𝐲, 𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐭. 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐚𝐬 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝. 𝐈𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐜 𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐲𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐲: 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐝. 𝐈𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐟𝐮𝐧 𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐬 𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝, 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐝, 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐔𝐩𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐥𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐧 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐟 “𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐲” 𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐟𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝. 𝐔𝐫𝐛𝐚𝐧 𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐲 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧-𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐲𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐰𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐰𝐨-𝐝𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐬-𝐚𝐧𝐝-𝐟𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐲-𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐯𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐧𝐨 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐫. 𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐚𝐥 𝐰𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐟 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞—𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞.

“𝐃𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐢𝐭? 𝐈𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠.” 𝐒𝐚𝐦 𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝. 𝐇𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐦 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐰 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐤𝐞𝐩𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐒𝐚𝐦.

“𝐍𝐨,” 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐠𝐫𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐥𝐲. “𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭.”

“𝐈 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐰𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐮𝐭,” 𝐒𝐚𝐦 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝. “𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐮𝐲 𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞.”

“𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝’𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞.”

“𝐈𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐬—𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬!”

“𝐌𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐞 𝐚 𝐛𝐚𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞.”

“𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧,” 𝐒𝐚𝐦 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝. “𝐆𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞.”

“𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭?” 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐚𝐭 𝐒𝐚𝐦. 𝐇𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐛𝐣𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧. “𝐍𝐨!”

“𝐆𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞.”

“𝐍𝐨! 𝐈 𝐚𝐦 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐲 𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞! 𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐳𝐲!”

“𝐈’𝐦 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐳𝐲,” 𝐒𝐚𝐦 𝐥𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐝. “𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭… 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞… 𝐜𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞,” 𝐒𝐚𝐦 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐝 𝐚 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫, “𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐟𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐰𝐚𝐬 ‘𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤’?”

“𝐈𝐭’𝐬 𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐭𝐡, 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐥𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠.”

“𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠!”

“𝐒𝐨 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭?” 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐝. 𝐇𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐭𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐲. 𝐇𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧. 𝐈𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐒𝐚𝐦’𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐮𝐥𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐮𝐩 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐰𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞. 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐢𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐲.

“𝐖𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩, 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧,” 𝐒𝐚𝐦 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝. “𝐖𝐞’𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐃𝐚𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐟 𝐰𝐞 𝐝𝐨, 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐨, 𝐬𝐚𝐲, 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐞? 𝐇𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐟𝐚𝐫, 𝐡𝐦? 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐝𝐚𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝?”

“𝐇𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐞𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐮𝐬 𝐢𝐟 𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝.”

“𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐨 𝐬𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭. 𝐖𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬.”

“𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞,” 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝. “𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐥 𝐡𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟. 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐁𝐨𝐛𝐛𝐲? 𝐁𝐨𝐛𝐛𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐮𝐬!”

“𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭? 𝐃𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐞? 𝐁𝐨𝐛𝐛𝐲 𝐢𝐬 𝐚… 𝐚 𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐢𝐦, 𝐡𝐞’𝐥𝐥 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐮𝐩 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐮𝐬. 𝐖𝐡𝐲 𝐣𝐮𝐦𝐩 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐩𝐬?”

𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝. “𝐃𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫, 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝. 𝐖𝐞’𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫.”

𝐇𝐞𝐫, 𝐬𝐡𝐞, 𝐲𝐨𝐮.

𝐈𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝, 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐦. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐨 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐲, 𝐬𝐨 𝐮𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐲 𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐫𝐮𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞. 𝐇𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐟𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞; 𝐢𝐭 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐤𝐲 𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐨𝐬 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐮𝐲 𝐢𝐭. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐭 𝐒𝐚𝐦’𝐬 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧. 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝, 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐳𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐟𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐚 𝐫𝐢𝐟𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐒𝐚𝐦, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐨 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐩𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐒𝐚𝐦 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐞.

𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧: “𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐦𝐞—𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲.” 𝐒𝐚𝐦 𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬.

𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐒𝐚𝐦 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐮𝐬𝐡. 𝐇𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐩𝐮𝐬𝐡 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐨 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐫 𝐨𝐫 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 “𝐟𝐮𝐧” 𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐞𝐱𝐜𝐚𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫’𝐬 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬. 𝐒𝐚𝐦 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧, 𝐬𝐨 𝐰𝐡𝐲 𝐝𝐨 𝐢𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐰?

𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭-𝐦𝐢𝐝𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐞𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐢𝐧.

𝐒𝐚𝐦 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐝. 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐟 𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝, 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐲 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐡𝐞’𝐝 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐤𝐢𝐝. 𝐇𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐧𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐚 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧’𝐬 𝐬𝐧𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐞—𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐭𝐡 𝐒𝐚𝐦 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐡𝐞’𝐝 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐞. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐛𝐞𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐢𝐧 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐬; 𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐭. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧, 𝐒𝐚𝐦 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐭𝐨𝐨. 𝐇𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐟 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐧𝐨𝐭. 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐒𝐚𝐦 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 ��𝐚𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐫 𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐬. 𝐈𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐚 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐞𝐥𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧. 𝐈𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐒𝐚𝐦 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐬.

𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐭, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐧𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝. 𝐇𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐨 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐝𝐚𝐝, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐣𝐨𝐛𝐬. 𝐘𝐞𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐦.

“𝐃𝐞—“

“𝐃𝐫𝐨𝐩 𝐢𝐭, 𝐒𝐚𝐦𝐦𝐲.”

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐛.

𝐒𝐚𝐦’𝐬 𝐩𝐚𝐥𝐦𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐛𝐚𝐠. 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐚𝐥𝐦 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐰 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐩. 𝐀𝐧 𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐳𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐳𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐟 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩, 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐨 𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐰𝐧, 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝.

“𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐞,” 𝐒𝐚𝐦 𝐡𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐝. 𝐇𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐠 𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐫.

“𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐢𝐭.” 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐩𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐞𝐲𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.

“𝐒𝐚𝐲 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭?”

“𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐞𝐫. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐚 𝐭𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐥 𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐫.”

𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐚𝐭 𝐒𝐚𝐦 𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐨𝐳𝐞𝐝.

“𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬?” 𝐒𝐚𝐦 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐯𝐞𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐟.

“𝐀𝐬 𝐚 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐧.”

“𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐝 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐨 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮?” 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠.

“𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐦𝐞, 𝐒𝐚𝐦,” 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐮𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐝.

“𝐎𝐤, 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐞,” 𝐒𝐚𝐦 𝐡𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐝.

“𝐈 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞.”

𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐭.

𝐓𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐝𝐨, 𝐎𝐡𝐢𝐨 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐢𝐝𝐰𝐞𝐬𝐭.

𝐈𝐭 𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐟 “𝐪𝐮𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭 𝐜𝐢𝐭𝐲” 𝐚𝐧𝐝 “𝐠𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐞” 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐒𝐚𝐦 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐳𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐢𝐝𝐰𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧 𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐧𝐬, 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐬𝐭, 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐞. 𝐄𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐬𝐮𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐛 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐧𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐲 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐥𝐲—𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐝𝐦𝐢𝐭.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐛𝐲 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝.

𝐘𝐞𝐭, 𝐒𝐚𝐦 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐧 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐚 𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐟-𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐥𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐲. 𝐇𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐭 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐬𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐬 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐩𝐭 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬, 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐒𝐚𝐦 𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐟𝐚����𝐡𝐞𝐫’𝐬 𝐣𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐰𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐟𝐨𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬.

𝐈𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐛𝐚𝐝, 𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝.

𝐒𝐚𝐦 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐚 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐨𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 “𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬” 𝐨𝐟 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐮𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐬. 𝐇𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐰 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐲. 𝐇𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐇𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐤, 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐜𝐤.

𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦 𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐥 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧’𝐬 𝐣𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐝. 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐚.

𝐈𝐭’𝐬 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚 𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥. 𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐮𝐩. 𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐲.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞. 𝐇𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐬 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐲 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝, 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐧𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐢𝐟𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐣𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫’𝐬 𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞. 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐧𝐨 𝐥𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐩𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐭, 𝐒𝐚𝐦 𝐬𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐨𝐨𝐥 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫.

𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐧𝐨 𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐞 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐤𝐞𝐩𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐧𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐁𝐨𝐛𝐛𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞’𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫.

𝐏𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐣𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐭 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐢𝐧 𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐒𝐚𝐦 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐝𝐨𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐡 𝐚 𝐨𝐟 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐟. 𝐇𝐞 𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞, 𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞. 𝐒𝐚𝐦 𝐜𝐡𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐧. 𝐇𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐯𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡.

𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞.

𝐇𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐈𝐃 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥.

𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐤𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐍𝐞𝐰 𝐘𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐂𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐮𝐝𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐑𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫.

𝐈𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐠𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐲 𝐝𝐚𝐲. 𝐎𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐳𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠; 𝐢𝐭 𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐱𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐰 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐟𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐱𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐰 𝐬𝐚𝐝 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐬, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐧𝐞𝐰𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐥 𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐞-𝐭𝐨-𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞—𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲-𝐟𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐡 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐍𝐞𝐰 𝐘𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠.

𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐤 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐬. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐦𝐨𝐜𝐤-𝐮𝐩𝐬, 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐟 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐜𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐜𝐮𝐛𝐢𝐜𝐥𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲. 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐞𝐲𝐛𝐨𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐧’𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐮𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮.

𝐈𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐠𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐬, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐠𝐨. 𝐈𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐚𝐟𝐞.

𝐎𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲-𝐟𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐡 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐫, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐦𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧. 𝐄𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐤𝐞𝐩𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐮𝐧𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐨𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐡.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐜𝐮𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬. 𝐀𝐧 𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐥 𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐥𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐟𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐟: 𝐃𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐅𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐫… 𝐔𝐧𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐘𝐨𝐮. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐢𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐚 𝐩𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐬, 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐭 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐦 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐥 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐰. 𝐋𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐮𝐩 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭.

𝐀 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫? 𝐁𝐨𝐛𝐛𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐩𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐲𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐬.

𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐥, 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐭? 𝐇𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭.

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐥𝐦𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐥𝐦 𝐫𝐮𝐛𝐛𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐫 𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐬𝐰𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐝𝐬. 𝐈𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐫, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐳𝐳𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐟𝐮𝐳𝐳𝐲. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐠𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐤 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐜𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞, 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐤 𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞, 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚𝐧 “𝐮𝐧𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐧” 𝐧𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐧.

𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥.

“𝐇𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐨?” 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 ��𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲. 𝐈𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞, 𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫, 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐜𝐞𝐥𝐥. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐧𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞.

𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐧𝐝. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐬, 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫𝐧.

“𝐇𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐨?” 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞.

𝐈𝐧 𝐓𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐝𝐨, 𝐒𝐚𝐦 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐁𝐚𝐛𝐲 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐮𝐩. 𝐇𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐲—𝐬𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧 𝐚 𝐟𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞, 𝐚 𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐰 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐝.

“𝐇-𝐡𝐢, 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐨, 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲,” 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞. “𝐌𝐲 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐖𝐞𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐲, 𝐈’𝐦 𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐝𝐨 𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐞.”

𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐖𝐞𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐲? 𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐝 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞.

“𝐌𝐫. 𝐖𝐞𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐲.” 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐤. “𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐫𝐮𝐝𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫? 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐧𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫.”

“𝐎𝐡!” 𝐒𝐚𝐦 𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐝. 𝐇𝐞 𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐬𝐞. “𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐭 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐤. 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐠𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥.”

𝐋𝐢𝐞𝐬.

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐝. “𝐓𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐝𝐨, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝?”

“𝐘𝐞𝐬, 𝐦𝐚’𝐚𝐦. 𝐈’𝐦 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐫. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐢𝐧 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐦𝐧𝐬.”

“𝐈 𝐝𝐢𝐝.”

“𝐖𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐦𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐢𝐧𝐯𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟.”

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫. 𝐍𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐚 𝐩𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐳𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐯𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐰 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐬 “𝐮𝐧𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝” 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐜𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐧𝐬. 𝐈𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥, 𝐚 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐤𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐜𝐜𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐦𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐰 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐝 𝐮𝐩 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐩𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐬. 𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐝 𝐠𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐢𝐧 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐬.

“𝐃𝐢𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧?”

“𝐍𝐨,” 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝. “𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐢𝐟 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞, 𝐚𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭.”

“𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐧𝐞𝐰𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐮𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐦𝐧? 𝐖𝐡𝐨 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬?” 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐰 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞. 𝐒𝐚𝐦’𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐥. 𝐇𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐡𝐞’𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠.

“𝐈 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐦𝐲 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐤𝐞—“

“𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞,” 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐝. “𝐖𝐡𝐨 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬? 𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫?”

“𝐈 𝐚𝐦 𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫—“

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐮𝐩 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐨𝐮𝐭. 𝐓𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐤, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐝, 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐬. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐫𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐚 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐚 𝐣𝐨𝐤𝐞. 𝐈𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐤𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐍𝐞𝐰 𝐘𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬. 𝐈𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐞𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡. 𝐈𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐮𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐦𝐧 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 “𝐨𝐜𝐜𝐮𝐥𝐭” 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐨 𝐚𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐚𝐭 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐤 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞.

𝐎𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐜𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐝, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐮𝐩 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧. 𝐈𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐜𝐮𝐛𝐢𝐜𝐥𝐞.

“𝐖𝐡𝐨 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬?” 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐛 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐜 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐦𝐛𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐰. “𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐮𝐦—“

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞. 𝐇𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐛𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐝𝐮𝐦𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐯𝐞. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐤.

“𝐏𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞,” 𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐝. “𝐃𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐮𝐩.”

“𝐒𝐚𝐦?”

𝐆𝐨𝐝𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐧 𝐃.𝐖. 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐖𝐞𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐲. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞’𝐝 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐬 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮.

“𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐡,” 𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐚 𝐜𝐡𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐟. “𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐡… 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞. 𝐈𝐭’𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞.”

𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬. 𝐈𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤, 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐚𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐚 𝐡𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐝.

“𝐖-𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫? 𝐃𝐢𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧?” 𝐖𝐚𝐬 𝐁𝐨𝐛𝐛𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦? 𝐖𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐭?

“𝐍𝐨!” 𝐒𝐚𝐦 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐧𝐝. “𝐍𝐨 𝐈-𝐰𝐞 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭… 𝐰𝐞 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩, 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐥. 𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐢𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲.”

“𝐖𝐞? 𝐒𝐚𝐦? 𝐖𝐞? 𝐈𝐬 𝐁𝐨𝐛𝐛𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮? 𝐇𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠.”

“𝐍𝐨, 𝐁𝐨𝐛𝐛𝐲’𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐞.” 𝐒𝐚𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐁𝐨𝐛𝐛𝐲 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭. 𝐔𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐞 𝐁𝐨𝐛𝐛𝐲—𝐞𝐯���𝐧 𝐢𝐟 𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐞, 𝐒𝐚𝐦, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐧—𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐢𝐝𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐝.

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐚 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐟. 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐦 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞.

“𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐲 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧’ 𝐦𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐰? 𝐇𝐦? 𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞, 𝐒𝐚𝐦𝐦𝐲?”

𝐒𝐚𝐦 𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐝. 𝐄𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐫-𝐧𝐨𝐨𝐧 𝐬𝐮𝐧, 𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐚 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐭.

“𝐈’𝐦 𝐢𝐧 𝐓𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐝𝐨 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧,” 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝.

“𝐍𝐨,” 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞. “𝐒𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲, 𝐒𝐚𝐦,” 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐝. “𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧’𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞.”

“𝐏𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞,” 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧, 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠. “𝐏𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐭. 𝐈 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐢𝐦, 𝐈’𝐦 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐤, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐭, 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞?”

“𝐖𝐡𝐲 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧 𝐓𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐝𝐨? 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐫? 𝐈 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐞.”

“𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐬.”

“𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝, 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮?”

“𝐖𝐞𝐥𝐥… 𝐧𝐨. 𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝—𝐈, 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐣𝐮—𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲. 𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧 𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐩𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞.”

“𝐇𝐨𝐰’𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧? 𝐃𝐢𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐦𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐦𝐧, 𝐒𝐚𝐦?”

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐄𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧. 𝐁𝐨𝐛𝐛𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐒𝐚𝐦'𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐲 𝐬𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐥 𝐝𝐫𝐨𝐩 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐞𝐰 𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐞𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫. 𝐒𝐚𝐦 𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬-𝐢𝐧𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐲𝐞𝐭 𝐚 𝐩𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐬.

“𝐈 𝐝𝐨,” 𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐝𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐝. “𝐈𝐭’𝐬 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝. 𝐖𝐞’𝐫𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮.”

𝐖𝐡𝐨? 𝐒𝐚𝐦, 𝐁𝐨𝐛𝐛𝐲, 𝐦𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐞 𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧 𝐢𝐟 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐚 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧.

“𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐰.”

“𝐇𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐃𝐚𝐝?” 𝐇𝐞 𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞.

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐀 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐁. 𝐎𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐚 𝐟𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐢𝐱 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐬.

“𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐠𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭,” 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐲.

“𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧’𝐭 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧 𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 ��𝐢𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞. 𝐈’𝐦 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐞’𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝.”

“𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐡, 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥,” 𝐒𝐚𝐦 𝐡𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐝. “𝐇𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐬. 𝐖𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐬.”

“𝐈 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈’𝐝 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭.”

𝐋𝐞𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐛𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐖𝐡𝐨 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐬. 𝐇𝐞’𝐬 𝐚 𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐞. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐝. 𝐇𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫, 𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐝. 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐞.

“𝐖𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐫𝐚 𝐬𝐞𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬… 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧.”

“𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐝𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞, 𝐒𝐚𝐦.”

“𝐈 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰.” 𝐒𝐚𝐦 𝐤𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐨𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐁𝐚𝐛𝐲’𝐬 𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐬. “𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲.”

“𝐈𝐭’𝐬 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞, 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲,” 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝. “𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞. 𝐈𝐭’𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧’𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐚 𝐩𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐁𝐨𝐛𝐛𝐲 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐄𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧—“ 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐄𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧? “—𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐚 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠—𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭… 𝐃𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐞?”

“𝐈𝐭’𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈’𝐦 𝐨𝐧.”

“𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭, 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐞?”

“𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐚 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲, 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝,” 𝐒𝐚𝐦 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐝. 𝐇𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐫𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐚𝐝. “𝐇𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐰𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩.”

“𝐈𝐭’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭.”

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐭 𝐚 𝐩𝐢𝐧 𝐝𝐫𝐨𝐩 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐒𝐚𝐦. 𝐈𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐭𝐡. 𝐌𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫’𝐬 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐬. 𝐁𝐮𝐭, 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥, 𝐒𝐚𝐦 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐚 𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭. 𝐍𝐨 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐚 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐚 𝐜𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐳𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐚 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐝𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐨𝐰𝐧. 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐚 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲, 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐢𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝.

“𝐒𝐚𝐦,” 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐥. “𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤?”

“𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲,” 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐲. “𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐬𝐨… 𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭.”

“𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐨𝐰𝐧. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐞. 𝐁𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐬, 𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞. 𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐣𝐨𝐛, 𝐛𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐚𝐲.”

“𝐀𝐧 𝐨𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝-𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬?”

“𝐇𝐞𝐲,” 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐦, 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰.

“𝐈 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚 𝐟𝐚𝐧!”

“𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐭𝐡? 𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐛𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐭𝐨𝐨.”

“𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐚 ‘𝐅𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐤’,” 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐣𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐝. 𝐒𝐚𝐦 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐚 𝐝𝐫𝐲 “𝐡𝐚-𝐡𝐚” 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐥𝐲. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐤𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐧𝐝. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫’𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐭 𝐚 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝: 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐲𝐥𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬. 𝐒𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐮𝐜𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐠𝐨 “𝐚𝐡.”

“𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐞’𝐝 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐢𝐟 𝐈 𝐣𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮?”

“𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬.” 𝐒𝐚𝐦 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐝. 𝐇𝐞 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫’𝐬 𝐟���𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐰 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧’𝐬 𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭. “𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧… 𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐮𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐚 𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞.”

“𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐛𝐞 𝐚 𝐧𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐲 𝐨𝐧𝐞, 𝐒𝐚𝐦.”

𝐒𝐚𝐦 𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭. “𝐈𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐨 𝐛𝐚𝐝.”

“𝐃𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟,” 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐦. “𝐈𝐟 𝐢𝐭 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐬𝐚𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐦 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐚𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝, 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐮𝐩 𝐨𝐧 𝐚 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫.”

“𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞: 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐦. 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭… 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥.”

“—𝐌𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞, 𝐒𝐚𝐦.”

𝐒𝐚𝐦 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚. “𝐅𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐮𝐬. 𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐈 𝐰𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧.”

“𝐈𝐭’𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐭, 𝐒𝐚𝐦𝐦𝐲.”

“𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐢𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐢𝐭? 𝐃𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐢𝐭? 𝐔𝐬? 𝐈 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐬𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐥 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐆𝐨𝐝, 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐈’𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞. 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞… 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐝𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐚𝐲?”

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐩 𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐅𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧. 𝐂𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐩𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐬 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐜 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩—𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐤𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐒𝐚𝐦’𝐬 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧’𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐫 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐬, 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝, 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐫 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐢𝐭.

𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐞’𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧.

𝐈𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐒𝐚𝐦 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭, 𝐨𝐫 𝐰𝐡𝐨, 𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞. 𝐇𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫, 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐨𝐧𝐞. 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐞𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚 𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐲 𝐝𝐚𝐲, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐮𝐧𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐧.

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞’𝐝 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐣𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟. 𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧-𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐣𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐳𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠.

𝐒𝐚𝐦 𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐧𝐝. 𝐀𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐝𝐫𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐲, 𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐥 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞.

“𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐲𝐞𝐭?”

𝐅𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐢𝐭. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞.

“𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐲,” 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐥, “𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐢𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬?”

“𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭.” 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐩𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞. “𝐖𝐞’𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭?”

“𝐒𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐒𝐚𝐦?”

“𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐡?”

“𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧.” 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐮𝐩.

𝐒𝐚𝐦 𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐭 𝐚 𝐰𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐟 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐦. 𝐇𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐢𝐭.

𝐈𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐞𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧’𝐬 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐝, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐮𝐩𝐨𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐳𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐧𝐨 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐞. 𝐇𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠; 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲’𝐝 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐞, 𝐧𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐚𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞.

𝐒𝐚𝐦 𝐭𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐁𝐚𝐛𝐲’𝐬 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝. 𝐇𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬 𝐚𝐭 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧’𝐬 “𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫” 𝐠𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐦. 𝐀𝐫𝐦𝐬 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐣𝐮𝐝𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 ��𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐟𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.

“𝐈 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐈 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐈 𝐝𝐢𝐝,” 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧’𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐒𝐚𝐦 𝐬𝐚𝐰 𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐡 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫.

𝐒𝐡𝐢𝐭. 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐫 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐧𝐨𝐰.

Thank you for reading chapter one! I'm excited to dive into this series and specifically focus on Dean and elements I don't think were fully explored in the series. If you enjoyed this, likes, reblogs, and comments keep me writing. Ao3 sees these chapters first, so check there too on Sunday's/Sunday evenings before I post.

[bountycancelled]

rating how SEVENTEEN would react if you wore revealing clothes in front of the members (maknae line edition)

hyung line version here

genre: rating-headcanon hybrid, suggestive ig, gn reader

requested: nope, but reqs are open (just look at my masterlist to see who I write for♡)

warnings: suggestive stuff and delusionality (seriously, this is the most delusional piece of work I have ever written)

a/n: after going ghost for like half a year, I'm back! I'll be sure to be more active this time around, so pls request if you want me to write about something 🙏

minghao

(desperately trying to fight the urge to give him an 8/10) 6.8/10. thinks he's calm but really isn't.

takes great pride in being the only one to get to see you in more risqué attire, so is a little (a lot) jealous when he sees you walk down the stairs to greet the members.

his lips press together in that middle aged white man frown i hope yall know what the fuck im talking about CAHSSVH but he knows the members arent going to try anything with you so its all good

except its not all good because now hes distracted

teases you throughout the whole night, neck kisses, whispering what hes gonna do to you when the members leave, smirking at you BLOOD OF JESUS so that YOU end game night early instead of him (he has an image of peace and serenity to keep up and being needy for you in front of everyone would destroy it lol)

mingyu

-100009999000000/10. please do not even attempt to wear anything even remotely revealing in front of him unless you want a certain reaction.

sees what you're wearing before anybody shows up and begs you to cancel so that he can cough cough hold hands in bed with you for the whole night.

when the members walk in and see him on his knees, hugging your legs and damn near crying, they think nothing of it cause its mingyu and game night ensues.

cue mingyu glaring at everyone who touches you, doesn't matter if its accidental or if its just to give you the dice when it's ur turn to roll, they're getting stared DOWN.

also cue mingyu staring at you with his eyes glossed over and his mouth open like a squirrel staring at an accorn, and practically needing to be punched in the gut to pay attention to anything but how sexy you are.

also also cue mingyu ending game night like an hour and a half earlier and throwing you over his shoulder, barely having enough self-control to make it up the stairs (good luck soldier, it's gonna be a long night)

dokyeom

a solid 7.8/10. bless this mans heart, he would not do anything even remotely territorial or jealous after seeing what your wearing. it actually warms his heart that you feel comfortable around the members because they're truly like a 2nd family to him.

ever the charmer he is, he'll make sure to compliment you with a hand on your waist and a kiss to your cheek as you greet the members coming through the door (idk about you but imagining seokmins hand across my waist WHEW-)

since dokyeom is usually touchy with you, it serves as no surprise that he would be even more so with more revealing clothes, but he can still find it in himself to focus on the game.

but now YOU'RE distracted by his soft touches, barely even able to contain yourself or focus on anything but his hand trailing up and down your side.

neither of you end game night early, and when the time comes, everyone bids you two goodnight and does the separate ways. cue you jumping on dokyeom and him gladly carrying you to your shared bedroom. (what you don't know is that he was PURPOSEFULLY distracting you the entire time, and he is definetly dawning a self-satisfied smirk as he closes your bedroom door)

seungkwan

-666/10. you have chosen the wrong boyfriend to try something like this with, and he will make it very known.

gives you the meanest stank eye known to mankind, seething with jealousy as you make your way downstairs. (this man is literally grinding his teeth, you have created a monster-)

dedicates the entire game night to making your experience as lackluster as possible. I'm talking he'll make you lose every. single. game. every. single. round. without fail. doesn't matter if he's on your team or not, he's just that petty.

the members obviously aren't oblivious to seungkwan's sudden beef with you, but be it them thinking its funny or them not wanting to be another one of his targets, you're on your own soldier.

the only thought in his mind right is how DARE you look this good in front of anyone on the planet earth but him? where is duty? where is honour?? where is sacrifice??? (you and him just binged House of the Dragon, hence his dramatic mood)

game night ends early on account of the rest of the group feeling as though you and seungkwan need some alone time to solve this one-sided conflict. as soon as they leave, seungkwan acts all coy, crossing his arms and rolling his eyes when you say you know just how to make it up to him. as if this isn't what he wanted the whole time lol.

vernon

2/10. this guy won't even bat an eye at your choice of clothing for game night, whatever makes you comfortable is always going to be okay with him. you don't need his approval and he's aware and is perfectly fine with that.

and that's all good and well, except this time you were purposefully trying to make him jealous, so seeing his reaction (or lack there of) kind of bums you out.

don't get him wrong, it's not like he doesn't think you're attractive (you're the most beautiful human he's ever laid his eyes on) but he does not even register your outfit as you walk down the stairs, let alone get jealous in any capacity.

game night starts and finishes exactly how it always does, and when it's all over, as the members are saying their goodbyes to you two, jeonghan makes a slightly suggestive comment on your outfit, which you brush off with a wave of your hand.

it is only at that moment, after jeonghans comment, that vernon realises that your clothing is more revealing that what you usually wear in front of the members. (when I say this man is oblivious, I mean that shit)

"you look good." is all you get from him, as he walks past you and walks up the stairs and turns back to you, confused as to why you aren't following him.

all I'm saying is, if you want... attention from this man, you have to tell him upfront. because trust me, once he knows exactly what you want, he'll have no problem giving it you ;)

dino

–infinity/10. you don't wanna mess with him, cuz he's a jealous, jealous, jealous boy. if he- lemme cool with the lana lyrics but you catch my drift.

as soon as he sees your outfit, he pulls out his phone and texts on the groupchat that game night is cancelled because of "unforseen circumstances." whatever the hell that means.

he will shower you in compliments, his eyes filled with admiration for you. cue you getting kisses all over your face, and when you ask him when the boys are coming for game night, he'll simply trail his kisses a little lower, aiming at your neck to distract you and it works

at some point during your, ahem, devil's tango with Dino in your shared bedroom (he carried you there because in his words, "someone who looks as good as you should not need to lift a finger, let alone walk up a flight of stairs." okay chivalry!) you both hear a knock on the door.

it's the members, worried that one of you had gotten hurt or something which is why game night was cancelled. Dino is as red as tomato when he sees them, stating that you had hurt your ankle and that you weren't really up for game night tonight. the story would be believable if Dino wasn't sweating like he just ran a marathon, and if you weren't wearing such a sexy outfit.

but hey, you're limping as you walk down the stairs to greet the members, so maybe that'll make it all the more believable. (news flash, it makes it less believable, but Dino shoos them out effectively anyways, carrying you back to your room with a quickness, he's not done with you just yet LORD HAVE MERTHY)

thats it, i hope you enjoyed and redoing my permanent taglist, so I'll add you if you send an ask♡

[disturbingstar]

𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐄𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬

Plot summary

For their ghost-hunting reality show, a production crew locks themselves inside an abandoned mental hospital that's supposedly haunted – and it might prove to be all too true.

Trivia

The show format and lead role draw influence from the real-life show Ghost Adventures

The script was written with plenty of room for improvisation.

It was filmed over 10 nights and 2 days.

Barely released theatrically, the first film somehow managed to build a large cult following online.

Similar to Cloverfield, this film's only soundtrack is played during the end credits.

The number '666' is hidden in the first portion of the film. During the introduction, we learn that this episode of Grave Encounters is the 6th in the series. While entering the asylum, Lance tells groundskeeper Kenny that the crew drove roughly 6 hours to get there. Lastly, Kenny was originally supposed to come unlock the asylum doors at 6 am.

Breakdown

The film opens with television producer Jerry Hartfield describing Grave Encounters, a paranormal reality television program directed by and starring ghost hunter Lance Preston, which was cancelled after five episodes. Hartfield explains that the events about to be shown in the film are raw footage from the sixth and final episode filmed, edited only for time-restraint purposes.

The footage shows the crew of Grave Encounters composed of Lance himself, occult specialist Sasha Parker, technical expert Matt White, cameraman T. C. Gibson, and guest-starring psychic medium Houston Grey preparing to investigate the abandoned Collingwood Psychiatric Hospital where unexplained phenomena have been reported for years. They receive a tour of Collingwood and its underground tunnels from the hospital's caretaker. They also learn about Collingwood's history, including a physician named Arthur Friedkin, who performed unethical experiments and lobotomies on the patients at the hospital before being killed by escaped patients. The crew voluntarily lock themselves inside Collingwood for the night and begin their investigation, setting up camp near the hospital's main entrance, which is locked from the outside. No paranormal activity occurs for the first few hours until a door slams behind T.C. by itself while he is filming around the building. Lance and his crew try to establish contact with the unseen entities responsible and are further tormented by more hauntings, which become increasingly blatant and hostile.

With half an hour left before the hospital caretaker comes to unlock the front doors, the crew starts packing. Matt goes to retrieve the cameras stationed throughout the building but disappears. The others spend the next several hours looking for Matt without success, with the caretaker not arriving. They knock down the front doors to escape, only to discover they lead to another corridor, as do several other exit doors they find. They also notice that it is still night outside when it should be daylight. The crew continues searching for both Matt and an exit when they encounter a girl whose face contorts demonically. Fear grips the crew as they flee, but an unseen force separates Houston from the others and violently assaults him, killing him. While resting, the others find hospital tags bearing their names on their wrists. They eventually find Matt, who is wearing a hospital gown and has been driven insane, mumbling nonsense about his apparent psychological disorder and explaining that the only way for them to escape is for them to “get better” at the hands of the hospital's unseen residents.

Several apparitions continue to chase the crew through the hospital. T. C. is pulled into a bathtub filled with blood by a ghost and disappears, while Matt falls down an elevator shaft to his death as Lance and Sasha are attacked by a tongueless demon. Lance and Sasha enter the tunnels in search of another exit, where Sasha, who has become violently ill, disappears in a mist that appears while she and Lance sleep. Terrified and insane, Lance continues through the tunnels alone, surviving by killing and eating rats, until he finds a door leading to Friedkin's operating room that contains an altar and pentagram for a demonic ritual, showing that Friedkin had used black magic for medical practice. He turns to see the apparitions of Friedkin and several nurses, who drag a screaming Lance onto their operating table. The camera blanks out for a moment before showing a lobotomised Lance, who says he is now 'better' and allowed to go home and gives a few parting words to the audience before the screen cuts to blue.

𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐄𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝟐

Plot summary

A film student who is obsessed with the movie Grave Encounters sets out with his friends to visit the psychiatric hospital depicted in the original film.

Trivia

The tagline for this film is “Fear is just a word. Reality is much worse.”

Right before the credits flash, there is a flash on the screen containing the numbers “49 14 122 48”. This address is the exact location of the building featured in the movie. It's named Riverview Hospital in British Columbia, Canada.

The first trailer for Grave Encounters 2 was a Shock Till You Drop exclusive and dropped on September 4th, 2012.

The Vicious Brothers wrote, produced, and even had a cameo, but they brought John Poloquin in to direct.

There is an edit to the security video from the elevator, and it shows that nobody was currently filming with a camera.

This movie was first screened in Canada at the Toronto After Dark Film Festival.

Breakdown

Film student Alex Wright and his friends Jennifer Parker, Trevor Thompson, Tessa Hamill, and Jared Lee decide to produce a documentary about the original Grave Encounters film, which the entire public aside from Alex believes to be fictional. Alex posts an online plea for any information about the film and receives a message from someone named DeathAwaits6. The message leads him to the mother of Sean Rogerson, the actor who played Lance in Grave Encounters. She believes that Sean is still alive, but they discover that she has dementia, and she does not realise that her son is dead.

Alex realises the cast and crew from the first film are all missing or have died—except for the directors, The Vicious Brothers, who are actually interns of the first film's producer, Jerry, and were not directly involved, thus sparing their lives. Alex meets Hartfield, who confesses that the film was actual found footage. Discovering that the Collingwood Mental Hospital from the film is actually an abandoned asylum in British Columbia, Canada, Alex and his friends travel there to meet DeathAwaits6, where they discover a Ouija board. Using it to communicate with spirits, they realise that their online contact is not a person but a paranormal entity, which turns violent. The security guard stops the group as they make their way out. As the group and the security guard argue, they hear a noise. The security guard tells them to stay put. As the security guard goes to check out the noise, the group hears gunshots. They go to check what has happened and find that the security guard has disappeared.

The group tries to escape, resulting in the deaths of Jared (who is violently hurled out of the window) and Tessa (her head crushed by an invisible force). The survivors manage to escape the hospital and return to the hotel. To their dismay, the hotel's elevator leads them right back to the tunnels beneath the hospital. There, they meet Rogerson and discover that he has been trapped inside, surviving off toilet water and rats in the darkness for over nine years, lobotomised and driven insane. Rogerson explains that the reason the hospital is like this is due to Dr Arthur Friedkin's satanic satanicexperiments and rituals which merged the spirit world and the physical world. He shows them a chained red door and says it's the only exit. Sean provides a map he created of the dimension, explaining how it is bigger than a city, and explains the “building” constantly shifts and changes. The surviving members retrieve a chain cutter left in Trevor's tool bag with Sean's aid.

While the group sleeps for the night, Rogerson, compelled by Dr Friedkin, strangles Trevor to death, then steals the team's equipment to cut the chains on the door. He goes through it—only to realise that the door leads nowhere. The entities instruct a deranged Rogerson to continue killing. Alex and Jennifer wake up and stumble upon Friedkin's satanic altar, where he is performing a lobotomy and preparing to sacrifice an infant. The couple flees and encounters Rogerson, who demands they hand over their tapes in order to finish the film, which is the only way to escape the hospital. During the struggle, a void opens up on the wall and sucks Rogerson in, pulling him towards an unknown fate.

Realising that Rogerson is being honest about how to escape, Alex kills Jennifer by smashing her face with a camera, thus completing the film. He then exits the hospital through the red door, which leads him to the outskirts of Los Angeles. While strolling down the street at night, he finds himself under arrest. The last scene shows that the footage has been made into a film, with Alex and producer Jerry claiming that everything the public sees is “just a movie.” However, Alex tells the interviewers not to go anywhere near the hospital, as it's not worth it.