#unscripted: the mc

[unscripted-if]

Nice to see a game where MC is not a novice like in most celebrity IFs

Felt like it’d be a fun shift from the usual dynamic— not that I haven’t enjoyed it in the long run!

Thought it’d be an enjoyable to see one where the MC is already at the top and at the precipice of falling instead of at the bottom and needing to climb up.

[thirstkanaphan]

This is one of my favorite Mingi/Yeosang interactions for a few reasons. First, and I forget the context, but they're both being monitored by Hongjoong and San, who are challenged to predict what they'll when left to their own devices.

But Mingi and Yeosang seemingly forget that they're being filmed (to the frustration of San and Hongjoong) and we see a rare "unscripted" moment between them.

This was when Yeosang was one of the MCs for The Show and Mingi offers to see him host and buy him a meal. Yeosang is so pleased by his members' attention, and speaks so softly and sweetly. This is apparently his "off camera" voice, which San is shocked to hear!

Yeosang is like, let's make it a group date! And Mingi is like NO! I'm taking you to dinner alone because I want your attention. I love the way he reaches out to massage Yeosang's leg as he says this.

A really cute moment between them!

[scriptumsempra]

Sighs

Pairing:  Sebastian Sallow x f!MC Word Count: ~ 700 Summary: They swoon. She rolls her eyes. But perhaps there’s something to sigh about, after all. Tags: No Y/N, Fluff, Unspoken Feelings, Subtle Romance, Female MC, Angst with Fluff A/N: This is one of my first-ever fanfics, which, funny enough, was inspired by my good friend’s recent trip to the hospital (he’s completely fine, don’t worry!). English isn’t my first language, so please be kind with any mistakes!

There’s something about Sebastian Sallow.

It’s not his wit, nor is it his natural charm. It’s not the way he adjusts his pace to match hers, or even how he saves her favourite pastry at breakfast.

She wonders what it is.

Is it his brown curls : how they bounce so effortlessly, sometimes wild and unchased, but always knowing how to fall in the right place.

Or is it the freckles scattered across his face, like constellations she’s not meant to trace?

She might be academically gifted, but this still remains a mystery.

How their sighs differ from hers.

They swoon.

She rolls her eyes.

They say he’s irresistible.

She says, “More like insufferable.”

Because here’s the thing.

They say he’s charming.

They mean the kind of charm that drifts in easily—unguarded, unscripted. The offhand remarks, the laughter that slips out mid-sentence, the way he remembers the smallest things people say and brings them up weeks later, like it costs him nothing. He doesn’t try to be noticed. He just is.

It annoys her, frankly. That kind of unconscious appeal. The sort that wraps itself around a room without even meaning to.

And his wit— oh, they love that. The way he always has something clever to say, how he’s never at a loss for words.

But she’s noticed it’s less wit and more… weapon. All edge and flourish. Sarcasm spun like silk. He doesn’t just speak; he parries. He jabs. He deflects.

They say he’s adventurous.

She calls it mischief, plain and simple. He doesn’t crave thrill—he craves trouble. The kind of boy who would charm a stairwell into moving, just to see someone trip. (He has. She did.)

They see him through rose-tinted glass.

She sees the cracks.

And more than that, she sees what everyone else lacks.

Like the time he handed her his last Wiggenweld potion during their midnight escapades—no fuss, no expectations—just knowing she needed it more.

How he once wordlessly reorganised her parchments and secretly annotated her notes when she fell asleep studying Charms, simply because she’d exhausted herself the night before, running other people’s errands.

Or when he quietly slipped a warm scarf around her shoulders after a long walk through the snow, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Little things. Barely-there things.

His acts of service needed no public announcement—quiet, effortless, and entirely hers alone.

And perhaps she could go on rolling her eyes if those were the things he hadn’t done.

If he hadn’t quietly taken the blame when Scribner caught her in the Restricted Section, bearing the consequences without hesitation.

If he hadn’t remembered that she doesn’t like pumpkin juice and swapped hers for tea before she could sit down.

If he hadn’t done all of it so plainly—so unceremoniously—as though it was just natural. Expected. As though caring for her was habit, not effort.

That’s when it starts to shift.

The mischief becomes something else. A kind of stubborn loyalty. A refusal to let the world be unkind to her.

The sarcasm softens too. Still sharp, yes—but sometimes, only for her amusement.

And the charm?

It’s not so irritating now.

Not when she realises he doesn’t offer it to everyone in the same way. Not when she remembers that half of what they sigh over, she’s never seen him do. That some of it—maybe most of it—is just reserved for her.

It flips, then–

All her careful distance, her catalogued faults, her smug dismissal.

Because she’s the one who sees the worst of him, the cracks and the selfishness and the fury, and he’s never hidden any of it.

And still—he sits beside her now, a little too close for comfort. (Not that she’s ever minded.)

Their arms don’t touch. Not quite. But she can feel the heat of him, steady and unbothered.

And then—he looks at her.

Not the grin he gives the others. Not the teasing smirk or the rakish glint in his eye.

Just a genuine smile.

Plain. Bare.

Like he knows she’s been thinking too loudly again.

She looks back.

And maybe that’s the moment it changes.

Maybe that’s when she stops pretending not to know what it is about him.

Maybe that’s when her sigh slips quietly—traitorously—into the chorus of theirs.

Yet, there’s something about Sebastian Sallow.

Still, she dares,

not knowing when—

only that now her sigh has joined theirs.

[huntercoreene]

Unscripted Venture

Pairing: Rafayel x MC

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Rafayel has been away from MC for a few days and she decides to give him a surprise visit – it ends with sex. MC is not named and Rafayel calls her his canon petnames (cutie & miss bodyguard)

In other words, my attempt at trying to make sense of what we hear in Promised Wildfire, and what happens after it ends (spoiler - sex)

Word Count: 5.3k

Tags/Warnings: smut, fluff, cunnilingus, vaginal sex, squirting, safe sex

Read on Ao3 or under the cut 👇

It had been longer than a week since Rafayel had left Linkon. He got dragged from one exhibition to another while I had to go on the hunt for wanderers with almost no break which made it really hard for us to see each other. The moment I found some free time in my schedule I jumped on a plane to visit Rafayel. Now, I was standing in front of his door, my hand raised as I hesitated to knock.

“Really, Thomas? Another last-minute event?” Rafayel’s voice came from the other side of the door. “Well, duh. Of course I can't make it. I gotta return to Linkon tomorrow. Smell you later.”

I smiled as I listened to him whine to Thomas about work. I took a deep breath as he closed the call, straightened my hair and knocked on his door. I eagerly listened as his footsteps came closer and closer when finally Rafayel opened the door.

His expression changed from annoyed to surprised and then to happy in mere seconds. “Cutie, what are you doing here?”

I jumped into his arms just as he opened them. “I’ve missed you too much so I came to see you!”

He pulled me into a hug and lifted me up, taking my feet off the ground. I had wrapped my arms around his neck and held onto him as he twirled me around. “Are we trying for a new, romantic escapade here?” He asked when he finally stopped.

I held his face in between my hands and gave him a big kiss. “Did you like it?”

“This was the perfect surprise,” he said as he closed the door with his foot and carried me to the living room. “How did you know where I was staying?”

“I convinced Thomas to tell me,” I said with a smile as he sat down with me on his lap.

“How did you manage that? Don’t tell me – ah, I’m gonna have to go to that event tomorrow, aren’t I?” He said with a pout.

I settled on his lap with my legs on either side of his hips and brushed his bangs back. “I will come with you though… we can hide somewhere when you get bored of people, and have a little fun of our own,” I said, my voice getting deeper.

“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow. “I guess we can figure that out later — right now, I want to enjoy having you here with me,” he squeezed me tighter and left a kiss to my cheek. “I’m so excited that you're here – you have no idea. It’s almost like butterflies are about to burst from my chest.” He held my hand and brought it down on his heart.

I could feel how fast his heartbeat was. Suddenly the air in the room changed. I felt myself blush when our eyes met, the rainbow colour of his iris was getting swallowed by his dark pupils the longer we gazed at each other. I felt myself leaning in for his lips like I was being pulled by some unseen force.

It started with small kisses on his lips, our breathing getting heavier by the second. I made my way down to his jaw and pushed open collar of his neck. I admired the view of his collarbone before I went down to lick and suck on his skin.

I felt Rafayel’s muscles tense under my touch and he let out a sigh. “Was this sneak attack also part of your surprise?”

I answered him as I left another kiss on his skin, pushing open his collar and making my way lower on his chest.

He grabbed my chin and lifted my head, making me look into his eyes, “your kiss couldn’t stop the butterflies from flying out of my heart,” he leaned in closer to my face, “but this is how you do it,” he whispered just before I felt the touch of his soft lips on mine.

I wrapped my arms around his neck, burying my fingers in the soft strands of his hair as I felt his tongue search for an entrance on my lips. I opened my mouth, allowing him to deepen our kiss and bring us ever closer. I needed to touch him more, it wasn’t enough. My hands wandered back down to his chest, slipping under his shirt. My fingers caressed his chest, lightly stroking over his nipples as I delighted in the moans that escaped his mouth.

Rafayel’s hands were on my back, stroking up and down at first before he slowly slid them down, pressing hard enough on my skin that I could feel his warmth over my clothes. I could feel myself getting wet just from this, a warm and tingly feeling spreading from my belly to my body. I settled myself nicely on his lap, feeling his hard member right under my sex. Rafayel’s hands settled on my ass and squeezed the soft flesh just as I slowly started to grind on his lap.

“Miss Bodyguard,” he said with a sigh, taking off his lips away from my skin to talk, “you’ve given me quite a surprise. How should I repay you?”

“Kiss me,” I breathed out as his lips travelled down to my jaw.

“Sure, I can kiss you,” he whispered as he turned us around and pushed me down on my back. “Let’s start with just above your eyes…” he planted a kiss, adjusting our position to pull me in his embrace fully, “your nose,” he kissed the tip of my nose, making me giggle, “ears.” This time instead of a kiss, I felt him suck and breathe on my ear.

“Ah, Rafayel…”

I felt his chuckle on my skin before he moved back to my lips again, ��and lips too…” he said pulling me into a deep kiss just as another moan escaped my lips. “I’ll make sure to say hello to each of them… it’s been so long, I’ve missed you”

My hands travelled on his back, stroking and making their way to his hair as the sound of our sloppy kisses filled the quiet room. “I missed you, too,” I whispered when I had a moment to breathe.

He kissed me again and again.  It felt like my lips were the only things that could sate his thirst and he was a man parched, lost in a desert. I was feeling dizzy and warm, breathing in his familiar scent, squeezing him because I never wanted to let go. He slowed down after a while and slowly raised up.

“Rafayel,” I protested to the loss of his warmth.

He chuckled and stroked my cheek with his knuckles. “Don’t move. I want to savour this moment.” He gave me a soft kiss. “I’m always scared that you're just a figment of my imagination.” I watched his intense gaze as his eyes travelled my body before settling on my face. He looked down at me like I was a mirage, cupped my cheek like he wanted to make sure I was real.

I leaned my head into his touch as my hands travelled up over his arms, settling on his shirt collar before I pulled him closer. “Mm, why don’t you touch me,” I whispered as I switched our position and settled on his lap before I bent down to lick on his ear, “and find out.”

“Well, you're real,” he giggled, turning his head to find my lips as his arms wrapped me tighter, “and warm. It’s like I'm being enveloped in a pool of water.”

He pulled me into a deep kiss, his mouth moving to my jaw and neck, leaving a wet trail as they went. I felt his head nuzzle my cheek, his soft hair tickling my skin. The more I felt his touch the more colourful the world got. Linkon was so cold and grey without him. “Don’t, go away, again,” I said in a desperate voice. I never wanted to be apart from him.

“I don’t wanna let you go,” he wrapped his arms around my body tighter like he was making his point, “I could hold you like this forever.”

“Oh – really?” I asked with a mischievous smile. My hands stroked down his body as I swiftly pulled his loose tie away from his neck.

“What are you…” he started, a grunt escaping his lips just as I tied up his wrists. “When I said I wouldn’t let go, I wasn’t giving you permission to tie me up, and… you did it with my own tie, no less,” he said, giving me a cheeky smile, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

“This is your punishment for not coming home sooner.” I wrapped the tie around his wrists one more time and leaned in for a kiss as I pushed his arms over his head. “Now, you cannot go anywhere.”

“Fine, fiiine,” he chuckled, adding with a sultry lick of his lips, “punish me however you want, cutie.”

I barely held onto the moan that threatened to escape my lips with the look he was giving me. It was hard to focus on tying him up under his intense gaze. His eyes were like the endless ocean, ready to devour me. I was on top of him, I had his hands bound and yet, I still didn’t feel like I was the one in control. I knew I would fold with just a single word from his lips as long as he looked at me like that.

I swallowed and wrapped the tie to the armrest. He let out an exaggerated groan as I secured the knot. “Ouch… an artist’s wrists are precious, you know, but you're very, very cute right now. I don’t mind being tied up by you.”

I felt my face blush at his compliment, and loosened the knot, worried it was too tight. I slid my hands over his arms, feeling his skin under my  fingers and cupped his face before I leaned in for a kiss. He responded to my kiss, pulling on his bounds and groaned.

I chuckled at his struggle as my mouth left a wet trail of kisses on his skin up to his ear. "You look very cute when you're tied up, too," I breathed out before I sucked on his earlobe.

He moaned and bit his bottom lip as I continued to tease him. He turned his head, looking for my lips as I went back to kissing him. "This shirt is too tight," he said, breathing heavily. "Can you help me unbutton it?”

"Anything for you." I nuzzled my cheek on his face as my fingers found the buttons on his shirt. I kissed my way down as I opened his shirt, making sure to press my palm on his bare chest, feeling every inch of his hot skin.

“It’s still too tight… keep unbuttoning it," he commanded just as I finished opening the last button, my hand dancing on his lower stomach.

"I think we've reached the end of the shirt," I teased, my hand going down only slightly to stroke him over his trousers.

"You know what to do next then, don't you?"

"I don't think I do," I said as I leaned in to kiss his cheek. "You'll need to be more specific."

"Take that naughty hand," he kissed me, "and unbuckle my belt."

I moaned as his words sent a shiver down my body, my hands getting to work on his belt.

"Good girl, now keep unbuttoning."

I quickly unbuttoned and unzipped his trousers, my palm flattening over his boxers, feeling how hard he was. I stroked him over the fabric, my fingers dancing on his stomach, threatening to slip under the waistband.

"Mm, not yet,” Rafayel gave me a warning.

“How are you gonna stop me?” I asked with a smirk as I my hand contained to stroke him over his boxers. ”I hold the power now,” I said as I leaned in to capture his lips, my hands stroking over the bare skin of his chest.

My hands moved up to his hair as we deepened our kiss. I could feel his hips buck at my body the more I touched and grinded on him. My mouth moved from his lips to his jaw and then to his neck. Moans and groans escaped both our lips as I made my way down to his nipples, giving attention to both of them before going further down. My hands followed my lips, feeling as much of his skin as I can. One of them moved further down, feeling his hard cock and stroking it over the fabric again. I continued to kiss my way down. I let my mouth soak his underwear, feeling his hot and hard cock under my tongue while I looked up at Rafayel.

"Getting straight to the point, huh...?" he groaned.

"I'm not breaking any rules," I breathed onto his skin before I kissed right under his naval, feeling his muscles tense up at the slightest of my touch, I saw him throw his head back just as my lips touched the waistband of his boxers.

"We've only been separated for a few days and you somehow managed to become so bold," Rafayel said with a strained voice, “then, does this mean I can also be a little bold..." he whispered to my ear as his mouth trailed wet kisses to my jaw, "and spice things up?"

I was too dazed to realize he had broken free. In one smooth motion he had me in his grasp. “Hey! How did you break free?”

He chuckled and got up with me on his lap. “That's something I can't tell you,” he said as he made his way to the bedroom and gently placed me on the bed. He straddled me and moved his mouth closer to my ear, "a slippery fish like me, can't be caught so easily." He whispered before he sucked on my earlobe.

I moaned at his words as he swiftly bound my hands to the headboard. I could feel his hot breath on my skin and it was setting me on fire. "Rafayel, pleasee..."

He chuckled. "Please what, cutie? Let you go or don't let you go?"

I blushed. "I..." I looked up at him with my best pouty look. "Please, I want to touch you. I can't do that if my hands are bound, can I?”

Another delightful chuckle escaped his lips, making my heart skip a beat at the sound. "At this point, begging or running away won't help."

I pulled on my restraints, partly to get away partly because of how turned on I was under his touch as he planted kisses from my cheek to my lips. “Is it too tight? Are you comfortable?”

“Yes,” I moaned. I wanted to lift my hand and cup his face but my hands were tied. “Don’t worry, keep going.”

He left a kiss to my lips and made his way down slowly. His hands moving up and down on my torso, slipping under my shirt and finally making their way to my breasts. “Ah, Rafayel,” his name escaped my lips as he lightly brushed his finger over my pebbled nipple.

“Mm, enjoying my touch this much, cutie?” he said as he cupped both of my breasts, thumbs stroking over my nipples. “They’re so hard already.”

“That’s because it’s cold in here.”

He chuckled. “It’ll be hot in here soon enough,” he left kisses to my neck, making his way down to the top of the soft flesh of my tits, ”then what will be your excuse?”

I felt blood rush to my face as he continued his exploration. He sucked the skin into his mouth, letting it go with a pop sound then licked and kissed the sensitive skin. One of his hands covered the breast he was just sucking as he moved his focus to the other. He pushed the stubborn hem of my shirt up with annoyance and pulled my bra down, revealing both of my tits to his gaze.

“I only touched this and you're already flushed,” he said with a deep voice, thumb caressing my nipple as he bent down to suck on the other.

“Rafayel…” I whined as his mouth moved to suck on the skin between my tits. I felt his chuckle on my skin as he ignored my whining — which turned into a moan every time he sucked and licked my skin —and made his way to my stomach.

He looked up at me as he made it to the waistband of my skirt. “What is it, cutie?” He left a few kisses that made me tremble, the look he gave me after every kiss sending waves of pleasure through my body.

“I want to touch you,” I said with a whimper as he stroked my legs ever so lightly.

“I'm not done painting a masterpiece on your body, Miss Bodyguard. It is my blank canvas,” he left a wet kiss on my inner thigh before he sucked in the flesh to leave a hickey and then licked the sensitive skin, “and only I get to admire it.”

“I wanna see your beautiful painting,” I pleaded as I gave him my best puppy-eyed look.

“But it’s not finished yet.” He moved his attention to my other leg. “I wanna leave my mark here,” he sucked in my skin and let it go with a pop, “and there… yes everywhere…” he made his way higher on my inner thigh, getting closer and closer to my heat with every touch of his lips, leaving a hickey everywhere his mouth has touched.

“It’s unfair,” I tried my luck again.

He chuckled and rested his head against my thigh as he continued leaving lazy kisses. “What?”

“I want to ‘paint’ on you, too.”

“Alright, I guess you’ve been a good girl so far,” he reached up and untied my hands, “and I need your hands free to take this shirt off.”

I chuckled as I raised my hands and let him take the shirt off of me. “Rafayel!” I was surprised as he picked me up and turned us over, placing me on his lap this time.

“I willingly surrender myself to you. Do with me as you wish.”

I settled myself on his lap, grinding only a little to feel how hard he is under me before I pushed his shirt off his shoulders and threw it to the other side of the room. I placed my hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat right under my palm. His ears and cheeks were flushed, same with mine, when I leaned in for a kiss. My hand moved down on his stomach, feeling his abdomen before slipping beneath his underwear to feel his hardness.

“…you're greedy, aren’t you?”

“Can never have enough of you,” I said as I pushed him on his back.

“Ow!”

“Aw, where did it hurt?” I asked going along with his exaggerated pain, “here?” I kissed his jaw. “Or here?” I sucked on his neck, earning a moan from him then kissed the sensitive skin.

“Mm, cutie, making me surrender isn’t enough,” he breathed, “you also wanna leave your mark on me?”

I looked up at him as I kissed down his chest. “Yes. People should know you're mine,” I said with a hoarse voice before I sucked on his skin, earning another moan.

“Alright, then… don’t miss a single spot…”

I smiled and got to work on worshipping his body. I kissed his chest, licking and lightly sucking both his nipples, feeling the way his heart skips a beat with every touch of my lips. My hands made their way down his stomach, feeling his muscles tense with my touch until I've reached his trousers. I slipped my fingers under the waistband of his underwear, pushing it down as he lifted his hips.

“Don’t you think this is a little bit unfair?” Rafayel said playfully as I moved up on his body.

“What?” I was kissing his neck.

He wrapped his arms around me, his hands finding the clasp of my bra, “I’m all naked now and you still have so many clothing that’s blocking the view of my masterpiece.”

“Why don’t you take them off then?” I whispered before I sucked on his ear.

He groaned as he wrapped his arms tighter, pulling me flush with his body, turning us around in one smooth motion. He pushed the straps of my bra down before taking it off and throwing it to the other side of the room. He leaned in for a kiss, licking my lips with his tongue, urging me to open my mouth. I let him deepen the kiss as I felt his warm hands slid down my body.

He slipped his fingers under the waistband of my skirt and pushed it down, adding it to the mess of clothes around the room. I wrapped my arms around his neck, grinding my hips on his lap as his fingers started to stroke my sex over the thin fabric of my panties.

He hooked one finger to the strap on the side, pulling lightly and letting it snap to my skin, earning a moan from me. “Mm, this is cute. Did you get it for me?” he said, his mouth moving in between kissing my lips to sucking on my skin.

“Yes,” I breathed, “do you like it?”

“Very much,” he said as his fingers continued their strokes, “you're so wet for me.”

“I want you, Rafayel. I need you,” I whimpered.

He groaned, pushing my panties to the side, feeling my clit without a barrier for the first time. “Not yet,” he said before he kissed his way down my body and settled his head between my thighs.

“Oh, Rafa–“ I tried to say his name just as I felt his tongue on my clit. He sucked on the sensitive bud before licking stripes on my cunt. I raised my head to see just as he looked up at me, sending a wave of pleasure to my clit.

He alternated between flicking on my clit and drawing shapes, every so often stimulating me so much that I couldn’t help but pull on his hair. I felt his fingers stroke the side of my pussy lips, making my legs tremble with pleasure just as he pushed a finger inside. He pushed it as deep as he can, waited, then pulled out before pushing it again as I threw my head back. He slowly started to pump his finger in and out as he continued licking my clit.

He stopped again, making me moan in protest and slowly pushed two fingers inside this time. The sound of my wet cunt filled the room as he pumped his fingers. He reached his free hand and cupped my tit before pinching my nipple just as he curled his fingers inside of me. It was too much for me as I felt my body twitch and tremble with pleasure and came squirting on his face. He continued licking my clit and fucking me with his fingers even though I squirmed to get out his hold.

“Rafayel, enough, please,” I said in between my heavy breaths as my cunt twitched with over-stimulation.

He left a kiss to my lower abdomen with a chuckle before picking up a discarded shirt. He wiped his face and threw it away again, then dropped himself next to me on the bed. I turned to my side and placed my hand on his face, my thumb caressing his cheek. He was so beautiful. I leaned in to capture his lips, my hand sliding down on his body, finding his painfully hard cock. I gave him a few slow strokes as we continued to kiss. He tensed and moaned when I pressed on the sensitive spot on his tip.

“I’m gonna, spill in your hands, if you keep this up, cutie,” he said with a strained voice.

I slowly pushed him on his back and got on top, my cunt settling right over his cock. “Mm, we can't have that, can we?” I leaned in and sucked his earlobe before I whispered in his ear, “you're only allowed to cum inside me.”

His hands grabbed my hips and pressed my heat on him harder with a groan. “Get the condom from my pocket,” he said with a commanding voice.

I tried to reach it but he was holding me so tight as he rutted against me, it was impossible. “You need to loosen your hold a bit for that,” I chuckled.

“Ah, fiiine, be quick,” he said with a pout and loosened his arms just about enough for me to reach into his trousers on the floor and find the condoms.

“Got them–“ he pulled me down as soon as he could, taking the condom from my hands. He ripped the package open with his mouth and slid it on himself with ease before lifting my hips, “Rafayel, slow down,” I said with a chuckle.

“No,” he growled and turned us around in one smooth motion, “I can't wait anymore,” he started kissing my neck as he took his cock in hand and started rubbing it up and down on my pussy, “and you love teasing me too much.”

“Who’s teasing who now?” I whined as he continued to rub his cock on my cunt, tapping it on my clit, making me twitch and moan.

He let out a low chuckle as he aligned himself with my entrance, his lips moved up to my jaw, cheeks, finally arriving on my lips as he slowly pushed himself in. He stopped for a moment as he let me adjust to his size before pulling back and pushing in deeper.

“How do you feel?” He asked as he sucked my lower lip into his mouth.

“Good.” I wrapped my arms around his neck, my hand buried in his hair.

“Do you need a little help here?” He said with a mischievous tone and started to draw circles on my clit as he started to move his hips slowly.

“Ah, Rafayel…”

“Oh, you like that, yeah?” He increased the speed of his movements.

“Yes,” I breathed with blissed out head. It was such a great feeling to feel so full of him. I felt stimulated every time his hips slapped mine, as his cock slid in and out. I loved being so close to him, connected in every way we could, feeling how hot he got, how much he sweated, feeling both our juices mix and be as one.

I pulled his hand that was circling my clit and brought it to my mouth. “Come closer,” I said as I sucked on his fingers and pulled him down. It wasn’t enough, I needed to be closer to him.

He growled to the sight in front of him and stopped his movement with a deep thrust. I whined to the loss of his body heat as he raised up. He had an intense look on his face now, like he wanted to devour me whole. “Your wish,” he picked up my legs and placed them on his shoulders before he folded me like paper, “is my command.”

“Ahhh,” a moan escaped my mouth. “So deep, so full,” I babbled as he pressed his lips to mine.

He moved his hips just the way I liked it, his cock hitting that spot inside my walls again and again, bringing me closer to my high. One of his hands moved down to cup my tits as he continued leaving kisses on my lips. I pulled on his hair when he pinched my nipples, making him growl and bite my lip. His lips left wet kisses on my skin as they went down on my body, pulling the nipple he just pinched into his mouth. He lifted his head as he looked into my eyes and sucked, his hand finding my free breast. He pinched the other nipple before his lips switched to sucking on that one, all the while the movement of his hips never stopped.

I could feel myself gushing more and more with his every movement. My walls squeezed his cock every time he pinched, sucked and circled my nipples. The pressure was building in my belly. “Rafayel… I'm gonna, cum.”

“Me too,” he raised up and picked up the pace of his thrusts before he leaned down again, “let’s do it together.” He pulled me into a kiss, his lips travelling to my ear. He licked and sucked on my earlobe, and breathed out, “cum with me, cutie.”

I felt the trembling in my legs first just before the dam broke and I felt my whole-body spasm. “Rafayel,” I screamed his name, pulled on his hair and felt my walls squeeze his cock as if they wanted to milk every last drop of his seed.

He pounded his hips one last time and stopped, his head falling on to my neck as I felt the throbbing of his cock inside me. He moved his hips, slowly, pulling back and pushing in again, each time I felt him throb once again. “Ah, cutie, that was…” he lost his train of thought and started to pepper my neck, my jaw, my cheek –anywhere his lips could reach with kisses, making me giggle.

He tried to pull out, before I wrapped my arms and legs around him and pulled him closer to me. “No, don’t go.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he chuckled and pressed a kiss to my cheek, “but let me re-adjust. I don’t want to crush you.”

“Crush me, I don’t care. I want to feel your weight on me.”

“Alright, then,” he said and let his weight down on my body.

I felt the air escape from my lungs and I tapped his shoulders with urgency. “On second thought, you should re-adjust.”

He let out a laugh as he raised up. He pulled out his softening cock, removed the condom and tied it into a knot before throwing it to the floor and dropped down next to me. I planted a kiss to his cheek before I settled inside his arms. My fingers drew circles on his chest absent-mindedly as I felt his warm fingers do the same on my arms.

“This is perfect,” Rafayel said as he left a kiss to my damp forehead, “I'm so glad you came here.”

“Me too,” I let out a deep sigh and kissed his jaw. I held his chin in my hand and squeezed. “You're not allowed to go away for this long without me, again.”

He held me tighter in his arms. “Does that mean I can say the same about your trips too, Miss Bodyguard?”

I felt my face get hot. “It’s… not the same.”

“Double standards,” he said with a pout.

I raised my head with my arms planted either side of his face and left a kiss to his lips. “Stop pouting.”

“No. You can leave when you want but I'm not allowed to do the same.”

I left a kiss to his cheek, another one on his nose, another on the side of his eyes. He was still pouting even though his cheeks were getting red. “Okay,” I said with defeat. “How about this? When one of us is away for too long, the other is allowed to visit them and keep them all to themselves as long as they want.”

He finally smiled to that. “Deal.”

“You know this means you're not allowed to go anywhere until tomorrow night…”

“I do, this is gonna be a long night for us, cutie,” Rafayel said with a sultry voice as he got on top and once again, pulling me into a passionate kiss.

My first fic for LaDS fandom, I hope you've enjoyed it!

[yibocheeks]

War of Faith Translated excerpts from the livestream where the cast watches ep 28-29 (spoilers under the cut)

Director Yao says that Wang Yang added this gesture of straightening Wei Ruolai's clothes in this scene (unscripted)

They get to the part where Wei Ruolai is being taken to the execution grounds. The MC asks Yibo: At that time was Wei Ruolai preparing to meet his death or did he think that he was going to be saved? Yibo: Who would think that there would be someone that would save him?

They watch Wei Ruolai run away from Lin Qiaosong Director Yao says about Yibo: He could join the Olympics sprint! He performed so well here.

Wang Yang (on when Shen Tunan realizes that Shen Jinzhen is the sniper who saved Wei Ruolai): [Tunan] is very conflicted, because on one hand, Wei Ruolai still lives, on the other hand, the person who saved him is Shen Jinzhen. So this was really difficult for him. Director Yao: He was always guessing that maybe his sister was a communist, a part of him had already prepared for this, but he didn't want to face the reality.

They watch Ruolai, after he has escaped from Lin Qiaosong and is alone with Niu Chunmiao. MC: At this time, director, do you think that Wei Ruolai is in a perplexed state of mind? Director Yao: Yes, because right now he is at a dead end. He has already given up his previous set of beliefs, but he has not yet found a new set of beliefs. He followed what his parents believed in, but he was unfamiliar with the communist set of values, which were different from what he knew. He had never met a communist, the only one he knew was his brother, but his brother passed away. So he didn't know the theories behind it. He wouldn't easily accept a new worldview that he was completely unfamiliar with. At this point, the two female characters helped to push him in that direction. The MC then asks Yibo to share what his thoughts are on Wei Ruolai's state of mind at this time. Yibo: I think the director's analysis is very well said. (gives a thumbs up)

Director Yao: Yibo is very good, he will immerse himself in his own imagined scenario, a certain atmosphere, in which he will then think about how the character will respond.

On Wei Ruolai's character development Director Yao: I think [the way Wei Ruolai's character develops] is more of a realistic take. A person will not think, I want to join the communists and immediately convert to that side. It's not realistic. We want the audience to believe in this process. His change happens one step at a time. Even when he arrives in Soviet Jiangxi, he didn't immediately join the Red Army. He wanted to see a bit more. Then after another incident happens, in his heart he holds a lot of resentment and hatred, there were things that he felt were unresolved in Shanghai; he met a group of lousy people and this made him angry, but there was nowhere to direct this anger. Then when he went to Soviet Jiangxi, he found the same thing that happened, but that the Red Army really seemed to treat those who are poor well. He thought, this is what I want, what he couldn't get where his shifu was, so this excited him.

Director Yao says that the little motorcycle that Yibo rode was vintage, and that it broke after Yibo rode it once.

They talk about the scene where Shen Tunan slaps Shen Jinzhen Director Yao: That day, Wang Yang's biggest dilemma was whether he should really slap her, while Li Qin was thinking about how she should respond to the slap. Wang Yang is quite softhearted. He had quite good control, he didn't actually hit her and his tears also came out. This is very difficult to control. That day Li Qin also said to him, "Ge, just go for it." But he never actually hit her. He's too softhearted. (jokingly) Once we got the scene I yelled cut right away. It was a difficult scene to film. The mentioned scene starts to play. The MC asks Yibo a question about Wei Ruolai but Yibo points to the screen and says (with a gremlin smirk): Let's continue to watch this scene Li Qin: The audience has already seen this. Yibo: Oh I haven't seen it yet Director Yao and Li Qin: Oh then watch!

The MC brings up that netizens discovered that Wei Ruolai, Shen Jinzhen, and Niu Chunmiao used the same red swallow cup, and that this was an easter egg that showed that they were all on the same side. The director clarifies that this was a coincidence.

The MC then asks: Did the actors themselves notice this detail? Yibo: I also only realized after it was pointed out.

[coffeegnomee]

just always thinking about Kaboodle. It's so interesting to me how her choice to go so full-on with lore shoots herself in the foot.

Like she is not actually that insecure in herself and her relationships to cling to zam like that, right? Like it is ls!Kab who is the one who feels her place is so unstable and her relationships so fraught with turmoil and betrayal and confusion that she acts out inordinately and manipulatively as a result of being this insecure character.

But that on lifesteal it's so much about persuasion and getting people to go along with your plans and building teammates and trust to have security in this life and in this world.

Security that is never 100% secure because of the nature of lifesteal being lifesteal and content coming over companionship and temptation can easily overcome trust.

Whereas derap is using that to his advantage, sure he has ulterior motive and sometimes leans manipulative to get zam to change the way he thinks zam needs to change, but at the end of the day he was fully okay with letting zam go and accepting he didn't want to team. and he protected himself by not sharing about the revive beacons so if zam said no it really didn't change too much.

and how it's okay to want to see your friends more happy and healthy, the goal is to allow them the freedom to change or not change, to present your views in a way they'll understand but ultimately make sure they know that they are free to do so or not.

and how all of that is lore, but since derap doesn't have as much of a vision for his character and he approached it more as a person than a character, he has now established and won for himself a team.

whereas kab falls into the lore character as a defense from her own feelings and an outlet to react to what is happening but that unfortunately doesn't allow for the establishment of solid relationships. It's the outlook of scripted mc where one outburst can be easily forgiven and moved past, leaving it as a moment of fun angst within the greater story.

but this is lifesteal. those outbursts are unscripted and so, on the receiving end, people become uncertain and confused and less trusting.

It's just so interesting to see where it will go. And so interesting to have had this parallel the past week.

[midnightsun-if]

I know you just shared Unscripted but what would the ROs be in the fantasy story you’re thinking of making? Do you have a title for it?

Omen of Ice would potentially be the name for it… It’d be a romance focused fantasy IF set within the Court of Vela’thian (with some adventures elsewhere) after the MC was chosen to be betrothed to the Elven King; for reasons that will be uncovered.

Daeron — The Elven King — Your betrothed, you don’t have to be happy about it, especially if your MC isn’t attracted to men, but royalty has a sense of duty and The North being linked to Vela’thian can only mean good things for your people. Standing at around 6’3”, Daeron cuts quite the figure within his ceremonial robes— a beautifully crafted crown sits atop locks of raven, some strands curling gently across his forehead— sharp golden eyes taking in the room, assessing every nook and cranny for potential threats.

Larak — The Orc Commander — Seeing an Orc isn’t something you were expecting upon entering Vela’thian— not after centuries of war between the elven nation and the Infernal Plains— but Larak isn’t someone you could miss. Light green skin stretches over taut muscle, his hulking form towering at 7’2”; he’s a mass of old scars and tattoos. Dark auburn locks are shaved on the sides and kept in a long ponytail down his back— only being intercepted by the broadsword across it.

Shanaera — The Dark Fae Assassin — The Royal Spymaster of Vela’thian; Shanaera is the closest to the King, being longtime friends. Golden hair falls in a cascade of waves and curls down her back like a waterfall, pooling at her hips. Lightly sun-kissed skin bringing out the brilliance of her amethyst colored gaze; grand wings situated on her back, the feathers a brilliant iridescent black. She stands at around 5’11”.

Calypso — The Siren — Meeting a Siren isn’t something you’d ever imagine you’d do, but it seems like anything can happen within Vela’thian. Dark brown skin, intercepted by areas of iridescent blue scales, complements the sea green of her gaze. Midnight blue hair falling down her back in voluminous curls that brings out the warmth within her smile. In her human form she stands at around 5’1”.

There would be two gender selectable ROs added to the list as well— one being your childhood best friend (as I enjoy the trope).

Hopefully this answers your question!

[spiderman616]

KNEW it. I was in a mc manhunt phase for a bit and I watched kier and dev during it and boo just was rancid. glad to see it is not just me

LITERALLY.... its not even fun to watch sometimes the editing style is really weird and the manhunt itself is just not engaging. if this is what unscripted stuff looks like ithink im fine watching scripted

[unscripted-if]

What was MC's first movie?

Btw. Harley seems cute. Another RO to tease, haha

That can be up to HC for you all! The only set in stone thing about it is that it occurred when the MC was in their early 20s.

Harley is an awkward sweetheart after my own heart. ❤️

[ausetkmt]

The 2023 BET Awards began Sunday night with a bevy of rappers and artists set to honor the 50th anniversary of hip-hop.

Coco Jones, Doechii and GloRilla have been nominated for awards and are set to perform. Iconic rap groups and emcees including MC Lyte, Big Daddy Kane, Kid ’n Play, Master P, Remy Ma, Yo-Yo and the 69 Boyz will take the stage, too.

On Friday, BET announced Busta Rhymes as the recipient of the lifetime achievement award. Patti LaBelle told Rolling Stone she will perform a tribute to the late Tina Turner at the ceremony. Turner died in May; she was 83.

Though there will not be a host, DJs will cue performers and celebrities to take the stage throughout the ceremony. TV and film writers, including those who might normally work on the BET Awards, are currently on strike over pay and working conditions.

In May, the MTV Movie & TV Awards aired a pre-taped show without a host due to the writers strike. The Tony Awards, hosted by Ariana DeBose, was also unscripted.

The 2023 BET Awards Pre-Show Gets Off To A Rocky Start

The 2023 BET Awards is having some absolutely horrific sound issues at its pre-show special. It sounds like a static-y mess as performers hop on the stage before the awards ceremony begins at 8 p.m. ET. JW Velly, the artist behind the viral TikTok song “Pretty Girls Walk,” performed to a crowd outside the Microsoft Center seemingly without a hitch to the audience, who cheered her on. But at home, several HuffPost reporters – who were watching through livestreams and on the BET Network itself — were struggling to understand anything. Unclear what exactly is happening — but at one point the sound completely went out.

AP

D-Nice Is A Rapper? How Late Are We?

D-Nice raps? Where I been at lol. A little hip-hop history for me. I just knew him as a DJ. Dope to know he had a whole rap career in the '80s. — Taryn

Getty Images

MC Lyte Steps From Backstage To Center Stage

THE VOICE IS ON THE MIC! MC Lyte has been the voice of the BET Awards for years, so it’s so good to see her onstage doing the damn thing. — Taryn

Yes, she’s always behind the scenes doing her thing so it’s great to see her take the stage. — Erin

Makes my heart so happy. Haven’t seen her o- screen since her “Half and Half” days on UPN! — Ruth

What’s wild is that she has a whole TV show! “Partners in Crime” on the streaming service allBlk. — Erin

The BET Awards Red Carpet Looks … I Am Closing My Eyes

In the words of the late, great André Leon Talley, it’s a famine of beauty. I did not anticipate struggling this much to assemble the 2023 BET Awards best-dressed list. — Ruth

Patti LaBelle Forgets Lyrics During Tina Turner Tribute

I was so excited when it was announced that Patti LaBelle was doing the tribute to Tina Turner. Well, it quickly took a turn for the worse when I could hear the background singer over her. And then she was stumbling over her words. My word. I’m surprised she took it in stride without that teleprompter. They shoulda had Angela Bassett get up there for all this. — Erin

“I’m trying, y’all!” —Patti LaBelle trying her damnedest to tribute Tina Turner.

This felt like when she sang at the 1996 White House Christmas tree lighting ceremony and was looking for her background singers. Because of how much I love that video, I was low-key getting my life. But then I remembered this was supposed to be THE Tina Turner tribute because it was Patti LaBelle signing it and on BET.

They did Tina dirty and I don’t like that. I know there have been sound issues all night, but damn! It’s almost as if there were no sound checks at all with all these blatant hiccups. Ms. Turner, I am so sorry. You deserved better. — Taryn

Christ on Earth. What is going ON?! Exactly that, Taryn! I couldn’t tell if the audio was tripping again, or if a background singer was doing too much. But I’m in disbelief. It makes me wonder if she was a last-minute selection for the tribute, or like you said, Taryn, there was maybe one rehearsal. And the way Patti just exited the stage and said, “Bye, y’all!” I need a meme or GIF of that. — Ruth

Getty Images

R.I.P. Biz Markie

I’m LOVING this tribute to Biz. Singing along with the TV and everything. I can tell BET is about to do hip-hop right with this tribute. — Taryn

I have a fun memory at a party deejayed by Biz Markie. He was the DJ at The Root's inaugural ball for President Barack Obama. My mom and I had a ball that night. — Erin

It Is Culture's Biggest Night On BET

The BET Awards begin at 8 p.m. ET, and HuffPost reporters and editors will be watching to keep you updated on all the biggest moments of the night. Stay tuned to see who stuns on the red carpet, who takes home an award and whose performances set the stage ablaze.

The night is set to include an epic tribute to the rappers and artists who made hip-hop culture what it is today to celebrate hip-hop's 50th anniversary.

[xylatox]

unscripted lines where boyfriends lie

Finally getting to this! Was super excited to read and share my thoughts :) 

Immediately love how the grief is presented fron the beginning and it doesnt ease us into it making it that much more real. Love Nyla for being so present as a friend :( 

“Always,” she whispered. “No matter what.” Her fingers continued to comb gently through my hair. It doesn’t fix much, but it makes the silence feel a little less sharp. 

Like this was just a small moment but it was so sweet

Also love how Jay is introduced and I love that hes Nyla’s older brother. It genuinely makes me so happy.

Jay let out a quiet laugh, “you would cry for, like, twenty straight minutes because of a cartoon fish.”

I love this bit of comedy amidst everything. Also please tell me this is Nemo theyre talking about.

I also think the MC’s mom talking to Jay is super cute, I just wished that she didnt treat her as if she was glass. Like I get it, but it just feels as if they’re being so careful around her and it annoys me slightly lol

Also I LOVE that Nyla’s name is NyQuil thats so cute ugh

Jay’s warm hand, slipping quietly beneath the table, resting lightly on my leg. His thumb tracing small, slow circles. He didn’t say anything, didn’t even look at me, just kept chatting with my mom.

This would actually send me insane no joke.

Also love that Nyla is already suspicious of their whole fake dating, definitely has that sister radar on her

She chuckled, but then her voice softened, like the air between us had turned to glass. “It’s just… it’s really good to see you smile again, baby.”

This line makes me a bit sad ngl :( 

I wish I could scream at you. I wish I didn’t still miss you in the same breath as I hate you.

This line was insane oh my god, I love it

Also loving Jay’s nickname lol. And the way he noticed the way she’s tense just by how she was with her fingers makes me so soft actually.

I think its also good (and sad) to see that the manager views it as a way to just improve his publicity and it seems as if the people behind that fake social image are forgotten which I think portrays the reality of stardom well

I barely managed to mumble ‘It’s okay’ though my voice felt fragile, as if trying to convince myself more than him.

I just wanna protect her man :( 

I appreciate that with her grief she cant help it despite what her ex did to her and I love how realistic it is. Like her mom throwing away the flowers and being the final breaking point for her is what hurts me the most i think. I love that despite the fake dating relationship they have, Jay is very clearly worried for her and he goes out of his way to ensure shes cared for while also gently reassuring her to call her mom and I just think its sweet.

He kept blinking somewhere in the distance, trying to think. “I…” he began, wrestling with the words. “I feel so fucking lonely.” He confessed, whispering back to me, dropping his shoulders in defeat. As if it's that simple, but it wasn’t really that simple.

Also loving Jay’s vulnerability because hes surrounded by so many people considering his job but its also so loney for him. Specifically considering what happened to him in his past relationship also lends to this feeling, and I just feel so bad for him as hes genuinely so scared to get someone that close again.

“Rest that pretty head,” he murmured, gently brushing my hair away from my face.

I wanted to ask him to stay, to not leave me alone. But the words stayed locked in my throat, stubborn. My lips remained sealed as the door clicked softly shut behind him. And for the first time in weeks, I surrender completely to sleep.

I will genuinely pass out my god

Therapy isn’t magic. It’s slow, frustratingly slow. The sessions blend together, a couple of weeks turning into a small stretch of time. It's a process that feels more like navigating a labyrinth without a map. Some days, I show up and say nothing. I sit there in silence, letting my fingertips follow the seams of the couch cushion, feeling the texture.

Immediately I think this became my favourite paragraph in this fic. This was something I talked about with a friend of mine recently and I think the most daunting thing about therapy is that it doesnt work in the way you expect it to (at least thats how we felt). Genuinely expected therapy to be a quick fix to the problems I had for years when it in fact did not do that and I’m still stuck with all my problems. Therapy is meant to teach you how to cope with your issues and I think that was the hardest thing about it, to learn that recovery isnt linear, regardless if its death, addiction or otherwise and there may be days that you relapse and thats okay. Some days are great and others are shitty but thats the point of it I think. I genuinely just really love this paragraph, it speaks to me in a way that even these words I said dont express entirely.

Also loving her emails honestly, it makes me so happy to see

Jay’s eyes snapped open, as if mentioning me was his final straw. “She is not a fucking action figure you can just pose.” he spat out, his tone cold but restrained, each word clipped. The publicist blinked, clearly not used to seeing him this upset.

Love Jay looking out for her. He cares so much and it makes me sad

“Yes, love?”

I would pass out truly

THE TENSION HELLO WHAT IF I PASS OUT

NO WAY.

NO WAYYYYY. How do they have this sweet ass moment then the freaking media gets a hold of her past what. Also I still think its crazy that people on the internet would go so far to make sense of someone else’s life

“Come back to bed with me,” I whispered. He didn’t hesitate, just a soft kiss pressed to the top of my head and took my hand. He squeezed it once, gently, like he was making sure I was still really there. 

I really and honestly love them so much

Oh my god. I didnt expect to reach the end. I love how healing this was. In so many ways it healed me and it was just so sweet. Initially meant to share my thoughts on this so much earlier but I was in a terrible space mentally and didnt want to give a review while in a bad mood. But im honestly so glad I was able to finally make my way back to it. Im so happy I got to read this!!

the unscripted lines where the boyfriends lie

Synopsis: The city that never sleeps doesn’t quiet down for grief. Instead, it roared right through it: the restless noise of New York, the constant hum of cars, the rattling of subway trains, the sharp cry of sirens at midnight… Then, there was the quiet ache of returning to your childhood bedroom, only this time with the ghosts of “forever” and the wilted flowers from your late boyfriend’s funeral. While drowning, you’re desperately trying to convince your family — and yourself — that you’re okay.

And there he is. The last person you ever wanted to see, let alone share space with: your best friend’s older brother. Once a child star, currently a tarnished name hiding from the spotlight. When an accidental run-in leads to a viral photo, the lie begins — one of fake love, media pressure and careful smiles. All while grief and guilt simmers beneath the surface for both of you.

pairing: actor!enhypen jay x reader

Genres: actor AU, (childhood) enemies to lovers, best friend’s older brother, faking dating, slow SLOWWW burn, unsent emails

Warnings: grief and loss, mental health struggles, mentions of depression-like symptoms, relationship issues, therapy, y/n goes thru a lot ngl, causal alcohol consumption, jay is a sweet heart honestly, y/n is nicknamed a cry baby hehe, y/n has amazing parents, cheating (not between jay and y/n), v heavy on the angst but it has a lot of fluff i swear (50/50), contains smut (mdni), one scene and totally skippable, sub!jay bc that agenda needs some love, bratty!mean-ish!y/n, ice play hehe, begging (from jay), body worshipping

Word count: 19.7k

a/n: ahhh its hereee. i have been working on it since forever, i poured my heart in it. this was purely for me, but then i decided to share it with you. pls do take the warnings seriously, the last thing i want to do is to trigger someone. take care and enjoy <3

Taglist: @heestoleurgirl @stariekis @jaehoodies @morganaawriterr @luvashli@kireistrawberryjayla @annovaz @bambieheeseunglee @firstclassjaylee @flowerwinds @heekolazz @hoonslvr @cunty4hee @hazelira @sumsumtingz @bxcndd @sunnygirl-kait @amazzwon @hoonieyun @yeokii @stercul1a @ikeulove @kikidoul @k1ttyjwon @sumzysworld @deluluscenarios @sofiafromvenus @fancypeacepersona @donttellmymomlol20 @fruitchill @xylatox @riribelle @yoonjnngluvshooney @cloudzzcoffee @sunzyc (comment if you want me to add / remove you from the list <3)

⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯

The flowers died on Monday.

My childhood room feels preserved, like a museum of someone I no longer am. There is still the same faded posters curling at the edges, a bookshelf sagging under the weight of my highschool yearbooks and forgotten trophies. But the room felt smaller now, as if grief had pressed in and squeezed all the oxygen out. 

In fact, the air in the whole house was heavy with silence, like a pause between my sobs. Only the distant hum of the city broke through like the occasional blare of a taxi horn, the faint screech of the subway far below, the rhythm of footsteps and conversations echoing off brick walls. All of it muffled behind the curtains I hadn’t drawn in days. Outside, New York was still pulsing and alive in its relentless way. But in here? It was like time had folded in on itself, as if the city had moved on without me.

The funeral flowers sat dead on my desk, browning around the edges with their heads bowing down. Like a slow, quiet collapse. I have yet to throw them out. It’s been a month since the crash, two since we ended it. But I don’t think there’s a timeline for mourning someone who lied to you, then betrayed you.

My parents have been moving gently around me ever since I came back home. They seem afraid that they might shatter me if they speak too loud, too abruptly, too soon. My mom hovers like I’m made of glass, always one room away, always watching. She’ll peek her head in with a too-bright smile and a plate of cut-up fruit, “thought you might be hungry, baby. You barely touched your lunch.” My dad knocks before walking past my door, even if it’s just to grab something from the hallway closet. “Just me,” he’ll say softly, my eyes never quite meeting his.

I don’t blame them, I don’t recognize myself either. Besides, nobody’s words could really reach me because what really haunts me wasn’t just the loss — it was his lies. The way he said his promises of ‘forever’ so easily like he truly meant it. The way I used to idiotically believe them.

Nyla showed up two days after I moved back. I didn’t even hear the doorbell, just found her standing in the hallway holding a paper bag of cookies we used to get all the time. A dear friend like her doesn't need an invitation anyways. We hadn’t really talked since college started, but when she heard I was back in the city, she dropped everything and came without questions. 

She visits almost every day now and just exists beside me — on the floor, on the bed, anywhere I’ve decided to fall apart that day. Sometimes she talks, but mostly she just stays. There are entire afternoons where we don’t say anything at all. I’d lie with my head in her lap, eyes closed, and she’ll run her fingers gently through my hair, over and over, until my chest starts to loosen. 

Sometimes she'd glance at me when I wasn’t looking, that quiet worry flickering in her eyes, like she wanted to say something but didn’t know how. “Remember that time we built a blanket fort in your room?” she said softly.

I smiled faintly, nodding against her thigh. “Then we tried to watch that scary movie.”

“And you were so sure the monster was under the bed, you made me sleep at the foot of the fort.”

I chuckled quietly. “You still haven’t forgiven me for that.” A quiet minute passed. She brushed another section of my hair, careful and tender. I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling the warmth of her touch. “Thank you for being here.”

“Always,” she whispered. “No matter what.” Her fingers continued to comb gently through my hair. It doesn’t fix much, but it makes the silence feel a little less sharp. 

-𓍙-

It had been days since I’d stepped outside. Maybe a week — I stopped counting a while ago. But that morning, I was dragging my feet into the kitchen like usual, sleep was still clinging to my bones, just trying to get a glass of water. My mother stopped me mid-step and pressed a scarf into my hands and kissed the top of my head like she used to when I had fevers. “Just for a little while,” she said. “A walk might help.”

So I went reluctantly, but not far. Just a few blocks, turns and intersections I used to know like the back of my hand. The city was loud and busy, just like the way it always was — people brushing past, noises echoing down the avenue. It all made me feel like a ghost, like I was haunting my own hometown.

But then, halfway across the block, I stopped cold when I saw a car at the corner. It’s the same model, same deep navy blue when caught in the light just right. Even the back tail light was chipped in the same place. For a second, everything inside me went still. My feet locked to the pavement. My lungs forgot how to work. It's as if I could see the ghost I thought I'd buried with him.

I knew. I fucking knew it wasn’t him… logic screamed it at me. But my body didn’t get the memo. My heart lurched like it wanted to chase after him anyway, like grief had overruled reasons. 

My stomach started turning in on itself, warning me about that sick, familiar ache opening up in my chest like a trapdoor. Tears welled up in my eyes in the middle of a crosswalk, breath shaky and uneven. After the car zoomed away, I took a deep breath, doing everything I could to keep walking like nothing had happened.

I ducked into the nearest café just to get away from it all. Just anywhere and not that sidewalk or that stupid car. I didn’t even look at the name above the door. The warm rush of espresso scent and quiet clatter of cups didn’t soothe me, but it gave me a place to land. 

The cafe was somewhat empty, so I was pushed to order before I could scan the menu properly. My throat scratched as I said the first thing my eyes landed on, “one cappuccino please.” I said, my voice came out hoarse. I hadn’t spoken much today… or yesterday. 

The barista asked for my name and then gave me a small nod, scribbling on a cup, “It’ll be a few.” I stepped to the side, shrinking into the corner near the pick-up counter to not make eye contact with anyone. My hands fiddled with the frayed edge of my coat sleeve. 

A playlist hummed low overhead, some soft indie tracks with plucky guitar and lyrics I couldn’t quite catch. I stared blankly at the napkin dispenser, not really seeing it. It all blurred together, background noise under the heavy weight on my chest. A familiar ache settled in my ribs, the kind that prickled just beneath the surface, reminding me of things I was trying not to think about.

The barista called something out — I didn’t catch what. Just heard a name. On autopilot, I stepped forward and grabbed the cup. I took a sip as I walked to the nearest empty table.

It tasted sharp. Bitter.

I froze mid-step, frowning down at the cup. That's not my order… I was too in my head to notice my mistake. I turned the cup slightly, and there it was, scrawled in black Sharpie ‘Jay’.

I turned slowly, eyes searching for the owner of the cup. A man stood a few feet away, baseball cap pulled low over his eyes, fingers curled around another steaming coffee. 

“This isn’t mine,” I said softly, holding up the bland americano, “I think I grabbed your order.” I explained. He glanced at the cup I was holding and then at the one in his hand, “I think I’ve got your cappuccino,” he said with a small smile. 

As I was giving him his cup, I noticed it — a faint smudge of lipstick on the edge of his lid, the same shade I’d worn just that morning. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” I blurted, cheeks flushing. My throat tightened, I wanted to blink away the tears gathering, but they stuck behind my eyelids. All the tears I’d been holding back all day spilled over again. Why can’t I control anything anymore?

He gave me a small, understanding smile. “Hey, it’s okay. I can just take off the lid, no worries.”

As our eyes met, I started to piece the puzzle together. The name lingered in my mind before it landed, I’d heard it before. And then, just as recognition dawned on his face, it clicked for me too. His eyes widened a little, “wait, Y/N?”

He wasn’t the kid I remembered — Nyla's smug, bossy older brother who always knew how to get under my skin. He’s much taller now, his shoulders are wider as well. The baseball cap couldn’t quite hide the way his jaw had hardened, how his smile now held a trace of weariness I hadn’t expected.

“Jay?” I whispered, my voice cracking.

“Yeah, it’s me,” he said, his voice gentle but familiar, eyes softening as he studied me. “Nyla told me you were back.”

“Yeah, yeah, I am.” I wiped at my cheeks, trying to stop the tears that just wouldn’t quit. “I’m sorry...”

He fumbled a bit, awkward but kind, pulling a crumpled napkin from his pocket and handing it to me. “Let’s get you seated down.” he said, guiding me with one hand while the other carried his coffee.

We sat down at a nearby table, the noise of the café fading into the background. It was strange sitting in front of him. Not quite strangers, but not quite close either. I never liked Jay growing up, always thought he was that smug brother of my best friend. Always teasing, always a little too confident, always barging in. But now, here he was, offering me a silent kind of comfort I hadn’t expected.

“I heard about the accident. I can’t imagine…” he said softly. “I’m really sorry about... everything.”

I nodded, staring down at the napkin in my lap and swallowing the lump in my throat, “thanks.” If it wasn't for the state I am in right now, I would've laughed. The familiarity of him, as annoying as he’d always been, felt so starkly different from the version I'm seeing right now. 

“I mean,” I sniffled, “you used to call me a ‘crybaby’ every time I teared up.”

Jay let out a quiet laugh, “you would cry for, like, twenty straight minutes because of a cartoon fish.”

“He lost his dad, Jay.”

“I was ten. I didn’t understand animal nuances yet.”

I glanced up at him then — and for a second, the weight in my chest eased just enough for a smile. “You’re still a little shit,” I muttered.

Jay raised his cup with a crooked grin, “but maybe a slightly more tolerable one?” I rolled my eyes, “debatable.”

He took a sip, then set his coffee down, expression softening again. “Nyla told me you were taking time off. Gap year, right?”

“Yeah.” I picked at the edge of the napkin. “Everything was just… falling apart. I needed to step back.” Jay nodded slowly, like he understood more than he was letting on. “For what it’s worth, that’s brave.”

I gave a tired laugh. “I think it’s avoidance dressed up as self-care.”

“Still counts,” he said, and there was no teasing in his voice that time. 

I cleared my throat, suddenly feeling the urge to shift the spotlight. “What about you?” I asked. “Shouldn’t you be in LA right now?”

Jay leaned back in his chair, gave a half-smile, half-wince. “Yeah. Until my breakup got messy,” he said, not sounding angry, just tired. “Personal stuff turned public overnight. Her team got ahead of the narrative — painted me as this horrible guy before I even knew what was happening.”

“It is… a circus,” he admitted. “My team’s still cleaning it up. Brand deals are stalling. The studios are quiet. Every time I step outside, someone’s waiting with a camera. It’s exhausting.”

I tilted my head. “So you’re hiding in New York?”

“More or less. Management sent me here, thinking laying low will make the drama go away faster. But really, I just needed to get away.”

I watched him for a moment. He still looked polished, had that quiet kind of confidence that settled into a room instead of announcing itself. And yet, even with the ball cap, he looked weathered, tired shadows under his eyes. “You’re burned out.” I said, not a question, more like a statement.

He nodded. “Completely.”

“You always loved it, though. Acting.”

Jay smiled faintly. “Exactly, I love acting, not the fame.”

“Yeah,” I said softly. “I get that.”

Before either of us could say anything else, my phone started vibrating against the table. I glanced down, ‘Mom <3 - incoming call…’ stared back at me. I whispered a quick apology to Jay before picking up, “hey mom.”

“Y/N, are you okay?” Her voice was light, but hovering right on the edge of frazzled. “You’ve been gone for a while. I was about to file a missing person’s report.”

“I’m okay… just ran into someone.” 

There was a pause. “Who?”

“Jay,” I said, bracing myself. “Oh, Jay,” she said, all drawn out and knowing. “Let me talk to him.”

“What? No —”

“Y/N. Hand him the phone.”

I pulled the phone slightly away from my ear as Jay looked at me curiously. I gave him a tired half-smile and held the phone out toward him. “She wants to talk to you.”

He raised his brows before taking the phone, clearly amused, “Hi, Mrs. L/N. Yeah, it’s been a while... I missed you too. Yes, ma’am. No, I swear, she’s okay. Mm-hmm... Right. I will. I’ll walk her back myself. Cross my heart.” I watched him, stunned. Somehow, he still remembered how to talk to my mom like it was a reflex. A few more soft ‘mhmm’, and then he handed the phone back.

“She says I’m your emotional support celebrity now,” he said, smiling ear to ear. “Come on. I’ll walk you.” He stood up just as I did, slinging his jacket over one arm. 

We stepped outside, into the crisp late-afternoon air. The wind tugged at my scarf and flushed my cheeks. The noise of the city was sharp after the muffled calm of the café. We didn’t talk much during the walk. Just a few short exchanges about street names and how the neighborhood had changed since we were kids. 

When we reached the corner near my block, I slowed down and paused. “Wait,” I said, patting my coat pocket to find my phone, “I don’t have your number anymore. All the ones I had are... unavailable or something.”

“Shit, yeah,” he said, rubbing his temple. “My manager nuked everything a while ago. Total reset. Here —” He held out his hand and I passed him my phone. He typed something in quickly like muscle memory, then handed it back, mumbling about saving my number as well.

I glanced down at the new name contact he added, ‘little shit’. I snorted at it, “classy.”

He chuckled, shoving his phone into his pockets. “Take care, alright?” he said, giving a small wave paired with a small smile before turning in the opposite direction. I watched him go until the crowd swallowed him up.

I just smiled and walked the rest of the way home with the wind tangling my hair, the city still buzzing around me. His contact sat in my phone, tucked between old contacts and forgotten numbers. It was like a strange echo of childhood now spun into something quieter, gentler.

By the time I got home, the sky was softening into dusk. I peeled off my scarf and slipped off my shoes. My mom stood by the stove, stirring something in a pot. The smell of garlic and onions blooming through the space. I shrugged off my coat and followed her in. The lights were warm, casting soft shadows against the tiled walls. 

“Hi, baby,” she said, quieter this time, “I made a chicken lemon orzo that you used to like. Thought you might want something warm.” She had already set a plate at my usual spot. I didn’t say anything, just sank into the chair and picked up my spoon. 

Across from me, she moved around the kitchen, humming a little under her breath as she stirred something on the stove. She didn’t comment on the fact that I cleaned the plate, making it my first full meal I’d eaten in days. But I'm sure she noticed.

-𓍙-

The soft but persistent buzz of my phone dragged me out of sleep before the sun even had a chance to climb. I groaned, half-buried beneath the covers and the army of teddy bears lay nestled in the sheets. One of my arms fumbling blindly across the nightstand until my fingers wrapped around my phone. I rolled over, still groggy, and blinked at the notification from Nyla that’s lighting up my lock screen.

“Dude. WHY are you on TMZ with Jay???” - "NyQuil", Delivered 1 min ago

My heart stuttered. I sat up too fast, the comforter tangling around my legs as I blinked at the screen. I opened Instagram still half-asleep, my thumb sluggish as it loaded.

There it was. The photo wasn’t even that sharp — one of those grainy, mid-zoom candids but it was unmistakably us. Both of us mid-laugh, his hand halfway to his coffee. Our heads tilted toward each other. We looked… intimate. Too intimate.

The caption was even worse, ‘Jay, the heartthrob ex-Disney star isn’t heartbroken for long after being spotted with a mystery girl — New Romance Already?’

The word ‘mystery girl’ stared at me like it knew something I didn’t. I kept scrolling, my thumb wouldn’t stop. More photos, all different angles. Some from the window, others from outside in different positions. 

my phone lit up again, ‘little shit - incoming call…’ I froze for a second, my thumb hovering over the screen, unsure. But then I remembered his face from yesterday, that soft concern. I huffed then answered, “hey,” I said, voice still rough with sleep.

“Hey, you’re awake, good,” he replied, a little breathless like he’d been rehearsing it. “I’m outside.”

I frowned, “What?”

“Your place,” he clarified. “I didn’t want to text in case… I don’t know. You’re probably being spammed right now.”

I glanced down at the worn out T-shirt I was wearing and the fuzzy socks peeking out from under the blanket. “Jay, I’m literally in my pajamas.”

“That’s fine,” he said, a quiet laugh in his voice. “I’ve got tinted windows. You will stay mysterious.”

“How kind of you to protect my anonymity.” I said smiling, already getting up. I crossed paths with my mirror, my hair was a mess, my eyes were puffy.

“I try,” he said, and I could hear him grinning too. “Just come down, we need to talk...” I hesitated, the apartment was quiet around me. Then I sighed. “Okay. Give me a minute.”

Still in my pajamas — and my dignity hanging on by a thread — I grabbed a coat, shoved my feet into my sneakers to crept out the front door. The apartment was still, my parents still asleep behind their closed door. The hallway was dim as I made my way down the stairs.

Outside, his black car waited at the curb of our brownstone, sleek and dark with windows that really were tinted. I pulled open the door and slid into the passenger seat, giving him a look. “I saw the photos,” I said quietly once the door clicked shut.

“Yeah,” he murmured, eyes on the windshield. “So did my manager.” he said, both hands on the wheel, eyes flicking toward me for a beat. “They like it, wanting us to lean into it. The PR team thinks it’s good for me. That it softens the whole... disaster fire of my last relationship.”

I raised an eyebrow, groggy. “Come again?”

He let out a short, sheepish breath. “They think you’re a godsend, basically. They want to paint me as less of a dick and more of a guy who found something ‘real’ after everything.”

I blinked at him, stunned, the silence thickened for a beat. “So they want us to fake-date to fix your image.”

“I know how it sounds,” he said. “And I’m not trying to trap you into anything, I swear. It’s only temporary. We post a few things. Maybe one or two public appearances. No one gets hurt, and I look like less of an asshole.”

“Jay, i don't know…” I muttered, almost ready to shut it down entirely — until I thought of my parents. My mom’s voice in the kitchen, always a little too careful. Her soft smiles that never quite reached her eyes. My dad not knowing how to speak to me anymore. I hated that look in their eyes, like they were watching me drift away and had no way to stop it. They didn’t know what to do with my sadness. 

But if they thought I was fine, if they thought I had something, someone — maybe they’d stop hovering. Maybe they’d breathe easier. Maybe I could, too. This can buy me some time…

“Fine,” I said eventually, voice low. “But under one condition.” 

Jay straightened in his seat, surprised but hopeful. “Anything. Shoot.”

“You’re coming to dinner at my parents’ place,” I said. “As many times as they ask. Full performance. If we’re doing this, they gotta buy it too.”

He paused, then nodded, “okay. Deal.” He agreed. A crooked smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, “So... when’s the first command performance?”

“Tonight.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Tonight tonight?”

I sighed, rubbing my temples — still grumpy from the lack of sleep, the early hour, and the sheer absurdity of all of this. “Yes, Jay. Tonight tonight. We tell them at dinner. I will tell my parents you and Nyla are coming.”

Jay leaned back against the seat, laughing softly. “Alright. On it,” Jay said. “See you tonight… babe.”

I grimaced. “Ew, never do that again. Wait until we’re in front of them.”

He chuckled as I opened the door and stepped out. “Drive safe, little shit.” 

The door shut with a soft click, and I stood on the curb for a moment, watching him pull away into the quiet street. The early morning light spilled across the pavement. Then a gust of wind curled around my ankles, slipping right through the thin fabric of my pajama pants, urging me to go back inside. 

-*-

I told my parents that Nyla and Jay were coming over for dinner, and to my surprise, mom didn’t blink — just nodded and immediately started flipping through her endless stack of cookbooks. She hummed thoughtfully, still skimming. “Might try that spiced lamb recipe. Or maybe something with those little potatoes your dad likes.” She muttered to herself, “does Jay still like lamb? He seems like a lamb person.” It had been years since he’d stepped foot in our house, and yet she still remembered.

I found dad in the living room, half-asleep in his recliner, and gave him the same heads-up. “Jay?” he asked, blinking. I reminded him that yes, that Jay — Nyla’s older brother, the one who grew up two houses down. “Right, right, the tall one.” he nodded, like the name was slowly stitching itself back together in his brain. 

I got ready — really got ready. I pulled on a soft sweater that was only for occasions, put some color on my cheeks, and spent a little extra time with the curling iron. If we were doing this, then I wasn’t about to show up looking like grief had chewed up and spat me out. I wanted to look like a version of myself again. 

The doorbell rang just as my mom was lighting candles she definitely only brought out for company. I opened the door to find Jay and Nyla standing there with a fresh bouquet of tulips and dessert. Nyla was the first to pull me into a hug, squeezing a little too tightly before grinning at my parents behind me.

“Hi,” Jay said, stepping in and bending down to hug me too. He leaned in close, too close, the scent of his cologne filled my senses. His breath brushed the edge of my ear, “You’re gonna make it real hard to keep this fake.” he murmured.

I slapped his arm, “behave.” I warned under my breath, but my stomach still did a little flip when he just smiled.

Inside, Jay greeted my dad like he’d never left, with a firm handshake and an easy smile. My dad clapped him on the shoulder and said, “Still doing that acting thing?” with a dry edge like he was talking about an old hobby.

“Trying to,” Jay chuckled. 

Dinner was warm, louder than I expected. A little chaotic in the way that made you feel alive again. Nyla teased Jay for getting seconds before anyone else had finished their first plate, and my mom beamed every time someone complimented her cooking. I smiled and laughed but underneath it all, my nerves were humming. I was jittery, bouncing my knee beneath the table so much my chair shook. A steady, unconscious rhythm I couldn’t stop. I kept trying to ground myself: the clink of silverware, the smell of lemon zest from the tart, the sound of my dad’s voice telling a story I already knew.

Jay’s warm hand, slipping quietly beneath the table, resting lightly on my leg. His thumb tracing small, slow circles. He didn’t say anything, didn’t even look at me, just kept chatting with my mom.

After a beat, my nerves quieted down. I put my hand over his, making him look at me. I stared long enough, signalling him it's time. His fingers curled through mine like he’d done it a thousand times before. I gave him one last sideways glance, and he nodded subtly. Go.

I cleared my throat. “So... there’s something we wanted to tell you.” The clinking of forks and knives stopped, all three heads turned toward us.

Jay squeezed my hand gently, then added, “Y/N and I are... seeing each other.”

Silence settled over the table. Just the kind that stretches for a moment, thick with realization. My mom’s eyes flicked to our joined hands, then to my face — scanning it like she didn’t quite believe what she was seeing. 

Then, when she caught the small, nervous smile tugging at my mouth, hers broke open in full bloom. Her breath hitched. “Oh my god,” she whispered, before letting out a bubbling laugh, equal parts joy and surprise. Tears welled up instantly as she pushed her chair back and rushed around the table. She threw her arms around Jay so suddenly he flinched, nearly dropping his fork. 

“I knew it,” she said through a grin, voice cracking at the edges. “I knew it! Since you were teenagers, I had a feeling. Didn’t I say it?” She turned to my dad, who was already rising to his feet with a slow, amused shake of his head.

Meanwhile, I turned toward Nyla, breath caught in my throat. Her face was unreadable at first, a tight-lipped mask that had me bracing for impact. But then her eyes softened and pulled a reluctant smile. “As long as you’re happy,” she said, voice quieter than usual as she pulled me into a hug. Then, low enough that only I could hear, “but if he messes with you, I will set him on fire.”

I snorted into her shoulder, the sound muffled by the soft fabric of her dress. “Noted,” I murmured, voice tinged with a laugh.

As dad was sitting back across the table, beer in hand, his tone casual but curious. “So,” he began, squinting slightly like he was piecing together a puzzle, “how did you two really get together?” The chatter fell away. Even Nyla paused with her fork mid-air, equally curious.

I felt Jay’s gaze before I looked up — and when I did, it was like a silent standoff. His brows lifted, I narrowed my eyes just slightly, gripping my fork like it might save me. We didn't really speak about this…

He caved first, thank god. “We’d been talking for a while, long distance.” Jay said easily, reaching for his water like he wasn’t lying through his teeth. “And then… I don’t know, it just sort of clicked. That coffee the other day made things official, I guess.”

I kept my eyes on my plate, focusing very intently on cutting my potatoes into the smallest pieces imaginable. My mom let out a delighted little gasp, dad nodded like it all made perfect sense now. Nyla, however, arched one very suspicious eyebrow but said nothing.

And just like that, the room was buzzing again — chairs pushed back, more wine poured with dessert, my mom already asking Jay if he remembered her cousin’s wedding in 2011. Nyla was halfway through teasing my dad about his questionable music taste, and someone turned on a playlist in the background. The house felt full, but in a way that made the walls seem softer, like they were finally breathing again.

Maybe that's all it took to have my parents be happy again.

-*-

It was way past midnight now, jackets were being shrugged back on. The goodbyes began, all the hugs and kisses from my mom and a firm clap on the shoulder from my dad. Nyla slung her bag over her shoulder, gave me a quick squeeze and a tired smile. “I’ll wait for you outside,” she said to Jay, already stepping onto the porch with a quiet ‘Night, everyone’.

Jay lingered by the front door with me, his hands shoved in his coat pockets, smiling with his cheeks flushed with warmth. It's probably from the wine. My parents were still standing nearby, not quite eavesdropping, but not subtle either.

Then — as if remembering his final line in a scene — Jay leaned in, slow and easy, and pressed a kiss to my cheek. It was just long enough to draw a reaction from my parents, to confirm that they are seeing this. But before I could roll my eyes, Jay dipped a little closer, letting his lips brush just near the shell of my ear again. His voice was low and smooth, meant only for me.

“Gotta keep the illusion alive, right?” he murmured. “We were Oscar-worthy, if you ask me.”

I tried to hold my expression steady, but the heat creeping into my face gave me away. I shoved him lightly. “Now, go.” I whispered.

He only grinned, stepping back down the front steps with a wave. “Take care, babe.” he called, too loud on purpose. I rolled my eyes and clicked the door shut behind him.

I padded into the kitchen, drawn by the soft clatter of dishes and the low hum of running water. My mom was already at the sink, hands moving through soap. I stood near her, rolling up my sleeves to help. She stepped beside me with the dish towel, humming happily under her breath. She passed me a plate to rinse, then bumped her shoulder against mine. “He’s so handsome in person,” she whispered, like it was a secret.

I snorted. “Mom, you’ve seen him before. Like… a dozen times.”

She waved her hand dismissively, smiling. “Yes, but not like this. Not as your boyfriend.”

I shook my head, half-amused, half-horrified. “Okay, ew.”

She chuckled, but then her voice softened, like the air between us had turned to glass. “It’s just… it’s really good to see you smile again, baby.”

I froze for a beat, heart thudding in that strange way it does when someone hits something a little too close. My hands stayed under the running water longer than they needed to, and I kept my eyes fixed on the sink so she wouldn’t see the sudden blur.

It sounds ridiculous, maybe even unfair, but sometimes it felt like the grieving version of me wasn’t enough for her. Like she needed proof I was healing, moving on, smiling. Like pain made her helpless, but pretending made her hopeful.

I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, so I did neither. I just nodded and whispered, “Yeah. Me too.”

-𓍙-

A couple of weeks later, I was still home. Still tucked inside the same walls, the same rooms that had started to feel less like shelter and more like something closer to a waiting room. My phone stayed face-down more often than not.

When Nyla didn’t come by, I tried to keep busy. I told myself I was being productive — scrolling through job boards like something might magically spark, updating my resume, making lists I didn’t follow, reorganizing drawers that didn’t need it. I was mostly surviving in small bursts. Grief didn’t ask for permission. It came in waves: quiet one moment, crashing the next. Some days I could breathe through it. Other days, it knocked me flat, and I let it. 

I also started attending therapy — sessions that left me feeling like I’d rung my brain through a spin cycle, but somehow came out clearer. My mom had been the one to set up the first appointment, all careful smiles and ‘Just give it a try, baby’.

My therapist had the kind of voice that made you breathe slower without realizing it. She wore calming colors and always smelled faintly like peppermint tea. There was something steady about her, like she could sit in silence without rushing to fill it, like she knew how to hold space for messy feelings without flinching. 

One afternoon, after I’d stumbled through a ramble about not knowing what to do anymore, she paused. Then gently put down her glasses, “Maybe try writing him a letter. Just… to clear space up there.”

I frowned at her. “A letter?”

“Try it. Doesn’t have to be beautiful, it just has to be honest.”

I gave her a quiet nod, but never actually did it. A part of me even found it stupid, so I avoided it. But one noon, while I was hunched over my laptop and refreshing over and over my email inbox waiting for a response back for a job offer, something shifted.

Without thinking too hard, I opened a blank email and started typing. Fuck, might as well try.

To: (no recipients) Subject: (no subject) I don’t really know why I’m writing this. You’re not going to read it.  It’s been months, but sometimes it still feels like I’m waiting for you to call. Like you’d explain it all away, say it wasn’t what it looked like. You broke me in two separate ways: once when you lied, and again when you left. I wish I could scream at you. I wish I didn’t still miss you in the same breath as I hate you.

The cursor blinked at the end of the sentence. I didn’t send it, just saved it in my drafts folder. It wasn't a letter, exactly. But it would do.

I shut my laptop and slid it to the side, then turned onto my side, phone in hand. My thumb began to scroll mindlessly, the blue light casting a dull glow over my face in the otherwise dim room. It had become a habit, background noise for the quiet. Tap, scroll, double tap, scroll, until I paused.

Jay posted again for the second time this week. 

It’s a blurry mirror pic in a café, our reflection barely visible, his arm around me, face turned slightly away. The one before was less ambiguous: Jay in his hoodie, and me walking ahead of him through a street, our hands barely visible but unmistakably linked. No tag, no name, no face.

I stared at the screen, unsure how I felt. It wasn’t that I hated the photos — honestly, they were romantic. We made sure of that. We planned each shot together, turning the city into our own clandestine photo studio, all while trying to stay under cover. We spent the whole day darting down side streets, changing tops in his car, then darting back out to chase the perfect light. Jay even had asked before he posted them. “You don’t have to say yes,” he’d said, his voice gentle. “I’ll take it down in a second if it’s too much.”

I had said yes, it was my end of the deal after all. But seeing the number of likes, comments, shares — in the hundred thousands — made it all seem surreal.

Then, a message dropped from the top. 

“Wanna go out tmr and help me lie to the internet again?” - "little shit", Delivered 3 min ago

“Apparently the photos we took aren't enough for my manager.” - "little shit", Delivered 1 min ago

“what more do they want?” - "me", Delivered 2 min ago

“They want us to step out together, but make it look effortless. Natural.” - "little shit", Delivered 1 mins ago

“Just trust me. I’ll pick you up around 4pm. I’ll take care of the rest.” - "little shit", Delivered 1 sec ago

“Fine. Only if you’re coming for dinner afterwards.” - "me", Delivered 1 min ago

He didn’t miss a beat. 

“Deal.” - "little shit", Delivered 1 sec ago

-*-

The moment I got his text that he was outside, I slipped into my coat and grabbed my purse from where it rested near the door. As I padded down the stairs, I paused briefly by the window, noticing the way the clouds were starting to hang heavy in the sky, casting a soft, grey hue over everything. I slid the heavy wooden door aside and stepped out into the brisk air, tugging my collar up against the bite of the breeze. A different car, though also tinned, was already there at the curb, its engine idling quietly.

As  I slid into the passenger seat and clicked the seatbelt into place, I mumbled a quick ‘hey’ in his direction. The rich leather beneath me was smooth, faintly infused with a mixture of pine and something a little spicy — his cologne, I guessed — a scent I hadn’t yet gotten used to, but found unexpectedly comforting.

Jay didn’t say much at first. His hands rested casually on the wheel as he shifted the car into drive and we began to ease away from the curb. After a moment, he glanced over, his profile glimmering faintly in the glow of a nearby storefront. “Manager picked the spot. Some café downtown.”

I nodded, tugging my coat tighter against me, as if it might ease the nervous energy swirling in my stomach, “alright.” I murmured. He kept his gaze on the road, but I could feel his awareness slowly turning toward me. “You seem tense.”

I let out a nervous scoff, not quite a laugh, trying to sound casual. “What makes you think that?”

“You're tearing your fingers apart, for one.” he said, eyes still on the road, briefly turning the wheel to the left. I forced myself to ease my grip, placing my hands flat in my lap instead. “I’m just worried I’m going to mess something up.”

He turned his head just a fraction, his voice was sincere, a calm thread weaving through the growing nervousness. “I’ll be right there with you the whole time.” His hand briefly left the wheel and came to rest on my knee — a warm pressure that made my pulse ease just a bit.

We slipped into the flow of morning rush hour. The city slowly came alive outside the window: storefronts opening their doors, people hurrying down the sidewalks, buses rumbling past. All while we fell into a comfortable silence. The only sound was the gentle purr of the engine and the rhythmic clicking of the turn signal as we made our way forward.

We eventually turned down a side street and came to a stop in front of a somewhat busy bakery-café. The kind with a charming storefront, a riot of potted plants and a spotless glass facade. Large windows glimmered warmly against the chilly afternoon. The kind of place that guarantees plenty of eyes, plenty of buzz — exactly what his management wanted.

We exchanged a brief glance. We knew the game by now, how to put up that picture-perfect appearance for the world. “Ready?” he asked quietly, a softness creeping into his normally cool voice.

I just nodded as he hopped out first and walked around to my side to hold the door for me. I placed my hand on his arm as I stepped down, letting him guide me up the small step into the café’s bustling interior. The moment we fell into step together, I felt the rush of activity, the rich scent of freshly brewed coffee, buttery pastries glimmering under glass. I could feel the eyes turning in our direction, not in a judgmental way, but with pure, fleeting curiosity.

He led me toward a corner table by the window, handing me a heavy cardstock menu. I turned it over slowly. The names of the dishes were a sophisticated puzzle, ingredients I couldn’t even pronounce, flavor combinations I hadn’t yet tasted. Where even am I?

I let out a nervous laugh, glancing up at him from across the small café table. Our knees were nearly touching, close enough to feel his warmth through the thick denim of his black jeans. “I have no clue what to get…” I whispered, reluctantly turning the page in search of something I recognized or something I was brave enough to try.

He smiled then leaned forward, resting his forearms casually on the table, eyebrows furrowing in concentration as he studied the options alongside me. I could make out the rich, woody notes of his cologne in the small space between us. His finger paused, then tapped a spot on the menu. “Go for this one. It’s a honey latte.”

After a minute, he turned to the server and placed both our orders in a clear, decisive voice. The kind that meant he knew exactly what he wanted. The server nodded and slipped away, I was left noting the way his knuckles rested against the wooden surface, strong yet relaxed — a quiet confidence that made me feel… cared for?

Fucking focus, you’re being watched.

I stirred my overpriced latte slowly, letting the creamy design get ruined with the spoon that's clicking softly against the cup’s rim; as I listened to him ramble on about the pastries he fell in love with while filming some movie in France — his voice a comfortable soundtrack against the bustling café. “Did you know there’s a hotel in France that lets you sponsor a croissant?” he said casually, pausing to take a sip of his espresso. “I’m thinking we should sponsor a chocolate one together.”

I pressed my lips together, trying not to smile. “Yeah, dumbass, those ones are called pain au chocolat.”

He paused mid-swallow, eyebrows furrowing in disbelief. “Wait, that’s what they’re called?”

“That’s, like… the literal name.”

He let out a short rich laugh and I couldn’t help but break into a laugh alongside him. The kind of chuckle that starts quietly and then spills out, freeing me.

Just then, the server appeared at our table with a small plate in his hands. On it rested a delicate dessert — a rich chocolate mousse drizzled with glossy chocolate and adorned with strawberries. “On the house, a little thank you for choosing us today,” they said with a genuine smile before stepping back into the flow of the café. 

“Score, free dessert from an expensive café,” I whispered under my breath, barely able to keep from giggling. 

He glanced toward the window, where a small cluster of paparazzi was already gathering, their camera lenses catching the light like tiny, hungry gremlins. Mischievous flashes in his eyes, “wait… I have an idea,” he said, voice low but full of playful confidence.

Leaning in just a little across the table, he scooped up a spoonful of the mousse. Without a word, he lifted it to my lips, creating a picture-perfect moment — the kind of romantic snapshot his manager would love to see plastered all over the tabloids. We’re posing without posing. I fought to keep a straight face, the ridiculousness of it all bubbling up, but the warmth in the gesture melted some of my nerves.

The mousse was velvety and deep, making me let out a soft ‘Mmm’ savoring the flavor, giving him a quick smile, eyes sparkling. “Yeah?” he challenged, leaning forward to take a bite from the same spoon, his own expression softening as the taste hit him. His eyes widened just a bit, “Oh shit…”

Jay’s phone buzzed softly against the table, breaking the quiet bubble around us. He glanced down, fingers briefly scrolling through the message. I watched him, savoring the last bites of the mousse, the rich sweetness lingering on my tongue. He didn’t rush me, letting me enjoy the moment while his attention shifted to the screen.

After a beat, he looked up, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Got a message from my manager,” he said. “ ‘The paparazzi photos are everywhere now. You did well. You can leave now.’ ” he read it out for me.

I just nodded, my fingers tightening around the strap of my purse. We stood up together, Jay reached for the bill, still calm, but I could sense the shift in the air, a subtle tension creeping in.

The moment we stepped outside, it hit us all at once. The paparazzi were waiting — like vultures circling a fresh story. Cameras flashed wildly, shouting voices ricocheting off the walls, turning the quiet afternoon into a chaotic storm. 

“Jay, how serious is she?”

I froze, heart pounding, caught in the middle of it all. The bright flashes felt like they were burning right through me, and the noise swallowed everything else. 

“Jay! Is this your rebound?”

It was like being a fish trapped inside a fishbowl. Voices overlapped, a dozen different questions and jeers, some sharp, some desperate for attention. 

“Do you want to say anything to your fans about this?”

Without missing a beat, Jay took control as if he’s been through this drill more times than he cared to count. His arm slid smoothly around the small of my back, the grip steady and reassuring. He leaned in close, his voice dropping low. “Don’t look at them. Just walk with me.”

He guided me forward, weaving through the swarm of houting voices and relentless camera flashes with practiced ease, moving as if the whole chaotic scene was just another routine. And maybe it was — for him.

Finally, we reached the curb where his car waited. its dark, tinted windows suddenly felt like a small blessing. Once inside, the door clicked shut behind us, instantly muffling the noise outside. The sudden quiet was almost dizzying. My shoulders remained tight, coiled with leftover adrenaline. I kept my mouth shut, the words lodged somewhere too tangled to say.

Jay glanced sideways at me, focused on the road ahead but still searching mine for a sign. His voice was hesitant. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, the weight of the moment pressing into his tone.

I barely managed to mumble ‘It’s okay’ though my voice felt fragile, as if trying to convince myself more than him.

-*-

That evening, our dining room hummed with life — laughter bubbling up, voices overlapping in easy conversation, the comforting clink of plates and glasses weaving through the air. Around the table, my parents’ warmth was undeniable, their smiles were genuine. But as I sat there, an invisible thread inside me began to unravel.

The chatter softened, melting into a distant murmur, like a radio playing faintly in another room. Words drifted past, slipping through the cracks of my attention without ever fully landing. Faces morphed into unreachable, indistinct shapes. The steady rhythm of their world kept beating, relentless and… indifferent. Like life was moving forward regardless if I’m grieving or not.

Normalcy felt cruel at that moment. For a flicker, I felt a sharp pulse of anger. Mad at the world, mad at myself for feeling disconnected, mad that things hadn’t stopped just for me. But the anger was tangled up with guilt. What right did I have to feel this way? What exactly was I mad about? 

My mom returned to the table, balancing a beautifully plated cake, her smile warm and effortless. “Can you grab some napkins, baby?” she asked softly, resting a gentle hand on my shoulder. The touch pulled me back to the moment

I nodded and turned toward the cabinet, the low murmur of conversation trailing behind me. But as I walked away, my eyes caught a glimpse of Nyla subtly cornering Jay in the quiet hallway. Their voices were hushed, but the sharp edge beneath their words cut through the calm like a knife.

“I don’t know what this is…” Nyla’s voice was firm, skepticism woven through each syllable. “But don’t give her another lie to believe in.”

Jay didn’t argue. His silence spoke volumes. He simply nodded once, slow and deliberate, like a man accepting a hard truth. “I know,” he said softly, after a brief pause, “I won’t.”

I really hadn’t meant to overhear. I forced my gaze to stay on the cabinet, ignoring the charged silence that suddenly thickened the air around them. Every word slipped in my mind. Am I that fragile and weak in front of them?

-𓍙-

I balanced the paper bags against my hip as I turned the key in the lock. When the metal clicked, I nudged the door inward with my shoulder. Mom had insisted I get out for a bit — a chance for some fresh air, again — slipping me a sticky note filled with a list of things we needed. “Mom, I’m home. Got your stuff.”

“Thank you, baby.” Her voice was distracted as she began to unload the bags and put everything in its place.

I slipped down the hallway toward my room, eager for my safe haven. The moment I crossed the door frame, something felt… different. Something was missing. The spot by the window, where the funeral flowers had been slowly wilting in their glass vases, was completely empty. The vases were gone, the water drained, the last few dried petals tossed away.

Where the fuck were they?

“Mom… where are the flowers?” I said, keeping my voice even, or at least I tried. The words trembled just a bit as they slipped out, panic rising quietly in my chest.

She paused, a dish towel in her hand, mid-wipe of the dining table’s surface. “What flowers, baby?”

“The ones I came home with.”

"Ah…" She turned back casually. "They had a lot of bugs. I threw them out."

“Oh,” I pressed my fingertips to the bridge of my nose, “that… makes sense.” I forced out then took a shaky breath. Keep it together. 

However, it was stronger than me. When it fully hit me, I turned away, not trusting myself to keep it together much longer. My pulse was already racing, each breath a little shallower, a little tighter in my chest — the familiar start of a panic attack creeping up. 

Mom said nothing as I slipped past her, murmuring something about forgetting an item on the grocery list, a weak excuse I hoped she wouldn’t question. I stepped outside, letting the chilly air rush against my face, as if it might ease the pressure building within me.

It felt as if the last piece I had left of him had been quietly erased — gone without a trace. As if my mom had decided that it was time to clear it away, that I should be ‘moving on’ by now, that being in a relationship would just make the mourning stop. 

I turned down another side street, letting my feet carry me without direction. Just keep going forward. The world glimmered under a haze of gold from nearby storefronts and headlights, bouncing off puddles in shimmering rings. I hadn’t noticed it was pouring. 

I honestly couldn’t tell how much time had passed. Minutes? Hours? it all blended together in a cold, numbing haze. I stayed there, hunched on the bench as the rain fell harshly, soaking through my clothes, down to my skin — until I was chilled to the bone.

The world around me seemed distant, a watercolor painting smeared by the water. The colors blurring, edges fading, as if I was slowly fading alongside it. Everything felt heavy — my limbs, my mind, even my own pulse. 

Then, all at once, it felt as if the rain had been turned off. I blinked up, confused as drops still dripped from my lashes, only to find Jay. His grip on his umbrella was steady above me, creating a small tent from the downpour. He let a shaky breath escape, a mixture of relief and worry. “I was worried sick about you.”

Silence fell as I tried to process the fact that he’d come looking for me. Before I could say anything, he slipped out of his jacket — the rich, heavy fabric still holding his own heat — and draped it carefully over my shoulders. 

He paused, then said quietly, “C’mon… let’s get you somewhere warm.”

“Don’t take me home.” The words fell from my lips, desperate. I held his gaze, those brown eyes seemed to see straight through me. After a moment, he nodded, “I won’t.” he said, a vow I felt more than I heard. 

Together, we slipped into his car. The thunderous rain began to ease, fading into a gentle patter against the rooftop of his car as we drove away — the world outside is a blur of glistening city lights, bouncing off rain-soaked streets. I drew my knees up, pressed close to warmth, letting the silence wrap me up.

-*-

He turned the key in the lock and clicked the door open, pausing briefly to let me step inside first. The moment I entered, I felt a rush of warmth and the scent of his cologne enclose around me immediately. He flipped on a small side lamp near the door, casting a soft glow across the apartment. 

“I keep this place separate from everything else,” he said, tugging off his damp shoes. “So the paparazzi can’t find out where my family lives… or reach them.”

I let my gaze wander around his space. It was undeniably a place he called his own — spotless but lived-in, a little sparse, with a few taped up cardboard boxes stacked quietly in the corners, as if he hadn’t quite gotten around to unpacking them yet. The furniture was minimal, the color palette calm and neutral.

He led me further in, guiding me toward his sofa. I hesitated, I was soaked, dripping rainwater everywhere. but he nodded, murmuring a ‘It’s fine., really’.

“I’m going to get the shower ready for you, before you catch a cold.” he said, before holding out his phone toward me, the screen already unlocked. “Call your mom… let her know you’re safe. She’s probably worried.” His voice was gentle — not a command, but an understanding, a way to ease a growing knot I hadn’t even noticed I was holding.

I nodded reluctantly, taking the phone from his hand. He turned and disappeared down the hallway, his silhouette briefly backlit by the glow from the restroom.

The phone barely rang before my mom picked up. “Jay? Did you find her?” There was a softness in her voice and a nervous energy I recognized.

“Mom, it’s me,” I said, trying to steady my words. “I’m okay. I’m at Jay’s place.”

She exhaled a breath I could almost hear over the line. “Thank God. I was so worried… I called Jay earlier, asked if you were with him, and he said no...”

As I listened, I caught Jay passing by, carrying a stack of clean towels, he looked so composed. “But as soon as I said it's been a couple hours you haven't been home, he told me he was going to find you.” Mom continued, her voice a mix of relief and lingering concern.

I swallowed, feeling the weight of that unspoken trust settle in me. Jay had been out there, searching for me in the pouring rain — for who knows how long — without ever mentioning a word to me.

“I’m okay, Mom. Just… needed some air. Jay’s been helping.” I cleared my throat, trying to sound reassuring.

“Alright,” she said finally. “Just call me if you need anything, okay?”

“I will,” I promised softly, letting the words ease some of the weight that had been sitting heavy on my chest. We exchanged our goodbyes and let the call disconnected.

I hopped into the steamy shower — though quickly, just enough to chase away the lingering chilly feeling. When I turned off the faucet and stepped back out into the misty restroom, I found a neatly folded stack of clean clothes waiting for me — they’re his, for sure, a couple sizes too large.

I padded quietly down the hallway, tugging at the cuffs of his sweater. The hardwood floors whispered under my feet, a softness that seemed to ease me forward. I turned a corner and paused in the doorway. I found him sitting out on his balcony with a glass of wine resting in his hand, the rich garnet liquid beaming a ruby color in the glow of the city’s neon. His silhouette was a lone shape against the riot of lights outside — a man separate, even in a world so full.

I slid open the balcony door, making a rush of cool night air slip in. He turned at the sound with a small, mischievous smile tugging at his lips. “You know… those look a whole lot better on you than they ever did on me.”

I let out a soft giggle and crossed the small distance between us, sinking down into the seat beside him. “Thank you… for everything,” I said, letting the words hang. “And I’m sorry… for everything as well.”

He nodded quietly, “don’t mention it.” he murmured as he filled a second glass, handing it to me. The wine was a rich garnet against crystal. I turned it slowly in my grip, letting its warmth seep into my fingertips. He kept his gaze forward, toward the city’s chaos.

“Remember that time you cried in the broom closet because Nyla and you fought?” he said softly, “and I stood outside, trying to get you to come out?”

I scoffed, the nostalgic memories tugging at me. “I think I stayed in there for… hours.”

He turned his glass slowly in his hands, eyebrows lifting in amusement as he added, “the more i think about it the more ‘cry baby’ feels very appropriate for you.”

I nudged his shoulder playfully, in that weird comfort of familiarity, “Haha,” I said, my voice dry. He tilted his head back and let out a full, easy laugh. “You’ve always hated me, anyways.”

“That’s not true.” I turned toward him, reluctantly meeting his eyes. “Not hate. Just… irritation. Childish irritation.”

He pressed his glass to his lips, smiling. “I’ll take that.”

I fell into silence, letting the moment settle — the city glowed through the balcony railings, a mosaic of golds, blues, reds. I turned slightly, letting my gaze linger on him. There was a soft, raw vulnerability that made my heart ache. His shoulders are weighed down and his jaw is set. It's as if he’s holding himself together and refusing to break down.

“What’s on your mind?” I whispered.

He kept blinking somewhere in the distance, trying to think. “I…” he began, wrestling with the words. “I feel so fucking lonely.” He confessed, whispering back to me, dropping his shoulders in defeat. As if it's that simple, but it wasn’t really that simple.

He pressed his lips together, then let them ease. “But I’m afraid to let someone close again.” His knuckles tightened faintly on his wine glass. “I’m afraid I’ll be used again.”

I let his words sink in for me, “It’s about her, isn’t it?” I asked quietly. His grip slowly relaxed, “yeah.”

“What really happened between you two?”

He stopped to choose his next words carefully. “She… turned everything we had into a commodity, basically.” His jaw tightened as he remembered. “She leaked photos. Then started spreading lies about… about us. Our sex life. Our relationship. It changed my image in front of everyone.” He then exhaled through his nose. “All the controversy, I think that’s exactly what she wanted. All the new eyes on her, it's a way into Hollywood.”

“That’s a lot to carry, especially now with your management.” I said, sympathizing. “I’m so sorry you’re going through this.”

“You're not the one who should be apologizing.” He sneered. He tilts his glass over his lips, draining the last sip before slowly turns to face me, his expression softer. “And what really happened between you two?”

I took a deep breath. “I… found him cheating.” I confessed, sharing my own truth as well. He kept his eyes on me, patient. “That’s when I cut everyone off. I was… embarrassed, so I kept it to myself.” I added quietly.

“And then… he died a month later.” I faltered, “I felt even more ashamed… ashamed that I was grieving someone who chose someone else. I felt… stupid for crying over him. Grief’s weird like that, It doesn’t care if someone deserved to be missed or not.” I turned to watch a drop of rain trail down the glass of the balcony railing. “Some days, I think I’m not really grieving him… but the life I thought I was going to have with him. The future I believed was mine.”

I pressed my fingertips to the base of the glass, “I think all the shame, the guilt of putting my parents through this mess, that's what made me say yes to this fake dating in the first place.”

He fell mute, allowing the city’s pulse to rise, before whispering, “I’m sorry.”

I let out a chuckle. “You're not the one who should be apologizing.”

He huffed a laugh at the irony that both of us were stranded in the wreckage of culpability, humiliation and torment. My eyes fell to my almost empty glass, “besides my therapist, you’re the only person I’ve told about the cheating.”

He nodded as an affirmation. “I’ll keep it between us,” he said quietly. “I won’t tell a soul. I promise.”

The silence that followed felt dense and weighty, so profound that every thump of my own heart seemed to echo loudly in the stillness. He's the first to cut through it, “what were you supposed to be doing this year?”

I pressed my knees to my chest and exhaled. “Grad school in Chicago. We… were supposed to move in together. We found this little apartment...” I said, thinking about that small, cute place made me smile. “I deferred the week after the funeral.”

He nodded understandingly, humming as a response. “What about you? When do you think you will go back to L.A.?” I asked. 

He smirked faintly. “Only when I want to make things even messier.” His voice was light, but I recognized the honest fibre underneath. “I’m not really in a rush to go back… the movie’s filming is not starting till next summer anyway.”

I offered a soft hum as a reply just like he did, “I will be first in line to see it.” I said, tilting my glass towards him like a cheers. He laughed and said a ‘thank you’ under his breath as he refilled his glass before settling back down.

From where I sat, I was able to study him — the strong curve of his jaw, where his sideburns sat, the way his lashes rested against his cheeks. It was the same face I’d known since childhood, but now it carried a strength that only time could carve. The boy I once teased and the boy once teased me was gone, replaced by an admirable grown man. 

I let myself slowly lean in, resting my forehead against his shoulder. I drew up my knees even closer to my chest, tugging his sweater farther down over me. He shifted just a bit just until his warmth pressed against me. 

Time seemed to slow, a moment stretched into another. He whispered, barely audible, “What is this mess we’re in?” I laughed as I turned just a little, without lifting my head. “You tell me.”

I must have drifted off while resting against him. One moment I was staring out the window, feeling the rhythm of the car and his heartbeat beside me, and the next… everything felt weightless. 

I remember how gentle he was with me as he slipped his arms underneath, lifting me with a careful grace, a reverence I hadn’t expected. I kept my eyes closed — not fully asleep, not fully conscious — just trusting him to carry me. I felt the shift of light as we passed through the hallway, then the softness of the mattress that's welcoming me. The tug of a heavy blanket placed over me with kind hands. 

“Rest that pretty head,” he murmured, gently brushing my hair away from my face.

I wanted to ask him to stay, to not leave me alone. But the words stayed locked in my throat, stubborn. My lips remained sealed as the door clicked softly shut behind him. And for the first time in weeks, I surrender completely to sleep.

-𓍙-

Therapy isn’t magic. It’s slow, frustratingly slow. The sessions blend together, a couple of weeks turning into a small stretch of time. It's a process that feels more like navigating a labyrinth without a map. Some days, I show up and say nothing. I sit there in silence, letting my fingertips follow the seams of the couch cushion, feeling the texture.

Other days, the words come in a rush of either fury or sorrow. They come out as confessions I hadn’t meant to make, like a vulnerable string I hadn’t noticed was frayed. I would talk about him — sometimes about very mundane things he did, other times about fucked up things he did. It would be about little habits I hadn’t noticed until I said them aloud, but also  about his choices that still gnawed away at me. It was as if by turning them over in my mind, piece by piece, I was slowly untangling the knot he left in me.

It was all a process of putting the pieces back together. If he doesn't want to tell me the truth, I will find it.

My therapist says that I'm making some kind of progress, naming the ghosts instead of letting them haunt me. Some days I feel that disarray in my own skin. This heartbreak feels a bit like someone opened me up, reorganized everything, and then forgot to put me back together. 

Regardless, I keep showing up. I let the stillness and words alike do their healing work. In a very sluggish manner, to be fair, until I can learn how to carry it without letting it consume me.

-*-

I looked out through the small kitchen windowpane. The rain came down hard, turning the world outside into a watercolor of silver, navy and grey. Droplets raced down the glass in wild rivulets, blurring the city’s edges. There was no way Jay could leave now, not without practically swimming his way back to his car.

We fell into a comfortable rhythm of clearing the dishes from the dining table by him stacking them neatly and me rinsing them in the sink. Up until my mom put her foot down, “the roads are awful. You’re not driving in this mess.”

Before he could protest, she was already moving toward the linen cabinet in the hallway. Her fingers sifted through the fabric until she pulled out a pair of my dad’s old pajamas, soft but well-worn. He tried to argue, stuttering something about not wanting to bother us, that he could just drive slowly. But she overruled him in about three seconds flat, pressing the neatly folded set into his hands, eyes steady leaving no room for arguing. 

Afterwards, long after everyone else had retreated to their rooms, I slipped out of the closet dressed in my own pajamas. The storm’s roar seeped through the windows, alive and restless. I found Jay standing by the window in my room, a dark silhouette carved against the angry sky, watching the rain rage on.

He was supposed to share this bed with me. It's a formality, a part of the fake dating we’d agreed upon. But now, the reality made my stomach knot. I wondered if he felt the same nervous rush as I did, or if he saw it as something less, something purely convenient. 

I pressed my fingertips against my arm, to calm the nervous energy blooming just beneath my skin. He didn’t turn when I approached the bed or when I pulled the covers back. His voice was low. “I’ll sneak out once it stops.”

I just nodded, letting that be my answer. As he settled in on his side of the mattress, I reached over and turned off my side lamp, dimming the room from its amber glow. The thunder outside rumbled quietly in the distance, the rain steady against the window.

When we shared my old queen-sized bed, the mattress felt smaller than I remembered, crowded by the weight of both of us. We lay there, barely an inch between our knees, the space tight enough to make every breath, every subtle movement feel magnified.

I was acutely aware of his warmth, his low exhales, the rise and fall of his chest — all of it was a reminder that I was not alone. I haven't laid in bed with someone else in so long… the panic forced me to stay still.

Some time passed, as I lay there staring at my furniture. Sleep remained elusive, not a wink of sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, memories tugged me back toward wakefulness. Finally, with a small breath, I turned over beneath the covers, letting myself face him in the dimly glowing room.

“Jay?” I whispered into the dark room.

“Mhm?” he responded, not opening his eyes as he lay flat on his back, one arm resting across his forehead.

“You know, you used to call me ‘Cry Baby’… but remember when I used to call you ‘Star Boy’?” I asked, playfulness creeping into my voice.

He let out a dramatic groan, but a smile was unmistakable on his lips. “goodness, no… don’t remind me.”

I chuckled, “you went so red in the face every single time I said it.” I paused to let myself smile at the memory. “It was honestly kind of cute.”

He sighs before turning to face me as well. “I hoped you’d forgotten that by now.”

As I laughed, he couldn't help but chuckle in return. As I felt my eyelids grow heavy, the world slowly blurring at the edges, I whispered into the softness between us, “Can you… stay the night?” I finally was able to ask him. 

For a moment, silence hung in the air. Then his voice came. “Yeah… I’ll stay.”

At those words, something in me unfurled peacefully. I let my eyes close, trusting that I was not alone, that when I opened them in the morning, he’d still be there.

-*-

My eyes fluttered open as the storm had faded into a soft, far away swirl. The only sound now that I can hear is Jay’s breathing, slow and even beside me. He really stayed even after the storm passed. At some point in the night, my head had come to rest against his chest, his arm draped casually — yet protectively  — around my shoulders. I didn't even feel a rush of timidity or embarrassment from being this close, from letting myself linger in his warmth. 

Instead, I noticed something I hadn’t before — a faint scar near his jawline, a small mark I hadn’t recognized until now. I wondered if it was from that bike accident he had as a kid, the one where Nyla and I cleaned him up and tended his scrapes while he fought back tears, insisting he was ‘too tough’ to cry in front of us. It was strange how different he looked in sleep. He looked softer. Yet, a faint crease lingered between his brows, as if some worries were woven into him, even at rest.

Without notice, a strange ache stirred in my chest. Not because of Jay, but it was that same old ache. It was that familiar ache I kept trying to bury.

I turned slightly and reached for my phone on my nightstand, the glow lighting up the dim room. It's only 3 a.m. Why am I even up? My fingers went to my email account, straight to the drafts folder. There sat the old unsend email for him, catching dust. I inhaled deeply and started a new email. Doesn’t have to be beautiful, it just has to be honest.

To: (no recipients) Subject: (no subject) Everyone keeps asking if I’ve ‘found closure’. As if it’s a drawer that's neatly closed, waiting for me. But it’s not.  Even when you're dead I'm too tired to explain myself to you. Your death froze betrayal in time. Anyways, hope hell is warm enough for you.

It started as borrowed words from therapy, words that had been circling in my mind. But somewhere along the way, it morphed into something less measured. They might be a little harsh and a little messy, but fuck it — they’re the truest reflection of what I’m feeling in this moment. I tucked that email alongside the other unsent one before locking the screen and slipping my phone underneath my pillow. 

As I nestled beside Jay, he stirred faintly in his sleep, unconsciously drawing me a little closer. He became my sanctuary. I’m still so afraid to let anyone close, afraid that opening up means I’m putting myself back in the path that has the kind of hurt I’m still healing from. Though I let him, I let his presence ease me back into rest. I think it’s because my mind and body are so weary from constantly putting up a fight, from bracing for the worst. 

𓍙

Time slipped by without me really noticing with our deal remaining in place. Yet, somewhere along the way… something shifted. We fell into an ease I hadn’t expected. I found myself looking forward to seeing him, looking forward to dinners with him, looking forward to when we step out and put on a performance for the paparazzi. The space we occupied side by side was growing less intimidating.

Currently, we’re in a hotel suite high above Manhattan, the city bustling far below us. Today is media junket day for Jay’s new film — the one he’s been cast in, the role that feels destined to be his big break. The room is a rush of activity: journalists setting up their equipment, publicists darting back and forth, and assistants smoothing every last detail.

His team insisted he show up with me by his side, to continue the role of the ‘supportive girlfriend’ for the interview. His management made their expectations for me clear: sit there, be pretty, smile, and nod — say as little as possible, let Jay take the lead. 

Meanwhile, Jay seemed quietly relieved I was there. His shoulders would relax ever so slightly whenever his eyes met mine during the chaos of getting glammed, I would mouth to him ‘it will be okay’. He seemed on edge all day long.

We settled into the plush velvet chairs placed side by side, directly across from a perky interviewer already poised with her microphone. The bright lights glared down from their rigs, turning the space into something that felt less like a hotel suite and more like a stage — a set designed for every expression, every word to be captured by the cameras.

After a few questions about the film, the interviewer shifted gears, a knowing smile playing on her lips. “So, the fans are absolutely obsessed with you two. Your relationship has everyone talking.”

I was kind of surprised, honestly, I barely registered the comment at first. Over the past month, I had been deliberately distancing myself from social media, scrolling past headlines and posts without really looking, shielding myself from the flood of opinions and judgments that felt both invasive and overwhelming. 

Jay gave a small smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. There was something a little tight, a little forced about it. “Yeah, she’s one of the most incredible people I know.”

The interviewer leaned in with a warm grin. “How long have you two known each other?”

“Forever, kind of. She’s my sister’s best friend.” Jay’s answer came easily, almost automatic. The interviewer’s face softened as she said, “aw, full circle moment!” 

But Jay barely heard her, his mind seemed elsewhere. His jaw clenched ever so slightly, betraying the calm he tried to project.

“Cut!” The director’s sharp voice cut through the room, stopping the interviewer from asking another question. “Hold up, something’s off — the lighting's all wrong.” He rubbed his temples, clearly frustrated. “We’re pausing for now. Take five.”

Jay and I exchanged a glance and nodded silently, the cameras slowly winding down as crew members began passing around the equipment with practiced efficiency. The air felt thick, buzzing like static. 

As soon as the cameras stopped rolling, his publicist leaned in to us, voice low but eager, “that last answer was solid. Let’s keep leaning into that nostalgic romance angle. Maybe we can do a little shoot where she—”

Jay’s eyes snapped open, as if mentioning me was his final straw. “She is not a fucking action figure you can just pose.” he spat out, his tone cold but restrained, each word clipped. The publicist blinked, clearly not used to seeing him this upset.

I placed a calming hand on his arm, “Jay, it's okay… I don't mind.” I whispered to him, trying to ease the tension. 

His publicist pressed their lips together, offended, as their eyebrows furrowing in disbelief. “Cool off. I'm trying to help.”

If eyes could shoot out venom, Jay's eyes would have already done so. His jaw tightened as he rose, the legs of his chair scraping sharply against the floor. Without a word, he turned on his heel and strode toward the hallway outside the hotel room. I fell into steps just a few paces behind, not hesitating to leave the filming crew behind. 

He stood by the window at the end of the hallway, staring out into the city with his fingers raked through his hair in pure agitation. He let out a shaky breath once I was closer to him. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay.” I said, gently reaching for his hand.

We fell into silence together, our gazes dropping down to the bustling scene below. A small crowd of fans had started to gather on the sidewalk, eager just for a glimpse of him. A few paparazzi lingered a little farther back, their camera lenses glinting, poised to capture whatever might unfold.

He turned his head slightly, then whispered, “wanna leave?” A mischievous spark glimmered in his eyes with a smile.

I blinked in confusion. “What? Right now?” He didn’t stop to explain himself, instead, he tugged a baseball cap down over his now messy hair and then slipped his sunglasses up onto my face, tilting them just a bit. The world immediately grew a few shades darker.

“Yeah, come on. I know a way out.” He said. The moment he saw me smile — wild and impulsive — he reached forward and laced his fingers through mine. His grip was firm, a rush of warmth and jitteriness energy that made my pulse accelerate.

He turned back down the corridor and began weaving through hallways, past a storage room with its half-open metal gate, a service entrance that glowed faintly under a solitary emergency light, until we slipped out a side door into a small, sheltered alleyway outside. 

He tugged me forward gently, steering us into the streets that are in the opposite direction of the paparazzi. “As much as I love your idea of running away,” I said, trying to keep my voice light, a playful edge threading through the nerves fluttering inside me, “me doing that interview with you is kind of… a key part of our deal.”

His grip on my hand tightened as we matched pace, walking side by side. “Right now, I don’t care about the deal,” he murmured, pulling his cap lower over his face like a shield. “I just want to be with you — out here, away from all the cameras.” His eyes fixed on the path ahead.

I matched his stride as a gentle warmth rose to my cheeks. “Okay,” I breathed softly, “what do you want to do?”

He glanced back at me, that familiar troublesome gleam lighting up his face — the same boyish spark he’d carried since we were kids. “I want to play tourist.”

“Tourist?” I echoed, laughter bubbling up at the idea. “In our own city?”

He chuckled, nodding with a grin. “Come on, humor me.”

While walking beside him with the city’s heartbeat surged around us, I realized how natural this felt now — as if we had been doing this forever, regardless if there were cameras or not. We turned a corner, letting ourselves be carried by the rush of the city — the hum of honking horns blended with the chatter of hurried pedestrians weaving through the sidewalks, their laughter and conversations mixing into an urban symphony. 

Then, suddenly, a tempting aroma of street food drifted through the air, it was the unmistakable scent of our pizzeria. “Oh my god, I completely forgot about this place,” I said, glancing up at Jay’s face just in time to see his own expression brighten in recognition, the smell tugged at long-forgotten memories..

We pressed against the wooden door and slipped inside, and a rush of warmth enveloped us. The old pizzeria hadn’t changed a bit — the red-checkered tablecloths, the well-worn counter, the snapshots of smiling regulars adorning the walls. It was like a time capsule preserving a moment we hadn’t yet grown out of.

Behind the counter, the owner looked up, his face breaking into a wide smile. “Ah, my two favorite troublemakers. I’ve been waiting for you to show up again.”

Jay chuckled, nodding toward me, “all that’s missing is Nyla.” The owner laughed as he nodded, turning his attention to me. “Your mom would flip if she knew you were still sneaking in here after all these years.”

I shrugged, giggling. “That’s kinda the point, isn’t it? Your pizza’s worth it.”

He slid two paper plates across the counter, each with generously big slices. “On the house today. Consider it a reward for your continued bad behavior.”

“Oh, you’re an angel on earth.” Jay sighed with pure happiness. As we picked up our slices, a chorus of camera shutters clicked from somewhere down the block. “Paparazzi!” I whispered, tugging at Jay’s sleeve.

As his eyes widened in alarm, he gripped onto my hand with a quick ‘goodbye’ to the owner before turning us to the bustling sidewalk. 

We darted forward, weaving through the growing crowd, our shoulders bumping against strangers as we slipped through the chaos. 

“It’s Jay! Over there!”

Our nervous laughter fell from our lips, a rush of adrenaline adding a wild, giddy feeling to every step. The paparazzi pressed forward behind us as a swarm of camera flashes and raised voices, each one competing for that elusive shot of Jay. 

“Jay! Look this way! Jay, over here!” 

The flock continued to rise, punctuated by the aggressive clicking of shutter mechanisms.

“Smile for us, Jay! Just a quick picture!”

I kept my grip tight on his hand while he raised a hand to hail a cab. Just as the yellow taxi glided up to the curb, we slipped inside together, shutting the door close behind us. 

 “I think we lost them.” Jay said, falling back against the seat, exhaling a shaky breath as the cab drove forward.

I turned toward him, a smile tugging at my lips as I nod to the driver. “Where to, tourist?”

*

When he said he wanted to play the role of a tourist, he wasn't kidding. We hopped across crosswalks, darting from corner to corner. We slipped into a comic-book store in the East Village, laughing over the collectible figurines, and tasted all the snacks in different delis. We hopped into another cab just for the ride, then hopped back out to take photos by a rooftop garden.

As the clock edged closer to midnight, he insisted on taking a cab with me all the way to my parents’ brownstone — like letting me go alone just wasn’t an option.

“Oh yeah?” I teased, giggling as he hopped out first and turned back, offering me his hand with that reassuring glow.

He tightened his grip just enough as I stepped down onto the pavement. “Yes! You were terrifying.”

I raised an eyebrow, a playful smile curling at my lips. “Terrifying? When I was... what, eleven?”

The cab drove away, leaving us standing close under the soft amber of the porch light. We were still laughing, caught in that warm, quiet bubble where everything and everyone else — the city, the noise, the world — felt miles away, irrelevant. The gentle light cast delicate shadows across the stoop, a silent invitation to linger just a second longer.

For a moment, the small space between us fell into silence. He cupped my face, his thumb tracing delicate circles over my cheek. “I’ve been a coward about this for way too long.” he said, his voice dropped to a hushed whisper with honesty. 

My heart skipped a beat, suddenly vulnerable and exposed beneath his words. “For how long?” I whispered back. His thumb drifted to my lips, brushing over them softly, as if memorizing their shape.

A nervous, almost shy laugh escaped him, but his eyes stayed locked on mine. “Since we were kids...”

I gave a small, teasing smile. “Mmm, maybe I was scary as a kid.”

His grin softened, leaning down slowly, every inch electric. He was electrictic. The kiss deepened — urgent, tender, and completely consuming. His warm hands pulled me closer, while my fingers tangled in his hair, holding on like I never wanted to let go.

When we reluctantly drew apart, he paused for a minute, resting his forehead against mine. “I'm going to get murdered by my manager tomorrow.” he smiled, eyes closed as if he's trying to savor the moment, savor me.

I let out a breathless laugh, trying to mask how weak my knees feel beneath me. “Worth it?”

He chuckles, and without missing a beat, he pressed a brief peck on my lips. “Ask me again the next time I see you.”

-𓍙-

Two months slipped by in a whirlwind of dinners, interviews, and moments either hidden beneath flashing cameras or hidden behind closed doors. What had started as a carefully choreographed arrangement where two people were playing a part… slowly began to unravel all the walls we had built. Every touch began to feel less and less manufactured, less rehearsed.

He would message me, or even call, when he was supposed to be in meetings or sitting through yet another interview. I’d be stretched out in bed, pillows propped up behind me, the glow of my phone casting a warm pool of light across the mattress.

“Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know… working?” I asked one night, giggling as I pressed the phone tighter against my ear. 

He let out a dramatic sigh on the other end, and I could picture him tilting his head back, closing his eyes in feigned agony. “Work can wait. You’re way more interesting.”

“Mhm,” I hummed back to him, “sounds like excuses to me.”

“Maybe.” His voice dipped, growing softer. “I just can’t help myself.” He confessed. God, he sounded so desperate in that moment — so eager to please — it was honestly kind of adorable.

I felt that flutter in my chest, the same one I used to get when I was a teenager crushing hard on someone. It had been so long since I’d felt that way, like my insides buzzing with a mix of excitement and nerves.

We fell into routines that felt effortless. After those glamorous, exhausting events, instead of parting ways, we’d grab wine and food from a corner spot and hide away in his place. 

We fell into routines that felt effortless. After those glamorous, exhausting events, instead of turning our separate ways, we’d grab a bottle of wine from the corner spot down the block and escape back to Jay’s place. There, with the city’s humming quietly outside his windows, we’d kick off our shoes and sink into the pillows on his sofa.

Tonight was one of those nights, but the air hung humid enough to cling to skin and weigh down every breath and movement. As soon as we stepped in, Jay peeled off his suit jacket, letting it slide down his arms and drop over the back of a nearby armchair. His crisp white shirt followed, a few upper buttons slowly undone until a sliver of his collarbone appeared.

I fell back against the sofa with a heavy exhale, tugging at the hem of my short dress in a useless attempt to cool down. The fabric clung to my thighs.

He turned back toward me, a glass in his hand. The cubes of ice clinked quietly against the rim as he crossed the room to bring it to me. I pressed it to my lips — freezing drops of water a much-needed contrast to the warmth that filled me. 

The questions he answered today while I was sitting beside him kept replaying in my mind — especially the ones about his ex-girlfriend. It made me curious in a way…

“Jay?” I said quietly.

“Yes, love?”

“Was she your first girlfriend?” I asked, taking a sip of the water.

He nodded. “Yeah,” he responded, eyebrows furrowing in confusion about the sudden question. 

So this makes me his second girlfriend ever… “Wait, so you've never been with another woman besides her?” I pressed, turning the ice in my glass before putting one on my tongue.

I swirled one of the ice cubes in my mouth, watching him trying to form an answer. “What? Like — not exactly —” He faltered under my gaze, coloring red faintly. He was flustered, as if I'm accusing him that's he's inexperienced. 

Not that I'm very experienced either, he just looked too irresistible not to pick on. His perfect, neat hair was a mess now, a few locks falling forward, adding to his disarray. God, he looked so delicious. I inched forward, closing the distance between us, a mischievous spark rushed through me.

With the ice still resting in my mouth, I went closer to him and pressed a freezing kiss to the side of his neck. He jumped briefly at the cold sensation, then fell back against the cushions. “Don’t tease…” he whispered — a warning that fell powerless against his own growing temptation. 

I paused just long enough to appreciate the tremble in his voice before slowly kissing his neck again, “I just can’t resist.” I whispered against his skin. Honestly, it was fun pressing his button.

Gently, I drew the ice from my lips and let its chilled surface trail up his arm. “What are you doing?” he whispered, his breath shaky, close against my own. 

I smiled, curling my fingers on his waist band, “I was counting down the minutes to get you alone.”

That was completely true — all through the event, while I nodded and smiled and made small talk, I couldn’t keep my mind from straying back to him. The way his suit sat perfectly over his shoulders, the softness in his gaze when our eyes met across the room. Every moment made it that much harder to wait. 

I shifted to straddling him, until I was sitting directly across his lap. It was like a rush of warmth meeting warmth. He kissed me with an urgency I haven't seen before. I felt his knuckles brush against my inner thighs as he fumbled with his zipper, tugging it down just a little, the metal clinking. While the hem of my dress began to gather up around my hips, the fabric creeped higher and higher until it bunched softly at my waist.

I palmed his bulge from beneath his boxer, throbbing and needy. “Please, hurry.” he whispered with equally needy eyes, his temple sweating.

“Easy, boy.” I giggled as I slowly started lowering myself down until his entire cock slid inside, granting me a groan from him. "ngh… shit," I gasp at the stretch, his hands resting on my thighs as I roll my hips along his cock.

His eyes fluttered shut, letting out a pretty whine when I started moving up and down, my hips meeting his pelvic as if it was made just for him. I was relish­ing the way he struggled to form words, to make his desires known. 

“Come on, star boy, what do you want?” I teased, knowing he can't form many words, let alone sentences. The way his normally composed demeanor fell away under my touch, piece by piece, until there was nothing left but pure, uninhibited need.

As my movement continued, he looked completely pussy-drunk, a mess just for me. “Hmm? Words, baby. I need words from you." I encouraged quietly, guiding his face back to mine while resting my other hand flat against his rapidly beating heart. His grip tightened on my thighs.

“Fuck— you, i want you.” he finally choked out, sounding so vulnerable. His hands roam upwards, touching me as if I'm everything he asked God for. 

“Good, good,” I praised, pushing some of his hair out of his face. “Cum for me, baby, cum.” I urged. I could tell he's so close, I could read him as a book. The pace of my hips quickened, Jay's thrusts following close after. 

His hips stutter with his release after feeling that tightening around his length. With his own fluid mixed with mine, my body fell forward, face buried in his neck while coming down from my own high. He takes a few slow breaths before kissing my shoulder. 

“You're mean,” he chuckled, rubbing circles into my back. I turned my head just enough to press a soft kiss to his collarbone. “Mean?” I whispered. “Who, me?”

He let out a soft laugh, giving my ass a playful tap. Then he slid his arms underneath me, lifting me up effortlessly against him. I held on tighter, locking my arms around him as he carried me toward the shower.

-𓍙-

The first time he knocked, I didn’t move. Not even a breath.

I just laid there, curled under my sheets, watching the shadows on the wall shift with the hours. My phone had long since died, no battery left, somewhere in the mess on my floor. However, the notification still blinded my brain. That one fucking headline with so many comments under it, all paired by DMs I couldn’t unread.

‘Jay’s Girlfriend’s Dead Ex Cheated On Her — Source Says She Knew!’

The words burned like fresh ink behind my eyelids. They knew. They all knew, now.

About the accident, about him cheating. They thought I’d planned it, like I’d lured him into some twisted karma. That I let him die with that secret like it was something I’d authored.

The only person I had ever told the truth to was Jay. So when the knock came again — I didn’t even flinch. “Baby,” his voice was muffled through the wood of my door. “Please open the door.”

I stared at the crack between the door and the floor, I could see his shadow. “I swear it wasn’t me.” he pleaded, shaking the door handle. My throat clenched with my jaw. I could hear it in his voice — the confusion, the panic — but I couldn’t let myself believe him. Not when the betrayal felt like a bruise I hadn’t even started pressing on.

Just when I believe someone, they lie to me. I feel like I'm back at step one.

He came every day since the publication of that article. Sometimes in the morning, sometimes late at night — always with flowers. I’d hear the knock at the front door, followed by my mom’s clueless murmuring, then he’d try at my bedroom door.

“I don’t care if you scream at me,” he said on the fourth day. “Just let me see your face. Please.”

I didn’t, I never did. I stayed cocooned in my silence, wearing the same clothes in the same shame and rage. It was easier that way anyways, anger made a good blanket when grief got too sharp.

There was no pressure or interrogations with my parents — just a patient presence. When I left my room, rarely as it is, I’d always find Jay’s flowers waiting for me at the doorstep of my room, they started to pile up. I never dared to open the letters that came with them. 

My parents would leave a lamp turned on in the hallway so I didn’t have to walk through the dark. Their love wasn’t loud, but it was showing up, again and again.

One night, maybe an hour after Jay gave up and left, I finally drifted out into the living room. I didn’t even know why, I wasn’t really looking for anything. I just found my dad sitting on the couch, his glasses were slightly askew, pretending to read on his book. 

When his eyes met mine, he didn’t say anything but I saw the worry in them. Just gave me a small nod and gently patted the spot beside him, like he’d been saving it all along.

I didn’t hesitate. My body sank down, folding into the couch as I tucked myself beside him and let my head rest in his lap. His hand came to rest on my shoulder — a steady weight, familiar. The kind of touch that reminded you of being little again, when the world felt too big and your parents made it smaller just by being near.

For a while, we didn’t speak. Just the sound of his soft breathing and the occasional creak of the apartment. Then he asked, soft and even, “Why didn’t you tell us?”

I swallowed, my throat dry from not speaking in days. “I didn’t want to add to your worry.” My voice cracked before the words made it out. “I figured... if I acted okay, maybe I’d start to feel okay.”

By the seventh day, my world had shrunk down to the sound of him pacing the hallway, sometimes whispering my name, other times just sitting against the door. I could feel his presence like a stormcloud on the other side — heavy, persistent, full of noise he wouldn’t let fall.

Then, on the eighth day, it wasn’t Jay’s voice I heard, it was Nyla’s instead. “It’s me, babe,” she said gently, her knuckles tapping. “Its just me. Can I come in?”

I stayed still on the bed, staring at the crack in the ceiling where the paint had started to peel. Something in me almost reached for the knob, but I couldn’t do it. Not even for her.

“He’s outside,” she added after a long pause. From her voice she sounded exhausted and worried, I could only imagine how she looked. “He’s not eating, not sleeping. He looks awful.” I closed my eyes, an ache ripped through my heart.

“You know he wouldn’t do that to you. You know that.” My lips stayed sealed as my hands gripped the sheets like they could keep me from slipping further into guilt.

It wasn’t fair, what I was doing to her wasn't fair. Deep down, I knew Nyla had nothing to do with any of this. And still, a part of me wanted to push her away too. Like if I didn’t let anyone in, none of it could hurt me more than it already had.

She waited for exactly seven minutes, my eyes never leaving the clock near my bed, counting. Then I heard the soft sigh of her retreat, footsteps padded with disappointment as she left me behind. The guilt hit me as I heard her voice crack as she spoke with my mom.

Later on that eighth night, once the house had gone still and the muffled sound of my parents’ voices faded into quiet, I finally moved. I pushed the blanket off my legs and sat up slowly, my muscles ached from the stillness. 

My laptop sat untouched on my desk, a thin layer of dust smudged across the surface. I hadn’t opened it in so long. The screen flickered awake like it was just as surprised to see me. I sat there for a long time, facing a blank email draft, fingers hovering over the keys, unsure of what I wanted to say anymore. My hands shook a little as I typed.

To: (no recipients) Subject: (no subject) You hurt me when you were alive and when you are dead. It doesn’t make sense. I don’t know if I hate you more for leaving me, or for what you did before you left or what you did after you left.  I wish I could scream at you. You never said sorry. Not once. And now you never will.

I closed the laptop with a soft click and leaned back in my chair, the quiet humming back to fill the space I’d carved open. My eyes drifted to the ceiling again, but I wasn’t really looking at anything. Just letting the stillness soak in. The words I’d written still echoed faintly

Somewhere beyond the walls of my room, beyond the cold of my chest, I knew Jay was still out there somewhere — waiting.

-*-

The office was quiet, filled with that soft kind of tranquility that makes you feel like you have to whisper, even when no one’s told you to. I glanced at the windows, where the late morning light spilled in, brushing against the edge of the bookshelf. I sat curled into the corner of the couch, legs tucked under me, picking absentmindedly at the edge of my tissue.

I didn’t even want to come here, but my mom had made the appointment after the fourth day I hadn’t left my room. Across from me, my therapist waited patiently, letting the quiet settle until I was ready. I squeezed the tissue tighter.

“I feel like everyone just lies to me,” I finally said, the words falling out more like a sigh than a statement. 

She Just nodded once, “Did you hear him out?”

I blinked, caught off guard by how quickly she got to the core of it. I swallowed, suddenly uncomfortable with how obvious the answer was.

“No,” I admitted.

“And why do you think that is?”

I let the silence stretch again, eyes dropping to the floor. “Because I am scared,” I whispered. “Because if it was him, then that would make it worse. That he said he’d protect my promise, and then didn’t. I don’t want to hear the wrong answer.”

She leaned forward slightly, her voice steady. ��And what if it wasn’t him?”

The question sat in the air like a challenge — or maybe like a lifeline of hope. “I don’t know,” I said after a while. “If it wasn’t him… then I shut him out for nothing. I hurt him, for nothing.” My voice cracked around the last part.

The therapist didn’t say anything for a moment, she just nodded again. “Sometimes we protect ourselves by assuming the worst. It feels safer, more predictable.”

“Maybe it’s time to ask the question,” she added gently. “Even if the answer might hurt. You’ve already been hurting. Don’t you want to know what’s true?”

And I did. God, I did. I just wasn’t sure if I still deserved the truth.

-*-

When I got home, the apartment felt heavier than it had earlier that morning. Like it somehow knew the truth that I was finally ready to face after I’d been running from it. I dropped my purse by the door and sank onto the couch, in front of my laptop where it sat on the coffee table.

I lingered for a moment, heart somewhere in my throat. And then, finally, I reached out and let it open.

The screen blinked awake again. After a couple clicks, I found those tabs that I opened exactly where I’d left them — the articles, tweets, videos. The ones refused to look at again, but now I clicked through them again, letting the headlines scream at me all over again.

‘Jay’s Girlfriend’s Dead Ex Cheated On Her — Source Says She Knew!’

a new one for me: ‘Was It All A Setup? Internet Reacts To Shocking New Details About Y/N’s Past’ 

And another: ‘Insider Spills: Y/N’s Relationship Timeline Doesn’t Add Up’

Most of them didn’t list a source, just ‘an anonymous insider’ or ‘a close acquaintance’. Just empty words… pussies. I felt the frustration grow as I found nothing.

I almost closed it all again, feeling stupid for even trying. Until one article, messier than the others, less polished, clearly rushed in its eagerness to be first — listed an actual name.

My heart stopped. I stared at it, thinking I imagined it. But no, there it was, plain as day.

A name I hadn’t seen in months, but one I’d never forgotten. The same name I saw pop up on my boyfriend’s phone the night everything started to unravel. The name I hadn’t wanted to believe was real back then. The girl who answered when I called, smug and breathless. The one who laughed when I said his name.

Suddenly it all clicked into place.

She was the one who told them. She sold the story — for a bit of attention, for a bit of money, for a bit of fame, for a bit of something — now that people care about who I am dating. 

I leaned back slowly, the weight of it all pressing into my chest. It wasn’t Jay. It was never him.

I covered my face with both hands, trying to will back the tears that burned at the edges of my eyes. I’d pushed him away. I’d hurt him — doubted him — when he kept his word to me all along.

The cab ride felt endless. I couldn’t sit still, legs bouncing, fingers gripping the edge of my coat like it was the only thing tethering me to the seat. The city passed by in a blur, lights streaking through the windows like memories I didn’t want to keep replaying. By the time we pulled up in front of his apartment complex, my heart was ready to shoot out my chest. 

I paid the driver with shaky hands and stepped out. The street was quiet, just the faint hum of traffic in the distance. My boots echoed softly in the stairwell as I climbed to his floor.

The hallway to his apartment felt longer than I remembered. Every step forward was like peeling off another layer of the anger I had wrapped around myself like old skin. My fingers curled into fists, then relaxed again. My heart thudded in that slow, aching way, like it was trying to wake up from being numb.

I hesitated for a moment outside his door. My hand hovered over the wood. Part of me wanted to turn around and call a cab again — go home, crawl under the covers, pretend I hadn’t cracked myself open just by coming here. 

I knocked.

I am the one open to knock on his door now.

And when it opened, he looked... different, in a way that wrapped around my heart and squeezed. His shirt hung off him, too loose like he hadn’t noticed it didn’t fit right. His hair was messy, the result of too many restless nights. And his eyes were tired, ringed with shadows like sleep hadn’t touched him in days.

But the moment our eyes met, like tension unraveling all at once, a string that was pulled too tight finally snapping free. I saw it, his whole face melted in relief.

One step from him is all it took and I was in his arms.

He caught me, his hands wrapped around me like he couldn’t believe I came back, like he didn’t trust the world not to take me again. I buried my face into the curve of his shoulder, gripping his shirt, breathing him in — the faint, comforting scent of his soap mixed with his cologne.

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered, my voice already breaking as I clung to him.

He didn’t answer right away, just kissed me. My forehead, my cheeks, my lips. Each one desperate, forgiving. His hands trembled just a little. “I thought I lost you,” he breathed against my skin.

“I didn’t even give you a chance to explain —” I said, the words thick with guilt.

“Shhh,” he cooed, pulling back just enough to look at me again. His hands gently cupping my face, thumbs brushing beneath my eye like he was checking for sadness in them. 

“You’re here now,” he said simply. “That’s enough for me.”

-𓍙-

Two weeks after Jay’s team shut down on the leak — firing off cease-and-desist letters, building walls of legalese tall enough to suffocate the tabloids — things started to settle. The headlines that once screamed my name like a crime scene began to fade from front pages to sidebars. 

The chaos didn’t disappear entirely, not overnight. But the noise dulled into background white noise. Enough that I could finally walk out the front door without feeling like I was stepping into a battlefield.

In fact, Jay made sure of it. If he wasn’t glued to my side, he made damn sure I didn’t leave home without at least three security guards. “Non-negotiable,” he’d said once, pressing a kiss to my temple before leaving me with a guard who looked more like a presidential escort. I wanted to argue, saying it was too much. But I could see his face was edged with protectiveness and guilt. Maybe love, too. So I didn’t fight him.

Still, I hadn’t said a word publicly. No carefully crafted post, no interview or side-of-the-mouth denial. I knew people were waiting, watching every paparazzi photo for signs of a breakdown or a statement hidden in an outfit or something stupid. But I gave them nothing.

They don’t deserve my grief. They’re not entitled to the softness I’ve barely learned how to hold for myself. Paraphrased by my therapist. 

Let them speculate. Let them move on. I already am. Maybe Not gracefully, maybe. But forward is still forward — one cautious step at a time.

-*-

It was late. 

The kind of late where your place falls into a deep peace which the city that never sleeps wouldn't know. Jay had finally coaxed me into bed, whispering gentle things against my temple, brushing his fingers through my hair until my breathing evened out. I didn’t even remember falling asleep, just the warmth of him and the lightness of his sheets.

But something stirred me.

I woke to the absence of him beside me. The space next to me was cold, the sheets already flattened like he’d been gone a while. A faint light spilled in from the hallway, and I sat up slowly, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.

Then I heard him, his voice low but urgent, whispering then rising. “When I say no, it means no. Are you even listening?”

I crept toward the light, bare feet quiet against the hardwood. I could see him in the kitchen — phone pressed to his ear, hair messy like he’d raked his hand through it too many times. His back was to me, one hand braced against the counter, shoulders tight with frustration.

“I don’t care,” he snapped under his breath. “You don’t get to profit off her anymore. I’m serious, drop it.”

He paused, breathing hard. “I mean it. If this keeps going, we’re done.”

I stood there frozen, something heavy swelling in my chest. It wasn’t just the way he defended me, it was the fury behind it. The care he had for me, that he’d burn bridges just to keep the world from touching me.

 “Is everything okay?” I finally asked once the phone call ended, my voice barely above a whisper.

He flinched at the sound, just a twitch, before turning around to face me. When his eyes found mine, his jaw unclenched, the sharp lines of his face softened, and his posture loosened like a knot finally coming undone. 

“Did I wake you, love?” he said gently, voice was like velvet.

I shook my head, stepping toward him. “Just miss you,” I murmured as I wrapped my arms around him, my cheek pressing to his chest. His arms immediately came around me in return, grounding. He tucked me against him like I belonged there.

He didn’t say anything for a long moment, just breathed into my hair. I glanced over his shoulder, past the soft glow of the stove light, and saw the flowers he had gotten me two days ago — peonies and cream-colored roses in a wide glass vase, still slightly fresh, still trying to hold on. 

“Come back to bed with me,” I whispered. He didn’t hesitate, just a soft kiss pressed to the top of my head and took my hand. He squeezed it once, gently, like he was making sure I was still really there. 

-*-

That morning, sunlight stretched across the hardwood floors, delicate bands, like even the sun itself was treading softly. The curtains fluttered gently with the breeze, casting shifting shadows along the bed where Jay still slept beside me. His arm was slung carelessly over the side, fingers twitching slightly in a dream. His breathing was steady, chest rising and falling in a rhythm that felt safe. 

I watched him for a moment — not out of worry, but out of gratitude.

I slipped out of bed quietly, easing my weight off the mattress. The floor was cool under my feet. I padded through the apartment, past the hallway lined with jackets, the shoes we kept tripping over, and into the hushed kitchen, which felt like a different world from last night. 

I moved slowly. I filled the kettle, listening to the water run, then reached into the fridge for milk and a carton of eggs, going through the motions I’d adopted like second nature since I started sleeping here. 

The kettle clicked as it began to heat, but my attention was already drifting elsewhere… to the laptop on the kitchen island. Still tucked away in the corner, right where I had left it. My hand moved before I could think too much about it. I opened it.

Not to scroll, or to click through headlines or notifications, but rather to open the folder I’d been avoiding for weeks: my email drafts.

They stared back at me, all the unsent emails I had written to him. My ex, my liar. They were raw, unedited. Each one was a different timestamp. Some were just one bitter sentence, typed in a rage I didn’t know what to do with. Others were pages long of me spiraling, when sleep was impossible and silence was too loud. They bled through each other to make a mess of mourning and anger.

I re-read a few. Not all thought, I didn’t have the strength for all. I didn’t delete them either, I couldn’t, something about the weight of them didn’t allow me to.

But they didn’t cling to my chest like they used to anymore. My fingers moved over the trackpad, slowly opening a new, blank draft. The cursor blinked at me, expectant, patient. Like it already knew this was long overdue.

To: (no recipients) Subject: (no subject) I’m not okay yet, but I will be. So I’ll do the one thing you never did, I’ll choose the truth. I’m not writing to say I forgive you. I’m writing to say I’m letting you go. Consider this my last email. Sincerely, Fuck you.

I stared at the words for what felt like forever. With a breath that came deeper than I expected, I closed the laptop slowly.  was laying something to rest. Gone.

I closed the laptop slowly, the finality of it washing over me like a quiet wave, gone.

My gaze drifted then, settling on the corner of the island where the vase sat. the peonies and roses Jay had brought me three days ago now. Dull of life just last night, now wilting. The petals drooped, a few scattered.

But I didn’t feel sad at the sight, because I knew he’d bring more. I wouldn’t even have to ask.

[mathsandcomedydotcom]

Talking unscripted to camera is harder than it looks. That said, I was able to speak for just shy of half an hour, unscripted, to camera, concerning the Bible. In this video, I lay out my case for why I believe that, essentially, the Bible was "written by random dudes". If we don't know who wrote most—some, like Robert Mc Nair Price, say ‘all’—of the Bible, then it sounds kinda random to me! I also discuss John W. Loftus 's anthology, ‘God and Horrendous Suffering’. I find time to refer to Dan Brown’s ‘The Da Vinvi Code’ (2003) and why knocking apologists off script might very well lead to their enlightenment. In my view, the job of a good counterapologist is to knock his apologist interlocutor off-script.

[nattaphum]

The Hidden Character PressCon

The reason why Mile was chosen as the MC for the show is because Pond already knew that he would’ve been good at it because Mile used to be a DJ when he was young but also because he has the “big brother” aura. In fact he showed his good and bad sides to all the young boys. Even at BOC he always gives advices to the others so Pond thought his personality fitted very well for the role.

Mile himself said his role is not just that of a reality show MC but also of a big brother who helps bringing out the charm of all the boys and crack any problem within them to bring out the best version of themselves. He said the reality show is natural and real and most importantly is made to make the viewers happy.

Pond said the thc’s filming happened in between of Man Suang’s filming and it took more than 10 hours to film but Mile stayed throughout the filming and never complained once. He was concerned about the thc filming for several days and when he had to be at Man Suang’s filming he was like “i miss the boys, will they be okay? how are they doing?”. This is a side of Mile that Pond has rarely seen in other people.

(photo of Mile smiling in Apo’s direction❤️)

Question for Mile: what do you think about being an MC considering that you’re an actor from a series while this is a reality show with a new format, it’s an unscripted show. What do you feel about this new format?

Mile: i feel excited because having this kind of format gives the viewers an option to be happy with what they're watching because when we were kids,we used to watch reality shows with another pattern and to see this kind of pattern,well it's a good choice. All the experiences that these boys went through made me think like " hey! if i were in their shoes, would i do 1,2,3 of (what he did) or not?" therefore the audiences can probably relate to that and it can induce some general thinking about that, which i think it's a piece of happiness as well.

Apo’s speech : I was once stuck with the concept of "leading actor" and "masculine." As a leading actor, I didn’t have the courage to act freely. I was afraid to be wrong, as the concept of a leading actor shouldn’t be. Now I have learned to accept myself as I am and become a better version of myself every day. Someone once said to me that if they talk to you and tell you what you did wrong, it means they still love and care about you. When they don’t love you, people just leave and don’t bother to tell you things.

Mile: i think every judgement from anyone, whatever that person is, it’s okay on the outside, it's something that we should hear… but we shouldn’t let those words get into us. Moreover, if you’re someone that likes to judge (negatively),dont forget that you're giving a bad impact on another person. Let me give an example, let's say we ask someone “Are you a man or not?” I take these as questions that are not suitable to be asked because when you ask questions you dont have to forget that whatever we are, the only thing that matters is that we’re all just human. The thing you should focus isnt only about "what do you like or not" but it's more about "what you do and what yoy dont do" and send out the result to others.

Pond: we went abroad and thought that they wouldn’t ask this kind of questions, that only thai people ask this kind of things “You’re acting in a Y Series, how intense is your character? or your love scene? Are you gay? are you a real man?” these kind of questions are asked often. Lately it happened to apo and mile and every time it happens i tell them that this question shouldnt be asked .What is the meaning of “real guy”? It’s the word “gentleman” that only matters

FINAL PHOTOS

All translations by strawberrymilk

Apo’s speech translation by mileapostand

[attollogame]

okay, i gotta know (unless you don’t wanna say totally respectable), but SPOILER during the hotel dream sequence where mc yells ‘HEY’ at bellhop dw, is he actually startled or is he just playin the role up? cause i’m obsessed with the concept of dw waitin for mc to stop investigating, rehearsing his lines mentally, and just gets the shit scared outta him cause of mc just screaming at him. thank you for all of your hard work on this game! it’s been an absolute delight and i eagerly await the next update!

Oh it's 100% unscripted LMAOOO he did not expect MC to just start screaming at him while he was still setting everything up 😭😭

[lispectore]

yeah i agree, las nevadas seems…untouchable? like you said it feels like a spin off, or something like tales, a side story with only quackity/karl connected to the main lore and supporting characters. i think that the dsmp really needs better communication and take lore less seriously. even with old builds, lots of the streamers are scared of taking it down because of fans’ responses. i doubt its anyones intentions to leave anyone out of lore, but with the lore that’s unwrapped for months and newer members who aren’t a part of lore, it’s impossible for anyone to continue/start their lore alone

tbh the thing that i would like to happen would be for the server to restart or for them to end the lore completely and leave the server only for people to log in and have fun, which i think won't be happening because

1. the people who would always log and jump on vcs aren't streaming mc anymore or are more into variety/other smps/busy w irl stuff

2. no one wants to log in and stream themselves walking around an empty server, like that's not entertaining to any audience.

it's sad that las nevadas became a spin off the dsmp like how tales had been, because so many things could've happened if it hadn't been put "out of boundaries", i know this has never been said and i'm sure quackity would never do that, but a big part why things would happen on the server/wars would start was because people would mess up with stuff, but when everything needs to be perfectly tidy for a recording, no one is going to screw someone over, so... it's sad but i think u could say that basically the lore ended when dream got put into prison because he was the one who would start stuff when everyone was quiet and the one who would help the unscripted lore go on

[1ddotdhq]

☘️Sat 5 Dec ‘20😱

As mentioned yesterday, Liam and Roman's sleep story is live, and while it's not terribly soothing despite the piano in the background, it could put a smile on anyone's face! Listen, if you want genuine Liam content, this is it- unscripted for sure, not to mention unsupervised from the sound of it, just Liam and Roman being goofy and cracking each other up for 15+ minutes (you could make an edit that's just a solid 5-10 minutes of Liam laughing and obviously someone SHOULD) trying to come up with increasingly ludicrous compliments for each other (“the blue of your eyes makes my toes shiver”). Pure gold, 10/10 do recommend! Today's morning alarm features comments about the app (“help Liam Payne just woke me up and I've never been more scared in my life I thought there was a man in my room”), meaning I guess they didn't record it all at once ahead of time, and they say future days will include them answering our questions! Confusing but very cute.

Niall sent a video to the Irish based children’s council’s showcase commending them on their “incredible work...especially this year in lockdown when its been such a tough time for young people but you guys support each other so much”. He told them to keep at it and enjoy the celebration. “OhmiGOD, he’s SO Dreamy,” said the MC after hearing his message. “Thank you, Niall Horan, SO MUCH!!!” Niall was also around on twitter, liking a fan’s cover of Champagne Lovers (hey Niall, DROP THE STUDIO VERSION), and enjoyed an inside joke with Shawn Mendes (“That cold Canadian winter”). Look if it’s from one of Shawn’s songs or his documentary then I Would Not Know and Do Not Want To. 

Now for the weekend roundup: we got some Harry unseens from last December of him in his turquoise “my life is crap” jumper (only $695 - can you BELIEVE!), Lewis Capaldi complimented Canyon Moon on Instagram, and the DWD main set was shut down today while Chris Pine filmed his scene due to fans hanging around and, uh, screaming. Guys, I know it’s a horror movie, but I think you’re meant to scream at the MOVIE not the ACTORS. In honor of the one year anniversary of Louis’ Poptopia performance, we got some fan unseens from the concert. AND there is only ONE WEEK LEFT UNTIL HIS SHOW!!! And in honor of LP1’s one year anniversary (that’s tomorrow!) we got some really awesome fan edits going around - happy one year, Liam! Y colorín, colorado, este cuento se ha acabado - that’s all there was, folx!