#three chapters in three days let's go

[the-sol-eater]

[queer-omens-in-the-archives]

pretender

Relationship: Mello/Near Rating: M Chapters: 1/1 Words: 720 Series: sweet atonement (prequel that also works as a standalone)

pretender (noun) - One who simulates, pretends, or feigns. - A claimant to the throne or to the office of ruler (usually without just title). - A person who professes beliefs and opinions that they do not hold in order to conceal their real feelings or motives. With Mello gone I'm not I'm not gone I'm not on the wind, Near is the best option. The only option. L will be gone if he desists and he is nothing if not conscious of his duty. The shape of his life is all wrong and there is nothing he can do to change it; he can only change himself.

Warnings: Self-Harm Tags: Post-Canon, Dissociation, Depersonalization, Self-Dehumanization, Grief/Mourning, Near is not coping with being L on his own, Hallucinations, (or ghosts. Unclear.), Multiplicity/Plurality, Near's Mello Introject, (very quietly and subtly in this one but he is there)

[read on AO3]

[thefandomcassandra]

hallowed be thy unknown Ch5: Tokusatsu Haunting 1: Sea Bindweed and Sensitive Plant

Maya was getting a headache. Words swam in front of her eyes, black ants crawling across a white sand pit. She wanted to bury herself alive and sink into nothingness.

"Maya, c'mon now, answer me."

She groaned as Nick called to her, phasing through the kitchen table so he sort-of blocked her view of the offending textbook. "Why though?"

"Because you promised. We get through ten of these and you're free until lunchtime. You've got three more." He could cajole as much as he wanted, she wasn't going to like it any more even if he begged her.

"But it sucks and it's early and I've barely eaten and—"

"And this week's episode of Steel Samurai is on the DVR and if you finish this we can watch and you can explain to me why you like it after you've digested the story for an hour or so." Stubborn ass.

"Fine..." Maya blinked until the words on the paper resolved themselves into something readable. "So the difference between battery and assault is actually injuring someone or not. Assault is threatening, battery is attacking, but both can be charged as a felony if a firearm or other illegal weapon is used during the act."

"Larceny, burglary, and robbery?"

More terms. "Larceny is just theft—taking things from people. Grand or minor larceny based on how much was stolen, what have you. Burglary is forcing entry to a place and stealing, whether or not someone is there. Robbery is stealing using force, like mugging someone could be charged as either theft and assault or robbery depending on things, right?"

"If you're lucky and have a good defense or a bad prosecutor, yeah. It's usually charged as robbery since intent to harm while stealing is as good as causing harm while stealing. They don't differentiate between assault and battery where theft is concerned." Nick seemed amused that she had even thought about that. "One more and this one is easy: manslaughter and murder."

It sure was easy. "Murder requires intent to kill, whether planned or in the heat of the moment. Manslaughter is an act, violent or otherwise, that results in death, like a hit and run. Aren't they a little nebulous though?"

"Yeah. You can argue second-degree murder down to manslaughter, you can argue manslaughter caused through planned battery up to first-degree murder. It's all how you spin it and how the court views the actions taken. Self defense usually is manslaughter." He frowned as he thought something over. "But, again, it's a little wiggly, like you said."

"Which was bad for me and good for Prosecutor Edgeworth, not that he won..." Maya mumbled as she laid her head down on her arms. She could feel Nick's piercing gaze, the unspoken admonishment let to drift in the wind.

She'd done as was asked, hadn't she? Maya rolled her head so she could give Nick puppy-dog-eyes.

He snorted and floated down so he looked like he was sitting at the table with her. "That is all ten."

"So I can watch my taped episode?"

"Breakfast, dishes, then yes." Wow, thanks mom.

"I'm only doing this because you'll haunt me well into the night if I don't, mister incorporeal." Maya stood up and popped her back, sighing in amusement. Living with a ghost wasn't the most normal circumstances but after...everything, it was a welcome oddity. A comforting weirdness. Nick kept her in line, made sure she did all the proper adult things to keep up and running, and she kept him focused on the now with her company.

After the trial ended, it took a week or so before the Fey & Co. Law Office was cleared out and available as a working space again—after a very thorough cleaning courtesy of the state, of course. During that week or so, Maya tended to Mia's funeral and estate—nobody came to the former, she was the sole inheritor when it came to the latter. Getting access to Mia's apartment through her—Maya's now, really—landlord was a mess but she moved in as soon as she could and tried to not break down every time she opened a cabinet and saw Mia's coffee cups.

Barely a few days after everything was sorted and Maya had begun making the apartment more her living space than a museum to her sister, a call came in on the office line and Maya was summoned to testify in court in the case of the State v. Redd White.

Being on the witness stand was significantly different than being on the defendant's chair or in the defendant's bench. It was nerve-wracking, sure, but Prosecutor Edgeworth was somehow more tolerable when she wasn't the one in his crosshairs. It was almost amusing to watch the rich, well-to-do lawyer trip over their expensive brand name shoes to try and talk down the charges.

Maya's testimony, the pictures of her face taken after the trial, Gumshoe's corroboration, several anonymous (or redacted) reports of threats and blackmail, and April May's affidavit regarding her employment with Bluecorp and its inner working all dug him a one-way ticket to jail for life. If he was lucky, he'd never leave.

He looked defeated as they hauled him off to ship him from the center to the prison. Maya couldn't find it in herself to feel sorry for him.

Becoming an accredited defense attorney was the difficult part of the whole plan. Proving she had been homeschooled in what constituted as a traditional territory and providing proof of residency in Kurain was most of the legwork. With proof in hand, and permission from the Bar Association to take it out of season, the test was comically easy in comparison. Nobody needed to know she cheated, either! She was sworn in a few days ago and had even gone out and bought some new casual clothes to celebrate! She had real lawyer outfits that wouldn't get her stared at in the court!

Then she realized that being a defense attorney was a lot of waiting for someone to call your office to ask you to help them, instead of the more active lie she'd been believing. So most of her days were spent studying the well-worn law books Mia had in her office while Nick quizzed her to make sure she was retaining what she read. It was boring, for sure, but it was a new type of boring.

(Maya kept expecting Aunt Himiko to call but she never did. Neither did Pearl, but that was less Pearl's fault and more likely Aunt Himiko being a little controlling. Sometimes she got nauseatingly homesick and would leave Japanese dramas on TV in the background for the simple comfort of hearing people talk in Japanese. Nick always looked uncomfortable, like he wasn't sure how to handle her when she got like that but she wasn't something that needed to be handled, she just...needed a moment.)

Maya shoveled a spoonful of cereal in her mouth as she watched the Steel Samurai fight the Jade Turtle in his underwater palace. Despite how much she had been looking forward to this episode, her brain was still leaking out her ears. She couldn't focus on anything, even the things she liked.

Frustrated, Maya stopped the recording and threw on the news while she washed the dishes so Nick didn't complain all day. The weather looked like it was gonna be sunny for this time of year. That's nice.

Getting old snuck up on you, Maya determined. She had been living independently for a little over two months and she already cared about things like the weather. Yuck. Adding on worrying about bills and the idea that she had a commute to work now and she was seconds away from rapidly aging to dust.

Without cases coming in, Maya had to think about eventual second jobs—if things continued the way they were, that is. Like before, retail and customer service might not be good fits but they'd be easy to get. If she was going to work for minimum wage and maximum emotional distress, she'd like to work somewhere she doesn't hate but apparently Eldoon's wasn't hiring anyone since it was family-owned and her usual burger joint didn't need any more waitresses or hostesses.

Elbows-deep in bubbly warm water, Maya was startled out of her reverie by someone on TV saying the phrase 'Steel Samurai'. She tuned in on what the anchors were saying and was very glad she wasn't holding anything when she realized what was going on or she might've broken one of the nicer bowls.

The actor who played the Steel Samurai was just arrested for the murder of his coworker, the guy who played the Evil Magistrate. This had to be fate.

"Nick?!" One of the benefits to living alone was that she could openly talk to her ghost friend without worrying about someone staring. It didn't mean that her shouting across the apartment didn't startle him, however. Judging by the speed at which he flew through the bedroom wall, he must've thought she'd hurt herself or broken something. A fair assumption.

"What?" His blank eyes were wide, searching for whatever trouble she was in.

Maya waved at the TV. "Do you know what I heard?" When he didn't respond immediately, she continued, bouncing in place. "They arrested the Steel Samurai."

"The...character?" Nick seemed confused.

"The guy who plays him! They arrested him for murder!"

"Is that why you shrieked like you were dying?" Cute.

"No! No but like, Nick—" Was he not understanding what this meant? "—Nick he's in a holding cell right now! He's gonna need a lawyer!"

"Wh—Maya, this isn't some kind of game." He folded his arms and tilted himself so he was looking down his nose at her, stern. The whole effect was ruined by how he was dressed and it was undercut by the sharp spike of frustration that tore through Maya at his accusation.

"What makes you think I think it's a game?"

"I know you like the Steel Samurai but you've only been studying for a little while and—"

"Nick, I'm not playing. I'm accredited, aren't I?" Legally, yes. The technicality didn't matter much when she and Nick were a unit—a single lawyer. "And we haven't had a single client for the last month."

"Mia's clients were pretty sparse too—"

"Nick, I'm not Mia, I'm me. And I want to take this case." Maya made eye-contact with him and held it, an act he knew was a challenge. "I like the Steel Samurai, yeah, but I also want to help him. Don't I have the right to choose my clients too?"

Nick sighed and floated down a little bit so he was looking straight at her. "You're certain you want to do this?"

"Very."

"This is a murder case, like yours was. Do you think you can handle that?" He was being firm with her. He was almost never this firm. He was worried.

Could she handle a murder? She handled being on the stand for Redd White well enough. She hadn't broken down or cried or anything, had she? But defending someone for murder...that was a different beast.

She wanted to help him like his show had helped her. She nodded at Nick, who seemed to roll his thoughts around a bit before speaking again.

"In the chance that your client is guilty, what are you going to do?"

She hadn't thought about that. If he was guilty...would she still want to defend him? No, that wasn't the question. The question was: if he was guilty, what would she do, not would she continue to defend him. "I would try and work out a plea that satisfies both my client and the prosecution."

"And in the case that your client is innocent and you find yourself incapable of defending them properly?"

"I would suggest a different attorney and give all of my findings and documents to them." Because if she couldn't defend her client, she wanted her work to be worth something.

Nick closed his eyes for what felt like an eternity before he spoke again. "Okay." Approval. Yes! Before Maya could say anything in her excitement, he continued on. "But promise me you're going to be smarter about this one. No mouthing off to dangerous people this time. Gumshoe won't always be around to save you."

"Isn't he a homicide detective? He should be around."

"That's not the point. C'mon now, please?"

"Okay, okay." She wasn't sure why he was being so touchy about this. It's not like Redd White was going to kill her or anything. He was being a worrywart. "I promise I'll be safe."

"I'm serious. I might be around but I can't help if the problem is physical." He was still upset about the whole thing with Redd White then.

"I know." She did, really. She didn't blame him for his inability to interact with the physical world. It was part and parcel of being a ghost, after all. The fact that he was still around as a fuyūrei was nothing short of miraculous but miracles only went so far. Fate hadn't seen fit to make him a poltergeist. "I'll be smart."

That got a laugh out of him. "Sure you will." Even as he said it, however sarcastically, Maya could feel him relax. "Well the detention center opens at nine. That means we have two hours before we can see your Steel Samurai. Wanna finish the dishes and explain why you like it better than, say, Rainbow Warriors?"

Maya puffed her cheeks at him, pouting. "Rainbow Warriors is a show for babies and I will not have you slander the good streets of Neo Olde Tokyo with your bad taste." Even so, she continued on as she went back to the dishes, the tension dissipating, leaving behind anticipation.

Her first real client (maybe)! Her first not-herself client (possibly)! And it was the Steel Samurai! That was something to be proud of! She was gonna do great!

"I'm sorry..." Will Powers—the Steel Samurai actor—hunched in on himself and stared at a spot on the floor. For a man easily twice Maya's size, he sure was meek.

"Like I said before: it's no big deal. You never really appeared in public without the costume on so it was a surprise, nothing more." Maya waved her hand, trying to assuage his fears. He just whined a bit and hunched more in on himself.

Will Powers was somewhat of a Cowardly Lion sort, really. Despite his large size and intimidating stature, he tried to take up as little space as possible. He didn't like making eye-contact with Maya and barely spoke above a mumble. He was also barely older than Nick was when he died, which was the biggest shock—Will Powers looked very much like a man in his thirties but he was in his early twenties.

"I don't know what I was expecting," Nick muttered to himself, "but this certainly wasn't it."

"Powers-san," straight to business, no messing about for ol' Maya the Actual Lawyer™, "we've gotten a bit off-topic."

"Right."

"So you've been formally charged with the murder of your coworker, Jack Hammer, correct?" Nick had made sure she knew what Will Powers had been arrested for before they arrived at the detention center. Turns out, rote memorization of law did, in fact, carry over to a better short term memory recall. Who knew?

Will Powers nodded, his eyes swimming with tears. "But I didn't do it! I was napping at the time of the murder!"

"The problem, Powers-san, is that you have no alibi past your word." In her peripheral, Nick nodded at her in agreement. "That, unfortunately, won't fly in court." Not with the way the legal system was currently structured, or so Nick said.

"I know." He sounded defeated before the trial had even begun. "What else do I even have to offer? Apparently someone saw me out and about, even though I was sleeping in my dressing room!"

"Well, if you accept my services, then I would go investigate the crime scene and collect evidence to prove your innocence." Will Powers hadn't quite hired Maya yet but she was hopeful. That's part of why she was trying so hard to sound professional about it. Nobody would hire some kid but if she sounded like she knew what she was doing, then her age wouldn't matter.

Will Powers mulled over her offer, his brow furrowing while he pondered. When your life was on the line, rash decisions were a bad idea and he seemed like he was a cautious man to begin with. She didn't expect him to have an answer immediately but the fact that he hadn't been too bothered by her age when he was told a lawyer was here for him did wonders for her ego.

"He says he was asleep but someone saw him? That's strange." Nick was already running over the facts aloud, sitting cross-legged in the air while they waited for Will Powers to come to a conclusion. "An eyewitness account is damning but also it's a movie and TV set, isn't it? Costumes can't be hard to get duplicates of and wear around to falsify someone's position, can they?"

The Steel Samurai costume was a heavy number with a full mask. Most actors didn't like or were incapable of properly moving in costumes like that without extensive training, which is why the fact that Will Powers and Jack Hammer did their own stunts and fights was so fascinating. Sure, someone could steal a costume and wear it, but it'd be a heavy and claustrophobic thing tailored for a man of Will Powers' build and strength.

"Okay."

Maya's focus snapped to Will Powers. Wait...had he—? "Huh?"

"I'll hire you. You - you came to me, chose to believe in me with no proof. That's...even if you are a fan that's, uh, that means a lot." Despite the fact that he seemed so sure of his decision, Will Powers was still mumbling and muttering, his speech soft and unclear. But he had! He was hiring her! "So I'll be, uh, taking your services...after...all..."

"You won't regret it, Powers-san!" Maya almost leapt out of her chair. The larger man flinched back and Maya withdrew a bit so she wasn't upsetting him and pulled the paperwork for representation out of her sash. "If you could sign this after reading, I'll file this with the court and get to investigating right away."

Will Powers looked over the paperwork and quickly signed on the dotted line, sliding it back to her through the slot in the glass. "Th-thank you for this."

"Of course!" Maya beamed. That bolstered his spirits, it seemed, as he responded with an equally bright grin. "I'll keep you updated and, in the chance that I'm unable to come by again before visiting hours are over, we can discuss the details before your trial tomorrow. It's gonna be fine, Powers-san, I promise."

The smile he gave her felt tired but sincere. "Is there anything else I can - I can help you with?"

"Could I have your memory of the day of the murder?" Making sure she knew what his alibi was, how he remembers things, would be the base on which she builds her defense for him.

"Well, um, Hammer and I did a run-through of some of the action sequences starting around ten in the morning 'till noon. The usual type of, uh, work. After that, there was lunch and I guess I was more tired than I thought because while there was a rehearsal at five, I woke up too late to attend." He fiddled with his jacket sleeve, picking at a loose thread as he tried to organize his thoughts. It's not like being on that side of the visitor's glass was easy. Maya would know. "When I walked out, tripping over myself to try and attend rehearsal, they just...arrested me. I didn't find out Hammer had been killed until questioning."

Maya watched as Will Powers' face went blotchy, tears spilling down his cheeks as he tried to fight his emotions. He scrubbed at his nose with his sleeve, sniffling hard. Her heart went out to him; this wasn't easy for anyone, let alone the defendant of a murder case. The accused.

"They probably weren't nice about it either, were they?" Could he tell she was sympathizing with him? Could he tell she had been in his place only a month before?

A loud, snotty inhale and weak nod. "They ac-accused me of stabbing him!" His breathing was shuddering and slow as he tried to get himself calmed.

Maya caught Nick's eye. "You should ask more about the victim." She should. Knowing that might shed light on motive—or lack thereof.

"What was your relationship with Jack Hammer?"

That seemed to touch a weird nerve. Will Powers flinched a little and went back to staring at the floor, sniffling as he tried to get his emotions under control. "Jack and I...we weren't friends but - but I didn't hate him. Nobody did. We - we all mostly felt bad for him, considering..."

"Considering?" What did celebrity gossip have to do with this murder case?

"Well, I mean, before his role as the Evil Magistrate, he was a big action hero." A starstruck smile split Will Powers' face as he recounted his coworker's portfolio. "He's always worked for Global Studios—he's the most senior person there aside from the producer—but he never seemed...happy with his role? I dunno why he stayed."

"And you didn't get along?" The important part was whether or not her client had a motive.

"No, we got along fine. We never - never really interacted outside of a professional setting, is all..."

Nick hummed in thought. "So no direct conflict."

"Was there anyone who might have had an issue with Jack Hammer?" Maya pressed.

"Not anyone who'd kill him! He was Global Studio's darling!" Will Powers was affronted, raising his voice for the first time since she'd started talking with him. He was angry, not on his behalf, but on the behalf of someone else. Hm...

"Just checking! Thanks for your time." She waved her hand, clearing the air a bit, and gave Will Powers a soft smile. "See you later, Powers-san."

"Yeah, uh, um, bye."

Paperwork in hand, Maya felt light as a feather. Her first case—first real case—and she was defending the Steel Samurai! What a rush!

"You seem in high spirits." Nick laughed from his spot above her shoulder.

"Ha ha," Maya replied under her breath. "Very funny."

"No, but really: you look excited. Ready to do an investigation out of cuffs?"

"I'm ready to prove it wasn't just a flash in a pan, yknow?" The thought put some pep in her step. "Murder case or otherwise."

"Thoughts?"

"He didn't do it."

"You sound sure of yourself."

Maya fixed him with a flat stare. "Nick, did you see him? He could barely talk to me and I'm five foot two. Solid foot shorter than him. I'm certain he couldn't hurt a fly, let alone kill a man he worked with."

Something weird crossed his face for a second but he didn't say anything else on the matter. Instead, he shrugged and asked, "So where to?"

"After I drop off this form? Global Studios. It should be closed to the public, right?" He confirmed with a soft nod so she continued. "Investigate the crime scene, talk to employees of Global Studios, try and see what the timeframe looked like, what have you. Unlike last time, we weren't there the day of the murder so we have to start from nothing." She was excited. It was like solving a puzzle.

"Don't get cocky."

"Me? Never." She laughed. He laughed too.

"You're so certain they'll let you investigate."

"Weren't you the one who taught me that, while the police don't work directly with the defense, all attorneys are afforded access to the crime scene? They can't tell me no." She paid attention to his lessons, no matter how much he insisted she didn't.

"Touché." He laughed again.

She was so excited. ——— "If I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times: no lookie-loos allowed on the premises at this time! There's been an incident and everything is shut down for all the adults and that means you kids can't just waltz in here with your big ol' eyes all pouting and just say 'well I was told that I could—' no you weren't! I'm head of security and if you were told you could do this, that, or the other, I'd be the first one told. We've already got this place swarming with the force and I've run out of donuts but overall I just can't handle some third party being introduced just to cause me grief! After all, I'm already grieving my poor Hammer—"

"Ma'am!" Maya finally managed to get a word in edgewise. The old security woman huffed, breathing heavily as she glared at Maya but she didn't care. She just wanted to take advantage of the silence. "I have proof of representation. I'm asking to be allowed in because I'm Will Powers' lawyer."

The security woman held out a bony hand and Maya handed her a copy of the filed paperwork. Her eyes darted over the fine print and caught on Will Powers' signature, face twisting like she ate something off. "Hmph." The paper was unceremoniously shoved back into Maya's hands. "Why didn't ya just say so, girlie?"

"Because you wouldn't shut up."

Maya swallowed a giggle at Nick's comment and managed a very level, "I didn't have a chance to when I first arrived."

Global Studios was a moderately well-known film studio but it wasn't large by any means. The whole campus was composed of about three large buildings—two areas used for filming and one employee area that contained the prop and costume departments as well as the break rooms and dressing rooms—and was around an hour long round walk if you didn't sightsee. When Maya had gotten off the bus, the first thing she did was grab a pamphlet with the layout of the whole campus on it and study it, trying to mark her path of action. That's when the security woman—Oldbag, if her name-tag wasn't some kind of cruel joke—power-walked over and started scolding her.

She knew she looked young and all—she was only seventeen—but Maya had hoped her wardrobe upgrade would make people take her more seriously. She'd exchanged her kimono from Kurain for a dress blouse and a long skirt, keeping her sash so she could have extra storage space for evidence. Her tall traditional sandals were exchanged for cute flats that had thin leather straps she could tie like laces up her ankles. She even had swapped her three-quarters-sleeve shrug for a suit jacket in her favorite shade of lavender where she pinned her attorney's badge to the lapel! She looked the part of a lawyer now and yet...Oldbag had assumed she was some meddlesome kid.

"If it's any consolation, I think anyone younger than the dinosaurs is a kid to her." It wasn't a consolation but the mean little joke did make her feel a little better.

"Well you should learn to speak up!" Oldbag looked down her nose at Maya. "And get a name-tag or a sign or something so well-meaning people doing their job don't mistake you for a loitering hooligan!"

This woman, Maya realized, was going to be a bit of a headache to deal with in casual conversation. Heaven forbid she be put on the witness stand.

"Sorry, Oldbag-san." Maya bowed to her, more out of obligation than anything else. The older woman preened under her respectful manners. Nice to know she had an easy way to butter her up. "Before I go into the studio and look around, I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions about the incident and involved parties?"

"So we don't have to come back later, I assume?" Nick asked. Maya didn't need to answer him. He'd gotten it in one.

"Of course, ask away! Just make it quick."

Deep inhale, exhale. She's not even a witness. She's just a busy old woman. She's not that scary.

"What were you doing at the time of the murder?" Concise and simple, so Oldbag couldn't take it and run.

Oldbag scoffed. "My job of course!"

"Which is?"

"Is it a lawyer's job to ask stupid questions or is it just the job of the young ones? Maybe I'm in the wrong profession if you get paid big for bothering hardworking women like me." Thankfully this rant didn't go on too long. Oldbag sniffed and straightened her jumpsuit's collar, motioning with her hands as she talked. "I'm head of security. My job is to sit here and monitor who goes in and out, keep an eye on the cameras, and prevent snotty little brats from trying to get free photos or tours." On and on like a runaway train of thought.

"I'd bet whatever money that was in my pockets when I died that the age demographic for a B&E at Global Studios is an inverse bell graph." Nick snickered and, when Maya furrowed her brows to silently ask for an elaboration, added on, "Well, Steel Samurai is a children's show and Jack Hammer is an old action film star, not much someone in the teens-to-late-twenties age range would be into." Ah. That made Maya a statistical anomaly. Neat!

Maya tuned back in to the conversation in time to hear Oldbag finish her explanation with, "—and if I find one more candy wrapper in the woods I will personally turn whatever little shit that littered into a rubbish bin."

Maya nodded at Oldbag and gave her an appeasing, if not vapid, smile. "Thank you for telling me all that, Oldbag-san."

"You did ask." If she was pleased, it was hard to tell by tone alone. She had a very dry way of speaking and her volume and speed made it difficult to figure out if she was genuinely angry or just passionate. "Anything else or can I get back to it?"

"Uh..." What else? "You've been here a while? With Global Studios, I mean."

"Almost ten years, yeah." Oh wow. Oldbag must've seen the stars in her eyes because she smirked before continuing. "I've been here since the studio was doing the mid-stage Samurai films."

"That's dedicated." Genuinely, keeping a security gig—any job, really—for a decade wasn't anything to sneeze at. "You must've seen a lot of talent come and go."

"Oh more than you'd expect." The key to getting her to talk, it seemed, was buttering her up. Or just asking her the right questions. "I remember when Vasquez was a production assistant and Manella was a sweaty dork getting cease and desist paperwork from the local talent."

The idea of the lead show-writer Sal Manella being just some fan was actually fascinating but it wasn't a story Maya wanted to get from the long-winded Oldbag. "What's your thoughts on Will Powers?"

"Oh he's guilty for sure." Succinct. Maya took a breath to ask another question but Oldbag cut her off, continuing her once-complete thought. "I mean, really, the big lug is so ugly he can't even show his face in public and dear Hammer was always a handsome fella, even in his younger years. Powers was jealous, of course, and it's not like anyone had the raw acting talent of my Hammer but really, killing him? The man had seniority and you just stab him with a broken prop? What a petty boy. When I was his age I would've gotten my shit rocked if I so much as looked crossways at someone with more seniority than me at work, let alone attacked and or killed them. But really—"

"I'm starting to think Oldbag actually is her name, in some kind of horrible ironic twist." Maya grimaced in agreement as Nick started rifling through the security office to kill time. "Imagine growing up with the surname Oldbag and then you manage to hit your fifties and you are a certified old person. Like the oldest person to ever old person."

He really needed to stop talking while Oldbag was rambling. Maya had long-since lost track of what she was saying, silently praying for her to stop talking so she could press for info about Hammer, since she liked him so much.

"—anyway, that's neither here nor there." Finally. Finally she's finished.

Maya took a second to gather her thoughts before trying to talk again. The woman was a minefield of conversation. One misplaced word would set her off on a tirade. What did she absolutely need to know? What was worth braving the rapids to learn? Well, obviously it would be the victim. "One last thing, if you don't mind?" Please don't mind. Please, please don't mind.

"If that's really all, then sure."

"You said you're a huge fan of Jack Hammer, right? I used to watch his movies a lot—I think I have the collector's edition box set of the Samurai series, honestly. But what's your personal thoughts on the actor himself? You must've worked closely with him, right?" That was the right thing to ask about. Oldbag's face lit up and stars filled her eyes.

"Oh, poor dear Hammer." She sounded like a teenager talking about her prom date. "It's unfair, I tell you, what Global Studios was doing to him."

"Huh?" Even Nick seemed interested in what she had to say now.

"Well, y'know, my Hammer was a big star so many years ago. He's actually one of the oldest members of cast and crew here in Global Studio. Seniority aside, however, they're just not paying him like they used to—as if degrading him by making him act in that good-for-nothing children's nonsense as a villain no less and—"

"The main villain actor wasn't being paid well?" That was news. The Evil Magistrate was actually one of the favored villains in Steel Samurai—not Maya's, mind you, but that's because she had refined taste—and he was The Villain so why—?

Oldbag huffed and rolled her eyes. She seemed as incised as Maya was about the idea. "Not in the slightest! For some un-god-known reason, the bigwigs thought to reward his years of dedication with a costume that hides his pretty face and peanuts on the dollar, which means he was working doubles and triples and even picked up a second job to make ends meet and isn't that just so sad? That in this day and age, men of his talent are forced to scrape the ground for pennies? A shame, I tell you. A right shame!"

"That is weird." Brow furrowed, deep in thought, Maya rolled the concept around. A big name star paid pittance for a long running role in a company he's got seniority in. Who would kill a man like that? It's a reverse-motive, really. Anti-motive?

"In the end, how much he got paid doesn't matter now. They don't pay you in heaven." Tears shone in her eyes as she spoke fondly of the dead man. She really did actually miss him. Huh...

Maya bowed. "Thank you for your assistance, Oldbag-san. And for answering my questions."

"Hrmph. If every lawyer was as polite as you, I think the world would be a slightly better place!"

"If every lawyer was like Maya, she'd be out of a job. Dime-a-dozen attorneys don't get noticed." Nick's little comment got him a stern look, not that he seemed to mind much.

Maya sidled by Oldbag and entered onto the Global Studios campus proper, the pamphlet still clutched in her fist. Immediately there was a decision she had to make: go to the crime scene or visit the employee area. Try and find more information about the victim or verify her client's alibi.

Before she could actually make that decision, however, she heard someone jogging up alongside her. Heavy footsteps and heavy breathing. Nick hadn't said anything so they were likely someone they knew already; someone safe.

"Why am I not surprised you're takin' this case, pal?"

"Gumshoe!" Maya wheeled about and gave the detective a wide, genuine grin. He returned her smile with one of his own as she continued with, "Why am I not surprised you're here?"

"I am lead homicide detective for the precinct. It's kinda' my job and all." He scratched at the back of his head, bashful all of a sudden.

"He missed you, I'd assume," Nick offered. He was probably right. During the transition period, when she was handling Mia's estate, she had received a clumsily made bento and a card offering condolences from him. While he couldn't be there personally due to work hours picking up and his pay going down—which on the card was just written as 'extenuating circumstances'—he wanted to show her kindness the way most people did when it came to someone grieving a loss.

(The bento tasted great, even if it was mostly rice and hot dogs.)

"How goes the investigation?"

"You representin' Powers?" He asked a question instead of answering hers.

"Yeah? I mean...I am a defense attorney now. See?" Maya flashed the badge on her lapel, grinning up at him with all of her. It truly was a mark of pride. Like her sister, she was a bonafide lawyer!

Gumshoe leaned forward, squinting a bit, but the smile he gave her was proud and sincere and filled her chest with warmth. "Yeah! I heard. Prosecutor Edgeworth said his sister was furious about some girl from nowhere gettin' a cultural pass on the Bar. Said she was considerin' flyin' down from Germany to see what the fuss was about. From his side of the phone call, sounded like he warded her off, which is good coz just talkin' to her made him sweat. That made me worry."

Anyone who made Prosecutor Edgeworth uncomfortable was a friend of Maya's. She filed that information away for later.

"Sister?" Apparently Phoenix was unaware. Odd. He knew almost everything about the man, if his starry-eyed proselytization on the virtues of the Demon Prosecutor were anything to go by.

Because she didn't care about Prosecutor Edgeworth in the slightest, Maya chose to ignore the comment about him having a sister. "So how's the investigation going?"

Gumshoe sighed and picked at the bandage on his cheek. It was a new one, different from the last time she saw him, but was in the same place as before. Maybe he was just clumsy? "Could be better, could be worse. Nice to see you out and about without cuffs on. How's that feel?"

She beamed. "Feels way better than last time!" It really did. The cuffs didn't restrict her movement too much but being able to go places without an escort was nice. Freeing. She felt in control of things. "Plus I got to pick my clients. I chose Will Powers!"

"You like the Steel Samurai too, pal?"

"Too?"

Gumshoe covered his mouth and quickly looked anywhere but at Maya. As she tried to get him to focus on her again, she heard Nick full-body laughing about it. "Forget I said anything."

Oh, she won't be forgetting that any time soon, but she didn't want to make him sad. A sad Gumshoe wouldn't be any fun. So she placed her hand over her heart, her magatama cold beneath her fingers, and gave him a solemn nod. "Alright. My lips are sealed."

Gumshoe relaxed. Exhaled. Stood back upright. "Thanks." He seemed actually relieved. "Anyway, uh, what were we talkin' about again?"

"The investigation?"

"The investigation." He pursed his lips, the effort of organizing his thoughts obvious on his face. "It's lookin' pretty cut-and-dry. Only person unaccounted for was Powers, we got a picture of him goin' from the employee area to Studio One, the Samurai Spear was run through the poor victim, and that's that."

"My client says that, from around noon to five in the afternoon, he was asleep in the employee area." She did her best to reign in her bite. This was Gumshoe. He was nice. She didn't need to be aggressive with him.

"Your client was caught on camera, like I said." Gumshoe pointed over her shoulder at something. "There's security cameras that take still shots every time someone passes by. We got a copy of the one he's in." He rifled through his pockets and pulled out a black and white print with something written on the back, presenting it for Maya to take. "You can keep this one. I can get another, all I gotta do is ask nicely."

"I think Gumshoe might be one of the only good cops in existence."

"Thanks!" Maya gave the photo a quick look. It was the Steel Samurai, spear and all, wandering towards something. Judging by the camera angle, it wasn't the employee area, it was one of the studio lots. But it wasn't definitively Will Powers, it was just someone in the Steel Samurai costume.

Gumshoe must've seen the look on her face, the pensive way her eyebrows furrowed as she tried to figure out what the deal was, because he also pulled out a piece of paper from a different pocket. "Autopsy report too. Up to date this time." He had the decency to be embarrassed about that.

"Glad to hear it." The photo print was folded into simple quarters and shoved into her sash as she looked over the report.

Victim: Jack Hammer (37, Male) Time of death: 10/15 at 2:30 PM. Cause: Pierced through the chest by a spear.

"They're so sure of the murder weapon, aren't they?" Nick mused.

"The, uh, coroner is certain that the murder weapon is the Samurai Spear?" That was the right word for the person who does autopsies for the police, right? Coroner?

"It was in his body, if you'll mind the graphic description." As if he just remembered he was talking to someone her age, Gumshoe curbed his language a bit.

"The autopsy says 'pierced through the chest'. Talking about it won't make me upset." Maya puffed her cheeks and frowned up at Gumshoe, who broke eye-contact again. The power she wielded over this man is amazing. "Besides: I need to understand what's going on to properly represent my client, don't I?"

"Yeah...I guess you do."

"So there's a security camera up here," Nick called from where he was floating. He was by the welcome arch, studying the camera intently. "Number ST1-307, it looks like? That might be what we needed if we wanted to pull a copy of the photo ourselves. It's a good thing Gumshoe is so nice to us." Even in the middle of an investigation, Nick was already running his mouth. He forgets, or so he says, that Maya can hear him. He's too used to thinking aloud, apparently.

It's still comforting, even if it isn't always helpful. It meant someone was there. It reminded her that she wasn't alone.

"Well aside from the autopsy report and picture, I don't have much of any use to you I don't think. The security lady was more helpful than we thought but there were only a handful of employees there the day of, so we talked to 'em, looked around, and now we're takin' a comb to the woods on campus."

"Oldbag was helpful?" It's not like she was unhelpful when Maya talked to her, just...hard to talk to.

"She gave us donuts and coffee too! Which was good coz my wallet is gettin' a little empty." Poor Gumshoe. Apparently being a homicide detective didn't pay well. "But she gave us the photo, gave us her testimony, and even offered to come to court tomorrow!"

"Joy." She was going to have to cross-examine Oldbag. Yippee.

"Yeah, I think Prosecutor Edgeworth wasn't too keen on it neither."

"Of course he's prosecuting this one." He is a huge Steel Samurai fan, after all.

"He asked for it specifically, actually. That's the third one in so many months." Was that odd? Defense attorneys picked their cases for the most part. Was it different for prosecutors? "The first one was your case, the second was Mr. White, the third is this one. Usually he takes whatever Miss Chief Lana gives him or whatever his mentor thinks would look good. He doesn't have an opinion about cases so long as he gets his verdict, y'know?"

"I'm sure." If he—or Nick—heard her irritation, neither said a word about it. "I didn't know that was odd for prosecutors. Picking cases, I mean."

"It's not unheard of," Gumshoe clarified, "just unusual. Especially for him."

"Is Oldbag the only witness you have?"

"Now I can't tell you all Prosecutor Edgeworth's secrets, pal!" He laughed at her attempt to change the topic.

"Not even for me?" How far could she push him if she made the saddest face possible?

"You're an attorney, aren't you? Do attorney things! You're smart." Not very. Ah well, it was all in good fun. "Can't sell Prosecutor Edgeworth up the river or he'll dock my pay."

"Fair enough. Fair enough."

Nick had drifted over to what appeared to be a very large statue of a monkey with a top-knot that had fallen over and was busy inspecting that—but not so busy to not smile fondly about her antics.

"Studio One—the place where the murder took place—is technically closed off to everyone but the police but I left the door open for you. Don't tell Prosecutor Edgeworth though, okay pal?" That was becoming Gumshoe's catchphrase. Don't tell Prosecutor Edgeworth.

To be fair: she wasn't going to. It was really nice having someone on the inside. Made her feel powerful.

"You know I won't."

"Thanks, pal." Gumshoe scratched the back of his neck. "I, uh, gotta get back to work and all but hope your investigation goes well."

"Me too! Oh!" Her exclamation caused him to stop his slow, sheepish retreat towards the woods on campus. "Where do I go to give you back your bento box? It was really good."

Something strangely bright, like a child seeing a rainbow for the first time in their life, bloomed on his face. His hesitant expression was replaced with a bashful smile and he ducked his head down. "Oh, uh, you don't need to return the box or nuthin'. I have a million of 'em just sitting around from an old job I had. I'm just glad you liked it."

"It was really good food, Gumshoe. I needed that." It wasn't a tradition in Kurain but she knew the importance of it anyway, judging by how Nick had spent minutes staring at the bento like it was an offering on an altar. "I just don't want to keep the box if you don't have a lot. I've got enough myself."

"No, no, like I said: I got plenty, pal." Resolute and firm, Gumshoe refused a second time. "It's just a clear disposable container anyway. Nuthin' special."

Alright. "Okay then. Maybe we can get lunch or something after this case is done with. My treat?" She'd always wanted to say that.

He blanched and blushed, the colors rapidly cycling like Christmas lights. "I - I couldn't!"

"I insist."

"But—"

"Gumshoe, c'mon! Let me use my paycheck for something other than clothes and bills! Please? Being independent sucks because it's no fun!"

Gumshoe crumpled like a bad house of cards. "Fine. You got a place in mind?"

"Burger joint I'm a regular at. Me and Mia went every time I came around." Against all odds, mentioning Mia in this context didn't hurt. It's not as if the grief was any smaller, just that talking about her habits and little idiosyncrasies didn't feel like she was cracking her ribs open like an oyster shell.

(It was different compared to the mundane emptiness of missing her, the agonies of wanting to make a joke at her expense and her not being there. Telling people 'my sister did this or that' was a statement, a simple fact. Every inch of her apartment was a minefield but work, at a murder scene no less, was safe for some reason. Grief was a persistence predator. Work was a steady clip to keep her ahead. She'd go home and be caught in its jaws but for now she would take the yearning in place of vacuous loss.)

Gumshoe's expression softened. It was something between pity and understanding, sympathy and empathy. He had to be holding himself back from reaching out to comfort her. Otherwise, why would he look like that? "Sounds good."

She didn't try to keep him there, trapped in a conversation going nowhere. They were both adults! They both had jobs to do—even if it was a novel concept even now. "Good luck!"

Maya turned on her heels and walked to where Phoenix was poking around by the fork in the pathway, trying her best to not run away from the weird emotions nipping at her heels. To keep her hands busy, she folded Hammer's autopsy like she'd done to Mia's and put it in the inside breast pocket of her new jacket. Nick was inside the severed head of the monkey mascot, whatever he might have been saying echoing inside the plaster or concrete of the head.

Maya knocked her hand against the head, wincing at the flash of pain that spattered starbursts across her knuckles. Concrete. Ow. "Nick? Gumshoe left."

"Okay?" If she wasn't used to seeing him half-inside of objects, she might have lost it at the comedy of his head resting on top of the concrete—and probably rebar among other things—monkey head. "Get anything good?"

"Nothing you didn't see. Oh, but he did say that I had his permission to poke around the crime scene, so long as I didn't tell Prosecutor Edgeworth." She leaned against the monkey head. "So what'd you find out inside that?"

"Well, it's a clock, for one." Nick leaned forward, resting his elbows on the sign it's body was holding that directed people to the studio lots. "You wouldn't be able to tell unless it was working or if you were inside it."

"Please don't let this be the actual murder weapon." It was only a joke but, between what she'd learned about the Thinker clock and Mia's death, she wasn't taking any chances.

Nick might've understood what she was getting at but he still managed to sound almost put-off as he replied. "Unless the top-knot of this monkey is secretly a bladed weapon, I think we've finally broken our weird clock-as-murder-weapon streak. It's a digital clock, same as the Thinker, and also it looks too heavy for a person to lift without assistance."

Maya crouched, dug her fingers under the chin of the monkey, and tried to lift it.

When she gave up, face a brilliant scarlet, ears ringing for the effort, Nick was giggling. "Like I said."

"Okay, digital clock, super heavy, anything else?"

If he cared that she was pouting at him, he didn't show it. "Well it took out a tree and blocked this whole path here." He gestured with one hand at the pathway leading to Studio Two. The dense foliage and concrete monkey's head made it impossible for her to see farther down the pathway. Even the railings on either side of the paths were crumpled like tinfoil beneath the weight of them both. "So it's unlikely that anyone was going to or from that studio during the time it was down."

"Do you have a way to know when that was?"

"Ask Oldbag." Yeah, she was afraid of that.

"Anything else?" The way Nick was grinning at her made her think the answer was 'no'. "Guess we'll never know."

"Coward."

"I value my time." Maya looked at the sign directing people to the two studio lots. Studio One, where the murder took place. Studio Two, likely cut off from the rest of the campus by any conventional means. The employee area, where Will Powers was taking a nap. A photograph showing the Steel Samurai heading towards the studio lots from the employee area at two pm.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

She startled when he spoke, glaring daggers up at him. "I was thinking about the security photograph."

"What about it?"

"It was from that camera, right?" She indicated the camera he had been studying earlier, the one by the welcome arch. "But it's not definitive evidence, just someone in the Steel Samurai costume, with the Samurai Spear and everything, heading towards the studio lots. Everyone keeps saying Will Powers did it though."

Nick sighed through his teeth and floated down so he was standing next to Maya. "Welcome to law enforcement. With trials the way they are, it's guilty until proven innocent and first seen, first arrested. You've seen how biased and bad it can get, and White was an outlier. Not every trial has some secret mastermind behind them but almost every trial is going to be an uphill battle. It's just...how the law is right now."

"I've said it once and I'll say it again: this sucks." Maybe it was petulant but—

"You're right." Oh, yeah...Nick had been the defendant of a trial when he died, hadn't he? If anyone understood, it was him.

Maya pulled the photo print from her sash and unfolded it, studying it closely. It really was someone in the Steel Samurai costume walking on camera. It seemed almost staged, their hold on the Samurai Spear unnatural, their entire torso angled so the camera would see it all. On the back of the print it read: ST1-307 – Oct 15, 2:00 PM, Photo #2.

"Two?"

"It comes after one."

Maya shot him a flat, unamused glare. "No, I mean: this is the second photo?"

"I think the camera is motion activated. It probably grabs shots of everyone who passes it." It was a solid theory.

"But two?"

"Oh, like 'where is photo one'?"

"Yes."

"No clue." Super helpful, Nick. "But we can use that, I'm sure. If there were two photos taken, one before this one, then we can assume someone else wandered in and around. And in full view of the camera, so we can rule out someone sneaking around in the woods."

"They were doing action scenes early in the morning, then they were supposed to do the rehearsal in the afternoon. Between the action scenes and the murder, everyone should have been in the employee area, right?" She met Nick's eyes as she spoke, hoping he understood what she was getting at. Judging by the way he was gaping in surprise, he did. "That could be the real murder!"

"Or an unrelated and mysterious third party?"

"Who could be the murderer!" It's not like every murder was some kind of locked room nonsense. People could walk in and out of public areas—private areas too. Third party didn't mean unrelated, if April May and Redd White were anything to go by.

"Possibly." Nick frowned in thought. "So what next, Maya?"

"Uh..." They had two options, really. Either check out the employee area or the murder scene. Probably both. "Well it depends on what we should do first."

"First?"

"The thing before second." Turnabout is fair play.

"Ha ha." He was unamused. Sucks to suck. "What I was asking was: how many options do we have?"

"Two; the scene of the murder and the employee area."

"Then how about this: you go check out Studio One and I'll poke about in the employee area to see if I can find anything useful. In the off chance it's a physical piece of evidence or something we might want to...hold on to," steal for later, "I can tell you where it is so you don't waste your time rummaging through the garbage."

"Is looking in the trash a regular occurrence?"

Nick's face drew into a pitying grimace. "More than you'd expect but less than doing it for fun and profit."

"Weird." Maya tried to imagine her sister rummaging in the trash and couldn't. The two disparate ideas wouldn't reconcile into a single occurrence. "But that sounds good! I'm gonna try and be super thorough when I look at the crime scene so come to me when you're done, okay?"

He flashed her an 'okay' hand sign. "Will do. Don't die."

"I don't plan on it."

"Usually you don't." Even though his tone was light and airy, there was something tense and choking in his chest. She felt it slam into her own heart and wrap tendrils around it, squeezing and sharp.

Like the last time he said it, he wasn't joking. Not entirely.

People don't usually plan on dying.

Then they parted ways. ——— Studio One was a large warehouse-like building with a single entrance accessible by foot traffic. Maya was surprised to see that the door, while it had a card reader on it to prevent unauthorized entry, was propped open with a re-sealed can of brilliant jade high-gloss paint. That must've been what Gumshoe meant when he said 'I left the door open for you'. No wonder he didn't want Prosecutor Edgeworth finding out. If someone else had taken advantage of the open door, he'd be in massive trouble. As she entered the studio, she moved the paint can inside so nobody else could get in without a keycard.

Now nobody would know what Gumshoe'd done.

Normally, the idea of being inside the area where rehearsals and filming for Steel Samurai took place would have sent Maya into a hyperventilating spiral of delight but...

White tape outlined the place where a man had died. There was no blood—it's likely the costume absorbed all of it—but little white markers pointed to where the weapon had to have been. Cameras pointed towards a backdrop of Mt. Neo Fujiyama against the brilliant midday sky, framing the scene like the finale of the show in its entirety.

The Evil Magistrate was dead! All of Neo Olde Tokyo can rest easy! The Steel Samurai has done it!

He's dead! He's dead!

He's dead!

(She can't pull her wrists too far apart. The cold metal bites, the fangs of the law around her hands and she knows if she doesn't keep fighting she's going to be dragged to hell with words and money. Iron floods her nose and the raw skin on her cheek aches against the cold. She wants to cry but there's someone there, wailing for her, crying for all her own emotions are trapped in her chest.)

(Mia is laying there, slumped. Surrounding her is a puddle of blood, white tape framing her like rim-lighting, the glass from the light stand a shotgun impact mark. Her dead, sightless gaze catches Maya's own and she opens her mouth to admonish her, ask why she didn't save her, why she didn't show up sooner and—)

"—miss? Miss?! Are you—?"

(There are two ghosts holding on to Maya's hands, their grip steel and iron claws vicious and restricting. Her sister—her sister dead and gone and dead and not gone and she never channeled her but if she did she'd be so disappointed and Maya couldn't talk to her anyway and—screaming and wailing, her other hand phased into Maya's chest clutching and squeezing her heart to stop it in its tracks. The other is someone she doesn't know—Nick Nick Nick who is her friend her lifesaver an anchor to reality it's Nick look it's Nick he's here to help he's—and his sightless eyes bore holes in her head as his own agony amplifies her own.)

(Her sister is being attacked and she can't move her hands too far apart and she wants to help but everyone's eyes mark her as a killer. No one will help her but the dead. No one cares but the dead. All she has are the dead. She's dying she's dying she's—)

"—in, hold, out. C'mon now, Maya, breathe!"

(Eyes like flood-lamps, like spotlights, derision and judgment burning blisters against her skin. Paper crumpled in her fist as she spits bullets of black and white reasoning across a battlefield. Stop looking at me! Stop it! Please stop! I didn't do it!)

(She can't afford to be anything other than angry. If she stops being angry she'll crumple in on herself like a dying star. She can't rest until the killer is caught but he smiles at her like he's won and all she can see is white tape and blood and blank eyes and blood and blood and blood.)

(She wants him dead. She wants him to suffer.)

(She's suffering.)

"—there we go, slow and deep. You've got this."

"Do I need to get someone, miss?"

Two people, one familiar and one not, were talking to her. The familiar voice—Nick, it's Nick, and he sounded so worried for her? Why was he worried for her?—was instructing her to breathe. She followed his instructions, suddenly aware of how hard her heart was hammering and how much of her hearing was being consumed by a shrieking ringing noise.

The other voice, the unfamiliar one, was also worried for her but in a more impersonal way. "Uh, I don't know if we have anything that can help and they never trained me on this! Um...uh..."

She needed to assure this poor person that she wasn't dying, that she was going to be alright. Her mouth worked around the words, lungs filling with enough air she could say things again, and she managed to wheeze out, "Don't—" The rest of what she wanted to express—don't worry about me, I'll be fine—died on her tongue. She didn't have the energy yet. She needed a little bit longer.

"Oh!" Maya's vision swam, the blue of Mt. Neo Fujiyama leaving blurry streaks across the face of the other person. She couldn't make out details just yet. "You're okay! That's - that's great!" The poor person sounded like they were about to cry.

"In, hold, out." Nick hadn't stopped coaching Maya's breathing. He just continued on, uninterrupted. She focused on his words, closing her eyes, and breathed. And breathed. And breathed.

When she opened her eyes again, everything was back to normal.

Admittedly, she was on the ground—which was concerning, but her head didn't hurt so she probably didn't fall over—and her mouth was simultaneously dry as cotton and full of weirdly sweet and sticky spit, but she wasn't...whatever that was.

If grief was touching an active heating coil, whatever had just happened was sticking a fork into a toaster. Overall a terrible experience that sapped the strength from every part of her.

"Th—" Maya started to say. Her tongues stuck to the back of her teeth so she took a second and tried again. "Thanks."

"I'm just glad you're alright." The other person—the worried stranger—was crouching nearby, her eyes wide behind her large, round glasses. She looked maybe Maya's age, dressed in a striped shirt with a camo cargo vest on. Her fingers were covered in bandages of one kind or another but she didn't seem to be having issues in spite of that, like she was used to it. "You really worried me there."

"Didn't mean to." Maya was talking to both of them, Nick close enough she could feel the cool tingle of him against the nape of her neck. "I just...didn't expect to react like that."

The girl's expression twisted in sympathy and she fiddled with her ponytail. "Yeah. It's pretty bad. Or, was."

Maya took another moment before she tried to stand up, her legs threatening to give out under her. She leaned against a folding table for support and continued to meter her breathing. "Uh, sorry, I'm Maya. I'm Will Powers' attorney."

The girl's face lit up at that. "Oh! You're taking care of WP! That's good. I was worried." WP? "I'm Penny. Penny Nichols. I'm an assistant on Steel Samurai."

Maya considered bowing to her but Nick interjected. "Don't. You might pass out."

Instead she smiled and inclined her head. "Pleased to meet you Nichols-san."

Penny Nichols blushed so hard her freckles popped against her pink skin. "No no no, you don't have to be so polite! Like I said: I'm just an assistant. I make props and things! I'm just Penny!"

Whoops. Too formal. Time to diffuse the situation. "Okay, just Penny." Judging by the startled laugh that got out of the assistant, it was the right call. "Again: I'm really sorry about...that."

"It's fine!" Judging by the way her voice cracked, it was not fine in the slightest. Penny might've been close to joining her if she hadn't snapped out of it. "I thought something had happened or someone else had attacked you and I was about to call security."

Nobody wanted that, it seemed.

"I'm better now. Glad you held off, though." Going from that to Oldbag would've been...hell, probably. "Uh, anyway, do you mind if I ask you a few questions Penny?"

"Straight to work out of a panic attack." It was hard to tell if Nick was impressed or upset with her. Either could be true. She hoped he could tell from her expression that she was fine right now, stop worrying.

(Be Mia. Be Mia.)

"I already talked to the police but yeah! Anything for WP."

"You keep saying that. WP. Who is that?" Context clues probably should have keyed her in but her thoughts were still prickly around the edges so forgive her if she didn't put one and one together.

"Oh! WP is Will Powers. He's...," Penny tried to find the right words, fiddling with her vest zipper, "He's a sweetheart but 'Will Powers' is a mouthful. It's how he's registered in the actor's guild so I want to be polite and all, hence the abbreviation. He says it's fine." She stumbled over her words, tripping all the way to the conclusion. For someone who worked with stars, she sure didn't act like it.

Judging by the way he had reacted when Maya called him 'Powers-san', he was content with however people wanted to call him. "Oh, okay. That makes sense."

Penny nodded, her ponytail slapping her shoulder. "WP didn't do it. I know he didn't."

"Me too. That's why I took his case."

"I'm so glad! It's nice to know he has someone looking out for him, considering."

"Likewise." Wait, hold on. "Considering?"

Penny's eyes widened behind her glasses. "Oh! I don't mean—that is..."

"I'm not trying to pry." Maya tried to alleviate her discomfort. "That's just the second time someone has mentioned something about Will Powers and Jack Hammer, or something like it. I was just curious."

Penny's expression shuttered, her concern masked with stark disapproval. "Oh, I'll bet you heard that WP and Mr. Jack didn't like each other, didn't you? I've been trying to squash those rumors on the forums for months. It's such a mess."

Forums? Wait, was she big on the forums? Did she do official social media for Steel Samurai or was it a hobby thing? "Not quite, though I wouldn't expect you to be on the forums."

She hadn't meant to let that slip, judging by how flushed she got. Penny carded her fingers through her ponytail and stared through Nick—whom she didn't know was there—in an attempt to not look at Maya. "Oh, uh, I mean...look, it's not like it's official..."

"Do I look like a cop?" Wait, she was a lawyer. "Or a narc?"

"Where did you learn 'narc'?" That word choice apparently amused Phoenix to no end.

"No?"

Maya shrugged. "I took the case because I'm a fan myself. What you do with your time is your business and, unless it directly impacts my investigation or if it would harm or aid my cause, I'm not worried about it. Besides: it's a stupid rumor mill echo chamber anyway. Like the whole thing about the moon being an ancient ayakashi egg. It's the moon! There are sapient rabbits up there! There's no reason to also make it an ancient ayakashi egg! That'd be overkill and, for all that the show can be a bit much, that's too much."

That was the right thing to say, it seemed, because Penny immediately started nodding so hard Maya was worried her glasses would fall off. "Right?! Do they not understand that there's a rhyme and reason to the mythos of the show? Making the moon an ancient ayakashi egg would throw off the whole point of the Mutant Moon Rabbits and the Moon Rabbit Kingdom!"

Penny was like her! Penny was a huge nerd just like her! That more than made up for the panic attack she just had. They should exchange numbers to talk about Steel Samurai stuff.

"Earth to moon rabbit," Nick called out, pulling her away from her imaginary conversations with her new Steel Samurai fan friend. "The case?"

Right. The case. "Sorry, that was off-topic. Uh, right," Maya cleared her throat and tried to be Mia for a bit, "so what were you doing the day of the...murder?" She tried to keep from looking at the outline of the body so she didn't panic again. That shade of white made her itch.

Penny also tried to go back to being professional, though she was grinning a mile a minute. "Right, uh, that day. So I was doing set work, like usual. The action sequence run-through was for early in the morning so that there could be a break before rehearsals so I was mostly prepping the scenes."

"Just her?"

"Are you the only assistant Global Studios has?" Maya tried to not sound pitying but she apparently did a bad job, judging by how Penny flinched.

"The studio isn't doing...great. Don't get me wrong: Steel Samurai is more popular than ever, it's just...not enough to hire a lot of staff. I'm set assistant, prop department, and gaffer. I don't do active lighting all the time—we have programs for that—but there's very little on set I don't—or can't—do, so I'm busy most days. Especially shoot days." That explained the bandages on her fingers.

"Was everyone there for the action scenes or just Hammer, Powers, and the relevant staff?" Did they need the crowd and suit extras or just the Steel Samurai and the Evil Magistrate?

"Staff that day was WP, Mr. Jack, security, our producer, Sal, our cameraman, stunt coordinator, and myself." Penny ticked each person on her fingers as she talked. "Most of our extras had filmed their scenes for the next batch of episodes days before so we only needed the big players. Off record: there's been layoffs so the whole place is running on a skeleton crew, myself included. The pay is good because it's more hours than I'd normally get, but it's exhausting. Every time I close my eyes I see the sets I've painted."

"Yikes." What else could she say?

"Action run-through and then break, right?" Nick prompted. Right.

"So the action scenes in the morning, then lunch break while staff set up for the rehearsal, right?"

Penny nodded. "Everyone took lunch in the employee area. After lunch, WP went to his dressing room and I got super busy making sure markers were put down and everything looked good and was greased and ready to go for rehearsal. I was actually patching some of the bit-part suits and running laundry when they found the body." Busy bee.

"There's remnants of t-bone steak all over the employee area," Nick corroborated. "Global Studio seems to cater its meals on shoot days. They haven't cleaned them up, either, but that's probably on the police's orders. Don't touch anything, and all." Good information to have.

"You said Will Powers went to his dressing room after lunch?" Maya got a nod in response. "Did you see him any time after that?" That was a shake. "Did you check to see if he was asleep?"

That actually made Penny blush. "No! He's one of the big names, the important ones! I know he's pretty cool and all but you don't go busting into someone's personal dressing room like that! It's improper."

"To her credit, and his, there's a bed in the dressing room. It's small, barely a cot, but it's unmade and messy. He absolutely was sleeping after lunch." That was a relief.

"Understandable!" Maya laughed. "I think I'd've done the same. I'm just asking to make sure I have the facts straight."

"I understand." Penny went back to fiddling with her vest zipper. "I just...you know how it is."

"I really do." They were, after all, kindred spirits. "And you're certain nobody else was around during that time? The run-through and before the body was found?" Best to check for her mysterious unrelated third party.

Penny looked strangely on-edge when she asked that. She kept glancing between an open grate on the floor and Maya herself, chewing on her lower lip. When she finally spoke again, she seemed to be choosing her words carefully. "I didn't see anyone else but..."

"But?"

"Well, I...sensed? Someone?" She shifted in place a bit. "I know it sounds silly but there's only so many people here and you get used to their noise and presence and all—"

"Oh I get that, believe me." A village of people, everyone knowing everyone, and a manor with only three residents in it. Nightingale floorboards and the sounds of the forest outside. Screaming cicadas and crickets and owls. Wandering a mostly-empty street but knowing there's a tourist in town because the rhythm of everything was off. "You didn't see them, though?"

"Whoever it was kept out of sight." Penny actively looked at the grate this time. "We get, uh, kids coming in from time to time because, y'know." The Steel Samurai's demographic. The inverse bell graph. "But I don't recall seeing anyone, no."

"I assume that's what's up with the cops searching the woods? The whole...fans situation?"

"Couldn't tell you." Penny frowned. "Not that any of them would be here today. School day."

"Has that ever stopped a fan before?" Maya joked, knowing full well the answer.

"No." At least Penny got the joke.

Speaking of. "That grate—"

"Yeah." She sounded somewhat resigned. "Security keeps demanding I close it because it's a hazard and also the kids keep littering but Sal..."

"I assume he's telling you otherwise?" Maya hazarded.

Penny looked like she swallowed something sour. "'Free publicity,' he says." She plugged her nose and, probably imitating Sal Manella, continued, "'The kids tell their friends they saw the Steel Samurai fighting the new bad guy and more people watch. Even if we aren't making as much on tours, our numbers look great. Win-win.' I think he just is living out his childhood dreams vicariously through them."

Maya thought back to Oldbag mentioning Sal Manella and cease and desist orders. She grimaced. "Probably, but he's not wrong."

Even though it looked like it pained her to say it, Penny agreed. "He's not wrong. The problem is: I'm more scared of security than I am in agreement with Sal so...I'm boarding this up later today. I sure hope nobody gets too upset by it."

"You're just doing your job." Unfortunately for everyone, Maya had run out of questions to ask.

Penny seemed to pick up on that because she had a question for Maya. "Is he doing alright? WP, I mean."

"Oh, uh, I mean...he's okay?" He seemed nervous but that was likely just how he was. "The detention center isn't a great place to be but they're pretty...tolerable." It suddenly occurred to her that she really didn't want Penny to ask how she knew that. "He seemed...he was happy? Relieved? That I had taken his case—believed in him."

"Good." Penny's response was surprisingly firm. "WP needs people in his corner. He's a good guy."

"He didn't do it," Maya stated again. Penny nodded in agreement. "Besides, the Steel Samurai is a warrior of justice, not evil."

"Powers isn't the Steel Samurai," Nick pointed out. "You can't make judgment calls based on predisposed notions you have regarding someone's character. Especially if it's an actual character."

Maya chose to ignore him for now. "You want to exchange phone numbers? I'd love to chat about Steel Samurai if you have the time!"

"Sure!" Penny pulled out her phone and the two quickly sent an SMS to each other. She beamed at Maya, the happiness tinged with tired optimism. "Let me know how the trial goes? I won't be able to take off."

"I will." Wow, working a labor job sure seemed like it sucked. "Thanks for all the help! Sorry about freaking you out."

"It's good!" And somehow, Maya knew she meant that.

Leaving Studio One, Maya and Nick headed towards the front entrance so they could catch the next bus back to the Office to organize what information they had. Maya was thinking about the missing first picture and Will Powers' alibi and Oldbag and how people seemed to think Powers and Hammer actually disliked each other.

That's why she didn't hear Nick until he cleared his throat and repeated himself a little louder. "You can't just decide that your client is innocent based on your emotional leaning."

That seemed a little hypocritical. "What?"

"You equated Powers to his character, the Steel Samurai. Because the Steel Samurai is a noble warrior of justice, Powers can't have killed Hammer. That's a false equivalency. You can't do that in court. They'll rip you apart." He was trying to help her. She knew that. It's just—

"Aren't I supposed to trust my client? That's an emotional leaning!"

Nick flinched as if struck. "That's not the same thing."

"No, I know it's not, I'm just pointing out that I'm not...I don't actually think Will Powers is the Steel Samurai. I actually believe in him. I just also..." Shame curled around her ears and cheeks and nape, flushing her skin on contact.

"Yeah." Nick let out a long-suffering sigh. "All I meant was: remember to watch how you say things, especially in a high-profile case like this one. If the prosecution doesn't rip you to shreds, the media will. There won't be anything left over."

They both were kinda bad at talking to people, huh? Maya stifled an amused laugh with a cough. "I get it. I'll try and be smart in court tomorrow."

"That's all I'm asking." And wasn't that comforting? Knowing someone was there without strings attached, at her side every step of the way? "Do you think you're prepared?"

"I think I've got the basis of a good defense. Barring something truly heinous or, I don't know, Will Powers choosing to confess and plead guilty, I'll be fine. It's not my first rodeo."

"You're right." That teasing lilt returned to Nick's voice and he grinned at her. "It's your second."

"And I'm only getting stronger and more formidable every time!" They passed beneath the welcome arch, the feeling of the security camera taking a snapshot prickling against the back of her neck. "Prosecutor Edgeworth better watch himself."

"I think he's learned to not underestimate you already."

"And he's gonna learn I'm a certified powerhouse!" Maya cackled. "I can't wait."

"Just remember that this is about our client, not your grudge."

No, that was fair. She needed that reminder from time to time. "He's innocent and I'm gonna prove it."

"I can't wait." Neither could she.

[caitlynmeow]

The next chapter is a little delayed because i'm reading Kingdom of Ash and the way I'm invested and hurting while reading this THICC book is not funny you guys

like for real i'm either giggling or sobbing there is no between so while I'm dealing with this my writing activities are not very present :(

[floorpancakes]

i may or may not be cooking here but the main holic cast minus yuuko are lowkey 25ji coded. yuuko is like their hatsune miku lowkey. 25ji but its run by lumi and everyone serves cunt at all times because its like highly elaborate instead of an empty void

[readingwriter92]

My phone tabs situation is getting untenable again so I’m scrolling back thru fics I got open to see if there’s any I wanna finish

First thing I decide to open? Bsd your lie in April au. I left unread with three chapters left. And it’s so well fucking written but. Ooooof

[a-chilly-pepper]

whose idea was it to put all of my mock exams in two days

[madamechrissy]

Baby You're a Star

Art in the banner by Kerravi on x!

Pairings- Pornstar Satoru x shy f!reader

Summary- You meet Satoru Gojo at a wild Hollywood party, insanely out of place, waiting for your friend to show up. The two of you hit it off, spending time together, and share a kiss, but you're a good girl, and you just don't do this, but he is the top pornstar there is, and the top .01 % on OnlyFans. Once you find out, you know there's probably no match, as Satoru doesn't date, and you don't sleep around, but after meeting, you keep in touch- and soon Satoru can't get hard without thinking of you, and you get over curious, and join a livestream of the boy you like. Just how will that go for you both!?

Warnings- This has a LOT going on, heed the warnings - filming porn, oral (f receiving) spit kink, creampie, cum swallowing, multiple rounds, biting, back shots, SO MUCH jealousy especially from Satoru, honestly this situation is toxic be warned, say hi to Nanami and maybe kiss him? Obsessed whipped ass Gojo, he's becoming a little yandere, this chap is ANGSTY asf, mutual pining, idiots clearly in love but stupid asf, MESSY WC this chap- 13.8k (Monster chap my god)

A/N- Taglist closed- Happy Mother's day to me and all the moms have some smut and angst lol - please comment/rb if you enjoy <3

<<<Chapter Three - Masterlist- Playlist- Chapter Five>>> (coming soon)

Chapter Four

How could you get it off your mind?

Sitting at your desk in a lull at work, your fingertips trail down the side of your neck, lashes fluttering as you remember Satoru planting firm kisses across it, the memory itself makes your tummy clench with hot desire, goosebumps rising as your fingers dance along it. Remembering his teeth sinking in as he shoved his thick cock so deep, burying it inside you.

Remembering how he cleaned you up, kissing your breasts where he’d sucked and bitten like little apologies, his boyish smile as he whispered his little ‘sorry’ murmurs along your skin. The thorough way he’d lavished your body in his shower that night, how he washed and conditioned your hair, rinsing it until it was as silky as your hair has ever been with whatever fancy products he had.

He’d made sure you had breakfast, taken you down the elevator and made sure you got in the car okay - fuck he called and texted later that night just to check on you. There was no mistaking Satoru was perfect when it came to fucking, but also above and beyond with the aftercare, but that made it all even worse for you.

Cumming with him was intoxicating, it was fucking insane, but moreso the sweetness of him, the thoughtfulness, that’s what sunk deep into your veins, in an unmistakable rhythm just whispering over and over in your mind. The days without him have only shoved the reality further down your throat - that you think you’re falling in love with him.

Are you just foolish?

You’re always led by these deep fucking feelings, you don’t think before you plunge or follow them, either. Yet, there was no other explanation for it, for what you feel when you’re under him, from what you feel when he kisses you, far beyond your cunt drooling - god, it squirted - down his cock, or his mouth, or his fingers. Far beyond being appreciative of his aftercare.

It was all too much.

So much, you’ve turned down coming back over for days, as you’re still so fucking disoriented and confused, you can’t separate sex like Satoru does, like Jenna does. You wish you had the ability, to let go and have fun - and not full of a fucking inner turmoil while your cervix is being kissed by the prettiest pink tip. You wish you could take it for what it is, and not crave more.

Selfish, maybe you were selfish?

Foolish and selfish for carrying on knowing better.

You hadn’t texted him back yet today, you don’t know how to be casual in your messages, not when you remember his arms around you in your sleep, not when you crave their warmth. You have a life and a career to focus on, you can’t let him consume all your waking thoughts, fantasies of him wanting more, of him asking you to be with him flitting like day dreams. 

“Miss…” Your attention is drawn as a colleague says your name, knocking on your open door then. “A potential client is here, are you available?”

“Oh, yes. Sure!” You shake yourself out of it, smiling and then faltering as you see him, right in your office, and the secretary walks off, whispering about the handsome, tall white haired man to her friend, earning giggles as Satoru stands there, drop dead fucking gorgeous in front of you.

“No greeting, kinda rude pookie.” He says with a little playful smile, stepping further inside your office now, as you try to gather any of your wits.

“Satoru? What are you doing here?” You ask softly, curious how he knows exactly where you work, aside from maybe seeing it on your socials.

Satoru Gojo is standing right in front of your desk with a grin on his face, hands in the pockets of his dark jeans, white dress shirt unbuttoned just two little rows, revealing some of his well muscled chest, where that necklace he always wears lays flat. He’s got on black, round shades, blue eyes glinting as the floor to ceiling window shines light in your office, filtering around his frame.

The man looks unfairly good.

“Well, sweets, I really need a good OF banner and some promo pictures all done for me, thought I’d come here. Support your hustle, since you support mine.” He smirks a bit as he speaks, sauntering closer, hands now resting on either side of your desk, the veins popping out of his forearms and drawing your attention. “You’re the best at it, aren’t you?”

“Oh I doubt all that, but I can definitely help you.” You stand up now too, and Satoru sees your cute little work outfit, a pretty blouse he’d like to rip off you, a pencil skirt that he’s aching to see from the back, and a little belt to cinch it. Your glasses match your blouse today, he has to wonder how many pairs you have, these have this cute little cat eye shape to them.

You bend over in front of him, giving his eyes just the view he was dying for, before pulling one of the gray office chairs over next to you, patting it with a soft smile at him. “I get to see it in action?”

“You do, come on.” He sits next to you, arms resting casually, while you cross one leg over the other and start typing away on your keyboard, clicking that mouse and pulling up your program, trying to ignore how good he smells, his cologne so familiar and intoxicating, filling your little office then.

“Look at you, so professional. So cute.” He teases softly, a hand brushing against your bare thigh then, making you clench them together and shift, biting on that lower lip at the sensations.

It’s been a few days since you were under him, but the thoughts wrack through your fucking mind every night before bed, several times throughout the day, cunt responding right along with your nipples pressing against your bra. Just one brush of his fingers and you come undone, you can’t stand how deeply little things affect you from him.

You have to focus.

“What all were you thinking?” You murmur softly, he hums to himself a bit, looking at his phone now, still not removing his hand, burning your skin casually while he scrolls, leaning back in the seat.

“You did the one for Jenna, right?” You nod, and he pulls it up, it’s all brightly lit with a neon glow, Jenna’s in the sexiest little outfit, little kisses covering around her body. “It’s really cute.”

“Thanks, I loved doing that one. So we will need a somewhat safe photo, they do have banner guidelines.”

“Yeah, I think I have some, help me pick?” You nod, leaning close as he scrolls, your shoulders brushing together, he can feel your heat even mid thigh, thumb running in tantalizing little circles as he scrolls through his photos.

You blush furiously at some of them, some are his cock, covered in cum, some are of him fully nude, others he’s precariously got something barely covering his cock. “You have a lot of photos, Satoru.”

“Part of the job I guess.” You sigh, as he keeps scrolling, pulling up a couple photos where he’s laying on the bed.

“Those are really good, email a couple to me?” You hand him the business card with your personal email, he types it in, removing his hand and allowing you a breath, as you pull up your email on one of your monitors, you catch Nanami talking to one of your coworkers and eyeing you with a smile, which you return with a wave.

Satoru glares at you as you do, he’s showing you him half naked and you wanna wave your cute little fingers at the boring business guy? Who is smirking at you again, and boy does Satoru wanna wipe that smirk off his face. He clears his throat then, earning your attention finally, you look at him curiously, blinking a bit, letting your hand fall.

“What’s wrong?” You ask, and he goes to just say it - he wants all your attention, just like he can’t help but give you all of his - but that’s fucking nuts.

You’re friends.

You’re his friend, a friend he wants to bend over this desk right now and fuck your insides up, have your pussy only know his shape and no one else’s. A friend who he jerks off too rather than focus on his career, who he has to picture to do anything, a friend he just had his cock deep inside the other day. A friend he wanted to bust inside and fill up till she couldn’t walk.

Maybe if he filled you with cum now, you wouldn’t giggle and smile at the blond dude giving Satoru a fucking side eye across your office, maybe you’d be so fucked out you wouldn’t give him the time of day. He throbs behind his boxers thinking of it, of cum drooling from your pretty little hole, all while you blink at him curiously, so fucking innocent and not knowing how you’re killing him.

“Satoru, you good?” You tease, as his jaw clenches, a thin blue vein popping out under his thin pale skin.

“Great, sweets, sorry. Want any of these?” He scrolls through the rest slowly, until you see pictures of Satoru with women, making you tense as he casually moves through. “They’re from a while ago,” he murmurs, but it doesn’t make you feel any better, seeing videos unplayed of certain shoots he’s done. “I usually post clips for the paid members and then charge them for the full vid.”

“Right, no that makes sense.” You look away now, the sight of Satoru with someone makes you far too uncomfortable, and it shouldn’t. “Um, these in the email will do great.”

“Yeah?” He looks at you, feeling how tense you are next to him. “I’m sorry, did that make you… uncomfortable?”

“What!? No way. It’s so cool with me.” You smile brightly, but it doesn’t hit your eyes, even behind the glass where he can see his own reflection. “You know I’m still a little um… shy about that stuff. That’s all.”

“That’s all?” He repeats softly, and you give a quick nod.

“I’ll get more used to it helping you out, plus Suguru’s um… I think she’s his friend or co-star? She asked me to do a shoot and a design too.”

“Oh shit, look at you.” You smile again, relaxing a little. “You’re just diving into the industry.”

“I wouldn’t say all that,” you start expanding the photo on the computer, flustered at just how sexy he was, shirtless and glistening with sweat, vivid images smacking you of the other night. “I guess I am getting a little involved, though.”

“Yeah you are, oh, we made more money by the way.” He transfers it to your app then, and your eyes widen.

“That much!?”

He leans close, too fucking close, lips right against your ear, which are pounding with the rate your pulse is racing. “I told you, that pretty body is made for porn.”

You tremble just a bit, trying to focus, pulling away and taking a breath - you are at work. You can’t just be soaking wet next to a pornstar you have stupid feelings for, who’s eyeing you like you’re already naked, the way only he can ever. You try to gather yourself, clearing your throat and swiping away the screen, to think you made more in ten minutes with Satoru than a month at your job was ridiculous.

“I see why you enjoy the perks I guess of your business.” You say softly, still remembering those girls on his phone and hating how you feel. “Any shoots coming up for you?”

His jaw tenses once more, eyes bright as they study you. “You wanna do another shoot?”

“What!? No… I mean, no. I just meant… with someone else.” You stare at the screen, clacking away on your mouse as you start to add colors and overlays to the pretty banner.

“I got my manager to calm down a bit finally, so none currently, but… of course I will have shoots coming up eventually.” You hate how the thoughts rush, and he eyes you carefully. “Why do you ask?”

“Just making conversation while I do this.” You’re lying, through your fucking teeth, but you don’t want to fuck it up, being around him, being near him, with your feelings.

Your whole life is that - feeling so much, too much, for friends, family, strangers even. You were prone to donate even when you were broke because someone got your feelings, some people took advantage over the years of that kindness, but you never could guard yourself properly, not when it was a core part of who you were. Not when there was no other option for you but to care, and care deeply.

Does Satoru Gojo care?

Were you just a co-star to him now? A co-star and a friend?

What did you expect from this?

Too much.

“You’re very quiet, sweetheart, what’s on that smart mind of yours?” You look back over, his hand is back on your knee, he’s tilting his head just a bit, a heartbreakingly handsome face watching you.

“Sorry just a lot of thoughts in my head today, also I am a pretty quiet person at work especially,” you put a hand on his, squeezing gently and earning a quirk of his pouty lips. “With you I’m a little more open than usual.”

“I like that, you opening for me,” his murmur is too fucking seductive, and you’re sure he knows it as he studies the color dancing across your cheeks. “You open up so good for me too.”

“Do I?” His words are met with fingers slipping up between your thighs, you bite back a gasp as he touches you over the already damp cotton of your panties, thighs trapping his hand there involuntarily.

“Mmhmm, you’re a good girl, look at you,” his words are like silky, snowy lashes low over dilated eyes as he sighs just a bit, feeling your slick coat his fingertips. “Did she miss me already?”

“Did you miss me?” Your counter question makes him pause because fuck he missed you - but it terrifies him that it’s not just the sexual need, the desire, it’s so much more than that.

He did miss you in just a few days, your smile and your scent, your sweet little giggle and the way you pressed your glasses up your nose. The very energy near him that emanates from you, the way you look up at him like that, the way he feels near you. He craves it like no drug he’s ever tried, your taste and the way your skin feels, the cute little sighs you make.

He’s fighting the inevitable fact that you’ve already sunk deep, that he’s becoming obsessed with you, and he’s not sure you feel the same. Clearly you enjoy him too, but you’re no where near his level, you’re not looking his workplace up and finding him like he just did, no Satoru doesn’t even know what the fuck in possessing him lately.

All he knows is he needs you around him, near him, on him…

Wants to bury inside you but that’s not even enough.

A quiet knock sounds on the door as Nanami walks in with a silver tablet, smiling as he walks inside, barely acknowledging Satoru then. “Hey darling,"- Hey Darling - he's gonna hey darling his fucking face - "Could you check this one for me, I’d love your opinion.”

“Of course I can.” Satoru’s hand falls and his fists clench at his sides, as you lean over the desk, and your breasts spill just a bit from your neckline, he sees the hazel eyes darting down and up quickly, wanting to smack him for even looking at you. “Oh Kento, it's so good!”

“Kento?” Satoru asks softly, and Nanami clears his throat, smiling over at him like an annoyance.

“That’s my first name,” he says, Satoru glares over at you now, and you tilt your head curiously. “Something wrong?”

You call him Kento.

He does not like it.

“No, no, sorry, go ahead sweetheart, I’ll wait.” He purrs those words, winking up at you, scrolling back through his phone, zooming right in on the picture he took, his favorite, where you have cum painted all over your ass and pussy.

Kento would never fucking have that from his darling.

“Your designs are so good,” he says, shoulder to shoulder with you now as the two of you peer at some of your work. “You need to give me a little advice.”

“What, no you’re so good at everything! You’re just being sweet,” your teasing giggle infuriates him, he wants to snatch you up and show who the fuck you are under, who gets to be inside you - but he holds it in.

It’s absurd.

He’s being so stupid and the worst part is he knows, but when Nanami’s big hand brushes against your back, leaning closer and murmuring something, it takes everything in him not to crash the fuck out. He tries to remember what you two are - but what the fuck even are you both?

You’d probably want someone like this Kento dude, wouldn’t you? You’d want someone with a career like yours, who clearly wants something serious, some ‘gentleman’ or so he seems. Even though Satoru is pretty fucking sure dude is not a gentleman, judging by the way his fingertips slip down your spine before his hand falls finally.

That’s when Satoru realizes he’s been holding his fucking breath.

“Are we still on for tonight?” He asks then, and Satoru’s stomach twists in knots as he watches you, shifting a bit, your weight on one foot, you look at him for a moment, eyes unreadable.

Say something, Satoru.

You want him to, fuck you want him to, but you wonder if you’re delusional when his lips turn up at the corners, and you turn back to Kento now, clearing your throat. “Um of course, dinner at eight right?”

“Mmhmm, also thought maybe go grab drinks somewhere after? If you’re still up for that.”

“We’ll see, I do get sleepy.”

You weren’t sleepy at four in the morning riding his cock the other night.

“No worries love, sounds good.” He presses a little kiss on your knuckles, walking out now and shutting the door behind him with a resounding click, leaving you both in the now quiet of your office, no noise but the shuffling of seats as you sit back down next to him.

“Where ya going?” Satoru asks, feigning ease and putting down his phone, you tense a bit, flustered.

It feels wrong to go on a date with Nanami when you just were getting Satoru’s cum spurted all over your body, doesn’t it?

But you and Satoru are not together, and he’s made it fairly clear when he has turned down two opportunities to stop you from it, that perhaps he doesn’t care. You still plan to be open with Nanami about this, because you don’t think it’s right not to share that sort of thing, but to close yourself off completely to a potential match in life for just sex wasn’t something you think was good to do either.

It’s a mess. Your mind, your feelings, your heart.

“I don’t know where we’re going, he is picking me up.” Your answer makes Satoru’s jaw tense, eyes flashing for just a moment over the sunglasses that have slipped down his nose just a bit.

“Oh?” His question just lingers in the air between you both, while you bite on your lip, clicking a little more.

“Yes, somewhere nice he said but I guess it’s a surprise. Do you have any plans tonight?”

“We’re all supposed to go to a party, maybe you should swing by after your date with Kento.”

“I guess I could.” You wonder if you’re imagining the inflection in his voice and in his tone. “Does he rub you the wrong way or something?”

“Just… no, I just…” Satoru never stutters, he never falters, but he can’t think of any good fucking reason he is so upset, so angry about it. He clears his throat and settles back in the chair a bit. “Be careful, though, you know?”

“Are you so worried about me?” You peek at him, hair falling across your face, Satoru brushes it back for a moment, lips parting, aching to say it.

Don’t go.

But he has no right to do that to you, to ask you to come with him instead, to have you so weak and fucked out you wouldn’t make it to your stupid date. In fact he’d love to have cum pouring from your pretty pussy, just in case Nanami touched you at all, which he very much doubts. But if he did, the thought of him just fingering Satoru’s cum gives him a sick and possessive thrill.

“Maybe I do worry a bit.” But you should be most worried about him, he’s the one that is truly not good for you, and he knows it. But how the fuck does he stay away when you’re pulling him in like gravity?

“He seems to be a gentleman. I think I’ll be perfectly safe, but it’s nice to know you care a little.” Your soft voice breaks off, he glares now at you.

“Think I don’t at all?”

“I don’t know your feelings, Satoru. You don’t… say anything really about them.” He looks away again, because before all of this, Satoru was once ‘in love’ and that girl destroyed him.

She was a pornstar herself.

It’s why he got in the industry, but her games and lies had left their mark, he knew then he didn’t wanna feel that way - to be hurt like that. But what he feels for you is different, it’s too much to explain, the obsessive nature of his thoughts were just burning up his brain. But he doesn’t need to spill it all, to explain it all - especially when he doesn’t even know what to say.

You just sigh a bit at his silence, tilting your head this way and that, fingers clicking the mouse as you adjust everything, trying to avoid the tension. “Look, what do you think so far?”

“It looks great, sweetheart.”

“Yay!” Your cute little smile and how you push up those glasses almost end him then and there. “I’ll make a couple different so you can alternate them. Want me to send them to your email later?”

“That would be amazing, how much?”

“Oh please, don’t ask me that. It’s nothing.” He frowns a bit at you.

“It’s your job.”

“Still, you’re my…” You trail off, the tension so palpable in the room as he stares at you it’s difficult to breathe. “Friend. Um, friend and family rate applies.”

“I’ll pay full price, sweets.” He pats your head affectionately, standing then and sending you far too much money.

“Satoru!”

“What? I looked up your rates online.” You roll your eyes at him, then frown as you stand as well, and his hand drifts down your arm slowly, achingly slow, in a ‘friendly gesture if anyone could see, but it felt far more than friendly.

“How did you find my work by the way?”

“Socials showed the company, I figured it was the one closest to where you said you lived.” He shrugs, as if he didn’t do a deep dive into you, and found that fucking Kento guy on the company site too, he was apparently your ‘superior’ so it’s odd he’s asking you for help, too.

He can’t reveal just how much he cares, how upset you haven’t come back over, how your replies were a little too short, even if they were sweet. Because if he said all of that he’d look like a whole fucking idiot, if he said casually ‘hey, think I’m absolutely obsessed with you and my dick is otherwise broken’ what would your response be, to a guy you still barely knew?

He needed to try to keep some of his obsession shoved down.

“Oh of course, you are probably on IG huh?” You peek then, looking him up, eyes popping out. “Oh damn, you’re IG famous too.”

“They’re thirsty is all.” You smile a bit, scrolling and seeing his sexy photos with millions of fucking hearts and thousands of comments.

“I’ll follow you, I don’t know why I didn’t think of looking you up. I’m social media clueless I’m afraid. I have like three selfies, the rest is just all the things I bake.”

Your three pictures at awkward angles are the prettiest things Satoru has ever fucking seen.

Your manager walks in then, smiling over at you. “Meeting in thirty.”

“Oh, thanks!” Satoru sighs now, realizing he needed to leave, and you put a hand on his shoulder softly. “Thank you for coming in, I’ll have the rest of these done later.”

“No rush, and of course,” he leans down, pressing a kiss on your cheek, feeling it heat under his lips, sighing as his hand presses against the small of your back, where Nanami had touched, splaying the expanse of it and hearing your catch of breath. “If you want, come to the party after, hmm?”

“I might be too tired,” tired from what!? Satoru pulls you so tightly you wince, and he loosens his hold when he realizes. “But if not I’ll for sure come.”

“Be careful tonight, though will you… just tell me when you get home?” You pull back curiously, looking up into his unreadable blue gaze, nodding then, earning a more casual smile that seems forced. “Good. Have a good… day then.”

“Thank you, Satoru.” You press a kiss of your own on his cheek, on your tiptoes, that contact alone sends him, his eyes fluttering for a moment before he pulls back, slipping his sunglasses back up.

“Bye sweetheart.” He walks out, glaring as Nanami clacks away at his own keyboard, pressing his dark green shades down and smirking over at Satoru again, and he is even more firm in his opinion  - he thinks he hates that man, even if he doesn’t know shit about him.

Just having touched you is too much. When he’s in the back seat of the black car and his driver closes the partition, he can’t help but suck on his thumb, which has just the hint of your taste. He brushes it along his lower lip like a gloss, sighing at how good you taste. It takes him moments to try to calm his racing heart, palming his hardness and wincing.

All he can think of is you, constantly. It’s not getting any better since he had you cumming on his cock - it’s just gotten worse, the thoughts maddening, making anything else impossible to focus on. He peers at your photo in his phone, not just the one where he’s coated you in his cum, no it’s the one that’s just your pretty face when you’d been knocked out that morning.

He’s now a creep who takes photos of sleeping girls.

But you were so precious and peaceful, he had to capture it, craving you in his arms every night was even more palpable, as his thumb brushes down the cool glass of his phone, as if to trace that cheek. He can’t picture not having you again, but he also can’t picture how the fuck to be selfish enough to ruin your life with him.

******

The date with Nanami is perfect, as dates go.

He’s surprisingly so funny, he’s an avid listener, the two of you get along so well it’s easy being out together, taking nibbles of each other’s plates and sips of each other’s glasses of wine. His hand is on your thigh under the table cloth, he murmurs sweet little things in your ear, the two of you tease and gossip about the crazy people at your job.

It’s perfect, really. Nanami Kento is perfect, handsome and sweet, gentlemanly but he’s also not too gentlemanly, hazel eyes darting across your collarbones, where a pretty glittery necklace decorates it. His fingers brush up high on your inner thigh, his lips press against the shell of your ear, he’s too perfect. It’s too easy, the time just flies as you two spend time together.

Satoru texts you as Nanami goes to the bathroom, and you curse him internally, since he’s been in the back of your mind the whole fucking date. He’s texted you three times during the date, one is just a selfie, one is a little meme, and one is asking how it was going. You assumed he’d be busy with women all over him at the party, not texting you.

You get another asking for you to tell him when you’re home safe.

You like it too much, the attention, the messages, the fact that he thinks about you - but then you hate it, because all it was doing was forcing the obsession you so clearly have. Jenna told you not to lose yourself, she warned you, but you’re fearing you’re far, far past it all.

All you can think of is kissing him again.

His teases in the office left their mark, you found yourself aching in your shower after work, caving in and touching your puffy clit and sensitive cunt, whining out and leaning against those tiles, picturing his fingers instead. You’d been more frustrated than anything, unable to capture whatever it was he does to you.

You were never like this before you met him.

Satoru awakened a part of you, but if it was just a part of you and nothing else, then why weren’t you turned on by Nanami? He’s made you comfortable, you enjoy him, all the reasons you asked Satoru are right here, yet the thoughts don’t cross your mind, the feverish ones that consume you with Satoru - the filthy ones that make you blush as they dance across your mind.

You don’t write him back, you can’t focus if you do and it’s not fair to give Nanami a chance if you have that white-haired sex demon blurring your mind.

When the dinner is done, Nanami is driving you back home, a hand over yours, it’s nice and warm, as the two of you drive through the night, your hand grips his right back, entwining your fingers together. “Nanami, that was so fun!”

“I had a lot of fun too, doesn’t hurt you’re looking that gorgeous.” You giggle a bit, flustered now, as he pulls into your driveway and parks the car, still gently humming in the night.

“You look handsome too,” your little whisper is met with him unsnapping your seat belt for you, his cologne in your senses, musky and heady, you can’t help but inhale it. “And you smell so good.”

“Do I now?” You nod and he chuckles, cupping your face with his warm palm, a huge hand taking over the entirety of your face, your heart quickens at the contact as his hazel eyes dart to your lips.

You’d explained it all, the ‘friends with benefits’ thing that you suppose Satoru and you were. Nanami also has a similar situation, which instantly eased any sense of guilt, and his open mind surprised you, a lot of him surprised you, just how open he is when he seemed so ‘straight laced’ along with his touches, bold yet respectful.

You should be open to this.

What was the future with Satoru? More shoots in secret? Sneaking around and fucking in his penthouse and getting pampered after? Where was more - where were the dates where you weren’t ‘friends’ where you were his date. Where if a co star came up he ignored her politely, and if a man came up to you he firmly said ‘she is mine’.

It’s all a fucking fantasy is what it was.

Your eyes flutter shut, leaning forward and feeling Nanami’s exhale, as he presses his lips to yours, and it feels good, they’re firm and delicate in how they move across yours. Your lips part and his tongue sweeps inside, while your fingers grip his suit jacket, earning him dragging you closer against him, so big and overpowering yet so gentle.

It does feel good, tongues dancing against each other, his hand wrapping to your nape, entangling softly under where your hair is elegantly done up, drinking up your little sighs as you kiss. You feel delicate butterflies arise at it, but what you don’t feel is the insanity, the ridiculous need, the obsession you felt when Satoru had kissed you, touched you, fuck just that night when he blew smoke into your mouth.

You keep trying to explain it away, so you’re not hurt, so you won’t be so fucking hurt when he gets tired of you, but how can you get over this? When he was just at your office, fucking your mind up, making you soaked from his touch? How can you keep denying it, the irrevocable truth that you wish was not true.

Nanami’s hand trails down your waist now, and you moan softly, it feels good, when you’re overheated already, when the man clearly knows what he’s doing, breaking apart a bit to sigh, looking at you, his hand trailing down your thigh. “You taste so sweet, darling,” he whispers, making you flush even more. “And you’re so cute, you know that?”

“Oh, stop,” Yyu giggle again, gasping as he kisses down your neck, his hand slipping between your thighs. “Nanami…”

“You’re so hot there, fuck,” he’s moaning now, thumb toying with the elastic of your panties, making your thighs tense.

“Um, this is too fast, I’m sorry.” You whisper, easing back, seeing his lidded gaze now.

“I wasn’t going to… I was just going to please you.” He murmurs softly, sexy handsome face even sexier when he bites his lip. “I wasn’t going to do more than make you cum.”

“Oh… oh… I…” you trail off now, gently taking his hand and pressing a kiss to his palm, he tenses a bit, clearing his throat.

“I was way too forward, I’m so sorry.”

“No, no, it’s fine.” You ease his hand down, leaning forward and kissing the cleft on his chin.

If it was Satoru you’d have spread wide for him.

The frustration builds at this, your heart is hammering in your chest, it wasn’t just being comfortable with Satoru, it wasn’t just being his friend - there was no fucking way that was it. Now you have the proof in front of you, your body is reacting to Nanami, your nipples are pressing hard against your dress, your cunt is clenching at his touch, it wasn’t physically you wouldn’t enjoy it.

It was the case you’d always had - without more you couldn’t go through with it.

Nothing’s changed in how you feel or think of sex, like you thought, the only thing was the fucking feelings for Satoru.

Deep feelings.

You can’t even think of it right now, smiling and cupping Nanami’s face now, as your lips dance across his. “I loved tonight.”

“Thank god, I was worried I just ruined it.” You shake your head with a soft smile.

“Not at all.”

It wasn’t his fault you’re obsessed with a goddamn pornstar.

******

Parties aren’t fun when the girl you can’t get off your mind is with some boring ass business guy named Kento.

Satoru can hardly focus, sipping on his drink and sighing while Suguru kisses all over his favorite co-star. Sartoru is pretty sure at this point they’re together, considering the only time she’s not over at the penthouse is when Suguru is at her house, and she’s all Suguru talks about. He’s envious of the way the two freely do just that, be together, do shoots together more than not.

His other co-stars and friends are drinking, smoking, Sukuna is over there snorting a line off his favorite girl, leaving Satoru…

Alone.

He ignores anyone who comes up to him, how can he pay anyone attention when he knows you exist? When he wants you on his lap, your lips against his for everyone to fucking see, he wouldn’t even care if rumors went flying, he’s dealt with them before for lesser things, for little flings and favorite costars.

He just wants you here.

He checks his phone for the millionth time when Toji comes up, smirking over at him. “What do you want?” Satoru asks, pouting and looking at his phone.

“Saw that co-star of yours going viral, shit, why are you keeping her a secret?” Satoru’s jaw locks at Toji’s question, and Sukuna strolls up with his girl in tow, throwing back a drink.

“Wonder if she got your dick to work though, or you still need the viagra?” Sukuna asks, his girl gasps, smacking at him.

“That’s so mean!”

“What, he couldn’t get hard for you? That’s a problem,” Sukuna’s murmuring, and Satoru sighs, throwing back the rest of his drink.

“That why you’re just eating her out, then, but fuck that pussy is pretty,” Satoru almost punches Toji in the face as the black haired man grins. “I’m way older than you and don’t need viagra.”

“You are old as fuck.” Satoru says, standing and shoving at Toji then, who just chuckles, people are all looking, Suguru comes over, putting a hand on Satoru’s shoulder now.

“What’s going on, you all are always running your mouths.” Suguru glares over at Toji and Sukuna now, who snort in laughter.

“Well, well, it’s your girlfriend.” Sukuna earns Suguru raising a brow, cracking his knuckles. “Girlfriend is angry.”

“I’m about over you two running it.”

“We were just talking about his mysterious co-star.” Suguru frowns a bit, he’d seen the stream and put two and two together, and hasn’t spoken about it. “Wondering if his dick will work.”

“You’re really obsessed with my dick, Toji, you want it that bad?” Satoru’s blue eyes are glinting when Toji scowls and Suguru chuckles.

“It’s the ongoing joke of the industry- the biggest star and his broken dick. We should thank you though, making room for us to take the spot.” Sukuna says, Satoru rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, you wish.”

“I’d say that title would go to me, anyway.” Suguru’s co-star comes over, and he wraps an arm around her, looking over at Satoru. “Wanna go home with us?”

Satoru pauses, staring at his phone again and sighing in relief when he sees you typing, three dots moving. “Um… wait a sec…”

Sukuna and Toji finally leave, and Suguru is watching Satoru curiously. “Is she coming to the party?”

“No, guess she’s tired.” Satoru’s face falls, he catches his best friend’s all too knowing gaze. “She had a date.”

“Why don’t you ask her on one?” Suguru’s co-star asks curiously, Satoru frowns again.

“How could I?”

“We can still date, Gojo. Can’t we, Suguru?” She asks, and Satoru looks to see his friend’s blush then, eyeing the two of them, blue gaze narrowing with his white lashes lowering.

“It’s easier when you’re both in the industry I guess.” Suguru admits, sighing. “I was fully against it, but we still deserve to be happy, even if our career is a little out of the norm.”

“That’s a quick change.” Satoru says, Suguru shrugs a bit.

“I know it is. Satoru, nothing's changing in our friendship because of it.” Satoru’s seething with jealousy, now. Suguru and him began this together, and something about him having a girl and them looking so happy makes him long for you.

Toji’s comment made Satoru want to kill him.

In fact he doesn’t even want to know what anyone thinks, all the comments had gotten to him as he scrolled through - the men in there, saying how badly they wanted to lick your pretty pussy. But he’s the one who did this, who put you in that position, who the fuck was he to get upset that people commented? That’s what porn was, but at the same time, it was you.

Was he changing you? The shy, sweet girl he feels such a pull toward, was Satoru Gojo changing that? The thoughts make him dizzy, suddenly the entire party just feels like the worst place to be, people he used to enjoy and have fun with, now he wants to disappear, he doesn’t want to see them, hear them. He swallows down the nausea as he peers around yet another mansion.

What was the point of it all?

“Satoru, let’s go. You look like you’ve had too much.” Suguru murmurs, a hand on his shoulder, he finally looks at your messages.

Good Girl🫦 - Sorry Satoru, I am really tired and don’t think I have any more social battery for a party. I hope you’re having fun though! I am home and safe. 

Satoru hovers over the screen now, contemplating.

🌽🌟 Satoru - Do you want me to come over to your place?

You nervously look at the phone then, finishing slipping off your heels and hanging up your purse.

Satoru at your place?

Good Girl🫦 - You probably want to stay there I’m sure. Maybe we can do lunch or something tomorrow? I don’t want to ruin your party.

🌽🌟 Satoru - You don’t ruin anything. Ever.

He feels sick even typing it, being vulnerable, fuck he wants to see you, just you, not in an office or at a party or even with a friend. He just wants to see you.

Are you not alone, he wonders then, sicker and sicker, thinking of that man around you, he knows you’re a good girl, but did you invite him back for a drink? The thoughts won’t stop, he can clearly see him kissing you, touching you, maybe he’d make love to you where Satoru fucked you, maybe that’s what you deserved over him, but he’s too selfish to admit it.

Satoru wants to just worship you.

Maybe he should show you.

Maybe you’re already over him.

Maybe-

“Satoru, you’re just standing there, dude. Are you good?” He blinks into realization that he’s having an entire existential crisis mid party, blinking a bit as he waits for your response.

Good Girl🫦 - I don’t mind if you want to come over, if you’re not too far away you’re more than welcome to.

You send it after deleting three messages.

Satoru, will you ever… want more than sex?

I want you to come over so bad, I do, but I’m afraid of my feelings…

Are you sure you want to come over to see me or just have…

You had deleted them immediately, you can’t fucking say all that. You sit down now on your living room couch, tucking your feet under yourself and sighing, hair falling softly as you unclip it, setting the pretty gold butterfly pins attached on your little black table. What would Satoru think of your place?

It’s tiny, it’s neat and homey surely, but it’s nothing like his luxurious penthouse, LA was expensive and you were doing good enough to afford it. You frown a bit, wondering what he’s going to say.

🌽🌟 Satoru - Shoot me your address.

You nervously nibble on your thumb, doing just that, when Nanami texts you, the feelings of guilt come clawing. Though you were very open with Nanami about the situation, you’re not sure you can even be open to anything with Satoru fucking up your brain and heart.

Nanami - Thank you again for such a good night, I hope you had fun.

You smile at that, touching your lips carefully, remembering his kiss, passionate and surprising in its intensity. He is handsome, funny, he’s sweet, and the kisses felt nice, you were comfortable with him, all the things you tried to explain why you were so open being intimate with Satoru. It was just that, right?

Wrong.

If it was, then what was stopping you from letting Nanami please you earlier, when if Satoru touched you, you melted, you let him do anything he wanted. You’d let him do whatever, you’re not even sure he himself knows the power he has. How can you explain it all, how can you tie it in a neat bow, knowing the underlying reason is brimming to the surface?

Knowing the pain that was soon to come from it, from being in love with someone that will never see you as more than a friend or someone to fuck. To him, this is some physical connection - surely it’s enough that he only wants to sleep with you, but would that really be enough, when you can’t stop remembering how it felt to wake up in his embrace, to watch him asleep?

You- I had so much fun, thank you for tonight. I would love to spend time again with you.

It was the truth, you couldn’t completely close yourself off, that was what Jenna was warning you about. You had to still keep your ideas and options open, to learn from Satoru and enjoy him, this was ultimately your idea, and to have more expectations of Satoru, or to change him? It wasn’t fair to ask or want, you have to shove it all deep, deep inside instead.

Nanami - Good night then, I can’t say I won’t think about that kiss tonight.

You feel your cheeks heat up at that, giggling alone in your quiet townhome, sighing now.

You - Good night.

The doorbell rings, it’s far too fast from anywhere in LA to be Satoru, you tense a bit as you walk over barefoot to your door, over your soft carpet onto the little tile of the entryway, hand on the knob. You unlock it and swing it open, to see a serious Satoru right in your doorway, bathed in moonlight, his eyes looking right at yours, like he’s looking for something, anything.

“Satoru, that was stupidly quick, how?” His eyes flit down your pretty silver dress, glittering like the stars themselves, looking far too fucking pretty on you, clinging to your curves.

“Fuck you look beautiful,” you heat up, looking down nervously, you don’t have your glasses on, you are wearing some pretty silver eyeshadow too, glittering as the light reflects along your skin.

“Thank you, Satoru, you’re always being too sweet to me,” he wants to laugh at that, how is he sweet to you? He’s probably not shit, if he’s being honest, his hands sweating just slightly at the rush job he’d done to get here. “Come in.”

“That okay?” He looks around a bit, and you smile, nodding, shutting the door behind him and clicking the lock, when you feel him right against you, his hands sliding down your bare arms, making you tremble. Just a touch and you fall apart, you wish you weren’t so pathetic for him. “Your skin, it’s so soft,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your shoulder now.

“Is it?” You look back, he cups your chin, a thumb brushing against where your pulse races for him.

“Very, it always is. The softest, like your lips.” You swallow nervously as he speaks, as his thumb rushes across it, and you can’t hold back your fears.

“Did you come to fuck me?” He exhales at that, blinking then, the words feel so foreign from your lips. “I want you to, so you don’t have to… act like you want to hang out. We can just do it.”

“What?” His word cuts through the air, and you reach around, tugging on the little bow around your dress, letting it fall, looking up at him under your lashes.

“Unzip me, Satoru. If you want to.” This was what he ‘wanted’ right? To fuck you, to be inside you, but to hear you say it…

Like that…

He…

“You think I don’t enjoy spending time with you?” He turns you around instead, huge hands on your delicate shoulders, pressing tightly. You look away, shaking your head. “You just said that.”

“It’s clear you wanted to fuck me at work, so… I just figured you came over to do that. It’s what we do, and I enjoy it, I’m not complaining.” He doesn’t like a single fucking word from your mouth, especially the next ones. “Or did you want to do another shoot? I do have a ring light.”

Is that all you think he wants?

He’s sputtering now, when your hands slip down his front, over his soft black shirt, his strong abdomen tenses as you do, as one slips under, fingers touching his hot skin. “I will do another one if you want to.”

“Yeah, why?” He’s leaning so low, lips hovering. “Are you all horned up from the date?”

“Would you care if I was?” Your whisper almost ends him, he’s pressing you against the hard, cool wood of your door, his soft white hair falling over a brow, jaw so tense you can see it. “Don’t you get excited from your co-stars?”

No he sure the fuck doesn’t.

“How’d that date go?” His whisper dances across your lips, hands slipping to your waist now, thumbs pressing against the swell of your breasts over satin. “Have fun huh?”

“I did have fun,” you look right at him as you whisper. “He was sweet.”

“Was he?” He presses his forehead against yours, breaths mingling as they come out in little exhales. “Did he kiss you?”

“Yes, he did.” He glares now, leaning back up, a hand slipping up your back and entangling in your hair, making it fall back.

He has no right to be jealous, his job was to fuck women.

He has no right to be jealous, you’re not his.

He has no right to feel this way.

“Did you like it, his kisses?” Satoru’s words are met with him tugging harder at the nape of your neck, and your heart hammers in your chest, body aching for him, but it’s more, and you can’t let it be more.

“He was a good kisser, yes.”

“Oh, that so?” You nod, and he traces your lips with his thumb, seeing they’re soft and glossy. “Huh, when we kiss, they get swollen, red, they look so perfect.”

“Do they?” You raise a brow, acting like you’re not dying for him, like you don’t need him, with a longing that is frightening. He is so close you can taste the mints on his breath, mixed with the faint taste of liquor. “Need a drink, Satoru?”

“I do, I’m thirsty.” You go to move when he shoves you back against the door once more, sinking to his knees, you gasp at the action, when he shoves up your dress and glares at you. “Hold it up, now.”

You do just that, with shaky hands, when he looks at your white lace panties, moaning at the dark wet spot forming before his eyes, fingers brushing across it. “Satoru…”

“Need a drink, you’ll be a good host to your guest, won’t you?” His whisper is met with his tongue lapping over lace and silk, and your hands drop the dress, clinging to him instead. “I said hold up the dress.”

“Satoru, we- ah!” He grips your hands, shoving up the silver dress again, then slowly slipping those panties down your thighs, blue eyes almost black with desire, while you can hardly function or form a thought.

It’s all need, deep and hot.

Satoru bares your pretty cunt to his face, groaning at the sight, breath hitting your clit as he spreads your plump lips, eyeing your twitchy little clit and flicking his finger across it in slow circles, making you pour out of your little hole. “Is all this wetness from that hot date, sweetheart?” He asks, knowing it’s toxic, petty, stupid, but he can’t stop himself from it.

What the fuck do you do to him?

“No, it’s not.” Your answer is what he needed, latching his mouth on your clit and sucking it into his mouth, humming on it and sending vibrations of pleasure, you scream out at it, head thwacking the door while he hoists a thigh over his shoulder, one hand gripping your ass while the other holds your hood up. “Satoru!”

He moans as you cry out his name, slurping you up as you go boneless in his fucking hold, hips bucking up as the pleasure is blinding, you’re gasping out as the dress is bunched up in one hand, the other clinging to his other shoulder. You’re rolling your eyes back in your skull, pleasure so fucking exquisite you can hardly stand, can hardly see, while Satoru worships you on his knees.

It’s what it felt like.

How he looks at you, how he drinks you, tongue lapping at the juices that pour down his face, and you can’t form a word or a thought, just how much you love it, how much you love-

Fuck.

You tried, you tried to pull back, to make it just sex, but how the fuck can you when you’re lost in those blue and black storms of eyes, when he’s got you in a bruising grip, working your body like he’s always known it? You’re cursing internally as you rock against his face, earning his moan of pleasure as he works you into an orgasm, hitting you so hard your head smacks the door hard.

“Fuck, fuck! Mnh!”

“You’re a good girl, where’s that mouth coming from?” He yanks you down then, you almost fall on him as you lose balance, cunt pulsing from aftershocks as his eyes are unreadable, and he’s gripping your face tightly.

“Satoru…” Your words are cut off with his kiss, his deep, brutal kiss, not teasing and playful, or passionate and intense, no he’s bruising your lips with his, flipping you on your back right onto your carpet, now hovering on top of you. “We… I have a bed, Satoru!”

“We’ll get there,” his voice is hoarse as you sink into the carpet under him, and he’s yanking down your top, seeing where his marks still litter your pretty breasts, making him fucking feral as he sucks one peak into his mouth. Your hands entangle in his hair, hips arching up for more. “Look, sweetheart, your tits are so bruised, I’m sorry I left so many…”

“You’re… I…” He’s sinking his teeth into your nipple, the pain making you cry out, cunt gushing wetter and wetter when his fingers find you, two sinking right in down to the knuckle, and your cunt greedily sucks him in, despite the stretch, the burn. “Mnh!”

He presses sloppy kisses to your other breast, before biting and sucking in more places, knowing what the fuck he’s doing, the thoughts of if that man got to see your breasts, they’d be marked by him, filling his addled mind. The thoughts of marking you fucking everywhere driving him insane while he slots his fingers in your gummy, drenched walls, hearing the squishing in the room.

“Kiss me, please,” your sweet plea ends him, he’s kissing lips he wished didn’t kiss anyone else, tongue slipping into your mouth in a mess, knowing you need it, fuck he just knows you, all of you, where to curl those fingers so you cum again, as he’s curling them against your spot. “Ah! Satoru!”

“Fuck,” the way you say his name, your moans, your cries, he’s lost in them all, in your scent in his nostrils, in the taste coating his lips and tongue. “Tell me what you want, sweetheart, use your words.”

“Ngh!” How do you find the words, desperately shoving up his shirt, knowing you’re falling deeper for him, all him, he’s all you can fucking think about.

You’re going to get hurt.

Worse if you fuck him again.

He pulls his fingers out, sucking you off him and making you weak, before pulling the shirt off, his necklaces brushing against your collarbones as he leans over you, grinding his clothed cock against your heated cunt. “Please!”

“Please what, baby?” Satoru is calling you baby, and your thighs are shaking as he presses again, making you grind desperately for friction. “Use your words.”

“In me, please, in me.” You manage to spit those words out, in between gasps and moans, he has his heavy cock against you in moments with quick, precise tugs on his buttons and belt, the cool metal a stark contrast to the heat of his cock against your inner thigh. “P-please…”

“I’ll give you anything when you ask like that,” his vulnerability spills out before he can swallow it, looking at your heartbreakingly beautiful face, at the way the soft lights overhead glitter on your skin, while his cock presses on your entrance. “Want all of me, baby?”

“All of it - f-fuck!” He’s slid in one stroke to the fucking hilt, stuffing you so full you’re twitching under him, gasping for breath as he moans at the feeling, of your cervix kissing his tip that’s already leaking pre, watching the way your eyes go black from desire, how your nostrils flare, how you bite that lip.

“Can you even take me? Tiny little cunt, is she able to?” He’s taunting you, but all you can do is nod weakly, when he slides out, then fully back in with a loud, squelching smack of his hips, your screams are hoarse and weak after three thrusts, nails digging into his back and making him hiss as you mark him yourself.

A petty fucking part of you hopes if he does a shoot a girl will see them.

See your nails that press again, into his biceps this time, and you just urge him on, fucking into your cunt harder, faster, leaning up on a hand while his other grips your chin. “Look at me when I fuck your perfect little pussy, huh?”

You barely find the ability to open your eyes, knowing your done for, knowing when you look into those pretty eyes you’re fucked worse. But you obey, earning his moan, his plump lips parted as he slams hard, now releasing your face and holding a thigh up, slamming even harder, while you fall apart under him, cunt spasming around his length as he works you.

“Fucking feel you, god you’re perfect,” he loses his control then, how can he keep any semblance of it up when he feels you, when he looks into your pretty eyes, glittering with tears as he presses so deep and rolls, and he brings you to another orgasm, one so intense you grip him like a vise, crying out as it works over you. “Good girl, god you’re so good for me huh?”

You weakly acknowledge him, but you’re already fucked out, he drags his canines along your collarbone, leaving imprints of his teeth, all while you’re helpless under him, shattering with every stroke of his huge cock stretching you. “Mnh, S-Satoru… fuck…”

“She’s taking me so well, she’s already learned my shape, hasn't she?” His whisper confuses your overheated mind, but your nod makes him go harder, faster, leaning up to watch what the silver dress has done, scrunched and wrinkled, giving him a sick satisfaction.

Nanami shouldn’t have seen you like that.

He is furious he kissed your perfect lips, but he can’t say it out loud, he can just make sure you forget that kiss, replacing his lips with yours as he lays over you, hands now on your ass, shoving in and bottoming out as much as he can. “Satoru!”

God, the way you moan his name.

“Cum again, for me, you can again baby, huh?” You answer by convulsing, all while he holds back from busting inside your cunt, images flitting through his mind, when he finally pulls back, jerking his cock slick from your drooling cunt and cumming all over your pretty pussy. “Oh f-fuck… oh my god…”

You watch Satoru fall apart, trying to collect your breaths, as you watch his cum shoot all over, hot messy white ropes, even some on your pretty dress, while he’s all pink cheeked, his lips pursed as he whimpers and looks down at you. The way he looks at you, before kissing you again, letting you drink in his breathy whines, it all feels too intimate, too much.

This can’t fucking be normal.

You can’t let it go, though.

He’s kissing you desperately, pinning your wrists to the soft carpet, as he takes lips hostage, they’re sore, tingling and swollen, just making you want more, as his cum dries sticky on your slick cunt. “Fuck you’re perfect, god, every part of you, so perfect for me,” he’s whispering, kissing you in between insane fucking words. “So perfect.”

“No,” you shake your head and he laughs, without humor, cupping your face with one hand, swiping tears that fell from pleasure. “I’m not.”

“Yes, you fucking are, it’s all I can think about, looking at that pretty face like this again.” You shake your head and he kisses you again, luring you to lose yourself, it’s all you can do to stay tethered. “I don’t just want to fuck you, I love spending time with you, and we never have to do another shoot.”

“Don’t say all of that.” You whisper, he sighs now, shaking his head.

“Say what, you’re the best I’ve had?”

“There’s no fucking way, you’ve had how many women?”

He blinks then, hearing the tone of your voice. “That makes me know even more.”

“It’s just… maybe different because… it’s not business.” Your insecurities scream out without you wanting them too, and he frowns, looking down and cursing then. “What’s wrong?”

“Your dress, this material, fuck…” He curses at how inconsiderate he’s already been, this is clearly expensive and he’s bunched it up and came all over it. “I need to clean it now or it’ll be ruined.”

“Oh… it’s fine I’ll toss it in a washer.”

“You dry clean this material, sweetheart.” He helps you up carefully, you get whiplash from him then, all sweet and caring like he didn’t just fuck your insides up, like he didn’t fuck your brains out. “Let me try?”

“Sure… just help me…” You turn around, and he eases that zipper down, fingers touching the marks left from it carefully.

“Was I too rough with you?” He asks hoarsely, seeing the marks from the door and carpet indented in your skin.

“No, I… loved it.” Your answer earns an exhale of relief, but you curse softly in your mind, knowing what you were about to say.

“You’re inexperienced, and I was really...”

“I’m good, Satoru.” You turn, dress slipping down your body, leaving him to eye you naked, and his cock damn near gets hard again under the hastily half zipped pants. “You can be rougher with me.”

“Rougher?” His brow raises, as he takes your dress, pressing little kisses across your thighs as he picks up the material. “You like it rough, sweetheart?”

“I like anything you do,” you curse then, shaking your head. “I need a drink. Here, I’ll show you over to the sink to rinse this out.” He blinks as he follows you, sighing now, and you show him the neat stainless steel sink. “It’s not a big deal, it was a dress I bought forever ago.”

“It’s still really beautiful, I bet he was dumb from how pretty you looked.” His words are hoarse, your eyes meet again. “You looked beautiful when we went out too, fuck you always do.”

“Thank you, Satoru. You always look… gorgeous too.” You expect a playful agreement, a smirk, but he’s quiet now, cleaning the white cum while you realize you’re still naked, so comfortable it was like you hardly noticed. “I’ll grab some pajamas real quick. I have nothing that would fit you I’m afraid.”

“Are you asking me to stay the night?” Your eyes lock again across the kitchen.

“It’s late, you should stay. If you want.”

“Yeah?” You just nod again, so much left unspoken, both of you aching to say things, both of you unsure of your worlds anymore.

“I meant it, about a shoot, if you want.” You say then, and he exhales, looking back at the wet silver material in his hands.

“Don’t do it just for me, don’t just… change for me. I’ll be fine if we don’t do one, okay?” You hate the feeling then - he’ll be fine.

With other girls. His career. His job, his life.

How would it ever include you?

“I didn’t do it just for you, it was hot, okay? It was sexy when we watched it together…” You trail off again, and he turns off the sink, gripping your naked body with wet hands, making you squeak as he does, when he slowly walks you back, until your back is against the counter.

“You didn’t hate doing it?” His words confuse you now.

“What, no. I wouldn’t have if I hated it.”

“Would you have… for anyone else?” His next question is met with a shake of your head as your answer, eyes darting to his lips. “No one else?”

“No one else. It was for you. But I enjoyed it all. I promise you didn’t pressure me into it, okay?” He sighs in relief, kissing you again, hands all over your body until he picks you up, and you cling to his neck, thighs around his waist while your dress hangs across the sink.

“Know how bad I wanna cum inside your pussy?” He says softly, you swallow as he pulls back to look at you, your breaths coming faster.

“Do you do that?”

“No.”

You bite your lip again, taking a breath for courage.

You want him, any of him, all of him, until you can’t have him.

“Thinking of cum pouring from your pussy? God you know how much we’d make, baby? But it’s… that’s a lot to ask…”

“You want to cum inside me?” He moans, nodding desperately, and you cup his face, pressing a kiss where his cheek is burning. “I’m on the pill, if you want to.”

“Are you… sure?” You nod, letting him carry you to the bed, he’s cleaning you all up with his tongue, lapping all his cum off you, off your tummy, thorough as he feels you shaking under him.

“Favorite co-star then, huh?” You tease softly, he nods weakly, words stuck in his throat when you sit up. “What position, Satoru?”

Fuck… he doesn’t deserve to have you like this, bent over as he adjusts his phone on your light, hitting record. He’s got it angled just so it’s your ass and pussy showing, the arch just so, your face buried into your pillows, which he’s covered up with a black sheet so nothing personal shows.

“You sure, baby?”

“Yes,” is your soft whisper when he’s leaned over you, your eyes meet his, away from the camera’s view, locking. “I want to do this for you.”

“Fuck, baby…” He kisses you before he pulls back, tip brushing between your folds, before sinking in, hearing your gasp, feeling your grip. “God, you’re so tight, so pretty, look at you…”

You wonder how much is for camera, but the way he fucks you is desperate, his rhythm is off as his fingers press into the dimples on your back, as his hands slap and grip your ass, and he rocks inside you. You’re gripping the black sheet and arching for more, his balls slapping your clit with wet smacks that echo, mingling with his husky breaths and moans.

“Gonna fill you up, you want that, huh baby?” Satoru forgets he is on camera then, he forgets he’s just fucking, he can’t help but whisper how good your cunt is, how you’re the best he’s fucking had, just hoping those whispers don’t get caught, that they’re drowned out by your screams of pleasure.

He’s pulsing inside your walls, as you bury your face further, getting pumped full of his thick cock over and over in a maddening pace, the way his tip drags then ends you, your orgasm leaving you weak and breathless, and he pauses at it, whining out, something he did not do on camera. He’s hesitating, he’s never cum in someone, and he’s not sure he’s deserving of it.

Not of you at all.

You’re so perfect, so fucking pretty, so tight - and he doesn’t deserve it, any of it, having you bend over for him, spread wide, taking back shots like you were fucking made for it, for him. He’s lost as he presses your head down with one hand, muffling your breathy cries while you arch more, taking his mean strokes as he falls apart, his other hand trembling as he clings to your hip tightly.

Satoru has never felt this, losing himself, uncaring how the fuck he looked on the camera or even that there was a camera, all he can think of is filling your perfect pussy with him, of doing the one thing he has avoided all these years, but that he can’t imagine not doing. Undeserving or not, he’s closer and closer, when you’re pulsing around him from another orgasm, and your cunt is dripping more and more.

He takes a breath, feeling his cock thickening inside you, leaning back over you again, mouth whispering in your ear as he delicately brushes damp strands of hair from your forehead. “Sweetheart, are you still sure?” His soft question just sinks it further, when he looks at you like that, and you feel his cock thickening more.

You’d do anything for him.

Plus you want him to.

“I want you to cum inside me, Satoru,” your whisper ends him, he kisses your cheek, your temple, nodding as his snowy lashes lower. “Please.”

Your plea destroys Satoru, as he pulls back and grips your ass, fucking into you hard for just a few more strokes before moaning so loud, his head falling forward as he cums inside your perfect cunt. He’s never felt anything like it, like your gummy walls fluttering and milking his cock, like cumming inside you, fuck he knows then he couldn’t ever do this with anyone.

Creampies on set were notorious, but he never felt okay with it, but now he fills you so fucking much, while you’re cumming from that, the warmth of his white hot cum coating your walls, shooting against your sore, bruised cervix. You’re sobbing into the pillow, pussy pulsing as if she’s sucking up all he’s got, hearing his whine, so sexy as he slows his strokes.

“God, you took it all too, you’re such a good girl, pussy so hungry for all my fucking cum, huh?” You nod desperately, thighs shivering as he pulls out, squelching sound so filthy as his cock pulls out, swirled with your gossamer slick and his white ropes spilling already. “Oh fuck, let’s see how much you took, hmm?”

“Mnh…” you’re delirious, unable to even focus, as you feel his cum start oozing out of your hole when he spreads it, you’re sure to get the shot. You can’t even feel embarrassed, not when he has you feeling so desired, so full of him, all you can do is arch that ass more for him, lost in your high. “Y-yes,” your soft words only hit his ears just barely.

He spreads your puffy lips, groaning at the sight of his own cum pouring slowly in drips from your tiny hole. “Look how much she took, she’s so full of all my cum,” Satoru angles the camera now, catching the sight of your perfect cunt leaking his white seed slowly, his fingers drifting down to collect some of it, shoving it back inside and watching your greedy cunt suck his fingers up. “Keep it in there, sweetheart.”

“Ngh…” Your thighs shake as he shuts off the camera, flipping you now, cupping your face delicately, eyes drifting across your face, sighing as he looks at you, the imprints of the sheets against your cheek. He gently touches it.

“You sure about sharing this? I want you to make sure you know, none of this is for the fucking camera,” his words are husky, devoted, as he hands you the phone, hands you the control, all while he’s slowly leaking from your cunt.

You look at the video then, blushing as you watch it, hips shifting as you see the sight of him pounding your cunt from the back, hearing your cries and the smacks, but mostly when you see the look on his face, it halts you. The lost, mad fucking look written all over his handsome face, the way he whimpers for you, the trembling of his hands you didn’t notice.

Satoru looks as lost in you as you were in him, and you’re addicted to it.

He’s pressing kisses delicately along your breasts, your tummy, where he’d left marks along your ribs, he kisses your hips where his fingers already have left bruises from your grip. He’s spreading your thighs, eyeing your face, as your thighs shake from his kisses getting higher, he worships you, every inch like he’s wanted to, wondering what you’ll say.

A part of him wants you to say no, to say it’s just for you two.

But a part of him wants to show you how perfect you are, how sexy you are, let you fucking see it.

He’s so torn, so lost in you, in the sight of that cum still leaking from your hole.

“Creampie, that’s what you titled it? What is that?”

He chuckles now, shaking his head at you as he leans up a but, and your fucked out eyes glance at him. “It means I came inside you, sweetheart. You’re cute. You really don’t know what that means?”

“No… I didn’t.” You’re all blushing again, leaning up on your elbows now as his grin is white and brilliant, again all sweet like he didn’t just fuck you twice, and bust inside you. “Is it popular?”

“Very, very popular. Just never… something I wanted to do, until you.” The more words are left unspoken, while he presses a kiss on your soft tummy, fingers dancing across your thighs. “What do you think?”

“It’s… really hot. You look so good, it’s crazy to see this angle,” he nods a little, kissing your inner thigh, as you brush a hand along his hair. “You think it’ll please your manager?”

“Oh god, baby that is the best shot I’ve done,” you bite that lip now, before pressing share, and covering your face with a breathless giggle. “Fuck, look at you, gonna be a pro.”

“Oh god,” your hands are gently pulled off your face now, while he leans over you, kissing your lips softly. “Am I like a whole pornstar now?” You ask nervously, he sighs then, he gently brushes your hair back.

“Baby you’re a star already, didn’t you know?” Your lips are taken over, while the video goes insane on the bed next to the two of you, and Satoru’s fingers are shoved in your cunt again, already so sore, but you’re fucked up off it, the pain and pleasure, the need for him in every fucking way.

He’s sucking the mix of the two of you off his fingers, he’s sharing that cum and spit in your open mouth, moaning and eyeing the comments.

“I wish I was cumming inside her… excuse me?” You giggle a bit at his glare.

“What do you care about the comments, haven’t you read yours?”

“Yes but… bet her pussy is so tight - yeah it is but…” he’s pausing, scowling at the numerous comments, and you’re blinking at him, a bit confused. “I don’t want to read them, actually.”

The dollar signs wrack up, insane amounts - way more than before, as he shakes his head, back between your thighs, tongue hitting your overstimulated cunt, making you cry out for him, when his phone rings. “You know, Satoru, I hate your phone.”

“I hate my phone.” He picks it up, while still lapping at your cunt, drinking up the taste of his cum and yours like an insane man as he answers the phone casually on speaker. “What?”

“Gojo, that girl… she’s made for porn, what the fuck? Where have you been hiding her!?”

He glares at the phone, as you cover your mouth, hiding a giggle, his blue eyes narrow when he flicks his tongue up your milky slit again, grinning as you can’t hold back your moan. “She’s my secret star.”

His words bring out too much pleasure, the way his hands grip you, the possessive way he fucking speaks. “Well, if she wants a manager, please tell her about me. You two could make so much money on a real set.”

“She wants to keep a low profile, and she’ll only do it with me.” Satoru says, the thought of you on set with a camera crew makes him unreasonably annoyed.

“All right, that works for now, but talk to her about it.”

“Sure, whatever.” He hangs up then, and eyes you carefully, lapping more of you up as he does, you’re hissing at the sensation, whining out softly. “Don’t worry or listen to him, mmkay?”

“Would I um… not be ideal on set?” He scowls now, pulling back, strings of his cum and yours falling off his lips.

“What?”

“I’m not LA hot.”

“You’re right, you’re fucking beautiful, hot doesn’t describe you.” He is kissing you again, cupping your face as he does. “You want to be anonymous.”

“I do.” But what if he still was with other girls?

The thoughts eat at you.

“Baby we could never do another shoot, and I’ll cum inside you any hour of the fucking day, yeah?” His words mean too much, you nod shyly, before gasping as he’s back at your entrance. “I’m always hard for you, you’re always soaked for me, pussy she’s made to take me, say it.”

“Satoru…”

“Say it,” he desperately pleas, and you nod, knowing it’s fucking foolish. “Words, sweetheart.”

“Made for you, ah!” He’s back inside you, gentle and slow, knowing you’re sore, and it’s all making the lines blur more and more, his kisses, his slow fucks into your cunt, the way he looks at you, all while the money racks up.

But he couldn’t care less about it.

He wants to make sure you’re so sore and full of him that man has no chance of touching you, he wants to tell every commenter he gets to cum inside you, he’s selfish, he’s stupid. He doesn’t deserve you, he knows he doesn’t, yet he wants to drink up every moment before you realize he’s not good enough.

Meanwhile your heart breaks, as you’re in his arms later, wondering how long until he will realize you’re not enough for his career, how long until he’s inside another woman, and you know you won’t be able to take it. Kissing him softly as he tugs you closer, too intimate, too much.

You’ve fallen too deep.

*****

Jenna frowns as she studies you the next afternoon, you’re disheveled and your hair is a wreck, you’re covered in marks, and she just saw Satoru leaving in the back of his limo. You’re nervously trying to fix yourself, and avoid her knowing gaze, when she peeks at her phone, with a stream of Satoru, and puts it all together, shaking her head now.

“Jenna…”

“You’re letting him change you, for what?” You blink back tears at her harsh words, glaring now.

“You don’t get to judge me.”

“I’m not baby, fuck I’m worried!? This isn’t who you are, and I don’t want you to lose yourself because of him. What’s he giving you, besides backshots?”

“You know what, you can go.” You blink more tears now, and she sighs, coming up to you and cupping your face.

“I’m sorry, I just have known you since we were kids. Is this what you want to be, a… pornstar? Like me?”

“No, I don’t want to be that. I just… want to be enough for him.” She blinks back her own tears now, swiping at yours.

“That’s my worry, you are enough for anyone. The way you are… the way you were, more than enough!”

“Jenna I need to be with him, however I can be.” She sighs now, as you tug your hair into a hasty ponytail, grabbing a drink from the fridge and throwing the coolness down your throat. “I know you just care.”

“I do. Can I ask, has he changed one bit for you?” You pause, shutting the fridge and looking at your best friend, who has her arms crossed.

“Why should he? It was my idea to… join his world. I can’t ask him to change, how is that fair?”

“But you change yourself, lose yourself, for him?” You hate how the words sink in, how you grip your glass and lean against the counter, feeling every word she’s saying, but knowing you’re too far gone. “Men like him don’t change.”

“You don’t know him, Jenna. You don’t.”

“Don’t I? Baby that’s all I know. You’re… you’re still a good girl, okay? I’m not gonna continue, I don’t want our friendship strained. But please just think for a moment, is he going to change, commit, anything?” You sigh now, you have been so obsessed with him, with how you feel, you can’t think of anything else.

“I don’t know.” Is your answer, when she pulls you into her arms, and you feel the tears falling. “I’m in love with him, Jenna. I am so in love and it hurts.”

“Shit,” she holds you as you sob against her, letting the words finally fall from your lips. “Honey…”

“I’m fine losing myself if it means I’m with him.”

“You can’t lose yourself for anyone.” You know she’s right, deep down, you know her words are dead on, but there’s no hope for it, there’s no denying it.

You’re in love with Satoru Gojo, the pornstar, the unattainable bachelor, and you’re losing yourself in him.

And the angst is actually more ahead as these two dummies make my hands hurt with how much they force me to write :') I can't believe in 4 parts I'm already at 46k and they're as dumb as before. More mess to ensue, I am glad you all love this one and look forward as ALWAYS to your comments!!!

Taglist 1 - @juicu @kalulakunundrum @gojoswaterbottle @aldebrana @simp-plague @wedojustbevibin @lucciferr0 @officialholyagua @privthemis @coffee-and-geto @homesickes @msniks @emi311 @mai-505 @ren-ren23 @yihona-san06 @emochosoluvr @sylvermoon @bunheadusa @karvokr @starmapz @queenexplosonmurderr @musiclover2119 @saitamaswifey @reagan707 @midorissi @ghostskilledmyaddiction21 @itsinherited @maisiefrancesca @gyarubunny @theonlyhonoredone @chosslut @simperisksksk @xlilycoco @howlsdarling @femaholicc @maymaymarch @miseryyouth-99 @swoozleee @zeunys @cryingdevil @leafynightmares @princess-bblgm @gojosconsort @insomnicshello @joonunivrs @myahfig4 @silviscosplay @iluvjjkmennn @nutellajade

[acid-ixx]

ch.5 pt 2: again &. again (platonic! yandere batfam x neglected! gn reader)

directory: preq, chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four, chapter five pt 1, chapter five pt 2,

read under the end for an author's note.

tw: talks about death, prostitution, self-harm, trauma & ptsd, suicidal thoughts, and neglect.

the world was still spinning when you had awoken.

you didn't know if that was good or bad news alone. didn't even know what your current state could do now that you're in some room, subconsciously recalling between the gaps of memories that had caused you to be here.

lying down, with the painful throb of the holes within your body pinning you in place.

what happened?

breakdowns, booze, flirting, tears, comfort, gunshots, acceptance and death—

— lots of it.

all in the span of one night. one singular night which reigned in spilled blood and reopened wounds.

maybe you should've never made a stupid decision in the first place, the calculating, smarter, yet easily shut-down part of you scolds yourself. the events of the night were still fresh, enough to make both your heart and your head throb: were you finally sobering up, or does this ache come from a different type of pain, more painful, more heavily emotional than being met with death?

how long has it been since you were out? how long has it been since he saved you? since he...

the name tastes bitter in your tongue, it's been months, maybe even almost a year since you've last encountered him, let alone talked to him without being met with strained eye contact and cruel scoffs; a painful reminder of how your actions were what stuck the final nail in the coffin for your own neglect against the man, the brother you consider closest to you; despite it never being enough.

jason.

your last interaction was particularly unpleasant, an act of teenage hormones swelling in your very veins caused you to be spiteful towards him, ignoring his casual small talks in favor of refusing to offer your homemade treats and grabbing the jar of your favorite sweets - that you always meticulously and willingly give him whenever he'd make his rare visits - away from his prying hands.

you remember his offended tone, the sudden venom in his words as he asked, too mockingly for your own taste,  "what's wrong with you, angel? what's gotten you snappy these days?"

these days?

most days, it was you succumbing to his wants and needs. considering the treats he liked, the books he read, the movies he watched. all an effort painfully done if it meant having his eyes on you for just more than a second.

these days? just what had you done these days that warranted his offense? all you have done, all you ever did, was tag along everyone's tail, watching from the shadows, biting back the poisonous words, the tears that clung at the edge of your throat; ready to uncoil, to pounce the moment your envy unfurls even further.

these days? yeah right, these days, you just wanted to fucking die—

'cause highschool is shit, your life is shit, and you can't- just can't afford to play nice these days. not when they've all been so cruel, not when the people you look up to treat you lesser than the worms they step on when they spend time around the garden- your garden that you've carefully cultivated, all for your efforts to go to waste.

— but Jason won't understand, nobody could. not even alfred could comprehend just how worse your mood has soured. nobody's aware of just how close you are to your breaking point.

you glare at him for a second, wanting to retort, to swear at the sight of his knotted brows and frustrated pose, but the flicker of fight within you has just as quickly extinguished. your shoulders slumped, yet jason remains as rigid as ever in his seat, no amount of softness could be found in his expression, not even the softness he directs at you.

'he doesn't feel the same right now but—'

'there's no point in even trying anymore.'

ignoring the pang of regret in your chest, the urge to apologize with widened eyes, to pretend this was all a dream; you simply turned away in spite of the brimming tears, biting at your raw lips, to escape to another room.

afraid to show anymore weakness, afraid of the consequences, your hurried footsteps had echoed across the hallways.

you left the tooth-achingly sweet treats he originally intended to take by the table.

'he can have it for all i care.'

but are you sure you don't care? are you truly sure, when your chest spiked with frazzled haste just from hearing a familiar scoff - the one he directs to the people he despises - behind you? is it indifference when your hearing began to wring just to block out whatever vile words he spewed that day?

you want to apologize, you truly do, even if you're aware you're not much at fault, but rather him for being inconsiderate to your feelings, your foreign actions, he calls you his angel, but when his angel shows obvious hurt, he doesn't care?—

hah. but you just can't deal with it, with him any longer.

so you let it be, let him think you're just having your rebellious teenager phase, that you being a piece of shit in his eyes would pass eventually.

he wouldn't know, didn't even notice the bandages plastered across the expanse of your aching arms, the bags dipping below your eyes, or your frizzy, thinning hair.

with your last encounter, there was no more after that.

and if there were, you couldn't even call it that, for he was raging fire, and you a blistering snowstorm.

those were never meant to clash, let alone part.

thinking about it now, recalling what's gotten his mind on a twist, in your little, foreign mattress, with your eyes still shut close, lower abdomen still aching; it makes you want to die a little more at how much you never considered your feelings in the past.

you still don't right now - couldn't even make past your crippling self-esteem - but compared to last time, you at least maintained a flicker of dignity.

jason, meanwhile.

he- maybe he had a terrible day that day, you recalled his argument with bruce fresh on your mind that fateful afternoon. how tense and resounding the tension was in the room they'd fought. something over morals, over his still-burning need for justice by unfairly taking the lives of most criminals, bruce stated.

how it never quite changed, even until now.

it's the norm for all their little spats, the usual dynamic with their bated breaths and venomous words, their pitiful angst. how could you not remember, when it's dick who had to physically rip jason off from plunging a weapon on bruce's chin, whilst alfred's disappointed scolding hung in the air — whilst it's you watching in the corner, witnessing the entire scene unfold, useless when it comes to intervening because your words hold no impact for their dynamic?

maybe, just maybe, you could've been more considerate of his feelings when he'd blown bruce off, throwing him the finger before bursting off to the kitchen's pantry - to stressfully feast on the treats you carefully stored in, for moments like these, because he loves to thrash around the kitchen eating your baked sweets - to ruminate on his raging thoughts.

but if you could recall all the moments of his rage, how could he not recall his promise to bring you home some of your favorite dishes the night before that, then?

how could he not consider his so-called angel's feelings, when you had to adjust to his whims?

yeah, maybe you were boiling with rage that time too, not only due to the pressure of highschool, but at yet another broken promise. maybe you just wanted to hide away the tears, the looming expectations to act normal ultimately failing, which translated to your snappy behavior— but you thought:

'maybe, just maybe, my favorite brother, my closest confidant, could understand.'

you were wrong, you always were.

and for that, when you'd run crying to your room, another fresh scar was soldered in both your skin and your memories.

— a painful reminder of losing the closest thing you had in the world, just because you finally felt brave enough to show an inch of your closeted yet forbidden emotions.

your rebellion caused a permanent rift between your already drifting relationship, you despised yourself for that seemingly small, yet highly impactful mistake.

thinking about it now, in your crippled, nearly paralyzed state, makes you just want to forget.

— and remember the even more painful present.

finally, you compiled the strength to blink away the weight in your eyes. remnants of dry, salty tears were still fresh in the corners of your lids, throat parched, mind thrumming with dull pain and aching limbs— it reminded you of your unbidden nightmare just moment's ago; a stark contrast from its pleasantness compared to the damming reality you're actually in.

it felt like a fading memory, that dream, a looming freckled dust of air you couldn't quite catch in your stretched out fingers. how her gentle touch was like a cure to all your ailments, yet her hurried good-byes an eternal scar to the broken pieces of your heart.

oh, my momma.

how you miss her and her angelic presence already.

it never truly occurred to you how much the heavy weight of missing her stumped you from actually maturing. it was always her you mourn in moments of painful respite. her fading advices, her airy voice, her silent hums and warm presence. it was a whiplash to have her in such a wicked environment, in gotham of a places.

seeing her, in that cottage, in all her glory, wrinkles and aged, sagging skin surrounding the expanse of her angelic appearance. she was so young when she had you, and it was all you ever dreamed of— watching her gracefully age before you like fine wine, rather than those... those flashbacks of those bloodied tiles and the ichor dripping down her lifeless, icy lips.

damn be her reputation, she was your momma first, and prostitute, money laundering scam, second. thinking about her just makes you want to shut your eyes once more, return to that restless dream, and stay there forever.

rather than...

— your eyes switch to shuttering quickly, faded imagery still present in the fog of your vision. everything felt suspended in air except for the mechanical churn of the hanging fan on the ceiling, yet the furniture still present itself in shaped globs rather than actual three-dimensional objects. it took you nearly a minute to regain your sight, to finally hone in on your surroundings. albeit the haze and the adrenaline slowly pumping in your veins, your mind telling you to run despite the lack of sensation in your lower half, you slowly take in this...

this unfamiliar room...

a place displaying artillery, heavy weapons on the four corners of the walls, surrounding the dainty, one person cushion you lay on. there's an array of both fresh and bloodied gauze on the tabletop on your right, it seems to be used just recently, on you, probably. they're tightly wrapped on your lower half, you can see through the dark of your blankets and the feel of its restrictions on your guts.

strange how you're here, recalling the events of the night, yet it's still night now.

have you been out for an entire day?

and your phone and other essentials is on the same tabletop, you can even make out the table napkin containing conner's number still carefully tuckered behind your phone case. the faint waft of your favorite takeout caressed your nostrils, if not for the pain of having to carefully churn around the weighted blanket splayed on top of you; you might've sat up to dig in the savory meal.

but you can't focus on your hunger, not just yet. not when the dread overpowers your bodily urges, not when this entire thing feels like it's imitating a sense of normalcy; a room, reflecting the danger of the inhabitant living within, despite your foggy vision still, trying it's best to placate you into feeling safe.

but worse yet, the most dreaded of them all—

a room with your brother in it.

a room with the person you'd least want to deal with, not with just how much you haven't calmed down, how your final resolve was to avoid the very same people who'd always avoided you.

you couldn't possibly face them now, not ever.

not even the man you once came to call your favorite.

the holes in your body, now wrapped tight with gauze, throbs noisily, as if it senses the resounding doom wrapping around your heart, until it spreads across your entire body, now cold with caution. through your careful inspection of your belongings, through the noise of your frazzled thoughts, you haven't felt the dip on the bed you lay on. dim lights surrounded your vision afterall, the same ones still clearing up after hours of restless slumber.

and everything around you was unlike the specks of sun you were greeted with when you'd awoken from that dream.

dark and heavy.

your fingertips, your head, your injuries, the dip of the bed just now, his breathless haste; as if he waited for this moment, for you to slowly awaken, to return to consciousness.

an overbearing sense of desperation: his manic trance, the tusled locks of black and white hair, the faint shiver in his breathing.

and it's not as if you needed to second-guess the man now seated on the bed, he's so easily recognizable with his toughened form and muscles churning beneath his ashy jacket.

no, no, you want to close your eyes, pretend you're still asleep.

— but you can't, it's too late now that he noticed.

"... mornin', angel. you alright?"

he asks, silent and unsure, the question drifting off his tongue so gently, so hesitatingly as if he couldn't believe witnessing you breathing in front of him. warm yet burning with need for answers. and for a second, for a measly, quintessential span of time, you might've thought his raspy words were an aftermath of some tears.

he sounded so...

broken.

like a man torn from the inside out. the last you've seen of him, he'd already sported eyebags— but not too sunken, too tired like the current one you're staring at. like a washed out ember amidst winter, everything about him felt vulnerable...

it just makes you want to die on the inside— that- that you feel a semblance of care for someone who's hurt you far more than loved you.

the gentleness in his question, the hesitant stumble of his hands that came to bury itself into your tangled hair. the warmth that emits from his raggedy fingers hovering over the scalp of your head; it just made you feel fuzzy yet awful. the image of a brother and a stranger in front of you just blurs into a singular mess.

your vision spins, his hands are still awkwardly patting your head, as if urging you to speak, yet no reply escaped from your parched throat, from your dry, cracked lips. you fear whatever words might come next will just be a product of your impulsiveness— like the last time you met, like- like how you always fucked everything up, and you just did so the other night, and you're afraid of everything that might come after—

"i tried fixin' my apartment up just before you woke up... got us some takeout for dinner, too. it's your favorite..."

a hesitant smile, teethering on near gentleness that seemed impossible for a cruel man like him. jason looked almost like the brother you once knew as he coughs to himself, a poor attempt to wash away the awkward tension between you two. you're still silent between it all, not a single word mustered from your gaping mouth.

no.

your breath hitches—

your cold hands drive away his fingers entangled with your hair, shaky breaths make up the silent space between you two. he's not- not going to go about this way, would he? how could he?

no, this was not a moment to pretend. he saw you cry out there, under the moonlit night when the world was out for your life— you begged him, implied you'd rather die than let your savior be him.

you're hurt, everything still isn't fine between you two. not a single thread of softness will make up for the broken remnants of love he left you with. he can't act like the last time you met was a warm memory; not when it was filled with icy words and barely disguised contempt.

for a moment, you swore you could see a flash of heartbreak filling his stare. for a moment, you want to take your actions back like last time and become the younger you, but it's just for a moment.

these feelings don't last for a lifeline, not anymore.

"look, angel. i'm- you're not fine, still. it's the doctor's orders that you you need to eat, especially since you just got discharged and got all drunk on an empty stomach."

since when did he care?

ignoring him, your eyes dart elsewhere, ears purposely blocking out the meaning of his words, senses entangled with anything but his vulnerable stare. you look at the rickety fan barely blowing air on your messy hair, buzzing on top of dusty ceilings and shadowing dimly lit walls, at the spare armory scattered actoss the room - he could kill you with them, could end you with just a snap of his fingers - at the spider webs housing the corners of the apartment boxing you in with a man you dread meeting, let alone facing in a space you're far too unfamiliar with.

trapped and vulnerable; like a doe locked in place in a vast forest, surrounded by a pack of hungry wolves, ready to devour the closest thing in sight.

there may only be one you're dealing with now, but they're out there. dick and the others are out there with intentions to face you too.

and you don't know which part of you triggered this sudden desperation, this sudden link between you and your estranged siblings, but you hate it.

you hate this unfamiliar care. you hate the concern laced in every sentiment of jason's. it's unlike them, it's not them in your eyes.

and you hate how this resentment is overpowered by the shadowed by something more sinister, the one thing that dictated the course of your life—

one word: fear.

it wraps around your throat tighter than the bandages adorning your body. traps you in its clawing grip and molds itself in the form of your family.

fear of how to deal with their foreign worry, their questions lingering in the air with patience in its virtue rather than disdain. jason's unmasked face, thumbs softly massaging your unfeeling, cold fingers.

where you show a hitch of a breath, the widening of eyes, and the slightest of shivers. a hint of vulnerability, the softest of hiccups, the deep intakes of air—

instead of being met with a scoff, an offensive remark about your weakness, or a flick of worry immediately wearing away as dismissiveness takes place.

you're met with unfamiliar worry, the heavier dip of the bed, the splaying of bedsheets as jason's body moves closer to yours, the quick succession of movement as he takes off his jacket to loom over your- your shivering form.

just a little more, then your teary eyes meet its gaze on his crumpled jacket with its stench of cigarettes clinging in the air. your tired eyes shakily gaze at the layers of gauze wrapping your ever-bleeding body, and feel the ache nesting in its abode.

panic, unyielding; so much fear which rattles your bones and turns your muscles into useless jelly; which worries the perpetrator of these complicated emotions—

jason.

how do you pretend you're fine? how can you act so carelessly vulnerable in the domain of unknown territory; in a room, alone, but not quite?

it takes you back to when you were at your apartment, takes you back to when you try your damned best to ignore the sensation of panic and bile rising up your throat when you saw dick's messages. all in the span of less than a week.

your life is so fucked.

yet you choose to be inactive in facing these struggles, you choose not to run, or fight, but to ignore.

it's the only common symptom you share with your... your family.

just like now: anywhere but him.

you can't expend anymore hope—

"why, angel?"

confused, pleading, perhaps struck with grief. so unlike the man who scoffed at your lack of reply months ago. maybe he'd truly change, or maybe he felt pity at watching you nearly die before he could redeem himself.

it was his voice that cuts through the tension in the air. this time, he sounds like he's begging. for a second, your tired eyes run to him: him and his stupid worry. the nonchalant buzz in his words were no more, replaced by... betrayal.

for a second, you're reminded of your last meeting. the contrast of the cold past and now this burning sensation within your chest. then suddenly, everything hurts just a little more.

suddenly, you're back at the start. just the little kid looking for answers in a world too big for them. just the little kid who wanted to be good enough for their newfound family.

"for-for wh— what?"

god, even now the past still haunts you, the present crueler too. you and your stupid stuttering, your exposed and vulnerable aching heart that yearns for answers. why is jason hurt over seeing you hurt? why does he... care?

it's just so incomprehensible for you.

his worry is just too foreign.

under the pressure of his boiling gaze, which renders you useless and pinned in damp bedsheets, you simply feel bile rise up your throat. feel anything but comfort when both your eyes met. your teeth nibbles on your sore lips, and you find jason's wince, his almost tense fingers about to stop you from drawing out blood.

"you know what i mean." you don't. or rather, you don't want to know what he means. "why were you..."

'why am i out of the manor, right? in an unknown place in the middle of the night, drunk and alone? almost killed by my own stupidity? why? you know why, jason?'

you bite your lips, its raw, peeling skin opens up old scars anyways, and it bleeds like your raging heart.

'—it's because of you and all the others.'

you don't want to explain how they're the reason for all your burdens. how his sudden presence in that fucking alleyway caused more distress than nearly dying. why you're out in public wasting away at your life, avoiding anything that you can associate with them because, just because you're always hurting.

you don't want to be reminded of the past anymore. you never expected to be in one of your sibling's damn apartment, being interrogated, almost scolded for your impulsive decisions and forced to listen to his sickly bitter worries over your health as if he actually cared for you.

sweat ran down your bobbed throat. your tongue, your lips and your skin felt damp yet dry. cold and crisp air was a commodity, everything felt blazing hot under jason's expectant stare.

an uncomfortable heat, almost burning you, turning your bones to ashes and organs to dust.

"just—" his presence almost felt ghastly, fingers hovering over your downturned chin to softly tilt it up. your eyes felt blurry, and the world felt so... just so cruel when his other hands made its way to wipe away your damp cheeks.

were you... crying?

"just answer me, please."

jason todd, no, the red hood doesn't beg. he doesn't plead. the infamous crime lord doesn't gently swipe your sweaty hair to the side so it doesn't disrupt your already blurry vision. he hurts others, cuts their skin and veins, shoots their bones, rips their limbs one by one, tortures them until all they could beg for is the sweet release of death—

but he doesn't just care for somebody easily, right? he shouldn't burden himself with your own personal issues. he never has done so, only coming to you for casual talk.

what changed?

"i—" you gulp, but the lump in your throat remains everlasting. do you tell him of your worries? do you even trust him? can you even trust him?

"i don't know..."

'i don't know, jason... i'd rather not let you know anymore than you should have.'

"i-it's fine... don't worry about it." you added to your pile of excusing, shrinking in on yourself when his eyes squint at your words.

small. you feel like an ant taking in everything that felt particularly enormous against you. jason's body blocking out the city's skyline and the moon's watchful glow made everything dimmer, made it feel like your only choice was to go through him.

it doesn't help that it feels like every word you mutter, every breath you take, feels like a daunting action devoured by the inner workings of his mind.

why should you worry? jason never— he never truly cared this much.

whether you lie or not wouldn't change the outcome. just a little slip up and he'll leave you alone once more. just a few more minutes and he'll eventually give up, right?

so why are you nervous? why are your fingers picking at the skin of your palms? why do the tears just keep leaking like a faulty pipe? why is he— why can't he just stop staring at you—?

"you're lying."

"h—huh?"

"you're lying and it's obvious, angel."

he reiterates, this time, the tremor in his voice reaches the depths of the ocean. and just like an ocean, you feel yourself drowning in the pressure of his answers. you feel the heaviness of his words, feel it pinning you in place and locking your joints, until all you could hear are his paced breathing and the subtle agitation in his voice.

"wh—"

"why? why were you out alone, huh? what were you doing all alone at night? alfred wasn't even with you— you're drunk out of your mind, you're not even old enough to drink, angel. you weren't with- with anybody by the time i reached you— so why... just why?" this time, he demands. even if his questions were mere whispers against the blaring sounds of traffic from below; it still reaches out and buries itself into your skin, tickles the inside of your ears and nips at delicate skin.

until all you could focus on were his questions.

why?

'isn't it obvious, brother? or do you still see me as a little child?'

"when's my birthday, jason?"

it doesn't take much to know when you've turned the course of the tides to side with you. it doesn't take much to watch jason stumble between befuddled thoughts until he crosses a hurdle he couldn't jump through.

'it shouldn't be a surprise to you, jay. i thought you truly changed.'

nobody... nobody except alfred knew when you were born. not even your closest brother, no. you almost genuinely convinced yourself he cared, but the delusion quickly breaks when you find him wide-eyed as the thoughts churn in his head.

"what...?"

if he truly cared, then he should've known, right?

"—you... i'll answer you if you answer me back. when's my birthday?"

you call him out in that sickly, sweet nickname. it was what that past you called him. it's the same verse you chirp over and over again just to gain a traction of his attention when you feel his eyes drift over the book he's read rather than on you. the name you oh-so carefully drawl out so that he doesn't drift to sleep just so you'll be given temporary respite from the loneliness, so he could rest his fingers on your scalp and promptly hug you from the side.

it feels so foreign on your tongue now, after all, you haven't spoken to him in months.

the last note you left each other with was pure bitterness.

it feels even more strange that you realized how you know all their birthdays, but they never knew yours.

never knew it passed by so quickly under their radar. how you're free from the shackles of their ownership over your name. he doesn't... doesn't even know you're not a wayne now, no?

"do you even know how old i am now?"

"it's... you know, shit—!" he mutters under his breath. it's like he just realized how much he doesn't... couldn't even remember a crucial detail of you when it's you who knows all his favorite books, his favorite author, how his comfort snacks are different for every feeling he feels; hell, even his preferred places to smoke.

yet he doesn't even remember your birthday? couldn't even recall a single moment where you blew out a candle? in all the moments he visited, spending nights with you under the moonlight or through the shine of the library's chandelier; he never even thought of giving you a present, let alone wonder why how within those years of knowing you— jason couldn't even remember the most important occasion of your life?

he bites his lips, and this time, it's him who buries the tips of his fingers on the hastily crumpled bedsheets.

if he calls himself your brother, who thinks he has the right to worry over you, then is a brother someone who couldn't remember your birthday?

now that his eyes aren't on you, you're spared a moment to take him in through the hastening of your heart and the neverending rivulets of tears escaping your blurry gaze.

'ignore the pain, (name). you shouldn't be hurt anymore. you shouldn't feel surprised that he doesn't even know when you were fucking born."

but you can't bear the thought of him stumbling through his words, formulating excuses he knows you know you could easily reject. it just makes everything hurt even more, makes the endless ache in your heart thrum at the implications that this person— his worries were nothing when he has nothing, no care in the past to bare to you now.

"i'm eighteen now, jay..." his eyes quickly flit up to stare at you, mouth agape at the newfound information. what's the use in being shocked now? when all your other birthdays were dismissed and breezed by like a normal day for them— for your family?

and yet you know the answers to your very own questions.

eighteen is a quintessential part of someone's life.

it marks the path of adolescence, the descent to maturity as you learn to grow, to make your own decisions. some children move out of their parent's home to build a nest of their own, they find jobs, maybe even a partner to make or break a life with. people in america who turn 18 are still restricted from drinking, but most still choose to break some laws, fuck up with their decision, get shit-faced and party off with some fraternities and friends who'll turn their backs on you; and then regret it all later.

they build their lives, they go through ups and downs, and slowly bring themself back up again. there's no more gentle approaches, no more excuses for a developing mind. they go through so much in just a year.

and the most important of it all, is that most graduate.

and they weren't there for you, nobody was, save for alfred.

bruce wasn't there when you graduated, so it's no surprise that jason, or even the others, wouldn't come.

jason's still a dead man in the public's eyes, after all.

and even if he wasn't, what would've guaranteed that he'll still come to watch you walk up that stage? what would've changed, when the weight of your graduation and the future to come was thwarted by their worries over damian's? it was always him they— bruce prioritized, when he'd first enter the manor, all eyes were on the brazen boy.

when you first entered the manor, it was a rainy, desolate day. bruce was busy, of course he was, why wouldn't he be when he drowns himself in paperwork to distract the horrid reminders that his second son had passed?

and you don't know what hurts even more, the heartbreak in his stare, or the thumps in your heart that felt like footsteps stepping on the beating organ until all its blood is drained?

"shit, angel. i never knew... i'm— you're eighteen now and i didn't even know? fuck, how could i have forgotten it—"

"just, please save your excuses, jason..."

it's like he couldn't even believe you were old enough now, mature enough to comprehend how his excuses don't mean shit if his lack of knowledge towards your birthday ran on for years.

your sniffles weren't as silent as your words, it hurts, everything felt like fire. the world wants you to burn as your body felt like betrayal, your vulnerabilities stripped bare in front of him.

"i... appreciate your concern, but," it hurts to lie under your breath, hurts to hesitate, let alone voice out what you truly feel. it hurts to wonder why you're unsure if what he felt for you was worry, or just mere guilt over the situation you're both in.

the lines between all your emotions were blurred, you don't even wait to see his expressions anymore. you fear you'll revert back to the younger you, who considers the others before yourself, even when you've disillusioned yourself countless of times that you've changed.

you did, didn't you?

"you don't— you have no excuse to patronize my health when... when i know my limits and..."

"—i have to go, jason..."

barely a whisper. your words were barely a whisper, like the haste of thunder striking through metal rods though without sound, without thought, without hesitation; before your hands suddenly push all your weight to straighten your slumped form. your legs, which felt like blazing jelly, made an attempt to stand despite the burning sensation. you don't offer jason a second to register what you were doing, don't even let him see how your stomach bent enough to nearly reopen wounds—

god, fuck—!

it hurts, it fucking hurts so much.

your heart, your head, your entire body.

one second, you stumble, the gravity of your body fighting against the blistering, aching pain which shoots through your veins. all in one second, seering in your abdomen, like fingers digging deep into your injuries, twisting and churning until all you could feel is pain so absolutely revolting, so mercilessly cripping in your lower abdomen, that it seizes you useless, so utterly unable to capture your balance in the midst of standing, that your legs quickly give out on you.

then another second passes like a beat, all too quickly, yet all too slow for you as the world spins in your darkening vision, all the blood from your head rushing to where the holes lay in haste. your heart thumps like a drum in a warfield, like boots splattering on wed mud, sporadic, in near panic.

another second, the third, and just as you're about to stumble down, the pain so much that your eyes shoot out salty, ignorant tears. just as your body is close to thumping, writhing on the floor, jason catches you in his arms, grip so tight it almost felt like he'd refuse to let go. like how it was back in that shitty alleyway, like how it was, you felt trapped, trapped and forced to feel his sweating muscles churning mechanically, taut and tense through his thin sweatshirt.

close enough to feel that same, raggedy panic — the hitch of a breath, the loud thrumming in your chest, adrenaline shooting into your senses, your mind registers jason as a token of danger— emerging as your elbows make way to hit him square in ribs, only for his quicker, stronger palms instinctively stop you, his larger body locking you up in place, stabilizing you as you feel like you're hovering, suspended in thin, nearly charged air.

he's— he's carrying you, left hand respectfully gripping below your thighs, the other palm resting on your backside. it still hurts, everything does, nothing about you screams okay, only the slight subsidizing of pain as your brother, no, jason carefully puts you back down to sit on the bed, like you're weightless and made of feathers and— and vulnerable with how much gentleness he placates on instinctively hushing you, like a brother would to their injured sibling after a rough hour of playing in a sandbox of a playground.

the tears still won't stop.

through your quivering hiccups, high-pitched whines escaping the back of your throat at every subtle movement, at the thoughts that drown you the more time passes by— it hurts, it hurts so much you'd rather die, you'd rather be anywhere than here. does he know that, does he know the pain of looking at him, feeling him so close like never before is why you're so desparate to leave? does he know your heart beats erratically because you can never forget the moment you last met—?

— you don't even see, let alone feel the anger brewing off his chest, at the sudden, venomous words which escape his mouth next, like chains rattling, acidic bile brewing in a hot cauldron, nearly combusting at the seams.

you don't know that you pain him, don't know that you're his weakness.

and it especially hurts him when you refuse to look him eye-to-eye, refuse to see the tears rooting at the edge of his eyelids, at his teeth grazing his teeth until blood draws out in a steady flow, the opposite of the panic resurfacing into his body as he watches your dazed, breathless form trying to recover from what happened.

wordless. he despises that. how it's like your body repels him, head dodging his lips that hint at kissing your forehead. how you hesitatingly allow him to massage and help straighten the taut muscles of your bent legs— how you remain silent all throughout like you didn't just- just fucking attempt to stand, almost killing yourself despite his warnings.

he despises your not-so subtle avoidance that he just couldn't control it, couldn't control the burning rage brewing inside his heart that he just— just screams at you before he could compose himself.

"— fuck angel, FUCK! just what the fuck were you thinking?!"

jason wasn't always known for anger, he wasn't always the spiteful man everyone makes him out to be. he was sweet towards you because he knew you were innocent in the midst of batman's schemes, so it's no joke, no fucking joke how much he scares you off right now.

it scares you watching him fight others off, scared you when he shot those bullets at the man pinning you down, but you had a semblance of reassurance that it was never directed at you.

until now.

and now that you remain the spectacle of his anger, the sight of his widened, blown out eyes, his furrowed brows and clenched fists — you're so afraid, so fucking afraid he'll end up hurting you like damian, yet conscious of his actions. he looks like a painted demon before you, with clenched teeth and frazzled hair, and you feel like a dear caught in headlights — you feel another surge of tears, another wave of nausea drowning out his voice as your throat closes in on itself.

'stop, jason, please stop. you're scaring me.'

but you couldn't say the words out loud, couldn't even compose your body from quivering, fingers clenching the bedsheets in sudden instinct so hard it crumples on itself; as if it could help ground you, as if it could control the next, hurtful and loud words surging from his mouth.

as if it could cease time just so you wouldn't bear witness to his scary, monstrous rage.

"can't you see what you just did?! don't you know how— how fucking stupid and dangerous that was of you to just stand when you're still obviously HURT!? if you wanted to, you should've told me first instead of just suddenly pushing me away. what's wrong with you, huh?! what possessed you to just— JUST STAND UP AND LEAVE?!"

it's like he couldn't believe you. couldn't even make reasons why you did what you've just done. not even a tinge of comedic effect, not even any comfort laced in any word. not the jason you knew and loved, but a stranger whom you learned to call a friend, a brother that never was.

that's all he ever is, a stranger. all of them, living under the same roof as you.

and he was the same stranger who nearly fought you if not for you leaving that kitchen.

— it was the same old scoff he gave you all those months ago after talking, the same old squinted eyes and generous rage. yet this time it's enhanced with something else, something more personal, something way scarier than just being a spectator.

you always wanted to revolve around his life, but never this way.

it hurts, doesn't he know that?

doesn't he know how much his words just hurt you more than the dull ache in your abdomen? can't he see it too? how you're backing away to the corner of the bed until your back hits the headboard, despite all the pain spreading throughout your body?

if- if he cares so much about you, shouldn't he have known that— that you're sensitive to everything he just said?

bile rises up from your empty stomach, and the tears that keep surging out your eyes refuse to stop; yet it's your words run faster than your thoughts. then suddenly, all too suddenly, everything just snaps.

suddenly, your consideration for him doesn't matter anymore.

not when you never mattered to him, right?

and it feels like a part of you broke tonight.

"... what's up with you, angel?! answer me! first you're drunk off your mind when i find you out in the alleyway, bleedin' to near death, and when i try to help you before it's too late, you come begging me to not take you to the manor. did somethin' happen, huh?! why in the name of lord are you rebelling all of a sudden?! why are you fucking—"

"BECAUSE YOU'RE NOT MY DAMN SIBLING ANYMORE, JASON!"

it just won't stop. the pain and the tears and all the words spilling from you won't stop and everything- shit, everything is spinning but you can't stop now.

it hurts. saying those eight words hurt, but it's the truth.

and the truth fucking hurts. what right should he have worrying over you? what right does he have to criticize your life now when he's only been there for you when he needs it?

"IT'S NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS ANYMORE JASON! STOP— STOP PRETENDING LIKE YOU CARE—!"

fists clench at the bedsheets bring itself up to tangle upon your matted hair, and you pull and tug and rip off the strands, biting your lips to quell the anger, the pain shooting across your scalp, your fingers stinging with every snap of the strands. shivering and trapped, and useless in fighting back; why are you like this? why does he keep watching?

you close your eyes. for what? so that all you could hear are your ragged breaths, the only thing you can hear every time you'd have reoccurring nightmares? so that you could return to that lonely child, to the lonely teenager you once were?

the lonely, scared child you still are?

'since when have you ever cared, jason? since when? since when has anybody ever cared?'

your voice trembles at the ends, you can't afford to look at him, burying yourself deeper into the mattress as if that alone can melt you until you were nothing, just so you wouldn't have to deal with this neverending heartbreak.

"stop... just please—" you bite your lips, but it does nothing to quell the overwhelming panic, the spiralling thoughts, the blazing emotions. your knees are pressed against your chest, fingers now scratching at your heated face.

until it bleeds, until it all bleeds.

you open your eyes, an array of tears come bursting off your sore eyelids, your cheeks feel considerably swollen, yet you just can't stop fucking crying. it worsens even more when your wobbly vision turn to look up at him, at his unbelievable stare, at his widened, ocean blue orbs, dull and almost unforgiving.

'this isn't the jason i knew.'

"just why, (name)? why?"  hearing your name roll off his tongue, instead of your usual nickname hurts, hearing it with such rage, contempt, like he's directing his hatred at you for something you couldn't control— god, it hurts.

"what do you mean by all this? i'm- i'm still your damn brother—" he says, as if it's a matter of fact, as if nothing between you changed the last day you saw him, as if he didn't know the reason. if he was your brother, then why does he sound so diffident, then?

why does his voice tremble? why does his care taste foreign against your tongue? why does he stand there, as if hesitant to even approach you?

"and because i am your brother... i have every right to care for you now—"

"i was never important then... so why do i matter now?"

"— what?"

"why do i matter so much now than before? how come i never deserved your care before?"

"angel, please. what the hell are you talking about—"

"JUST FUCKING ANSWER MY QUESTION, GODDAMNIT!"

all that you were, all that you ever are, was just a distraction for jason to bide his time with, weren't you? all he knew about you was that you acted as his entertainment, a quiet little kid who listens more than they ever learned to speak, who purposely read all the archived books in the manor's library, waiting every month for their favorite brother to visit. even if it was just for minutes, even if he'd leave you right after, escaping your boring rambles, because of course he'd prefer the fucking batcave over your silent, expectant, always yearning eyes.

all you ever wanted, all you ever did, was just be.

do what you thought they wanted you to be, not what you wanted yourself to be. baking because you knew they loved to raid the fridge for snacks after missions, drawing because your mother always praised your messy sketches, even if it was nothing compared to damian's now, dancing, ballet, gymnastics— going as far as trying to learn how to fight, giving up halfway through because you'll never progress with just how much you're juggling other extracurricular activities.

all that, just to be what you wanted to be for them.

even if it was never enough, even if your rare a plus', the occasional gold medals, the praise and acknowledgement from your teachers, even alfred's suggestion for bruce to just, please, take his time of the day to talk to you— all those achievements shine dully compared to your other siblings.

and you've long since accepted that it was all that you ever were. just a mere tool, ever-so-useful, yet ever-so-forgotten by all the other convenient ones.

all that you are, all that you ever were. but all that you ever wished for, was to be his child, their sibling.

but that was never possible, you've accepted that. you branched off, left and never came to look back because you knew you'll just be trudging another path of pain.

...

so why, why does he care so much now?

why, for the first time in your entire life, does it pain you more than it comforts you that he finally called himself your brother?

why, just now, does he say it to your face, when he never once did so all those years ago?

why does he pretend to be so shocked in front of you, wide-eyed and frozen, relinquished in guilt? why does he stand there, breathing, trying to compose himself as if your words ever held any weight on his chest? why can't he just understand, why can't he just let you go as easily now?

why do you still cry after all these years?

why do you still pretend that none of these... these issues mattered anymore in your heart?

why do your fingers still forcefully pierce into the mattress, grounding yourself to reality? why can't you rip your eyes away from jason?

why does his care break your heart more than it does fixing it?

you've always wanted this, didn't you? you've always wanted to be finally acknowledged, yet it still hurts. your throat still closes in on itself, like fingers clawing and constricting your airways, your breathing like jet missiles vaporizing mid air.

and yet all the pain, all the yearning and destesting for a love so passionate were still overpowered by the senseless need for answers.

'jason, why do you still try?'

"angel, calm down you're—"

on the verge of a panic attack? hands suddenly beating at your chest, tears neverending still streaking your sore cheeks and bitten, bloodied lips?

his hands reach out to grab yours, yet you slap his palms away, ignore the stinging sensation that came after; and back away to a corner. like a reckless animal, like the same young child hiding behind closet doors, biting back tears yet desperately failing.

you're both at your breaking points, you both refuse to back down this stupid game of cat and mouse.

"just calm down, please—!"

"NO, I WON'T— you don't fucking understand it, jason!

— i don't need your help, or anyone else's anymore! you have never been there for me! never been there for all the times i suffered because of your death! so don't even try to make a difference now!"

before he could even refute, before he could shout and cause another wave of panic, before he could break you even further—

"... so why do you care now?"

you couldn't even face him, too afraid to see his reactions churning. he shakily breaths, fog encapsulates the air around his parched lips. and you're reminded that it's almost winter, that your heater in your apartment is broken, that you'll be freezing underneath your thin blankets, eating off cold meals— that it's another one of those months where you're reminded of the privilege you've both lost and gained after leaving the manor.

you've lost your last connection to jason, so you thought, yet he's here in front of you now. he's here, and rather than wanting him to be here, you'd wish it was a dream instead.

you wished he never cared, for his next words stabbed you more than it did made you feel cared.

"i care, (name). because you were drunk when i got you, you were impulsively provoking the same guys who nearly killed you. because what? it's easier to escape that way?. i care because you've done something stupid, you nearly died because of your recklessness! my younger sibling did something stupid and it's my responsibility to worry over you, worry over your overdramatics! you're still fucking eighteen and you're already wasting away your life—!"

"that's why i fucking care for you, because you're my burden alone and nothing changes that!"

what...?

overdramatic? impulsive and reckless? is he serious? is that all you ever were to him? he cares because he thinks you're still that stupid, innocent child chasing after him? is that what you are? is that all you ever amounted to him after all the times you spent sleepless nights reading the books he recommended you? all the hours burning your fingers just to perfect his favorite lunch?

just that?

just a burden?

and he just stands there, so cruelly imposing, hands crossed like he's right and you're not. tears equally streak his ragged face, dripping all the way down his sharp jaws and wobbly chin. but his brows are furrowed, eyes still squinted at your body, weaker than his.

like all he feels is rage towards you, like everything's your fault.

while you're just sitting in his bed, limp and utterly unable to stand without his guidance.

and you hate this, hate being reminded that just like last time, you used to depend on him alone.

"how dare you, jason? we... i've always been so good to you... i've always done what you always wanted, i—"

this time your heart aches differently. it's not the subtle panic stinging your beating organ, not even regret shrouding your thoughts. but a painful, stabbing pain; slow and cold. your nose is clogged, your teeth rigidly grinding, the ball of your joints feel like they're pressing deeply on each other— everything just hurts.

his words feel like a knife slowly twisting inside your guts. not even the salty, warm tears feel worth crying out anymore.

it's just silent understanding, a painful acceptance.

of your pain and all those wasted summers and lonely winters.

your hands grip the headboard as you shift your weight to the uninjured side of your abdomen. you glare at him when he almost hurriedly attempts to help you, but through silent puffs of effort under your breath, you're already standing, right hand gripping nothing on the wall as you lean on it.

it still hurts, god, the burning sensation won't boil down at all.

— but you want to face him, head-to-head. you want him to face his burden. if he wants to understand you, if you want to understand him— there's no use hiding behind a semblance of comfort.

because more than anything, you just wanted a family. you just wanted to be part of their family.

yet now you've come to realize that maybe you were just a burden all along.

"it's- it's so unfair..."

your voice cracks at the seams, but there's no use composing yourself anymore. no use in trying to look decent in his eyes when all you ever were was a problem to him, to everyone else, right?

"out of all the times i nearly got killed, jason... you decided to save me by the time i accepted my death...?"

maybe your mother would've sided with jason, only for the part that she wanted you safe and sound rather than dead. but she's dead now, you wanted to be dead because it meant you'll finally have her at your side.

and it feels so cruel to be stripped away from that honor, that merciful gift of life, from the very same brother whose death caused you more turmoil than anything.

"—this isn't the first fucking time this happened to me, jason, and it wouldn't be the last."

your voice was barely a whisper, barely a recognizable tremor, but it speaks volumes of your desperation, of what could've been if he didn't intervene. of what wouldn't change despite it all.

you'll still be dead afterall. this is gotham where you're living. and you're not a priority to the vigilantes, not anybody important to the family.

even if his expression shifted to shock, even if you find an ounce of softness throughout the exterior of his fragile agitation; is it not true?

he takes a step forward, but your hands shoot out to put distance between you two. even if it pains you to see the confused heartbreak in his eyes at your refusal, you don't want him any closer, you fear you'll submit to his whims if you do.

you can taste blood in your tongue, but you swallow it all like you're swallowing all the bitterness you feel, you drown this ache in your heart, replace it with temporary assurances that this will all end, that jason's stubborn attempts of placating you is just another attempt to draw you closer, only to push you away in the end.

... and yet he's still trying even after what felt like minutes, maybe hours, stretching between you two.

jason still keeps trying, while you're close to giving up.

"why are you like this, angel? what happened between you and bruce? did he hurt you—"

"nothing happened—" you're lying, but not quite so. you're lying but it's not a lie when you mean nothing, literally nothing, happened between you and your father. that's the worse of it all, you and bruce never had a moment together, never had any memories to cherish nor times where he comforted you through the trauma of it all.

that painful reminder just makes past emotions stir within you.

of those cold nights, the barren hallways and alfred's countless excuses for bruce's absences.

"i have my personal reasons, jason." you seethe through your teeth. it hurts to admit your feelings to him, hurts that your drying tears are still overlayed by a resurgence of new ones. "it involves you guys... you and the others; but it's nothing now. it doesn't matter now and you know it..."

"... no i don't, angel. and no, it's not nothing. because if it was, then what's all of this for? what do you want from him, from me? that caused you to act this way...? to act so selfishly, trying to rebel like us when you've always been a good kid, huh? god, (name), if you just wanted his attention, to be his favorite—"

"— then there's so much better ways, angel. than being like this... being someone that isn't you."

he truly never knew you well at all, huh?

considering everything that happened tonight, you thought he did, but fuck...

hearing all those assumptions come straight from him just destroys you inside out.

"jason... please listen to me."

cutting him off, it's both an act done to just stop him from rambling any further, stops you from just— just irrationally ripping your ears apart so you wouldn't have to hear it anymore; hear all those disillusioned excuses, those painful words ripping you apart at the seams.

he looks at you, at your weak hold against the edge of the bedframe, at the hushed, shivering breathing, at your downcast, almost resigned eyes. you don't reciprocate his worried gaze, you just... don't.

"i don't want to be his favorite... i never wanted to be— fuck!"

"why do you assume all this, jason?" you faintly glared at him, but that flicker of the fight blew off, and you returned, looking at your feet, speaking through your beating heart, your irrational thoughts of shutting down, if not for the faint stench of smoke grounding you, if just by a fraction.

"i never wanted to be an athlete like dick, or as academically talented like you, or some crazed detective like tim, or as skilled as an assassin like damian! i don't even have the determination steph has or barbara's perseverance to continue fighting alongside all of you! i can't even reach cassandra's level of fighting, and i certainly don't have powers like duke!"

there it is again: the envy, the spite, and the undertone of yearning in your words. maybe jason was right, maybe you're still the young, good kid afterall. but good kids still do bad things, good kids can still feel and fuck, you feel a plethora of negativity mentioning all their positive traits, while you have none.

you have nothing, not even a small merit to offer.

"— all of you guys are so fucking talented, and here i am, so pathetic for thinking i can reach the same level as you all when i can't!"

the medals are useless compared to damian's success in topping the entire gotham university. the certificates for placing indancing competition were none the more important than cassandra's ballet recitals. your research projects that you've spent nights crying on, was it all that relevant when tim always one-ups you within just a day of data-gathering?

so what makes you special, what makes jason think you'd even try to be bruce's favorite in the first place, when you're absolutely useless?

"—so i just can't, jason! how could i have the damn audacity to desire being bruce's priority when each and every one of you are beyond my level?!"

untouched breakfast, thrown away lunch, cold dinners. thrashed out backpack, unsharpened pencils, inkless pens, wornout diaries, bandaged arms and sleepless nights. your life was a cycle of constant wanting, of constant attempts to earn your place. even if there were moments some of them looked at you in pity, it was never enough to warrant their comforting words or even just a pat in the back.

the last time dick has ever looked at you was the first time you met.

and in those moments where you wish you were as forgettable to damian as you were to others, he'll remember to always remind you of your place.

maybe you were like them, in ways where you're always trying but never enough. in ways where their attention on you was never enough too. you need something from them, they needed something else from you too.

"angel..." you don't have to look up to know the air has changed. that wretched nicnkame plastered itself back into his mouth. this time, he said it softer, like he's come to a realization, like it was enough to draw you out of the caverns of isolation you've kept yourself in.

but before he could speak again, before you'd get lost in those memories of the past—

"i never wanted to be bruce's favorite, jason..."

"i just..."

your eyes soften, as tears begin to spring from your eyes, red and swollen, and you let them. you look down at your unclenched hands through blurry vision, and find indents of crescents present on raw, battered skin— and it's enough to make you remember your childhood, enough to deepen the heavy weight of conflict drowning your heart.

when you look up to jason again, you bite your quivering lips, just to silence the ugly wail brewing from your chest. he looks at you, as equally befuddled, as heartbroken.

"... i just wanted to be his child." the sentence comes out your lips, so silent, so broken and lightly pitched. it speaks volumes of wanting, of yearning, of years begging for even a sliver of love offered on your way. it felt like it was the younger you speaking to him, begging him to fucking understand how it was never about just wanting attention—

it was about wanting to just have a family. people who should've loved you, saw you through the veil of your reputation, yet chose to love you still.

because they're family, they're your family. and all that mattered to you was family.

how hard was it to understand that sentiment?

"i just want to be loved because i'm his child, not a charity case, or because he's doing this for my mother..."

you remembered those nosy paparazzi's stalking you even in elementary. they ask you how it's like being adopted by the bruce wayne, how it's like living a life most orphaned children dreamt of living; how lucky you must be, having a mother who's come to share a bed with him, that your life must be so full of luxury because bruce took pity on you and your poor, whore of a mother, right?

they didn't know it was alfred, the estate's butler, who'd suggested adopting you. and with a flick of bruce's wrist, a slight furrow of his brows and a dismissed thought of you, you were brought in the manor.

it was never bruce who considered you, maybe the paparazzi and journalists slowly came to realize that after discovering your father is nowhere to be seen beside your side. maybe that's why they slowly dissipated away from you year by year, leaving you as lonely as ever.

'and now,' you thought, 'bruce still doesn't care for me at all.'

that hurts.

"i just want to be selfish for once... i want to see him the same way he looks at you back then, every damn time he stares at your grave, while i watch by the fucking windows, wishing it was me he looked at."

despite never meeting jason from back when he was robin, you mourned for him too, you prayed for his soul the same way you prayed for your mother's. it helped you disillusion yourself to believe you mattered, sitting beside his grave by the gardens despite the rain pouring downcast and staining your clothes. it helped you think you were becoming closer to bruce.

"i wanted him to look at me jason! think of me as someone as important as you, even just a semblance of it...!"

you tried so hard to imitate them all. dick's athleticism, cass' elegance, tim and barbara's elite-level knowledge on the digital world, duke's cunningness when it comes to puzzles, damian's strategies and steph's awe-inspiring rebellion paired with sarcasm. you try to emulate it all, waking up early every day, schedule packed with activities in each corner of the manor just so you'd have a chance of finding bruce in the same room as you; but it just never was enough.

"god, i don't even want him to see me as a priority, i don't want him to see me and think that i'm the best damn thing in the world. i know i'm not, jay. i'm not perfect, not even half as good. but i just want him to stare and think, 'this is my child,' without any second thoughts, without any regards for my dirty fucking past."

there was one moment in your life where you almost despised your mother. almost. you blamed her for birthing you, for having you as her child, for bestowing you this curse of being unloved, as only being acknowledged as the woman who stole from others: a bitch, a prostitute who got pregnant too early, a lady with a sullen reputation bleeding into the present of her child.

you nearly hated her, you wish you never did. she was your only light, the memories of her was what kept you alive, and you dim that light off, purposely try to blow off the shining embers that gleam for you just because you wanted the love and attention from a family that was never yours.

and you nearly worked yourself to death because of it.

"jason, i just wanted to... to go through the normal things a father does with his child. i wanted him to love me, even just for the tiniest bit. is that hard enough to fulfill? am i just too high maintenance for him that he can't— can't even deal with me after you died? tell me, jason—

"—am i just the burden of an aftermath?!"

a small of you nearly excused bruce's neglect for his mourning of jason. but that mourning extended even after his resurrection. and slowly, the more the members of the family piled up, you figured it all out.

it was you that's unlovable.

and no matter what, you could never truly accept that fact.

not even as you cry out your woes to jason, not even as your voice cracks and breaks at every syllable, at every spilled word tinged with bitterness, with pain so deep it cuts through your already bleeding heart.

"i just- just wanted to be part of the family. i just wanted to eat takeout with you that day- wanted to forget you fought bruce— forget everythin' just to bond with you 'cause you never gave me enough time in your already busy day. so why can't i? why can't i have the things everyone else had? is it too entitled of me to say that i just wanted your love? am i too demanding if i just wanted a family?!"

"is it so hard to love me?"

"tell me, jason! just, fucking tell me, please..."

your fingers' grip on the edge of the headboard nearly slipped, your sniffles were unbearably loud, a reflection of the thrumming beats of your heart nearly escaping out your chest in the form of shrieking sobs.

he finally speaks, unsure. he still stands in his place, but you're crying too much to even care.

"no, no of course not. it's not... you're not..."

"i'm not what, jason? not your sibling, not bruce's child? 'cause that's what i've felt like this entire fucking decade! and now that i've left everything behind, you all suddenly want to pretend like i was never unnoticed back then? that all my damn efforts to be good enough was finally acknowledged just now—?"

"why can't you just answer me, jay? why does nobody want to give me answers?"

"... why can't anybody just love me?"

it felt like heartbreak on both your sides. like a thread snapping, jason was as quick to retort—

"we do love you, angel. i do...! i love you so fucking much that i can't handle seeing you in pain. so please let me take care of you, just... just let me handle all of this, please."

— but you can't believe him, not anymore. it hurts falling for his lies, for his words and false reassurances. he can't even promise you takeout back then, what more does his 'i love you's' do you now?

"no, no you can't care for me, jason. not anymore... you're not my brother anymore, you guys aren't family to me anymore..."

is it betrayal in his eyes, or something far deeper? is it unadulterated anger at what you'd said? why can't he just accept your words? why can't he just accept there's nothing in between you anymore other than those past memories long gone?

"... yes, yes we're family. i care for you. just let me show you i do, angel—"

"... we're not even siblings, we're not. we're just strangers to each other.—"

you whisper softly through your damp lashes, throat sore after all the screaming. it doesn't calm down the momentary adrenaline rushing through your body, though. it doesn't, all these reassurances are just a temporary distraction.

"that's not true, angel. don't even... don't even think of saying that—"

"take me back, please. just please take me back to where you last found me. i'll find a way—"

you want to go home, you want to sleep your way through this pain. but jason proves himself to be stubborn, just like his father. and you are, too; anymore of those similarities, anymore and you'll bash your head to the walls just so you could forget.

"no, angel..." he retorts just as quickly, suddenly imposing, suddenly back to square one where it's all him, all his words that matter with no regard for yours. "who the hell says i'm letting you go back there?! that's suicide!"

but you don't matter, don't you? so that automatically means he shouldn't pretend like your life matters, too.

"... i don't care, just please! jason, i'm begging you...! just do this one single favor for me. i can't..."

'i can't go back to the manor...'

just saying it in your thoughts alone makes you sick with nausea. because that means returning to yearning, returning to those sick nights filled with broken diary entries and dick's huff of dismissal, damian's weapons pointed at you, tim's click of the tongue and just... that inflicted, neverending pain.

"you're hurt, angel, you won't survive out in the dark like that. i'm sure as hell not taking you back there. we're going back to the manor—"

"NO! i don't want to be there! that's not where i live, not anymore, no take me back home...!

anywhere... anywhere but there. anywhere but that wretched cage.

"please, jay!"

you call him by his nickname, nearly yanking yourself to his side if it weren't for your legs keeping

"if you don't want me to... then let me go and i'll call a taxi or something—! whatever...! just not—"

"—not there..."

"and if i bring you back to that apartment, what now? you're gonna commit the same old mistakes, you're going to hurt yourself!? you're gonna get yourself killed, break another limb, use more than just crutches to support yourself and get yourself hurt all over again?!"

"NO! i won't, jay... i won't bother you anymore. just not there and... not with them—"

"... not with you, please."

it was a mistake on your part, to audibly whisper out those last words. and yet it was unfixable, you can't take back words once they're said, jason can't take back all the cruel statements he made your way that day, and yet it's him who's offended, who tears up, who heaves and nearly shrieks at you, uncaring for the neighbors living below.

"why are you trying so hard to push us away?! push me away right after you.. you opened up?!"

"because we're not family anymore, goddamnit—!"

"why are you so goddamn stubborn?! care for me, care for me like you care for all those strangers getting mugged in the street! not as my brother—!"

"i am your brother!"

it hurts, your chest hurts, your throat, your wobbly arms and your unfeeling legs. yet what hurts the most is that you just can't accept it, accept all the words he throws your ways. can't accept how you've both changed and it...

it just hurts...

"and i care for you, more than you can ever fucking imagine, so don't... don't fucking push me away! not especially right after i almost lost you!"

"god..." suddenly, he resigns through a sigh.

why, just why, is he calming down now?

"i'm such a fucking dick to you, aren't i? i know i don't deserve you. nobody deserves you and your forgiveness, angel. you've always been so good to me- to us...

"i'm so fucking sorry. for everything. for leaving you behind after that day, even being an asshole to you after. for ignoring you all those years, for breaking every damn promise i made like you were nothing, for realizing all of this just right after you nearly died, in my arms."

his voice breaks at the last words, as if the reminder of what transpired last night permanently left a broken fixture in his memories. as if thinking about it is enough to destroy any bite in his argument.

"you don't— you don't deserve any that—"

"i'm— i'm so sorry, angel."

that was all you wanted to hear, all you wanted to be said throughout the layers of defensive, reckless statements he threw your way.

heavy were the unspoken words that hung in the air. heavy were the unbidden promises he forged himself to ensure but ultimately failed to do so, that were all meant to repair his relationship with you. heavy were the tears that streaked both your cheeks, the unsung arguments, the fists that curl, fingers that bite at indented skin until it bleeds.

"— I should've noticed sooner, i should've known you felt that way."

"i know, jay. i know," your mind, your mouth, they both betray the words your heart wished to speak, but you lock that beating organ out before it forces you to mutter something else. you feel too faint, from the tiredness coursing through your body as an aftershock of your injury, the throbbing of the holes in your body, and the intensity of your emotions.

'i know you know that, and i wished you did something about it when you knew you had the power to change all this—'

'all that were are, all that we were.'

you wanted to tell him, but the sentiment tastes bitter on the expanse of your tongue, as if confessing it would scorch you and your aching brain even further. you just couldn't anymore, you couldn't break both your hearts.

heavy were the emotions uncurling beneath both you and jason's chest, boiling and spilling, until the only words you both could mutter were the ones that scald your aching hearts.

"jason, i'm- i'm still hurt."

"i know, angel. let me take care of it, of you. just let me do this, just once."

he takes a careful stride towards you, a knot forms in your brows and in your stomach. it curls inside your body when his both his hands grip your forearms, gently, like you're made of glass, to push you to softly sit on his mattress.

made carefully, cleaned neatly for you.

you never thought you were worthy enough to have a bed made for you.

— you don't even allow alfred to clean your own room because you don't think you deserve it.

silence ensues, only the squeak of his shoes sliding against the floor, his panting breaths, your unstable intakes of air, and the hinge of his bed were heard, drowning out the swears of the citizens from below his apartment complex and the thumping of car horns.

it's just the two of you, in this room. you and jason, just like the moments spent under the roof of the manor.

you don't fight against him, don't push him away like you did so earlier, in favor of relinquishing your control, your pain, to his squinting, wandering blue eyes that trap your body, at his calloused fingers running across the expanse of the lumps in your arms.

and in that moment, under the sheer glow of his apartment's flickering lights, under the watchful gaze of the restless city nights, of the lamp posts gleaming in the streets; you both looked a little more like each other for every passing second, every passing moment after you'd scream your woes, after he'd retort and retaliate with his excuses, his reasonings.

you had his vengeful glare, staring daggers at him as he took in your wrapped wounds. he had your silence, desperate and aching pleas. you stuttered like him when he chases after words tangling in his parched mouth. he bites his lips like you when he couldn't find the right words, bounding his hands to his delicate strands of hair to pull in agitation, just like you always do.

and both of you were- were good...

a good soldier and a good child, lost in the weave of dreams, expectations and broken, unfulfilled promises.

it reminds you of how he was the only brother you truly had a bond with, of how truly close you were to him, shared moments of brief laughter with, a respite, a paradise without the need to chase after his presence, all done in such short moments, moments that could never be enough to quench your aching thirst for love and familial attention.

he finally speaks after taking his seat beside you, muscled arms wrapping around your shoulders. he broke the intangible silence, with knotted brows and sorry, pleading eyes that look at yours. it made you feel trapped, in his arms and in his mindful apologies, it reminded you of the manor.

"i could've been better for you, angel. i should've known, i'm so fuckin' sorry, i—"

"i know, jay. i know, please..."

please stop. no more, you don't want to hear anymore,. you don't want to dream, to fantasize what could've been.

— because that meant drowning yourself in the past, that meant running back to chasing after empty promises.

and yet...

the more you think, the more the possibilities unfold in your thoughts.

a bitter part of you wished it was him who had welcomed you into your home, into the manor. you wished it was him, not alfred, dick or bruce you'd chase after, wished he was alive when your fleeting dreams were too. the child in you wished his assurances were what graced you in such an early time. just so that, maybe, just maybe, your throat wouldn't close in on itself every time you're reminded of your solitary past, a past lost and without a cause because of his passing.

running after dick, acting as his invisible silhouette, hearing the empty yes's on your invitation for him to come visit your room. tugging on bruce's sleeves whilst his eyes flit elsewhere. knuckles rupturing on the door of tim's room, only to be greeted with a silent hm, and a plea for you to come the next time. hands shakily holding a heavy tray of arabic food you learnt to cook for your younger brother, just for the same bowl to scald and prick stickily against your reddening skin

— you wouldn't have to do all that, if you had at least one ally, an ally who had to be dead when you were alone. someone as perfectly imperfect as you.

he's not like dick, the sun doesn't shine for him, the world doesn't give him grace— if it did, he wouldn't have died. he felt more charcoal than diamond, jagged and rough on the edges. yet charcoal was easier to obtain than diamonds, like the bright blue's of dick staring at you - such a precious, yet rare instance - or brazen emeralds like damian that could only look at you like you're mere pyrite; his attention was easier to obtain, because he knew you outside of your ghostly reputation. saw you as something else. jason was the only presence you were able to share your laughter with in the face of his brief visits.

as you look at him now, as he looks at you too, through his panting and the neverending tears streaking his cheeks. you look at each other in painful, understanding silence. his face, shoulders, chest, legs are painted with scars, incisions on skin, the first trait your eyes lay could on, as your gaze flitters to your equally scarred figure, too.

on the cuts that run deep into your wrists and palms, on the lighter scars, the deeper pigmentation that lay awake, like a chaotic portrait, that throbs with painful reminders that unlike jason, you chose to hurt yourself to replace that pain in your cold, beating chest. but like jason, you both wear these memories painfully on your sleeves.

imperfect, sullen and easily broken, like you.

you don't know whether to cry, or to laugh. that finally, fucking finally, you could share your similarities, your flaws with someone else too.

and at this very time, you knew neither of you could win your losing battles. if you argue even further, if your heart spills anymore words you know would only cut through the tension and break into even more back and forths— jason would only retort, would call you angel as be attempts to calm you down, as if you were an still an innocent bystander to his pain, as if you never told him you wish he'd stay dead.

if you wanted to survive this wretched night without anymore heartbreaks, you'd have to be the first to back down, to step away, be the bigger person.

like how you had to choose to give up on your family, to finally let go of your expectations on them. it was the only way, it was your way of adjusting to them, as you always do.

maybe it was fortunate for jason, that you'd already easily given up.

you'd give up when he wraps you in his arms, and unceremoniously perched you up his lap like how an owner cradles his injured cat, ensuring your injuries aren't pressed against the weapons stuck in his utility belt.

for a moment, you let time with him be. you allow the course of calmness to wash over, for your tears to dry until it feels like sickeningly dry salt rubbing against skin, for the lump resting in your throat to retreat to your throbbing heart, for the blood escaping your body from your injury to slowly seep into the gauze that wraps around it.

without the adrenaline coursing through your veins, without the haste of trying to escape from his hold, you've now access to the feel of his entire body. when the panic escapes from your heart, and all you're left with is resignation, his muscled arms wrapped around your torso; you're left reeling at the scent of motor oil and gunpowder, head buried at the crook of his neck whilst your tears are drying ever so slowly, effuse into his favorite jacket.

everything about jason felt foreign, uncharacteristically huge. his body felt too strong, too heavy, like a burden deeper than just vigilante duties of ridding the crime of gotham.

you never knew just how touch-starved you were, ignoring the specks of blood littering his clothes and the familiar scent of cigarettes reminding you of the bustling streets of gotham, even though the stench of ichor overpowers it— you feel like you're home. not at the manor which smells of fresh, flowery sheets, not at your empty apartment polluted with car smoke just wafting outside your windows; but a home you've once lived in, with just your mother and you.

it was just so fucked up, how he could easily subdue the anxiety eating you away. it was so ironic, how in an apartment filled with deadly weapons: guns, knives, bombs, and journals containing contingency plans against all his enemies; it is where you felt currently the safest, as you're reminded of your past; your humdrum life with your mother.

back when everything was normal, back when all your worries were about the chances of having dinner that night, or hoping that your new clothes wouldn't tear as much so your beloved mom wouldn't have to spend wretched hours stealing just to provide you with all your wants and needs.

it never occurred within your mind, just how similarly you lived like jason. and in jason's thoughts, he realized how much you could've ended like him if he hadn't protected you this very night. if he hadn't heard the family pitch of your scream, a scream engraved deep into his memories, a haunting record that plays nightly as he's reminded that he was the reason why you had terror shocks from the shadows in the corner of your eyes.

he hated that he made you scream as a child, that he was the stuff of your nightmares, but he despised it even more when it had to be the others tormenting his little sibling.

it was enough to make his blood curdle, the sight of those filthy men touching, pinning and kicking, shoving a gun against the head of the person most important to him, puncturing holes into their body. he takes in a shaky gulp, yet he hums - pretending like he isn't truly bothered. he can't let you worry anymore - when your fingers listlessly play with the hems of his jacket.

'they're dead, jason. don't even think of doing what you have to do.'

the palm that rests on the back of your torso digs deeper at the thought of you wriggling in pain, not enough to hurt, but enough to tell you that whatever jason is thinking right now isn't good, your ears taking notice hearing the hastening thrum of his heart, even when his body is slumped against yours, you could still feel the slight shivers trailing across his body.

yet you only bury yourself deeper into him, closed eyes dry with tears and nuzzling at warmth you knew you'll soon never be able to feel again, from a brother who was too late to take you back. his right palm, big against your head, nearly covering the expanse of your scalp, scratches and guides you to properly lean on the blades of his shoulder. you don't see his expressions, you don't know if all the comforting he's doing, all the love he's offering you right now is authentic, or just out of mere obligation as your older brother, but you're grateful either way...

entirely grateful that you'd at least be feeling what it's like to be cuddled by one of your ex-family members, before you ultimately make a quick escape from gotham. you're so grateful that despite everything, at least now, the tiny little part of you, the innocence long gone, would rejoice at their life-long dream at finally being able to coddle with just one family member.

past you would've ranted about this in your journal, would've jumped in joy, run across the manor, and thank the world for blessing you with such a miracle. you wouldn't even care if damian shoved a nasty glare in your way.

even if temporary, even if a small, unyielding part of you wishes that you could stay like this forever; the stronger version of you, the one that learned to mature, to forgive yet never forget— it is the voice of reason amongst a sea of conflicting emotions. it tells you that you've moved on a long time ago, that whatever this is right now, will have you force to let go.

and even if younger you begged that it is unfair, that this is what they've always wanted in their life, for someone to acknowledge them as much as they've loved the family even without reciprocation; you've long since given up at hoping. your heart is weary, and tired of constantly being led to believe, only to come back broken in pieces all the damn time. you're older now, old enough to learn that, well...

everything is temporary in life. the comfort your family offered you was always temporary. jason, who succumbs to burying his head in your scalp to hum foreign tunes— he'll soon be just a burning memory, yet at least you'll be left with something positive to say about him.

after all, their love for you happens in quick successions, it wasn't all the time you were ignored, but chasing after it when it had already become mere dust before you could catch it with your clawing hands.

dick had shown you a crumb of his love, back when he first introduced you to his room. hell, even bruce was decent enough to transfer you out of school, even if it was out of mere dismissiveness and to keep a reputation, he showed he cared for a child, even if it was never enough.

and now?

'now, jason will forget about me soon enough,' you tell yourself.

just like the times you stumbled upon steph and pushed yourself to be invited to watch a movie with her, only to be rejected and given her side of popcorn as compensation and an awkward grin promising that she'll find a time in her schedule to spend with you. waiting for months for an update proved fruitless, writing praises in your journal, all about her silky blonde hair, and her lighthearted smiles don't do anything to manifest time well-spent with someone you thought would at least put in effort to be with you. she was similar to you in so many ways, how she felt dismissed by the family, and never enough for them— but the sheer difference that places you both in different lanes is the fact that she was at least loved, that she still had people care for her outside her status of spoiler. people loved stephanie brown, because she was at least unique, she was noticeable with her ironic jokes and love for purple.

you still had nothing to offer.

it's like the silent moments you were able to cherish when you could last for more than five minutes in the room with damian, his emerald eyes petting titus and alfred the cat, as you sit in the far corner watching how softly, how precious like treasured gems, he treats them. he doesn't fight you, doesn't bat at eye, but witnessing the young assassin, your little brother, become a kid, watching him paint in your memories without his scowled growl directed at you, or a knife pointed on your body; it made you feel like they do have a semblance of love, of care, only for those who deserved.

you only deserve care when you prove yourself to be capable enough.

hell, despite you knowing the least about duke, watching him play with his powers against bruce's orders was what made your bleak life a bit more interesting. having to save him from nearly dying, from fainting due to the overuse of his metahuman abilities when he was still new to being signal. being the faint silhouette he sees throughout the white light in his vision, the quivering, desperate voice who assures him he'll be alive, he'll be fine; you don't know if he remembers it, if the young boy could even recall how your eyes lit up, how your chest felt lighter when his scarred palms came to cup your shivering ones to keep you from ripping at your hair—

your point proves, chasing after them amounts to nothing. you could only be a witness, a bystander if you want to relish in their shared memories, but never part of their small community. you'll never be able to know what's it like having inside jokes with them, to share your homemade meals with them, to show old albums of your life as a child before being adopted. you just can't.

even the prospect of being married, of having them help you arrange your marriage becomes mere fantasy.

everything you ever hoped to spend with them is fantasy, an unattainable desire. you should've known from the start.

to them, to you, to everybody you lived with under the same, gothic roof of a manor rich with history still unknown to an outsider like you— you are but a mere stranger. there at the wrong place, in all the wrong times.

maybe that is what jason felt after his untimely death, that he does not belong anymore. maybe he felt like an intruder instead, just like you, with how he felt replaced by tim, how the legacy of robin lives on even after his passing. how he felt like a cheap rebound of dick after years of searching for answers, or how he never truly mattered to bruce—

— but at least he still has a place in their heart. despite only knowing him after his resurrection, you've come to love him too, and learned to let go at the same time.

you hope jason understands why you're so unwilling for him to help return you to the manor. you hope he doesn't question why you chose to live in your apartment, you hope that if he does find out the reason, he'll shut up about it.

you wish that jason understands, even as you felt well-rested enough on his muscled shoulders, head slowly, eyes blinking away the drowsiness washing over you, rising even if the arms that hover over your scalp invites you to sleep instead.

you're stronger now, not physically, but you willed yourself to force your eyes to stare back at him. his lidded, dull blue oned unlike dick's, and it doesn't look like the ocean eyes you find yourself drowning in staring at bruce's whenever you watch him across the television during his interviews. it was a blue similar to the sea at night, tranquil shores that caresses the soles of your feet standing on sand. there was no shine in them, it was a symbolic retelling of his death, gazing into them, at the depths of emotions swimming in those orbs alone, you feel a sense of ease when they soften, when they give way for you to stare for as long as you want.

although you were sitting atop his lap, looking down at him, his gaze made you feel little. like you were a child all over again. both of his hands are now resting on your waist to stabilize you. you couldn't reason the sudden protectiveness, the unwillingness to let you go, but your mouth opens before you could think, yet jason beats you to it, spilling words you thought he was incapable of admitting — breaking the peaceful silence once more with the significant tremor, the apologies laced in his words— with all the years he spent looking at you in contempt before he resigned to casual, yet fleeting conversations with you back at the manor.

"you know, angel...? i'm so sorry for everything. i really mean it... for all the times i was blind to you wishing you could've spent time with me. and i was so stupid, rejecting you, hurtin' you all those years thinking bruce was out there favoring you when it's the opposite... I didn't know he didn't even care for you. i know you won't be able to forgive me, or them, i know it took me long enough to forgive bruce too. but it's different now, 'kay? i'll be different, angel. i'll protect you from now on, in your, what? your little apartment, right? i don't mind scouting the entire area for you even if it means you're on the other side of the city. all for you, i promise."

"all for you."

he speaks in a careful manner, choosing his words and flinching - the scar on his lip stretches, it reminds you of the one on your neck - when he feels it doesn't rightfully get the message across. you can feel it, feel how every sentence is wired with regret, heavy promises, and an unspoken desperation to keep you close to him, as if- as if he actually cares for you—

you blink, vision blurry as you catch sight of a stray tear running down your damp chest. your nose clogs once more, tongue licking at your chapped lips. jason, he- he takes your fingers before it ventures to tangle upon your hair, he hushes the tight wail escaping your throat as he cradles your body, other palm nuzzling into your sensitive scalp.

are you crying again? at what he'd said?

why are you so broken, that the prospect of somebody once full of disinterest towards you, now cares for you?

and for what is he doing this for, though? all for you? he apologized, exactly like dick, with the same foreboding assurance. is it to repair, to mend a broken relationship that was never there?

"y-you don't have to anymore, jay— i just- just wanted to—"

'i just want to make peace with you before i'll be gone from your life, before you could even fulfill your promises. you don't have to be chained with someone like me for the rest of your life anymore.'

thankfully, he hums at you, interrupting your growing stutters, at the thought that noisily seeps into your head. you hiccuped in reply, drowning out the shivers jolting across your body. if not for his hands still digging at your waist, you swore the dizziness of it all could've made you stumble across the floor.

but, you can't just stay silent about this. about all the shit that happened in your life. not when he's promising you something so burdening, not when he thinks he has a chance of making it up to you.

no, you can't just let them push at you anymore.

you whisper through your inconsolable stutters, eyes drifting down to your lap, at your hands that scratch at raw scars, "i don't blame you, jason. it never really came across to me to hate you for, you know- it's not- you're not the only reason that he neglected me—"

"shh, i know, angel. i know. but that doesn't change shit 'bout how he— we treated you, does it not?"

you shake your head, downcast gaze refusing to look at his troubled one. if you do, you might just surrender to the softness, to the child-like whispers at the back of your mind saying you wanted this.

"w-well you can't change anything about it now... and i hated you still back then, for different reasons. i hope, i hope that you know that, too..." your voice cracks at the seams, "i- i'm still hurt from everything, jason—"  he shushes you again, fingers brushing away at your stray hairs sticking to your damp cheeks. his palms were huge as it cups your face, emitting a comforting warmth against the jagged surface, a heat that makes you slowly, but unsurely melt.

— you never had this brotherly love in your whole life before, never felt comforted in the hands of who was once your tormentor.

"i know you're hurt. i know you're in so much pain because of us— of me, so let me take care of it from now on, 'kay...?"

he whispers, hushed voice a gentle tremor lulling you to near sleep. but you can't just return to this uncharacteristic softness, not now. your eyes, almost squinting shut, snap open to look back at him hesitatingly.

"no, you don't have to do this, jason... i told you," you hesitate, gulping. "we're not– we're not siblings anymore. you don't have to do all this for me... you're not obligated to, unlike last time."

you can feel it, his shoulders squaring in on itself, the subtle tension returning in his muscles, as if his arms were ready to trap you in his gentle hold, restricting you for further escaping.

"... nonsense, angel. take that back— i am doing this all for you."

his voice was always tinged with gruffness, rarely any softness in the way his words were said with finality. sometimes mocking, sometimes spiteful. for a crime lord, it was imperative to always be the supreme voice, a voice of reason.

... but this time, it seems, there's a childish softness, a despondency, laced in his reply. like him, though, your resolve to leave his apartment was as solid as his promise to keep you to stay.

"no, jason, you're doing this all for your guilt... not- not out of pure hearted intentions, aren't you...? just to prove that you're right and- and you're better than the entire family. and then you'll forget about me afterwards—"

you crack at the seams.

"this will be just like all the other times..."

you ignore how his fingers dig deeper into the plush softness of your waist, how it feels like he's staring right past you, mind drifting to another plane of existence at what you'd said.

yet you continue.

"— so please, leave me alone after this...?

after all, what's the point in considering their emotions anymore, when they've never done so for yours?

a silence you couldn't swallow, strangling at the chords in your throat. it feels like a bucket of cold water had washed over the once comfortable silence he'd bask in.

"... please, jay?" your heartbeat spikes at calling him by his once beloved nickname. the one you used to lovingly mutter under your breath, shyly taking his attention from back when you were a child, a subconscious manipulative tactic.

you always called him out with that title, a wide-eyed plea, with what felt like butterflies spinning in your tongue inviting him to linger for just a few minutes with you, just so he could spare some time reading a paragraph of your favorite classic book—

— it was a nickname that fell astray, turned into a flickering memory, after your relationship with him slowly strained. after every month, little by little, you saw him less. until you were a teenager, until he felt his business were with your other siblings instead, his priority on his and their vigilante lives— like the unbidden promises he kept from you, the nickname fell short, turned stranger in your eyes like the man you're seated atop on.

your lips feel dry, your sweat clings to your dampened shirt, and jason.

god, jason's hands enclose itself on your waist, heavy head dropping to your shoulders. you can smell it, his conditioner and a heady scent of cigarettes. his hair tickles the underside of your chin, you don't know whether to laugh or to cry when he takes his space in the corner of your neck, inhaling and exhaling deeply— the heat of his breath hits your skin, it feels too warm, a stark contrast to the shivers overtaking your body.

he heaves in a breath, you can't see his face from below, can't make it out if he's laughing or groaning or what. you can't wrought his head out, he's stronger than you.

momentary panic ensues, you fear he might've disagreed, that he might end up locking you up but—

"huh..." his gruff voice returns, a deeper tremor laced with confusing you'd expect a frigid reply, a desperate plea, maybe even a familiar anger bursting right out of him

"with you calling me that," he whispers on the crook of your neck, head burying far deeper as if- as if he wants his skin to fuse with yours. the depth in his words felt utterly abysmal when he referred to his nickname.

a little more, and you swear you might feel his teeth grazing your flesh. at that, goosebumps start to trail your entire body, your teeth aches with unbidden agitation.

you can't, you can't fall into hopeless respite.

he continues with his little monologue. you're too breathless, shallow air fills your lungs at every word he punches your way, clinging, burrowing deep into your mind, with every touch pinning you in place—

"how could i argue against you now, angel...? not when you sound like the little kid i met back then."

a scoff, laced with amusement, erupted from him. you can feel the vibrations on his adam's apple, you witness the thoughts churning in his mind, the subtle reminiscing in the silence that clings onto both your memories.

a sense of nostalgia washes over you —at the night you both meet, of the gentle giant sneaking past gothic windows and his reaction to being caught, at your excitement to make a new companion— but bitter resentment claws its way faster into your thoughts.

how could he pretend like everything's fine? how could he act like he didn't break your heart when you first saw him?

"but still, i'm serious about the change, for you, just you. anythin' you want, angel, anything—"

a small part of you hates him still, despises the entire family for what they did; what they caused.

how could he have the audacity to think he has a chance at your life? to assume he deserves one? right after- after destroying all your hopes?

he's right, though,. he remembers those memories from when you were a kid. a kid, but not anymore. you're not the little child who looks up to him, to dick, to bruce— who kisses at the soles of their feet, who acts as their shadow chasing after them.

'how dare you, jason...'

you don't know what overcame you, what monstrous being possessed your soul to spitefully reply all of a sudden. maybe it was bitter anger, the past resentment, an urge— a subtle defiance that wishes to torment them like how they did you.

maybe it was the broken remnants of your child that just wants assurance, or the mature teenager in you that wants to move on, to have a new lease on life.

but, either way. it's the words that need to be said that matters, and not the reaction, the unneeded outcomes from the same people who hurt you.

you had to grow past everything, had to take the first steps if you truly wish to let go, rather than run away from the past with no final message.

they say indifference is the opposite of love, not hate. and if you want your tormentors to feel what they've done to you, to know what it's like to be met with spiritless replies, empty promises and hallways, broken hearts and cold dinners— you had to beat them with oppressive silence; a loveless nothingness.

"jay," you call out to him, interrupting his shameless rambles.

"please promise me..." at the sudden shift in your voice, your soft tone, he wretches himself away from you, albeit slowly; looking you straight in the eyes.

there was naught a sudden flicker of absolute firmness in your eyes, but a quiet resolve that demanded finality, a silent plea opposite to the screaming that ensued just an hour ago.

'be the bigger person, (name).'

'because you are not a wayne anymore—

you are your mother's child.'

and she's kind, but assertive. gracious, but cunning. you see an imagery of bruce in your reflection, your passions in dick, your trauma in jason— so many similarities, so many stark contrasts.

but ultimately, you came from her.

you can sense it, the intangible shift in the air, the curious, yet hesitant flicker in his eyes.

you lick your lips, the tinge of blood grounds you in spite of the hastening of your heartbeats.

"look, okay... promise me this—"

a deep inhale, a quivering exhale. and for once, you control the tears brimming in your eyelids.

he nods, urging you to continue.

the knot on your chest only tightens, strangling you until it feels no words could escape your mouth. yet they're mere paranoia, you can't afford fear no more.

"i... i want you to forget about me after this. promise me, jason, to treat this night like all the other nights you pretended i didn't exist. that you love your family but not me, because i am not family. treat me like you despised me because i was your terrible replacement, i could never amount to you and that's all fine with me... let's leave all this behind and- and return back to our normal lives, alright...? where i'm nobody to you, and you're just a stranger to me... "

even your resolve tasted foreign on your tongue, as your eyes suddenly dart everywhere but at his breathless reactions.

"you don't— don't have to dwell on the past anymore."

'come on, (name). don't hesitate anymore. this is your future speaking for you.'

your guts twists in on itself, everything's spinning, your heart feels like it's running a mile. but you force yourself to smile at him despite the energy draining from your body, despite how you had to watch the color wash away from his face, feel how his hands dig into your skin, watch the frustated furrow of his brow—

you smile a shaky smile, grin a final grin, clasp his vulnerable, and equally conflicted face in your scarred hands, and finally let another wave of tears erupt from your eyes.

"can you do that for me, jason?"

"..."

"— alright..."

let the cinema's curtains finally close, let there be no more acts, no more formalities to happen between you two.

let this all be a fleeting memory. just like those past thirteen years and a half: let it be buried in a treasure chest you'll never visit.

his silence acts as resignation, your hands letting go of his cupped face, to carefully bring you down from his loosening hold, as you wince at the pain still throbbing in your wrapped scar; it shall symbolize a final message of goodbye.

the unspoken agreement to move, the cushion of his red helmet brushing on his hair as he puts it on, the jingles of his motor keys in the pockets of his heavy pants, the creak of the door as he opens it, slow and unsure, the stench of your blood still lingering in the air, the uncomfortable solace as he props your hands up his shoulders to lean your body weight against him before he brings a crutch to your armpit. the gruff that came after as his hands stabilized you, for you to properly walk with the newly armed crutches beside his company—

it provides at least a grounding notion for the thoughts spiraling in your mind. the drowned thumps of the wood stumbling on the carpet, the moonlight spilling out the cracks of the hallway's windows, the faint rumbling of the city streets as passing cars honk at the traffic,  the ding of the elevator, the anything of everything.

but him.

focusing on anything else, it at least helps distract you from his heavy gaze, from jason's prying arms ready to capture you, trap you in his apartment, the moment you show slight faintness, any hesitant stumble in your steps, any wincing sound at the pressure in your joints; his overprotectiveness still at an all-time high despite the promise you proposed that he had to pretended to upkeep for you.

when you were finally propped on to his huge motorcycle, a few mishaps being met in your way when he handled you too tight, so daintily as if you're made of fine porcelain, as if he were afraid to let go — crutches graciously placed in the space between his seat and yours — and when you hear the engine's gas revving up, but no jason making a brief quip, a comedic joke only he could understand which you laugh at still...

... only one thing was for certain despite the millions of ideas racing in your mind from his quiet reaction.

'let him bring me home, give him space, and let him forget about all this in the end.'

let the past be a dream.

and you shall only hope that everything that comes after this, will also be just another dream.

after all, he had only agreed to let you go home - for now, just now... - but hadn't truly promised to leave you alone, not at all, never.

and maybe, just maybe, you should've never trusted his words at all.

it was all that it is, all that it was.

a mere device for tactical missions.

the intercom linked directly to the batcave was just a device used to communicate with the family in the rare instances he chose to pair up with them in case jason learned his current tactics required more than a helping hand, but rather companionship in the midst of completing tasks.

its usefulness was only for practicality.

and it was just that, a tool for the greater good, yet easily discarded after he gained what he wanted.

when you left him, crutches in hand, back turned as your body fades in on the distance, he realizes that even thought it was his pride that he knew you the longest - now even bearing your deepest, most personal issues that just makes letting you (temporarily) go hurt his heart - he had only ever used you for his entertainment, not even an apology nor a confrontation was made to confess to you of his past sins towards you.

he's such a shitty brother, isn't he?

all that it is, all it ever was.

and yet as the polluted breeze of gotham flutters through his hair, the night sky still gleaming over the horizon of long standing, abandoned buildings camouflaged amongst shitty, barely functioning apartment complexes - where he knows are one of the current places you live in - he willed himself to comb them back, especially the stubborn strands sticking near his ears. in his hands, he holds an intangible device.

the same old, rickety intercoms.

just like old times.

so he presses the tiny button used to trigger direct calls, and shoves it deep into his ears, a perfect fit as every device was crafted to each individual working for the batman. you're the only member of the family to never adopt the vigilante life, he's glad you never did, but at the same time... it was what what you apart from everybody else.

everything just reminds him of how much you're worlds apart from the family. everything just pushes him to change that current position of yours; to make you know you matter more than you ever know.

"... ah, young master jason, you're back," alfred's contemplating voice buzzes through the call. no hint of surprise was evident in his tone, but rather a welcoming quip at his current rebellion towards jason. "i suppose you might require some assistance if you're calling then, right?"

'yes,' he might've said, stalling, but it's not as simple just as money heist problems or an issue regarding the resurgence of new kryptonite deposits— no.

jason doesn't want that. he doesn't want to waste anymore time, not with making jokes or pretending like the topic at hand was just a joke.  not when the matter precedes mere missions or a tendency to prank bruce, not when it's his angel who he refuses to truly let go of.

not when your life is at stake living in a completely foreign part of gotham. not when you nearly died, and if he wasn't a lick away from saving you, you'd end up like him.

but with nobody to mourn you.

"we need to talk about (name)."

and then like a thread snapping, he hears gasps from a distance, beyond the device's speaker registering. he hears hushed whispers, stephanie's feminine voice cutting through the tension, but no sarcasticness, no quips from duke, not even cass' occasional question. despite only hearing a fraction of the batcave's echoes, he feels like a witness to the tension rising, even he feels his shoulders squaring up. like a spectacle to behold, like time frozen in the hands of fate itself.

gotham wasn't always this silent, but the space between jason and your world felt like mountains apart that it just destroys any caution jason feels at the current moment; all in the name of this... this urge to feel your head resting in his shoulders once more, your arms wrapped tightly around his, safe and sound.

"tell me what happened."

it wasn't alfred's voice this time that cuts off the ever-so confusing thread, the dangerous thoughts swimming in jason's head. a deep tremor, laced with an undertone of desperation, is heard through the silent murmers of the intercoms. he couldn't see it, but he could picture the haste, the emergence of the bat to be the very

and yet all was said in a tone so different, so completely foreign to jason.

it wasn't as commanding, as opposing as what he's used to. it wasn't his voice that he uses towards criminals, it wasn't the vibrato used to interrogate criminals, let alone scold his vigilante partners.

... something completely different, yet easy to catch on.

it was batman through the call, yes, yet not quite so.

no.

it was bruce wayne asking, it was a father who hides his worry through a veil of composure. yet jason knows him, knows him enough to know that he, bruce, knows of your disappearance all too suddenly. knows that that the entire family might've finally come through their senses like he did.

"jason... did you... did something happen?" dick's voice, laced with audible shivers. jason had to do a double take at the noticeable shift in his behavior, at how... wrecked his eldest brother asked. but despite it all, it seems like he catched on as easily, at the sudden convenience, of what might implied jason's impulsive decision to call them at such a dire moment.

— that's why his next question doesn't come off as shock.

"you didn't possibly... meet them, didn't you?" it's like the athlete couldn't believe the words escaping his mouth, yet jason could feel it, the charged air, the shift of movement, as dick's mouth presses uncomfortably close to the speakers.

"tell me, did you... find them?"

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

PLEASE READ: 20,490+ words. no beta, we die like the reader's love for the family. anyways, wow, this was the hardest scene of all to write. so many dialogues compacted into one scene alone. because of all my hard work, revisions and even rewrites 😭 i demand you all to comment and interact with me because i am NOT wasting all this effort for only like a few comments. that's all i ever ask for actually <333 anyways, the jason and mc parallels are still prevalent, but i'd also like for all you guys to take note of the miscommunication trope that i did. like the reader who's so broken to the point they can't comprehent that people are capable of loving them, and jason who can't property communicate how much he cares for you, stumbling over all his words and saying all the wrong things wow. very much me and my siblings' dynamics to one another. we love doomed siblings trope!!!

yes, again, i am begging for you guys to interact with this post, and avoid on hate comments, please. i've already dealt w/ enough anons but oh well, that's unavoidable huh. happy late valentines day, btw! and please do remember to not directly steal parts of my work. now to check if you guys actually read the author's notes: what is your favorite line/quote/literally anything in this chapter? again, despite its shitty quality, i put a lot of time and effort into the creation of this. this is not just a fanfic for me, but something very personal. again, don't forget to interact and give inputs, thank you all for being so patient and waiting for this!

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[tender-rosiey]

from me to you — gojo satoru x f!reader

a/n: this takes place in chapter 268, soo sort of spoilers ahead? also long live gojo satoru; gojo leaves you a letter 🙏

“y/n-sensei, there is a letter for you as well!”

that catches your attention, and you look up at the first years. you tilt your head slightly, and yuuji hands you an envelope.

you gently take it from him, and the first thing you notice is “wifey” written on it then the doodle of satoru with his blindfold on. you feel your throat tighten, and your hands shake slightly.

you let out a small breath then shakily open the letter.

hey, honey!!

it first reads.

I feel like there is still much I didn’t tell you in our last meeting, so here I, your beautiful and handsome husband, am writing them down.

you swallow lightly, and a small smile appears on your face as you imagine satoru saying that, then you continue to the next line.

first, I changed all your computer passwords to variations of “satoruisthebest” at one point. your confusion was so cute!!

you quirk an eyebrow at the admission, but when you rack your brain, you remember that one day when you couldn’t log into your computer.

what you vividly remember was satoru being sat beside you the whole time, and now that you think about it. he was smiling so widely the entire time, letting out small chuckles every now and then. oh, that sneaky man.

“satoru, I am telling you it’s broken!”

“sweetheart, we spent over 2000$ on that. if it broke, then we could easily sue the company,” he chuckled, arm wrapping around your shoulder and pulling you closer.

“2 year guaranteed top performance my ass!”

you smile at the memory. it was pretty satoru of him to do that. your eyes then move to continue reading.

second, there are times when I would tell megumi that you would be coming with me, then he would turn and leave me when he found out I was tricking him.

your eyes glance up at said boy who is sat across of you. he made it out alive, despite everything. he suffered so much, but he made it.

it makes you relieved, and you can imagine satoru being bloody proud of him and saying something along the lines of ‘you handed sukuna’s ass to him, very cool!’

no matter how much megumi had frowned and grimaced at satoru’s presence or antics. it rooted itself as something—safe and familiar.

you can’t count on your hands the times when you and satoru would visit the siblings, and nobody really said it, but these meetings did all of you a favor, a chance to kind of wind down. maybe act like death might actually not be looming tomorrow.

it feels like just yesterday when megumi would cling to you when he got really sad or nervous, after so much time spent getting comfortable with each other.

he grew up well, you think, eyes gliding to next.

third, I hid your uniform every two to three weeks, so you have to stay with me.

at that, your eyes widen a bit. satoru’s schedule was pretty packed, but he somehow managed to squeeze time for quality time between you two.

it tugged on your heartstrings, and you made sure he knew how much you appreciated it, not a single space on his face left without a kiss. however, finding out that he went out of his way to make you rest and stay.

satoru’s care really showed in his actions, and you feel like this is the biggest proof of it.

“satoru, have you seen my uniform?”

“nope! maybe, it is a sign to stay home today? you’ve been working so hard, wifey!”

you cupped his face, pulled him down to your height, and kisses his cheek, “you’ve been working harder, ‘toru. let me take off some of the load at least.”

“we could both stay!”

“you’re kidding, right?”

“I already told yaga; I miss you!”

you try to stop the reminiscing further and try to compose yourself before reading the rest.

fourth, I’m the one who kept adjusting the thermostat. I just wanted an excuse to cuddle.

a fond yet melancholy smile appears on your face. you kinda figured that one out. satoru’s favorite pastime was cuddling, so it’s no surprise that he would go out of his way to create the need for it even further.

add to that, once you went to get some green tea and saw him from the corner of your eye teleport to the thermostat, click something, then teleport back to bed.

you figured that the room being chilly that night was not an exception in the middle of july.

“babeeee, it’s so cold! let’s cuddle!”

“maybe the problem is with the thermostat?”

“I checked! I think cuddling is the best solution.”

you giggle as you recall the moment, one of many similar. your heart feels a bit lighter as you go through the letter. something satoru managed to always do even in person.

he would plaster sticky notes, get you trinkets, and even pull pranks on other just to see you smile. feeling more encouraged, you keep on reading the letter.

then you feel your chest constrict so tightly that you might just throw up.

fifth, I am really gonna fucking miss you.

you read the line over again, and you purse your lip in hopes of silencing any noise that may come out as you feel the lump in your throat return, even worse than before. your breathing starts getting more difficult.

your grip on the letter tightens, and you find yourself thinking back to the good times. memories of late nights spent in each other’s arms, thinking about everything and nothing at once.

hushed whispers of confessions and quiet giggles as you reminisced on your highschool days. tight hugs when recalling the sad moments and the departure of a certain someone.

“you know, y/n, I think we might just be made for each other,” he said one night. you hummed and looked him in the eyes.

“three am thoughts?”

“three am admissions,” he grins slightly, “I am made for you, and you’re made for me.”

you remember him pulling you closer and kissing your forehead, while you teased, “and what would you need little old me for, so much that I got made?”

he feigns thinking then closes his eyes, burying his face in your shoulder, “grounding me.”

I love you. I really do, but you should know that already, right?

your eyes drift down to the corner of the paper, and that is when you feel your tears start free-falling. there is drawn a chibi satoru besides a chibi you and between them is a heart.

the chibi satoru is giving yours a big smooch, while she laughs. you never thought that the day your jealousy burns would be because of drawings, and drawings of you and your own husband, nonetheless.

“but wow, gojo-sensei is shit at writing letters,” you hear nobara remark.

megumi responds with a small chuckle, “I am fine with mine.”

“what about you, y/n-sensei?—”

the trio becomes silent as you let out a sob. a watery smile makes its way up your face as you kiss the letter gently and murmur, “so shitty.”

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[itneverendshere]

LOVED YOU AT YOUR WORST - r.c series - TWO

pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia. chapter warnings: mentions of possible pregnancy, of abortion, of pregnancy risks & death. self-loathing. chapter one ┆ chapter three ┆ chapter four

You lied.

You didn’t take the tests the next day.

Or the next. You couldn’t. Every time you picked up one of the stupid boxes, your heart would drop to the pits of hell and your hands would start sweating. You’d shove it back in the drawer like it could disappear if you just ignored it hard enough.

Once you knew, you knew. 

There was no more pretending as if nothing happened.

No more pretending like you didn't care that Rafe moved on like he didn’t just dump you, with no real closure and ran to the next girl he found. 

Fuck, why did he have to look so happy that night? He got to be carefree, living his perfect little life with her, and you were there, sitting on the bathroom floor, too scared to even pee on a stick.

What if it was positive? Then what? The thought of seeing his name pop up on your phone after you blocked him, or worse, hearing her voice if she picked up...you’d rather die. He didn't deserve to know.

He didn't deserve anything from you anymore.

You started googling abortion clinics before you even touched the tests. You could afford it. That wasn’t even the issue.

You had more money than you knew what to do with. Your inheritance was just sitting there. You could book a flight tomorrow, pay for whatever procedure, whatever it took—fly out of state, out of the country, if you had to. 

But that wasn’t the point. It has never been about the money. It was the overwhelming shame. The fear. The realization that Rafe might have left you, but he was still there, stuck in your head, in your body, in your fucking life. Even when he wasn’t.  

He didn’t have to worry about any of this. He was most likely out on the boat, not even thinking about you. Not thinking about what he did to you. 

And you— you were left with this. Sitting on a bathroom floor for hours a day, trying to figure out how you were supposed to make a decision that changed everything.

You started looking up clinics again, scrolling through the options, but your mind was barely even there. It was legal in North Carolina for now, but you read something about the 12-week ban they passed in June, and suddenly you were spiraling one more time, wondering how much time you even had. 

Could you wait? Could you put it off like you’d been putting off the tests, like if you waited long enough, maybe the problem would just... disappear? Shit, wouldn’t that be easier?

You heard that voice in your head, the one that sounded like your mom, at least what you remembered from watching old videos.

It was depressing how life didn’t let you hold tightly to your memories sometimes. She always reminded you of the kind of person you were supposed to be. The type of girl who had her shit together. The type of girl who didn’t get herself into situations like this, in the first place.

But instead, you were the girl who lost everything—the life you were supposed to have—and somehow, you’d still found a way to screw up what was left.

You kept scrolling like you couldn’t stop.

One page led to another, and soon you weren’t just looking up clinics—you were looking up everything. 

What happened during the procedure, how long it took, the side effects, the complications. You read horror stories about infections, about women who thought it was over and then bled for weeks, about people who changed their minds too late.

You even looked up what could happen if you didn’t get an abortion—what pregnancy could do to your body. And that was a whole other rabbit hole you didn’t need to go down. Your body changing, your hormones going insane. You thought about your boobs getting sore, your stomach stretching, the possibility of throwing up every morning, and it felt like your body was already betraying you. And then you read the serious stuff—gestational diabetes, preeclampsia, all these words you didn’t even know existed before that night. There was a minefield of things that could go wrong, things that would go wrong.

Complications. Risks. Dangers.

You read about women who almost died in labor. About miscarriages and stillbirths and the trauma of carrying a baby for months, only to lose it. You never even thought about that, how pregnancy wasn’t just this smooth, magical process people make it out to be. It was brutal. But you’d been the little sister, you never saw your mother go through it, or anyone for that matter.

Your younger cousin, Topper the bitching backstabber, had been born and raised in Los Angeles before he moved to Figure 8 when he was five. 

You were terrified—not just of being pregnant, but of what it meant to stay pregnant. Would your body even handle it? You’d always lived off coffee and takeout half the time. An unreasonable amount of parties. Too many drinks some nights.

You weren’t exactly the picture of health. What if you weren’t strong enough? What if something went wrong, and you ended up in a hospital bed, alone, because Rafe sure as fuck wouldn’t be there. It was just you.

For a second there, you thought you might pass out.

You’d thrown your phone across the room, it hit the wall with a thud, but it didn’t help. The anxiety was still there, vibrating under your skin, making you want to scream. You glanced at the bathroom drawer again, where the pregnancy tests were hidden like some cursed thing.

Maybe you should’ve just taken one.

Rip off the bandaid.

The stupid phone rang, like was having fun pissing you off, vibrating on the floor where you’d thrown it. You stared at it for a second, debating if you should even pick it up. You didn’t feel like dealing with anyone, especially not whoever was about to ask something from you.

But it kept ringing, and of course, it was a number you recognized—Lily, one of the coordinators from your dad’s foundation. Shit. You forgot about the gala. Again. The one that was happening in two freaking days, the one you haven’t even thought about preparing for.

You swiped to answer, “Yeah?”

“Hey, I didn’t want to bother you, but we need to go over the final details for the gala,” She greeted you, sounding way too perky for how you were feeling. “I really need your input on the seating arrangements, and the auction items, and—”

It hit you just how ironic this was. You were sitting here, freaking out about being possibly pregnant, scrolling through nightmare stories about abortion and pregnancy complications, while Lily was talking about a fundraiser for children’s health. Kids. It felt like some twisted repulsive joke the universe was playing on you.

You blinked back into the conversation, realizing she still talking, and you hadn’t said a word. “Uh, yeah, sorry. I’ve been busy. Can you just handle it?” you muttered, feeling guilty but not enough to actually deal with any of it.

“I’ve already taken care of most things,” she said carefully, “but we really need your approval on the final guest list and the speech. You’re the face of the foundation, after all.”

The face of the foundation. The legacy your dad left you. It was supposed to be this huge responsibility. And it was. You’d always taken it seriously. The one thing in your life you never ruined. But this year, you hadn’t written the speech yet. Jesus, you forgot it was even happening. And the guest list? No clue.

You rubbed your forehead, “I’ll look at it later. Just send it over.”

Lily hesitated again, probably sensing that something was off, you'd always been a control freak. “Okay, I’ll email it to you. Just let me know by tomorrow, alright?”

“Yeah, sure.”

You hung up before she could add anything else, staring at the ceiling. One more thing. One more responsibility piled on top of everything else. You were drowning in all these expectations—being the good daughter to dead parents, the responsible one, the perfect kook girl who was supposed to have everything. You were supposed to be the girl who had the trust fund, the perfect life, the foundation that helped kids in need.

You earned to be her.

Your phone buzzed again, this time with an email notification. You rolled your eyes, already knowing it was from Lily. She’d sent over the guest list, and you groaned, thinking you’d skim it, give it a half-assed glance, and send it back. But as you scrolled down the names, you stopped.

Rafe Cameron.

Of course, he was going to be there. Why wouldn’t he? His family had been involved in your dad’s foundation for years. It was like you couldn’t escape him.

The fucking nerve. To your gala. Your blood boiled instantly, your fingers gripping the phone so tight you almost cracked the screen.

Fuck him. 

If he thought he could just show up and rub his new life in your face, he had another thing coming. Without thinking twice, you deleted his name, erasing him like he didn’t even exist. And then, without checking another name, you sent the list back to Lily.

You didn’t give a shit if it was petty. You didn’t care if it wasn’t professional.

If Rafe wanted to play games, you’d ruin his life if you had to. He thought he could fuck you over, leave you with all this—leave you with nothing? No. You weren’t going to let him have that power.

Not over this. Not over you.

You were shaking now, but it almost felt good. Even if it was just a stupid guest list. Let him find out when he got there and there was no table for him. No seat. No fucking room. 

You still sat there staring at the screen with that stupid blinking cursor. The email from Lily sat open in front of you, and somewhere buried in the list of attachments was the speech. Blank.

Your speech—the one you were supposed to read at the gala in two days. The one you hadn’t even started writing.

This was always the hardest part. Writing it. Saying it. You used to cry every time. Standing in front of all those people, talking about your dad, your family, how the foundation was this beautiful way of keeping their memory alive. It was never just a speech—it was like ripping your heart out of your chest and letting everyone see it, year after year. It never got easier.

But Rafe, used to be there with you.

Every year. He’d sit with you while you struggled through every word, telling you it was okay to take your time, reminding you that you didn’t have to do it if you didn’t want to. And when the gala came, he was always by your side, standing just off stage, waiting for you after the speech was done. You’d run into his arms, and he’d whisper that you 'did great baby', holding you until the room stopped spinning so much.

You could still hear his voice in your head sometimes, 'you’re stronger than you think'.

That’s what he always said, even when you didn’t believe it. He’d hold you, kiss your forehead, and make you feel like it was true, like you really could get through it. He was always so sure of you. But this year? He wasn’t going to be there. He’d stop believing the lies he fed you. You were angry. You were seething. You were utterly alone.

You’d been avoiding this moment—writing.

This time around, it wasn’t just about the speech. It was about the fact that when you walked out of that stage, you wouldn’t have him waiting for you.

You’d step down into nothingness, with no one to catch you.

Your fingers hovered over the screen, but they wouldn’t move. What were you even supposed to say this year? How were you supposed to stand up in front of all those people and talk about love and family and legacy when yours was shattered?

You hated looking at yourself in the mirror, feeling like you’d lost every single piece of who you used to be.

Fuck the speech. Fuck the gala. Fuck Rafe Cameron and his stupid lies, his stupid smile, his stupid promises that he never kept.  

If he thought you were weak, if he thought he could break you, if he thought you were the same girl who used to cling to him like he was the only thing keeping you together—he was wrong.

You were going to do this without him.

You were going to stand up there and give that speech, no matter how much it hurt. And if it killed you, so be it. You’d still do it.

Because unlike him, you didn’t just walk away from the things that mattered. Even if it tore you apart. Even if it was killing you to keep pretending like you were fine. You weren’t fine. But you’d fake it. You’d fake it until the whole world believed it. 

You’d barely hit send on the email when your phone rang again, and this time it wasn’t Lily.

It was Topper. You hadn’t talked to him since that night—the night. The party where you’d found out, where you’d seen Rafe and Sofia together for the first time. Where you realized that everyone knew.

How he’d called Rafe over, like you needed him to fix it, like he was still yours to rely on.

“What?”

“Hey…” Topper’s voice was cautious, “I, uh, I wanted to call and apologize for the other night.”

You snorted, leaning your head back against the wall. “Yeah? For what part? For calling Rafe like his little bitch or for getting in front of my car when I was trying to leave?”

“I didn’t mean to fuck things up. I was just trying to stop you from doing something stupid.”

“Like what?” you snapped. “Leaving the party? Getting out of there before I had to watch him with her for one more second? Yeah, Top, real dumb of me.”

“You almost ran me over,” Topper shot back, his voice rising just a little, like he was offended you hadn’t mentioned that part. “Kinda felt like maybe you weren’t thinking straight.”

“You jumped in front of the car you fucking idiot. What the hell did you expect me to do? Slam on the brakes and listen to whatever bullshit you and Rafe had to say? Because trust me, ’m all out of patience for either of you.”

There was a sigh on the other end, the sound of him trying to not to lose his patentience, like he was the one in the right here. Typical Topper. Always wanting to smooth things over, play peacemaker between you and Rafe, like this was just another fight you’d get over.

He never really got it.

“Look,” Your cousin started, calmer this time, “I didn’t mean to call him. I just thought—”

“You always think calling him will fix things,” you cut in, “Like he’s the answer to every problem I have. He’s not. Not anymore.”

“I get that,” He added quickly, like he was afraid you’d hang up. “But I didn’t know what else to do! You were upset, and I thought maybe—”

“Maybe what? That he could swoop in and save the day?” You let out a bitter laugh. “He’s not your golden boy, Top. He doesn’t fix anything. He ruins things.”

Topper went quiet for a second, probably trying to figure out how to respond without setting you off on an angry rant again. “I get it,” he said finally, “You’re pissed at him. You have every right to be. But I didn’t call him to hurt you, okay? I was worried about you.”

You hated how genuine he sounded, hated that he meant well. He was a nuisance half of the time, sure, but he wasn’t malicious. He never was. He just had terrible judgment. 

“Next time, don’t,” you muttered, rubbing a hand over your face. “I don’t need you playing little brother and calling him when things go wrong."

“I wasn’t trying to clean anything up,” Topper explained, a little defensive now. “I just didn’t want you driving like that. You were upset.”

You rolled your eyes. “Upset doesn’t mean I need you or Rafe deciding what’s best for me. I’m not a kid.”

“You’re not,” he agreed, “But you weren’t exactly in a great headspace, so yeah, I stopped you. I wasn’t gonna let you leave like that and end up in a ditch somewhere.”

It hurt like a bitch, because deep down, you knew Topper had a point.

You were having a meltdown, and he’d stepped in, like he always did when you went off the rails. That was the problem with him—he cared, even when you didn’t want him to. He was family, the only family you had left, and he was too loyal for his own good.

“You could’ve told me,” you confessed what had been upsetting you, your voice losing some of its initial attitude. “About them. Instead of letting me walk into that party blind.”

Topper sighed again, “I should’ve,” he admitted. “I didn’t want you to find out like that. But it wasn’t my place to say anything. And I didn’t want to make things worse.”

Your hand instinctively moved to cup your stomach. You didn’t even realize you were doing it at first, but the second your fingers touched your shirt, the earlier panic welled up inside you again. If he only knew how bad things were. How bad they could get. You yanked your hand away like you’d been burned, heart hammering against your ribs most painfully. There was no way you could even begin to explain what was going on inside your head—or your body.

Not to Topper. Not to anyone. If he knew, he’d freak and you didn’t need that right now.

You clenched your jaw, pushing yourself to focus on the conversation, on Topper still yammering on about apologies and guilt You shook your head, a bitter smile tugging at your lips. 

“Are you even listening?”

“Unfortunately,” You sounded apathetic even to yourself, fingers tapping against the phone, agitated. “Look, Top, I don’t have time for this right now. I’m busy.”

He sighed. “I know you’re pissed, okay? I get it. But the gala’s in, like, two days. You... you still going, right?”

“Of course I’m going,” you scowled, barely able to hide the bitterness in your voice. “I have to. It’s not like I can just dip out and pretend it’s not happening.”

Unlike some people, you thought, but you bit your tongue.

“Good, because I’ll be there too. And I—”

“Oh, joy,” you interrupted, “Another chance for you to babysit me and make sure I don’t make a scene? Can’t wait.”

“Jesus, I’m just trying to help!” Topper groaned. “I didn’t want to make things worse the other night. I—”

“Yeah. Whatever, I’ll see you at the gala.”

You hung up. You didn’t have the patience to deal with him right now. 

The day of the gala came faster than you thought it would.

It was like you blinked, and suddenly, you were standing in the middle of the venue, walking through final checks with Lily, nodding along as she rattled off details you barely absorbed.

The room was all glitz and glamour, with chandeliers dripping from the ceiling, and everything draped in the foundation’s signature gold and white. 

Crisp tablecloths. Flowers in perfect, elegant arrangements. Waiters in black-tie uniforms were circulating, making sure everything looked flawless. Flawless.

That word made you want to gag.

You moved through the space like a ghost, smiling at the right moments, giving half-hearted approvals when needed.  You didn’t care. People were running around, asking for your opinion on this or that. You’d stayed at the venue longer than planned, making sure everything was in order, but your mind was stuck in that floating-place. You wanted to burn the whole thing down, if you were being honest.

You should’ve called your doctor. Days ago. Hell, maybe weeks ago.

Making smart choices wasn’t your thing lately, was it?

When you finally slipped into the room where they’d set up your glam team, you just wanted to sleep. The room itself was a suite off to the side of the venue, a private space meant to make you feel like royalty.

A massive mirror ran across one wall, surrounded by soft, glowing lights. A table was set up with everything—hair tools, makeup brushes, palettes, serums. Bottles of champagne sat chilled in the corner, the condensation dripping down the glass, untouched. It was the kind of place you were supposed to feel special in.

Normally you did. But this year you were numb.

The stylist worked quietly on your hair, soft curls falling into place as she tugged and pinned each section with meticulous care. The makeup artist was dabbing foundation onto your skin, blending and contouring until you didn’t even recognize yourself in the mirror. The dress hung behind you, a shimmering white gown, custom-designed by Versace for the occasion.

You looked like you were stepping into one of those perfect, glamorous lives. But on the inside, you felt like you were going to lose it at any second. You nodded along, giving tight-lipped smiles when they complimented you, and then they finally left.

The room was dead silent now, just you and your reflection. You stood in front of the mirror, staring at yourself, the perfect curls, the glowy skin, the gown waiting behind you. It all felt wrong. It felt fake. You didn’t bear a resemblance to yourself.

You looked like the version of you that the world expected—the untouchable girl. A doll.

Your rifled through your bag for your phone, but instead, your fingers brushed something else. Cold, hard. 

You hadn’t even realized it was in there.

One of the pregnancy tests. You must’ve thrown it in without thinking earlier that morning when you were rushing out the door. You hadn’t even noticed it until now.

What the fuck were you doing?

You had a gala to host in less than an hour. People were going to be looking at you, waiting for you to give the speech, expecting you to hold everything together like always. And there you were, standing in a private dressing room, about to do something so monumentally stupid. Maybe it was the pressure of tonight, or maybe it was the anger you’d been shoving down for weeks, but suddenly, you didn’t care.

You were going to do it.

Without even thinking, you stormed into the bathroom. You were so fucking tired of avoiding this. Tired of pretending like everything was fine, like you were fine.

What the hell was fine about any of this? You tore open the box, hands trembling as you pulled out the test. The room was so quiet, you could hear every little sound—your breath still uneven, the rustle of your dress against the tiles, the click of the test cap as you flicked it off.

You sat down, staring at the stick in your hand. This was insane. You were insane. Who the fuck took a pregnancy test ten minutes before they’re supposed to host a charity gala? 

You couldn’t get a proper breath out as you waited, heart pounding so hard it felt like it might rip your chest open. You leaned against the sink, gripping the edge. Your stomach churned, the nausea rising again, and you had to close your eyes to stop the floor from spinning.

What if it was positive? What if it wasn’t?

You stared at the test, willing the result to appear, but it didn’t. Not yet. The little window stayed blank, as if taunting you, making you feel like you were losing your mind. You knew you had to wait longer. You weren’t stupid. You’d read those instructions a million times by now, but you hated waiting.

Hated not knowing.

You couldn’t take your eyes off the stupid little piece of plastic. Just one line or two. That was all it came down to. One fucking line or two, and your entire life would either fall apart or what? Be fine?

You glanced at the mirror, catching another glimpse of yourself, and it almost startled you—your eyes were wild. Desperate. They were the eyes of someone who was just about ready to do anything to get this over with. 

You tried to picture telling him again, but the idea alone made you sick. You thought of Sofia, of her perfect smile next to his, and bile rose in your throat. Your hands never stopped shaking. You wanted to run. You wanted to throw that thing in the garbage can and never stare at it again.

Your thoughts spun in circles, going nowhere, just making everything worse. The clock on your phone ticked louder and louder, and you knew—somewhere out there, everyone was getting ready. Guests were arriving. The gala would start soon, and they’d all be waiting for you. Watching you. Expecting you to be the poised, perfect version of yourself you’d spent your whole life pretending to be.

And you were in here, trying not to lose your fucking mind.

You peeked back at it. Still nothing.

No line. No answer.

It felt like you were suspended in time. You closed your eyes, gripping the sink harder, praying for it to end—something to happen, anything.

Then finally, you felt it in your chest—a heavy, sinking feeling, like the moment before a fall.

You opened your eyes. 

There it was.

TAGLIST: @maybankslover @october-baby25 @haruvalentine4321 @hopelesslydevoted2paige @rafebb @rafesbbyy @whytheylosttheirminds

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@stoned-writer @justafangirls-blog-deactivated2

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[paarksunghoon]

walk the line | jongseong

SUMMARY: park jongseong has one regret and he's spent his entire life atoning for the pain he caused you. when you walk into office under the premise of working together, he's only got one shot to make things right before it's too late.

WORD COUNT: 33.1K

NOTES: this story was originally posted on my other blog, @pprodsuga. I will be transferring some work in due time and this is the first one! if it looks familiar, no need to panic or think I’m plagiarizing.

WARNINGS: contains smut.

PLAYLIST + MASTERLIST

***

When Jay was eleven years old, his father brought him a souvenir back from New York City when he traveled abroad for a week-long business trip. Jay has always been a big dreamer, too lost in his own reality to acknowledge the everyday life of grade school and all that came with it. It’s a tendency that his parents fostered and nurtured, instilling the belief that Jay could achieve anything he wanted in life if he dreamt hard enough. 

The “I Heart NY” pin sits in the first drawer to the right of his desk. Besides his quick wit and intelligence, Jay would love to believe that pin is the reason why his desk on the fiftieth floor overlooks the city of Seoul. 

Jay doesn’t make mistakes. He’s calculated and smart with his decisions based on cold, hard facts. He trusts his gut and prides himself in taking the high road when things get tough, letting losses go and holding his wins close to his heart. Practicing law isn’t for the weak, and Jay is not weak. 

Yet walking into his office feels bleak on some days. The castle he serves doesn’t seem as golden as it once did in the early stages of his career. The gifts given to him by clients and admirers that sit around his office feel undeserved, no matter how many hours he put into making them happy. His only sense of comfort is the large vinyl collection he has that sits between shelf upon shelf for no one to touch but him. 

Jay is meticulous in his work, rarely letting anyone into his inner circle without proving themselves first. It’s what makes him a great lawyer and what gave him a respectable name to his firm and others alike—Jay takes calculated risks and trusts no one, other than himself, completely.

Still, his days wane between fulfilling and empty. 

He’s one of the first people to arrive at the office with a briefcase in hand and hair slicked back with expensive gel, wearing suits tailored at a few grand apiece. Jay doesn’t leave early either. He watches associates under him file out of the office one by one as the hour goes by until there’s no one left but him. It’s only then will Jay cap his pen or queue an email to send in the morning to make it appear as if he hadn’t spent all night in his office. 

Jay loves his job. It gives him a sense of self fulfillment and it brings him joy to win cases for his clients, who range from high-paid celebrities to private equity firms. While the high salary and other liquid assets are perks of his profession, Jay puts his entire faith into his work and lets his winning streak do the talking for him. 

He has to, or else law school wouldn’t have been worth it. 

For three years, Jay studied from dusk until dawn for the chance to work in the career he’s been dreaming about since he received that ‘I Heart NY’ pin from his father all those years ago. Opening a particularly long chapter that was difficult to analyze never felt like a burden to Jay, not when his life would eventually amount to working at one of the big three law firms in Korea as Senior Partner. 

Jay holds more ownership than he once did and manages his own associate now. He’s no longer at the entrance phase of his career. Jay’s responsible for more finances and harder cases the firm encounters, and he knows his boss and the Managing Partner, Lee Heeseung, expects the best from him. 

Perhaps it’s why he feels compelled to put on his best smile and work until he feels exhausted because he knows he’ll be proud of it down the line. It’s what Jay assumes; all of the early mornings and late nights will prove to be worth it once he’s able to sit back and look down his long, successful career. People don’t admire him for nothing. 

Nothing beats watching the sunset over the horizon as he ends his workday. The golden hues on the sun cascading down the city skyline fills the atmosphere of the office, signaling the end of the day. It’s when Jay feels his happiness. He’ll let the associates go home to catch up on rest and see their friends and families before it approaches a late hour. 

Jay, however, stays behind to finish up on projects before his eyes grow weak and when he can’t keep his yawns at bay anymore. He’s already had his moments to leave at an appropriate time when he was a mere associate. Now, Jay has more responsibilities that he needs to maintain in order to feel like he really earned the title of Senior Partner. So he stays an hour after everybody goes home. 

Jay is pulled out of his thoughts when he hears the sound of knuckles on his glass door.

“Knock knock.” Jake Sim’s voice echoes through the large office, bringing Jay back to reality. He clears his throat and turns around to see the younger man standing before him with a blue manila folder in his hands. “I come bearing gifts.” 

“You’re a bit too late. Christmas was four months ago.” 

“Ha-ha,” Jake laughs dryly. “Consider this an early birthday present, then.” 

Jake presents the folder to his colleague, who opens the file and sifts through the papers at his fingertips. Jay’s eyebrow quirks with interest as he looks between the documents and the man standing before him. It’s something he’s been waiting on for weeks. Something that’ll make or break a case he’s been anxiously thinking about and what’s been making him stay behind until the clock ticks is the only audible sound on the entire floor. 

“I’m only going to say this once,” Jay begins. He points at Jake with the folder. “You’re the man.” 

“I’m always the man, you just don’t want to admit it.” 

The pair smile at each other after a beat. Jay puts the file on his desk and invites Jake to take a seat on the couch by his vinyl collection, one that the man knows not to touch. 

“I heard you’re almost done with the Yeon-Choi merger,” Jake says. “Heeseung mentioned it this morning.” 

“I’m waiting on a fax from them, actually.” Jay takes his specks off of his face and places it nearly on his desk. “Sunoo’s on the lookout for the document. Speaking of which.” 

Jake looks behind him to see Sunoo enter the office space as Jay waves him in. He hands over the stack of documents, freshly printed with the paper still warm to the touch. 

“Ms. Kang just faxed it over,” says Kim Sunoo, a first year associate. “Thank you,” Jay says as he receives the document. He looks at Jake. “Now I’m done with the Yeon-Choi merger.”

“You’d think two global giants in the world of finance  would be at odds with merging given their competitive streak in the past few years, but they’ve just signed a document that lists a communal agreement to share assets.” Jake watches Sunoo leave and waves goodbye before he walks out the door. “Managing this client was an insane move, even for you.” 

“Choi Analytics is nothing if not determined,” Jay informs. “So am I, Sim. You should know that by now.” 

“I think you bit off more than you could chew. You only secured that win with two days to spare.” 

“I have you, don’t I?” Jay teases with the tilt of his head. “Who was it that told you to talk to Yang Nari and convinced her to take that settlement before we could agree to the terms of the merger?” 

Jake laughs. “You, Park Jongseong.” 

“It’s all about working smarter, not harder. Remember that.” 

“Aye, aye, captain,” Jake says with a mock salute.

“Please don’t ever call me that again.”

“Whatever you say, captain.” 

Jay’s mouth quirks. “Go back to the bullpen and finish up the reports. Wouldn’t want you to pull another all nighter.” Jake leaves with a laugh and disappears around the corner. 

The large office with glass doors and windows feels like a familiar set up. His workspace, with his name and title underneath it, feels more like a trophy case than a managerial place of work. His walk to his office from the elevator takes him past the associate bullpen, situated right next to Heeseung’s. This space is his sanctuary and he’d like to believe he performs best under pressure. It’s why he doesn’t mind people peering into his office whenever he’s sitting at his desk. 

The days are long and the work is hard, but it’s the kind of job that makes Jay feel like he’s accomplished something in his life. Coming in as the sun rises and leaving just after it sets doesn’t feel like a sacrifice, nor does it feel like he’s losing out on opportunities when he’s got a bank account filled with zeroes and a penthouse apartment with the same view as his office. If anyone were to ask Jay about his life, he’d tell them he’s pretty damn happy. 

That’s what he tells himself, anyway. Every morning is spent repeating mantras in his head about how far he’s come with the hard work and diligence that came with law school. The late nights and busy weeks spent memorizing cases and writing essays led to his employment as Lee & Associates, where he managed to acquire promotion after promotion through diligent work.  

His newest title itself makes people look at Jay with respect, the kind of attitude he used to strive for when he was a humble law student. His early childhood was spent hearing his father talk about winning in court and the importance of believing in yourself when it comes time to face tough decisions. Jay’s father always advised him to do what he thinks is right, or else he’ll live with a regretful consequence for the rest of his life without the chance of rectifying it. 

Jay’s loyalty and integrity is what makes people revere him. He stands tall and proud, walking into every room like he built the place with his bare hands. There’s never a hair out of place and his wardrobe reflects his luxurious tastes, always a suit from abroad and accessories to match. 

He’s built a good life for himself. His father is still a practicing lawyer while his mother is considering retiring from her wildly successful jewelry business. Jay comes home for the holidays and visits them a few times a month for dinner when he has the time, and he does his best to keep the people around him happy. 

After all, that’s what Jay does best.

*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ

It’s Thursday morning and Jay’s week has gone by without a hitch. His clients aren’t giving him a hard time and he hasn’t had a reason to step into the courthouse at all. In addition, he hasn’t heard any of the associates complain about the workload given to them nor has Jake needed help with a problem for Jay to amend. 

It feels odd to be as calm as he is. Jay wants to welcome it with open arms and sink into his seat until he feels like he’s vulnerable enough to sleep, but he knows that’s not in his job description. Instead, Jay needs to sleep with one eye open. 

“Park,” Heeseung says as he pokes his head into Jay’s offices. “Can you spare a few minutes and meet me in my office? I need to call an impromptu meeting.”

“Sure,” Jay says as he puts a file in his cabinet. “What’s it for?”

“It’s better if we talk behind closed doors. Jake and Sunghoon are already waiting for us.” 

Jay anxiously walks behind Heeseung and fixes his tie, patting it to his chest and smoothing it over in an attempt to distract himself from Heeseung’s cryptic words. He sees Sunghoon and Jake in the office and takes a seat on the armrest of Heeseung’s couch. 

“What’s so important that you need to discuss this in your office with the door closed?” Park Sunghoon, a fellow senior partner, asks. “We didn’t lose a billion dollars overnight, did we?”

“No, but I know you would’ve caught that before that would’ve happened,” Heeseung quips back. “You aren’t our financial expert for nothing.” 

“Damn straight.” 

“What did you bring us in for, Heeseung?” Jake asks. Heeseung takes a moment to gather himself, eyes darting around the office before speaking. 

“It’s about the Hybe Records case.”

“They’re holding a tight leash on people they sign on their main label or subsidiaries,” Jay nods. “Won't settle for a penny less than the recoupment.”

“Which is why a portion of people signed with Hybe came to us to help them rewrite the contracts from here on out,” Sunghoon adds. “Hybe came to us with a bullshit settlement offer and we declined. We’re still working on finding a chink in the armor.”

“Right,” Heeseung says. “What else do we know about the case?” 

“Hybe acts as the bank and their musicians take out a loan to make an album,” Jake says, pacing in Heeseung’s office with his arms outstretched for emphasis. “The artist can use that money however they like and the sales made go right back to the label before they can make a profit.”

“Exactly,” Jay nods, “which is why the label has been terminating their contractual agreement before they can produce the agreed amount of records.”

“Hybe has more than enough money for a buyout.” Sunghoon shakes his head. “It’s fucked up.”

“The label keeps the catalog and the money while the musician gets nothing.” Jay frowns. 

“We all know it’s why musicians and idols pick up endorsements or pick up acting,” Heeseung mentions. “I mean, the money they get from other ventures supplements their income that they don’t get from music. But because that’s normal practice and it doesn’t help our sob story angle, I don’t know where else to turn to.”

“We’ve been fighting this day and night for weeks. You’re not telling me you’re dropping this, are you?” Sunghoon asks. 

“Between Jay’s regular clients, Jake’s assisting, my workload, and your cases, we don’t have the bandwidth to fight this. Quite frankly, I don’t trust anyone to work on this but you three.” 

“Is there something we should know about?” Jay inquires. “Did Hybe threaten us?”

“No, nothing like that.” Heeseung sighs. “Look, I don’t know about you guys, but I’m burnt out. Hybe isn’t making this easy on us and we’re running out of time. What I’m trying to say is I’ve consulted with another firm and have hired outside help. We need fresh eyes on this case.” 

Jay nervously runs his hand through his hair. 

Heeseung’s right, this lawsuit is eating up most of his hours and consumes his thoughts when he’s off the clock. The people being affected are anywhere between starving artists and people who can afford to pay him his billables without question. But the greater good is what Jay thinks about and realistically, he knows it would hurt him to see so many people lose their avenue to pursue their passions. 

Hearing stories from clients makes his heart lurch. Each deposition to discuss what happened behind closed doors with label executives makes Jay’s pursuit that much stronger. To know he has the privilege of obtaining a law degree and being able to work in his dream career without much of a hitch makes him feel guilty when he knows the very people sitting in front of him are putting their passions on the line. It makes him work harder.

He’s no longer the law student that slaved away writing essays and pulling all-nighters to accomplish a task that wouldn’t matter in the long run. Now, all of Jay’s efforts matter. His work will be impacted for years to come and he can’t afford to misstep when handling clients. It’s why he feels so strongly about this case and why it’s hard for him to stop thinking about it when he gets home. A penthouse overlooking the city means nothing if he can’t help the people who got him there. 

Jay knows Sunghoon and Jake feel the same way, too. Sunghoon, who came from a similar background to Jay, has always struggled with finding his voice in the business of law. Now as a senior partner with more at stake, he knows his friend will stand his ground if that means his clients walk away with everything they asked for. Jake, a first year associate having graduated law school after taking a few years off from college, is arguably the most sensitive of the three. He loves his work and finds passion in the people he helps represent. It’s why Jay trusts him and why he chose Jake to be his associate in the first place. 

To take action on behalf of his clients means to succeed. Jay knows he comes from wealth and privilege, and he’d likely be just fine if he chose a career that wasn’t law. But his foot is in the door because his father was able to give him a legacy standard at law school, and it would be a shame to let that go to waste as if he didn’t have anything to prove. Jay knows he does. 

“As we already know,” Heeseung begins to say, “we need all the help we can get on the Hybe Records case. They’re the most powerful label in all of Asia and they’ve got their teeth sunk in every Asian market.”

“They’ve got a dozen smaller labels beneath them and they’re always looking to convince independent labels to give up their ownership,” Jay says. “It’ll be hard to reach a settlement for all of them.”

“I know,” Heeseung sighs. He leans on the front of his desk. “I know you guys can handle it. Between the four of us, we can try to win this thing but it’ll take more time than they’re giving us.” 

“Kid genius could probably read up on their files by tomorrow morning,” Sunghoon snorts as Jake elbows his rib cage. 

“Don’t be silly, Sunghoon. I couldn’t possibly do that in a single night.” Jake smirks. “Give me two days.”

“Show off,” Sunghoon mutters with a hidden grin. 

“Even so, it won’t be enough to fight them. Hybe has hired a plethora of lawyers to back them up and block us out.” Heeseung crosses his arm and is sure to maintain eye contact with the three boys in front of him. “It’s important to keep our clientele, but imagine how much business this would bring if we won.” 

“You think that many musicians would hire us?” Jake asks. 

“I think that many musicians care about owning their own music and not having to pay back a recoupment.” 

“The amount an artist has to pay back before they keep their earnings,” Jake says with pursed lips. “Right. That’s really unfair.”

“That’s the music industry for you.” 

“Labels are greedy as shit,” Sunghoon says with bitterness in his tone. “They make a promise to up and coming musicians and swear they’ll be successful by the end of the year, but they don’t really care about that. They’ll give money to make albums but won’t care if these people live or die if they don’t see a late profit.” 

“It’s sickening,” Jake adds. “It should be illegal for musicians having to take endorsements and sponsorships just to pay the bills. They look like sellouts.”

“I don’t like it any less than you guys do,” Heeseung responds. “But that’s the way it works. We just need to find a good enough reason for them to settle with us. We aren’t budging on the recoupment.”

“Well, I’m glad we all agree that musicians shouldn’t have to pay back their loan.” 

“I’m confident in you all,” Heeseung tells them. “Jay, you’re one of my best guys. You close deals and negotiate settlements like no one I’ve ever seen before. Sunghoon, you’ve been an incredible lawyer since the moment we hired you and you’re the only person I don’t have to keep my eye on.” Heeseung turns to take. “And Jake, you’re a gifted associate with a knack for getting people to tell you the truth. I’ve never met anyone quite like you either.” 

“He makes depositions seem like fun,” Sunghoon laughs. 

Jake smiles dramatically. “Nobody can lie to this beautiful face.” 

“What I’m trying to say is,” Heeseung interjects, “is that you’re all incredible lawyers and I’ve never regretted hiring you.”

“There’s always a but,” Jay comments. Heeseung nods.

“But, our best isn’t enough. Our best doesn’t account for the numerous legal and financial attacks Hybe Records will bestow on us. We’ve been thinking big but we need to think bigger. We need to think outside the box.”

“What do you propose?” Jay asks. “We’ve already gotten a first meeting with Hybe and God knows they’ll pressure us to give them an answer soon. I know that they know we won’t budge and are probably working with a counter move as we speak.” 

“We’re bringing in someone from an outside firm.”

“What?” Sunghoon says. “Which one?” 

“Tang-Young,” replies Heeseung. “They’re a powerful firm, as we know, and were one of the few who declined to represent Hybe.”

“We trust them, right?” Jake asks. 

“We do, yes,” Heeseung confirms with a single nod. “Tang-Young have been kind to us and I’d like to believe we’ve been the same to them. We’ve been invited to consult on cases before and they’ve helped us out in the past, albeit it’s been a while. But we need all the help we can get and they were enthusiastic about assisting us.” 

“I don’t know,” Jay says. “Catching someone else up to speed while we’re this far down the line? That seems like busy work. Unless we have another Jake who can read and memorize documents as quickly as he can, I don’t know how much help they’ll be.” 

“Oh, I think you’ll be pleased with our colleague,” Heeseung says cryptically. Jay looks at him with confusion. “You guys trust me, don’t you?”

“Of course,” says Sunghoon. “I wouldn’t be working here if I didn’t.” 

“Then I’ll need you to trust me when I say the partner working with us is the best in the business. She’s an old friend and someone I confide in, which if you know me, is hard to do unless you work at this firm.” 

“Why are you telling us this?” Jake asks. 

Heeseung sighs. “I’m saying this now because I didn’t have time to discuss the partnership prior to today because of deadlines and we need all the help we can get. A friend from law school, Kazuha, was willing to help us out since we assisted on that auto lawsuit a few months back.” 

“We don’t need to worry,” Sunghoon says. “This is the best law firm in Korea and we have a history of having the highest rate in cases closed successfully. You’re our leader, Heeseung. We know you wouldn’t go behind our backs unless it was important.” 

“We need a miracle for this one,” says Heeseung. “Jay’s already running point on this case but he alone can’t handle the burden.” 

A sinking feeling festers in Jay’s chest. He knows that name–Kazuha–from when he was in law school and knew her family to have built Asia’s largest corporate law firm from the ground up. They’re respectable, highly profitable, and a company Jay would rather not think about because hearing that name reminds him of his deepest regrets. 

His week is offset by Heeseung’s sudden news. Jay has never doubted his elder, especially since Heeseung was a mentor to Jay in his early years of his career, but the hairs on the back of his neck perk up at the sight of Heeseung periodically looking at Jay. He doesn’t think Sunghoon or Jake notices the awkward tension in the room either, too engrossed with talking strategy plans on how to make sure the new, mysterious partner is up-to-date. 

Jay fiddles with the rings adorned on his fingers. The expensive jewelry, some of which are presents to himself and others gifts from his parents, provide a temporary distraction for him. They’re warm to the touch with how often he twists them for every word Heeseung speaks. Jay’s throat suddenly feels too dry. 

“We’ll be fine,” Sunghoon tells Jake, forcing Jay to tune back into the conversation. “I think we’re all on edge because this is by far the biggest case we’ve handled in the past few years.” 

“There are dozens of clients who are filing a lawsuit against Hybe but it isn’t considered class action yet,” Heeseung replies. “We could very well set a precedent if we manage to win this thing.”

“That would put the firm on the map!” Jake exclaims. “Just think about it. If we manage to settle in our favor so that these musicians don’t have to pay the label back, we could set an example so other major labels follow through with no recoupment.” 

“This is why everything’s been kept under wraps and why I’ve had to act before consulting you three.” Heeseung finds a pen from his desk and twirls it in between his fingers. “I love this company. I became managing partner not too long ago and my predecessor took his name off of the door and added mine because he thought I could do something with the firm. You three are people I trust more than anyone else and I wouldn’t have agreed to let you work on it if I didn’t believe we could succeed.” 

Jay can sense the nervousness and anxiety in Heeseung’s tone. In all of his years working with him, he doesn’t think he’s ever seen the man as on edge as he is now. Heeseung cannot manage to sit still and the pen his fingers are distracting him almost like Jay’s rings are. It’s no wonder they work so well together. 

“We can do it, Heeseung,” Sunghoon says in an attempt to quell the atmosphere. “It’s hard and tedious, but what case isn’t?”

“Besides, we have Jay. He is the best closer in Seoul,” Jake vouches, a coy smirk sitting on the edge of his lips as Heeseung merely smiles and shrugs in casual agreement.

The sounds of knuckles rapping on Heeseung’s glass door interrupts their conversation. The image of you standing before him knocks the air out of his lungs.

He’s brought back to when he was a second year law student, struggling in his criminal law class before meeting you for the first time. Your timid and quiet demeanor is nothing compared to the confidence you exude in the present day. Right now, you look put together with your all-black attire and red bottom heels to match. The way you’ve styled your hair allows your face to be seen instead of using it as a tool to hide yourself. Even with all of your perceived shortcomings, Jay remembers you as timid but headstrong. Now, it looks like he’s staring at someone he doesn’t recognize. 

Jay feels innocent again, traveling back to a time before work became the sole focus of his life and before the guilt of what he did to you ate him alive. It feels almost unnatural for him to see you in a professional setting. Sitting in the campus library with opened books or looking at you from across the table of a cheap ramen restaurant is where Jay’s used to seeing you. 

Heeseung’s office is the last place he’d ever expect to run into you. 

The last Jay heard, you were off practicing law in Busan before heading to New York for a few years to consult on Korean-American affairs until your visa expired. He never had the opportunity to see you in court before, not since law school.

There was a time when Jay couldn’t step into a courthouse without wondering if you were inside with him. With every corner turned and every door opened, Jay would anticipate seeing that same beautiful and innocent face locking eyes with him as he stepped into the room. Jay would picture you in those long floral dresses you loved so much staring at him with anger in your eyes, wearing an expression caused by actions he’d never be able to atone for.

Guilt used to eat him from the inside out. The moment his alarm clock woke him up was when the guilt would settle deep within his chest. For a while, this feeling towards the way things ended with you was the reason why he pushed himself to stay in the office after everybody else left, back when he was a first year associate. Guilt led Jay to work three times as hard as everyone else and why he will never leave a stone unturned. 

While that culpability subdued with the time that has passed, none of that matters now. Seeing you in Heeseung’s office with a friendly smile on your face makes that sense of wrongdoing resurface all at once. 

The woman he sees before him is not the woman he remembers. Jay still has the same overly confident, hardworking attitude he exhibited when he knew you back in law school. He’s still the same person who gets tongue-tied when he looks at you and he’s still the same person who regrets never calling you after you both graduated. 

Unlike the disheveled mess Jay remembers from when he last saw you, you’ve become polished. He sees that you’ve grown into yourself with your shoulders held back and head looking straight in front of you instead of casting your gaze to the floor. Your eyes meet everyone in the room, his included. You wear a big smile on your face and take a step forward before bowing towards him and his colleagues. 

Jay doesn’t think he deserves that respect from you.

“Jay’s the second best,” you comment. Even your speech has matured. “I happen to be the first.”

“Everyone, meet Kim Y/N.” Heeseung takes a step forward to return your bow and shake your hand, welcoming you into his office. 

“Y-Y/N?” Jay stutters, eyes widened in shock when he spots you next to Heeseung. 

The reaction is unwarranted and even he can’t believe his words came out like that. Jay pays no attention to Sunghoon and Jake, who look at him with quizzical expressions. Jay can only focus on you, with the way your pantsuit hugs your body and the way your high heels make you stand taller than he remembers you. You’re very confident. Jay wonders what must have changed in the time he last saw you until now.

“In the flesh, Park. It’s nice to see you again.”

“Y/N’s the best chance we got to win this against the biggest record label in Korea,” Heeseung interrupts, forcing Jay to push his thoughts aside. “I don’t need to remind you that our clients are high profile names trying to make a case for musicians who can’t afford to pay back the recoupment. If we lose this, we lose their business. It won’t look good for the company if we don’t secure a public win.”

“A public win means a public loss,” you chime in. “Hybe’s settlement deal is bullshit and we all know it.” 

“Exactly.” Heeseung points at everyone in the room before landing on you. “I know we don’t ask for outside help but we need Y/N. I trust everyone to make her feel welcomed and to give her anything she needs.” 

“It would be an honor,” Jake says before stepping in front of you to bow with his body perpendicular to the floor below him. “Sim Jayeun, but feel free to call me Jake. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He outstretches his hand to you for good measure and is pleased when you reciprocate. His kindness brings a smile to your face.

“It’s lovely to meet you, Jake. I look forward to working together.” The aforementioned nearly falters in his movements as he takes a step back, hearing Sunghoon snickering behind him before you turn your attention to him. “You must be Park Sunghoon. I’ve kept up with your work for a while now. Your work with Kim Mingyu against General Motors was impressive.” 

“All in a day’s work,” Sunghoon says as he brushes his shoulders for dramatic effect. “I’m honored that you know about it.” 

“You saved Mingyu’s reputation for being a whistleblower and forced the company’s hand to not only change their flawed design, but to pay out the victims. You bled that company dry in the process to compensate for the casualties. That’s something worth talking about,” you tell him. “It’s impressive to me.” 

Jay swears he sees Sunghoon blush. 

“Thank you,” says the latter, clearing his throat. “It means a lot that you said that.” 

“I can’t imagine how hard that must have been either.”

Your eyes move towards Jay and he expects to see nothing short of a scowl painted on your lips because the last time he saw you, he remembers Jung Iseul asked him if he loved you in front of thirty of your classmates. 

Jay said no. 

He regrets how he handled it. He wishes he could turn back time and tell Iseul and her friends to leave you alone, and tell her the way she acted was nothing short of childish. Jay would like to believe he’d pull you away from wandering eyes and hold you until your eyes were dry if he was able to turn back time and relive that awful moment, but he can’t. The memory of you looking at him with betrayal in your eyes is what keeps him up at night. 

Jay thought of his own needs before yours, selfishly acting to protect himself from the embarrassment of a public confession instead of thinking about how humiliating it must’ve been for you. Your classmates were never the nicest and often commented on your quiet and shy demeanor. Jay always tried to do his best to encourage you to be the best version of yourself, growing silently frustrated that you’d allow people to say harsh things about your skill sets instead of proving them wrong. What he failed to realize is that you’d grow into yourself at your own time. 

You're not the timid girl you used to be. Jay sees the fruits of your labor standing in front of him. 

When you look at him, Jay’s breath catches in his throat. It’s been years since he last saw you in person and he can only imagine what you must be thinking. Are you seething? Are you angry? Are you here for revenge? Do you still think about that night as frequently as he does? 

Any thoughts of you being spiteful are thrown out the window when he hears you speak in that same, soft tone you always reserved for him. 

“Hi, Jay.” 

He’s quiet for a second too long because he sees Heeseung glaring at him from the corner of his eye.

“Hey.” Jay says pathetically, shifting from one foot to another. “Long time no see.”

“Woah, wait. Do you two know each other?” Jake asks, pointing between the two of you. 

“We shared a few classes in law school,” you explain. “We even graduated in the same year.” 

“Oh, wow.” 

You tilt your head as you look at him. “You seem surprised.” “I’m just shocked that you two know each other,” Jake says. “You have the highest closing rate in all of Seoul and you’re telling me you went to law school with my boss?”

“I’m trying not to take offense to that,” says Jay, who furrows his eyebrows. The atmosphere is too much for his liking and suddenly he feels as if his tie is too tight around his neck. 

“We knew each other a long time ago, but it’s always nice to see a familiar face.” You smile at Jay before turning to Heeseung. “When do I start?”

“Whenever you’d like, but knowing you, you’ve already begun drafting strategies.” 

You grin. “You know me very well, Heeseung.”

“Y/N will be working from our office a few times a week for the next few months to make things easier. She’ll still be handling cases from her firm with an emphasis on the Hybe lawsuit.” 

“Thank you for welcoming me,” you tell everyone before looking at Heeseung. “Care to show me to my temporary office?” 

He smiles. “Right this way.” 

“It was lovely meeting you all,” you say before turning to leave. You pause and turn to face Jay. “It really is nice to see you again.” 

He stands in his spot at a loss for words. It feels as if his feet are planted on the ground with no way to make him move. His mouth might as well be hung open with the way he stares at you and merely nods. Speaking makes him feel like he’s going to choke and say the wrong thing, so he opts to say nothing. 

You exit behind Heeseung without sparing him a second glance and he watches as your figure disappears around the corner, listening until he can’t hear the sound of your voice speaking with Heeseung. His hands are planted firmly in his pocket, the fabric of his suit providing a distraction from the sudden notion of seeing you after all these years. 

He feels Jake and Sunghoon looking at him from the side. Sunghoon merely walks past Jay and offers a pat on the shoulder while Jake enthusiastically stands from his seat and bounces with excitement. 

“You know Kim Y/N? The Kim Y/N?”

“It was a long time ago,” Jay says with a small voice. “We used to be study partners.”

“No fucking way,” Jake swears with his hands on his hips. “How come you never told me? She’s like, one of the most respected lawyers in all of Asia. Did you hear about her work on that Cheong-Smith case back in New York? God knows how tedious working between America and Korea must’ve been. She’s so fucking cool, Jongseong. A badass is what she is. I want to be her one day.”

Jay’s mouth quirks in a half smile. He knows you’ve built a reputation but refuses to read about you in the newspaper or listen to conversation where your name has been brought up. It brings painful memories and no matter how much he chastises himself for being in the wrong, part of him can’t help but hurt and yearn for you. 

If Jake notices Jay’s quiet demeanor, he doesn’t acknowledge it. The former is pacing in Heeeung’s office with his hands rubbing his face as if he’s won the lottery. Jay’s envious of Jake’s ignorance, in a way. He wishes he could forget that night and re-do his friendship with you. Jay wishes he could meet the person you are now if that means rejecting you in front of your classmates never happened. 

“Y/N’s a great lawyer,” Jay finally says. “I’m glad she’ll be working with us.”

“So fucking cool,” Jake whispers in disbelief. He turns to Jay. “I can show her around the office and, you know, show her the ropes.”

“Don’t try anything.” 

Jake puts his arms up in mock surrender. “Hey man, I won’t. Y/N’s someone I view as a mentor. I don’t have weird, unresolved romantic feelings like you do.” 

Jay opens his mouth in disbelief as Jake winks at him before walking out of Heeseung’s office. He sits with his thoughts and wonders if this meeting was a figment of his imagination and if he’d wake up with you halfway across the world and his life being as normal as it can be. 

But he sees you enter your own private space when he walks to the break room and tries not to stare at you too long. It wouldn't be good for his health.

*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ

“This office is pretty nice.” 

Your jaw nearly drops at the sight before you. The tall windows overlooking the city boasts a beautiful skyline with pedestrians barely visible from where you stand. The carpeted floor is plush against the click of your heels and the temperature in the room is just warm enough for you to set your suit jacket atop the armrest of the brown leather couch. 

“It used to be mine before I became the managing partner,” Heeseung tells you. 

“I see. That must be why I like the interior design.” 

Coming back to Seoul six months ago wasn’t your idea. But your visa in America had expired and there was no legitimate reason for you to extend your time abroad. With a heavy heart, you packed your bags and returned to the city with unfavorable memories you hoped to put behind you. 

However, it seems that life finds a way to throw you a curveball and make you face your fears. Returning to Seoul wasn’t for the faint of heart. The familiar sounds of people walking and talking in the street and the scent of street food vendors warmed your heart as best as it could. The memories of your childhood summers spent frolicking in the city because your parents were too busy pursuing their dreams to entertain yours will forever remain a tasteless memory. The sound of squeaky wheels on vendor carts is bittersweet. 

Upon returning, you’d taken a couple of weeks to settle into a new apartment just a few towns outside of the city. The modest apartment is nothing like the penthouse you rented in New York. The amenities were appealing at first, with the tall ceilings and marble statues adorning each room. The affluent neighborhood you lived in felt familiar from your childhood days, although feeling at home wasn’t something you think you could ever do if you lived in a house made of glass. 

The mental images of running inside your parents’ gargantuan household with them nowhere to be seen is imprinted in your mind when you close your eyes. Your mother’s office door that always remained closed and uninviting to anyone but your father and older brother felt demoralizing, as did your father’s study, which was never to be entered. The large house felt more like a fortress than a home. The empty hallways with no one to converse with felt like a prison with your bedroom being your only sanctuary. 

The two bedroom apartment in a modest neighborhood outside of Seoul feels like home to you. The neighbors who garden when it’s warm out and retreat on rainy days feel like friends rather than people you live next to. The children on their way to school wave at you before work and make you promise not to work too late, which is likely why you leave your office at a reasonable hour. If you bring your work home with you and hide behind your curtains as you pretend to watch TV, that’s nobody’s business but your own.

You jumped at the idea of leaving Seoul as you approached your second year in your law career. The idea of exploring a new country in a language you half-spoke felt more exciting than horrifying. Knowing your mentor had recommended you for the apprenticeship served as the encouragement you needed to pack your belongings and say goodbye to your friends, family, and life as you knew it. 

If you’re being honest with yourself, you were running away from your childhood and the wound Jay had opened when he left you alone in front of your classmates. 

That hurtful memory reopened itself when Kazuha pitched the idea of working with Lee & Associates on this case. The both of you know you’re her top choice to fight this battle given your brother’s notable status and area of expertise. Your relation to your sibling is a secret you keep close to yourself with only a select few people in your life knowing, preferring to keep yourself out of the limelight as best as you can. 

Yet the idea of working with Jay made these unresolved feelings bloom at the surface when you thought you had locked them in a box and threw the key away. The sleepless nights were just shy of affecting your work. Day after day, you’d stare at the Hybe Records file to see what information had been gathered, glossing over Jay’s name on each document and each email that was forwarded to your inbox. It hurt over and over again, just like it did when he left you standing alone, never to return. 

But life never works out the way you want it to. Coming back to Seoul was for the best and facing old enemies and seeing old friends is part of your path. Having the grace to prepare yourself makes you reflect on how much you’ve grown in the years you spent away from Korea and that you’re ready to move past the hurdle that’s been keeping you tied down for so long. Or so you tell yourself. 

Heeseung knocks his shoulders with yours. “You don’t seem as shocked to see Jay as I thought you’d be.” 

“I had a few weeks to prepare,” you tell him as the two of you face the scenery in front. “When Kazuha told me I was her first choice to work this lawsuit, I saw Jay’s name sitting at the top of the file.”

“It’s his case, technically. But we all know you’ll outshine him in one way or another.” 

You shake your head. “I’m not here to step on anyone’s toes, Heeseung. I’m just here to do my job.” 

“And see an old friend, I’d assume.” This time, you knock your shoulders against his. 

“Oh, you know it’s always good to see you when I’m on this side of town.”

Heeseung smiles, pleased. “I know it’s been a while since the two of you have seen each other and I hope you know that you weren’t picked for any dubious reasons.”

“I know, Hee.” The man looks at you, tilting his head to assess the true intentions behind your words. “Seriously, I’m fine.” 

“This company would have benefitted from your work,” he replies. “Still, I’m sorry for how things worked out.” 

“That was ages ago,” you wave off. “You really don’t need to apologize for it. I appreciate you fighting to hire me, but Jay has done a wonderful job and you can’t deny that.”

Heeseung shakes his head. “No, I really can’t. He’s one of my best. One of the best lawyers in Korea, I’d argue.” 

“What does that make me?” you joke.

“It makes you the best in the universe.” 

You throw a fond smile Heeseung’s way. “It really is nice to see you again.”

“I meant it when I said you could reach out for anything. 

“Most days, I just need a friend.”

Heeseung quirks an eyebrow. “Is that why you text me photos of you baking at three in the morning?” 

“Precisely. What else would I text you about?” 

The man laughs. “I love the ones where your cat sits on the counter to watch. I love Gerry.”

“For the love of God, Heeseung. Her name is Miso.”

“Yeah, but your cat is orange like a tangerine and in my head, Gerry, is a cute nickname for tangerine.”

“You need to re-evaluate your definition of cute.” 

Heeseung smiles at you fondly and tilts his head. He knows he’s looking at a version of you no one in Seoul has seen before. The new person standing before him is confident in herself and her capabilities, no longer shying away from the spotlight. The person you are now could look him in the eye and call him an equal, unlike when you were an emerging teenager dealing with peer pressure and hormonal acne. 

“Your mom calls mine from time to time, you know,” Heeseung says after a short pause. 

You snort. “Oh God. Please don’t tell me Lee Jiwoo cares about what my mother, of all people, has to say.” 

He shrugs. “She doesn’t, but they were neighbors for forty years before my parents moved. I think your mom has some weird attachment to the past.” 

“You’re telling me,” you say as you roll your eyes. “I remember as kids, she’d force me to go over to your house with the hopes that we’d fall in love and get married someday.” 

Heeseung laughs. “God, you were so hung up on Lee Seokmin that you barely paid attention to me.” 

“If I recall correctly, you were head over heels with Kang Ara and that made you a lovesick fool. Who knew you were into older women?”

“She was nice enough to help me with my homework, okay?” Heeseung defends himself as he laughs. 

Recounting childhood memories with you feels warm. When you’d left Seoul in pursuit of a career in America, Heeseung knew you were running away from your problems rather than facing them. He grew up seeing the harsh reality that was strict parents who placed too high of a standard on you whereas your older brother remained unharmed by their lashings and expectations. 

Heeseung always chided the way his friends would tease him when he walked you home from school or offered to make room for you in his house when your parents were home. He’d witnessed the volatile relationship between the three of you and offered his household as a sanctuary for as long as he could. Heeseung’s parents offered the kind of hospitality he wished you could receive from your own parents. 

Still, it feels warm to know you chose to return. Seeing you in your element makes Heeseung think he must’ve done something right all those years ago, even if you briefly lost touch when you moved overseas. 

“I’m really grateful for you, Hee.” You lean your head on his shoulder and cross your arms in front of your chest. “I don’t think I’ve ever thanked you for being so nice to me when we were kids. You were always so popular with the girls and every guy wanted to be you. I know people made fun of me when we’d walk home from school together. Knowing you defended me and made me feel like a normal person despite my relationship with my parents makes me feel happy.” 

“I’d do anything for you. You know that, right?” Heeseung asks. He feels you nod against him. “It killed me to see you fight with your parents and I didn’t care that Han Bora got jealous of you or that Choi Youngchul made fun of me for having a girl around. You were more than that to me.” 

“I love my brother, I really do.” You bite your lip to keep a sigh at bay. “But he’ll never understand how my parents treated me. I know he loves me and I know he did everything he could to protect me when we were younger, but he still reaped the benefits from our parents.” 

“No apology from them can outdo everything you went through,” Heeseung says. He leans his head on top of yours. “You were my best friend, even if I didn’t say that to you. Everyone at school wanted to be my friend because I went puberty faster than everyone else but you always treated me as the same kid who got a bloody nose after falling face first on the pavement.”

Heeseung smiles when he hears you laugh. “I told you to tie your shoe laces.”

“SInce when do I listen to what you say?” 

You pull yourself from him. “Thanks for always being there for me, Hee. I hope you know I’ll work my hardest to win this case.” 

A knock at the door brings both of your attention behind you. Jake stands politely and bows his head as he enters when Heeseung beckons him inside. 

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” Jake says carefully. 

“Not at all,” Heeseung assures. “Is there something you need?”

“Actually, I was wondering if I could give Y/N a tour of the office. I’d love to show her around so she feels more comfortable and familiar.” 

“That’s a great idea, Jake.” Heeseung turns to you. “Why don’t you settle in and make yourself at home for an hour, yeah? Let Jake take you to the cafe that’s across the street and use my company card to pay for it.” 

“I’ll never say no to you paying.” Heeseung rolls his eyes at your playful banter but hands you his credit card regardless. Seeing you this open with him warms his heart. 

“We won’t be long,” Jake assures. 

Jay approaches where the three of you are standing and busies himself in the bullpen when he notices you and Jake walking out of the office. Pretending to be intensely reading a document about finance, Jay prays you don’t see him and waits until the two of you are out of sight to walk towards Heeseung. 

His footsteps feel heavy as he enters what is to be assumed, your office. 

“I already know what you’re thinking,” says Heeseung with his hands in his pockets. 

“Then you know I’m going to ask you what the hell is going on.” 

Jay has seen his fair share of hard moments from the man standing in front of him, whether in court or behind closed doors. He knows Heeseung to be someone that mentors by giving tough love and credit where it’s due, playing the role of a fair judge in the name of building a strong career. Jay is no stranger to people being upset with him, least of all Heeseung. 

“Do I need to remind you that I'm the managing partner and that I don’t need to consult you on my decisions?” 

“You don’t,” Jay begins, “but you know the history I have with Y/N. A little heads up would’ve been nice.” 

“We don’t always get a heads up when the stakes are high, Jay. You know that. I tried to be as forthcoming as best as I could but we only heard confirmation a few days ago and you were out of the office preparing for your briefing.” 

Jay breathes deeply. “You of all people know we left on bad terms.” 

“So you should know that Y/N is like my sister,” Heeseung retorts. Jay can hear the slight venom in his elder’s tone. “I’m able to set aside my differences because it’s my job to do so and because I like you.” 

“Heeseung–”

“Have you ever stopped to consider that you’re the only person making this awkward?” Heeseung asks, looking at Jay directly into his eyes. “Nobody else seems to be having any problems with Y/N joining this lawsuit.

“You are one of the best lawyers Korea has ever had the privilege of seeing, Jay. Hell, this company owes you a lot. But you can’t tell me that Y/N being here has affected you this much to the point of coming to talk to me about it in my office.”

Jay remains silent knowing Heeseung’s right, even if his pride refuses to quell. 

“You made your choice all those years ago and from the looks of it, Y/N seems to have moved on.” Jay nearly chokes at Heeseung’s words. “You need to move on as well, Jay. Do whatever it is you have to do to get your head straight.”

Jay shuts his eyes for a brief second. “It’s really hard, Heeseung. It’s hard to forget.” 

Heeseung’s expression softens. “She’s not seeing anyone.”

Jay abruptly opens his eyes. 

“That is not what I meant.”

Heeseung smirks. “Sure it wasn’t.”

“I’m serious, Lee. I just regret how it all went down and I regret not reaching out after graduation. My parents took me abroad for the summer to celebrate. I was so caught up that I didn’t make time for Y/N.”

“You can still make time for her now.” 

Jay shakes his head. “It’s too late. I’d bet anything to know she hates me.”

“Well, I know for a fact that she doesn’t. If we’re talking about the same Y/N you and I both knew all of those years ago, then you know she doesn’t hold grudges.” 

“But we know she can.” Jay sighs. “You know about her parents.”

“Two people bringing her into this world just to treat her like nothing is far different than a boy not calling her back.” Jay tries to not take his comment to heart no matter how much it stings. “The difference between you and them is that you have the chance to make this right and correct your wrongs.

“But let me make myself clear. You are to work with Y/N and make her feel welcomed during her time on this case. I don’t care how you do it as long as your head is clear and you can work beside her without letting your feelings get in the way.” 

“Understood.” 

Heeseung’s expression softens. “You know I care about you, man. I wouldn’t have agreed to be your mentor if I didn’t think you were worth it.” 

Jay nods. “I know. I just forgot that you two knew each other as well.” 

“You should’ve seen Y/N back when she was in middle school. Still as timid as she was in law school but still the kindhearted person we know.” 

Jay tries to picture what you were like as a child. He’s seen photos of you from preschool until the day you graduated college and wonders if you were the same shy, timid girl he knew you to be before the two of you parted ways. Would you two have been friends in elementary school? What kind of foods did you like to eat? Did you have a happy childhood? 

He knows the answer is complicated. Jay’s assumption is that your parents, who happen to manage the biggest law firm in Korea through defending oil companies, did not value you as much as they valued your older brother. He, who was their prized possession, often tried to pull you into the spotlight with him. Jay remembers you talking about him fondly like he hung the moon in your night sky. It brought him a sense of peace to know there was someone always looking out for you when you were younger. 

After all, your brother was the only form of family who came to your graduation during law school. 

Jay remembers him standing tall, clad in a mask and clothing that made him unrecognizable. He blended in with the crowd and made himself seem smaller than he actually was in order to remain undetectable by people who weren’t you. Jay always wondered why you were hellbent on keeping your brother’s identity a secret and why you refused to share photos of him despite having shown him other pictures of you in your youth, but it made sense once Jay saw him pull the mask down and smile for a picture. 

He knows he doesn’t deserve to ask you how your brother has been or what you’ve been up to since he last saw you all those years ago. Jay feels a lump grow in his throat when he thinks about working with you and having to talk to you about the case against Hybe. He wants to, and he wants to build a relationship with you that doesn’t result in him panicking when you look into his eyes, but he doesn’t know where to start.

“Don’t think too hard about it,” Heeseung advises when he notices Jay growing quiet. “You’ll know what to do when the time comes.”

“Easy for you to say,” Jay says with a sigh. “You weren’t the one who broke her heart.” 

“Y/N’s resilient. You and I both know the lengths she went through as a kid and how successful she is now. She wouldn’t have taken this case if she wasn’t willing to work with you. That should be a sign in itself.” 

Jay takes Heeseung’s words into consideration, but it goes through one ear and then out the other. His heart won’t stop beating at a rapid pace and he can’t help but feel like there’s no hope for him at all.

*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ

Heeseung seems to know you too well. 

The cafe across the street speaks to your soul with their delicious drinks and delectable pastry menu. You buy something for Jake on Heeseung’s card too. He merely looks at you with wide eyes and stutters over his words when he asks if you’re allowed to do that, to which you wave him off and say you’ve known Heeseung far too long for him to care about another fifteen dollars missing from the company funds. 

“How long have you known Heeseung?” Jake asks as he takes a sip of his drink. The two of you sit cross from one another, basking in the atmosphere of the lunch rush hour. 

“Our whole lives, practically. I think his parents moved next to mine way before either of us were born. They always joked that we’d get married and have that fairytale ending.” 

Jake raises his eyebrows. “Is that still happening?”

“God no,” you say, shaking your head. “Heeseung is like a brother to me. He’d walk me to and from school when we were younger and hung out with me, back when I was a timid mess.” 

“I don’t think I could ever imagine you as shy.” Jake blushes when he realizes he’s speaking candidly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say that.” 

“Pray tell.” 

“W-Well,” Jake stutters, “it’s just that, people talk and I know you know that. I’ve heard people brag about what an amazing attorney you are and how you dominate the courtroom. Or, you know, even the opposite, when people would tell me sob stories about losing to you.” 

You stifle a laugh. “I’d like to think I’ve come a long way since law school. I don’t know if Jay’s ever told you, but I used to be very quiet. I kept to myself a lot. I didn’t have enough confidence to talk in class and panicked every time I was picked for a cold answer.” 

Jake shudders. “I hated that. I was somebody who always came prepared to class but being put on the spot made me feel like I didn’t read the material at all.” 

“Confidence comes with practice,” you tell him. “This job has built my self esteem, especially when I moved to New York for a few years. I didn’t speak English very well, just bits and pieces from music I grew up listening to and because my brother is fluent as well.” 

“Do your parents speak English?”

You shake your head. “Broken English. My brother’s a special case. He listened to a lot of rap music behind our parents’ backs and dedicated so much time into learning how to rap in English that he became fluent. He was obsessed with the show Friends, too. I picked up after him.”

“Your brother seems like a cool guy.”

You smile into your cup. “Yeah, he is. He’s part of the reason why I took this case against Hybe Records. It feels right to fight for the underdog, you know?”

“Jay says the same thing,” Jake tells you. It makes your heart twinge. “He’s been my mentor for the past year and I don’t think I could ever thank him for taking me under his wing. I’m sure you know–he’s the type of guy to be fair and just. I never feel like he’s looking down on me, even when I royally screw up and he has to fix my messes.” 

“He used to be really good at talking me down a ledge in law school,” you laugh. “I used to get so hot headed and frustrated every time I couldn't understand a brief or when I’d read for too long. Jay was always the calmer one between the two of us. He’d tell me to take a breath–”

“–and take it easy,” Jake finishes with you. You smile. 

“Yeah, that. I still think about him saying that to me when times get tough. Jay was a big reason why I even graduated law school in the first place.” 

“I thought you graduated at the top of your class?”

“He and I held equal rank,” you explain. “But mostly, he helped me see the bigger picture, you know? Jay always put my goals into perspective and reminded me why I wanted to become a lawyer in the first place.” 

“Why did you?” 

You set your cup down. “It feels right to help other people in ways that can’t be seen. No one talks about financial burden or responsibility. I had more than enough privilege growing up and it’s unfair that the rest of the world will never experience that kind of safety. If I can provide some kind of comfort for people going through tough times, who am I to deny them that?” 

Jake nods. “I understand. I didn’t grow up in a legacy family myself and it makes me feel better knowing there are good people like you who pursued law. I guess that’s also why I wanted to become an attorney. I want to help people and this is the best way I know how.”

“Does Heeseung still make you guys take on two pro bono cases every year?” 

“Three now,” Jake corrects. “But I don’t mind it that much. I love meeting new people and it makes me happy when we secure a win for them.” 

“This job has brought me out of my comfort zone and has made me feel more confident while doing it. I owe a lot of that to Jay and Heeseung.”

“I’d love to learn from you,” Jake says honestly. “Even if it’s watching you in depositions or preparing case files. I feel like I could learn a thing or two.” 

“I’d love that, Jake.” 

He smiles. “I still can’t believe you knew Jay in law school. What was he like? I’ll bet he still had the same, brooding glare when he’s focused.” 

“I think that was part of his charm,” you say with a fond smile. “Girls loved him. I mean sure, he came from a powerful family, but I think people were digging the whole ‘I-Don’t-Want-To-Talk-To-You’ vibe.”

“So how did you two end up becoming friends?” 

“We sat next to each other in our criminal law class and he was struggling with a few cases,” you explain. “I excelled in criminal law while he excelled in intellectual property, which was a subject I needed help in, and we formed a study partnership in our second year.

“I couldn’t really tell you how we got as close as we did, though. We met in the library a few times a week before realizing being in a quiet environment made us too tired to read. We’d find coffee shops all over town and would end our study sessions with a late night dinner before parting ways.” 

“That does sound like the Jay I know,” Jake laughs. “I don’t think I’ve seen him go home before the sun goes down.”

“Everyone knew how diligent he was with his work. He was always so confident in class when answering questions from our professor. I’m pretty sure everyone was intrigued by him. Jay mostly kept to himself until he and I became friends.” 

“I can totally imagine Jay being a lone wolf.”

You laugh. “He was, kind of. We started hanging out without the premise of studying shortly after. He was probably my closest friend at the time.” 

Jake can see a lingering thought behind your eyes but chooses not to comment, instead checking his watch for the time. 

“Oh, we should probably be getting back soon. I’ll show you around the floor so you can get situated before you work.” 

“That would be great, Jake. Thank you for volunteering to do so.” 

On the walk back to the office, your steps become heavier as the reality of your present sets in. Jay, a former crush and confidant, sits just out of arm’s reach. 

You replay the night in your head when Iseul had cornered the two of you at the local dive bar with the rest of your classmates upon celebrating the last final days of law school before graduation. At that time, everyone had received final offers from recruiters and were placed in law firms across Korea, yourself included. 

It hurt to know that there was competition with Jay to join Lee & Associates, and that he was the chosen candidate. It hurt more to know that Jay couldn’t bring himself to reject you in private. 

Iseul’s smile burns in your memory when you recall the way Jay walked away from you. Her wicked grin has etched itself into your mind, especially when you close your eyes. Time and distance has been kind to you, especially knowing she had moved from firm to firm because of negligence on her part, but you reckon there will always be a part of you that will remain standing in that dive bar feeling like no one would be willing to catch you as you fell. 

That sadness planted deep seeds of distrust within you. That melancholy feeling followed you throughout the summertime, especially when Jay didn’t make the effort to call you during the summer that followed graduation. 

It felt beautiful to be wanted by someone as kind and generous as Jay. It felt just as wonderful to be wanted by someone who you considered to be sought after. The brooding, quiet boy everyone thought to be mysterious had an energetic, talkative personality if you got to know him well enough. It was no wonder that you developed a crush on him towards the end of your second year in law school together. 

When you think about it now, it must’ve been sickening to watch you follow Jay around like a lost puppy. You certainly felt like it from time to time. The two of you only shared one class in your final year together but stuck by each other for study sessions nonetheless. Jay was always more popular out of the two of you, always knowing people who passed him by and waving at other law students. It made you feel like you had to live up to a certain expectation and to branch out in order to be seen with Jay, but he always made it a point to tell you that it didn’t matter how many friends you had. You were always going to be his favorite.

You’d always considered yourself as an awkward, stuttering mess when it came to making friends. Something about Jay quelled your fears about socializing and playing the part of an extrovert with his calm tone and soothing demeanor. On most days, Jay was the person who encouraged you to relax and let your thoughts run wild before making brash decisions. He was the first person to listen to you talk about the burdens your parents placed on your shoulders without insinuating you had to be grateful for the life that you were born into. 

You were. You are. But you aren’t grateful for being neglected and being made to feel like being born was a mistake and a burden. 

Jay has seen you at your worst, whether it be tearing up over a low test score or coming back from winter break after a couple of weeks with your family. You’d argue that you’ve been with him at his worst too, having seen Jay cry a few times throughout your friendship from frustration and stress. There was something about your bond that made you believe he trusted you with his heart and soul, and something that made you believe you could trust him too. 

The weight of your parents’ actions, coupled in with Jay’s selfishness, made you numb for a while. 

His silence and the lack of an apology felt like the ultimate betrayal. You deleted his phone number out of anger when you began your position as a first year associate. You kept your head down and used work to distract yourself from the hollow feeling inside of you, often wondering how Jay was doing at Lee & Associates. It hurt to know you didn’t have a relationship with him where you could tell him about your day and discuss the stress of cases within legal limits. It stung to know he likely didn’t care about you enough to repair the bond after not having called you all summer. Deleting his number, as well as all of the pictures and videos you had of him from your phone, felt like the last straw. Jay was no longer going to be in your life. 

It was why choosing to relocate to New York was so easy for you. Physically leaving Jay behind meant running away from everyone who had ever hurt you to start anew in a city where no one knew your name; this was a fresh opportunity to become the confident, carefree person you always yearned to be, the type of person you knew you could be. Having to navigate a new environment in a language you barely spoke strengthened your self confidence and demonstrated your resilience. If you could overcome this, you could overcome anything. 

Seeing Jay’s name in the original Hybe Records case file startled you, but it wasn’t as jarring as you thought it would be. You imagined what you would say to him if you ever got the chance to see him in person again. Would there be screaming? Would you cry? Would your throat close and feel like you were choking on your words if Jay were to have acknowledged you in any way? 

Would Jay apologize for the night he left you? 

The answer, you later found out, was none of the above. Instead, seeing the name ‘Park Jongseong’ caused a flurry of evocative memories to replay in your mind. After years of dealing with the torment of not feeling good enough to keep your loved ones around, the struggle to find who you were in an industry unkind to timid people like you dissipated with every hour spent working. The more you worked, the more you strategized about winning cases. The more cases you won, the more confident you got. 

Taking on the case against Hybe records was already a no-brainer for you. Your brother is far too passionate about music to ever forgive you for passing up a case you know so much about. Not even Jay could have deterred you from working on it. Even so, you’re eternally grateful that seeing his name doesn’t bring up unpleasant feelings like it did once before. 

Jake brings you out of your thoughts when he opens the front door for you. With a bright smile and your guest badge in your hand, you walk past security without a hitch and take a deep breath before following Jake into the elevator and back to the main floor. 

“I think you’ll really like the associates and paralegals,” Jake says to make conversation on the long trip to the fiftieth floor. “Sunoo, Jungwon, and Riki are my favorites, though.”

“Why’s that?”

“Sunoo’s a first year associate and he’s brilliant,” Jake explains. “He’s quick on his feet and he’s quite bubbly. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone so excited to be awake at eight in the morning like he is. Jungwon’s our best parasocial as well. He’s incredibly smart and quick-thinking, and he’s thinking of studying to take the entrance exam to enter law school, actually.”

“Oh wow,” you say with a nod. “That’s incredible. His experience as a paralegal will definitely prepare him for that.” 

“I think so too,” Jake agrees. “Riki’s our legal intern for the summer. He’s passionate about his work and really funny. He’s got a natural charm to him, even if his resting face makes him look unapproachable. You’ll like him.” 

“If Heeseung trusts you, then I trust you,” you tell Jake, stepping out of the elevator. 

“Speaking of Sunoo,” Jake mumbles as he expedites his pace to catch up with the brunette. “Sunoo, there’s someone I want you to meet.”

“Kim Y/N,” Sunoo says with a perpendicular bow. “An honor to meet you, truly. I’m Kim Sunoo” 

You reciprocate. “I appreciate your kindness, Sunoo.” 

“He’ll probably scream about you bowing to him in the break room,” Jake laughs. Sunoo swats his arm. 

“Yah. Maybe if you were half as cool as Y/N, I’d scream about you in the break room.”

Jake pouts before smiling. “I was just telling Y/N how you’re one of my favorite first year associates.”

“He spoke quite highly of you. I heard that you’ll be assisting on the Hybe case with us?”

“If at all possible!” Sunoo exclaims. “I wouldn’t want to overstep.” 

“Nonsense,” you say as you wave him off. “I’m sure Heeseung will talk to you about this sooner or later. I saw your name on the file when he and I spoke earlier. I have a feeling we’ll be working together quite often, Kim Sunoo.”

The aforementioned blushes. “That would be amazing.” 

“We’ll see you later,” Jake says as the two of you wave goodbye. “See what I mean? He’s a ball of sunshine but his bite is definitely worse than his bark. Sunoo’s incredible when it comes to reading clients to absolute filth.”

“He seems sweet,” you say with a pout. “Who else am I meeting again?” 

“Jungwon!” Jake shouts as he knocks on the glass door with the title ‘YANG JUNGWON | PARALEGAL.’ 

The boy looks up and rolls his eyes before registering you standing behind Jake. You hear him clear his throat and fix his posture before standing, beckoning the two of you into his office. 

“Sorry,” Jungwon apologizes with a bow. “I’m sure that, by now, you know how loud Jake can be.” 

Jake merely laughs. “It’s because I like you, Wonie.” 

Jungwon faces you. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Jungwon, your resident paralegal. Let me know if you ever need anything and I’d be happy to help!” 

“Jungwon’s the best paralegal Lee & Associates,” Jake tells you. “It’s why he’s the only paralegal that has his own office.” 

“Anyway,” Jungwon says, hiding a blush from Jake’s compliments, “this is my second year with the company and I know it like the back of my hand. Please don’t hesitate to reach out if you ever need anything.”

“That’s really sweet of you to say, Jungwon, thank you.” 

“Anything for a friend of Jay and Heeseung!” 

“We’ll probably come back to you before the day ends,” Jake says to the younger boy. “Is Riki still on his lunch break or is he in the bullpen?”

“He got back a few minutes ago.”

“Sweet,” Jake says. “Let’s go meet the rascal.” 

Riki and Jake have a closer bond than you expected, with the younger boy greeting his elder with a bright smile and a handshake they seem to have perfected. He turns to you and listens as Jake introduces the two of you before he bows politely. 

“Riki’s from Japan but chose to study here in Korea. He and Jungwon want to take the LSAT together,” says Jake.

“あなたは日本語を話していると思います？” you ask him. I assume you speak Japanese? 

Riki’s face beams.

“はい、そうです,” he says. Yes, that’s right. ?どこでそれを話せるようになったのですか” Where did you learn to speak it? 

“私は高校で学びました。 しかし、もっと練習が必要です.” I learned back in high school. I need a more practice, though.

Riki smiles and shakes his head. “Your Japanese is perfect.”

“Ah, you flatter me too much.” “That was so fucking cool,” Jake says. “You speak Korean, English, and Japanese?”

“Add in a little bit of Spanish and we’re golden.” 

“You’re officially the coolest person in this goddamn office.” 

“I hope our paths cross before your work here is done,” Riki says with another bow. “I need to get back to work, unfortunately.” 

“Please, don’t let me keep you!” Riki smiles at you once again before disappearing into another office. “You're right, I really do like him.”

Jake smiles and points across the room. “The break room is just around the corner and is always filled with coffee, tea, and other snacks. The secretaries at the front of the floor make sure it’s stocked to the brim but if anything is missing, just ask. They’re usually happy to replenish.” 

“Good to know.” 

“Do you need anything else from me or are you ready to win this goddamn case?” 

You smile. 

“Let’s win this goddamn case.”

*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ

In the two weeks that have passed by, Jay still hasn't mustered up the courage to speak to you. 

Beyond a polite greeting when the two of you cross paths in the morning, Jay can barely smile at you without his heartbeat betraying him. His chest starts to tighten and his tie feels too tight around his neck when you look into his eyes. If you look deep enough, Jay is sure you see all of the regret he’s harbored for so many years. 

Heeseung has had to tell him to get a grip twice already. Jay isn’t slacking at his job as much as he thought he would. But if his mentor and dear friend could notice how awkward he was acting around you, Jay was sure you could sense it too. 

In truth, Jay doesn’t know how to talk to you. He’s never felt pain like this before. He yearns to hear your voice speaking to him and to converse like once before, but he doesn’t know how to. This obstacle causes pain within Jay, and he wonders if he’ll ever get the chance to say more than a sentence to you before your time with him is over. 

Watching you talk freely with his colleagues is foreign to him. Jay can’t wrap his head around the fact that you’re much more confident than you were back when he knew you. The same girl who couldn’t go a few sentences without looking at her shoes is holding eye contact and smiling after she speaks. You don’t cower over your body in an attempt to make yourself look like you’re hiding in your shell. Now, you speak with assertion and hold your chin level with the floor as you hold conversation. 

It’s jarring, but a large part of Jay can’t help but feel proud of you. If there’s one thing he knew you wished for back in law school, it was to grow your self esteem. Having parents who belittle your dreams and spoke pathetically about your life choices didn’t leave room for you to understand what liking yourself looked like. The accolades and achievements your parents were bestowed with felt unnatural when you knew it was only a matter of time before they had something negative to say. As attorneys themselves, defending oil companies who don’t care about oil spills in the ocean or bribing employees to keep a quiet mouth about misfortunes never felt like confidence to you. It was cowardice.  

Seeing your parents in magazines with a perfect picture smile never made you want to emulate them in any capacity. They look like dolls, playing the role of hardworking attorneys and devoted parents until they cross the threshold of your home, letting the mask fall to the floor. Their confidence felt brazen. They didn’t deserve to be your role models. 

Yet, here you are. 

Jay doesn’t notice that he’s been staring at you from his office door until Sunghoon knocks his shoulder with his own. 

“Quit staring unless you want to look like a creep.” 

Jay clears his throat. “I wasn’t staring.” 

“Sure,” Sunghoon smirks. “And I don’t handle the majority of our finances.” Jay rolls his eyes. 

“I know what you’re gonna say and you don’t need to say it. I know I need to talk to Y/N.” 

“You’ll regret it if you don’t.” 

“I know, Hoon,” Jay says. He spares one more glance at you before looking away. “But it’s hard to try when I don’t think I deserve any respect or forgiveness.” 

“Look, I don’t know what happened between you two, but it’s obvious that something did happen by how tense you are when she’s around.”

“Am I really that bad?”

Sunghoon nods. “Y/N can tell. She keeps looking at you when you walk away.”

“Shit,” Jay curses. 

“Whatever happened back then was a long time ago. I obviously don’t know her as well as you do, but she’s been a great asset to the team since she joined. She blends well with everybody and leaves her office door open most of the time. Y/N talks to the associates and interns when she’s taking breaks. She wouldn’t do all of that if she wasn’t willing to talk to you.” 

Deep down, Jay knows his friend is right. But it’s hard to convince himself to talk to you when he pictured the agony on your face before he turned around and left you by yourself with the wolves. It makes his heart lurch from left to right. This feeling only quells when you’re out of sight and when he’s distracted with his work. 

“Try,” Sunghoon says. “I know it’s scary, but the universe put her right back in your life for a season.” 

“I know,” Jay says quietly. “Thanks, Sunghoon.” 

“Anytime.” 

Sunghoon leaves and Jay fixes his posture, pushing his shoulders back twice in a row. Jay still thinks you are the most beautiful and selfless person he’s ever seen. Looking at you makes him feel like a small volcano has ruptured within his heart and the cage that once kept his adoration for you hostage no longer keeps him in the dark. Jay isn’t the insecure young adult he was when he knew you. Even he is more sure of himself. 

Jay thinks you look gorgeous now that you’re smiling more. He remembers all the times he used to take candid photos of you during impromptu moments and the squeals of discomfort you echoed when he would try to take a picture. You used to cover your mouth or shy away from the camera as if you were too embarrassed to be caught. But the way you’re smiling to his colleagues and how animated your conversations are seem to make his heart swell to see how far you’ve come. 

Working alongside you in the time that he has makes Jay observant. He’s been in a room with you plenty of times, whether it be for an internal meeting or sessions where each attorney looks through files of documents. You’re still the diligent and hardworking person you were all those years ago. You still tap your pen quietly over the stack of papers and you still like to eat sweets when you’re in the thick of it. When he sees you like this, Jay begins to recall all of the nights spent in the library studying for an exam or rushing to finish an essay before the submit date. Seeing you harbor the same habits you did in law school makes his heart warm. 

For as awkward as it is, Jay is glad that he gets to see you as successful as you are. He always pictured the two of you as lifelong friends back when he knew you for six months. You were reliable and honest, loyal to your core, and passionate about your work and hobbies. He loved to hear you talk because it demonstrated your confidence when the two of you were together. Jay would reckong that he’d fly a great distance if you asked him to have a conversation with him. 

He loved seeing you switch on for him. One look at you and you were smiling with your eyes closed. Jay adored the way you’d laugh every time he said something mildly embarrassing or the way you would subtly blush whenever he got up early enough to buy you something from the cafe near his apartment. Jay knew he made you flustered from time to time and it brought him great joy to see you look at him like you didn’t know what to do with yourself. 

When he made the executive decision not to call you three months after graduating, Jay wondered if it was cruel of him to revel in the way you reacted to him. His heart felt lighter when you smiled at him while making eye contact. He didn't mind carrying your purse when the two of you hung out or remaining the more sober of the two whenever he drank with you. It felt so natural to look after you like that despite not having many people in his life to do that for. It gave Jay a sense of purpose to do so, going as far as to seek for you when you weren’t with him. 

He always felt selfish for teasing you with the purpose of seeing that shy smile and seeing you look away from him in an attempt to stop laughing. You looked so beautiful when you were bashful, so humble too. Jay prayed for borrowed time because seeing you between classes wasn’t enough. He always thought you were too cool to hang out with him no matter what other people said because you had a million passions and could talk his ear off about everything and nothing at the same time. 

Realistically, Jay knows he can talk to you whenever he wants to. You’ve been mad at him before and have done days without talking to him, but when he took the time to reflect and apologize to you the way you deserved, you always let him back into your hold. Jay knows he has the opportunity to strike up a conversation since you both have been working together for a couple of weeks. He knows you won’t dismiss him. 

But when he sees you laughing with Sunoo and Jungwon in the bullpen from his office, he can’t help but think about just how little he knows about you and how much you don’t know about him. Jay knows it’s his fault since he put the distance between the two of you. Yet here you are, talking to people he’s known for years like you’ve known them all your life. 

Jay can talk to you, but it won’t be today.

*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ

Luck is (or isn’t) on his side when the two of you jump into each other while trying to open the door to the cafe across the street from the law office. 

Regretfully, Jay wasn’t paying attention to where he was walking, as his nose was buried deep in an email he was reading as he motioned to pull the door open. It was then he realized he’d bumped into someone. It took him a few seconds to register he had humped into you. 

“Oh,” you say, startled. 

“Shit,” Jay curses. “I’m sorry. I, uh, wasn’t watching where I was going.”  He pockets his phone. “I should really start doing that.”

“You’re lucky I don’t have coffee in my hands,” you say with a laugh. “It’s fine, Jay.” 

You let him pull the door open for you after he corrects himself. With his head, he gestures for you to enter first and you give a polite smile as a silent thank you. Jay forces himself not to audibly sigh behind you, instead choosing to glance at the ceiling and pray he doesn’t say anything stupid. 

He meets you at the cashier line and notices what you’re wearing. Your forest green dress hugs you in a respectable way, contouring to the ridges of your body. The color looks gorgeous against your skin tone, as does the color of your jewelry. Your coat is dangling from your arms and your hair is styled in a way that makes you look almost glamorous. 

“You look stunning.”

To his horror, you look back and catch him looking at you. 

“Thank you,” he hears you say after a long pause. Jay feels his cheeks reddening. 

“Sorry,” he apologizes. “That was weird, wasn’t it?” 

He’s surprised when you shake your head.

“Not weird at all. I bought this dress and took the tag off prematurely. I wore it today so I could get use out of it since I’d spent so much money on it, so I’m glad someone likes it.” 

That same, shy smile adorns your face. But this time, you aren’t looking away from him. That makes Jay’s heart flutter and for once, he feels like he’s got a shot at making things right with you. 

“You really do look stunning,” Jay tells you as he looks you directly in the eye. He doesn’t dare let his gaze wander. 

Before either of you can say anything, the cashier is waving you towards the counter. He doesn’t think twice about pulling his wallet out and hanging it to the employee behind the counter when you finish ordering, quickly saying his own order before smiling at you. 

“You don’t have to pay for me,” you tell him. 

“I know,” he says with a meek smile. “But let me, yeah?” 

You don’t fight him on it, namely because the employee has already used his card by the time you could even think about pulling your own out. Jay ushers you to the side where the waiting area is and puts his hands deep in his pockets. 

The two of you are quiet for a while. It’s semi busy and the sound of chatter and steaming milk reverberates around the room. Jay looks at you through the corner of his eyes and sees you looking at your watch for the time. If he's to say anything, he needs to say it now. 

“It’s good to see you again,” is what Jay settles with. You turn to look at him. “I didn’t realize you were the borrowed partner. It’s good to see that you achieved your dreams.” 

You don’t know how to respond. You choose to respond honestly. 

“It makes me happy knowing that we both made it,” you tell him. “Heeseung told me he promoted you to senior partner a few months ago. That’s incredible.”

“Not as incredible as being the youngest person to be named senior partner at Tang-Young.” Jay smiles at you. “That’s incredible.” 

“It feels that way,” you tell him earnestly. “I used to think days like these were far-fetched, like I’d never be named senior partner or have my foot in the door. It feels crazy to feel put together for once.” 

“I know the feeling,” Jay agrees. “I have my own place and haven’t had any help from my parents since I graduated law school. I’ve been on my own for a while now.” 

The barista calls out your orders. Jay lets you pick up your beverage before he takes his. 

“Do you ever think about when you were a first year associate? I think about sitting in the bullpen all the time. Sometimes it feels wrong to have my own office.” Jay opens the door for you and lets you walk outside first before he follows. 

“I picture myself out there when I first joined the firm,” Jay confesses. “I was so young and naive…I didn’t have a clear picture of what I wanted to do with my career yet.” 

“It’s insane how much time has passed,” you comment, looking both ways before crossing the street. Jay doesn’t think you say it as you do on purpose, but emotions tug on his heart strings. “I feel like I was just a first year associate only a few days ago.”

Jay swallows harshly. “A lot has changed. Some for the better…some for the worst.” 

You finally look at him when the two of you reach the other side of the road. He doesn’t like talking in tongues or minding your language when he speaks to you because he wants to apologize. Jay has spent the last few weeks dreaming about what he’d say to you or what he’d do to make up for his shortcoming years prior but he doesn’t know how to start. He doesn’t know what he should do first or if you’d consider hearing him out. 

Today is an indication that you might be, is the conclusion Jay comes to. 

The cliches of time slowing down is what he feels when you stop to look at him. He feels like you’re staring through his soul, almost as if you’re inspecting him from head to toe. Jay doesn’t know what you’re thinking and he’s too afraid to ask. He can’t tell what’s going on in your head with your emotionless expression, rocking back and forth to keep his balance. 

Did he say the wrong thing? Jay bites his tongue and wishes he could wake up from whatever dream he’s having. This doesn’t even feel real. He can barely hear the sound of taxis and people around him through the thumping of his own heart. Jay can’t see anyone else but you, so he reckons he could open his eyes and still be in his bed. 

But he blinks and you’re still standing in front of him. 

“Things might’ve changed and so do people. Don’t be too hard on yourself.” 

He watches you walk towards the entrance of the building and forces himself to jog until he’s walking next to you. Jay catches himself and tries not to bump into the people walking in the opposite direction as him. When the two of you are back on the fiftieth floor, you bow to the secretaries and greet Heeseung and Jake, who are standing next to one another. 

“Oh good,” Heesueng says, “Y/N, you’re here. I know you have to appear in court in a few hours and I was wondering if you’d be willing to stop by Attorney Ahn’s office.”

“Ahn?” you ask him quizzically. “What for?” 

“We secured an agreement for them to hand over the Hybe’s contracts. They didn’t want to disclose and Ahn tried hard to block this from being filed, but I think Judge Han allowed it to pass. Do you think you could grab the box from his office?” 

“Sure thing,” you tell him with a nod. “I should be leaving in about an hour. No idea when I’ll be back, but I planned to put in some extra hours. Might as well get a head start by looking at those files.” 

“You’re a lifesaver,” Heeseung praises before walking back into his office. 

“I’m kind of offended neither of you invited me to get coffee,” Jake says as he hands Jay a manila folder. 

“Maybe if this file was on my desk yesterday, I would have,” Jay says with the quirk of his mouth. 

Jake shakes his head dramatically. “Do you see what I have to deal with, Y/N? It’s like he wants to punish me.” 

“Punishing you would be making you go to housing court three times a week, but I don’t,” Jay retorts. “Instead, you get to work with the big kids.”

“Atta boy,” Jake says as he elbows Jay’s side. “But seriously, I want an invite next time.”

“We ran into each other this morning but how about you and I go together tomorrow morning, say around eight?” 

“I think you’re my favorite attorney!” Jake exclaims. 

You turn to Jay. “You’re welcome to join us.” 

“Yes,” Jay accepts immediately. “Yeah, uh, I’d love to join.” 

“Great.” You look between them with a pleasant smile. “Well if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to prepare for trial. See you this afternoon?” 

“Count on it,” Jake says with a mock salute. 

You leave the two of them and Jake watches as his mentor forces himself to pry his eyes off of you. In the duration that he’s gotten to see you and Jay work alongside one another, Jake has never seen his mentor at a loss for words before you started to work in the same office. The younger boy looks between the two of you before slipping back into Jay’s, waiting for him to follow suit. 

Jake joined Lee & Associates as a first year associate. His designated spot in the bullpen felt scared to him, like it was the one place in the entire office that didn’t make him feel like a belittled mess. Law school was over and Jake couldn’t help but feel nervous about practicing law in the real world where the consequences would be more fatal than a bad test score. 

Jay was in need of an associate at the time and there didn’t seem to be anybody who could step up to the plate and deal with Jay’s on-and-off personality, along with the fast pace he kept when working. Before getting to know him, Jay was someone unreadable to Jake. He felt untouchable even though his desk was right in front of the bullpen with the glass doors separating the two of them, mimicking something as dramatic as The Great Wall. 

Yet he finds himself seeing Jay like a brother after the time spent together. Jake knows his mentor is anything but a stone cold, hardened attorney people make him out to be. Jay prefers to keep his emotions closer to himself rather than on his sleeve for people to notice at first glance. He loves loyalty and honesty, and will go to great lengths to award people who stand beside him through tough times. 

It’s why Jake can see the conflict in Jay’s eyes when he sees him looking at you. Jay’s stare is far away, almost as if he’s looking at the spot you stood in to yearn for what he once had. It takes him a moment or two to collect himself and continue with his day. 

Jay clears his throat when he realizes he’s been quiet. 

“Do you have the briefing for the damage collection case?” 

Jake stares at his friend. “I’ll give it to you if you tell me what’s going on between you and Y/N.”

“I don’t think that’s any of your business,” Jay sputters in an attempt to seem calm. His heart is beating twice as fast. Jake merely shakes his head. 

“Nah, man. You look at Y/N like you’re seconds away from telling her you’re in love with her.”

“I am not in love with her,” Jay defends immediately. He sees Jake raise his eyebrow and disconnects eye contact. “We used to know each other in law school and now we aren’t as close anymore.”

“See, that’s the thing. I know that. Everyone else knows that too. But there’s something neither you nor Y/N are acknowledging and there’s tension in the air whenever you two are in the same room.”

“There’s no tension.” 

Jake deadpans. “There’s so much tension. Even Riki can sense it.” 

“Don’t bring interns into this.” 

“I’m not bringing anyone into anything,” Jake replies. “It’s you and your weird mojo that needs to be fixed.”

“My mojo?”

“You’ve been off kilter for the past month,” says Jake. “I’m your right hand, you know? I’m with you for ninety percent of the week. I can tell when something’s bothering you.” 

Jay sighs. “It’s complicated, Jake. I…did some things in the past that I wasn’t proud of and I can’t bring myself to talk to Y/N, especially knowing how it all went down.”

“You don’t have to be so cryptic about it,” Jake says sarcastically. 

Take a seat,” Jay instructs. “You’ll want to sit down.” 

Recounting the story to Jake makes Jay feel like he’s telling a juvenile story about two lovestruck teenagers who were too immature to know any better. He feels the guilt rising to the surface all over again, as if he were shaming his younger self for acting so selfishly. 

Truthfully, Jay knew you didn’t deserve to be treated the way he treated you. He viewed you as the epitome of sunshine even if you didn’t believe him on most days. Your quiet demeanor hid a blooming flower. You deserved more than a coward who couldn’t own up to his feelings. 

They stay in Jay’s office, foregoing the workday to discuss what happened the night he left you and what transpired in the summer that followed. Jay tells Jake that he and his parents hopped on a flight abroad a few days after graduation. He tells him how you were always at the forefront of his mind and how that sad look in your eye imprinted in his mind every time he closed his eyes. 

“Shit,” Jake says, leaning back to clutch against Jay’s chair. 

“Indeed.” Jay averts his attention to the city below his office from his window. “I don’t know how to act around her. She walks around like nothing happened between us but when I look at her, all I can picture is that look on her face when I walked away.”

“Have you ever considered that Y/N has moved on?”

Jay shakes his head. “Heeseung said the same thing but this isn’t something you get over, Jake.”

“You said it yourself, though. Y/N is a resilient person. You just told me what you admired about her most was that she could see the bigger picture and react accordingly.”

“I used to think she never had the guts to stand up for herself when people were meant to her,” Jay confesses. “I’d get so frustrated and we’d get into arguments because I’d tell her she doesn’t deserve to be treated like that. But Y/N would always tell me that some battles aren’t worth fighting. I never understood it then.” 

“And now?” 

Jay sighs. “Seeing her here, making friends with all of the associates and walking into Heeseung’s office like she owns the place, makes me realize she always knew what she was talking about. I mentioned she didn't have a great relationship with her parents, right? Well, I think part of me always forgot that since I had a great relationship with mine. I was more vocal than she was. I didn’t have a problem telling people off if they deserved it. 

“But she was quieter. Maybe it was by nature or maybe it was because she didn’t like talking unless she had a reason to. I don’t know. But when I look at her now, I don’t see that angry, frustrated person anymore. I can’t begin to describe it. It’s like she broke out of her shell and became a completely different person. More confident, I’d say.”

Jake nods. “You know, she told me and Sunoo that she has a tattoo of a butterfly on her hip.” 

“A butterfly?” 

“A butterfly. A monarch, I think. Anyway, the type doesn’t matter. It’s just funny that you think she’s come out of her shell when butterflies start out as caterpillars and have to go through their metamorphosis period before becoming a butterfly.” 

Jay bites his lip in contemplation. Jake continues. 

“Monarch butterflies migrate to warm weather once a year because they can’t survive the cold. They fly in groups, hundreds of thousands at a time and build communities. Y/N did the same thing, if you think about it. She left Korea to find herself in New York and returned when she was ready.” 

“I never thought about it like that,” Jay says. “I knew she was working from New York but I always thought it was to get away from me.” 

“Maybe in the beginning,” Jake adds. “Maybe Y/N needed to get away from you, her parents, and her life as she knew it to find the person she was always supposed to be.”

“I will never forgive myself for not calling her after we graduated.” 

“You don’t have to, but I think Y/N has.” Jake leans his elbows on Jay’s desk and looks the man in the eye. “Look, I know I haven’t known her for as long as you have, but in the month we’ve worked together, I’ve learned a lot from her. I’ve seen her talk to the opposing counsel in depositions and learned that she can get to the point without saying much. She’s really confident in herself and is almost always willing to help associates when they approach her.

“What I’m trying to say is, you need to let go of the person you once knew and the person you were back then. You and I both know how far you’ve come in your career and I’m sure Heeseung knows how much you’ve changed as a person since you graduated. But you can’t keep living in the past if you want to move forward.”

Jake’s right and Jay knows it. Every day, he wakes up and his first thought is the memory of you averting your eyes from him at the graduation ceremony. He thinks about his wrongdoings more often than he’d like to admit and can’t seem to move past this feeling of inadequacy when it comes to you. Jay contemplates on whether or not he deserves your respect or forgiveness, the unknown being the obstacle that prevented him from apologizing to you in the first place. 

But he needs to let that go. He’s not the person who decides whether or not he deserves forgiveness. You are. 

You are the person who dictates how you feel. Not Jay, not anyone else. For the past month, Jay has been overthinking about how to talk to you if it’s not related to the litigation. He can talk to you when it’s in conjunction about the Hyb case, but he can’t talk to you about anything else.

Jay needs to start trusting you and your judgment in a way he couldn’t before. But unlike now, Jay wasn’t in your crossfires all those years ago. The version of him during law school never gave you a reason to overcome the loss of a friendship. In order to understand you better, he needs to stop thinking about you the way you were back then. For right now, you’re a stranger he knows everything about. 

“You’re right,” Jay nods. “I’ve been so caught up in dealing with this shock that I forgot Y/N’s had to deal with it longer. It makes sense that she isn’t as shaken up as I am.”

“She’s smart and way more perceptive than you give her credit for. I think Riki’s about to ask Y/N to adopt him because she keeps talking to him in Japanese.” Jake smiles. “Speaking of which.” 

Jay quirks his eyebrow. “Speaking of what?” 

“You so clearly still have feelings for Y/N.” Jay opens his mouth and immediately closes it. 

“Lying to you would be useless, wouldn’t it?” 

“I’m also more perceptive than you think. That, and you talk about her like she saved your cat from a tree, or something.”

“I can’t help it,” Jay sighs as he rubs his face. “Being around Y/N makes me feel the way I did all those years ago. I don’t think I ever got over her. She had this ability to keep people in her grasp, you know? Once you peeled back her layers and looked past her shy personality, there she was. Now, it’s like watching everyone else meet the Y/N i knew she always was, just more openly. It’s weird to see her talking to everyone but in a good way, you know? She’s not apologizing for who she is anymore.”

“Like I said,” Jake says, “Y/N’s a butterfly.”

*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ

Later in the afternoon, Jay stops responding to emails when he feels his eyes getting tired from looking at his laptop. The conversation he had with Jake weighs on his mind with every passing hour and his leg bounces with anticipation for your arrival back to the office. 

Throughout the entire day, he’s been reminding himself that he has also grown and matured since the last time you saw him. He’s no longer somebody who hates conflict and speaking his mind. His job has taught him the value of saying what you mean and sticking to an argument until the very end. Jay’s tendency to falter in himself has diminished over the years, especially since working at a legacy company such as Lee & Associates. 

His success as an attorney plays a factor in his confidence, too. Seeing his father in the courtroom inspired him as a child to pursue a career in law so that he may one day fight on behalf of people who don’t have a voice themselves. Never in his wildest dreams did Jay ever think he alone could make a big difference in the lives of others but he sits behind his desk with a promotion just shy of having his own surname on the door in the main office. 

Jay’s job means everything to him. It means working hard after spending countless days and nights stressing over cases and essays in law school. It means working with his colleagues to bring out the best in people and take down companies who value profit over people. It means making a difference in the lives of those who aren’t as fortunate as him. If Lee & Associates wasn’t as philanthropic and as morally-good as Jay would’ve hoped, he doesn’t know if he would’ve said yes to their offer when it was offered to him. 

He decides to take a break and head over to the break room when he bumps into Sunghoon, who has a scowl  etched on his face. 

“Hoon,” Jay says, tugging on Sunghoon’s arm to force him to stop walking. “Are you alright?” 

“No,” he mumbles. 

Jay’s eyebrows contort in confusion. “What’s happening? Is there anything I can do? Talk to me.” 

Sunghoon sighs. “It’s nothing you can fix, unfortunately. Remember when Heeseung asked Y/N to get the Hybe contract files from Ahn?”

“What about it?” 

“Y/N met with him in his office and he sent her home with one box.” 

“I don’t understand why that’s a bad thing.” 

Sunghoon points behind Jay, who sees a room filled to the brim with boxes. 

“He sent the rest here.” 

The two men walk over to the office and see you standing next to Heeseung with both hands on your hips. You look just short of enraged. Jay swears he can see steam coming out of your ears. 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Jay says as his eyes scan the boxes piled on top of one another. “How could we possibly get through all of this?” 

“Hybe’s burying us in paperwork so we look unprepared in our next meeting,” you say in disbelief. “I wish I could’ve slapped that smug look off of his face when he gave me only one of the damn boxes.” 

“We might have to fight about who gets to do that.” Heeseung curses under his breath. “We’ve got two weeks before our next hearing to determine the next step in the settlement.” 

“It looks like they’re gonna win,” Sunghoon grains from beside Jay. “They’re not giving up the recoupment clause.” 

“The answer is in here somewhere,” Jay adds. “We just have to find it.” 

“We’ll be up all night.” You look somewhere between defeated and determined, although Jay isn’t sure which is which. 

“Not if we work together,” says Jungwon, who has Sunoo and Riki standing behind him. The five of you look behind you to see them standing in the doorway. “We want to help.” 

“We can’t possibly ask you to do that,” Heeseung says. “I know the expectation is that you stay later than six in the evening, but this is too much to ask of you guys.”

“You aren’t asking,” Sunoo insists as he sits down in front of Heeseung. “Jay and Jake already have me working on a few of the case files. It makes sense to have another set of eyes that knows this case well.” 

“I want the practice as well,” Riki agrees, taking a seat next to Sunoo. “Jungwon and Sunoo have been teaching me how to read these types of documents and pull relevant information out of them. I’d really appreciate the experience.” 

“You’re sure about this?” Jay asks. 

“We’re positive,” Sunoo confirms. 

“Well, you guys can go home at any point,” Heeseung says. “This goes for everyone in the room. God only knows how much bullshit we’ll have to dig through.”

The sun starts to wane over the blue sky when Jay decides he needs a change of scenery. He’s been sitting in the same chair for a few hours at this point and desperately craves the sweet melodies of soft jazz from his vinyl collection. He excuses himself and lets everyone know he’ll be in his office if anybody needs anything. 

You watch him stand up from where you’re seated and as he walks out of the room. You must admit, Jay still looks criminally handsome. That tendency to cower into yourself whenever he looks at you is still present today, especially when he makes room for you to speak during depositions and internal meetings. 

For a while, you were hellbent on making an enemy out of Jay for what he did to you. The person you were before leaving Seoul was somebody who would likely paint Jay as a target and a villain for life. The friends you made in New York would entertain you in conversations about boys who have a tendency to break hearts and you always had a story to share. 

Even so, time has been kind to you. The years spent focusing on your career and your loved ones has molded you into the kind of person who can see people for who they are, not what they’ve done and have atoned for. Jay has worked all his life to prove himself worthy of being somebody who can take care of himself and stand on his own two feet. In a way, you’ve done the same thing. 

Half an hour goes by before you decide you need to stretch your legs. You make the bold decision to take your work with you and pay no mind to Heeseung, who winks at you on the way out. 

Approaching Jay feels like a mix between normal and anxiety inducing. Seeing him hunched over his desk with a scowl on his face as he concentrates is nostalgic to you, and it makes you remember all the times you’d search for him after your classes ended just to find him in the library with a gargantuan book beneath his focus. His hair still falls as perfectly as you remember it and he still twirls his pen in his fingers like he used to. 

It brings a set of uneasiness to your stomach. You’ve spent years trying to forget Jay before coming to the conclusion that you could never forget someone who once meant so much to you. All of the hatred you harbored for the man you held deep feelings for dissipated when you remembered that he too was growing and trying to find out who he was aside from all he once knew. 

Gathering the courage to knock on his door, you force yourself to do it before you convince yourself to back out. 

Jay looks up at you like you’re the last person he expected to see. It makes your stomach drop. 

“Sorry,” you mutter when he doesn’t motion for you to enter. “I’ll go.” 

“No!” Jay says immediately. He clears his throat and puts his pen down, waving you into his office. “Come in, please.” You walk inside and close the door behind you, the sound of soft jazz is reminiscent of the times you used to study with him in his apartment. 

“I needed a break from sitting in the same spot,” you tell him, standing before his desk and looking at the decor around the room. “I see you still love collecting vinyls.”

“My collection has definitely grown,” he laughs. You feel his eyes watching you explore his office before you find your way to sit in the chair in front of him. 

When the air settles around you, a sense of nervousness washes over your body. Suddenly, you can feel your entire weight on the chair you’re on top of. You can hear the clock that resides from just outside of his office and your mouth becomes too dry to handle. 

You’re not sure why you’ve come to see Jay. You don’t know what you’d say to him. All of those nights you imagined a great big showdown where Jay would fall to his knees and apologize to you, just for you to refute his attempts, don’t matter anymore. You look back at yourself and think of it as silly even though that’s what you needed at a time. But part of growing up and learning about who you are is realizing your capabilities and strengths. Being able to reconcile with the past that hurt you without feeling pure anger towards the cause was arguably the hardest thing you’ve done. 

You two are grown versions of your unsure, unconfident selves. The wall you spent your teenage years building has fallen down with time, knowledge, and grace. Two beings achieving a high clarity of peace is what’s left in this room. 

It isn’t that you forgive and forget. Rather, taking the time to heal and forgive Jay for embarrassing you has made you realize there are worse things than a memory filled with people you aren’t in contact with anymore. Nobody in your life knew about what had happened because you hadn’t bothered to keep in touch with anyone, and no one did the same with you. The shame and burden you carried and blamed on everyone else was misdirected. It was your own insecure nature and unconfident persona that prevented you from healing. 

Separating oneself from the pair of people who stripped away your confidence was the lowest you ever felt. The violent words echoing through your ears after a particularly bad test in high school broke your heart for the last time. You would no longer hold any room in your heart for another chance. The pieces of you that shattered onto the floor were swept away, never to be seen again. 

You kept your head down for the years of the time you lived with them. There was no use to talk back and fight to be seen by them, even if it was to glare at you for misbehaving. It came to a point where even unloving attention from your parents was enough, settling with the notion that you wouldn’t get what you asked for as you wanted it. 

But having realized sweet ignorance was bliss made you sick to your stomach. It made you ashamed to know you had spent so long wishing the people who brought you unto this Earth would look at you. The realization that changing everything about yourself would do nothing but damage in the end, taught you more than you could ever sum into words. It didn't matter if you were loud or quiet. They would never look at you the way they looked at your older brother. 

It was hard to come to terms with it. Everyday was a battle against immense frustration and turmoil as you tried to navigate your way as a young adult without the opinions of your parents shoved down your throat. They’d already expected the best out of you, so perhaps being interested in law was the only thing you’ve ever done that made your parents feel as though you were worth celebrating. 

Separating yourself post-high school and college was easier than ever before, especially when they hadn’t shown up to your law school graduation. 

That final nail in the coffin is what solidifies what remained of the relationship. You wouldn’t see them save for holiday parties to save face, especially when your colleagues and mentors were good friends of theirs. The posed smiles and awkward conversations were part of your way to make connections and play the game before you ended up crying on your bathroom floor. Playing the part of an obedient daughter only to turn into a stranger to your parents was a role you were likely born to play.

“I was wondering if I could look through the paperwork with you.” 

Jay’s eyes widen. “With me?” 

“Only if you want to! I mean, it was always nice to work with you in the library all those years ago. I thought it might be a nice change of pace.” 

Jay looks at you through his lashes and can’t believe the grace he’s been given to have you approach him before he got the chance to. The unexpected load of files put a dent in his plans. It seems, however, that somebody is looking out for him, 

“I…I’ve been wanting to talk to you,” Jay says. It’s as if the filter on his mouth has disappeared because he can’t stop talking about what he’s thinking about. “I didn’t know you were the person who was going to help us out on this case and seeing you for the first time in years made me think about when we were kids. I probably don’t have the right to say this, so forgive me, but I really missed you.” 

That shy smile he always knew you to have adorned your lips. 

“I missed you too,” you tell him. “There are a lot of things I’ve done that I wish I could have shared with you. Although I admit I had a few weeks to prepare seeing you before I officially said yes to helping with this case.” 

“I used to think about what would happen if I ever saw you in court,” Jay confesses. “I’d like to believe I’d say hi, or something.” 

“I probably would’ve done the same thing. Do you still play guitar?” 

“Every chance I get,” Jay smiles. “I’ve added a few electric and acoustics editions to my collection. I have an entire music room back at home.” 

“I always remembered you being so musically gifted. If you didn’t become a lawyer, you probably would’ve been a successful musician.” 

“You always flattered me too much.” 

“Why stop now?

Jay smiles at you. “Do you still want cats?” 

“I have a cat called Miso. I’ve had her for a few months. She’s still such a small baby. Is it bad that I’m considering getting another one?” 

“Not at all,” Jay agrees. “But three might make you a cat lady.” 

You pretend to weigh your options. “I’ll think about it.” 

“I can’t believe you lived in New York for a few years. I remember you loving the big city.” 

“I think I’ve changed a bit,” you tell him. “I love the hustle and bustle, but living in Manhattan made me realize I miss living away from the noise. I like traveling into town and having the option to leave it, you know?”

“Definitely,” Jay nods. “My place is in a high rise so I don’t hear construction noises or birds chirping when I want it to be quiet. I got the chance to move in a few years after I started my job here.” 

“I live just on the outskirts of Seoul. It’s a good sized neighborhood in a family town. I like that it’s so quiet. I usually hear children who live in the houses play on the streets on weekend mornings.” 

“That sounds like quite a peaceful life.” 

You smile at him like you know something he doesn’t.

“Yeah, it really is.” 

“Do you ever think about how long ago law school was?” you ask. “Sometimes I pinch myself when I’m given big responsibilities. I pinched myself over and over again when I was named senior partner and nearly gave myself a bruise.” 

“I see the associates in the bullpen everyday and think about how that was me ages ago,” Jay responds. By now, he’s turned his attention from the document to you. “I used to be an insecure prick who pretended to have everything under control. I was so desperate to prove myself. I’m sure you know how that feels. I don’t think I got a wink of sleep in the first four years of my career.” 

“You and I both. I think my life got more stressful when I started my career. Law school did not prepare me mentally for what it was gonna be like. 

“But it’s rewarding, right? I feel like I’m doing something good with my life. And you know Heeseung, you know he wouldn't sign off on clients who are morally corrupt.” 

“It feels incredible, honestly. Being able to help people makes me feel like I’ve served a good purpose. I used to think about texting you all the dumb mistakes people made when I was a first year. It’s hilarious to know how many professionals can’t remain professional.” 

Jay’s smile weakens as his guilt creeps back into his mind. 

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly yet firmly.

You look at him. “I know. Let’s focus on the case, yeah?”

*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ

Arriving at the office as the sun is peeking from the horizon is not a new phenomenon for you. Despite the crust that formed around your eye last night, indicating a good rest, you feel somewhat sluggish as you wait for Jake to finish ordering his coffee. 

“Jay woke up late again,” he snickers as he pockets his phone. “He probably won’t be at the office until eight.” 

“It’s fine,” you tell him. “We all need beauty sleep after yesterday.” 

“Ahn can kiss my ass. I felt like I was knee deep in paperwork. My eyes were gonna fall out of their sockets.” 

“You and me both,” you sigh, retrieving your beverage and pastry. The warmth lifts your mood. “I’ve seen my fair share of paperwork and dirty moves, but they never cease to surprise me.” 

“The audacity of him to give you one box to leave with, too,” Jake says with venom in his tone. “I’ll punch him for you.”

“How about you hold him down while I do the punching?”

“I like your style.” 

The office itself is still relatively quiet, save for the few first year associates milling around the bullpen and the break room. The coffee and espresso machine have seen better days, and you make a mental note to tell Heeseung to invest in new ones. 

Jake raises his hand in a mock salute as you walk towards your office. The pretty skyline will always remain a marvel to you. To live a life of privilege and to neglect the beauty around you would be a disservice to all that has raised you and all what will be awarded to you. The streets below you begin to fill with people commuting to work. It feels much like New York, where the city never sleeps and the people never lose their dreams. 

Working with Jay in his office felt normal. Sitting in front of him and getting to know his life as he built it wasn’t as hurtful as you once thought it would be. With each quip, it felt as if the two of you fell into old habits like there was never a time where the two of you spent any time apart. 

You could tell Jay had more to say than he led on. But hearing a full confession or an apology in the office didn’t feel right. It’s why you shut him down. Hearing the sincerity in his voice when he came to apologize, but having a short conversation between looking through piles upon piles of documents, felt too colloquial. You’re owed the decency of no distractions, at least, even if you’ve done the work to grow and heal. 

There was once a time you swore you’d never give Jay a second chance and that actions, at face value, mean more than any rectification. Back when you were blindsided by hurt and emotion, the realization that the person you cared about the most leaving you felt like a punch to the gut. If Jay had the audacity to leave you as you were, what good were you to anyone else? 

The answer isn’t simple. It wasn’t until you realized running away from Korea and relocation to New York didn’t make you as happy as you thought it did. 

You were lying to yourself when you’d smile and tell your friends that it was the best decision you ever made. You had fooled yourself into believing it as you said it, sipping on whatever alcoholic beverage was at hand at the time. But coming home to an empty loft made those unsavory thoughts ruminate in your mind until you fell asleep. Even so, you dreamt about what your life would be like if Jay had chosen to stay. 

Years of running resulted in a sudden crash. It was like your life wasn’t as perfect as you made it out to be. You loved the part of you that made a life in New York and you loved the people and the work that was established, but a larger part of you missed your life in Seoul. You missed your friends, your old haunts, and the places you swore you’d never go but found yourself visiting when you came back home. You missed your family too, or whatever was left of it. In the years you spent overseas, you learned to come to terms with the notion that who you are is not a product of people who do not know you. Rather, who you are is an accumulation of your experiences and passions, and nothing else. 

That realization made it easier to forgive Jay. Truthfully, you didn’t know if you’d ever see him again and the thought of what you would say if you came face-to-face with him, or what apologies you would’ve wanted to hear from him, didn’t matter. It became something you tossed at the bottom of your priority list because relying on the actions of other people became a dangerous habit of yours. You’d look at yourself in the mirror and slowly begin to like what you saw looking back at you.  

To let go of the past feels like freedom. You could dwell on everyone who wronged you and remain spiteful at all of the times you were left to feel like an embarrassment and a burden, but none of that could have ever helped you arrive in the present day as tranquil as you are. Every happenstance, good and bad, happened for a reason, and it isn’t up to you to figure out why. 

You’re brought out of your thoughts when Jungwon knocks on your door. 

“Y/N?” he asks timidly. 

“What’s up?” 

“Do you have the time to go over these case files with me?” Jungwon asks. “I know you have a lunch meeting you need to prepare for, but none of the other attorneys are in the office right now and Heeseung needs these as soon as possible.” 

You smile at him. “I’ll make time.” 

The two of you sit in relative silence for the next twenty minutes, hearing the sounds of paper turning and pens scribbling in the margins. The city’s waking up and people are filing into the office one by one as the two of you remain in the vacated copy room just around the main office. Jungwon suggested relocating to the small corner for concentration purposes and you start to understand why he’s everybody’s favorite paralegal. 

“This stuff is insane,” Jungwon comments. You look up at him to see a scowl etched on his face. “How can people willingly take advantage of people trying to pursue their dreams?” 

“I don’t know,” you tell him honestly. “It kills me to see greedy corporations treat people like they don’t matter.” 

“It’s unfair,” Jungwon says. “If I had my way, I’d stick it to these music executives. Screw Ahn for burying us in paperwork.”

“Making the musician pay back a certain fee feels almost impossible, doesn’t it?” you ask Jungwon rhetorically. “It almost feels like the label is stealing talent and profiting off of it wherever and whenever they can.” 

“These poor people are trying to make a living doing what they love. None of this is fair. It’s stupid for labels to require a certain number of albums to be made under contract.” 

“Even more stupid when labels cut them loose because they can’t pay back the recoupment quickly.” 

“If I had time in the courtroom with Attorney Ahn, I think I’d rip him a new one.” 

You laugh. “How long have you been a paralegal, Jungwon?”

“A couple of years,” he tells you. “I’m thinking about other career options in the meantime, but I love my job and I love helping the associates when they ask me.”

“Why would you think of different career paths if this is what you love to do?”

He sighs. “I’m not good at testing. I mean, I took the bar and failed. It feels like it’s too late for me, you know?”

“Well, you could always take it again.”

He shakes his head. “It’s no use. I’m not good at practice tests but I could tell you about any case. I’ve been at this job long enough to discuss concepts and have them make sense, but it’s testing that gets me. I just get so anxious, you know? I second guess myself all the time and I hate that I do that.” 

“Testing used to be my greatest enemy.”

“What changed?” 

“Jay, honestly. He was always the better student when it came to that kind of stuff. I had really bad testing anxiety but he managed to help me study enough to the point where I knew I would ace them.”

“Wow, I didn’t realize you guys used to be so close.” 

“I’d say he was my closest friend in law school. It’s nice to see him again after all these years.” 

Jungwon doesn’t press further, instead returning his attention to the documents below him.

“Ending the recoupment expectation means the artist can keep the profit from the moment it’s been released, right?” 

“They’ll have to split their earnings with people who worked on the project based on copyright laws, but yes, essentially.” 

Jungwon sits with his thoughts and stares at the documents before him. His hands sift through the folders as his eyes dart from page to page. 

“This is what I love about my job,” he begins. “I love helping people because it’s what I feel like I was meant to do. I love solving problems and I love fixing them.” 

“You owe it to yourself to try, you know,” you encourage. “Going to law school isn’t easy, but not many people can say they have your experience. You’ve got a few years of working with associates and partners under your belt. There’s no reason to be afraid of taking the LSAT.”

“I guess I’m just nervous that I won’t be good enough,” Jungwon confesses. “Every day, I’m surrounded by the smartest people I know who all graduated from the best law school in Korea. How could I ever compete with that?”

His doubt speaks to your younger self, the one who cowered in fear when your parents neglected to praise you for a job well done or turned a blind eye when you asked for advice. Jungwon’s worries speak to the part of you that wished for external validation when it came to your capabilities and strengths, because doing it yourself could only go so far. 

His words remind you of moments when you felt small, like the world was too big and you’d never have enough time to discover all the wonders it could bring. You were meek back then, thriving off of whatever little validation they gave you just to have them knock it down. You don’t know why you spent so many years yearning for their approval, but never getting it felt too familiar. 

Your acceptance at the most prestigious law school in Korea was met with apprehension. You recall the sinking feeling in your stomach the moment the idea about your worth was proposed; having your parents question your capabilities or how you’d fit in with your peers had you second guessing your career path, leaving you wondering if following your passion was worth the struggle and pain of convincing them to let you pursue it. 

They agreed to let you go under the condition that they pay for the first year before you’d need to pay for the remaining two. It felt unfair and it still feels unfair. But what’s done is done and you managed to gain the courage to chase after that dream of yours that always seemed just too far out of reach, and it has paid off.

Now, you look at Jungwon as if he were a ghost of your former self. 

“You say you’re worried about committing to a career path, but it seems like you’ve got your heart set on becoming a lawyer,” you tell him. “Don’t you think you should explore that?” 

Jungwon smiles at you.

“I think I will.”

*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ

Jay finds you in the break room laughing with Jungwon when he’s able to pull himself away from meetings. You look gorgeous when you laugh as freely as you are, like you aren’t shy about showing people what you look like when you smile. It warms his heart to hear that fluttering laugh of yours. 

“You’re serious about helping me study for the LSAT?” he hears Jungwon ask you. 

“Dead serious. It’ll take some time but the test comes around a few times a year. Take it easy, okay? There’s no need to rush.” 

The younger boy sees Jay approach and nods his head. “I should get going. See you later, Y/N!” 

“Jungwon’s taking the LSAT?” Jay asks when the former disappears. 

“I’m trying to convince him. He told me earlier about why he’s hesitant to go to law school but I think Jungwon can do it if he really tries.” 

“I think so too,” Jay agrees. “He’s the only person in this office who knows what’s going on. Might as well promote him to first year associate. We’ll definitely miss him around the office, though.” 

“All the more reason to hire him when he graduates.” 

Jay smiles. This kind of generosity is something he always thought of you. 

“Anyway, I have a meeting in thirty minutes and I’m considering canceling if not for the free lunch.”

“Hot young finance wannabe taking you out to an expensive steakhouse?” he jokes. 

“Try a sixty-year old former housewife afraid that her assets are in shambles when they haven’t been touched in years,” you laugh. “The restaurant is a dim sum place by my apartment and I will never say no to dim sum.” 

“Bummer,” Jay says, biting back a smile. “I was wondering if you wanted to get coffee before the afternoon rush.” 

“Can we rain check?” you ask eagerly. “I’d love to get coffee with you again.” 

“I would love that. Are you going to be back in the office this afternoon, though? I’ll keep my door open for you.” 

“I’ll be back around three,” you tell him with a shy smile. “I’ll be sure to knock.” 

Jay shakes his head. “You can walk in. I’ll make an exception for you.” 

The atmosphere around the office has changed when you come back and sit with him to work. It’s like the distance and wrongdoings have been erased when it’s just the two of you sitting in front of one another, almost as if time has transported the both of you back to law school. 

You find that you’re able to get work done much faster without the impending doom of awkwardness lingering around the two of you. Jay’s tendency to skirt around you created a strange atmosphere during the first few weeks of you working in his domain, but sitting with him now makes you feel like things are going to be okay. 

For Jay, it feels the same. His guilt has subsided, not because he feels absolved, but because he feels like he’s working towards a better version of himself with you back in his life. Jay has always sworn to rectify his mistakes if he was given the chance to and the universe granting him one last chance by allowing you back in his life feels like a second chance. He doesn't want to mess it up and make you feel the way you did once upon a time. 

It isn’t until the sun goes down and you yawn that he registers just how late the two of you have been working. Conversations flow easily and it feels like time has moved too fast. 

“Let’s get noodles before going home? For old time’s sake,” Jay asks you. 

“It’s like you read my mind.” 

He knows of a place not too far from away, a small hole-in-the-wall joint that boasts an array of soups that immediately smell like comfort in a bowl. The waitress leaves the two of you alone after putting your meal in front of you, and you waste no time before digging in.

“Woah, slow down before you choke on the soup,” Jay teases. 

“Cut me some slack,” you whine. “This is definitely not the first time you’ve watched me inhale my food.”

Jay laughs. “I remember when you couldn’t stop eating the shumai from across my apartment. You must’ve thrown up twice? I think?” 

“That night single handedly made me watch how much I ate in one sitting.” You recoil at the memory. “But I still love shumai. Just not as much.” 

“Or that time you went through a phase where you couldn’t stop drinking fruit-flavored punch and got so nauseous that you almost skipped the last exam before winter break.”

“I made it, though! I think I got a ninety-one on that test? But who cares. Law school was forever ago.” 

Jay’s eyes soften. 

“I really am sorry,” he begins. “I’ve been thinking about when the best time to talk to you is, but everyday there’s something new between the Hybe case and other things that need our attention. So, I’m sorry if right now it seems like it’s coming out of the blue.

“It’s selfish of me to say it when you’re eating, I know. I just want you to know how sorry I am for being a coward and for leaving you standing.” Jay’s eyes falter and he looks back at his bowl of soup before forcing himself to look you in the eye. “I couldn’t tell you what my younger self was thinking back then. Every single day I think about how awful and selfish I was to put my emotions above yours.” 

“Jay–”

“I don’t know if this counts for much, I’d like to think I’ve grown since then. I’ve learned to be empathetic and that I can’t run away from things just because it was too much or because I was scared about how I felt about you.” He swallows harshly. “I really, really liked you back then.” 

You bite your lip. “I really liked you too.” 

“Working with you for the past few months has made me realize how much of a fucking idiot I was to walk away like that. I should’ve told Iseul to shove it down her throat and walk out with you instead of leaving you alone. I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m so fucking sorry.”

In your years imagining what this moment would look like, it wasn’t like this. It wasn’t in a small noodle stop sitting in an expensive dress. It wasn’t at the end of a long workday where your thoughts are all over the place. It certainly wasn’t with Jay sounding as honest and as sincere as he is now. 

You prepared to leave in astonishment or throw a drink at him for his audacity. You envisioned yourself laughing in his face and walking away with your hair brushed behind your shoulders, only to peek over and see him fall to his knees in despair. You imagined Jay looking disheveled and helpless, catching his insincerity with a smug grin before telling him to leave you alone forever. 

But the man in front of you looks like he’s waited a long time to apologize. He drops his eye contact with you in favor of moving his chopsticks around the bowl, moving the noodles as a way to fill the awkward silence from your lack of response. In truth, your heart is beating three times as fast as it normally does. It doesn’t help that your feelings for Jay never went away. It certainly doesn’t help that his apology feels like one crafted by a mature adult as opposed to throwaway words someone strings together to absolve themselves of guilt. 

Jay’s guilty and he knows it. He’s willing to live with the consequences, but your silence is killing him. 

Instead of speaking, you push your hand to reach for his and pry his fingers off of his chopsticks. Jay’s eyes snap to your hands touching his, afraid that if he moves, you’ll be gone quicker than he can register. 

“You were never one for words,” you begin to say. Jay’s heart sinks to the bottom of his chest. “I remember you having the hardest time carrying a conversation because you were thinking too hard about what to say. I always thought I was the shy one, but getting to know you was a little hard when you said so little. 

“I don’t know what changed, honestly. It was like you had a million and one different things you wanted to talk about. I learned that you trusted few people and I knew I was one of them the second you talked my ear off about how you probably would have pursued a career in music instead of law.” 

Jay’s mouth quirks. “I remember that.” 

“What I’m trying to say is, I know you’re being honest with me now. The fact that you said all of that in a noodle shop tells me more than you know.” 

He chuckles. “It’s a little poetic, isn’t it?” 

“Considering we spent maybe half of our time together eating ramen, I’d say so.” 

He squeezes your hand. “The last thing I want you is for you to feel like I’m forcing you to say something you don’t want to, or even forgive me. I don’t want to make you feel like you have to do something you aren’t ready to do.”

“One thing you should know about me is that I always do as I please.” You squeeze his hand back. “You’ll know how I feel, Jay. Right now, I feel very strongly about you.” 

The two of you look at each other before the doorbell chimes. You two pull your hands apart as if you’re two teenagers caught holding hands. Jay laughs once he sees your mouth forming that same bashful smile he fell for all those years ago before clearing his throat and enjoying the rest of his dinner. 

As for you, the warmth of the broth is almost as warm as your cheeks.

*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ

Nothing is going according to plan. 

The Hybe case has taken all of your effort and resources, as well as your mental sanity. As the date for the next settlement hearing, and likely the final one, draws nearer, you feel the walls closing within you with no way to stop it. 

It’s taken a toll on you. You’re sure everyone in the office can see it. Sunoo creeps quietly into your office with a polite bow every time he delivers what you ask for, ceasing to make small conversation when he can see how little sleep you’ve gotten. Riki and Jungwon are the same, waving to you from outside of your office because you’ve spent a majority of your time there. 

Jay’s noticed it as well. He remembers the moments when you’d hole yourself in your apartment due to exam stress and when things with your family affected you. Back then he would try everything in his power to get you to come out of the cave you created, whether it be staying in his car until you were ready to see him or dropping off meals for you. 

It’s not so different now, except this is occurring in the workplace. He sees the dark circles under your eyes and the way your shoulders slump when you’re working at your desk. Jay sees the way you shake your head to fight to stay awake and how unfocused you’ve become during meetings. 

Everyone in the office is losing their hope about winning this case. Hybe has drained all of the resources every attorney has put into fighting it. Heeseung feels the pressure from the clients, which in turn has everyone else worrying about if this was a case they were going to lose. The hope everybody exhibited from the beginning of the case until now has dimmed. Nobody knows what went wrong or why team morale has changed for the worse.  

It’s late on a Friday night when Jay catches you still in your office. Your coat is still hanging behind your chair and he can see the tissues around your garbage can. His heart lurches when he puts two and two together, and races all over the office until he finds you walking out of the bathroom. 

You look at him with bloodshot eyes and tears at the brim. Jay’s tie feels tight against his collar and his suit jacket suddenly feels too warm on his body. Your nimble fingers tremble beside you as you catch your breath, halfway between embarrassed for being caught crying and fighting the urge to jump into Jay’s arms. He hates seeing you cry and he hates knowing that there’s nothing he can do to make you feel better.  

Jay makes the decision for you. He wastes no time and tugs you closer to his chest.

He doesn’t pay any mind to your tears soaking his dress shirt, opting to put one hand behind your head. He strokes your hair and wraps his other arm around you to hold you securely within him, using what little momentum he has to rock your bodies from side to side. It feels right to have you in his arms like this. Jay has fantasized about the day you’d let him touch you like this, so intimately woven together as if the two of you were always meant to be together. 

Your face feels hot against his chest. Jay feels you rest your cheek on his shoulder and he fights the urge to press a kiss to your head. The office is eerily quiet, with everyone else having left hours earlier. Jay was stuck in a late night meeting before heading back to the office to pick up his belongings for the night. He’s glad he came back. 

“Sorry,” you croak, voice sore from holding your tears at bay. Jay lifts his hand to wipe the tears off of your cheek with this thumb. 

“Don’t be,” he tells you. “God knows how many times I’ve cried in this bathroom.” 

You smile. “You’ve cried in the women’s restroom?” 

Jay pinches your arm. “You know what I mean.” 

The two of you stay like that for another minute and bask in the silence. Half of the lights have turned off due to lack of movement and it feels liminal to be holding one another without the judgment or prying eyes of others. Jay coaxes you to your office and gently holds your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours as he pulls you down on the couch. You don’t fight him, letting him pull your body down next to his until your feet are tucked underneath you with your head resting on his shoulder. 

Jay doesn’t want to push his luck. He’s sure you can feel his heart beating from where you sit. But your head is within reach and experimentally places his cheek on top of you. When you won’t move away, he closes his eyes for a brief moment and thanks whoever is watching him for the opportunity to be this close to you again. 

“Life is so hard,” you say, grabbing his hand and toying with the rings on his fingers. “I feel like nothing I’m doing is amounting to anything.”

“That’s not true,” Jay says to you. He fights the urge to smile when he sees you pick a ring off of his finger and place it on your own hand. “You’ve done a lot of good, you know that? You wouldn’t be here today if you didn’t.”

You return the ring back to Jay’s hand. “I know. This case is keeping me up at night. I get nightmares about Ahn’s stupid, smug grin after telling us we wasted our time trying to fight Hybe.” 

“You and I both. Sometimes, our efforts feel futile when all we do is stare at paperwork and hold empty promises to our clients.” 

You nod in agreement. “I just want to be at a place where I don’t feel like I’m fucking things up all the time. I spent so long trying to run away from everything but I got tired of doing that before I moved back to Korea. I want to rest.” 

The two of you remain silent for a few peaceful moments. It doesn’t feel awkward and neither of you feel pressed to say anything. The comfort that you feel with Jay is something he’s been praying for. He’d reckon that the person he was when you first joined the office would almost doubt the fact that you're comfortable resting in his arms. To him, this is a sign that you’re starting to trust him again.

“Why don’t you go home and get some sleep?” He tries not to smile when you shake your head. 

“Can you stay here with me?” 

Eventually, he convinces you to go home after a tiring day. Jay calls a taxi for you and waits with you until it arrives. The smile you give him makes him feel like there’s nothing he can’t achieve, and it isn’t until you kiss his cheek that Jay feels as though he might melt into a puddle. 

“Get home safe, okay?” you ask of him. 

“Anything for you.” 

He closes the door behind you and watches the taxi drive away until it’s out of sight. Jay pulls his phone out and begins to hover this thumb over a certain phone number he hasn’t called in a while, arguing  back and forth with himself until he hastily presses the ‘call’ button and puts the phone to his ear. 

One, two. Click.

“Hello?” comes the voice from the other line. 

“Hey,” Jay says. He clears his throat. “I’m sorry to call you out of the blue. I know I’m probably the last person you want to hear from right now, but I’m calling about Y/N.”

“Is she okay?” 

“Relatively speaking.” Jay takes a deep breath before continuing. “We’re working on this case together. I’m sure she’s told you about it and I think it’s taking a toll on her. You know how she gets. She closes herself off because she doesn't want other people to worry about her or feel like a burden.”

“Sounds like classic Y/N if you ask me.”

Jay laughs. “I found her crying in the office tonight and we talked a little. I just sent her home in a cab. I know I don’t have the right to ask anything of you, but this is Y/N. Can you give her a call and make sure she’s alright?” 

The voice on the other end is silent for a brief moment. Jay holds his breath and he swears he can feel his lungs constrict within him. If anything, he’s prepared to have his heart broken in two and for everything he knows to fall apart around him. 

It doesn’t. 

“I’m in Seoul, actually. Don’t tell anyone, though. I’ll visit Y/N.”

“Thank you,” Jay breathes. 

“Of course. We both know she would have kept to herself until it’s too late.” 

“That we do.” Jay swallows harshly.  “I also just wanted to say…I’m sorry. For everything. I wasn’t the greatest friend, haven’t been the greatest friend, but I want to do everything I can to make things right. I’ve already apologized to Y/N but apologizing to you feels right.”

He hears a small chuckle from the other side. “You’re a good person, Jay, even if you make bad decisions every once in a while. The fact that you’re calling me after everything you’ve done tells me how much you’ve changed.” 

“I…thank you. I don’t know what I’m looking for. But apologizing feels right.” 

“It’s a good start. Thanks for calling, man.” 

“Take care.” 

The line ends and Jay walks back into the office with a happy heart.

*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ

A knock comes at your apartment door and your heart starts to spike. It’s nine in the evening and you’re sitting on your couch in pajamas with an empty bag of chips on the coffee table. Your ears perk up at the sound and you clutch your phone in your hands until you see a notification come though. 

Dearest Brother (Korean cell): Open up!

You lift the blanket off of you with record speed with Miso tailing behind you and open the front door without a second thought. 

“Namjoon,” you breathe. 

“In the flesh,” he says with that same boyish smile he gives you when he sees you after coming home from overseas. “Are you gonna let me in or are you gonna let me freeze to death?” 

“With that attitude, you can starve too,” you say, angling your body away from the door for him to walk in. Namjoon takes his shoes off and slips his feet into the slippers you always keep for him. Miso nips at his ankles until he bends down to pick her up, cradling your beloved in his arms. “What the hell are you doing in Seoul?” 

“The boys and I got back earlier this morning,” Namjoon tells you. “Promotions are over and we get two weeks to rest before we start preparing for the next tour.” 

“God, I can’t believe you guys are going on tour again,” you say, patting the spot next to you on the couch for Namjoon to sit on. “It feels like you guys just started working on the album.” 

“Seokjin said the same thing,” says Namjoon, who puts his feet on the coffee table before you chide him with a playful slap to the bicep. “The guys and I decided we weren’t gonna see each other until tour rehearsals. God knows we’ve spent too much time together in the past few months.” 

“How are they?” you ask him. “I’ve only seen updates on those fan accounts that update your every move, which is somewhat creepy but every wholesome at the same time.” 

Namjoon laughs. “The guys are fine. Taehyung and Hobi spent most of the promotions shopping and came home with two duffel bags each. Yoongi’s probably gonna sleep for the next two weeks. Jungkook got ripped, and I mean ripped.”

“I saw that, Jesus. He sent me a progress photo and all I could think about was how small he used to be before you guys debuted.”

“Jimin’s just…Jimin. He says he misses you and that the two of you should get together before it gets busy.”

“I would love that.” You lean your head on his shoulder. “I missed you guys a lot. More than I care to admit, probably.” 

“See, I told you all our sibling rivalry would disappear when we got older.”

“Yah. Whatever you say. We’re still enemies at heart.” Miso purrs against Namjoon’s lap. “I think she likes you more than me.”

Namjoon smiles down at Miso. “Jay called me earlier tonight. He says you haven’t been feeling very well.”

“Jay is a tattletale.” 

“Did he lie?” 

You sigh. “No, he didn’t.” 

“What’s on your mind?” 

“So many things that I don’t even know where to begin. There’s the Hybe case, which has made me want to blow my brains out.” 

Namjoon nods. “Ah, the Hybe case. It’s funny what a small label could do in ten years.” 

“Seems as though your underground rapper dreams came true. Now you’re touring the world and forgetting to bring me back expensive gifts from abroad.” Namjoon chooses not to comment. “You know attorney Ahn, right? Well, he sent us dozens upon dozens of legal files for us to sort through before our next hearing. We’ve gone through eighty percent of them but it feels like we’re going nowhere. It feels useless”

“You’re doing more good than you know,” he tells you. “I know it doesn’t feel like it, but you’re giving a lot of hope to a lot of young musicians.” 

You sigh. “I hope so. And then there’s the whole thing with Jay…I can’t remember what I last told you. I know I said that my feelings towards him have changed and that I’ve forgiven him, but spending as much time as I have has made me rethink a lot of things.” 

“Like what?”

“Like whether or not it’s stupid of me to give him a second chance or if I should feel ashamed for liking him in the first place.” Namjoon watches you frown. “All those years and my feelings for him never went away.” 

“Well, we can’t control how we feel.” 

“He hurt me, Joon.” 

“I know,” says Namjoon, “but that was years ago. In the months you’ve worked with him, has Jay given you any reason to doubt his sincerity?” 

You think about it. “No, he hasn’t.” 

“Has he apologized for what he did and is he being respectful of you?”

“Yes,” you say without hesitating. 

“There’s your answer. You can’t let the past dictate people. I’m sure there are parts of you that have outgrown your younger self.” 

“You know, I can hear the voices of people I met back in New York telling me not to give Jay the time of day and that I should block his number when we finish working this case.”

“Your New York friends knew the person that was angry at him, though. You stopped talking about Jay two years before you moved.” 

“I know. I don’t know what’s stopping me from going for it.” 

“Have you ever considered that you’re afraid things will turn out the same way it did all those years ago?”

You roll your eyes. “All the time, Joon.”

“Okay, fair point. Have you considered that you’re the one in control of how you react to things?” You purse your lips and Namjoon takes it as a sign to keep talking. “You can think of a million different ways this plays out. Maybe you guys break up after a week. Maybe you get old and live together until you’re ninety. But all of those scenarios are just what-ifs. You’ll never know until you make a decision and stick with it, otherwise your fears hold you back from reaching your true potential.” 

“But what if it fails? I’m scared of becoming the person I was back then.” 

“Well I, for one, know you’re much stronger than that. Working in corporate law makes you tougher, not weaker. But to speak on your concern, you’re the only person who can control how you react to things. If the timing isn’t right and you feel it coming, then you let go.” 

His words sit with you as the soft sounds of the television plays in the back of your mind. For a few months, you’d been worried that you jumped the gun and forgiven Jay in ways the you of the past would never understand. The deep seeded fears of being rejected and left behind creep into the forefront of your mind every so often, leaving you a paralyzed mess. 

But Namjoon’s right. You can only control your reaction to what cards you’re dealt with. Any wrongdoing by the hands of others isn’t your fault nor are they your responsibilities. 

“As for the Hybe case,” Namjoon says as he brings you out of your thoughts, “I think I have a solution.”

“Oh yeah?” 

He nods once. “The guys and I have been talking about this for a while. We’ve known about other musicians suing Hybe longer than you’ve known about this case and we didn’t know how we could help. On one hand, Hybe gave us everything we have now, you know? They gave us the opportunity to become musicians. I don’t know what got lost in translation, but it seems that fewer and fewer artists are able to experience what we did.”

“Where are you going with this?”  

“We’re going to make a statement. With your approval, of course.” Namjoon tells you. “I was going to call Heeseung on Monday to set up a meeting with you and surprise you at the office, but tonight seemed like a better time to drop by.” 

“Wait.” You use the remote to pause the TV. “You guys are going to speak at the hearing?” 

“All seven of us,” he confirms. “It’s not fair that everyone else has to work twice as hard because of Hybe’s standards. We’ve been given this platform and it’s only fair that we use it to help other people.” 

“God, I could cry right now.” Namjoon chuckles at the tears that have formed at the corner of your eyes and picks up a tissue before handing it to you. “You don’t know what this means to me, Joon.” 

“I always told you I’d be here for you, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, but I thought that meant buying me gifts paying for my takeout,” you joke, swatting his arm, “not saving the biggest case of my career.” 

“I’m really proud of you, Y/N. Not a lot of people are as resilient as you.” He smiles down at you. “Oh, and you should also know about Jay.”

“What about him?” 

“He apologized to me too,” Namjoon says. “I know what people sound like when they want something from me or say things because they know it’s what I want to hear. But Jay didn’t sound like that. He didn’t have to say anything since he was calling about you, but that in itself lets me know how sorry he is.” 

“I don’t know what to say.” 

“You don’t have to know. Besides, it’s a Friday night and you have the entire weekend before you see him. Let’s watch cartoons like old times, yeah?” 

“Yeah, but you better not sleep in the middle of the second episode.” 

Namjoon laughs. “You wound me.”

*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ

For the first time in a while, you don’t feel imminent doom as Monday approaches. 

The sky is as sunny as you feel when you walk into the office. Sunoo and Jungwon seem rather pleased that you’re spending more time outside of your office and Heeseung makes several comments about how your mood has shifted from how it was last week. 

“You’re telling me Namjoon stopped by and you didn’t tell me?” Heeseung chides. “I feel like chopped liver.” 

“That’s because you are,” you tease. “The guys are resting for the next two weeks before tour preparations. Namjoon, Jimin, and I are going to get dinner one of these days if you’d like to join.”

“I’m taking you up on this invite, thank you very much. Did you know Joon was gonna be back in town?” 

“I didn’t, actually.” A knock comes from behind you and the man of the hour appears. “Jay called him.” 

“Am I in trouble?” Jay asks. You smile and shake your head. 

“Just the opposite. Thanks for calling my brother. It meant a lot to me.”

“You looked like you needed him and I’m glad you’re feeling better,” he tells you sincerely. 

“It’s great that you’re both here, actually.” You close the door behind your office. “Namjoon and I talked about a lot of things, one of them being the case. He told me how he and the guys have felt helpless in the past few months to see their labelmates suffer through corporate greed. He told me that they’re willing to testify and speak on our behalf against Hybe.” 

“What?” 

You nod. “I think they’re starting to understand how unfair the new recording contracts are and want to make a difference. I know Judge Han’s granddaughters are fans of Bangtan, so I think their presence could sway the decision.”

“You fight dirty,” Heeseung says, bumping his hip with yours. “I love it. Are they ready to go up against Ahn?” 

You shake your head. “They’re gonna schedule a meeting with us sometime in the next week to prepare. It’s going to be a tight fit with their tour preparations and our hearing, but if all goes according to plan, Ahn should be willing to move the hearing date earlier.”

“This is fucking incredible,” Jay swears. “We owe you one.” 

“You owe me nothing,” you tell him. “I love working with you two, honestly. Namjoon however…you might owe him a few.” 

“I’ll pay for dinner under the company card and say it was a client business,” Heeseung says. “It’s a done deal. I’m gonna let the others know, if that’s okay?” 

Heeseung leaves when you give in the greenlight, leaving you and Jay standing alone in your office. 

“I meant what I said earlier,” Jay says. “I owe you one.” 

“Seriously, Jay. You owe me nothing. It comes with the job.” He laughs and shakes his head. 

“I’m bad at this.” 

Jay bites his lip and reaches his hand out for yours, holding a loose grip in case you want to pull back. When you don’t, he takes the opportunity to push his fingers through yours. 

“I’d love to take you out on a date,” he says. “As a thank you. But more so because I really like you and want to take you out like you deserve.” 

You squeeze his hand. “If I said I wanted to stay indoors because this week will likely kick my ass, what would you do?”

Jay pretends to think. “In that case, I think I’ll cook us dinner while you watch with a glass of wine. If I recall correctly, that’s how most of our Friday nights looked like.” 

You bite your lip. “You make a mean steak.” 

“Whatever you want is what you'll get. Although, I have a sneaking suspicion that this was your way of asking me to cook for you.” 

You look at him in faux surprise. “Whatever do you mean, Park Jongseong?” Jay chuckles and takes a step closer towards you.

“Silly girl. I'll cook for us once this case is over, yeah? How does that sound?” 

“Sounds like you’re after my own heart.” 

Jay learns until you feel his lips land on your cheek.

“That I am.” 

He leaves your office without another word and you fight the heat creeping up your neck as you bite your lip. When you turn around, you’re met with Jake and Jungwon’s prying eyes from the bullpen, and watch as they high-five each other whilst giving you an array of thumbs ups and silent applause. 

You struggle to get back to work.

*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ

In an unsurprising turn of events, Ahn folds when Namjoon takes the stands. When all is said and done, you find yourself at an all too familiar position with Jay in the kitchen and you sitting behind the counter with a glass of wine in your hands. 

He’s grown up, for one. Jay’s back muscles are more defined in his t-shirt as opposed to the dress shirts he wears everyday, giving you something else to look at as he cooks dinner for the both of you. The week wasn’t as bad as you anticipated it to be, but you’re sitting in his penthouse and patting yourself on the back for making the suggestion to stay indoors. 

It’s oddly comforting to feel as relaxed as you are in his space, sans wine. The buzz hit you after he gave you a tour of his place and the Jay of the present is definitely not the Jay you used to know. His tastes are elevated and his collection of instruments has nearly tripled. The artwork adorning his walls speaks for his maturity, as does the furniture in his living room. It reminds you just how much the two of you have grown up since law school and how eager you are to explore sides of him you have yet to discover. 

The steak is almost done cooking and Jay has spoon-fed you mashed potatoes until they’re to your liking, and you laugh when he celebrates your approval. The seasoned asparagus sits underneath warming lights while the rest of the meal is done cooking, and it wouldn’t feel right to have dinner with Jay without commenting about how much of a professional he looks from where you’re sitting. 

You know it’s the wine in your system intensifying your emotions, but you can’t help but stare at Jay’s muscles as he moves throughout the kitchen. He works effortlessly and seamlessly, never neglecting any part of the meal he’s prepared for you. The level of care and precision he’s exemplifying through his cooking, while simultaneously entertaining you, has rendered you a blushing, giggling mess. You’re sure Jay can tell that you’re already buzzed after two glasses, but he promised to drive you home so you don’t have anything to worry about. 

Jay looks criminally good in dark clothes. His laid back attire makes him look more attractive to you compared to the suit and tie he wears everyday. Something about seeing Jay like he used to be all those years ago stirs something within you. It makes you cross your legs in your seat and perch forward with your elbows on the counter below you as he puts the finishing touches to the meal. 

You requested nothing fancy for tonight upon knowing Jay would drop everything for you to secure a date at the most expensive restaurant and pay the bill to back it up. That could be saved for another today. Tonight is less about wanting Jay to prove himself than wanting to feel comfortable around him, as this would be your first time hanging out with him in his space since law school. 

When he’s finished cooking, Jay pulls the smaller dining table towards the tall window overlooking the city below and seats you in your chair opposite his. He tops you off with another glass of wine when you nod, pouring himself a glass as well. 

Conversation flows like the two of you are out on a first date. You are, in a sense, but you’re also two long lost best friends who happen to have deep feelings for each other, finding yourselves once again. Perhaps it’s the alcohol that’s settled in your system with the headstart you had compared to Jay, or maybe it’s the soft look of adoration in Jay’s eyes when you laugh at his jokes, but tonight you feel as though you’re the only woman in his life who matters to him. 

“I really missed you,” you tell him. Jay looks back at you from the kitchen as he clears the finished dinner plates. Too full to entertain dessert, he leaves it in the fridge until you’re ready to eat again. “I missed this too, you know? Coming over and doing nothing but talking to you, I mean.” 

“I’m here if you’ll have me,” Jay says. You’ve followed him to the kitchen, albeit wobbling because of the wine. Jay reaches out and steadies you with his arms until you’re pushing yourself to hug his body with your arms around his middle. 

“You’re so warm.” You turn your head to peck at his chest before letting your cheek rest against him. Jay closes his eyes and wraps his arms around your body too, his own lips finding the crown of your head. 

“You’re even warmer, but I’ll bet it’s because you had half a bottle of wine.” 

You playfully smack his arm. “Hey. You said you’d drive me home so I took that as a sign to get tipsy.” 

Jay laughs. “I thought you might say something like that. Good thing I have a higher tolerance, isn’t it?” 

You nod against him. “It’s the best.” 

“Do you want to go home now?” Jay asks carefully when the two of you have stood in silence for a good minute or two. When you shake your head, he bites back a smile. “Do you want to watch a movie? You can pick something off of Netflix and we can watch it until you’re ready to go home.”

“Sounds like a perfect idea,” you say, sighing out of content. 

Jay lets you change into one of his oversized shirts that covers you just enough and you walk out of the bathroom looking like sin. It takes everything in him not to comment because he doesn’t want to scare you away. Jay comes to the realization that you likely aren’t wearing shirts underneath because of how the fabric rode up your thigh as you sat on the couch beside him. He desperately tries not to pay any mind to it for the sake of your comfortability. 

Truthfully, Jay wants to wrap you up in his arms and put the blanket he got from his closet over the both of you. But he’s letting you take the lead when it comes to physical contact, unsure of just how comfortable you are with him yet. He’s only just gotten you back in his life. He doesn’t want to scare you away any time soon. 

The movie you picked is somewhat interesting, although Jay can’t say he’s too keen on paying attention. In the first ten minutes, you’ve shifted to rest your head on his shoulder and his arm is now resting behind you to accommodate your body. He feels you dip yourself lower as the movie progresses until you’re fully leaning on his chest, and Jay has a sneaking suspicion you’ve been slowly edging your way into this spot to not make him feel uncomfortable either. 

He puts his free hand on your hip and squeezes your body to let you know he’s right with you. Jay watches you smile and try to hide it. He thinks it makes you look even more attractive than you already are. 

Jay doesn’t know what happens next. Another thirty minutes pass by with easy conversation between the two of you. One thing leads to another and he feels you shifting in front of him, and his mind thinks you’re getting up to tell him you want to leave. 

But you don’t. You shift to face him and push your body up until your face is right in front of his. 

He can feel your breath on his lips. The scent of wine is long gone but your eyes look like they’re searching for something. Jay sees the way your throat constricts and he tries not to look down past where it isn’t appropriate. 

“Is it bad that I want to kiss you?” you ask him just above a whisper. 

Jay doesn’t say anything. He doesn't need to. Instead, he leans forward to push his lips against yours. 

His lips touch your plush ones as his hands encircle your waist to hold you steady, like he’s afraid you’ll topple over on the couch. Your own hands immediately touch his chest and scrape the fabric like an experimental touch. Your lips feel so soft against his and the sounds of your lips smacking against one another become more audible than the soft volume of the television in the background. 

Jay pulls back to see you suppress a grin, but he pinches your side to get you to smile for him. 

“You’re a really good kisser,” you say. “Had any practice?” 

“Just my pillow and a few posters,” he jokes. “I needed to practice so I could kiss you like you deserve.” 

He watches you blush. “Don’t say that. I feel like I’m sixteen again.” 

Jay pecks your lips and lingers for a few seconds. “Good. You make me feel like a teenager too.” 

“Oh yeah?” you ask, shifting yourself until you’re perched on his lap. Jay watches from beneath you as you steady your body by placing both hands on his shoulders and swinging your leg across his lap. 

“Yeah,” he whispers just before you lean down to kiss him again. 

Jay feels your hands wrap around his neck to hold him in front of you like you’re afraid he’s going to push you away again. To quell your fears, his own hands take hold of your wrists before he holds your fingers in his own and gives you a gentle squeeze. You seem to loosen up as you smile into the kiss, prompting Jay to do the same. 

Holding you feels familiar. It feels like coming home after a long, tiring day at the office to the person he loves the most. Having you in his arms after all this time has Jay rethinking his future and where you fit in it. If he’s being honest with himself, he’s ready to risk all that he has if that means seeing you as happy as you are in this very moment. 

You whine when Jay’s lips detach from yours but he smirks into your skin when he hears a soft moan coming from your own upon placing his just below your ear. He thinks how his younger self would’ve killed to hear the sounds you’re making right now and how lucky he is that this opportunity is being granted towards him. You sound like you’re enjoying yourself and that’s all Jay could ever ask of you. 

Your hand creeps below his shirt until your nails are raking his abdomen and you moan when you feel the ridges on his body. He sighs against your neck and you’re left speechless at how his physique has changed since the last time you saw Jay shirtless. The ache in your belly leaves you wanting more and you arch your body until it feels as though you’re completely giving into him before pressing your palms against his body. 

You two kiss with fervor as the minutes go by. Suddenly, Jay feels your body beginning to rock yourself on his lap as your lips find his own. He feels you tug on his shirt until you push it up his neck, breaking contact with him so that he can pull his shirt off completely. 

Your lips feel like heaven against his own skin as you begin to explore every inch of him. He feels you peppering kisses along his jawline and closes his eyes to bask in the feeling of your body so close to his. Jay lets his hands roam around your waist and when you don’t move to push his hands off as his fingers dip beneath the shirt you’re wearing, he smiles to himself and lets his fingertips push the fabric upwards just slightly. The feeling of his hands on your body has you rocking forward until your chest is in front of Jay’s face. You gasp when you realize how hard he’s become underneath you.

“I’m sorry,” Jay begins to apologize. “You’re very attractive.” 

You look down and tilt your head, experimentally pressing your lower half on his crotch. Jay emits a low moan, making your mouth quirk in excitement. 

“You’re very attractive,” you tell him, slowly rocking your body backwards and forwards.

You move to push Jay’s hands closer to your body and he gets the hint. He uses the momentum to push and pull you into him at the pace you set, watching as your mouth opens in euphoria. Jay finds it incredibly attractive the way your eyebrows pinch in arousal every time the tip of his clothed cock bumps your covered core, and if what you’re wearing is anything to go by, he was correct in assuming you weren’t wearing shorts underneath his shirt. 

Your pace quickens with every pass of his cock beneath you. He gets harder and harder, and you get wetter and wetter. Your own slick is rubbing against you from the fabric of your panties and it becomes almost too much to bear. Jay’s hands have found their way to your back as your own body pushes against his. He feels your tits pressing against his chest and the desperation in your hips as you gain momentum while he begins to take control from beneath you. 

Jay bucks into you until you let out a particularly loud gasp. His strength surprises you, as does the force with which he thrusts into you. His clothed cock hits you at the most delicious angle while you’re fighting to stand upright against his lap, fighting to grip the couch and his body at the same time. Jay doesn’t let you breathe, however, until you’re pushing him away so that you can access his lips once again.

The kiss is wet and messy. It’s hot in the room and you’re pushing Jay’s hands until they cup your breasts. He pinches your nipples and watches in pleasure as you throw your head back. 

“My baby likes that, doesn't she?” He pinches them again when you nod and it sends a shock straight down your spine and where you need him the most. 

Jay lifts the shirt just enough to uncover your chest and brings your right bud into his mouth. He licks it with his tongue in an effort to tease you until you’re squirming in his lap. He does the same with the other nipple until you’re pushing yourself against his cock that he grunts and nips at the bud before sucking it with his mouth. 

The pleasure is almost too good to form words. Your mouth stays at a permanent ‘O’ with every swipe of Jay’s tongue and he pushes your shirt until you take it off for him. He places his hands on your breasts and squeezes them in his palms as if getting to know your body better, almost like he wants to commit you to his memory. 

But you’re impatient. After the long years of daydreaming about Jay, you want nothing more than to have him inside of you.

“Please let me have it,” you whisper against his lips, pushing your body down onto his. “I need it so bad, Jay.” 

“We can’t,” he chokes. He doesn’t want to push his luck. “I-I need to drive you home.” 

Not even he believes this pathetic excuse.  

“I don’t care. Drive me home tomorrow.” 

Jay doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He flexes his fingers to distract himself before giving in, placing his grip on your waist and pushing you down onto him. He hears you gasp at the sudden movement and chides himself for being so turned on by you when mere moments ago he was thinking logically. 

“Just the tip,” you mutter against his mouth to convince him. “Please.” 

“Just the tip,” Jay agrees, pushing his trousers just enough to free his cock. To the best of your ability, you take your panties off without moving from his lap and throw it behind him. He finally feels your pussy glide over him and throws his head back, feeling pure euphoria. 

Jay’s cock is thick and long, and you feel it throbbing between your legs. The friction is too delicious to ignore, as is the wet sounds consisting of your arousal covering him. He lifts his head up to watch you bite your lip and look at him with desperation in your eyes. It’s the kind of expression he’s wanted to see from you for so long. Jay can only hope you know that this is how he looks at you. 

It’s quiet in the room, save for wanton breaths and the sound of your own arousal mixing with his precum. It’s so erotic to see you as desperate for him as he is for you because he’s yearned for this moment for so long. Jay bites his lip with every pass as you hover above his tip and he tries his hardest not to buck his hips, instead allowing you to move at your own pace. 

When you catch the tip of his cock inside of your pussy, the two of you let out an audible gasp at the sudden intrusion. His thick head breaches your fluttering hole as he grabs your waist to prevent you from moving when his tip is fully sheathed inside of you. 

“Holy fuck,” you moan, balancing yourself on his hot tip. “Feels so fucking good.”

“Yeah?” Jay asks. “It does, doesn’t it?” You nod rapidly and Jay kisses the side of your mouth before moving to your neck. 

You keep yourself steady by gripping his shoulders that are hot to the touch. He flexes when your nails dig into him, causing you to moan at the sight. Jay feels the movement of your throat as he kisses your neck and grunts when he feels your pussy clench around him. 

The two of you stay like that for a few minutes until your legs give out and you’re holding onto Jay’s neck as a silent plea for him to take over. He gets the hint, wrapping his arms around your body until you’ve fallen limp against his chest. Jay uses his leverage to slowly pull himself out of you before pushing the head of his cock back in. 

The moan you emit against his ear makes him feel like the two of you are starring in your very own sextape. It causes Jay to jerk his hips unexpectedly and push another inch of himself into your pussy by accident. He’s about to apologize until he feels your pussy clenching around him at the sudden intrusion. 

“You’re so big,” you whisper to him. “S-So big. So good.”

“You feel fucking amazing,” Jay praises. “Such a wet pussy and I’ve barely done anything to you.” 

You whimper at his words while closing your eyes shut and move your head until your cheek rests comfortably on his shoulder. The angle allows you to press kisses to Jay’s jawline and you do so until you feel him begging to thrust into you once again. 

The tempo he sets is slow and delicious. He feels every drag as your mixed arousal coats the rest of his cock and Jay feels as though he’s found pure euphoria on earth, the kind that men search for but never seem to find. The shallow thrusts cause his mouth to hang open and his fingers itching to touch your clit, but he doesn’t want to move unless you tell him to. 

It isn’t until you’re pushing yourself down onto his length that he speaks again.

“Baby,” he warns. “I thought–”

“Changed my mind,” you tell him desperately. “Unless you don’t want to.”

Jay nods. “I want to. Fuck, I want to.” 

You kiss him hard before pushing down on him. “I just want you.” 

Jay’s body falls limp when he feels your body glide up and down his cock like you’ve trained your entire life for this very moment. He sees the sweat building between your brows and licks his lips at the way your tits bounce against your chest. It’s sensual the way you look on top of him. Jay brings one of your nipples in his mouth and makes a home there as your hips begin to work his own.  

His body feels like it was made for you to use. The desperation at which his own hips chase yours should make him feel embarrassed, but he feels like a lovesick fool. In this moment, everything he’s ever wanted to say to you lies in the power of his thrusts and the way his lips move with yours. It makes him feel like there’s nothing in this world that could take you away from him. 

He pushes himself up until you’re clinging onto his body for dear life. The sounds you make push him even harder against your body, drilling his hard cock within you until you’re moaning like somebody’s filming you. It’s all too much for Jay to handle, and he’s glad he feels you come undone before him.

“I’m cumming, I’m cumming!” you moan out, clenching against his cock as it works your body until completion. 

Jay pulls out and finishes on your ass just after you’ve come down from your own high. You jolt when you feel his come on your skin but move to kiss him as the two of you come down from your respective highs and he feels your heartbeat against his chest, smiling into the kiss. 

“You’re amazing,” he tells you between kisses. He tries to speak but you silence him with more pecks. “Let me clean you up, yeah?” 

Your heart feels warm. You nod and let him pry your body off of his, carefully laying on your stomach so that the couch doesn’t see the mess Jay created. He comes back a moment later with a warm washcloth and his trousers zipped up before wiping you clean. The rag is tossed onto the floor as he pulls your body towards him, wrapping your legs around his torso, and pulling your lips to his once more. 

“Stay the night?” he asks you. 

“That was my plan, but I’m glad you brought it up before I did.” 

Jay pinches your thigh and hears you laugh. He could die like this. 

“Since it’s a weekend, I think you and I have a lot of catching up to do.” Jay kisses down your neck and between the valley of your breasts, gliding his lips along your stomach until they’ve reached just below your belly button. 

“Oh? And what is it you’re promising, Park Jongseong?” 

Jay smirks up at you from where he’s positioned. 

“I have an idea in mind,” he says coyly, moving his mouth to press a chast kiss on your slit. “It has a lot to do with my mouth and my fingers.” Your body arches when Jay’s tongue licks a bold stripe up your slit. 

“I like the sound of that. Would you let me return the favor?” 

“Only if you cum on my tongue twice.” 

You push his face into your core.

“Better get a head start.”

*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ

[missadangel]

MAKE HIM DISLIKE LOVE YOU

Harry Castillo x Reader (The Materialists)

Chapter 1: Blind Date

series masterlist next chapter

Summary: You work as a housekeeper in a rich family's mansion and often have to deal with their spoiled daughter. One day, she asks you to pretend to be her on a blind date with a guy her dad picked out for her. Your mission is to make him not like you so he won't want to marry her. But here's the twist: will Harry end up hating you, or could he actually fall for you? That's the real question. Warnings: 18+ (smut, MDNI) kinda romantic comedy stuff, fluffy, angst, lying, soft and caring Harry Castillo, Lucy as his ex, John as Lucy's ex, wealth, expensive gifts, drinks, money, cars, language, sexual tension, oral sex, p in v sex, kissing, slow burn, power imbalance, I might have missed some warnings; I will update them in due time. Word Count: 4.8k for now, There will be a part two if you guys like it, but I'm not sure about the rest. Sorry for the poor writing; that was quick. authors note: I am not sure about his name. If there's any update, I will edit. English is not my native, so please be nice; this is my third fanfiction. Thank you for the reblogs, comments, and likes. Love you all!

"Ugh, this dress is so last season! Are you serious? Everything here is out of style—get rid of them! Call Elliot and have them send me another dress, or I'm going to be really pissed!"

As if tossed at you like a used handkerchief, another dress worth thousands of dollars—perhaps only worn once—landed in your hands. You sighed as you looked at the elegant dress you were now holding, the Gucci label glinting under the light.

"Story of my life," you mumbled.

Working as a housekeeper in a millionaire's house was hard enough, but dealing with his spoiled and ill-tempered daughter was exhausting. Yet you were determined that it would soon be over. You could no longer endure this physical and psychological torture. With the money you had saved, you planned to open your own restaurant—fulfilling your dream. You just needed to save a little more and hang in there a bit longer.

Your boss was a decent, kind man, but his daughter was so unbearable that every housekeeper assigned left the next day.

How do you even tolerate her? 

Because you didn’t have the luxury of quitting and waiting for a new job. You were still young and trying to establish yourself in the business. The extra pay you received was simply to endure her antics. Your kind millionaire boss had even promised you all the support you needed, suggesting you could quit your day job and focus solely on managing his daughter’s affairs. But how could you have known it would be so challenging? Still, you managed to get through each day and believed you could endure this for just a little while longer. After all, you had survived three challenging years already, right?

The mansion was enormous, and everything inside was meticulously organized. Everyone—housekeepers, gardeners, cooks, and even the owners—followed a disciplined daily routine. 

Except for the young lady of the house.

You never knew when she would wake up or come downstairs to join her family at the dinner table. She was stubborn, mean, and unpredictable, and you had to manage her behavior just as you managed her dresses, her dates, and her friends. Because you were responsible for her, there were times when you wished you could handle all the housework yourself and let someone else take care of her demands. Despite being just an ordinary housekeeper, your name was the one that echoed the most throughout this vast mansion.

Why? 

Because the young lady constantly called on you to fulfill her never-ending requests. And it was one of those moments again. Since it was evening, you guessed she was probably getting ready for a night out at the club, and you felt a surge of annoyance as you rushed to her room.

"I can't believe I was a size 8 before starting this job; now I'm down to a size 6," you mumbled to yourself, quickly making your way up the stairs.

One of the cleaners dusting the vases in the hallway shot you a wink and let out a sigh. Man, you’d do just about anything to be in her shoes, just taking care of that vase!

As soon as you knocked on the door, the young lady Melanie opened it, pulled you inside by the arm, and slammed the door shut behind you. You were taken aback—had you made a mistake? It had only been two hours since you last saw her; you had picked up her clothes off the floor and taken them to the laundry room. She had seemed content, busy texting on her phone. What could have possibly happened in such a short time?

“Is something wrong?” you asked, your eyes wide. For some reason, she looked super tense and nervous.  

“You’ve gotta help me,” she said almost desperately, which caught you off guard; it was pretty rare for her to ask for help like this, very rare.  

“Of course, if I know what’s going on…” 

“Remember that thing we did with the senator's son? I need you to do something like that again.”

You froze for a moment. She was referring to something you had helped her with before—something you weren't very proud of.

“Oh, but—” you frowned. “You said I’d never have to do anything like that again.”

Years ago, you had done your best to disguise yourself as Melanie to turn off the senator's son and prevent him from marrying her. It had worked, but lying to someone was a real headache. Thankfully, Melanie's father hadn’t suspected a thing, but the thought of risking it again felt scarier than anything else.

“I know, I know, but I’m in a tough spot. My dad has been speaking with a matchmaker again to arrange a match for me. After the scandal at the club last time, he's determined to marry me off for sure. Please, I need your help.”

How could she still act so childish in her late twenties? As she looked at you with those pleading eyes, memories of all the times she’d yelled at you and scolded you flashed in your mind. It was fine when you were more like her special assistant instead of just a housekeeper, but now it feels like you’re just a toy to her. When she wants to have fun, she plays with you—almost like you’re her little slave or something.

“I’m not here for that,” you said firmly. “That is not my job.” Your patience was running thin, and this was just too much.  

“But you’re supposed to help me,” she shot back, stubborn as ever. “And it’ll be easier this time, I promise.” 

You narrowed your eyes and said, “We got caught last time when the guy found out and cursed both of us. Do you have any idea how hard that was for me? And if your father discovers what we’re up to this time…”

She replied with a grin, “We won’t get caught this time because I already sent them my photo instead of yours. Besides, you know how my father is strict about always having my picture removed from newspapers and magazines.”

“You did what?” you wailed.

“Chill, it’s all figured out. I’ve been working on this since last week. You’ll have dinner with the guy, pretend to be me, scare him off, and boom! He won’t want to hear my name again. Easy peasy!”  

You rolled your eyes. “But he’s surely seen your photo somewhere; he can’t be that clueless.”  

“No, he’s a very busy businessman. He has lived abroad for years and has just returned from France. He’s looking to set up his business here in New York,” she said as she opened her laptop and pulled up a webpage with information about the man. “It seems he’s also looking for a suitable match,” she continued, glancing at his photo and pursing her lips.

You froze when you looked at the photo; he wasn’t at all what you expected. He appeared to be a mature, charismatic, and intelligent man. But how could you sit opposite this man and pretend to be someone else? The thought made you shudder, raising the tiny hairs on the back of your neck.  

“As you can see, he’s much older than me. I don’t think he’ll tolerate disrespect. If you’re disrespectful to him, he might get annoyed and just leave the table,” she said with a chuckle.

You laughed too, but for a different reason. You were sure that if she went to the meeting herself, he would get up and leave when he saw her personality.  

“I think you should go; maybe he won’t like you,” you suggested.  

She narrowed her eyes at you like she'd just caught you saying something crazy. “He won’t like me? Seriously?” She flipped her hair over her shoulder with a cocky grin. “Anyway, I can’t risk it. I don’t want to marry him or anyone else, and I definitely don’t want to be stuck in the same room with that old man.” 

As if I want it so much, you thought.  

“Come on, please do this for me! I promise I’ll be good; I won’t make you work too hard. I’ll ask Dad to give you a nice raise,” she said, clasping her hands together and trying to look cute.  

Well, good raise would mean you could quit your job and bail out of here earlier, right? You crossed your arms and glanced back at the laptop screen, staring at the photo of that guy—Harry Castillo. You made a decision that you had no idea would change everything in both his life and yours.

“Fine. When’s dinner?” you said, feeling a bit anxious.  

“Oh, you’re the best! I knew you couldn’t say no!” she said excitedly. “This Saturday.”  

“But that’s only two days away,” you pointed out, feeling even more nervous.  

“Don’t worry, I’ll get you all set. Just make sure you displease him,” she grinned.  

You sighed deeply, already sure you’d regret this choice.

“Don’t you think this dress is a bit… exaggerated?” you muttered, looking at yourself in the mirror.  

It was an elegant burgundy dress—strappy, satin, and adorned with pearl details—the kind of designer item you could never afford, even if you worked your entire life.  

“Am I trying to make him hate me or make him fall for me?” you asked, frowning.  

Melanie rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry; he’ll never fall in love with you,” she said arrogantly. This was typical behavior for her, so you chose to ignore it. “As much as you want to annoy him, remember that you represent me. I don’t want anyone gossiping that Melanie Johanson is wearing a lame dress,” she continued while picking out a matching purse.  

“But everyone knows I’m not you, except that poor guy.”  

“I don’t suppose you were planning to wear one of your own skimpy outfits,” she remarked. “Do you want our game to be exposed?”  

That was too much—being scolded and being forced to do something so ridiculous for this spoiled girl.  

“Fine, go to that dinner yourself then,” you said, slipping off your heels.  

She grabbed your arms. “No, no, no, please. Okay, I’m sorry I was rude. But I need you; no one else would do something like this for me.”  

“It’s good that you realize that,” you muttered.  

“Here, take this; it’s time,” she said, giving you a smile.  

Honestly, putting up with Melanie’s constant demands, cleaning up after her, and covering for her felt like child’s play compared to what you were facing tonight. 

A nice raise, you keep telling yourself trying to soothe yourself. I’m doing this for my restaurant; I’ll get it started someday.

The restaurant was one of the most famous, expensive, and luxurious places in New York—somewhere you would never normally set foot in. But tonight, thanks to Melanie’s name, you could easily get in. You were overwhelmed by the incredibly polite behavior of the restaurant staff.  

Melanie may have been extravagant and reckless, but she had thought of almost everything for tonight—from the driver who brought you here to the all restaurant staff. 

All this effort was for one purpose: to rid herself of the matchmaker’s match.  

When they took your fur coat at the entrance and told you that Mr. Castillo was waiting for you, you took a deep breath. After one step inside, when you saw him, you nearly backed away. Harry was busy on his phone, scribbling notes in his small notebook. He looked really sharp and stylish—way more handsome and appealing than in the photo.

Damn.  

You wanted to escape; you wished to put an end to this nonsense before it even began. Without realizing it, your feet started to move backward. Just then, you turned around and accidentally bumped into the waiter behind you, causing him to drop the champagne glasses he was carrying on his tray. The glasses shattered, and champagne spilled all over his outfit. You cursed yourself for the mishap.

Before you could even respond, the waiter apologized. “No, it was my fault; I’m sorry,” you said nervously, trying to wipe off the champagne from his clothes.

The other waiter and the staff stared at you in shock. 

Yes, you were a wealthy lady now, but what harm was there in being polite?

"No, ma'am, I should have been more careful," he said before turning and walking away.

"Miss Johnson?" said a soft, deep voice. 

You turned around to meet him and felt almost breathless. There he was, few inches taller than you, with broad shoulders, curly hair, deep-set brown eyes, a sharp nose, and an attractive appearance. 

"Melanie, right?" 

"Y-yes," you stammered, batting your eyelashes. 

And that smile! For a moment, the world seemed to stop; all the sounds in the restaurant faded, and you almost forgot why you were there. 

"I'm Harry," he said, holding out his hand. It took you so long to look at his face that you nearly forgot to acknowledge his hand. He laughed again, that wonderful smile lighting up his face. "My hand has been waiting for a while," he said teasingly. 

You felt your cheeks flush as you realized what he meant. "I'm sorry," you replied, quickly reaching out to shake his waiting hand. His hand was big and warm. "I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long," you mumbled, feeling embarrassed. You knew you needed to work up the courage. 

“Not really,” he said with a grin. “Shall we head to our table? Or do you want to stay here all night?” 

“S-sure,” you said sheepishly. 

Well, there wasn't much you could do about it. This wasn't just about him being wealthy or handsome. Even if it was a fake date, it had been years since you'd been on a date, and you didn’t know many men in your life. 

Dinner was harder than you expected. Even though you and Melanie had practiced what you should and shouldn't say, your fears came to light. Harry seemed kind and understanding, and it was difficult to lie to him, which made you hate every minute of it. It got worse when he started grilling you with questions, and you weren't sure how much longer you could keep up with this silly game.

When you excused yourself to go to the restroom, you called Melanie. 

"What do you mean he hasn't left the restaurant yet?" 

"I don't know; the conversation got a little long, and he kept asking questions about me, I mean you." 

"Do something to make him hate you already!" 

“But how? Throw wine at him? This is all ridiculous. I think we should just tell the truth.”

"Don't you dare!" she barked.

Her voice was so loud that you had to smile apologetically when the other women in the ladies room looked at you strangely, hearing your end of the conversation. 

"What am I supposed to do? Our plan isn't working." 

“What's up with this guy? He should’ve bailed by now.” Melanie grunted.

“He seems nice—I doubt he’d be rude like that.” 

“Rude! That’s the ticket; just be rude enough that he can’t stand it.” 

“What? Seriously?” 

“Yep, you heard me. Just be as rude as you can.” 

You let out a sigh, really wishing you could just bang your head against the wall right now.

“I said do it, or you'll ruin everything. Call me when you’re done.” 

“But what am I gonna— Hello? Darn it!” 

Beep… Beep… Beep… 

She hung up. 

You’ll have to be rude, how wonderful! But she was right; you needed to get rid of this man for the night to end and for you to return to your normal life. Why did he have to be so nice and kind? If he could ever act like a jerk, you would have done it by now, but he was just too sweet. As you looked in the mirror, you thought of all the rude things a lady wouldn’t normally do. Ah, that sounds familiar; it reminds you of Melanie herself. The very thought of her actions made you smile nervously. You took a deep breath and left the restroom.

Encouraging yourself, you gazed at Harry's handsome face from afar.

You can do it, you can do it...

Your first move: act indifferent.

You changed your facial expression as you approached the table and deliberately looked away from his face. He was smiling warmly at you. No, you couldn't look at him; it would only complicate everything. You were about to apologize for being late, but no, you can’t. Instead, you pulled your chair noisily on purpose, scraping its legs on the floor to create an annoying sound. You sat down and crossed your legs, positioning your body so it wasn't fully facing him. Harry seemed surprised by this sudden shift in your mood, but he didn’t comment.

A little later, as your desserts were served, he looked at you, “I like chocolate cake too, especially with pistachio sauce. We have similar tastes,” grinning at you.

You looked at him and then at the waiter. “I don’t want this,” you said angrily.

“But ma'am, you ordered it,” the poor man replied sheepishly.

“I’ve changed my mind,” you said. “I’ll go with the tiramisu,” you added after a quick look at the menu, making sure to glance away casually.

“Sure, I’ll change it right away,” he said, taking your plate and walking back.

“Are you all right?” Harry asked, concern creeping into his voice.

“I’m great,” you lied, forcing a fake grin.

He didn’t ask any further questions, but he seemed to suspect something had changed. When the waiter brought your dessert, you decided to eat it rudely. You were sure Harry would be disgusted as you devoured your dessert quickly and rather rudely as if you were starving. You didn’t look at him again until you finished your plate. When you finally glanced up, your stomach feeling a bit nauseous, the look on his face was not what you had expected. He was smiling at you admiringly.

What the hell was that? 

Shouldn’t he have shown disgust or displeasure, just like the people at the next table who were staring at you with disdain?

But not Harry, not him. Why, God, why? 

As if teasing you, he laughed and reached for a napkin on the table, wiping the remnants of dessert from the corner of your lips. “You’ve got quite the sweet tooth, don’t you, sweet girl?”

How could he be so nice, even after everything? 

“Want to eat mine too?” he joked again. Clearly, you were amusing him instead of grossing him out. Ugh, just what you needed. Why was this so hard? 

“It’s the cream in it,” you said, a bit defensive. If you were going to get into a battle of words, you might as well dive in. 

When he looked at you, confused, you thought you saw a glimmer of hope. Maybe you could annoy him with your gourmet knowledge. 

“The Marsala wine is in the cream; it’s a secret recipe,” you said, trying to sound smart. 

Harry paused eating his dessert, rested his elbow on the table, and gave you an admiring look. “Interesting. I didn’t know you were into cooking. That wasn’t in the info.” That familiar warm smile was back.

Crap. Another mess-up. 

“I get it—you’re keeping it under wraps from your dad. I want you to feel comfortable talking about your hobbies when you’re with me.” 

When you’re with him? Damn, that was supposed to be the first and last time you saw him. You started playing with your fingers in your hair out of nervousness. 

Think, think, think. All you had left was to use the only card you had.

“Look, Harry, I’ll be frank. I don’t plan to see you again.”

Suddenly, he stopped. “Didn’t you like me?” he asked softly.

Was it possible not to like this man? But damn it, you had to lie. You looked away; it was hard to read his expression.

“You’ve probably heard about me from the tabloids. I’m not the type of woman to get attached to just one man. My father put me up to this matchmaker thing; I didn’t intend to.” You admitted this indirectly. He deserved a little honesty, didn’t he? “I’ve had and will have many men in my life. I don’t plan to get married. I mean, you’re not special. I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.” 

When you looked at his face timidly, you realized you got the reaction you had been waiting for since the beginning of the night. His smile vanished; his expression hardened, and the color of his eyes darkened. 

But why did your heart squeeze when you should have felt relieved?

When they brought your coat, you thanked them and turned to Harry for the last time. You would probably never see him again. You felt fortunate to have had the chance to meet and get to know this man, even briefly. He would probably forget you anyway; why would he remember you? 

“Can I give you a ride home so we can end things on a good note?” he asked, sounding a bit unsure.

You definitely didn’t see that coming. You paused, trying to figure out what to say. It would’ve been easier to just say no, but his eyes were so mesmerizing that if he’d asked you to spill all your secrets right then, you might have done it without even thinking.

“Sure,” you replied, feeling shy.

When the valet brought Harry's car around, your jaw dropped. This black, late-model Mercedes Benz S was probably worth hundreds of thousands of dollars. Your interest in cars stemmed from your childhood; your mother always complained that you didn't like dresses and jewelry like other girls—rather, you liked cars. It was clear you were different, and you had always been that way.

Just like the situation you found yourself in now. Maybe there was something wrong with you.

The two of you were silent the entire ride. You didn’t look directly at him, but you could feel his gaze on you out of the corner of your eye. However, you were more captivated by the interior of the car. When would you ever get to ride in such a luxury vehicle again? It wouldn’t hurt to take a closer look. As you glanced towards his side to check out the control panel and see how much horsepower the car had, he caught your eye, causing you to quickly turn your head away. You had to suppress your curiosity.

"We’ll turn right here," you said as you approached the junction. Down the street, the giant mansion loomed, so close to your destination. You stole a quick glance at him, realizing this might be the only time you would see this man in person. You wanted to remember his handsome face. 

Suddenly, Harry slammed on the brakes, and the car screeched to a halt. Your eyes widened in surprise as you looked at him, startled that he had stopped so abruptly near the mansion. What had caused him to suddenly halt? He didn’t say a word, just stared at you, and his eyes seemed to communicate something intense. Was he angry and no longer wanting your company? 

You unbuckled your seatbelt and reached for the door handle, only to find it locked.

“Stay still,” he said as he unlocked the car doors. 

What was he implying? He walked around the front of the car, reached your side, and opened your door. 

Was this chivalry? If so, why did he stay away from the mansion?

“Aren’t you getting out?” His voice was kinda cold.

You didn’t know how to respond. You stepped out of the car without saying a word.

“Thanks for the ride—” 

Suddenly, he grabbed your arm—not roughly, but with a firm, questioning grip. His gaze was intense, but why did he look that way? Had he figured it all out? Maybe he was about to confront you for making a fool of yourself. After all, you had been willing to be open, and now you felt you deserved it. But you didn’t have the courage to meet his eyes, so you lowered your head. 

“You were lying, weren’t you?”

Shit. 

You swallowed hard; this was the moment you had dreaded.

“I-I…”

What were you going to say? How would you even say it?

You were fucked.

Suddenly, Harry pinched your chin with one hand, forcing you to look at him while his other hand rested on your waist. He tilted his head toward you, his hot breath brushing against your face, making your heart race. His lips were dangerously close to yours, and you could feel your throat going dry. What the hell was he going to do? Kissing you or scolding you? After what felt like an eternity, he pulled you closer by the arm around your waist and kissed you.

It had been a long time since you kissed someone, so you were almost shocked by his sudden kiss. No matter how hard you tried to stop yourself, you finally closed your eyes and surrendered to him completely. Your surrendering gave him courage and he deepened the kiss, his hot tongue licking your lips and forcing them apart. While his expert hand lingered on the swell of your breasts teasingly, you moaned and opened your mouth for him and when his tongue touched yours, you could still taste the chocolate from the dessert he had just eaten. 

But suddenly, Harry pulled his head back, breaking the kiss and all contact. Instinctively mesmerized, you leaned forward, eyes closed and mouth agape. When you finally opened your eyes, you caught him snickering, and as the embarrassment of the situation hit you, you wished you could disappear. You instinctively pressed your hand to your burning lips and pressed hem together. Harry licked his lips and grinned. "Just as I predicted. You lied to me. There's no way another man has touched you recently."

For a second, your mind went blank, and you just stared at him, blinking in confusion. What the heck did he mean by that? "Y-you... w-what..." Great, now you couldn't even put together a simple sentence.

What next?

Just then, your phone started ringing. When you opened your purse to get it, Harry reached for it before you could. Fortunately, you had saved Melanie in your phone under a special nickname, not her real name. Harry laughed, raising his eyebrows in surprise and amusement. "Trouble?"

Yes, you had saved her as trouble.

"Can you hand my phone back, please?" you said, holding out your hands, but he caught them with one hand and gently pushed them away. 

“Your trouble can wait,” he said, rejecting Melanie’s call. He dialed a number on your phone, but realized what he was doing when his own phone started ringing.

“There, now you have my number,” he said, handing your phone back to you.

You frowned and grabbed your phone angrily, "What makes you think I’d actually call you?" 

Harry shrugged, pursing his lips. “Shouldn't I call you before I come to pick you up for our next date? I guess I could just come by your house and honk the horn instead.” 

“What?” you exclaimed.

He grinned.

You took a deep breath to release some of your tension. “Harry, why are you doing this? There won’t be a next date; I told you that.”

“One chance,” he said firmly.

“A chance of what?” 

"I want you to give me a chance. A real date. If, at the end of the night, you still feel the same way, I promise you’ll never see me again."

You shook your head. "But why? You’re a man who can have any woman you want. You’re rich, handsome, and kind—why waste your time on someone who doesn’t want you?"

You saw something in his brown eyes, something you couldn’t quite identify, but it was intense. “Because you're different from others,” he said sharply. “True, women are not unattainable for me; they are always around. But what I want is someone special, and I feel that you are the one. There’s something about you that has ignited something in me I haven't felt in a long time. I must admit, I'm surprised; I never thought I’d be attracted to you after reading the news about you, but it seems I was wrong. Can you give me a chance? Please?”

Oh, Harry, there’s so much you don’t know, you thought. Your heart was fluttering at the thought of saying yes, but how could you? How dare you? You weren’t Melanie, the daughter of a wealthy businessman; you were just an ordinary girl.

“You know I won’t leave without hearing your answer, right?” He grunted.

Just then, you heard a car approaching, and you freaked out. That was Melanie’s dad’s car. Your heart nearly stopped.

“You have to go, like, now!” you yelled in a panic.

“First, say yes,” he replied, frowning.

"Si, yes, okay, alright! But please, go now!" you urged, pushing him toward the back of his car. He chuckled in response.

You crouched down to hide your face as the other car drove toward the mansion and pulled him down with you.

“I want you to know I’ve never done anything like this in my life,” he admitted, snickering.

“Is that so funny?” you snapped.

"Okay, I get that you don’t want your dad to see us like this, and I’m curious why, but since you said yes, I’ll be a good guy and leave."

“Yes you do that,” you said with a sigh.

Harry took his phone out of his pocket and waved it before getting into his car. “You’d better answer it when I call,” he said, getting inside. He winked at your puzzled expression and started the engine. His car quickly disappeared from sight along the road. You turned toward the mansion, exhaled deeply, and murmured to yourself.

“I'm so fucked.”

thanks for reading, likes, comments, reblogs are appreciated ❤️

[salem-s]

STONEPIT FINALS AND SPRING CHAOS (18+) ── RAFE CAMERON ONE SHOT

── SYNOPSIS rafe's been your best friend since forever, and you thought he'd be ecstatic to see you after a three week trip; however, you overhear him telling his friends that it's been nice without you clinging to him every five minutes. so that's what you give him: space. every attempt to get you back falls short, and rafe's confusion only augments when he sees you running with a different crowd. ── WARNINGS suggestive themes, language, half smut (??? everything's over the clothes, lowkey switch!rafe), swearing, angst and miscommunication but with a happy ending. 18+ mdni. ── WORD COUNT 16.9k... That's genuinely not okay... ── NOTES edited from third person perspective to second, so let me know if there are any mistakes. ── SONGS OF THE CHAPTER guilty pleasure by chappell roan | transparentsoul by willow | misery business by paramore. we're gonna pretend these are original songs by their band, alright?

“It’s been nice to have some peace and quiet without her constantly attached to my hip.”

You've been replaying his words in your head all night.

Sure, you invited herself over with the intent to surprise him after being gone for three weeks. Coming home a day earlier than expected was a set in stone plan all along, and thought nothing of walking into one of his renowned parties like you always have.

The familiar crowd greeted you like an old friend, throwing around heys and you’re back already? and all the other surprise lingo. You truly did your best to smile and nod to all of them, however these people weren't really your friends, instead mere acquaintances in an adjacent social circle.

The one person you really wanted to see was, undoubtedly, out back smoking a joint or nursing a beer away from the crowd with his two close friends, so you knew exactly where to find Rafe Cameron whenever his six foot something height wasn’t peaking above the crowd.

So on you walked: through the yard, in through the kitchen, and out towards the back porch. 

Along the way, you bumped into his younger sister, Wheezie, who greeted you with a genuine hug and sigh of relief that, finally, she’d be able to tolerate any social gatherings held at her house, as long as you were there.

You mostly (always) sought out refuge in Wheezie's room when you didn’t feel like entertaining these rich kid assholes, or whenever you were getting bored with whatever conversations you'd been dragged into just for the sole purpose of keeping him company.

Wheezie, too, knew exactly where Rafe was and even grabbed your hand to lead you to him. 

"It’s been nice to have some peace and quiet without her constantly attached to my hip. The clinginess has really been pissin’ me off. It's like she can’t do her own thing."

And of course, Wheezie heard it, too, gripping your hand tighter out of pity - or compassion - you couldn’t tell.

Before Wheezie could do anything, you slipped her hand away and took a step back. The young girl looked mortified at her brother’s words, her mouth gaping open and closed like a fish to attempt to defend his words or spin them to make them mean something different.

But you both knew her fruitless attempts wouldn't mean anything.

They were jarring, the words he spoke.

And, frankly, they really pissed you off.

You only stuck around his hip at these things because he always told you to beforehand, something about not wanting you to wander off into trouble (which you had a tendency to do), or because you always grounded him when he was overstimulated.

Rafe was the one who held you close at night, whispering sweet nothings in your ear when he’d snuck in through the window after particularly rough fights with his father. He was the one who needed to hold you, to tether himself to someone, to something, just to make it through the night.

So why the fuck was he talking about your clinginess as he's the one who couldn't go one night without you? 

You scoffed when you heard it because, pfft, he must’ve been talking about someone else, surely. There’s no way he said that to his friends, and had the audacity to join in with their laughter.

Oh, it pissed you off.

Because if he really wanted space, sure, you could do that. No problem.

If there's one thing you prided yourself over, it was your dignity and stubbornness. You could give him space. You'll give him all the damn space and go find your own thing. 

Which is what you did later that night. 

Rafe had advised against it when the proposition was broached to you a couple weeks ago: a music gig.

Here's the sitch: you had a voice people would stop and listen to – not that you particularly liked boasting about it. It just came to you naturally, and you liked producing in the quaint privacy of your bedroom, mashing songs and creating unheard harmonies on audio software for fun.

You didn’t participate in the school plays or drama programs because, no, those were too on the nose and not the kind of music you'd like to sing (in front of people, anyway). Plus, all of the theater kids in the area are even more annoying than the preconception of the stereotype. Your voice was mainly barricaded inside the shower tiles or sitting pretty in the passenger seat of Rafe's car, or occasionally when you found yourself alone at the beach or on a walk in the dark. 

After a particularly grueling and obnoxiously abhorrent gala earlier in the summer, you found yourself separated from the party and wallowing with a stolen drink in the back alley of the country club. Rafe was off entertaining whatever girl he had his eyes on for the night and Wheezie wasn’t feeling well so she didn’t attend.

You were bored, tipsy, and feeling pathetically lonely. So, naturally, you started singing softly to yourself in the quiet solitude of the alley, thinking you were alone.

What you didn’t know was that the staff – a group of Pogues who needed a quick cash grab in the catering gig – were having their smoke break, and conveniently needed a new lead after their old one transferred schools to the mainland. They were friends with Sarah, Rafe's other sister, who you haven't been close to since you were kids.

You were weary of their proposition, the group not normally being the kind of people you'd hangout with due to them being intimidating, almost too cool, to where you thought you wouldn’t fit in.

Oh, but you did. You did well. 

Rafe's overly protective words echoed in your head as you instantly beelined for the door despite Wheezie's pleas, leaving his home and immediately driving to the Cut.

You were told where they practice, a quaint house on the far side of the island where they could riff and rehearse without a noise complaint. You found herself standing in the garage with the mock stage, with a rising sense of pride and retribution.

You told them, fuck it, you were in, that you'd do anything to take the spot that was so graciously offered to you all that time ago, to contribute to their band and to the competitions held in the rough part of the island. 

And in you were. 

Meanwhile, Rafe had never felt so fucking lost in his life. 

Not when he got into earth-shattering arguments with his dad about his spending habits, his overflowing temper, or anything he did under the sun (because anything he did seemed to piss his dad off).

Not when he’d spent those months of endless fighting in a hole of self pity, drowning himself in partying and occasional lines to numb the phantom ache in his heart.

Not when he’d lose girlfriend after girlfriend because he was incapable of doing what was expected of a boyfriend, not what was expected of Rafe himself. 

He was constantly told growing up that feelings were weak, and wearing them on your sleeve was even worse. Being sad was just an excuse to get a pass, to draw attention to get people to feel bad for you. Being sad meant being weak. Being emotional meant being weak. Caring too hard about things meant being weak. 

Normally, Rafe was able to move past these episodes because he always had you to seek solace in. But he lost you.

And he had no clue fucking why. 

He wouldn’t admit it to anyone breathing that he’d been counting down the days until you arrived back from your trip, not even his closest friends that he clung to in your absence.

Because Rafe had a reputation to uphold, and revealing such strong feelings for his best friend would definitely damage his stone cold apparatus. People would see his walls broken down for you and they would assume they were entitled to the same treatment. 

No. Rafe liked being unapproachable. Feared, even.

He liked that you clung to him at parties, at the stupid gala events their families would organize to flaunt their money in expensive garb and even more expensive donations that they announce with a bullhorn and neon sign. He liked that you clung to him because he asked you to.

He always asked you to.

And you always complied. 

Deep down, Rafe knew that you'd rather go off and stir up some trouble instead, or not attend all together and get into even deeper shit somewhere else, but that meant that you'd be away from him, not under his protective eye, and that always stirred up something ugly in him.

Rafe had to come rescue you one too many times, most times you didn’t even need to ask.

He was just there, waiting for you to be done with whatever you wanted to do, then he’d drive you home and (almost always) stay over.

You would tease him relentlessly, you and your smart mouth riling him up to tremendous heights. But he relished in it. He craved it. Because he’d rather you drag him every time you opened her mouth instead of what you were doing now, which was ignoring him. 

And the radio silence was killing him. 

Rafe was ecstatic the day you got home, waiting in your driveway to bring you to school like always. But after waiting for what felt like ages, he found himself on the doorstep yelling at you to hurry up.

Instead of being met with your pretty, Rafe had to hear it from your fucking mother that you had already left, that you got a ride from someone else. 

That was just strike one. 

Arriving at school with a rise in his temper, Rafe was already having a bad morning.

He was irritated. All week he’d been texting with you about how you both were gonna get coffee and catch up in the car before parting ways for classes. It didn’t help that he was nursing a minor hangover, and he felt even more like an idiot bringing in your coffee that he’d gotten for you anyway. 

Strike two was when Rafe saw you in the hallway, and the weight in his chest immediately lifted at the sight of you, glowing with a new gleam in your eye that had him yearning to know more about what you were up to.

The prior anger fizzled away the closer you got. You were walking straight to him as Rafe grinned and stuck out the coffee for you.

But as you got closer, Rafe's smile slowly faded as he noticed you were looking beyond him, brushing past him with that beautiful smile – the smile meant for someone else.

He spun around to see who you were ignoring him for, and scoffed when you were greeted with open arms to his sister and her friend group of wannabe rock Pogues that pissed Rafe off at any chance they could. 

Rafe was confused and irritated, and he didn’t want to be holding your coffee anymore, frankly. You fit in with them in a sick way that had him aching. 

Without thinking, he said your name quizzically with a slight edge to his tone.

A warning, almost. 

You had turned around, surprised to see him. He wasn’t sure if you were feigning naivety or just pretending you didn’t see him to piss him off. “Oh, hey.”

He felt stupid, all of a sudden, with all the eyes of your new friend group on him, Sarah even tilting her head at him quizzically.

Rafe held out the coffee. “Here. You ghosted this morning.”

“Sorry,” you smiled, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. He hated the way it looked. You took the coffee. “Thanks.” Then you flicked your gaze over your shoulder, at them, and turned back offering him a curt nod. “I’ll catch up later.”

You spun on your heel and joined the group, walking away down the hall sparking an animated conversation as if he was just a bump in the road. 

And that’s how it started. 

You slowly fizzled Rafe out of your life.

You slowly stopped responding to his messages, stopped showing up to his parties, stopped everything in your life that involved him and, god, it broke his fucking heart.

Every time he stopped over, your parents would say that you were out with friends and he would scoff, not that they would care where you really were. Sometimes they’d say you were upstairs studying, and when they would let Rafe in to go see you, he’d be met with an empty bedroom and slightly ajar window.

Pathetically, he’d stay in your room because he was usually too embarrassed to go back downstairs and show his face to your parents. Sometimes he slept there in the spot he always slept in on nights where he just couldn’t fucking bear to go home. Sometimes he’d just climb out through the window and leave. 

Whenever he’d see you in school alone, Rafe would jump at the chance to talk to you.

You would entertain him for a walk to class or a quick chat in the library, nothing short of politeness. But Rafe didn’t want polite. He wanted you, and you wouldn’t fucking come back to him.

Instead, you would just give him the same tight lipped smile you gave all the other rich kid assholes that you hated, and then go about your day. 

God. Rafe needed you.

He needed a friend, a real friend. Someone he could trust unequivocally, without hesitation. Rafe needed to hold you, and that realization made him want to throttle something.

To be so dependent on you felt weak. It felt horrible, really, to have it suddenly stripped from him with no warning. But the longer he went without you, the more he realized he needed you to hold him. That epiphany had him pissed off more than ever.

Naturally, Rafe resorted to anger because if he didn’t, he would just wallow in sadness and that scared the shit out of him. 

But an opportunity blossoms – a real chance – to get you talking to him again, even if it’s just for one night. 

The annual fall donation gala is tonight, and Rafe knows that you won’t be able to get out of this one due to your mother’s incessant inclination to attend as a family, to uphold your image, whatever the hell that means.

Each season the wealthy families on the secluded part of the island gather in their overpriced suits and gowns, flaunt their money, spew some fake bullshit on how much they love charity and specifically how much money they were going to spend towards renovating the rougher parts of the island and the public institutions, all while they down their drinks and snort lines in the bathroom and plaster on fake smiles of grandiose.

Your family and the Camerons go together every season, being neighbors and all, pairing you off with Rafe while Wheezie and his other sister, Sarah, would stick with each other.

Sarah, being just a year younger than him, mostly always brought a random boy as a date. Wheezie often soloed, but would steal you for a better portion of the night. Rafe normally allowed it, but tonight he refuses to let his sister have the time of day.

No matter how much shit Wheezie gives him, he has to have you all night despite her premature protests, which will probably be a lot given the circumstances from the past few weeks. 

That's another thing as of late: Wheezie's been uncharacteristically cold to him, making him do ridiculous shit for her to get back on her good side, like taking her out to eat or reviewing her essay or watching a stupid show with her that he never would agree to watch in the first place.

Sure, he’ll set himself back a few pegs with Wheezie, but he has to get you back tonight. 

But of fucking course you just have to look that beautiful, so it takes Rafe a while to even say anything to you besides a pathetic hello. 

As tradition, you and Rafe lock arms as you enter the gala. He notices that you don't hold him as tight. 

You notice that he’s clenching his jaw so tight it might break, probably pissed that he has to be here in the first place. 

You loathe the idea of coming to this pathetic excuse of class performance, but public appearances are the only thing your parents are interested in.

They’ve been lenient about how much you leave to hang out with “Sarah” when in reality you're high tailing it to the rough side of the island getting up to all kinds of trouble (also with Sarah, but that's besides the point). However, they started to get suspicious of where you run off to every weekend, and god forbid they find out you sneak out basically every single night.

Things with the band are going great, too good to jeopardize.

So you figure if going to this gala will satisfy your parents’ consciousness and keep their noses out of your business, then you'll be able to deliver with elegant poise and limited back talk.

It doesn’t help that you and your band have a gig later tonight. The gig. The Stonepit finals. It also doesn’t help that you're stuck here.

But you have a plan.

Since you're here, your bandmates take on the event's catering gig so you'll all leave together an hour before the gala is supposed to end.

It’s slightly embarrassing to be walking arm-in-arm with Rafe under their knowing stares, especially since they have a vague idea of what really went down between you and the Kook prince.

They’re familiar with the island royal because of Sarah anyway, and despite not entirely liking him due to Rafe's douchebag tendencies, they’re sympathetic to you for choosing to step away from someone you once called your best friend.

Your friends, your new friends, care for you and know the hurt that came with ending things with Rafe, even if you never explicitly cried or showed any ounce of emotion when it came to him. They can just tell. And it reflects in the music, much to your dismay. 

And sitting next to him all night doesn’t help.

You're polite, saying your please and thank yous. Rafe is quiet, especially with his dad sitting on the other side of him.

One thing you both unintentionally agree on, though, is the synchronized stifled laughter on the faux-emotional speeches the PTO housewives make about the charity of their choice. Rafe and you know of the falsehoods that run through this community, that it’s all a stunt for public decency, and you always bet each year how many times they shed crocodile tears before dinner’s served. 

The last ripple of applause begins to die down after the last housewife steps down from the microphone, her lip curled up from a previous sob reforming back to a nonchalant tight lip as soon as she’s out of the spotlight. You push food around your plate with your fork, stifling a cold laugh that will undoubtedly earn a scolding from your mother. 

“I counted seven,” you say softly, indulging. 

It surprises Rafe. Immensely. His brows raise at the jab and he looks over to see if you were talking to yourself or actually to him, to see you staring at him in anticipation for his response.

Rafe's heart does a weird thump. “One of the better years, for sure.”

You laugh quietly and Rafe nearly sighs at the sound. 

Noticing a few older couples heading to the dance floor, Rafe bites the bullet, clearing his throat to get your attention as he holds his hand out. 

“Dance?”

You dart your gaze between his hand, his eyes, and the dance floor, uncertain. This makes Rafe's heart thump even wilder, and he’s certain you can hear it through his all-too-expensive suit jacket. He notices your apprehension, and he pushes down the hurt that springs to his throat. 

Despite it, he chuckles nervously. “It doesn’t have to…mean anything. Just to get away from this.”

Rafe gestures towards their table, their parents having a little too much to drink and starting to ramble on about shit they don’t care about. Sarah’s off with her boyfriend, John B., who should be working but doesn't look the slightest bit concerned about slacking off, while Wheezie talks to one of her friends off to the side, rueing the day in pre-teen style.

As much as you want to say no and stay cordial to your dignity, you're starting to get a headache from your mother’s high-pitched laughter and dad’s intolerable business talk, so, reluctantly, you accept and takes his hand.

It takes everything in Rafe to not visibly sigh in relief as he leads you to the dance floor. Your friend, JJ, smirks behind the seafood buffet table, watching them. You throw him an eye roll that Rafe doesn’t see, to which JJ just shrugs and winks. 

Slinking your hands around his neck, your heart skips a beat at the close proximity. Rafe's hands settle on your waist.

It draws in a sense of comfort, of familiarity that he’s been yearning for all this time without you. He takes a deep breath, embarrassingly deep, because for the first time in what feels like forever, he feels like he can finally breathe again despite the intoxication of your perfume and the stench of cigarettes wafting from the balcony. 

Rafe takes the time to study you up close.

You cut your hair in a more edgy way, drastically different from your previous untouched hair that he was used to twirling between his fingers under Egyptian cotton sheets. It’s different, but he likes it. You looks comfortable, like yourself. He also notices the excessive added jewelry that you've been wearing lately.

Although Rafe frowns after his inspection, noticing it’s none of the jewelry that he’s given you over the years. Your makeup is clean, effortless. 

Beautiful, he thinks. 

Fuck. 

He doesn’t realize you say something until you pinch his neck. 

“Hm?”

“I asked if you were okay. You were brooding,” you tease quietly.

It feels like old times again. “I don’t…brood,” he attempts to defend. 

You snort. “Sure.”

And that’s that. 

Rafe doesn’t really know what to add from that, nor where to start on what he really wants to talk about with you.

It takes everything in him to not scream in frustration. He’s not good with his words, he doesn’t know how to vocalize the sensitivity that he feels in fear of being perceived as weak. He’s only good at physically projecting his anger, his irritation, his emotions that make him feel strong or, more so, his actions that make people fear him and submit to what he wants.

It’s easier that way, to not have to use words to convey what he wants done and what he needs people to do. 

But not with you, never with you. 

“I…” he starts lowly, trying to calculate his thoughts but they’re just a whirlwind in his mind right now. “How have you been?”

Rafe cringes at himself. 

You frown, moving forward with caution at his uneasiness. The classical band plays something slow and melodic and so fucking romantic that it makes you want to throw up. “Good. Really good, actually. Been busy.”

“With?” Rafe attempts.

“With…stuff.”

He swallows. Of course you won’t tell him, why would you?

“How about you?” you ask timidly, noticing his sunken expression. “Are you okay?”

Rafe hesitates.

No, he’s been at his lowest. He’s been losing his mind without you at his side to anchor him to his real self. He’s been lost trying to figure out what you've been up to, why you've been running and hiding from him ever since you got back from your trip all those weeks ago. He’s especially lost in trying to figure out why you've been running with his sister and her annoyingly arrogant Pogue friends. 

Rafe assumes you tell them all your tidbits now, like what you did that day or what show you're watching, talking to them how you used to talk to him.

It makes him sick. He feels like a fucking idiot trying to figure out what he did wrong, always coming up blank on answers but never having the courage to just ask you what the hell happened that rendered such coldness from you. 

“Yeah. Been okay,” he settles on. 

Despite the strain on his voice, you manage to smile at him, but there’s an ounce of worry in your expression that throws him off.

He’s confused: do you still care about him? Is that still on the table? Are you really going to dance around the elephant in the room? Are you going to keep acting like nothing is wrong? Are you ever going to tell him what he did?

“It’s a busy time of year, I wouldn’t-” you start nonchalantly, but Rafe suddenly scoffs at your attempt to small talk with him. This earns a pointed glare. “Is something wrong?”

Rafe scoffs again. “Of course something’s wrong." No going back now. "Everything’s fucking wrong. We’re standing here making useless bullshit small talk as if you haven’t been ignoring me for weeks.”

Curse him and his temper, he wants to immediately apologize for his tone. But you frown even further and loosen your grip around his neck but Rafe tightens his.

“No. We're talking about this. Stop running for a second.”

“Running?” you hiss. “I’m not…I haven’t been-”

“Yes, you have,” Rafe says, trying to stay even but his voice betrays him as it shakes. “I don’t know what’s going on with you but I’m losing my mind because you won’t talk to me, shit, you won’t even look at me anymore.” He shuts his eyes for a moment, gathering himself. “I just…need to know.”

Your frown turns into a thin lipped line. Isn’t this what he wanted? Space? 

Your mind is reeling. On one hand, you're pissed.

How dare he act ignorant to the fact that he was bitching and moaning for some peace and quiet to his friends, how desperate he was to have some space from your oh-so-overwhelming clinginess, how you couldn’t even do your own thing due to how much you depended on him for everything: friends, a social life, style, a personality. Like, what the fuck?

But on the other hand, you sees Rafe. Your Rafe.

The Rafe who climbs through your bedroom window in tears from his father’s vocal bullets, searching for solace and warmth that he simply can’t get in the comfort of his own home. The Rafe who rarely knows how to express himself in anything other than rage because that’s how he was taught to deal with his emotions: through instilling fear. The Rafe who would truly do anything for you if you asked nicely. The Rafe who, behind closed doors, is kind, loving, and sweet when he cares, like getting you your favorite ice cream after you failed your exam or staying up until sunrise with Wheezie finishing the show she’s been raving about.

You sees Rafe, a boy who needs answers. 

“Please.”

His tone of desperation pulls you from your thoughts, a tone he only saves for late night confessions under starlight, just for you. 

You can’t help but teeter between the two hands. 

“Rafe,” you start carefully, “I came home a day early from my trip.”

He frowns. The music is too slow, too beautiful. He’s confused. “You did?”

You nod. “Yes. I wanted to surprise you.”

The gesture is so fucking sweet that it makes Rafe melt in agony. What did he ever do to deserve your love and friendship for as long as he had it?

“I walked around looking for you, and assumed you were in the back with Top and Kelce. You were, but I heard what you said. All of it.”

Rafe reels back in confusion.

What?

What are you talking about?

You notice his confusion and scoffs lightly, the sound heavy with hurt instead of bitterness. “Of course you don’t remember.” You take a breath, replaying the words that have been on repeat in the back of your mind for weeks. “‘It’s been nice to have some peace and quiet without her constantly attached to my hip. The clinginess has really been pissing me off. It's like she can’t do her own thing.’ You don’t remember saying that?”

What?

Rafe's mind is spinning because. What. 

“I…” he starts, but then stops, piecing it together. No, he couldn’t have. 

But you nod, confirming it. “I heard it. So did Wheeze. I didn’t want to make a scene and just figured it would be easier to give you what you wanted. So I backed off. Gave you your space. Found my own footing.”

Rafe stares at you in disbelief. The words come back to him, each one hitting him harder than the last. 

“It’s okay,” you say before Rafe can get a word in, noticing his internal conflict.

He hates the small, understanding smile you're wearing. You should be hitting him or cussing him out.

Instead you're fucking smiling at him, even though it's laced with sadness, it's still a smile. “I’ve…come to terms with it. I just wish you told me I was being too clingy instead of complaining to your friends about it. I would’ve backed off if you asked.” 

Rafe shakes his head, because of course you would do something if he asked you to without any hesitation.

He can’t believe it, how you heard him say something so horrible (and completely untrue) and aren't cursing him out or going around telling people his deepest darkest secrets and demons. He deserves worse. He deserves nothing good after making you feel so unwanted, like you had to completely remove yourself from his life in order to give him what he – seemingly – wanted. 

Rafe can only say your name.

“Really, Rafe,” you say after he can’t form the words he wants, “it’s okay.” 

“No, it’s not,” Rafe snaps, chest heaving. “It’s not fucking… I didn’t mean it.” 

Okay. Now you scoff and he frowns.

You're not gonna sit here and listen to him spew out excuses, bullshit excuses, so he can get back on your good side. You're not gonna forget how those words made you feel. If there's one thing bigger than your ability to hold a grudge, it's the need to defend your dignity.

“If you didn’t mean it, then you wouldn’t have said them – fuck – you wouldn’t have thought them in the first place.” You try to loosen your grip once more to escape but he holds you tighter. You huff. “Rafe, let go. Seriously. I said it was fine. Let me go.”

It isn’t fine, you both know that, but you personally don't want to entertain his fragment words.

But Rafe can’t let you go. Not like this. 

“No, I need to– fuck…” Rafe curses.

Why can’t he just say he’s sorry? Own up to it? Push his pride down? No, because that would mean admitting defeat. That would mean admitting something he’s tried to push down for years and years in fear of ruining your friendship. 

Well, he’s already ruined it, so what’s left to lose? 

You, he realizes. He’s losing you, and he’ll lose you forever if he doesn’t get his shit together at this given moment. 

His chest is heaving, he realizes.

His heart feels like it’s in his throat and he’s gripping you as if you're going to disappear if he lets go. Rafe doesn’t know if it’s better or worse that the world keeps spinning around them. Couples keep slow dancing, people keep laughing and drinking, the song still plays. No one knows what’s going on within your bubble right now, the emotional turmoil sizzling between you both speaking in hushed breaths. 

“I’m sorry,” he says low and heavy with emotion.

You take that as irritation. “You’re sorry you got caught.”

Rafe shakes his head, furrowing his brows as if that’s the dumbest thing he’s ever heard. “No. No. I’m sorry for saying that stupid shit. I didn’t mean it, Snips. Not really.”

The nickname makes your heart leap to your throat, but you swallow it. “Not really?”

Rafe curses. “No, I…fuck-”

“You what? What, Rafe?”

“I–”

“Wanted to impress your friends?”

He grimaces. “No–”

“Needed to brag about how I’m always at your beck and call? Your bitch waiting at your disposal?”

“No!”

You laugh humorlessly. “Then what-?”

“Because I need you more than you need me, and it scares the shit out of me.”

You freeze, your next retort dying in your throat as you look at Rafe's desperate expression.

His eyes bore into yours, those piercing bright blues, and you don't notice until now that his hands have been shaking, his chest is falling up and down rapidly, how the crease in his brow is more prominent than ever. You study him, looking for any signs of duplicitousness but coming up short.

Instead you see how broken he really is. 

Rafe notices your pity and hates the expression, so he shuts his eyes. “I…I think I said it to pretend it was the other way around. That…maybe if I said it and put it in words, I could pretend that you needed me in the same way. I hated the way I felt for those three weeks without you, and it scared the shit out of me.”

Silence. 

Your hand travels from the back of his neck to caress his cheek, which makes him open his eyes to meet your gaze. 

“It doesn’t make it okay,” he quickly adds. “What I said wasn’t okay. At all. I hate that you heard it.”

Rafe leans into your touch instinctively, your palm boring into his cheek. His heart thumps for a different reason now, for your silence. He doesn’t know what to make of it. The tension is thick and he hates the way you don't say anything.

Something foreign pricks in his chest, an unsteady murmur.

“Please, say something,” he pleads pathetically, feeling stupid at the desperation. 

You feel flustered from his words, speechless.

Your heart lurches in your throat at the confession that probably ached in his soul all these weeks, that gnawed at him every time you brushed him off or ignored his messages and did exactly what he was afraid of: leave.

What Rafe said was wrong, very wrong, you know. There’s no if, ands, or buts about it.

Your heart sinks, though, at the thought of him pushing down his feelings, his real feelings, so deep to the point where he was drowning in his own mind. This is the boy you grew up with, who held you when you were upset, who knew your every thought before you could formulate it, who begrudgingly took you to prom after your date stood you up.

Your Rafe, sharing something so raw and scary. 

You hold him with such lightness, such care, murmuring quietly, “Rafe–”

Suddenly, a throat clears next to you.

Rafe's anger flares back up when he sees fucking JJ Maybank looking at you, feeling tidal waves of stupidity and irritation that he confessed something so raw to you. He wants to rip you away from this crowd, from JJ, to talk somewhere in private, to even sit in silence if it means he can hold onto you like this for a little while longer.

Call him selfish. 

“Sorry to…interrupt,” JJ says, darting his gaze between the two of you, finally settling on you after a moment of taking in…whatever was happening here. “We gotta go. Now. Rumlow pushed our slot up.”

Your hand falls from Rafe's cheek and he gets even more irritated. What business does JJ Maybank have with you? Who the fuck is Rumlow?

You step away from Rafe and, this time, he lets you. “What? You’re kidding.” You groan and curse, “The whole deal about winning Greengate was that we’d get first pick of the Stonepit slot.”

JJ huffs. “Freddie slid him a fifty to make sure we go right after his band, so second to last.”

Band? Rafe furrows his brows. 

His confusion is put on the back burner as you ball your fists tight at your side. “Damn it.” Then, you take a deep breath. “Okay. Let’s go out the back.”

JJ glances at Rafe wearily, whose stare couldn’t be more piercing. “Uh, what about your stuff?”

“It’s at the table. My mom will definitely ask too many questions.”

“Blame the period?”

You snort. “You still clearly know nothing about women. Not believable. Best chance is to just slip out. I’ll deal with my mom later.” 

JJ moves to leave, walking a few steps away until he notices you aren't following. You hesitate, looking up at Rafe who has been awfully quiet and confused, watching your conversation happen in front of him. His blue eyes bore into yours, a twinge of pain hidden within his features that makes your heart lurch.

You have the sudden inclination to grab his hand, to comfort him for a moment more. 

Silence. 

Clearing his throat once more, JJ rubs his forehead at the tension between the two. “Uh, I’ll give you guys a minute.” He shoots Rafe a warning glare, one that makes Rafe narrow his eyes, before turning his attention back to you. “Meet us out back when you’re done.”

And like that, JJ walks off the dance floor and disappears through the staff doorway.

His absence is felt, the air thick between you and Rafe as unspoken words yearn to come into fruition. The slow, romantic melody continues to play as couples sway around you and the emotion behind it makes your tummy feel weird. 

“You’re leaving?” Rafe manages to ask thickly, the words feeling like lead in his throat. "With...Maybank?"

You look up at him once more, and this time, you actually do grab his hand.

He gazes down at your intertwined fingers as your other hand comes up to graze his knuckles, fingertips smoothing over his rough, calloused skin in such a delicate manner it allows him to breathe for a moment. Your cool rings feel like ice against his hot skin, and he nearly flinches from the contrasting feeling. 

Your next words are cautious and slow. “You’re truly sorry?”

“Yes,” he immediately answers. “More than you’ll ever know. More than I’ll ever be able to say.” Rafe squeezes your hand. “Let me make it up to you. Please.”

You meet his gaze.

His pretty blues no longer glisten with sadness, but instead hold their own. Promising. Genuine. Home. You find herself suppressing a smile because, fuck, you missed him more than you'd like to admit. 

Glancing back towards the family’s table, you notice your parents are still talking to Rafe's, the waiter coming over to top off their drinks as they obnoxiously laugh over something that probably wasn’t very funny. Nevertheless, they’re distracted for the night and clearly not caring about the whereabouts of their children. 

An idea - a really stupid idea - pops into your head when you turns back to Rafe, a newfound determination gleaming in your eye that he only knows as trouble. 

“Come with me.”

Rafe's lips part in confusion. “You want me to?” Then, more uncertain. "With...them?"

Pushing down the impending fight night that'll probably happen between him and the Pogues, you quirk a brow as you teasingly squeeze his hand.

“Thought you wanted to make it up to me.”

“‘F course.”

“Then let’s get into some trouble.”

He finds himself narrowing his gaze, but there’s no real strictness behind it as he tries to suppress a smile. “Snips, what are you getting me into?”

You tilt your head to the side and bite the inside of your cheek, taking one last glance at your parents – more occupied than ever – before you start pulling Rafe off the dance floor, dragging him through the crowd and through the same staff door that JJ disappeared into earlier.

You don't let go of his hand as you swerve past the catering staff and waiters, beelining for the backdoor leading to the alley. 

Noses scrunch at the smell, reeking of garbage, cigarettes, and gas. It’s not the worst thing out there, no, because Rafe tries his best not to grimace when he sees your new group of friends, the Pogues he oh-so despises, hanging by their clown minivan as they all change out of their catering uniform into their own clothes, their performance clothes, just shamelessly half naked and laughing as if it isn’t ridiculously intimate. 

Sarah is slipping her ripped jeans on under her dress and shimmying on a tank, a cigarette poking through her plump lips. Kiara is applying lip liner in mirror, perched in the passenger seat. John B. finishes buckling his belt, taking the cigarette out of Sarah's mouth to take his own hit. Pope is sitting in the driver’s seat, drumming his thumbs on the steering wheel and checking the time on his watch anxiously. JJ's putting on a shirt when he sees you and Rafe emerge, hand in hand. 

“Country Club, you comin’ with?” JJ teases as he throws his ratty t-shirt on, wearing a smirk that Rafe wants to smack off his stupid face. 

You speak before Rafe can start an argument. “Guys, Rafe's gonna tag along tonight. Any issues?”

Everyone stops what they’re doing to stare between you and Rafe, and he squirms under their judgemental stare. He knows he hasn’t been the nicest to them, and vice versa, as their social circles often clashed with ferocity. He also knows that they’re aware of the previous animosity with you based on the way the girls, Kiara and his own damn sister, are glaring at him with such a deep warning that it makes him shiver. 

It’s Pope who breaks the silence. “I don’t give a fuck if he shits gold. We need to go now if we want to warm up.”

JJ snorts. “We’d be lucky to make curtain call.”

“Have some hope, Jay,” Kiara mumbles to not mess up her lipliner. “Pessimism gives you crows feet.”

Sarah hums low as she steals the cigarette back from John B., who looks Rafe up and down. The two of them have had their fair share of qualms. Rafe truly can't keep track of how many times he's gotten a black eye from his sister's boyfriend, and vice versa.

But, no, he can't be getting into fights tonight. Not while he's on your probation.

Pope groans and rolls his eyes. “Crows can’t drive. Now, can we please all get in the car before that shitbag gives our slot away?”

It's muscle memory when Rafe lunches forward to snatch the cigarette from Sarah's mouth, throwing out the cigarette butt onto the concrete with a narrow gaze. She sends him an eye roll, but wordlessly climbs into the minivan with John B. behind her, and to Rafe's surprise, all of the back seats are folded down so they all sit in a circle in the trunk.

His mind races at the hazardous set up.

You notice his concern as you sit down next to him, stifling a laugh and squeezing his hand once out of comfort, pulling it back before Rafe can even process what is happening. 

“We throw all the instruments back here, so the seats stay down,” you say softly, just to him. Rafe straightens up a little, feeling a sense of pride that you're only talking to him. “You get used to it after a while.”

But that beaming pride doesn’t last long as JJ sits on the other side of you, a little too close for his liking, smirking at the two of you.

Rafe bites his tongue as the blond grins toothily at him. “Don’t worry, Country Club. You can hold my hand if you get scared,” JJ teases, wiggling his fingers at him. 

Rafe rolls his eyes and fights the urge to jump him right here and now. The only thing pulling him back to reality is the sound of your laughter.

“Fuck off, Maybank,” is all he manages to pathetically muster up in response. 

Pope drives sporadically, ranting about how they’re not gonna make it now that their slot is moved up, how the lights are never green when he needs them to be, how John B. didn’t fill up the gas tank since he was the last one to drive, and so many more complaints that Rafe loses count.

In the back circle, however, they’re talking business and spewing vocabulary Rafe's never even heard of.

John B. is going on about JJ needing to remember to wait a beat before the chorus on their first song, and how Kiara needs to be a second step harmony above you, not just one, and how he himself wants to remember one specific rhythm in a riff he’s been practicing.

Rafe feels a little outdated due to his outright confusion, feeling like he’s at a tennis match just watching them pull out notes back and forth and back and forth. 

It isn’t until Sarah tosses you a bag where Rafe truly short circuits.

Your confusion is apparent when you hold up the bag, raising a pointed brow.

Sarah gestures to the bag. “Change. You won’t have time when we get there. I put in some cute earrings for you.”

Such a Plan A girl, you think, smiling at her as you open the bag: a sultry tank top, black mini skirt, and your mile high boots that you know and love. At the bottom there’s a little baggie full of jewelry.

“Thanks, Sare.” You shuffle to slip your heels off, nudging Rafe's shoulder on accident as you do so. 

He nearly winces when you take the black mini skirt and starts to roll it on under your long, expensive dress, catching a glimpse of your dainty underwear. Next, you let the shoulder straps slip down your goosebump covered arms.

Then, with complete fucking nonchalance, you turn your back to Rafe, cheekily looking over your shoulder at him.

“Zip?”

Rafe stares wide-eyed back at you, his gaze flicking between your dress zipper and your smug expression.

His heart races in his ribcage at the thought of you changing in front of all of these people with no question. It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before, but the fact that you're ready to completely undress in the back of this dingy van has his head spinning. 

JJ snorts, bringing him back down to Earth. “She asked you a question, Country Club. Angel, want me to do it?”

That snaps Rafe out of his trance. His nimble fingers immediately go to the zipper, delicately pulling it down. “Don’t play around, Maybank.”

“CC, you’re my favorite person to play around with.”

“Watch it.”

You roll your eyes at the two. “Alright, brats, let’s simmer. Now, I was thinking–”

Rafe tunes out the rest of what you say when you let your dress slip down off your shoulders, exposing a strapless bra barely fucking covering anything as your long dress pools down on the dirty van floor. Continuing to yap about whatever notes you have, you grab the sultry tank top from the bag and pull it over your head, not breaking your thought process while Rafe's thoughts have been completely broken to begin with.

He coughs quietly to himself to get his shit together, especially when you unapologetically adjust your bra and tank top to how you want it. 

Now dressed, you shift again to sit back down on your ass, brushing Rafe's shoulder once more.

But Pope takes a wild turn, everyone shifting from the force of it. John B. smacks his head on the window as Sarah plummets into him, JJ holds his own as he grabs onto the door handlebar, and you fly into Rafe's lap, his hands instinctively thrown up to catch you, or at least attempt to, as you scramble to get up. 

“Fuck, sorry,” you murmur, placing a hand on his thigh to push yourself up. “You good?”

But JJ's laugh interrupts. “Oh, he’s great.” He holds his fingers up to wiggle at Rafe again, wearing a shit eating grin that, pathetically, turns the tips of Rafe's ears pink. 

He ignores it. “You wanna see great?”

You sit back down on the floor in your original spot, sliding on your socks and boots. “Boys, play nice. You’ll have to get used to each other at some point because you’re both not going anywhere.”

Kiara pipes up from the front seat. “Maybe we can lock them in a closet together. That’s what John B. and Sarah do whenever they fight.” 

“Usually we end up fucking instead of actually making up, but, who knows? That could probably work for you guys, too,” John B. chides, earning a slap to the chest from Sarah.

Rafe rolls his eyes so hard it kickstarts a migraine. 

He feels your hand brushing his thigh as you laugh and, despite his rising temper, it manages to relax Rafe just a fraction. Especially when you lean more into his arm. Christ, your perfume scent is the only thing he can think about. 

Then, Pope makes a screeching halt and everyone is thrown around once more. Before you can fly across the van into Sarah, Rafe grabs you by the waist and pulls you flush against him.

Everyone waits a beat, then two, then sigh in relief when they realize the van isn’t going to be moving anymore. 

Pope turns around with a giant grin. “We’re here, andiamo!”

Everyone blankly stares at him, hair askew and clothes out of place. He frowns at the crowd. 

“What? At least I got us here with ten minutes to spare!”

It only takes one minute for shit to hit the fan. 

It’s already unnerving enough for Rafe to realize where they are: in a dingy basement nightclub in the shitty part of the Cut where he normally wouldn’t even think about coming to.

A slice of anger rises in his throat, to cuss you (and Sarah) out for being so reckless if this is where you've been spending all of your time, in a place that doesn’t feel safe to him in a part of town that isn’t meant for girls like you.

He hates thinking like that, knowing damn well you're capable of protecting yourself – Henry Kennedy's permanently crooked nose can attest to that – but there’s a sliver of primitive instinct in him that wants to constantly protect you, shield you from everything and everyone. If he ever found out something happened to you in a place like this, there's no question that he'd burn it to the ground.

Rafe's hand ghosts over the small of your back when they enter the venue, which earns a finger wiggle from JJ, teasing him. Thank god you don't see it, or Rafe would’ve really had to punch the fucker in the face. 

But the play time’s over when the group watches the slot before them get on stage, the Pogues (including you) collectively booing them and flipping them off. Rafe looks around to see if anyone’s pissed at the Pogues for, once again, creating a public disturbance, but they just sort of let it happen.  

You nudge Rafe, nodding to the lead singer who all but gropes the microphone. “That’s Freddie.”

Rafe studies Freddie: tiny, skinny, shaggy hair and a crooked smile that’s directed right to you. It sends a shiver down his spine, and he immediately straightens up protectively, sizing the scrawny guy up and down, narrowing his fixated gaze as Freddie grabs the mic and introduces their band with a deeper voice than Rafe expected to come out of him. 

“You know,” JJ nudges Rafe as if they’re best buds and he darts his gaze from the spot JJ nudged back up to the blond boy to try and find the audacity in the space between, “Angel here beat him up once. It was one of the greatest things I’ve ever seen in my life. I won ten bucks out of it.”

Rafe quizzically looks between JJ and you, stunned. 

JJ laughs. “What? You didn’t think his teeth are naturally that fucked up, did you?”

But his attention leaves the nuisance and solely focuses on you. Rafe snorts, suppressing a beaming grin. “Snips, how hard did you hit the guy?”

“What?” You feign innocence, shrugging as if the thought of it doesn't make Rafe's head spin. “I hit him as hard as he deserved. He did touch my ass.”

Rafe stills. 

“He what?”

“Easy, Rafey. I took care of it,” you joke. Then you notice the stone cold glare in Rafe's eye as he sizes Freddie up and down, suddenly frowning and grabbing his hand to pull him out of the trance. “Rafe. Jesus. Don’t actually kill the guy.”

JJ's cackle just pisses Rafe off even more, especially when he claps a big, audacious hand on Rafe's tense shoulder. “You know, I wasn’t sure what part Country Club would play in our show tonight. But I think we just found our new bodyguard.”

You squeezes Rafe's hand once. Twice. He relaxes his shoulders, shrugging JJ off but still keeping his hold on you. 

The glue of the group, Pope, claps his hands together. “Personally, I don’t give a fuck about Freddie’s set. Before I get up there and strangle Rumlow myself for being shady, let’s go backstage to–”

All of a sudden, Freddie's band starts playing their set, and the first few notes cause the group to freeze, including you.

“Are they–?” John B. starts in disbelief.

Sarah gasps so dramatically it gives Rafe whiplash. 

Pope grips his hair so hard it might rip out. “I knew it. I knew something was up. Those cock sucking, donkey bastard motherfuck–” 

John B. slams his hand against the wall, cursing. Sarah tilts her head back in frustration. JJ and Kiara attempt to wrangle Pope from jumping on stage from throttling the lead singer. Each Pogue crashes out unexpectedly, though their actions and waterfall curses are drowned out by the amplified music. No one even bats an eye.

Rafe glances from the scene happening with your friends, to the stage, and down to you, brows furrowing in confusion as to why everyone suddenly started crashing out as soon as they stepped in the building, the band on stage playing a song he vaguely recognizes. 

“Uh, what’s going on?”

You watch the stage, unnerved. “They stole our set.”

Rafe follows your gaze beyond the stage, to a burly guy standing behind the curtain, shrugging at you mockingly in a way that makes Rafe straighten up and fight the urge to pull you to his hip.

“What?”

“Our songs. Fuck.” You curl your hands in a fist. “Of course Freddie paid for us to get bumped. He knew our setlist, and paid Rumlow to bump us so we wouldn’t have time to figure something else out.”

Rafe places a cautious hand on your shoulder, testing to see if you'll shake him off. You don't, so he keeps it there and gives a gentle squeeze. “Why would he…do that?”

“Because he’s an asshole, Country Club,” JJ jabs, walking into their conversation with a struggling Pope under his bicep in a headlock. “He knew we’d beat him so he fucked us over.”

John B. joins the circle, clenching and unclenching his fists. “What’s our play?”

“Kill Freddie with a gun,” Pope quips from his headlock, trying to break free but failing. 

Kiara places a hand on Pope's head and Sarah follows, as if they’re trying to summon something. “Use that brain of yours. Think about something other than murdering Freddie for one second.”

It’s JJ who speaks up. “What about using the same set from Greengate?”

“We can’t reuse those songs, Jay,” Kiara murmurs, lost in thought. “We’d get points off.”

“What about ‘I’d Rather Die’?” Sarah suggests, rubbing Pope's head like a crystal ball. 

Kiara's face upticks in disgust. “That song is way too outdated. The ratio between boys and girls is too drastic, we need more girls here for that song to hit.”

“Pink Floyd?” John B. suggests. “Or even Zeppelin. Something to get people on their feet.”

Rafe watches the group like a tennis match, gaze shifting from person to person as they spew out ideas that ultimately get rejected due to some reasonable excuse. He can feel their anxiety radiating off of them, bubbling in the air between them. He hates the way your brow is permanently furrowed, lost in thought yet pinched a fraction in worry.

Sure, he has no idea what’s going on, nor can he really offer any help, but he hates the dejected look on your face. 

Before he can speak and embarrass himself, Pope squeaks from underneath JJ's arm. 

“What about our originals?”

The group ceases their arguing, freezing as the only sound heard is Freddie’s not-so-bad singing voice, singing their songs. They gawk at each other, waiting for someone to bring up a counter argument but no one offers one.

Noticing the contemplation, Pope wiggles to free himself from the headlock and JJ eventually lets him, joining the circle and stretching his neck from the kinks. He shoots JJ a glare that has him throwing his hands up in surrender. 

“It could work,” Pope defends cautiously. “I have the hard drive with all the backing vocals on it. We’ll still have Sarah, Kie, and JJ on backup vocals, but I can relay Angel's adlibs and prerecorded harmonies during the performance.”

Pope's the tech guy, Rafe realizes. The guy behind the curtain, and it suddenly makes so much sense why his anxiety was severely heightened on the drive here: he has to manage the sound check, the back tracks, the entire performance. Despite the guy being a little crazy, Rafe can’t help but nod in respect despite the tense moment. The group is right to elect him as the brains of the group. 

You speak up so quietly Rafe barely hears you. “We’ve never shown anyone our originals.”

Nerves prick at your voice, straining it.

It doesn’t take an idiot to notice your apprehension, even Rafe, who has no idea what’s happening. You don't even want to look at him, at the concerned look you know he’s wearing.

There’s a lot of fear surrounding the originals, mainly because they’re your originals that you wrote sporadically in journals over the last few months, never expecting the words to actually see the light of day. Recording and creating their own originals was more of a passion project, something never meant for the general public to hear.

Especially when the words on the page were mainly about the guy standing next to you. 

What if they’re not as good as your friends say they are? What if the recordings don’t match up with the live audio? What if the judges and crowd hate it, ruining their chances of winning the competition and getting the money? 

Kiara is the first to move towards you, gripping your hand so tight it hurts. “We should. We all worked really hard on them.”

“Kie’s right,” Sarah pipes up. “Plus, it kind of gives us an advantage. Shows people we actually give a shit, and we’ll surprise them.” She leans against John B., who wraps an arm around her and holds tightly. 

Pope holds his arms out in a well? gesture. 

JJ beams, latching one hand onto Rafe's shoulder and the other on John B's, shaking them as he whoops.

Rafe almost shoves him off with his death glare alone, annoyed with his assumed immunity since you'd break up any sort of fighting that could happen. Plus, he's really trying to be on your good side, to get back in your good graces, even if this blond fuck is making it really, really difficult not to drop everything and deck him across the face right now.

“I’m all in. I vote we do ‘Guilty Pleasure’, ‘Transparentsoul’, and ‘Misery Business’. Those will get the crowd bumping.”

You snap her head up. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope. And in that order.”

Pope nods. “That works. I can do that.” His anxious gaze darts from the stage and back to the circle. “I need to know right now so I can start setting it up. Pinkies?”

JJ holds his left pinky up first, his hand still resting on Rafe's tall shoulder. He attempts to tickle Rafe's ear until he gets shoved off. John B. holds up his pinky, actually sticking it in JJ's ear. Sarah and Kiara follow, wiggling their pinkies at you, who hasn’t held up anything yet.

With a sigh of great reluctance, your eyes meet Rafe's for a fraction of a second before you hold up your own pinky, grimacing when JJ whoops. 

“Country Club, you in?”

Rafe blinks out of his daze of staring at you, looking up to face the group who are all looking at him in expectation. His heart skips a beat. “Uh, wh–?”

JJ nods towards his hand. “Bodyguards get a say too. What’s your move?”

Rafe hates the way his face feels warm, and he thanks the world silently for making it dark in this venue. He clears his throat to push away the feeling, holding up his pinky without much convincing as he looks over to you, gazing up at him with your big pleading eyes that makes the room spin. 

Pope claps. “Okay. Good. You guys head back and go to our room, the guitars are in there and so are John B's sticks. CC, you stay with me.”

You grab Rafe's hand quickly, giving it a reassuring squeeze and you're not sure if it’s for him or yourself. Your palms start to grow sweaty due to the pressure of the upcoming performance, so you drop his hand as fast as you grabbed it. Rafe nearly whines at the loss. 

Everyone except Pope starts to move, and instinctively Rafe follows you like a lost puppy, but a strong hand backhands his bicep and Rafe stops, looking at Pope, the culprit who wears a confused look. 

“You’re CC now, you hear me?” Pope commands.

Rafe nearly laughs in his face at this five foot something spitfire barking orders at him, but his smirk slowly fades when he sees the craziness behind Pope's eyes.

He remembers the way he drove the band here, nearly killing all of them, as well as how he was seconds away from jumping the stage and taking out everybody in his line of sight, an aura of scrappiness surrounding him that makes Rafe believe he would rough up anyone in his path as a street rat would protect its food.

He decides that Pope is not the kind of guy you want on your bad side, not because of physical strength but because his mind would probably come up with something deeply concerning to torture you with. 

Rafe straightens, expression turning serious as he just nods stupidly.

That satisfies Pope. “C’mon. We need to set up.”

To say that the tech stuff is confusing is an understatement, it’s a foreign language.

But Pope seems to know what he’s doing, and all Rafe can do is watch, ask questions that he probably assumes are stupid due to the way Pope snorts as if there’s an obvious answer, and scan the crowd looking for you. He’s unnerved that he doesn’t know where you are, especially when he knows you've been hit on quite ferociously before, which makes his cheek hurt from the way he’s biting it. He doesn’t have a great view of the crowd but tries to crane his neck to see out from the side of the stage. 

All he sees is Freddie’s band exiting the stage, right towards them. His black beaded eyes meet Rafe's piercing blues, and he straightens up, fury bubbling in his chest after remembering what he did to you. His girl.

Freddie sleazily sizes Rafe up and down before clapping Pope on the shoulder. “You guys hire a guard dog?”

“Yeah, something like that,” Pope mumbles distractedly, his eyes not leaving his computer and sound board panel in front of him. “Nice set, by the way. Sounded familiar.”

“Ah, that old thing?” the douchebag laughs. “Came up with it all on my own. Just another stroke of my ingenuity.” He then pauses, noticing Rafe's button down rolled up to his elbows and dress pants, which makes him chuckle darkly. “Lookin’ pretty Kook-y for a lap dog. Wanna twirl for me, pretty?”

“Careful,” warns Pope, still fumbling with his sound board. “He bites.”

Freddie holds his hands up in surrender and it takes everything in Rafe not to knock the guy out cold where he stands. Noticing the gleam of unbridled fury in Rafe's gaze, Freddie takes a step back, partly in fear. “Alright, I’ll heel.” He finally looks at Pope as he stalks away. “Can’t wait to see what you guys planned.”

His words fade as he disappears into the crowd, Rafe noticing he's immediately handed a drink and a girl saunters into his other arm. He scoffs, fingernails digging so harshly into his palms he’s sure to draw blood.

The thought of that douchebag laying so much as a fingertip on you makes his blood boil, his heart lurching in his throat in regret that he didn’t lay out the bastard while he had the chance. 

“At ease, CC,” Pope murmurs. “You’ll get a crack at him one day. But not right now. Here, I need you to hold this button for me.”

After completing Pope's various tasks, the lights dim on stage. It piques Rafe's attention as he sees five silhouettes sneak onto the platform, noticing the glittery undertones of your top as you march right up to the mic.

The lights fade in ever so slowly, but the crowd recognizes them instantly as they begin to hoot and holler and cheer in a way that surprises Rafe. He reels and suppresses a beaming smile that, holy shit, his girl is…kinda famous? 

“Hi Gally’s,” you purr into the mic, the vibrato making Rafe's heart skip a beat. You look so goddamn pretty it hurts. “Didn’t expect to see us so soon, hm?”

The crowd jeers at your improv. You twirl the mic chord and whimsically stalks back and forth on stage, playing into the bit. 

“Now, I know you guys love to hear the stuff we usually play, and I only know that because of all the free drinks we get after we finish.” 

Someone in the crowd whistles, causing you to breathlessly chuckle into the mic. 

“And as much as we appreciate your love, we thought we’d do something a little different tonight. Instead of covers, we’ll be singing our own stuff. Hope you enjoy.”

Rafe catches a glimpse of Freddie’s face in the crowd and stifles a laugh. There’s no longer teasing amusement coating his eyes, instead it’s fear.

And if you're nervous, Rafe can’t tell because you carry yourself as a beaming enigma that can’t be brought down, a supernova. Your cheshire cat smile is enough to pierce through any heart willing to give into you. 

JJ's on guitar and he meets Pope's gaze, who counts down on his fingers, three, two, one, then Pope hits a button as JJ plays the opening notes to the song. Rafe realizes Pope cued backtrack vocals, a soprano yodeling fading into the audio. It starts slow, the spotlight beaming onto you as you start to sing low and sultry.

You get to a particular line that has Rafe raising his brows: “I fantasize what we would do, and how would it taste and the way you move–”

His breath hitches.

“--Oh, but some good girls do bad things too,” you sing slowly. 

Damn you, because you find Rafe's eyes and throw him a quick wink that has his knees nearly buckling.

You spin around to face the crowd as the lights beam on, coating the entire stage as everyone gets cued in. John B's on drums, Sarah's on backing vocals and keyboard, Jackie’s on his guitar, Kiara's on backing vocals and the bass. 

“I want this like a cigarette. Can we drag it out and never quit? And, oh my god, you are heaven sent with your dirty mind, yeah, you’re perverted.”

The song is good. Too good. The people in the crowd are feeling it, cheering and jumping and clinking beers. It could also be the way you're bending over and twirling on stage like you own the place, regardless of rhyme or reason or anything under the sun. 

Rafe watches you with a stupid grin that he can’t suppress, because here you are in all of your glory.

He can’t believe this is what he was missing out on, this is what you've been up to: looking too damn fine in a mini skirt and boots with a voice like honey, spice, and nothing nice, especially with that glint of trouble in your eye that means you're up to no good. 

“Feels like pornography watching you try on jeans,” you sing after the guilty pleasure chorus, and it has him reeling. 

You've totally been jean shopping with him before on multiple occasions. You always claimed to know what style was trending so you insisted on accompanying him whenever you felt his pants were getting a little outdated.

Rafe never thought anything of it, as you both went out and bought stuff together all the time, tried on clothes in the same dressing room, gave opinions on items and then went about their day as if nothing was intimate about it.

“You’re a pothead, you’re a cinephile, it’s been a while since you turned up the dial.”

Jesus, he knows he’s wearing a ridiculous expression on his face as his mind catches up to the notion that, shit, is there any way this is about him?

Rafe's head spins with two distinct things: is this about him, and if the answer is yes, then, holy shit, do you like him? Is he your guilty pleasure? Do you feel the same? Have you suppressed years of a school-girl crush like he has in fear of fucking up the one good thing in his life? Have you both been wasting all this time dancing around each other, caught up in the will-they, won’t-they?

Then he freezes. He doesn’t know if you wrote this one. It easily could've been Sarah or Kiara. Why would you? Why would he automatically assume that?

Rafe sucks in a breath of clarity. He shouldn’t assume it’s about him just because you're the one singing it. Maybe Sarah did write it about John B.. Disgustingly, Rafe wouldn’t be surprised, with the way that they look at each other. 

After a whole chorus of disassociated reeling, Pope nudges Rafe, shaking him from his trance as you keep on vexxing. "Chill. It’s about you. No need to stress.”

Rafe coughs, covering up his dumbfounded expression as he watches you in a different light now, a deeper one.

The bridge is just a vocal array of chaos, Sarah and Kiara and even fucking JJ belting yeahs as you fucking yodel, voice breaking in and out of pitch as you shut her eyes, avoiding looking in Rafe and Pope's direction. You belts your last hey, the chords in your neck prominent as you pour your soul into the note.

The backing vocals, the prerecorded harmonies, your powerful belt– it’s all too much and the realization hits him like a truck. 

He’s in love with you. 

You suck in a big breath after your long note, diving right back in. “You give me guilty, guilty pleasure.”

You repeat the line, over, and over, and over again until you build up to the end, “Pleasure, pleasure.”

Then you suck in a big breath, practically moaning, “Pleasure!”

The crowd wastes no time roaring their applause, hooting and hollering tremendously louder than they did for Freddie’s performance. You're spinning, as you can barely see three feet in front of you with the spotlight being so bright.

You instinctively looks backstage to Pope to see when he’s cueing the next song, but instead locks eyes with Rafe's piercing blues, wearing a smile so fucking big it makes your heart melt. You feel your cheeks burning red, that song written from the confinements of your journal, not that you'll ever tell him that.

But with the way he’s beaming, you have a feeling that he already pieced it together. 

You jump right into ‘Transparentsoul, starting off with a crazy drum riff that John B. formulated when he was drunk off three margaritas. It’s manic, but fuck, it works too well. You get right back into it, riffing and belting as if your life depends on it. John B's performance is one to note for the books, helping craft a nearly impossible song for drummers to replicate. He switches back and forth from double time, half time, and then free styling in the short breaks in-between right before the chorus. 

The three thumps of the drums and the lingering note from you end the song, sucking in a big breath to steady yourself. The crowd goes crazy, most people pointing to John B. and cheering for him. Sarah walks over to him, placing a messy kiss on his lips that leaves a red lipstick mark on his grinning smile, to which Rafe involuntarily rolls his eyes.

They take their places for the last song, ‘Misery Business’, and you nod to Pope to start the track that begins with a non-instrumental lead. 

Then JJ and Kiara jump into the riffs, this song being more punk rock that allows you room to show some attitude, and attitude you'll give as you see the dejected look on Freddie’s face, angrily sipping his beer with a blonde bimbo hanging off his arm. 

You wrote this one, the lyrics and melody originally being slower and more of a sad ballad.

Pathetically, it’s about Rafe and one of his past girlfriends that you just couldn’t fucking stand for the life of you. She’d ice you out, make you look stupid in front of your friends, belittle you, cling onto Rafe as if he was going to fly away with her and start a life in a different country.

She couldn’t handle being Rafe's second girl, so you showed her what it means to be his first choice, always.

It was originally slower, pitiful, and regretful. But when JJ read them during their pitch meeting, he said it feels angry, vengeful, hateful, and you liked the idea of making it a power ballad. Sure, it strains your vocals on the practical screams, but it’s all for the show. All to emulate the emotion. 

And, god, if Rafe doesn’t smirk the entire time.

He knows this one’s about him because you've fully said to him once that his misery business is finally over, when he told you that he broke up with Ada, his girlfriend of eight months.

Usually he’s the one dripping in jealously when it comes to you, shit, he could barely handle you spending all your time with different friends that weren’t him, but here you are – wearing green like it’s meant for you. And, dammit, if you don't rock green. 

They hit the bridge, and JJ and Kiara absolutely shred it for a few bars until you get real nice and close to the microphone.

“Whoa, I never meant to brag, but I got him where I want him now.” 

Your vocals riff up the line, throaty and raw and angry. 

Oh, and Rafe cannot wait to tease you about this one. He gets (and deserves) an eyeroll when he turns to Pope with a stupid smirk. “This one’s also about me.”

“Congratulations,” Pope deadpans before focusing back on the board. 

You belt out another note, then delivering your last line with that same sultry tone you began the night with. There isn’t even a moment of silence between the end of the song and when the crowd starts cheering – no – roaring in applause.

You linger in it for a moment, taking a breath of relief when you see that they like it. They actually like your stuff. You feels JJ clap a hand on your shoulder, shaking it back and forth in excitement, as Kiara comes up to bow while Sarah ambushes John B. 

You can barely see out in the crowd anyway, the spotlight being unbearable. Taking a step back from the front, you glance over to Rafe and Pope.

Pope prays up to the sky like he always does when he orchestrates another successful performance. And Rafe...

Rafe just stands there with his arms crossed, a cheeky smirk splayed on his lips. That dress shirt does him wonders, and you have to physically roll your eyes in order to tear your gaze away from him. 

Finally, finally, they exit the stage towards Pope and Rafe as the announcer comes up to say that there’s one more band going on before they pick the winners for Stonepit.

Rafe murmurs a good job to everyone – even JJ – as they pass by him. Realistically, he’s waiting for one person who happens to exit the stage last.

And for someone who was so confident and sultry on stage, you sure look sheepish as you approach him. 

Rafe tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear, feeling a fresh sense of confidence that he certainly didn’t have before the performance.

“You could’ve warned me that you were some kind of rockstar.”

“Stop,” is all you can muster, fighting a smile. 

“What? Don’t get all shy on me now.”

You playfully shove him away, but you both know there’s no true malice to it.

The group walks through backstage back to their dressing room. Rafe trails you, this time firmly placing his hand on the small of your back as you weave through other bands and stage managers, and he admits the notion is nothing short of wildly possessive, but he doesn’t care.

You just sang about wanting him twice on stage, so, yeah, he’s gonna make sure they all know who it was all about. 

The group enters their private room, two giant couches and an open space with empty guitar cases and bags full of clothes and makeup. JJ puts his guitar back in the case and collapses on the couch with a dramatic sigh, his grin wide as day. 

Kiara sits next to him, nudging his dropped head so he can readjust for her. “We’re so fucking winning this thing!” she yells, JJ whooping and hooting next to her.

John B. and Sarah shack up on the opposite couch as she practically sits on his lap. Pope squeezes in next to them with an annoyed eye roll but knowing smirk. You move to sit on the couch with Kiara and JJ, and motions for Rafe to sit first since there’s only room for one more. 

So he does. And when you moves to sit on the arm, he grabs your hips so you're planted firmly on his lap.

You roll your eyes and smack his chest. The act is nothing short of normal, there’s been plenty of times where you've sat like this at one of his parties, at family gatherings, on his boat, you name it. But now there’s a new underlying meaning, especially with the way his fingertips are light as feathers against your hips, almost teasing you.

You decide this is your favorite place to sit. Your throne. 

John B. shamelessly fondles Sarah and no one bats an eye. “We have fifteen minutes until we find out. I dapped Sean up before we came in here, so he should be bringing us drinks.”

“Thank god,” JJ groans, letting Kiara mess up his hair and Pope's hair reluctantly. Her boys, happy as sinners in church. 

“You guys were fucking crazy,” Rafe finds himself saying before he can stop himself. You turn your head to look at him softly. “Way better than that piece of shit who went on before you.”

Pope snorts while everyone looks to Rafe in surprise for even saying anything, Sarah looking lovingly at her brother's words. “Country Club scared him away without needing to say anything.” He leans over Kiara to look at JJ. “JJ, I support your decision to elect CC as our official bodyguard. It was great. I didn’t even have to look up or throw a punch or take out my knife or anything. He just…fucked right off.”

JJ hums in satisfaction. “Ah. See, CC? You fit right in.”

Rafe rolls his eyes, but surprisingly there’s no poor intentions behind it. Just mild irritation and a bit of swelling pride. 

Suddenly, the door opens and in comes a buff looking guy with a platter full of beers, Sean, Rafe assumes. Sean sets the beer down on the table between the two couches, wordlessly dapping John B. up one more time before exciting the dressing room. 

You lean forward to grab two, one for you and one for Rafe, and his grip tightens when you bend down enough for him to see a sliver of underwear peeking through.

But you sit back within a second, back flush against his chest as you hand him a beer. He reluctantly takes a hand off of you to grab it, clinking the bottle to yours and taking a sip. 

The group gets lost in conversation about the show, but your gaze focuses on Rafe's, faces inches apart.

Despite the chaotic and irritatingly loud conversation happening in front of them, it’s as if you're the only two in the room.

You look into his piercing blues, his gaze softening when he realizes you're not gonna look away and contribute to your friends’ conversation. His hand is searing hot against your hip, especially when his fingertips play with the hem of your top with eased nonchalance that it makes your head spin.

It’s like a second nature to him, to touch you like this, like you're the only thing that matters in this given moment.

To him, you are. 

God, you missed this. It’s embarrassing how much you do. You know you shouldn’t have, but your dignity is already out the window because you, frankly, forgave him as soon as he brought you on that dance floor. 

“What’re you thinkin’, Snips?” he murmurs, a contrast from the yelling going on around them. 

You purr, the adrenaline from earlier starting to wear off. “I’m happy you came tonight,” is all you say without giving in that easy, even though he probably knows how much you missed him from that performance alone. 

His gaze alternates from looking into your eyes and your lips. He hums, almost distant. “Thank you for letting me. Thank you for sharing it with me, even if it’s just for tonight.”

Your posture straightens when you feel his hand smoothly running up your back, leaving your hip and making it all the way to your flaming cheek, brushing that stray piece of hair away from your face once more and tucking it behind your ear, careful not to brush against any of the piercings that he definitely hasn’t noticed before. Rafe's hand comes back down to ghost over your cheek, his palm barely caressing it, almost afraid.

But you lean into his touch, making the contact for him. He hums low in his throat, almost in praise. 

Rafe's next words send shivers down your spine. “Couldn’t take my eyes off you tonight. Especially when you were singin’ about me.”

Your cheeks unabashedly turn a deep shade of red. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Out of embarrassment because, fuck, you got caught, you go to pull away from his hold but he slides his thumb to your chin and grabs your face gently, holding your gaze to his. 

“Baby, if watching me try on jeans got you all hot and bothered, you could’ve just said so. Instead of, you know, writing a song about it,” he teases as you groan, trying to pull away again but he tightens his grip just slightly. Then, softer, “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Probably had a girlfriend at the time,” you mumble right back, but a knowing smirk forms on your lips. “Wrote another one about that, too. Maybe you’ve heard it?”

Rafe hums in acknowledgement, running his thumb down your chin to the column of your throat, then back up to ghost over your bottom lip.

“Mhm. I have. Might need to hear it again, though. The girl who sang it kept distracting me the whole time. Could barely even think straight,” he admits, his eyes flickering to your lips for a fraction of second before meeting your eyes. 

“Yeah?” you challenge quietly.

“Yeah,” he confirms immediately. “Could barely even stand up knowin’ you feel the same way.”

You quirk a brow. “Hmm? And what way is that?”

“The way I can’t breathe when I’m not with you.”

Your breath hitches in your throat at the confession, the cool-girl facade fading as you take a second to look at him, to really look at him. Your brows furrow when you take note of the sincerity of his tone, or how his eyes don’t leave yours.

Or how his brow furrows and his lips barely part when he shifts his hips and you can suddenly feel him. 

Suddenly you're the only two people in the room, everything else drowning out besides the sound of your syncopated breaths and heartbeats thumping out of ribcages.

Rafe's hand lowers from your face and stalks down your spine, taking its rightful place back on your hip and squeezing ever so slightly. Your beer-free hand instinctively comes up to the back of his neck, fingers splaying on the nape to intertwine with the ends of his longer hair. His chest raises with a particularly deep breath, brushing against your ribcage for a fraction of a moment that sends a shock through your body. 

“Fuck, they’re starting the announcement,” Pope interrupts, causing you and Rafe to jump away from each other of surprise. 

Everyone in the group stands, excitedly bouncing towards the door and running out to the backstage. The last one to leave is JJ, who looks back to hold the door open for them but notices you and Rafe unmoved from your position, looking sheepish as if you've already been caught in a scandal.

After a moment of silence, JJ's face changes from confusion to understanding, and he barks out a short laugh. 

“Ahh. Okay. I get it,” he teases, quickly glancing at the group leaving before turning back to them with a wink. “I’ll put my sock on the doorknob.”

And with that, JJ shuts the door, leaving you and Rafe in the same emotional position as he did when he left you on the dance floor, the thick tension in the air growing between you as you take a moment to stare at the door, prolonging the inevitable.

Eventually, you move your gaze from the door back to Rafe, who’s already staring at you. 

You're nervous all of a sudden, the consequence of flirting and fooling around catching up to you. Months of assuming there were unrequited feelings – feelings you buried deep down to maintain the strongest friendship you've ever, and probably will ever, have – being disproved in the matter of the last twenty minutes.

But now he’s here, sitting pretty in front of you with such a serious expression on his face that it makes you suck in a deep breath at the intensity of it, the gravity of the situation and where it’s about to lead to.

Rafe notices immediately. “Hey,” he says softly, running the pad of his thumb over your hip bone, this time out of comfort. “We don’t need to do anything.” Then, he manages a genuine chuckle. “I just got you back. Being with you is enough f–”

He doesn’t get to finish before you're pressing yourself forward, taking the leap of faith and pressing your lips to his.

Rafe makes a noise of surprise, the words dying in his throat as he stays still for a moment, processing that, holy shit, this is happening. 

You, however, take his apprehension as rejection, and sheepishly begin to pull away.

But Rafe doesn’t let you as he leans forward to kiss you again, leaning far enough to place his beer on the floor without breaking contact. His new free hand allows him to caress your face, greedily pulling your body closer and closer to his to which you let out a noise of surprise.

He swallows the sound, his hand leaving your chin to slowly trickle down your arm and to your hand, where he takes the beer away and reiterates the same action he did with his bottle, allowing you to have your hands free to roam and touch and feel as you shamelessly make out like your lives depend on it.

Your fingers instantly grasp at his dress shirt, wrinkling the nice material as his other hand smooths up your thigh to grip the base of your ass, shamelessly fondling it like he has every right.

And, fuck, you whine so quietly that he barely hears it, but it makes him twitch underneath you.

The sound is music to his ears, so he does it again, and this time you lift your hips off of him, swinging your leg over to straddle and press back down against him, a sensation that sends warmth to your core and makes your eyes roll back. 

“You taste so fucking sweet,” he murmurs against your lips before hungrily taking you back in as he shifts underneath you. 

Hips stilling, you focus on kissing him fervently first, to which he gladly accepts. Rafe manspreads so god forsaken arrogant that it allows you all this room, but also forces your hips to spread wider.

You test the waters, gradually pushing your thighs down to further mold into his body. The act causes your skirt to push up your legs, your underwear shamelessly meeting his slacks right at the zipper as you grind down into him. 

You both moan at the sensation, you stilling with worry that you went too far.

But Rafe death grips your hips as he guides you down again, teasingly urging your body back and forth against him that has you quietly moaning into his mouth. He seizes the opportunity to slip his tongue to meet yours, kisses getting messy, sloppy, dirty. But neither of you seem to care, solely focusing on the high you're both chasing. 

Rafe grips your ass and hips so hard it’ll probably bruise, refraining from letting his hands do what they normally do and dive in recklessly.

He wants to do this right the only way he knows how – by slowing himself down. For you, he needs to be patient. The last thing he wants is to scare you off.

But you sense his reluctance, his hesitation, and nearly groan in frustration. You slow down your pace and find his right hand, putting your hand over his.

Rafe tenses in fear of hurting you, but instead you grip his hand and guide it up your body, over the curve of your ass, under your shirt and up your tummy, fingers splaying over your rib cage and, finally, just stopping under the swell of your breast. 

His breath hitches, then he hums quietly. “Gonna let me touch you there, baby?”

You nod against his lips. “Yes. Anywhere, Rafey. All yours.”

“All mine?”

You nod again, squeezing his hand to wordlessly assure him it’s okay. He mirrors your action, giving your breast a test feel and you sigh in relief.

Jesus. He nearly groans at the sound, the feel, the everything that’s happening right now. He doesn’t have a moment to process it because your hands are traveling further and further down his chest until they toy with the belt of his pants.

You tease him, running your fingers delicately under the waistline of his underwear, cool hands smoothing over his warm skin. Rafe unintentionally bucks his hips up at the sensation, his lips parting all pretty in a way that makes you cheshire-cat smile. 

“Am I yours, pretty?” you mumble, low and teasing, relishing in his fucked out gaze at the mere thought of you touching any lower.

He nods dumbly and you reel with the sight of it. It makes your tummy pool with anticipation.

“Will you let me?”

“Fuck, always,” he manages pathetically, chest heaving as he watches you undo his belt and zipper. Rafe nearly whines when your fingers ghost over his length, barely even touching him and you've got him a writhing mess. “Makin’ me go crazy, looking at me like that.”

You frown, feigning naitivity. “Like what?” you pout, pressing your thumb to his tip through his boxers that has him gasping in the shell of your ear. “Am I gonna have to ask nicely? Or will you be good?”

Slowly feeling him up over his boxers, Rafe bites his lip so hard he’s sure he’s gonna draw blood.

“You’re being a real fucking brat right now.”

“Hm? Am I?”

You squeeze around his length, causing him to huff, getting sick of the anticipation and just wanting to pin you down on this couch and make you eat your words. “Yes.”

Then you tilt your head so you can meet his gaze, taking note of his brows furrowed in frustration, and you can’t help but smile for knowing every trick in the book to push his buttons. 

“So punish me then,” you purr, sending chills down his spine. 

Before Rafe can pick you up and throw you down on the dingy couch, the door swings open and his irritation sky rockets as your friends hoot and holler obnoxiously, flooding the room.

Your pretty little fingers leave his boxers and settle on his tummy, your arm shielding the compromising hand placement.

Pope holds an envelope, undoubtedly filled with the money the first place winner is promised, while JJ thrusts a makeshift trophy in the air as if it’s the Stanley Cup. John B. holds Sarah bridal style, settling in on the couch across from you. Kiara runs over to the pair, ignoring the scandalous scene in front of her and gripping you by the shoulders and shaking you in such ferocious motion that it makes Rafe wince. 

“We fucking won!” she shrieks. “The whole damn thing!”

You beam, ignoring the fact that your skirt is pushed past your hips and that Rafe's hand is settled on your ass and how his belt is unbuckled. “You’re kidding?”

Pope waves the envelope in your face. “You should’a seen Freddie’s face. I wish I had a picture of it, I’d print it out and leave it on his doorstep every day for the rest of his life. Stupid fuckin’ prick.” He waves the envelope once in front of your face then in front of Rafe's face, then pulls back and starts doing it to everyone individually. 

What makes this whole situation worse for Rafe is that JJ decides to sit right next to you both, exhaling as if he’s had a long day at work.

In his nimble fingers, he admires the trophy that looks like a third grader made it, sighing and smiling. You make no effort to move or conceal what you were doing, so Rafe tries to push down your skirt to cover up a little bit with a huff, irritated even further that JJ's arm is brushing against Rafe's.

Oh, the audacity-

“Oh! Hey, guys. Didn’t see you here,” JJ says. He holds up the trophy. “You see this? Pretty fucking sick, right?”

“It would still be pretty fucking sick if you were three feet away from us,” Rafe spats, gripping onto you so tight to hold back from knocking his teeth in.

JJ pushes his luck by gasping and nudging Rafe's shoulder. “Aw? You like it, too? I knew you had a soft spot, Country Club.”

You laugh, chest bumping Rafe's in the process. “JJ, you could’ve at least knocked to let us know you guys were back,” you scold playfully, wrapping your arms around Rafe's neck and smushing your cheeks together, which makes the situation a little better.

Besides, it gives Rafe a better grip on your skirt, pulling it down over your ass successfully.

“Oh, please,” JJ chuckles. “No one gives a shit if you were fist deep in here. Sarah and John B. basically fuck all the time in front of us. We’ve seen more scandalous stuff than this, guys.” JJ gestures to their position. “Honestly, it’s a bit prude in comparison. We were brainstorming that there would at least be an ass in the air,” he teases, then wiggles his fingers at Rafe, “whose ass, we didn’t specify.”

Rafe seethes. “Anybody ever tell you to shut the fuck up and mind your own business?”

“All the time, actually.”

Rafe rolls his eyes and you hum in contentment, knowing that this is going to be their version of getting along from now on. 

The group lingers in the room for another hour or so, as you remain in your rightful place on Rafe's lap with the exception of getting up to use the bathroom with Sarah.

During your absence, JJ relentlessly teased Rafe when he fixed his slacks and belt to zip them back up. John B. jabbed that, hey, at least he was getting some, and for that he earned Rafe's slight respect.

Pope had complained that it wasn’t anything they weren’t used to seeing, then shooting John B. the most diabolical glare he could muster. Kiara had cooed that it was nice to see you so giddy and smiley, and Rafe liked the way it made him feel. 

Rafe can, truly, complain all he wants, but your friends aren’t that bad.

With the exception of JJ being the most annoying human being to grace the planet, but the others are situationally tolerable, including his sister who he (really) enjoys spending time with.

Plus, Rafe likes the smile that you wear when you're around them, a smile once reserved just for him. As much as he wants to be selfish and have it all for himself, he knows what it’s like to be on the receiving end of one. It’s glorious. He likes that you share it with the people you care about, even though he really hates sharing. 

You come back with Sarah and retake your seat on his lap, Rafe wrapping his arms around your middle to pull you back flush against his chest. He places a gentle kiss on your exposed shoulder, relishing in the moment.

You turn to look at him, a soft look in your eye. 

“Hi,” you say quietly, bringing your hand up to brush some hair out of his face. 

“Hey, Snips” he responds even quieter, resting his chin against your shoulder. He notices your sleepy expression and manages a small smile. “Tired?” 

You nod slowly, mirroring his smile. “Had a long day, if you could imagine.”

He hums. “Hm. No. Wanna tell me about it?”

You yawn, and before you can say anything, someone claps.

“That’s our cue,” Pope interrupts, suddenly standing. “Everyone in the van.”

Everyone groans, JJ louder than everybody else. “No! C’mon, man we’re just getting–” he interrupts himself with his own yawn, “--started.”

Pope simply shakes his head.

Minutes later, they’re all in the car packed to the brim with bodies and equipment. A little while later, the van stops in front of your house, the low whir of the engine being the only thing heard on the quiet street. Pope shuts the lights off and puts the car in park, John B. opening the heavy door with ease. 

Pope turns around to look at Rafe awkwardly. “You, uh, going home? I can drop you off with Sarah.”

You stand and exit the van, speaking before Rafe can. “He's staying with me,” you say, shooting Rafe a knowing look. 

Rafe quietly sighs in relief, since the idea of going home alone crossed his mind more than once and he did not like the thought one bit. So, without further coaxing, he exits the van behind you and slides an arm around your waist. 

“Uh, congrats on tonight,” Rafe says awkwardly. “It was great.”

“Such enthusiastic words, Country Club,” JJ taunts. “We were serious about that bodyguard offer if you’re up for it. Unless you’re scared of jackasses like Freddie.”

“You just can’t get enough of me, huh, Maybank?”

You roll her eyes, lazily pushing Rafe towards your house. “Okay, recess is over. I’ll see you guys on Sunday for the fire.”

The group choruses a goodbyes to Rafe, goodbye Country Club to Rafe (along with a quiet yet grateful 'bye, Rafe' from Sarah), and the two of you head up the driveway towards your house. 

You both sneak in the way you've always snuck in, climbing up the porch gate and onto your balcony (with Rafe's help, of course), as you quietly slip into the confinements of your room. Granted, your heavily decorated bedroom is on the opposite side of the house from your parents’ but you're always extra careful to avoid any suspicion. 

Standing in the dimly lit room, you sigh and shut your eyes, fatigue coming over you more harshly than you'd prefer, swaying gently when you feel Rafe's cool hands steadying you on your hips.

Then, you feel him hug you, his broad shoulders caging you in as he rubs his hands up and down your back soothingly, placing a chaste kiss on the crown of your head. God, it feels so nice and your knees nearly give out at how much you missed this, missed him.

“Let’s go to bed, yeah?”

You nod against his chest, drunk off the way you feel in his arms, letting him gently push you to sit on the edge of the bed while he grabs your favorite pajamas from the bottom drawer.

He comes back over to you, kneeling in front as he sets the pajamas down next to you. First he unzips your boots, delicately pulling your feet out of the shoe and rolling your socks off over her heel and past your toes. 

Once they’re off, Rafe gently taps her knee. “Hey. Your pajamas are ready.”

You pout. “Can you do it?”

Rafe lazily grins, his hands running up and down your thighs gingerly. “Of course, baby. Arms up.”

You do as you're told, raising your arms over your head as Rafe pushes your tank top up past your rib cage, over your bra, and up over your shoulders until it’s off. It leaves you in your bra, one that he caught a glimpse of earlier in the van, but he doesn’t move to pull it off.

Instead, Rafe grabs your pajama shirt, pulling it over your head and covering your torso protectively, then he reaches behind and unclasps the strapless bra, which falls into putty in his hands. He tosses it carelessly to the side.

Rafe pats your thigh gently. “Can you stand for a second?”

You whine in protest, but again do what you're told, pushing yourself up to stand while Rafe stays on his knees. He pushes your mini skirt down your thighs until it pools at your ankles, making him eye level with your core for a fraction of a moment. It doesn’t last long before he’s coaxing your feet to step through the pajama shorts, pulling them up your legs until they rest comfortably on your hips. 

He presses a chaste kiss to the back of your hand before standing, making his way into your en-suite bathroom to rifle through the drawers, looking for makeup wipes. When Rafe finally finds them, he brings it out to you and gingerly rubs circles on your cheeks, forehead, neck, all over to get the remnants of tonight off your pretty face.

Discarding the wipe in your bedside trash bin, Rafe pushes stray hair pieces out of your face. “All done. You ready?”

You nod gratefully, crawling onto the bed and slipping under the covers on your usually side of the mattress. Rafe quickly undresses out of his dress shirt and slacks, leaving him in his underwear – his normal attire for whenever he sleeps over – turning off the bedside lamp before sliding in next to you, practically caging you in. 

Furrowing your brows in confusion, you hum when you notice the lights are off. Although the befuddlement doesn't translate, because Rafe settles in, wrapping an arm around you and slowly rubbing circles on your back as he slowly gets comfortable in a bed he missed so damn much. 

“Wait, hang on,” you murmur against his neck, “the light’s off.”

“And?”

“Well, I…”

“You wanna sleep with the light on?”

You nearly groan in frustration. “Are we not… finishing what we started earlier?”

Instead of initiating like you want, Rafe simply chuckles, the vibrato rumbling your nerves. He pulls you flush against his chest. “No, baby. Get some rest.”

“But…” You trail off pathetically, almost whining. “I want to.”

“You’re tired.”

You fight a yawn. “No, I’m not.”

“Snips,” he warns. “Sleep.”

“Ugh, Rafe.”

He says your name mockingly, his tone insinuating he’s wearing a lazy grin. 

Your shoulders sag against him as you huff, fanning hot breath over his chest. If you were standing, you probably would’ve stomped your foot, and he definitely would've poked fun at your desperation. 

But not tonight, because the way he’s holding you, shit, you can feel yourself sinking into the mattress.

Nonetheless, you reach out to press a palm on his chest, yawning once more but gently slapping him for emphasis on your next promise.

“Fine. But in the morning, I’m giving you the best head of your life.”

Rafe chuckles, amused at your determination. “Brat. Go to sleep.”

© salem-s please do not copy or replicate work without permission. mdni.

notes this was a long spiel of absolute brain garbage, genuinely. if you understood the snips nickname, shoutout. hope you somewhat enjoyed????

[niennanir]

Listen to your elders

So last week I posted abut the importance of downloading your fic. And then three days later AO3 went down for 24 hours. No one was more weirded out by this than I was. But while y’all were acting like the library at Alexandria was on fire I was reading my download fic and editing chapter eight of Buck, Rogers, and the 21st Century. And also thinking about what I could do to be helpful when the crisis was actually over.

So first off, I’m going to repeat that if you’re going to bookmark a fic, you really need to also download the fic and back it up in a safe place. I just do it automatically now and it’s a good habit to get into.

But let’s talk about some other scenarios. Last October I lost power for over a week after hurricane Ian. Apart from not having internet or A/C I did find plenty to do, I collect books so I had plenty to read, but maybe, unlike me, your favorite comfort reads aren’t sitting on a bookshelf. So let’s do something about that, shall we?

In olden times many long years ago around 1995 we printed off a lot of fic. It was mostly SOP to print a fic you planned to reread and stick it in a three ring binder. And that’s totally valid today too, but you can also make a very nice paperback with a minimum amount of skill and materials.

Let’s start with the download; Go to Ao3 and select your fic, we’ll be working with one of mine. This method works best with one shots, long fic tends to need a more complicated approach. Get yourself an HTML download

Open up the HTML download and select all then copy paste into any word processor. Set the page to landscape and two columns, then change the font to something you find easy to read, this is your book, no judgement. This is all you have to do for layout but I like to play a little bit. I move all the meta, summary, notes to the end and pick out a fun font for the title: 

No time like the present to do a quick proofread. Congratulations, you’ve just created your first typeset. On to the fun part.

Now you’re going to need some materials:  8.5x11in paper ruler one sheet of 12x12 medium card stock (60-80lb) scissors pencil pen or fine tip marker sheet of wax paper white glue two binder clips 2 heavy books or 1 brick butter knife

You’ll also need a printer, if you’re in the US there is almost a 100% chance your local library has a printer you can use if you don’t have your own. None of these materials are expensive and you can literally use cheap copy paper and Elmers glue.

Print your text block, one page per side. Fold the first page in half so that the blank side is inside and the printed side out:

use the butter knife to crease the edge. Repeat on all the sheets. When you’ve finished, stack them up with the raw edge on the left and the folded edge on the right. I used standard copy paper, because you’re only printing on one side there’s no bleed to worry about. Take the text block and line everything up. Use the binder clips to hold the raw edge in place.

Wrap the text block in the wax paper so that the raw edge and binder clips are facing out. I’m going to use my home built book press but you don’t need one, a brick or a couple of books or anything else heavy will work fine.

Once the text block is anchored down, take off he binder clips and get out the glue.

You can use a brush but you don’t need one, smear some glue on that raw edge.

Go make a margarita, watch The Mandalorian, call your mother. Don’t come back for at least an hour

In an hour smear some more glue on there and shift your brick forward so that the whole book is covered. This keeps the paper from warping. While glue part 2 is drying we’ll do the cover. Get out your 12x12 cardstock

Mark the cardstock off at 8.5 inches and cut it. Measure in 5.5 inches from the left and put in a score line with the butter knife (the back edge not the sharp edge)

Carefully fold the score line, this is your front cover. You have some options for the cover title, you can use a cutting machine like a cricut if you have one, you can print out a title on the computer and use carbon paper to transfer the text to the cardstock. I was in a mood so I just freehanded that beoch. Pencil first then in pen.

Take your text block out from under your brick. Line it up against the score mark and mark the second score on the other side of the spine

Fold the score and glue the textblock into the cover at the spine. Once the glue dries up mark the back cover with the pencil and then trim the back cover to fit with your scissors.

Voila:

I’m going to put this baby on the shelf next to the Silmarillion.

The whole process, not counting drying time, took less than an hour.

If you want to make a book of a longer fic, I recommend Renegade Publishing, they have a ton of resources for fan-binders. 

[madamechrissy]

Would you come with me?

Miniseries MASTERLIST

Part One -Part Two - Part Three (finished)

Pairings: Satoru Gojo x F! reader

Summary: You have been Satoru's best friend for such a long time, and one day he asks you a really big favor- marry him. What!?!? Well, Satoru has to take a wife as he's running the Gojo corporation, and what better way to get them off his back than 'marry'? In name only, just best friends living together for a year to calm them down, sounds so perfect and uncomplicated, right!!! Well, living with Satoru Gojo makes you both question everything, is this fake marriage feeling... real? and can you just be friends after this?

CW: NSFT-MDNI- Going to have smut at the end (three parts!) lots of sexual tension, light angst but mostly fluffy, friends to lovers AND marriage of convenience trope lol. Explicit sex, oral sex, it's me so a breed kink, gonna be a miniseries, Satoru is a lil sweetie and a lil freaky ass- falls hard, ya'll both down bad.

WC- 22 k- completed

Preview- click above for the chapters!

“You love me, right?”

You blink a bit, as you stare at Satoru Gojo, he’s been your best friend all throughout high school and even before you’ve known him. You’re sitting across from him, while he’s sipping boba with you, his Gucci shades perched on the bridge of that straight nose, a smirk on his glossy lips. You tilt your head curiously at him, of course you love Satoru, but he only pulls this when he needs a favor.

“What’d you get into this time, Toru?” You demand, he gasps then, affronted, a hand to his chest.

“Excuse me, missy? I’m just asking if you love me.”

You roll your eyes, leaning back in your seat in the little cafe. “Of course, you know I love your goofy ass.”

Satoru takes off his glasses, those swirling blue eyes wrecking you as they have all these years, usually you can put up enough of a barrier not to let them consume you, but apparently you haven’t today. You watch those snowy lashes lower when his eyes bore into you, swirling storms of bright blue, you have to snap yourself out of it.

Being Satoru Gojo’s best friend wasn’t for the weak.

“How much you love me, hmm?”

“What is it you need, an alibi?” He snorts then, shaking his head and wrapping his lips around the straw.

“M’not Suguru, shit… no, I need a really big favor. Like… the biggest favor, but if you agree, I can really make it worth your while.”

“Okay this isn’t a mobster movie, Toru, what is it?” Satoru looks down then, long fingers swirling around the top of his cup, before his eyes snap back to yours.

“What if I said I’d help you with all that student loan debt, and buy you a shiny brand new car?”

“I don’t want your money, I do fine okay?”

“Your car is old enough to drink.”

“Fuck off!” Your glare makes him snort in laughter. “It is not, it’s like… not even old enough to vote… I don’t think.”

“It’s old, sweets. Say you also had a place to stay, for free?”

“Satoru this isn’t Pretty Woman-”

“I love that movie!”

“Satoru! What are you getting at!?” You’re crossing your arms then, raising a brow at the lanky man across from you, whose legs are spread wide in his dark blue dress pants, he’s pulling just a bit at his silky black tie.

Satoru has taken a huge role recently in his family business, the conglomerate that owned a million different things, you know how much he detests it, but once Satoru graduated college his family pushed it more and more. At this point he was thriving, doing most of the work with his father taking much more of a back seat, his health starting to deteriorate.

You and Gojo spend more time together than ever, you know he needs his friend, especially with Suguru having left for some time, the two of them not together was always hard on him. You’d been friends with both of them, but Suguru seems to have left and found his own calling, swinging through to see you both from time to time, but much is different since those days at Tokyo high.

Not you and Satoru though.

For the longest time you pined away for him, but you never made that move, aside from one stolen kiss in a closet during seven minutes in heaven, and Satoru had it bad for you all of Junior and Senior year, but the two of you never risked it, your friendship. And now you’re glad to have him in your life, but it’s hard to even think of someone serious when he’s so brightly and firmly in your life.

“This is a huge favor I need, it’s… a lot to ask.” Satoru murmurs softly, you tense a bit, brows drawing together.

“What’s wrong, is everything okay?” Your voice is a low hum as you murmur, he nods just a bit.

“Yeah it’s fine just… I’m being forced to choose a bride, and they have many candidates.” He laughs humorlessly, and your heart breaks for him.

“Shit, I’m so sorry, Satoru. I thought you’d have longer?”

“Yeah, I wish.” He runs a hand through his silky white locks, looking down for a moment, lips that always smirk or maybe pout actually frowning. “I need to just get it done, get em off my ass.”

“That doesn’t sound like you, why not tell em to fuck themselves, hmm? Where’s my Toru!?”

“He’s exhausted.” He swipes a hand across his face, and you lean closer, hand on his leg, his eyes sliding back to yours.

“Do you want me to help find someone? I have a lot of good friends in high families… find you someone not money hungry, not a psycho? How much time do you even have?”

“That’s not what I'm asking.” He puts his big hand over yours now, sighing, leaning closer to you. “I’m asking if you want to.”

“If I want to, what exactly?”

“Marry me?”

“What!?” He chuckles then, but even that sound is exhausted.

“You forget you’re from a top family, nah it’s not the Gojo clan but…”

“Satoru…”

“Just for like a bit? To get em to leave me alone, let me gain some more power. All for show, and I’ll help you with anything, I promise.” He’s clutching your hand, and suddenly the room feels like it’s spinning.

“Wh-why me? We… you… I…”

“You’re my best friend, it would be like being roommates damn near. You could… do your thing as long as you’re discrete.” He murmurs, you want to laugh then, as if you’ve done anything in a couple of years now. “And I would be discrete, respectful, we’d just be in name, appearance. We’re best friends, it will be a piece of cake, and most of all… I trust you.”

You try to digest all the information, blinking and trying not to think the insane thoughts that come with it, but you fail. “But won’t they want… an heir?”

Satoru’s cheeks flush bright pink now. “We don’t need to… I’d never ask you to do that, ever I swear. I’d never be an ass like that.”

You feel your heart racing as you shove back all of the images you should not have for your friend. “I know, I know. But… they’d-”

“That’s the thing, a year or so and they’ll back off. Give me time to fix some mistakes, with dad being sick… I’m not saying I won’t miss him, but how he is running shit? No, I know I can make things better, take down these shitty higher ups who are so greedy. You just could give me more time, and I promise I’ll do anything I can to help you too.”

“It’s insane, this is marriage!” You blink a bit, shifting, his hand now brushing back a lock of hair from your forehead, a familiar gesture that now takes on something more intimate.

“It can just be for show, we’ll be the same best friends as always. I have no one I can imagine even living with but you, maybe Suguru but… he’s not a girl.”

“He has that long silky hair?” You both laugh a little, softly then.

“He sure does, but… you’re prettier to look at.”

“Flattery? Stop that. It’s insane, and… how would we even explain it in such a rush?”

“We’ve been friends forever. Who wouldn’t believe that we got together? It’s even easier. I mean, maybe a couple kisses and things for show, but… you’ve kissed me before, remember?” He’s grinning wide then, you shove at him playfully. “That closet was cramped, hmm?”

“Oh shut it, that was so long ago. I mean, if you really need me, you know I’ll do this for you. I don’t expect you to go all out on anything for me in return.” Satoru pauses now, watching how the light streaming in through the large cafe windows hits your pretty face, as you explain to him that you’d want nothing in return for this!? For this huge imposition on your life.

You have always been the sweetest, best friend he has had, so important to him he’s never dared to cross that line, and he knows it will tempt him to no end to do this, but he also knows he can trust you. “Let me just take care of a few things for you, you can almost see it as a job. There will be events, meetings with the other leaders, trust me. Like anything I can do, you’ll be helping me so much.”

“Alright.”

“What!?”

He’s hugging you tightly to him, you giggle a bit, breathless. “Yeah, I’ll do it… I need a nice car though, Toru. A BMW?”

“I’ll get you ten BMWs.”

“Jesus, no. Silly boy.” You giggle as you look up at him, your best friend, but then your heart falters when he’s just a bit too close.

“Should we practice kissing now?” He teases, voice husky.

“Satoru, you're insufferable.”

He pouts now, and you swallow down the fact that you don’t know if you can even handle kissing his lips.

permatags: @alt--er--love @seeing-stars-alt @indiewritesxoxo @nanasukii28 @labelt-san @makingtimemine @cuntphoric @loafteaw @aldebrana @n1vi @miizuzu @beachaddict48 gojo: @haruhatake @strychnynegirl @jinjen suggestion from the lovely @bunheadusa

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