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utopianvoices · 4 years

Text

past, present, future → b.chan

synopsis: Your best friend drags you to his high school reunion against your will, and never have you encountered such chaos. Alternatively, you go on the journey of making more friends, and a potential lover.

genre: high school acquaintances to lovers au; fluff, one second of angst

pairing: bang chan x reader

word count: 14.4k

warnings: explicit language, alcohol consumption, kinda dialogue heavy (oops)

note: i am BACK with this mess of a fic. it took me too long to finish this, and i apologise for any shitty writing :3 thanks to my little babie @curanonemu for making sure i finished this and supporting me as usual muAH. new formatting on posts too weeeee (new year, new me fsdhfgs jk no)!! also, synopsis kinda sucks i’m sorry :P hope y’all enjoy! x

You did not want to go for your high school reunion dinner.

High school is a time for many that is either the best, or worst time of their lives. Forever friends are found there and painstakingly embarrassing memories are made in run down buildings with people you care about. Except, you didn’t have any such attachments.

Those three years were nothing but a filler for you as you studied, helped out in the library, and hung out with one person you called your best friend.

And on top of it all, it wasn’t even a high school reunion dinner meant for you.

The night the bomb is dropped on you, Changbin walks into the living room of the apartment you both share just outside the grounds of your university, and goes straight to the kitchen to fix himself a bowl of cereal because cooking and Changbin did not get along well. The apartment was way cheaper than the dorms your school provided, and it definitely did not have any nosy RAs who were just out there to torture students for their own viewing pleasure.

On top of all that, you could live with your best friend and not some random stranger who might very much as well be a psychotic killer. Perhaps, Changbin could have some questionable habits, like talking to himself in a baby voice while looking in the mirror, but nothing that threatened your life.

You hear Changbin’s phone ringing from the kitchen as you aimlessly flip through the shows available on Netflix, deciding which new show you should watch and commit to, when your best friend’s boisterous laughter fills your ears. Used to the noise, you roll your eyes before increasing the volume of the TV, finally deciding to rewatch Sherlock.

Fifteen minutes later, you’re about to solve the known mystery together with Benedict Cumberbatch when Changbin walks in front of the TV, automatically eliciting a whine from you as you crane your neck left and right to catch a glimpse of the screen.

“What the fuck, Bin?” You finally yell, frowning at the boy in front of you. Realising that he probably wanted something, considering the fact that he wasn’t moving till you asked him, you switch the TV off and settle back into the sofa, throwing him a death glare. “What do you want from me, pest?”

Something’s definitely amiss when you see Changbin shuffling his feet and looking at the ground, a guilty smile ever-present on his face.

“Whatever it is, my answer is no,” you say distantly, leaning back into the sofa with crossed arms. “So give it up.”

“Oh c’mon Y/n! At least hear me out?” Changbin cries out loudly, dropping onto his knees with clasped hands.

Heaving out a sigh, you slowly unfold your arms and lean forward, eyebrows raised as you nod at the poor boy in front of you. “I’ll hear you out. But don’t expect me to say yes.”

“Um...” Changbin starts, eyes darting around the room as he tries to find the right words. “So my high school friends are having a reunion dinner next week and I told them I’d go, but I also said I’d bring you along and they were too happy and so now I think you’ll have to come with me but-”

“Woah woah woah, a high school reunion party? Absolutely not.”

It’s not like you had anything against his friends. You did have brief interactions with a few of them in high school and you knew they were pretty decent lads, but there was no way you were following Changbin to what was meant to be a friends’ gathering.

“But why not!” Changbin whines, waddling over to you on his knees. “It’ll be really fun!”

“Yeah, fun for you,” you deadpan, staring at your pitiful best friend who has now resorted to throwing you puppy eyes. “They’re your friends after all, not mine.”

“That’s right. But they could be. Don’t you think it’s time you start finding more friends who are not me?”

Changbin’s once pitiful eyes held something other than desperation at that moment; they held concern.

It was true that you had no other friend other than Changbin. You knew lots of people, sure, but you wouldn’t call them your friends. With no friends to your name other than that one, it also wasn’t hard to guess that you never dated too. But all that mattered is that you were fine with it, right?

“You know that I don’t need any other friends. You’re more than enough for me. Truthfully, I don’t think I could deal with another Changbin in my life.”

Your words incite chuckles from Changbin, but that doesn’t stray him from his original goal.

“How about this,” he starts, opting to sit cross-legged on the floor because his knees were starting to hurt way too much. “You come to the reunion with me, and the moment you feel uncomfortable, we both can leave no questions asked. Deal?”

As tempting as that sounded, you knew it was not fair to cut Changbin’s precious time with his friends just because you did not want to hang out with new people. “That’s not fair to you.”

Shaking his head, Changbin stares at you, the fire in his eyes clearly visible, and you know that he had made up his mind. “I don’t care. It’s either you follow me and we can leave whenever, or I don’t go at all.”

There was no turning back now. You knew that in the end, what Changbin wants, he gets.

You sigh numbly before nodding your head in defeat, dreading the day that was to come where you had to leave the comfort of your apartment.

With no warning, you’re engulfed in a tight hug by a nuisance chanting “thank you” a million times. You ease into the hug, wrapping your arms around him and giving him a light squeeze, before pulling back to see that he had a smile similar to the one on your face.

“I guess you’re right about me needing more friends. I can’t be annoying you for the rest of my life, right?”

ii.

You’re once again reminded why you don’t go for social gatherings as you take in the various clothes strewn all over your room.

“Hey- Woah, what happened here?” Changbin asks, bewildered at the sight in front of him. “It looks like a hurricane hit your room or something.”

“Yes, it’s called Hurricane Y/n Is Screwed,” you reply sarcastically, before sinking down into your bed in defeat. Looking up at your best friend, you decide to give it a shot and put on your most pitiful face. “Do I really have to go?”

“Yes, you really have to go,” Changbin replies without sparing you another glance, as he sifts through the heap of clothes on your bed. “And get that ugly look off your face, please. It makes me want to barf.”

Flipping your best friend off, you manoeuvre yourself such that you’re facing Changbin, and look upon him in curiosity.

After what felt like forever, pieces of clothing are thrown at you, along with a reminder that you had three hours before you had to leave.

“Three?!” You screech, causing Changbin to wince and cover his ears. “You should’ve told me earlier so that I have more time!”

“What are you so loud for, you damn pterodactyl? And three hours is more than enough. We’re just going to a cheap restaurant a few blocks away because we’re all broke college students.”

Huffing at your insolent best friend, you grab the clothes he threw at you and make your way to the bathroom, not bothering to contemplate his decision because you knew he had pretty good taste in fashion. In fact, half the clothes you had in your wardrobe were bought with him as your advisor, so you’re really in no position to criticise his choices.

You stare at your reflection and let out a nervous breath; you weren’t used to meeting new people, and there was no way you were going to be able to handle a hoard of newly turned adults. The last thing you wanted was to cut Changbin’s time short with his friends, and as you stare at yourself in the mirror, you make a promise to yourself that you’ll get through the night by whatever means. Even if it meant hours of torture.

Changbin, with absolutely no urgency, is sitting on the couch watching the fourth Harry Potter movie, when you walk into the living room, makeup half done and still dressed in your stay-at-home clothes. Boys, you think.

“I think I need to know who and how many people will be there,” you finalise, watching Changbin pick up the remote and pausing the movie at exactly when Cedric dies; poor chap. “ So that I can, you know, mentally prepare myself.”

“You really don’t, but okay. There’ll be nine of us, including you. Minho, Hyunjin, and Felix from the dance team, Jeongin and Seungmin from the baseball team, Chan from the swimming team, soccer team, and honours board, and Jisung who was pretty much useless like me.”

“Wow.”

“In my defense, you’ve seen all of these dudes at least once,” Changbin says, shrugging his shoulders. “Anyway, they’re all really nice and fun so you have nothing to worry about.”

“Says you,” you mutter under your breath, before returning to your room to prepare for your doom.

iii.

The sign of the restaurant flickers periodically as you stand in the middle of the street with Changbin by your side. People brush past you as they hurry to meet their friends and families in the various restaurants lining the street, excitement evident in their steps.

Taking a deep breath, you push open the door. Immediately, a gush of warm air welcomes you, causing you to let out a content sigh.

“Hey Changbin!” A loud voice calls out from behind you, and the both of you turn in your place. The sight in front of you gives you equal amounts of anxiety and fear, as you wonder how you were going to handle the table of one, two, three… seven boys, including the embarrassment standing beside you, who was now busy doing some sort of weird wave in favour of a greeting.

“Changbin, please,” you plead, burying your face in your hands as you willed for someone to transport you back to your apartment so that you didn’t have to face reality and stand next to your shameless friend.

Chuckling sheepishly, your best friend finally stops, patting your back before walking towards the table at the back of the restaurant. “Oops sorry. Let’s go meet the rest!”

Here goes nothing.

Reaching the almost-filled table, your eyes dart from face to face, trying to see if you could remember anyone currently seated in front of you.

“Guys! This is Y/n, my best friend,”—at this, a few complaints erupt from around the table—”Gosh, fine. My other best friend.”

Immediately, at least three people shout their greetings your way.

“Hi Y/n! Nice to meet you!”

“Yo~ Changbin’s told us lots about you.”

“Y/n, sit beside me!”

Exasperated, your eyes flit around the table, trying your best to smile at all of them (which honestly turns out to look more like a pained grimace). Luckily, there was one seemingly sane person present.

“Shut up, everyone.” A boy with blue hair and sharp eyes shushes everyone. “Hi Y/n, it’s nice to have you here. I’m Jeongin.”

At this, the once quiet table is back to chaos as complaints are directed towards Jeongin for sneakily introducing himself first. Taking advantage of the mess, Changbin guides you towards the empty seats and finally settles the both of you down. Now all the seats were filled, except for one empty seat left beside you.

You’re about to ask Chanbgin about the empty chair, but before you can, he claps his hands, attracting everyone’s attention. “Okay, everyone will take turns introducing themselves. Seungmin, you start.”

The sandy haired boy seated on the right of Changbin waves both his hands while bouncing in his seat, reminding you of a puppy. “I’m Seungmin!”

Next is Jeongin, who just gives you a small smile.

Beside him, you see a blonde haired boy, what is up with the hair colours, who just smiles brightly, eyes shining brightly and freckles visible. “Hello, I’m Felix. It’s great to meet you!”

Taken aback by the deep voice, which was a total contrast to his cute appearance, you’re unable to hide the shock from your face. This triggers a bout of chuckles from the table; it was probably common for people to display similar reactions when meeting Felix.

Before pretty boy (that’s what you decided to remember him as) could introduce himself, the black haired boy resembling a squirrel interrupts him. “I’m Jisung!”

You recognise him as the one who shouted when you and Changbin entered the restaurant, and you’re about to acknowledge him when you’re cut off.

“Oi Han, it was my turn to introduce myself! Who allowed you to skip the line?”

“I do what I want,” was Jisung’s response, and pretty boy looked like he was one push away from murder.

Just as you’re sure that you were about to witness a murder, Changbin chides the two boys and breaks up the petty argument. “Just introduce yourselves without any nonsense, please.”

“I’m Hyunjin,” pretty boy mutters sulkily, giving Jisung a death stare. “And I can dance better than Jisung.”

“You motherf-”

“And I’m Minho,” the last person introduces himself, successfully cutting off Jisung’s profanity mid-word. “Sorry, don’t mind those two. They’re like Tom and Jerry.”

Smiling weakly, you muster up the courage to introduce yourself to the four pairs of eyes staring at you. Hyunjin and Jisung were busy having a staredown, while Changbin was eyeing the meat sizzling on the grill. “Hi, I’m Y/n, Changbin’s friend. It’s nice to meet all of you. Thanks for having me here.”

And just like that, everyone is back to their own conversations, with Changbin piling the perfectly done meat onto his plate. You take in a deep breath and look around the table at the happy faces.

This isn’t so bad, you thought, a little chaotic, but otherwise entertaining.

“They’re overwhelming huh?”

Any effort to mask your bewilderment vanishes as you catch the knowing look on Minho’s face. A guilty smile blooms on your face and you nod your head. “Just a little.”

“I get that,” he starts, but soon enough, there’s a content smile on his face that shows his love for his friends. “But at the end of the day, I know that these monkeys will be there for me no matter what, so I guess it makes it all worth it.”

Smiling softly at his words, you almost coo at the light blush dusting Minho’s face as reality catches up to him.

“Ahem anyway. How’s living with Changbin?” He clears his throat before changing the topic, instinctively putting some meat on your plate before helping himself, earning a grateful smile from you.

“It’s not too bad,” you start, feeling Changbin’s gaze on you after having overheard Minho’s question. “Except sometimes, he talks to himself in the mirror and it’s pretty scarring.”

“Y/n!” Changbin whines as Minho guffaws beside you, nodding his head to your answer, clearly having witnessed that side of Changbin before. “Wait till Chan comes. At least he’ll support me.”

At the unfamiliar name, you furrow your brows and the name in the form of a question tumbles out of your mouth before you could stop yourself. “Chan?”

“He’s not here yet,” Minho addresses your confusion, having heard your little slip up. “He had to oversee the training for the upcoming soccer match, being the captain and all, and apparently he had a tutoring session after. He should be here soon though.”

That explains the empty chair beside you.

“Oh, he needs to get tutored after training?” You ask, feeling bad for the unknown boy. Having to absorb information after physical activities is torture. You couldn’t even focus after 40 minutes of gym. “That’s rough.”

At your assumption, a cat-like smirk spreads across Minho’s face. “Oh no, darling. He tutors after his training.”

There’s no way you’re to be blamed for the first thought that pops into your head after discovering that said Chan was responsible and smart. You’ve seen people struggling with just one extracurricular, and begging teachers for extra credits because of poor time management.

So, it’s really not your fault that the first words that enter your head is, that’s hot.

Just then, the bell situated above the door rings, indicating that someone was entering the restaurant. You’re not bothered by it, until Felix’s deep voice fills your ear.

“Chan!”

It’s almost comical how slowly you turn towards the sound, blush threatening to fill your cheeks at your first impression of Chan, without even meeting him. And as Giovanni Torriano has once said:

Talk of the Devil, and he's presently at your elbow.

Your eyes follow the figure of the devilishly breathtaking boy walking towards your table. He’s still dressed in what you assume was his soccer jersey, black hair tousled from the wind and practice. Shaking your head, you rid yourself of that inappropriate thought and opt to stare at the bowl of radish that looked the most interesting to you.

“Hey guys!” Chan smiles widely at the group of friends, as a few of them immediately get up from their seats to greet him with their usual bro hug. He sets his things down beside Minho, and is taking his seat when he spots you. Confusion clear in his eyes, he looks around the table, silently asking for an explanation as to what a stranger was doing at their usual table.

You realise his staring and try to introduce yourself, but you find yourself unable to form sentences as the reality of who Chan was hits you.

The star swimmer of your high school’s swimming team, and the top student of every single year. He was the epitome of popular. Everyone knew his name, and apparently he had never missed one day of lessons or training. On top of that, he used to regularly tutor in the library.

“Oh, this is my friend Y/n!” Changbin pipes up, slinging an arm around you. “Same high school as us, and my roommate now.”

At this, the confusion clouding Chan’s hazel eyes clears up, and he turns to face you, extending a hand. “The one who used to carry thick books everywhere and helped out in the library right? I’m Chan!”

Being the complete opposite of your best friend, you’re sure no one has ever noticed you in the library. You blend in perfectly with the shadows and shelves, and you didn’t usually help the students out, opting to arrange the books in the storeroom—the one small thing you could do to help out the aged librarian who brought you mouth-watering brownies every Thursday.

The thick books, in your defense, was your attempt at trying to finish the Harry Potter series whenever you had the spare time. You never had to explain yourself because you never expected anyone to notice. Especially not the most popular guy in school who had a million other friends.

But there he was, in all his glory, eyes crinkled into crescents as he waits for you to shake his hand, seemingly remembering you when nobody else did.

A small nudge to your side from Changbin breaks you out of your reverie and you grab his hand, silently noting how soft they were. “Nice to meet you.”

Smiling at you, he gently shakes your hand before turning to the other boys, immediately making jokes and laughing along.

“What was that about?” Changbin whispers harshly, eyeing you and Chan suspiciously.

“What was what?”

“Chan remembering you! You’ve never even met before.”

Looking at your best friend, you shrug before reaching out for another piece of meat. “Beats me.”

Changbin opens his mouth to interrogate you more, when he’s successfully cut off by Seungmin.

“Y/n! Tell us more about yourself! I’m bored of hearing about these idiots.”

Jeers sound from around the table as you let out a nervous chuckle, aware of how everyone’s attention was on you. “Me?” You ask, pointing to yourself for extra confirmation.

Yea!” Seungmin replies, nodding vigorously. “What are you doing now, and how was high school for you, and just everything!”

Noting your hesitation, Changbin is about to step in to save you, but your hand on his thigh stops him. Looking at you curiously, he realises from your expression that you’re finally about to do what he had been nagging at you to do since day one of becoming your friend.

iv.

‘Is it possible for a stomach to burst from too much laughing?’ is what runs through your head as tears stream down your face from laughing uncontrollably at another joke Jisung was saying.

“Wait, I remember Changbin telling me that people used to refer to you as Baby Photos when you all played at the school shows,” you ask after you had recovered from your laughing fit, curiosity piquing. “What’s that all about?”

At the mention of the familiar name, the boys let out groans and Hyunjin starts hitting Jisung. “It’s all Jisung’s fault!”

“Basically, he somehow got ahold of all our baby photos and submitted it to the administration on behalf of us,” Changbin explains, rolling his eyes at the memory. “So if you see our yearbook, all eight of us have our baby photos instead of the actual photo we were supposed to submit.”

How is that even possible?!

“We still don’t know how he managed to do that.” Chan answers your unasked question, shaking his head fondly at the ridiculous memory.

At this, Jisung pipes up. “Everything is possible when you’re charming and handsome. You lot won’t be able to relate!”

And you finally agree that the beating Jisung gets after was well deserved.

“Restaurant’s closing in ten!”

The owner of the restaurant, a nice old lady who had a soft spot for the boys, calls out from the back. She had already let all of you stay past her usually closing time, and even gave you some free side dishes, together with a loving chide about how the boys don’t come and visit her anymore.

The screech of the chairs fill the place as everyone gets up, stomach and heart full from the meal and company. You smile to yourself, glad that you let yourself be convinced to follow Changbin because you had one of the best days in your life.

“Did you have fun today?” Your best friend asks with a smug smile, already knowing the answer.

“Shut up,” is all you can say—a clear sign that you were admitting defeat. “It was okay.”

“That wounds me,” someone speaks up from behind you, having heard your conversation with Changbin. You whip around to see Chan clutching his heart and wearing an exaggerated hurt face. “I thought we had a connection.”

“I-you, no, that’s not-what” you splutter, horrified at the thought of Changbin’s, and now apparently your, friends thinking that you didn’t have a good time with them. There was no way you could let them think as such when they had made you feel so comfortable, and have so much fun.

Your stuttering and horrified expression does it, and Chan bursts into laughter. “I’m so sorry, it was a joke. But your face!”

The guilt and regret is replaced with relief and irritation, and you smack his arm out of habit, something you always did to Changbin when he was being a pain in the ass. But as soon as you do it, you’re once again filled with regret because Oh my God it’s only been two hours, you’re not supposed to just smack people.

“Stop overthinking it, idiot,” Chan cuts you off, adding in a low tier insult to make you feel a bit better about your reflexes. “We’re friends now; all of us.”

Friend to friends. Now that’s an upgrade.

You’re about to say something, when you’re cut off by Changbin screeching unceremoniously as he glances at the time displayed on his lockscreen (it’s a picture of the two of you making ugly faces—he refused to change it).

“Shit, we’re going to miss the last bus that leaves from here!” He almost shouts, grabbing his and your things. “Adios bitchachos!”

A snicker or two echoes through the empty restaurant at Changbin’s farewell, together with requests of bringing you the next time they meet.

“Make sure Y/n comes for the next dinner! Doesn’t matter if you’re here or not!”

Jisung earns himself a string of vulgarities from Changbin for that, as he guffaws and hi-fives Hyunjin.

You’re barely able to say your farewell to the boys with Changbin dragging you out of the restaurant, but you manage to shout out a few words while waving. “Thank you for today! See you soon!”

The bus arrives just as you reach the bus stop, and Changbin all but collapses on one of the empty seats from the running you both did.

“I think I’m going to throw up.”

“You’re foul.” You’re staring at your best friend in disgust when he starts questioning you about the dinner, nausea forgotten.

“So…” he starts, pivoting in his seat to face you, cheek leaning against his hand which rested on the seat in front of him. “For someone who was dead set on not coming, you sure looked like you had lots of fun.”

Rolling your eyes at his words, you turn to face Changbin. “Isn’t that what you wanted? Me making more friends?”

“Of course, of course~” he drawls, smirk ever-present on his face. “And who do we have to thank for that?”

“And you ask me why I don’t listen to you or ask you for favours.” Turning your attention back to your phone, you open up Temple Run in hopes of keeping yourself occupied for the bus ride back; but Changbin had other plans.

Whining, he snatches your phone from your hands and slips it into his pocket. “Y/n! Tell me everything!”

“What do you want to know?!” you ask, exasperated. “You were there literally the whole time.”

“Yes I know, but I want to know what you think of all my friends!” Changbin claps his hands in excitement, leaning forward in anticipation. “Well, our friends now.”

You can’t help but sigh as you prepare for the long bus ride ahead—but somehow, you don’t miss the sudden warmth enveloping you as you recalled the past few hours.

“First of all, Jisung and Hyunjin are hilarious, it’s like…”

Two weeks later, and you’re knee deep in shit. Not literally, of course, but you might as well be.

It’s the infamous hell month in your university, where every student (regardless of major) has a shit ton of assignments and tests to complete, and the library is open 24 hours for poor souls like yourself.

It’s two in the morning when you’re working on your second essay of the day. There are crumpled balls of paper all over your desk and surrounding your bin, courtesy of your pathetic aim.

“You’re cleaning everything up later,” Changbin speaks up from across the dining table you both were sharing to get work done, tapping away on his equipment as he works on some new beat. “I don’t expect every ball to go in, but to miss everything? That’s some serious talent.”

“Shut your mouth, Seo.” Flipping your best friend off, you finally push yourself away from the table, stretching a bit before making your way to the kitchen to fix yourself a bowl of ramen in hopes of satiating the beast growling in your stomach.

As you open each shelf, you slowly come to the realisation that you were completely out of snacks and food. Even the single frozen bag of peas and empty ice cream tub stares back at you in pity as you scan the fridge.

Taking a breath to calm yourself, you slowly turn around to face your unsuspecting, so-called, best friend. Walking towards him, you knock the table a few times to get his attention.

He notices your presence, and removes his headphones to look at you quizzically, his full attention on your blank face.

“When were you going to tell me that you had consumed every single food item we have?”

It’s almost comical how quickly the blood drains from his face, as his eyes dart all around the room, skillfully avoiding you. If it were any other situation, you would’ve definitely laughed while falling onto the floor. But this wasn’t any other situation.

This was war.

And honestly, it would have been a war that you would’ve definitely won—if not for the loud sound your stomach just produced.

Narrowing your eyes at the accused seated a few feet away from you, you walk over to the countertop with your wallet, eyes not leaving Changbin for a second.

“I will deal with you when I am back from the convenience store.”

And with the sight of Changbin gulping imprinted in your mind, you slam your apartment door behind you and make your way grumpily to the 24-hour convenience store located seven minutes away.

vi.

The electronic chime sounds throughout the store as the part-timer throws you a friendly greeting from the counter. “Welcome!”

Reciprocating with a smile of your own, you take slow steps towards the shelf with the various assorted packets of ramen, and your hand automatically reaches for your favourite one. Just as it comes into contact with the plastic, you can feel yourself salivating and your stomach growls in appreciation. It’s a myth, you think. There’s no way food like carrots and asparagus is what gets students through school. The only saving grace you have during this period is packets of ramen and chocolate milk. Countless numbers of assignments and tests are already torturous enough; healthy, tasteless food on top of that? No, thanks.

Clutching the ramen packet in your hands like it was the treasure of your life, you walk towards the milk section to complete your meal with your favourite carton of chocolate milk. There was something about the combination of milk that combats the spice from the ramen, and you’re about to drop onto your knees right there and then to worship the people who invented ramen and chocolate milk, when you see the last carton being taken away right in front of your eyes.

Without any second thoughts, you rush towards the person and grab their arm, already getting ready to pull out the sob story of how you absolutely need the chocolate milk to survive. Surprised by the sudden contact, the man holding the carton whips his head towards you, eyes wide.

There’s a fleeting sense of familiarity that passes through you when you see the hazel peeking out from above the mask that covered the rest of his face, but you’re too preoccupied to dwell on the thought. Just as you’re about to open your mouth to beg, you’re cut off by an all too familiar voice.

“Y/n?”

Huh?

You stare at each other for a few seconds before the realisation of who you were holding, no, clinging onto dawns on you.

“C-Chan?”

In a lively city that thrived at night, there were a thousand other 24-hour convenience stores scattered all around in every corner. It also wasn’t everyday that you decided to go to the convenience store for food, opting to go to the grocery stores instead. So, if you calculated correctly, the chance of you bumping into Chan at 2:30 a.m. at that very particular store should be close to never.

Yet, there he was standing right in front of you, chocolate milk clutched in one hand.

“What are you doing here?”

“Oh I came here to water my plants.”

Plants?

You’re more than confused, till you hear the soft snicker that escapes his mouth. Narrowing your eyes at his antics, you decide to bite back with a “Ha ha, very funny.”

“So… Are you planning to hold onto me forever?” Chan teases you, eyes gesturing to your hand that was still clutching onto him, before looking back at you with a twinkle in his brown eyes. “Because I wouldn’t be opposed to that.”

With the whole bumping-into-Chan thing that happened, it had completely slipped your mind that you were still holding onto him. You snatch your hand away in horror, eyes widening as you feel the heat creep up your neck. “S-sorry.” And before you could stop yourself, you also continue to spill why you had grabbed his arm in the first place. “I was just craving for chocolate milk, and the one you took was the last carton left.”

Looking back and forth at you and the carton, you start to feel like an absolute idiot, until he reaches out and pushes the carton into your hands. “You can have it then,” he says, and walks away. “Stay right there, let me grab some ramen and we can have supper together!”

You stare at the carton for a few seconds, the droplets of water that formed on the outside cool against your fingers. On a normal day, you would have refused the milk vehemently, telling the other person not to worry and to have the last carton. But today wasn’t any other day.

And Chan wasn’t any other person.

We’re friends, after all, is what echoes in your mind as you look up at the boy walking towards you, two packets of ramen in his hand and a carton of strawberry milk. Smiling at him, you finally express your gratitude for his kind sacrifice.

“Thanks for this,” you say, waving the carton in front of him. “I don’t think I would have made it through the night without it.”

Nodding with a smile, he tears his two packets of ramen open and pours in the hot water that was situated at the back of the store, grabbing yours from you in the process. “What brings you here at this hour? I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t be craving ramen and chocolate milk in the middle of the night on any other day.”

“You’re right about that,” you reply dejectedly, recalling the big pile of assignments waiting for you back at the apartment. “It’s hell month in school, and I’m drowning in work. On top of that, Changbin exhausted every single food source we have at home!”

Chan does his very best to hold back his laughter at your expression; he knew you were angry, but you looked as threatening as a kitten. And thankfully he succeeds, because he really did not want to be on the receiving end of your wrath. Although, he thinks, you really are not going to be able to do much damage.

“How dare he,” Chan agrees, finally taking a seat beside you, the steam from the ramen warming his face up. “Hey but, if he hadn’t done that we wouldn’t have bumped into each other here.”

You nod your head in agreement, thinking about how to start a casual conversation, when you are suddenly hit with the realisation that you knew essentially nothing about Chan. You didn’t know what university he went to, what he majored in, and what he was doing in the convenience store that late at night too.

One question at a time, you decide.

“What are you doing out this late anyway?” you ask, slurping the noodles and breathing out in relief at the taste of the ramen against your tongue.

“I come here often,” is what he replies, before taking a sip of his milk. “My uni’s about fifteen minutes from here, and I usually work the best at this time. Being a music production major, there aren’t very strict deadlines, but I’ve still got to get my shit done.”

Oh. That’s all your questions answered.

You know the trouble of trying to get questions out, especially for you, who has never really made the effort in going the extra mile in interacting with people. It’s annoying and nerve-wrecking, and probably the biggest reason why you refused making new friends. The whole process was just painful. So, when Chan answers your unasked questions, you feel the hypothetical weight lifting off your shoulder, and you open your mouth to express your gratitude. At least, that’s what you had planned to do.

“Are you a mind reader?” you blurt out, before immediately clamping your mouth shut and facepalming. “Ugh, sorry. I have a really bad habit of blurting out whatever comes to my mind.” You groan at your inconvenient habit, and Chan pats the top of your hand in hopes of comforting you.

“I just meant to say that I was thinking of asking you those questions and you answered them even before I asked.” Chan looks at you with a smile, intrigued by your personality. You clearly didn’t have any other friends other than Changbin—but you never looked as if you were upset about it. It was also clear that you were content with not interacting with people, but when you did, you were never rude about it and you really did try your best. Never in a million years would he have thought that the student scurrying around the library with tons of books would turn out to be someone like you.

“At least that means you’re an honest person!” Chan says, beaming at you. “C’mon, learn to look at the brighter side of things.”

Shrugging your shoulders with a tired smile on your face, you turn back to your ramen, which has now gone soggy due to your little chit-chat with the boy beside you.

There’s a comfortable silence that hangs between the two of you, until Chan speaks up again. “What’s your major? I realised I never asked.”

At the mention of school, you pull an automatic stank face before replying. “English Lit with a minor in Philosophy. The worst decision of my life.”

“And why’s that?”

“I never knew there’d be this much essay writing!” you cry out, throwing your head against the table. The rest of your words come out muffled, but somehow Chan manages to catch it. “I mean, I knew there was going to be lots of essays. But not this much.”

“In the major’s defense, that’s kind of a dumb move on your part, Y/n.”

“Yes, I know. Please don’t remind me of my idiocy.” You finally sit up, before sadly chewing on your noodles. “At least I have ramen and chocolate milk to keep me going.”

And as the night went on, both of you continued the conversation back and forth, you learning more about him and him about you. You talk about your assignments, how annoying some of your professors were, and how living with Changbin was. All the times you had to chase him to clean up after himself, or all the times he stayed up with you until ungodly hours just because you had procrastinated too much and was rushing an assignment in the last hour. You also learnt more about Chan; how he was studying music production because that was his dream since he was young, and how he actually roomed with Jisung, who was equally as messy as Changbin. The only difference was that Chan couldn’t be bothered about the mess.

“Changbin, Jisung, and I actually used to make tracks and post them on Soundcloud,” Chan says, smiling as he recalls the three high schoolers cooped up in his room with the bare minimum equipment that wiped out half their savings. “We even had rapper names.”

“Ooooo~” you tease, nudging his shoulder as his ears start to turn a bright red. “What was yours?”

“What’s in the past should stay in the past, Y/n. Let bygones be bygones. No point talking about it now.”

“Awww, c’mon!” You plead, fidgeting in your seat. “Was it something embarrassing like Cheminem, or something?”

“I can’t help but feel more relaxed when your standards are that low,” Chan says, with some form of relief in his voice. “Uh, mine was CB97.”

“Don’t tell me…” you mutter, eyes wide as the laughter threatens to escape your lips. “Did you really just use your initials and your birth year? Talk about bare minimum!”

“Hey! It’s better than Meminen, or Cheminem, or whatever you said earlier.”

Sticking your tongue out at him, you decide to probe further. “What were Jisung’s and Changbin’s?”

Chan stares at you with wide eyes, your mischievous eyes giving away your evil plans. “No. Changbin will kill me.”

“Don’t be a party pooper! I’ll treat you to ramen next time if you tell me.” You try tempting Chan with food, with no hopes that it would work. But somehow, you see his resolve crumbling, and realise that you just needed one final push.

“I’ll get you chocolate milk and two packets of ramen.”

At that point, Chan regrets telling you his habit of eating two packets of ramen with chocolate milk almost every night when he stays up. “You shouldn’t have given me the milk then!” is what you said while chiding him, and he just claimed that “you looked like you needed it more than me” while saying that he really wasn’t picky about the flavour of milk.

So when you tempt him with his cravings, he has no choice but to give in.

Twenty minutes later, you walk into your shared apartment, a mysterious smile playing on your lips as you drop the keys into the little holder by the door. It was made by yours truly during a random pottery workshop you signed up for. The shape was slightly off, and the colour wasn’t bright or vibrant—but it worked and that’s what mattered.

At the sound of the keys clinking in the holder, Changbin’s head shoots up to gauge your mood from your expression. Surely you would be at least a little less angry after your little run to the convenience store, he thought.

But instead of seeing a blank expression, or even an angry one, he sees the smile on your face and his heart drops. Why were you smiling? The fact that you were smiling made him feel a hundred times worse, and he had already started saying his prayers.

“So, Changbin…” you start, leaning against one of the chairs at the dining table. You weren’t even angry about the empty shelves anymore, but you just could not pass on the opportunity of teasing your best friend. “Or should I say, SpearB?”

And you’re more than content with the way his face morphs into that of horror, as he grips the edges of the table. “How did you know?” he asks, his voice strained and barely above a whisper; one would think that the whole world had found out about his darkest secret from the way he was reacting.

Shrugging playfully, you go back to your seat and sort out the papers scattered around the table, grabbing your laptop to start working on your assignment again with a full and happy stomach. “Who knows~”

“Y/n, tell me,” he starts to whine, making his way to you on his roller chair. “No one knows other than the boys-”

And the realisation of who the culprit was hits him.

“It was Chan, right?” he asks, already reaching for his phone to scold the older boy. “You must have met him when you went to the store—he’s always getting ramen there.” Typing furiously on his phone, he pauses to look up and whine again. “I can’t believe you two gossiped about me! And it was me who made you both become friends. The disrespect!”

Finally the laughter you had been holding in breaks out and floods the living room, the sound bouncing off the walls. “I can’t believe,” you start, trying to catch your breath as you continue laughing. “SpearB! What do you do? Impale people with your sharp flow and rhyme?”

“Just shut up, please,” Changbin pleads, plugging his ears with his fingers. “La la la, I can’t hear anything you’re saying.” He rolls back to his side of the table and grabs the headphones, shoving it over his head to drown out your laughter.

Your laugh fest is cut off by your phone vibrating, signalling that you had a new text message. Grabbing it, you tap your phone a few times to open up the messages page.

chan: can’t believe you outed me to changbin chan: traitor y/n: drama queen y/n: i said nth, he figured it out on his own chan: ఠ_ಠ

Giggling at the emoticon Chan used, you unconsciously lean back in your seat as you search your gallery for an emoticon to reply with, assignments forgotten.

“Who’re you texting?” Changbin asks, having heard you giggle at your phone. He’s eyeing you suspiciously, and you knew it was better to answer him, because a curious Changbin is a dangerous Changbin, and he’ll probably stomp over and snatch your phone to see who you were texting anyway. “It’s Chan.”

“When did you two exchange numbers?!”

“Earlier, when we met at the convenience store.”

It was right before the both of you parted ways; when Chan had proposed something that was pretty much impossible to turn down.

“I had fun today,” he said, one hand stuffed in his pocket while the other swung the plastic bag containing some chocolates to add to his secret sweet stash. “You said you’re having hell month, right? Hit me up whenever you need an emergency ramen run.” And with that, he pushed his phone into your hands, signalling for you to do the same.

Smiling to yourself, you keyed in your number into the phone clutched in your hand, saving yourself as “Y/n”, and before you could regret your decision, you quickly added a smiley after your name and tossed the phone back to Chan. “Here you go.”

The cool metal is being pressed into your hands, and before you know it, you’ve said your farewell to Chan and were on your way back home.

“Look at you socialising out of your own will,” Changbin states proudly, wiping an imaginary tear as he gives you a fatherly (or what he thinks is fatherly) smile. “Albeit, at the expense of my shame, but if it means my little Y/n making more friends then why not!”

“Please stop, you’re an embarrassment to me, yourself, and literally everyone around us,” you deadpan, clearing your side of the table up. It was time to call it a night, because God knows you’re not going to be able to do anymore work. “Besides, it’s really not that big of a deal. I doubt we’ll continue talking after tonight. It’s probably a one-off thing.”

“Hmmm I wouldn’t be too sure,” Changbin muses. “I feel like there’s something that’ll come out of this.”

vii.

Seo Changbin isn’t a lot of things.

He isn’t tidy, opting to throw his clothes all around his room instead of folding it; he isn’t patient, always screaming at you to “Hurry your ass!” when he had been waiting barely three minutes; and last but not least, he definitely isn’t punctual. “Changbin is my name, and being late is my game” is something you’ve heard way too often from him that it was a wonder you hadn’t murdered him yet.

Changbin isn’t a lot of things—but what he somehow is, is intuitive when it comes to you.

So when you find yourself back at the convenience store at 12:30 a.m., ramen and chocolate milk in front of you as you laugh over some stupid story Chan was saying, you can’t help but curse at how right your best friend was.

You were reaching the end of your hell month, which also indicated it being four weeks since you and Chan had developed the routine of pigging out at the convenience store at terrible hours.

“... and he just fell off the tree!” Chan concludes his story of how Hyunjin fell off a tree in high school, words coming out breathless due to how much the both of you were laughing. “Ah, that brings back memories.”

“I can’t believe I never talked to you guys more then,” you say, shaking your head slightly. “It would’ve been hilarious.”

“Someone was too busy with Voldemort,” Chan teases, pushing his nose down flat in what you could only describe as a Voldemort impression. Laughing, you swat his hand away while rolling your eyes at the boy you’ve grown so fond of in a span of four weeks. “Why’d you never talk to us?”

Thinking back to high school, you ask yourself. Why didn’t you ever bother talking to them?

“I guess it’s just cause I already had Changbin,” you start, pausing to think back to the past few years. “As much as I complain about him, he’s really one of the greatest best friends anyone could ask for.”

It was true; Changbin was there for you during high school like no one else had been, and for that you were eternally grateful for him.

“So you were scared to take any other chances since you already got the best?”

People always asked you why you didn’t make more friends in high school. Hell, even your mother kept asking, when other parents struggled to keep their children at home just because they were spending too much time out with friends. But the answer to that question was something you never thought about, and you can’t stop the feeling of shock spreading through your body at what the boy in front of you had just so casually uttered.

You were scared.

“I-I…” you stutter, eyes wide as you stare at the boy in front of you. Chan can’t help the worry that seeps into his face at his words, and he’s starting to wonder if he said anything wrong. “I’ve never ever thought about it. But, oh my God, that makes so much sense.”

After years of waving everyone who asked you why you never made any other friends away just because you yourself didn’t have the answer to the question, you’re hit with a huge realisation of just why you didn’t want to find more friends. And it wasn’t even you who figured it out.

This boy sitting leisurely in front of you, skin pale and soft, with messy black hair framing his face that he never bothered brushing away. This boy, who was as kind as he was hardworking, always willing to help out anyone, even with his own responsibilities. This boy who had been readily there for you at the devil hours for almost every day in the past four weeks, always checking up on you to make sure that you were surviving.

Never in a million years would you have expected someone to figure out something that was locked away so deep inside of your heart, and for it to be Chan, out of everyone. The thought makes your heart race a little, but you decide to blame it on the conversation the both of you were having. It was definitely not because of the boy seated beside you.

“Shocking, huh,” Chan starts, laughing slightly as the worry he had felt earlier replaced with something he could only describe as fondness. “It’s a pity though.”

You look at him questioningly, and what he says next makes you realise a few things that maybe you were better off not realising.

“We would’ve been much happier in high school with you there. I would’ve been much happier.”

As much as you regretted not befriending the other seven boys in high school, you were starting to regret bumping into Chan that very first night even more. If you hadn’t bumped into him, you would’ve never spent so much time with him, never realised how great of a person he was, and lastly, you would’ve never started falling for Bang Chan.

viii.

It’s like déjà vu.

With your exams and assignments completed, you find yourself watching the latest season of Haikyuu when Changbin enters the room, waltzing towards your reclined figure.

“Y/n~” Changbin starts, poking your shoulder to get your attention. “Whatever your annoying ass needs now, it’s a no,” you say without even turning to look at the boy beside you.

“Oh? Even if it was an invitation to dinner with the boys later tonight?”

And when your head whips to the side to look at your best friend, you’re so tempted to just wipe that smirk clean off his face, because the bitch knew you would have said yes.

“I fucking hate you,” is what you can mutter, before switching the television and throwing the remote to the side, choosing to ignore Changbin as you walk towards your room to pick an outfit. But you’re forced to stop in your tracks when Changbin casually utters the next few words.

“Chan’s especially excited to see you.”

You’re not sure what Changbin means by that, but there’s no denying the increase in your heart rate at the mention of the dimpled boy.

“What?” You try your best to sound as nonchalant as you could, hoping that your best friend wouldn’t pick up the slight quiver in your voice. But, of course, he wasn’t your best friend for nothing.

“I said, your little boyfriend’s excited to see you.” Changbin smirks at your expression, stretching his legs out to rest it on the coffee table in front of your sofa. “And it looks like you’re just as excited.”

Red travels up your neck and spreads across your face, as you sputter at your best friend’s preposterous words. “W-what are you- I- Huh-”

Realising that your little breakdown wasn’t helping your case at all, you take a deep breath to calm yourself, before speaking to the insolent brat in front of you. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

“But you like him, don’t you?”

You freeze like a deer caught in headlights, and the first instinct you have is to play dumb. “O-of course I like him. He’s my friend.”

“I will pretend like I did not hear that pathetic attempt of you trying to act dumb,” Changbin states robotically, rolling his eyes. “C’mon, Y/n. It’s obvious. So stop pretending and just fess up. It’ll be easier for the both of us.”

You had two choices now: Either fess up and prepare yourself for at least a thousand years of teasing, or just completely deny it till your deathbed.

Clearly, the second option was much more appealing.

“No, Changbin,” you snap with as much conviction as you could. “I do not have a crush on Chan. He’s just a really good friend.”

The knowing look on his face wavers, and you know that you’re seconds away from success. It’s not that you did not trust your best friend with the information of you having a crush on one of his friends. You just did not want to say it out loud—saying it out loud would mean that you were confirming it, and there will be no going back. And that scared you.

You were scared of liking someone who was way too perfect, and who probably would never like you back.

So the best solution was to keep your little crush hidden away in the depths of your heart, and slowly get over it as soon as you could. It was as easy as it could get.

ix.

Apparently, you realise, it wasn’t at all easy to get over a simple crush.

The smell of meat fills your nostrils as the eight boys chatter loudly over the sound of the sizzling of the food. You’re back at the same restaurant, with the same boys, except it wasn’t exactly the same as the last time.

This time, you had a raging crush on the boy who insisted on sitting beside you, leg brushing against yours every few seconds as he piles the food on your plate instead of his.

It definitely didn’t help that every time your hands brushed while reaching out for the side dishes around the table, you pulled your hand back as if you had just been burned, ears immediately heating up.

“Did you know Chan told Y/n about 3RACHA?” Changbin whines to Jisung, making him stop his actions mid-way, meat hanging from the chopsticks just a few inches away from his mouth. “All I heard the past few weeks was ‘SpearB, help me’, ‘SpearB, go there’. It was torture.”

The table goes silent at the new information Changbin had revealed, and all you can do is smile sheepishly as your friends stare at the both of you.

“These two have been meeting almost everyday the past few weeks to get ramen at weird timings, and I’m pretty sure Y/n has lots of quality dirt on us now,” Changbin says pointedly, completely ignoring the way your eyes widened because why would he just say that?

It already wasn’t easy keeping Changbin in check with his little fantasies every time you went out to meet Chan, and now it was going to be worse because you just knew that the six other boys were going to question you from their expressions.

You turn to look at Chan, expecting to see the same ‘busted’ expression on his face, but all you see is a guilty smile, before he opens his mouth to speak. “In my defense, I was bribed.”

“Yes but, you never told us your 3RACHA names even after we kept begging you for weeks,” Hyunjin speaks up, eyes wide in disbelief. “We had to bribe you with a new game for your console, but you just told Y/n after two packets of ramen and chocolate milk?”

Your heart rate picks up speed just a fraction after hearing Hyunjin’s words, and you can’t help but feel a little special that Chan was comfortable enough to tell you things he refused to tell others. There’s a small smile playing at your lips as you look at the boy beside you, who was now rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly as he tried his best to defend himself from the accusations that were now pouring out from all his friends.

Unbeknownst to you, your own best friend was watching the both of you since the night started, a glint in his eye as he catches the way you threw small glances at his friend, blushing every time your hands brushed or when Chan purposely picked out the meat that was grilled best to put on your plate.

He also didn’t miss the soft smile playing at Chan’s lips every time you laughed at another stupid joke Jisung cracked, head thrown back slightly as you clutched your stomach, or the way his eyes widened every time you leaned a little too close to him to reach for a side dish.

Fools, is what he thinks when he eyes his two best friends. Fools in love.

The night goes on, and it’s Changbin who proposes a game of who can finish a bottle of soju the fastest to make things more exciting. You already know how it was going to end when you see the soju bottles crowding the table, all screaming the obvious outcome of the night.

“Rule’s simple. We’ll have two people against each other, and the one that loses has to pay their opponent’s share for tonight’s dinner.”

You notice Changbin avoiding your eyes as he speaks and distributes the bottle, which could be attributed to the very scary death glare you were throwing right at him.

Here’s the thing—your alcohol tolerance was shit. And Changbin knew that, making you wonder what he had planned up his sleeve.

“Right, here’s the lineup,” he announces, making it seem as if the lot of you were in some world championship of sorts. “Hyunjin and Jisung”—there’s a loud ‘Die, bitch!’ that resounds from Jisung as they both get ready to win against each other—“Seungmin and Felix, Minho and Jeongin, and Chan and Y/n!”

You were going to kill that idiot.

Changbin starts off the game with a recap of the rules, and makes sure that everyone has their own bottle of alcohol. Disaster is the only word flashing in your mind, and you’re on the verge of ditching your friends to return to the comfort of your room.

“Jisung and Hyunjin first!” Changbin instructs, to which the two boys grab their bottles and have a stare-down with each other.

“I’m gonna win so hard, your ancestors are gonna feel it.”

“Let’s see you try, pretty boy.”

On Changbin’s cue, the two boys start gulping down the alcohol, and you visibly cringe at the ghost feeling of the taste on your tongue.

“Are you okay?” Chan whispers from beside you, eyebrows furrowed. “It’s a stupid game. You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to.”

There’s a grateful smile on your face as you shake your head, letting the boy know you were okay. “I’m fine. Just worried because my alcohol tolerance isn’t that good, and I don’t want to inconvenience all of you.”

“I promise I’ll take care of you,” Chan mutters softly, staring right into your eyes. The smile slowly drops from your face as your heartbeat echoes in your ears at his words and the way he was looking at you. You so badly wanted to look away, not being used to such eye contact, but there’s something about the way he’s looking at you that makes it almost impossible for you to tear your gaze away from his twinkling eyes.

The sound of a bottle being slammed onto the table snaps you out of your little moment with Chan, and you immediately turn away to look at what was happening at the table, taking deep, cleansing breaths to calm yourself.

On the other side of the table, you realise that Hyunjin was the one who finished his bottle first, now having the time of his life teasing Jisung, who had about one quarter of the bottle left.

All the boys, except Chan and Felix, were laughing their asses off—Felix was the only one comforting Jisung, while Chan was staring at the table, an unreadable expression on his face.

“There, there. It’s okay, Sung,” Felix coos, patting Jisung’s hair, as the latter sulks at his loss.

The next two rounds proceed quickly, with Seungmin and Jeongin emerging as the winners. Everyone stares shell shocked, as Jeongin gulps down the liquid with vigour and speed, and slams his bottle down onto the table with a grin.

“There’s no way! I can’t believe Minho lost to a baby!”

“Just because he’s the youngest doesn’t mean he’s a baby, Changbin.” Seungmin deadpans, swiftly moving the empty bottles to the side of the table. “And how come you’re not participating?”

“Someone needs to bring Y/n back,” Changbin shrugs, passing the bottles to Chan and you with a guilty smile in return to your scowl. “And I’d rather stay sober when taking care of drunk children.”

You turn to pass the bottle to Chan, quickly avoiding his gaze when he looks at you. You’re not confident in your abilities to keep the blush down if he was going to look at you the way he did before.

“Okay,” Changbin cues, making sure both of you were ready with the bottle caps off. “Ready, set… Go!”

You didn’t mind paying for Chan’s share for dinner, you really didn’t. But if there was something about you that was both your downfall and pride, it was your competitiveness. You were competitive to the point where you tended to disregard the consequences of your actions.

So, your brain doesn’t register the painful consequences of your actions as you gulp down the bottle of alcohol like your life depended on it. You weren’t the best drinker out there, but you were going to try your very damn best because it was a competition.

With no expectation of winning, you swallow the last drop of soju and slam the bottle back onto the table, when you realise that everyone was staring at the two of you with their mouths open—specifically at Chan.

Following their gaze, your eyes widen in surprise as you see the boy holding an almost half-full bottle of soju, clearly indicating that you were the winner of your little game.

It’s like a dam breaks, and suddenly everyone’s shouting at the unexpected outcome. Hyunjin and Jisung scream while looking back and forth the bottle and Chan, while Felix, Seungmin, and Jeongin sit with wide eyes and open mouths, unable to process that Chan just lost to you.

On the other hand, Changbin watches Chan with a smirk, which slowly drops when he realises that Minho, who was sitting beside him, was staring at him with raised eyebrows, clearly asking the question ‘What the fuck just happened?’.

Just as he’s about to pull Changbin to the side to question him, you shoot up from your seat, stumbling around almost immediately because of the sudden bout of dizziness that hit you. You fall back onto your seat as fast you had gotten up, and Chan wraps an arm around you almost instinctively, making sure you didn’t fall off your seat.

The table is back to having their own conversations a few minutes later, as if they weren't just screaming over your victory, with Hyunjin and Jisung having a rock-paper-scissors tournament between themselves, proposed by Jisung who was still sore about losing to Hyunjin.

Alcohol clouds your mind as your head lols back and forth, with soft giggles spilling from your lips. In your drunken state, you register the arm wrapped around you, and you turn your head to look for the owner of said arm.

Chan looks at you with the fondest smile as he tries to hold back his own chuckles at how cute your giggles were, at the same time being extremely conscious of the way you fit perfectly around his arms. He thanks his lucky stars that you were drunk as he held you, assuring him that there was no way you were going to hear how fast his heart was beating.

“Oh?” you drawl, squinting at the boy beside you. “Who might you be?”

And at that very moment, Chan hopes with all his heart that there is no one else who will get to witness what he was seeing right in front of him.

There are strands of hair covering your face, cheeks red from the alcohol (and from the close proximity to him, but he doesn’t need to know that) and eyes drooping from the oncoming sleepiness. Yet, to him, you were still the most beautiful in that moment.

“I’m Chan,” he replies sweetly, hesitating for a moment before adding more to the sentence. “Your friend.”

An exaggerated gasp escapes you as your eyes widen comically. Words tumble from your mouth, with hiccups disrupting your sentences every now and then. “Chan? Bang Chan? From high school? The really, um-" hiccup "-cute boy who tutored in the library? The super popular dude? You’re my-" hiccup "friend?”

There’s a light pink flush dusting his cheeks at your words, but he laughs nonetheless while nodding, finger reaching out to tap your nose. “Yes, I am.”

Scrunching your nose at the contact, you continue giggling when the sound of someone clearing their throat interrupts the little exchange you and Chan were having. Chan turns to face his friends, and immediately starts coughing when he realises that they had been watching the whole scene with amused expressions. He awkwardly retracts his arm from around your waist, only for you to get up and stumble over to where Changbin was sitting, arms reaching out towards him while making grabby hands. “Changbinnnn~”

You plop yourself onto his lap, arms encircling his neck as you pull his ear closer to your mouth. Used to your drunk antics, he concedes, knowing that he’ll end up with more damage if he didn’t listen to you when you were drunk.

When he is close enough, you cup your hands around your mouth and whisper into his ears. At least, you thought you were whispering.

“You have really cute friends, Changbin.”

The whole table erupts into cheers at your words, and you immediately cover your mouth with a horrified expression. “Did everyone hear that?”

“You weren’t very quiet, darling,” Changbin snorts, pulling you up with him as he stands. “How are all of you getting back?”

“We’re all crashing at Felix’s place,” Seungmin speaks up, tapping away on his phone. “The uber’s about to arrive… right now.”

Grabbing their things, everyone except Minho, Chan, Changbin, and you, make their way out of the restaurant, shouting out hurried farewells and promises of ‘I’ll wire the money to you when I get back!’ to Changbin.

“Okay, Minho and I will go settle the bill,” Changbin says, readjusting his grip on you. “Chan, can you look after Y/n for a bit?”

“Sure,” Chan replies, looping your arm around his neck as his snakes around your waist. “We’ll be out at the front.”

The moment Chan leaves their sight with you by his side, Minho turns to bombard Changbin with all the questions that had been bothering him the whole night.

“What was that?” Minho asks in bewilderment, pointing to the door that Chan and you had exited from. “How on earth did Chan lose that game when he’s the best drinker amongst all of us?!”

“It’s called being in love,” Changbin scoffs, shaking his head at his two friends. “Disgusting.”

The distressed look on Minho’s face dissolves, and is replaced by what one could describe as enlightenment. “No fucking way. I was wondering why he kept smiling at them like an idiot. That explains so much! Have they confessed?”

“You think?” Changbin rolls his eyes, knowing that there was no way either of you had the courage to confess first. “The only way either of them will confess is if they are drunk.”

“But Y/n is dru-” Minho starts in confusion, when he stops mid-sentence, realising what Changbin had just done. “You evil genius.”

“What can I say,” Changbin states proudly, brushing imaginary dirt off his shoulder. “I wonder what’s going on outside,” he mutters under his breath, staring at the door.

On the other side of the door, Chan finally succeeds in getting you to sit down with him on a curb, his jacket folded neatly under your bottom to make sure that you were not sitting on the hard cement. “I’m tired,” you whine, head dropping onto the warm shoulder beside you.

Chan tenses up at the sudden contact, staring at the top of your head, when you nuzzle your cheek against his shoulder. At the feeling of your cheek against his shoulder, he relaxes, and positions himself such that you didn’t have to strain your neck.

There’s a comfortable silence between the both of you, until you decide to break it by asking Chan a very obvious question.

“We’re close friends right?”

You lift your head from Chan’s shoulder, almost whining out loud at the loss of comfort, but you decide that asking him that question was more important. Clearly, drunk you had very different priorities.

Chan just nods and replies with a soft “Of course”, wondering why you were suddenly asking that question. “Why?”

“Since we’re close friends, can I tell you a secret?” The last few words are spoken in a hushed whisper, as you reach out and grasp Chan’s soft and warm hands. His larger hands clasps yours, as he chuckles at your question. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Y/n. You’re drunk, and you might regret telling me when you sober up.”

“No!” You almost shout, alarming Chan who looks around to make sure no one heard your exclamation. You continue in a softer tone, to Chan’s relief. “You’re my close friend! So I won’t regret it.”

And the wide smile you show Chan almost makes him want to kiss you right there and then. Almost.

“Alright then,” Chan agrees, rubbing circles into the skin on your hand. “Go ahead, tell me your secret.”

Giggling, you use your free hand to beckon him closer, your face moving closer to his at the same time. Just as his ear is close enough to you, you whisper out the words that make his heart stop.

“I think I like you.”

He freezes in place, eyes staring at the black tar road ahead of him as his heart hammers against his ribcage because of your nonchalant words. He gulps before slowly turning to face you, the person he had grown to like more than he could ever imagine coming into his view. He takes quick, shallow breaths as he continues to stare at you, unsure of what to say.

Luckily (or unluckily, for Chan), you decide to continue talking, baring your heart and soul to him.

“It’s like...” you start, trailing off after your first two words, before finding the right words to continue. “It’s like I was always happy in life, but you made me realise that it was possible for me to be happier when you are there with me.”

And the smile you give Chan, accompanied with the words you had just uttered, makes him want to protect you from the rest of the world. He’s not sure if he loves you, but what he’s sure about is that all he wants to do is hug you and never let go, to be there for you every minute, every second. And he thinks that’s enough.

That’s enough reason to hold onto you and never let go.

Opening his mouth, Chan is about to reply to your drunk confession, when the sound of soft snores fill his ears.

Leaning against the light pole that was situated very conveniently behind you, you had fallen asleep in the split second Chan had taken to make his move. Your chest rises and falls with every breath you take, and Chan can’t help but breath out a laugh at your timing.

There’s always tomorrow, he thinks.

There’s white noise playing in your ear as you stare up at your ceiling.

Changbin is seated at the edge of your bed saying something important, you assume. You aren’t listening; your brain cells have decided to go on a strike and replay the scene from yesterday on loop.

I think I like you.

You want to scream. You want to scream and murder the boy sitting beside you so bad. After all, it was his fault that you ingested that goddamn devil liquid that made you spill more than your guts.

It was a wonder that you were able to find a friend as precious as Chan, and there you lay in despair, all thoughts of facing Chan again slowly slipping away from your fingertips. There was absolutely no way you were going to be able to see him after the stunt you pulled yesterday.

“Y/n, are you listening?!”

“No.”

A hand wraps around your arm and you feel yourself being pulled up, coming face-to-face with your distressed best friend. “Stop being stubborn. Calm down and listen to what I have to say.”

And that’s when you snap.

“Stubborn!?” you shriek, clutching the ends of your hair. “I just confessed to your friend, Seo Changbin. I was drunk, and I confessed my very large and real crush to the person I am crushing on. I have ruined any chance at friendship with him, so don’t tell me to stop being stubborn and to calm down!”

Taking a deep breath, Changbin pulls you towards him, both his hands resting against your cheeks. “Listen here. Stop being a wuss. Yes, you confessed when you were drunk. Yes, it’s embarrassing as fuck. But get over it. You know Chan. Is he the kind of asshole who drops friendship over small things like rejection?”

There’s a pout playing at your lips as you shake your head, partly due to the way Changbin was squishing your cheeks, and the other half because you knew he was right.

“But I still don’t want to face him yet,” you whine, pushing his hands away from your face and diving back into your covers. “I just want to wallow in self pity, and hopefully waste away on this bed so that I’ll never have to face anyone ever again.”

Changbin knows that there was no convincing you otherwise, so he settles for sighing and getting up from your bed.

“Don’t stay in bed for too long. I’ll order us food for later.”

Muttering something under your breath, you roll over and bury your face into your pillow, sighing as you think about the boy whose smile gave you more warmth than the sun could ever provide.

You’re in the midst of imagining how different today would’ve been if you hadn’t opened your dumb mouth when your phone rings and cuts off your thoughts. Reaching out for it, your mouth runs dry when you see the name displayed on your screen.

“Chan :)”

Your finger presses the decline button and your phone clatters against your bedside table as you decide that you are not ready to talk to Chan yet. And you’re not sure if you’ll ever be ready to talk to him, let alone face him.

A minute after declining the call, there’s a series of knocks on your door, and you shout out a “Go away!”, not wanting to hear anything related to Chan and how you need to stop being a coward. But as the knocking continues, getting louder as time passes, you start getting annoying and realise you have no choice but to open the door.

“What the fuck do you want, Chang-”

You cut yourself off as you take in the person standing in front of you with wide eyes, looking as handsome as ever even with the furious look painted on his face.

The silence is thick with tension, and you can’t help but avert your eyes, choosing to look at anything but the boy in front of you.

“Why are you ignoring me?” Chan asks, voice quiet and flat. “I’ve been calling and texting you all morning.”

“Um, I-” you start, not knowing how to answer his question. You imagined your day going various ways, but this definitely wasn’t in your plans. “Did Changbin call you?”

“I asked,” he starts, walking towards you. You take a few steps a back, and continue walking backwards until your hands come into contact with your dresser. You were trapped. “Why are you ignoring me, Y/n?”

You blink rapidly, not used to this closed-off version of Chan. The usual warmth and softness in his eyes were missing, and instead all you saw was disappointment and anger. You open your mouth to speak, but it wasn’t easy to get the words out.

“Was it funny messing with me?” Chan continues, not breaking eye contact with you once. “To just get my hopes up and disappear like it all meant nothing?”

“W-what?”

“How was it so easy for you to just start ignoring me?”

“No I-”

“Is that all I mean to you?” And instead of the disappointment and anger, you see pure, unfiltered hurt, and that was enough for your walls to come crashing down. Tears well up in your eyes as you look at the boy in front of you, and it’s like a dam breaks.

“I’m sorry.” Sobs wreck your body as you wipe the tears that don’t seem to stop. “I-I’m so fucking sorry, Chan. I was scared.”

“Scared because you just said that in the spur of moment and you don’t actually mean it?”

“No, I was scared because I like you too fucking much!”

There’s a pregnant silence between the two of you, and you continue staring at the floor, vision blur with stubborn tears that refuse to fall. And that’s when you hear it.

A chuckle.

It’s soft, and you would’ve missed it if not for the pin drop silence in the room.

You slowly lift your head up to confirm if you actually heard what you heard, or if you were hallucinating, when you see it.

Chan was smiling.

“Can’t believe it worked.”

What on earth did that mean?

“W-what do you mean?” you ask, sniffing softly.

“This was Changbin’s idea. For the record, I was against it.” Chan’s hands come up to rest on your cheeks, his thumb wiping away the tears on your cheeks as he smiles softly at you. “I mean, of course I was hurt and worried. But I just wanted to come over and talk it over like a normal person.”

His smile widens as one hand continues cupping your face, while the other reaches to tuck the one stray strand of hair behind your ear. “He said you’ll never admit things unless I, uh, scared you a little.

You stare at Chan as the gears work in your head, putting the pieces of information. The moment the last piece clicks in place, you stare in shock at the boy standing in front of you with a sheepish smile.

“What the fuck?!” you yell, equal parts of relief and anger taking over your mind. “I fucking hate you!”

And with that you storm off towards your door, Chan chasing after you with apologies spilling from his mouth. But the both of you knew that you weren’t actually upset, which can be seen by the giggles accompanying every apology.

Just as you’re about to leave your room, you’re pulled back into warm arms, and you fight every urge to melt right into his embrace. His arms wrap around your frame tightly, but gently. You feel his strong heartbeat against your back, and it’s enough to make you shiver, goosebumps erupting all over your skin.

“Do you hate me?” Chan asks, chin resting on your shoulder as you feel his breath tickle your neck.

“Yes.”

“Really?” Chan asks in amusement, lips against your ears and voice just above a whisper. “That’s a pity then. Because I like you too fucking much too.”

He whispers the last part of the sentence, making your knees go weak and your heartbeat pick up its pace as it usually does whenever the boy who stole your heart was involved.

You turn around in his arms to face him, sighing contentedly at how things ended up turning out. “I’m really sorry about the ghosting.”

“It’s okay, love,” Chan assures you, the pet name inducing butterflies in your stomach. “I would’ve been embarrassed too, if I had confessed to you when I was drunk.”

“I would’ve loved to see that.” You whine at the unfortunate circumstance of you confessing instead of Chan. “I probably looked like an idiot while confessing.”

“Since I’m your boyfriend, can I tell you a secret?” Chan teases, repeating what you said the night before with a little twist. Smacking his arm lightly for the jab, you nod with a laugh, ignoring the way your face heats up when he refers to himself as your boyfriend.

“I really wanted to kiss you when you were confessing.” There’s mirth in Chan’s eyes as he gazes at you the same way he did back at the restaurant. The only difference was that you knew he liked you back. And you had never been happier.

“Go for it.”

And that’s all the confirmation that Chan needs to lean down and press his lips against yours in a feather-light kiss, as your hands rest on his chest, appreciating the strong beat his heart was playing.

You part a few seconds later, eyes still closed as a smile plays on both your lips, before you’re pulled for another kiss, this one more forceful than the one before. His lips press against yours harder, and his arms pull you closer—as close as you could be. You respond with equal fervor, pouring every emotion you have into the kiss, when you’re interrupted by a loud cough.

“I would appreciate it if I didn’t have to bleach my eyes every time I see the two of you.”

Oh.

It completely slipped your mind that Changbin was just a few steps away from your room, and you want to crawl under your bed and befriend the monster there when you see the haughty smile on your best friend’s face.

“I think a thanks is in order.”

Removing yourself from Chan’s arms, you walk over to Changbin, who smiles wider when he realises you are walking towards him. Opening his arms to welcome you in for a hug, he can’t help but shriek when you start punching him everywhere possible.

“Dude, what is wrong with you?!”

“That’s what you get for coming up with stupid ideas to get me to talk!” you snap at your best friend with words that carry no real bite. “Were you that desperate?”

“Clearly!” Changbin replies, exasperated. “It was getting depressing. He wouldn’t stop calling me because he was worried, and you were being a stubborn bitch!”

At his words, there’s a tinge of guilt that pinches at you when you realise the trouble you had put your best friend through.

“Okay, I’m sorry,” you say with a pout, burying your face into Changbin’s shoulder. “And thank you.”

“Yes yes, you’re welcome,” Changbin says with a soft smile. He wouldn’t admit it just yet, but seeing his best friend who meant the world to him end up with someone who just as much deserved nothing but the best made him eternally grateful. “Now go smooch your boyfriend. We don’t want him becoming too jealous of the attention you’re giving me.”

“Oh, shut up,” is what Changbin gets in return, as Chan intertwines his hand with yours. Just as Changbin walks out of sight back to his room, Chan turns to you with the biggest smile.

“Now then, shall we go on a date to celebrate our first day?”

“Absolutely.”

And as you and Chan sit on the beach that evening, surrounded by sand and accompanied by the sound of the waves and the soft breeze with a orange hue enveloping you, you think:

Life had never been sweeter.

#stray kids imagines #stray kids x reader #bang chan x reader #stray kids #bang chan #stray kids fluff #stray kids oneshot #stray kids scenarios #skz imagines #skz scenarios #skz oneshot #skz x reader #skz fluff #chan x reader #bang chan imagines #bang chan scenarios #bang chan oneshot #dee scribbles

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maddiwrites · 4 years

Text

Secrets of the Shore (Chapter10)

Pairing: Pogues x OC, Eventually JJ x OC

Summary: This is just my rewrite of the show Outer Banks with my own twist by adding another main character which also happens to be John B’s twin sister.

Note: Happy Valentines Day y’all! Hope your day was filled with love (even if you’re not in a relationship) Thank you guys for reading! I’m sorry I’m torturing you with the tension between Marleigh and JJ but I gotta keep you on your toes somehow (;

Word Count: 5.6 k

Chapter 9

When I drop my things off at Kie's house and invite myself to stay at her house for a few days, she bombards me with questions. Most of them revolve around John B. Where is he? How are we going to find him? How do we know he's okay? Of course I don't have the answers to any of these questions, which only makes the curly brunette more worried.

"Look, he's going to be fine," I tell her as we walk down her long driveway where Pope and JJ are waiting for us. "John B wouldn't let them take him without a fight. Plus, I oddly take the fact that I haven't even gotten one phone call from him as a good sign. If he was at the station, they would probably use him to bait me."

When we get closer to the boys, I bite my lip to hide my smile. The blonde smirks back at me and even throws in a wink. Every nerve in my body ignites with a fire-like spark when I look at his sparkling blue eyes. I can't believe I almost kissed my best friend. I don't know what it would do to our friendship if something were to happen.

The thought terrifies me enough to make my smile falter. I can't lose JJ. I can't fuck up the best thing I have in my life which is my friendship with Kie, Pope, and especially JJ.

JJ tilts his head to look at me questioningly so I plaster a fake grin on my face.

The movie is being projected in an open field on Figure Eight. They have a huge blow up screen and a projector in front of it. There's already about fifty people here and more on the way.

We set up our lawn chairs in the middle of the field. My chest tightens with anxiety when we're surrounded by Kooks and Tourons. Rafe and his friends could be hiding anywhere in the faces around us. I can tell Pope is thinking the same thing. His head is snapping back and froth, left and right, keeping an eye out for the people who want to kill us. JJ tries to calm him down, but nothing settles him.

"Back to OBX life," Kie says as she sits down next to me. She opens the cooler at her feet and hands me a bag of grapes she packed. "You know? Aren't you glad I made you come?"

"Ecstatic," I mutter. My eyes scan the crowd for dudes with slicked back hair and neon shorts.

"My couch was pretty comfy, I'll be honest," JJ says next to me. He reaches into the bag of grapes and steals a few. He throws them in the air, catching them in his mouth.

Kie stands up to grab a couple of sodas from the snack bar. The second she's out of ear shot, Pope whips his head in our direction. His eyes are big with fear as they study every face that walks through the field.

"We're out of the green zone, man," Pope whispers on the other side of JJ.

"Dude, tranqüilo, okay?" JJ says.

"We're in the middle of kooklandia," Pope says. "This is the last place I wanted to be."

"Shut up, Pope," I hiss when I see Kie making her way back to us with three Pepsis in her hand. She has a scowl on her face. That can't be good.

"Just saw Rafe, and he said, and I quote, 'Tell your boy that we know what he did.'" Kie looks between JJ and Pope with raised brows. She doesn't look happy. She looks suspicious and somewhat annoyed that she doesn't know what Rafe is talking about. "What is that?"

Pope snaps his head in the direction of the snack bar. JJ tries to act normal and purses his lips. He avoids Kie's glare by looking at me, immediately throwing me under the bus for knowing their secret too.

Kie turns to look at me with her mouth slightly open. "You know?" I open my mouth to respond but she cuts me off. "Why do you know and I don't? What did you guys do?"

"Where is he?" JJ asks, glancing over his shoulder.

"Right there." Kie points at the snack bar where Rafe, Topper, and Kelce are throwing popcorn at each other. They look up and smirk in our direction.

"Great, the whole death squad," Pope says.

JJ grabs the top of Pope's head and physically turns it back to the screen. "Don't stare, bro."

I feel my hands clench around the arms of my beach chair. I know for a fact that tonight's not going to be as easy as we thought it would be. And I hate that its because of Rafe of all people.

"Just warning you, bro. If they corner me, I'm coming out swinging, okay? Slice and dicin'. I'm on edge right now," JJ says, shaking out his shoulders.

"Yeah, yeah," Pope nods in agreement, which makes both Kie and I look at him incredulously. Pope's a lover, not a fighter.

"If that doesn't work, I got this right here," JJ smacks his backpack that I now know his gun is in.

"Yeah, yeah," Pope continues to nod. He's so deep in fear that he doesn't even realize that JJ just offered to whip a gun out in a sea of people and children.

"So, we just gotta stay in the group," JJ says, officially ignoring Kie's glares. "They can't get us in the group."

"Like a school of fish," Pope agrees. "Stay in the school. Can't leave the school."

I roll my eyes. "Oh my god. We're screwed."

"I'm sorry, JJ," Kie leans over me to get a better look at the blonde boy sitting next to me. "Please tell me that you did not bring a gun here." JJ just stares at her blankly. "JJ, there are kids!"

"No!" JJ snaps. "Kie, I didn't bring the gun. Okay? Everything's fine."

"Wow thank you. That's really convincing. I love that JJ," Kie says sarcastically with a roll of her eyes.

"Welcome to the summer movie series!" A man stands at the front of the field by the screen with a microphone in his hand, addressing the crowd.

"Founding principle you guys," Kie says with a quieter voice. "No secrets amongst Pogues." She looks at me and holds her stare. I swallow the bad memories that threaten to rise to the surface. I know she's implying the secret that she's been keeping for me. The one she wants me to tell the others. And now I'm hiding another secret. From her of all people. "What is Rafe talking about?"

I open my mouth to try to calm her down, but JJ cuts me off, which only makes matters worse.

"Kie, it might go down tonight."

I groan and roll my eyes.

"What does that mean?" Kie asks. She even slaps me on my shoulder with the back of her hand. If looks could kill...

"Might go down tonight..." Pope says slowly.

"What did y'all do?"

JJ leans closer to Pope and says in his ear, "Deny, deny, deny."

I look at Kie with soft eyes. "Do you trust me?" Kie reluctantly nods and glances between me and the boys. I grab her wrist to make her look at me, my eyes pleading. "Then trust me when I tell you that the less you know, the better."

Kie finally drops the subject and sits back into her seat. She's not happy about not knowing and if I were her, I'd feel the same way. But its best if she doesn't know.

We watch the movie with tension in our shoulders and frowns on our lips. Our relaxing night took a turn for the worst. I can't even focus on the movie or JJ being so close to my side, our shoulders practically against each other. All I can feel is a pair of eyes on the back of my head, burning holes through my skull.

Halfway through the movie I hear Pope lean in closer to JJ. His voice is a whisper but I detach my focus from the movie to listen. "JJ?"

"What?" JJ whispers back.

"Gotta take a piss," Pope says.

I look over my shoulder towards the bathrooms. Like I suspect, the Kooks are gathered around it.

"Hold it," JJ hisses.

"I can't hold it. I drank too much soda."

"It's too exposed. They'll totally see us."

"I gotta go," Pope says more definitively.

JJ looks in the direction I was just looking at. "They're blocking the bathrooms." JJ sighs and looks ahead. "Come here. I know where."

JJ pulls Pope up by his arm and walks in the opposite direction of the bathroom, towards the movie screen.

"Hey, where y'all going?" Kie calls out in a hushed whisper.

"We gotta wring it out," JJ says.

"You gonna hold it for each other?" Kie responds which makes me laugh.

They don't reply. They walk around the screen to the other side. The second they're out of view, Kie turns to look at me with a face that says she wants answers and she wants them now.

"Please don't ask me to tell you."

"You're making me worried," Kie says honestly.

I sigh with guilt, completely understanding the feeling. If the three of them were hiding something from me, my mind would be racking through millions of different thoughts about what it was.

"Does it have to do with the day you got that?" Kie points to the bruise on my face.

I bite my lip and turn towards the movie, trying my best not to let her convince me to tell her. If the cops were to get involved, I want Kie to be as innocent as possible. They would probably never go after her because she lives on Figure Eight, but knowing Kie, she would do whatever she needed to help her best friends.

I look over my shoulder again, making sure the Kooks were still guarding the bathroom, but my heart stops when I don't see them.

"Shit," I stand up and step through the crowd of people, running to where Pope and JJ disappeared.

As I get closer to the screen I can hear the heavy grunts of guys fighting from behind it. Pope and JJ are fighting against Kelce, Rafe, and Topper. I shuffle on my two feet, not sure where to go, who to help first.

Kelce has his arms wrapped around JJ's, holding him against his chest and leaving him open for Rafe's punches . A couple feet away from them, Topper and Pope wrestle on the grass, throwing hands wherever will make contact with skin.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Kie running towards Pope and Topper with JJ's backpack. I run towards Rafe and shove him back by his shoulders. I risk a glance at JJ. His face is red from the Kooks' punches and there's a split in his bottom lip. The sight of him being hurt is enough to make my vision blur to red.

I shove Rafe backwards by his shoulders again. The older boy just laughs at me humorlessly, only fueling the fire to my rage. I narrow my eyes into a glare and take another menacing step towards him.

"Mar, stop!" I hear JJ call behind me but I ignore him.

"Let go of him, Topper!" I hear Kie say a little further away. She's beating him with JJ's backpack and jumping on Topper's back to get him away from Pope.

"I told you I was going to find out who did it," Rafe says.

"And I told you we didn't do shit," I say, keeping my face steady with a scowl. I turn to send daggers in Kelce's direction. "Let him go."

Rafe whistles and keeps the cocky smirk spread across his face. "Would you look at this. I think someone has a little soft spot for the blonde Pogue over here. Don't you think Kelce? I mean princess over here didn't even acknowledge her other friend."

"You know what? I don't think you're worried about who sunk Topper's boat. That would have to mean you actually care about someone other than yourself. I think your problem is with me."

The older boy scoffs, "With you?"

"Yeah," I take another step closer to him. "It must be really frustrating when the guy who gets everything he wants without lifting a perfectly manicured finger can't even get laid by ...oh what was it that you called me? The Cut's biggest whore? Must be pretty pathetic that some whore won't even sleep with you."

The back of Rafe's hand slaps me across the face, snapping my head with the direction of his hand. I hear JJ cry after me but its muffled by my back slamming into the grass with a weight on top of me.

Rafe's hands encircle around my neck and they squeeze tighter than they did the other day when I was in this same position. But this time, I wanted this because it got his attention away from JJ.

"You know, they say Pogues are the one's with the short temper," I chuckle maliciously. My voice is raspy and my throat is on fire, but I'm loving how easy it is to get under Rafe's skin. "But a little taste of reality is all it takes to ignite your fuse."

"Marleigh!" JJ shouts. I hear the sound of fists connecting with skin, followed by grunts and groans. "Rafe I swear to god -"

"Go ahead," I wrap my fingers around Rafe's wrists to try and pull him off of me but he's too strong. "But killing me will only add to your dad's growing list of reasons why you're his biggest disappointment."

Rafe grips my neck tighter, completely cutting off my air supply. The pounding in my ear muffles the cries and shouts from all my friends. From the Kooks. I can barely breathe and my vision sparkles with white specks. I try fighting him, but his rage is now stronger than mine.

Heat flows through my body and sweat bubbles at my hairline. I see orange out of the corner of my eye, but I think that's just my vision blurring together. A second later, I feel the weight of Rafe's body lifted off of me. There's a thump from the ground next to me and more heavy grunts. When I look up, I watch the screen light up in flames. Literally.

I gasp for breath and turn on my side. I can feel the contents of my stomach rising up my throat, leaving my throat in even more burning anguish. I pant for air, inhaling sharply and ignoring the sharp pain from my lungs.

I feel warm hands wrap around my biceps, pulling me up to my feet. My legs and arms feel like rubber, but I muster up enough strength to walk out of here. I'd be damned if I let Rafe see me as some weak link again.

Topper, Kelce, and Pope try pulling JJ off of Rafe who jams his fist against Rafe's face relentlessly. JJ's face is red with anger, his scowl hardening with every hit.

"JJ!" I call out to him. I know this is only going to get him in more trouble. They're Kooks. They never get in trouble. Leaving any kind of mark on Rafe's skin will call for consequences. That's just how it goes around here and we can't be stupid to it. "JJ, stop!" I try breaking out of Kie's grip. "JJ! You're going to kill him!"

JJ's head snaps in my direction. His eyes scan wildly down my body, looking for any source of life threatening injuries. I try to grin assuringly at him, but it's hard to turn my lips upwards.

When JJ is distracted, Pope manages to pull him away. The Kooks grab Rafe by his shoulders and yank him in the opposite direction. If we don't want to be caught, we all have to leave right now. The fire department and probably the police will be here any second to put out the fire.

When we're finally separated, I pull myself away from Kie and run directly into JJ's arms. He wraps himself around my waist and lifts me off the ground to pull me even closer to his body. I snuggle my face into the crook of his neck and hold him tight.

He's okay. He's okay. He's okay. It's all I can manage to say in my head.

~ ~ ~

No one says a word the entire ride home from the movies. But even without it being discussed, we knew none of us wanted to spend the night alone. I can't go back to my house and Kie's parents wouldn't want all of us at her's, so she drives us to Pope's.

Pope didn't get too hurt in the scuffle. In fact he's the one that threw the first punch...well the first head. He head butted Topper before the Kook had a chance to swing. Kie's only injury was a small burn on her finger from when she flicked the lighter to burn down the screen. JJ and I however are bruised and sore.

Kie helps Pope set up his living room for all of us to sleep. Before I can offer to help, JJ tugs on my hand and brings me down the hall towards the bathroom. He locks the door behind me.

I tilt my head and my eyebrows scrunch together in confusion. "Are you okay?"

JJ steps closer to me, basically pinning my body against the door. My breath hitches in my throat as his hands come up to cup my jaw. He's so close I can feel his breath on my face. He pulls my head up and tilts it to the side. He looks down at my neck, looking for bruises and scratches that Rafe might have left me with. My neck is sore and it hurts to swallow, but that's it. Even his backhand didn't leave a mark on my cheek.

"Hey," I say softly. I pull his hands away from my face and intertwine our fingers together. "I'm okay."

"He could have killed you," JJ says through clenched teeth.

"But he didn't."

"But -"

"No buts," I tell him. Unwrapping one hand from his, I pull him further into the bathroom and tap on the sink counter top, motioning for him to hop up and sit so I can take a look at his face which looks worse the mine. "Come on."

JJ reluctantly hops on the counter. I go to the closet and pull out a small face towel and run it under cold water. Standing between his legs, I lightly dab the towel on his bottom lip that's split down the middle. I bite my lip nervously under the scrutiny of his stare. Neither of us say anything, relaxed in the comfort of the other one's presence. I feel safe when I'm with him. There's no Kooks versus Pogues. There's no abusive fathers or DCS. Its just me and him.

I drop the towel next to JJ and slowly touch the hem of his shirt. I look up at him, waiting for him to give me the go-ahead or to stop me. I need to see the damage that can be hidden with clothes.

JJ nods slowly and lets me pull his shirt up. His toned abs are the first thing I notice. I've seen him without a shirt hundreds of times, but something about this moment makes me stare. Maybe it's how close I'm standing next to him, or how I can feel the warmth radiating from his skin onto mine.

His body isn't marked with any discoloration and his ribs are still intact. When I pull his shirt back down and nod to say he's okay, I'm looking deep into his eyes - the eyes that never left mine.

"Are you okay?" He asks. His voice is soft and raspy, sexy even.

I nod my head, grinning, "Yes. I promise. Are you?"

"I swear to god, I'm going to kill him."

"J-"

"He hurt you, Mar!" JJ finally snaps. "He had his hands wrapped around your throat!"

"Shh," I shush him by pressing my index finger against his lips, afraid that he's going to wake up Pope's parents. "It's okay."

"It's not and you know it!" JJ sighs and lets his shoulders relax when I look at him pleadingly. He takes my hand and wraps it around his own. He brings it to his lips, gently kissing the tender skin around my knuckles. Blush creeps up my neck to my cheeks. I lean in closer to him, pressing my hips against the counter and glancing between my hand, his lips, and his eyes.

Every fiber in my being tells me to lean in further and finally press my lips against his. At this moment I don't care about the rules or what it might do to our friendship or what John B might say about it. I just want to feel him, every part of him, against me. I want to forget the rest of the world exists and just be with JJ.

But I don't. Because Kie quietly knocking on the door pulls me out of my thoughts.

"Hey, are you guys okay?" She asks.

The corner of JJ's lips tug upwards into a slanted grin, causing mine to do the same. I take a step backwards and help him down from the counter.

Kie looks between us confused. I grin at her and nod my head to show her that we're both okay. JJ grins to himself and follows me out to the living room where Pope is already passed out on the couch.

I bend down to lay on the makeshift bed on the floor made out of blankets and pillows. I was expecting Kie to lay down next to me, but JJ takes the spot to my left.

Kie trudges to the other couch, too tired to say anything about the fight or JJ and I. I know she'll wanna talk about it later with me. She always does when it involves Rafe.

I keep my eyes trained to the ceiling. My body is exhausted but I'm not tired. I finally feel like I defended myself against Rafe today, a personal accomplishment and a milestone. I don't think my feud with Rafe will ever go away. I think we'll always hate each other until one of us leaves the island for good. But at least he knows I won't put up with his crap anymore. With or without his dad's money.

I don't know how long I've been staring at a blank canvas of nothing. Not even Pope's snores can lullaby me to sleep. I turn my body towards JJ. I wonder if kissing him in the bathroom would have been a mistake or not. Maybe it would disrupt the peace in our friend group, but I can't deny my feelings for him anymore. I know what I want and that's JJ. I would do anything for the blonde lying next to me.

I watch his chest rise up and down slowly. His lips are slightly parted as he sleeps. My fingers delicately play with the shark tooth necklace around his neck. I've always loved this necklace on him, even thought about getting one myself. But I knew Kie would tease me endlessly if I did.

"You know, some people think it's rude to stare," JJ's raspy voice pulls me out of my head. His eyes are still closed and his lips are now turned up into a smirk from catching me in the act.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you," I whisper.

"How come you're not sleeping?"

"My head won't let me," I reply. "Just thinking. Hey, where did you get this?"

JJ slowly opens his eyes and looks down at my thumb that glides over the smooth surface of the shark tooth. "Pretty sure this is from the country club's gift shop."

I shake my head with a grin, expecting nothing less from my klepto friend. "Of course it is."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"When did Rafe call you a whore?"

I drop my hand from his necklace and lay it flat on his chest. JJ takes his arm and rests it behind his head, sitting up to look at me. I shrug like it's no big deal.

"It was a long time ago."

"Why would he call you that?"

"The Kook doesn't handle rejection very well. It's fine, JJ."

JJ sighs. "You would tell me if someone really hurt you, right?"

This time my eyes flicker back up to meet his. His gaze feels delicate, like if he looked at me any other way, I'd break. I think he knows something but he's not telling me. Maybe that's for the better. After tonight, I never want to tell him what Rafe almost did to me. I don't trust JJ to not run off to actually try to murder the Kook.

"I'm fine."

"You're not answering the question. Please, Mar. I know Pope's hiding something too. Something about you. About the other day."

I swallow thickly and nod my head. "Of course I'd tell you."

Guilt trickles through me at the lie. JJ trusted me enough to tell me about his dad, and I had the same reaction JJ would probably have if I told him about Rafe. Yet, I couldn't bring myself to do it.

JJ nods. I can't tell if he believes me or not but he drops the subject and opens his arms for me to cuddle into him. "Come here."

I snuggle into his side and wrap my arm around his waist. This feels good, this feels normal. For a second, I forget that Kie and Pope are even in the same room as us. JJ's warm. He smells like grass, cologne, and a hint of weed. I match my breathing to his and let my eyes close, finally falling into a deep dreamless slumber.

~ ~ ~

When the four of us wake up, we offer to help Heyward out at his shop as a thank you for letting us stay over. I'm waiting for Kie to say something to me about being wrapped around JJ when we all woke up, but she doesn't say anything. Instead she passes me looks of concern. I can tell she's itching to talk about last night.

Pope's in his head about last night too and he's not giving himself enough credit for fighting Topper back.

"Don't let it get in your head," JJ says. "Three of them and two of us. That's typical Kook shit right there."

"Hell yeah," Kie says, agreeing.

"What was your thought process, using your head?"

Pope shrugs. "I don't know, man. I just kind of acted off instinct. I was a cornered animal."

Heyward walks into the shop and approaches us. I can already tell by his face that he's not about to tell us we can take a souvenir to go. His eyes are trained on his son and he looks worried. "Hey, Pope, someone here to see you."

The three of us look at Pope for some kind of tell as to who might be here for him, but he looks just as confused as the rest of us.

We follow him outside where Officer Shoupe is waiting for him. My heart drops deep into the pit of my stomach. I glance between the officer and Pope, knowing exactly who was to blame for this.

"Morning, officer," Pope says nervously. He looks like he's about to puke.

Shoupe doesn't greet him. Instead he slowly approaches my friend with a paper in his hand. "I have an arrest warrant for felony of destruction of property."

Fucking Topper.

"What?" Heyward says loudly. He looks between Shoupe and Pope, then to us as if we could explain the misunderstanding.

Shoupe moves closer to Pope. "Hands where I can see them." Kie immediately steps in to block the officer's path, saying something about how he can't do this. "Young lady, out of my way. Look at the warrant."

"You're arresting him?" I say, moving next to Pope. I narrow my eyes at the stuck up officer. I know for a fact that the police don't have any evidence that can prove Pope did it. The only witnesses were me and JJ.

"You're just arresting my boy?" Heyward says defensively.

Shoupe ignores both of us and grabs Pope by the arm and forcefully takes him to the car.

"Be careful!" Kie yells at him.

I can't wrap my brain around what is happening. Pope is the last person who should ever go to jail. What happened to Topper's boat is fair game. Okay, yes, maybe illegal, but so is assault which the Kooks did first!

"Shoupe, are you listening?" Heyward yells.

Shoupe ignores us again and starts reading Pope his rights. Our friend looks back at us, specifically at JJ and I, the ones who knew the truth. JJ grips the routes of his hair stressfully as I try to come up with any kind of idea to get him out of it.

"How much did they pay you, man?" JJ says, taking a step closer to the car.

"Stop!" I yell. This time Shoupe turns to look at me. So does everyone else. I do the only thing I can think of. "It wasn't him. It was -"

"It was me!" JJ says quickly.

My head snaps in his direction with an open mouth and wide eyes. He refuses to look at me, keeping his eyes on Shoupe and Pope.

"JJ -"

JJ cuts me off, "He tried to talk me out of it, but I was mad because he'd just been beaten up." The blonde takes another step closer to Shoupe. "I was so sick of those assholes from Figure Eight that I lost my shit." He looks at Pope with a look that tells him to go along with it. A look that tells him why he's doing this. "I can't let you take the blame for something I did. You've got too much to lose."

"JJ, what are you doing?" Pope stares at him with big eyes.

My eyes narrow into a glare as I stare at the back of JJ's head. Fear rises up my chest and tightens around my heart. Why is he doing this? I was going to do it! They're already looking for me anyway to take me to DCS. JJ's bargaining a lot for his friend. The others think he's only going to be arrested, but I know his punishment isn't going to stop there. His dad is going to be pissed. And I know what happens when his dad is pissed.

"I'm telling the truth," JJ says. "For once in my goddamn life, I'm gonna tell the truth." He looks over his shoulder, glancing at me before looking at Heyward. "Stole his old man's boat too."

"What the hell?" Heyward says.

"JJ, come on," Pope pleads.

"Just shut up, Pope!" JJ snaps. "Just shut up." He looks back at Shoupe. "He's a good kid. You know where I'm from."

"Yeah," Shoupe says, agreeing that he wouldn't put this past JJ.

"This was all me."

Shoupe sighs and looks at Pope one more time. "That's the whole truth?"

"Whole truth, swear to god!" JJ says loudly.

"I know what you think, damn it, I'm asking Pope."

I look at Pope with clenched teeth, fighting my tears off with heavy breaths. I don't want Pope to agree, but I can't let him be taken away either. I can only watch as JJ does something so incredibly stupid, I don't know if he'll come back from it.

"Yeah," Pope says hesitantly. "That about covers it."

Shoupe nods and pulls out his handcuffs. Knowing the drill a little too well, JJ turns and lets Shoupe snap the handcuffs around his wrist.

"JJ!" I call out to him. I'm about to run over to him but Kie steps in my way, holding me back from making a mistake. "No, stop!"

JJ looks at me one last time before Shoupe shuts the back door with him inside. He nods once, trying to tell me he's going to be okay. But I know better. No one understands the risk he just took by taking the fall for Pope. For me.

"Ms. Routledge," Shoupe says before getting in the driver's seat. "Have you spoken to your brother?"

I pull away from Kie and glare at the old man, feeling nothing but hatred for him. "No. I haven't seen him."

"I suggest you go home and pack a bag. DCS is looking for the both of you. I'd take you in myself, but I can't without a social worker present."

I don't say anything. I just hold his stare.

When Shoupe drives away, I turn back to my best friend and pull at my hair. I start to hyperventilate, thinking about how JJ's dad is going to react when he hears JJ's been arrested. It doesn't take a lot to rile Luke Maybank up into a rage. I don't even want to think about what he's going to think about this.

Kie holds me to her, the both of us crying into each other's shoulders while Pope tries to come up with an explanation for his father. I let my best friend hold me. I don't care if bystanders are watching us. I don't care how pathetic I look. I can only think of JJ. I can only think about how I'm going to get JJ back.

Tag List: @notyourcupofteax @acvross-the-universe @realistic-breadstick @jjmaybankzz @jeeperky @urbinoutfiters @moniamaybank @brebear121 @x-lulu @freddymaybank @jjpouggues @kkmikayla @folkloverr @alexa-playafricabytoto @lemur46

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detectivesofty · 4 years

Text

ex’s and oh’s | j.h.

Summary: your ex and your partner, whom you have feelings for, walk into an interrogation room. Sounds like the beginning of a bad joke right?

Pairing: Jay Halstead x Partner!Reader

Song I listened to while writing: Spirits by The Strumbellas also a rewatch of Season 4 of Chicago P.D.

Author’s Note: sorry for the delay, I was watching a movie with my dad and forgot the time! This has literally everything. Romance, action, excitement. READ IT! PS: The part with the interrogation might confuse you a bit, be sure to read it carefully to know who’s talking to whom!

Warnings: mentions of alcoho, child abduction, death and guns

Word Count: 3,229 words

“You’re late.”

“Don’t I know it, Sarge.”

Normally you exchanged more than a few words with Sergeant Platt when you came to the district in the morning, but this morning you were late. This week you caught a case of abducted kindergarten kids and it’s been especially hard on you. Unsurprisingly, Jay knew about it, even though you’ve adamantly insisted that nothing was wrong, and came over with a bottle of wine.

“They’re already questioning the witness upstairs, giggles.”

You threw a thumbs up in her direction before placing your palm on the scanner, waiting for the buzz of the door impatiently, immediately pulling the door open when it did buzz. Hurrying up the stairs, you threw a collective ‘morning, hey’ into the bullpen and knocked on Kim’s desk as a form of greeting while you walked by, finally reaching your own desk, across from Jay’s, which was conspicuously empty.

His empty seat already had your head gears turning and you glanced at Kim, who was already looking at you quizzically. It took her only a few seconds to interpret your face.

“He’s questioning the witness. In the interrogation room,” Kim said, making you jump up and lock your gun into the locker.

“Y/N, wait-”

But you already disappeared around the corner into the observation room, where Voight was standing with his arms crossed. You made two steps into the room when you stilled, your eyes stuck on what was happening in the other room.

“So you’re telling me that you were right across the street while 15 kids were being abducted and the only thing you saw was a white van?”

“Man, I don’t know what to tell you. It’s not like I knew what was going on.”

“A bunch of kids being herded into a white van didn’t appear suspicious to you?”

“What the hell is Jay doing in there with my ex?” You sputtered and Voight only blinked at you.

“Don’t tell me he’s the witness.”

“He’s actually the only one we’ve got,” Voight replied and you scoffed, leaning your hand against the glass.

“Why the hell are you so riled up? Do you think I had something to do with it?”

“I don’t know, did you?”

“The jerk’s right though, why is Jay being so antagonizing?”

“Why do you think?” Voight said dryly and you pressed your lips together, shaking your head slightly when you thought about what had happened last night.

“I told you I am fine,” you said with a sigh, but still opening the door wide enough so Jay could come in.

“And I told you that you need to stop lying to me for two reasons,” Jay answered, leaning against the wall. “One, I am literally a detective. And two, I am your partner. You can’t lie to me.”

Rolling your eyes playfully, you pushed the door shut and walked to the living room with Jay hot on your heels. While you took a place on the couch, Jay wandered into your kitchen to grab two wine glasses. It was weird how he felt much he felt at home at your apartment. Handing him a corkscrew, Jay quickly opened the wine bottle and poured two glasses, offering you one.

“So. Talk to me.”

With a long sigh, you accepted the wine glass and swirled the wine in the glass, before taking a sip. You weren’t good at talking about feelings. You were good at making jokes, telling stories, nagging other people. But you rarely got raw and honest about what you felt. Jay was the same. The two of you never openly talked about your feelings for each other. You knew he loved you, but did he love you the way you loved him?

“They’re just kids, Jay. Innocent children in a kindergarten. Why would anyone abduct them? And what are they planning on doing with them? Who does something like this?” You threw the questions into the room, not expecting an answer. “I really love my job. I know we’re helping a lot of people, but this?”

You let out a sharp exhale and Jay gently pried the wine glass out of your hand, putting glasses on the coffee table. Without anything to hold, your shaky hands dropped into your lap before Jay clasped your hands in his, effectively stopping the shaking.

“Hey. Hey, look at me,” he said softly and you lifted your eyes to meet his. “I know this job is tough, but you can’t keep focusing on the bad stuff. How many times have you told me that? So now it’s your turn to believe, hm?”

Pressing your lips together, you nodded and gave him a small smile. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

Jay gave you a look and raised an eyebrow. “Hey, I’m always right.”

You snorted with a roll of your eyes and then gave him a push so he’d fall back on the couch, but he quickly grabbed your wrists, so you fell with him.

“You dimwit!” You exclaimed in between laughs, leaning your arms on his chest.

“You pushed me first!”

It was then that you realized how close you were. You swallowed thickly and tried to focus your eyes on anything but his mouth, like all the freckles dusted across his face, his beautiful green eyes and eventually, your eyes still ended up on his lips. It looked like he was looking at yours and your tongue reflexively darted out to wet your lips.

The tension was so thick, you almost felt it all around you and at this moment, you thought to yourself: this is it. Maybe this is where Jay would reveal his true feelings for you.

But your hopes were too high.

Jay quickly averted his eyes and cleared his throat, before he gently rolled over, lying next to you. There was a brief silence and then Jay clapped into his hands, as if he’d wanted to clear the air.

“You down for some pizza?”

“Yeah… Sure.”

The night passed relatively normal after that, but that one moment still lingered in both of your minds, especially in yours. Maybe he didn’t see you as more than a partner and friend. And now you have to watch Jay drilling your ex, out of all people in Chicago? God really liked to torture you.

“How about you stop dicking around and tell me what happened before I arrest you for obstruction of justice?”

“Obstruction of-” Your ex jeered and then paused, furrowing his brows. “Wait a minute. You’re Y/N’s partner, aren’t you?”

You wished you could see Jay’s face instead of his back.

“That’s Detective Y/L/N to you,” Jay said, his voice dropping lower.

“Alright, that’s it, I am pulling him out. Burgess, you and me,” Voight said and headed out of the room. You hadn’t even noticed Kim in the doorway, and she just gave you a sympathetic look before she followed Voight into the interrogation room.

“Halstead, take a break now,” Voight ordered as he opened the door. Jay threw his hands up in the air in exasperation.

“Sarge, I-”

“I said now!”

“Yeah, Halstead, take a break,” your ex taunted and Jay slapped the table, making him flinch when he pointed a finger at him.

“Do not test me, you jagoff.”

With that, Jay pushed his chair back and Kim and Voight sat down across from him. Your ex, quickly having regained his composure, grinned at the two of them.

“Thanks for saving me, Halstead’s a real hothead, huh?”

“Shut your mouth.”

You stopped paying attention to the interrogation when you saw Jay walk past the open door, freezing when he saw you.

“Y/N? How long have you been here?”

Shaking your head with a scoff, you exited the room, shouldering past him.

“Y/N, wait, I can explain!”

You didn’t. Ignoring everyone’s eyes, you walked straight to the break room and you were about zero percent surprised when Jay followed you in there, shutting the door behind him. Still, you ignored his presence and grabbed a mug to pour yourself a coffee.

“Earth to Y/N, I am talking to you,” Jay exclaimed and laid a hand on your shoulder, turning you to face him.

“I am trying to drink my coffee here, Halstead.”

Jay sighed and gave you a look. “Really? You’ve resorted to calling me by my last name now?”

“What do you want, Jay?” You asked, putting an unnecessary emphasis on his name just to bug him.

“Oh my god,” Jay muttered, massaging his temples before he turned his attention back to you. “Listen. I know I shouldn’t have been so aggressive but he’s such a dick, I couldn’t help myself.”

“You always thought that he was a dick and tried to be civil to him. But you treated him like a hostile suspect in there, even though he’s the only witness in this fucking case. What the hell is wrong with you?”

Jay rubbed his chin ruefully and shrugged with his shoulders. “I just lost my cool, okay. I wasn’t actively trying to destroy this case.”

“You never lose your cool unless it’s something personal.”

“Well, this was personal. You’re my partner. He treated you like shit, ergo personal.”

He was making excuses up and both of you knew it.

“That was a year ago, I am fine. I don’t need you to fight for my honor.”

“Cheating on your girlfriend doesn’t have a statute of limitation and-”

“What the hell Jay!” You suddenly exploded, startling him. “Stop saying stupid shit and just be honest with me. This is bullshit! Last night you came over all like ‘I am your partner, you can’t lie to me’ shit and now you have the audacity to lie to me when it’s literally about me?”

Jay heaved out a breath and ran a hand through his hair. “Okay, fine. You’re right, I am sorry, I shouldn’t lie to you… I just don’t know how to tell you this.” He paced back and forth, while you looked at him expectantly, soon he turned back to you.

“I-” Jay began, but broke off again, cursing before he cupped your face and kissed you.

Even though you were still mad at him, you could feel your resolve slowly melting away as he kissed you and while you were shocked for a split-second, you kissed him back the moment you had realized what was happening. You weren’t sure how long you’ve been kissing when Jay slowly pulled away, leaning his forehead against yours.

“I’m sorry, this is probably the least appropriate place to do this, but I figured if I can’t find the words, I’ll act instead,” he mumbled softly and you nodded, not finding any words. Your head was whirring, trying to form a sentence, but before anything could come out of your mouth, someone knocked on the door and the two of you sprang apart.

“Hey, I hate to interrupt you guys,” Adam said, leaning in the doorway, “but Antonio tracked the white van your SOB ex described and it’s parked outside a warehouse in Oakly Boulevard. We gotta go right now.”

You and Jay looked at each other, faces incredibly serious. You knew this had to wait right now.

“We’ll talk later,” you promised him and he gave a curt nod, before the two of you followed Adam to save some lives.

“Everyone in position?”

It was a couple hours later and your team was sitting outside the warehouse where the kids were held. The weather was gloomy, and even though it was only a few minutes past four pm, the sun has already set, engulfing the warehouse in darkness.

“Burgess and I are on the roof boss, we’re ready.”

“We’re good, Kev is ready to take down the door.”

Jay glanced at you, hands on his radio. “You good?” You swiftly broke the lock and gave him a thumbs up, before he gave his confirmation through the radio to Voight, who was running point outside of the building.

“Okay. Remember, quiet and stealthy. Right now we count all fifteen kids and 4 offenders inside and 3 outside standing watch. We do not want to tip them off, who knows what they might do. The most important thing is to get the kids home to their families alive, you hear me?”

Everyone voiced their understanding.

“Good. Go.”

“We’re in,” you spoke quietly into the radio, silently moving through the dark warehouse. It took a few seconds for your eyes to adjust to the darkness but you could hear people talking from a room where light was coming from.

“We got the pricks outside,” Adam said.

“We’re through the west entrance, hostages seem to be kept in the break room, two offenders with them and three are walking the warehouse, keep your eyes open,” You heard Kim’s voice crackling through your earpiece and you stilled when you saw a flashlight bouncing off the walls.

Turning back to Jay, you pointed two fingers in that direction and he nodded before he disappeared into the dark. You quickly walked towards the flashlight and a few seconds later you could hear a grunt and a body hitting the floor.

“One suspect down,” you informed the team. “We’re getting closer to the breakroom, I can hear two of them arguing.”

There were two doors leading into the room and you glanced at Jay.

“You go in, I’ll distract them,” he whispered and the two of you split up, quietly moving toward the open door. Through the crack, you saw two men, standing in front of the children, waving guns around. The children looked scared, but otherwise okay. You felt a bit relieved, though you knew that this was not over yet.

“I told you,” one of them said, getting in the face of the other man, “We’re waiting for the parents to contact us, we left them a message-” A clatter outside the room made him pause and he quickly looked around, alarmed. “Someone’s here. Go check if where the others are.”

His partner rushed through the door and the shot caller aimed the gun at the kids. “If you even think about running, I will kill all of you,” he threatened and as you moved in, you pointed your gun at his head.

“I don’t think so, jackass. Hands up and put the gun on the floor, now.” You could hear the offender cursing under his breath before he carefully dropped the gun to the floor. Kicking the gun away, you moved closer until the nuzzle of your gun was pressed against the back of his head.

“Get on your knees.”

You were surprised that he was so compliant and threw some handcuffs on. Then, you slowly put your gun back in the holster, turning to the kids.

“Hey, hi kids. It’s okay, I am a detective, you’re safe now okay?” You told the kids with an assuring smile, checking them over. “Is everyone alright? Anyone hurt?” The kids shook their heads and you sighed in relief.

“I got the kids, waiting for confirmation until all offenders are down. Jay, what’s your-”

“Watch out!” the kids cried and you felt a gun against the back of your head.

Fuck.

“Turn around and do not reach for your gun,” the man said and as you turned around, you realized it was the man from before. He looked nervous and drops of sweat were running down his temples.

“Kids, get behind me,” you said in a calm voice, not wanting to scare them.

“Wyatt, what do you want me to do with her?” he asked and Wyatt grunted, his face contorted in anger.

“Just kill her and get me out of these cuffs Zac, we’re about to be swarmed with police.”

You saw the hesitation in Zac’s eyes. “Hey, Zac.”

Zac turned his eyes on you and you held your hands higher. “Zac, right?” He nodded, his eyes flitting over to Wyatt when he screamed out.

“Don’t listen to her! Get me out of these cuffs!”

“Zac, ignore him and listen to me, okay?” Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Jay inching closer, his gun aimed at Zac. You shook your head ever so slightly and Jay nodded, keeping his aim, but not pulling the trigger just yet.

“I know you don’t want to do this. You can still get out of here, it does not have to end like this. Look at all these kids. They’re innocent. Whatever you want to achieve, I promise there’s another way, okay?”

You could see that Zac was really listening to you, as he slowly lowered his gun, but Wyatt kept screaming at him.

“HEY! If I go to prison because of you I will fucking kill you!”

Zac balled his hands into fists and as the desperation clouded over his face, you knew this was a lost cause. He straightened his arm, his gun on you.

“I am sorry,” he pressed out.

“NO!”

A shot rang through the room and blood splattered all over your face, the kids screaming out. You exhaled deeply and blinked slowly, watching Zac fall over limply. You were so close to saving him.

“Hey, Y/N you alright?” Jay asked, rushing over to you and you nodded, holding onto his bicep for support while he patted you down. Wyatt was still kneeling on the floor, cursing loudly, not even bothered by the fact that his partner just died in front of him.

“I am fine. Let’s get the kids out of here,” you told him and he nodded, herding all the kids together to lead them outside.

Several ambos were already waiting outside to check on the kids as the offenders were being taken away. You watched with a small smile as a handful of cars pulled up, and parents started piling out, calling for their kids.

A hand laid on your shoulder and when you turned, Voight was giving you one of his rare smiles. “Good job, Y/N. Do you need a medic?”

“It’s not my blood,” You said, wiping your sleeve over your face. “Thanks Sarge.”

Voight clapped your back affectionately and then walked off to take care of the offenders, while you looked around, finally catching Jay’s eyes across the street. He tilted his head to the side and you gave a tired nod, picking up your feet to where Jay’s GMC was parked.

He was waiting by the driver’s door, but instead of getting in the passenger’s side, you walked up straight to him, laying your head on his chest. Jay wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close.

“Today was good, huh?”

“Mhm,” you hummed, not wanting to pull away just yet. “Can’t believe it started with you yelling at my ex.”

Jay breathed out a laugh before he pulled away, holding you at an arm's length. “Listen, about that-”

You effectively cut him off by placing your lips on his, kissing him gently. Immediately he kissed you back and cupped your cheek with his hand, holding you as if you were delicate. You pulled away after a few seconds and smiled up at him.

“I think I got it,” you told him quietly and he beamed at you, tucking your hair back.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.“

You knew that you’d have to have this conversation eventually, probably later that day. But for now, this was enough.

Taglist: @toomuchtv95 // @miranda0102 // @annaallicce // @galacticsmoon

#ex's and oh's #jay halstead #jay halstead fanfiction #jay halstead fanfic #jay halstead fic #jay halstead imagine #jay halstead imagines #chicago pd #one chicago

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hargrove-mayfields · 3 years

Text

Just A Dream Away

Chapter 4/13 read here on ao3!

for @harringrovebigbang

~~~~

Steve doesn’t know why he does this to himself.

It’s been, god how long has it even been since the funeral? Almost a year now according to the calendar, though in his head it’s only been weeks.

Time doesn’t really have much to do with it though. Unless they found a way to go back, Billy would still be gone, and he’d still go back to the cemetery each morning just to pretend he wasn’t, leftover alcohol in his system from the night before melding each passing day into a jumble of numbness.

And Steve, as he falls deeper into this routine of self torture, he’s becoming exhausted. Where he was once optimistic, or at least trying to stay focused on looking for the positives and back on the good times, now he's just empty.

He can’t pretend he’s not depressed anymore, and he can’t pretend things are going to be okay either.

As much as he is still hurting, Robin doesn’t let him just mope. If she knew what was making his heart ache, he thinks she might let him have a little more room to grieve, but she doesn’t know, she doesn’t even know how bad he truly gets when she’s not around, so she had made him accept the video store’s job offer they’d left for when his time as representative was finished.

Work is something to do to take his mind off of things, sure, and it’s a way to get him out of the house, but the only reason he accepted was because halfway between his house and the family video is the cemetery, and every day, whether he drives it or walks it depending on if he’s sober enough to take the car, he stops to pay his boyfriend a visit.

Most often he brings flowers, maybe blows a tearful kiss to the ground and moves on, but some days, like today, he feels a heaviness in his heart that tells him to show up hours before he’s due at his shift, ready to talk it out until he absolutely has to leave.

Maybe it’s a habit from the hospital, starting when he used to be cheerful and sit in the grass to talk about happy stories and good things that happened in his day to make Billy feel better. But a year into talking to the dirt instead of his lover had left him bitter, and he was far past that optimistic point, all that’s left now is guilt, remorse, all the feelings about the loss he’d thus far kept bottled up.

This particular morning, he’d awoken from a nightmare, what happened at the mall never leaving his memory, the flashes of sorrow and pain and death lingering behind his eyes when he tries to get even a moment's peace; everyday is hard, but when he wakes up with tears in his eyes, he knows what kind of day it’s going to be.

So he comes out to Hawkins cemetery, no gift in hand today except his company, and kneels in the muddy grass, damp from an overnight storm that contributed to his plagued rest and left him running on an hour, maybe two, of good sleep, and he just starts talking.

He starts with the basics, the generic greetings and declarations of love that he promises each morning, but his emotions quickly rise to the surface. Reaching out to trace his fingers over the indentations in the upright stone, his voice wobbles slightly, and he shifts from venting to what he came here for:

“Billy. Baby, I’m so sorry. I’ve been pretending things will be okay, but I know they won’t. I failed you. I wasn’t there for you and it’s my fault what happened to you. I don’t even deserve to sit here and cry with you. I know Max has but, have you forgiven me? I don’t know where you are now, but I don’t want you to hate me. I love you so much.”

The silence in response is daunting. Makes him want to scream so loud he could tear the earth apart looking for his Billy, but instead he just repeats his apologies and promises again and again until his tears slow. Eventually, when he’s run out of things to say, he stands, stray tears dripping from the end of his nose and rewetting the soil, and leaves.

Drives away to his job like nothing happened, strolling in some thirty minutes late for his shift. Because today is the premiere of some mainstream pop culture film that’s gone way over Steve’s head on video, the Family Video is packed.

“Hey, dingus. Could’ve used you at the start of your shift.” Robin shouts over the shop noise as he strolls past to his post.

Steve shrugs, an over-exaggerated gesture in case she can’t hear him over the crowd, “Well I’m here now, aren’t I?”

“You are, but I don’t see you working. I need help restocking once those shelves are cleared out.”

“Yes ma’am.” Steve does a mocking salute, the grimace on Robin's face making it clear she can see through his overdone gestures that he’s hiding something, overcompensating for the emptiness he feels.

She doesn’t have the chance to bring it up though, because the both of them get whisked off into separate duties working the over capacity video store. Only, while Robin handles it like she would any other day, with mild annoyance and enough spite to get through it alright, Steve is too fragile. All he can register is commotion, chaos: the buzzing neon lights in the ceiling, surging crowds bumping into him, chatter and bustle filling his ears, and he starts to break down.

But because he’s Steve, he tries at first to just power through. Tries to block it out and resume productivity, but he is already knee deep in a panic attack, so he pushes back through the customers, probably a little too roughly, to tell Robin with that lilt of fear and upset to his tone, “Robin, I can’t be out here.”

She barely looks up as she kindly responds, “I get it, Steve. Go take your break, I’ll handle the rush.”

That’s exactly what he does, is go straight to the back room, but instead of his standard fifteen allotted by the overheads, he stays in the back for an hour, and then another, leaving behind customers arguing over who should get the last copy of the new movie, people in line out the door, tapes knocked off of the shelves, all while people are in trying to do their normal returns and rentals. It’s again total chaos out there, only made worse by the fact that Robin is now alone at the counter.

She would also have to clean up once the rush died, and maybe even replace some tapes if people weren’t going to start watching where they’re walking, and as much as Steve wanted to feel bad for disappearing into the back room for the past hour and a half and leaving her with all of that, he can’t be bothered with coming back out, his morning at the cemetery having taken too much from his emotional threshold to be productive, or remorseful even, now.

There are two big plush chairs and a couch in the back, a much nicer room than the icebox that was the Scoops break area, but Steve sits on the floor instead, his back pressed to the door and his stained up knees drawn to his chest. From where he is, the endless noise and bustle drifts down the short hall to the break room, but he’s too in his head, thinking about nothing and everything to pay it any mind.

It takes probably another an hour and a half for all the crowd to die down, the line clearing out and Robin chasing away most of the stragglers after explaining for the hundredth time that until the already rented out copies were returned, they wouldn’t get any more in and that no, they weren’t hiding any in the back.

Steve can hear her cleaning up a little before she gets too behind, cardboard boxes being broken down and the irritating scrape of broom bristles against dusty tiled floors, followed quickly by loud boot steps toward the door that make his chest ache, pretending it was the echoes someone else instead of his best friend.

The break room is locked behind him, something that is forbidden by company policy, but Steve felt necessary, and Robin beats on it with the palm of her hand, startling him out of the half dazed, half alert state he’s been in all day, “Harrington, what are you doing in there? I just did a whole rush by myself, asshole.”

He can’t father the words to respond, tears welling up and choking anything he might say off in his throat. So Robin calls again, the door knob rattling like she’s trying to get in, her voice more concerned, “Steve? You alive in there?”

“Steve.” She tries again, more desperate, and Steve finally finds it in himself to say something, sniffling and responding weakly, “‘M’fine Rob.”

“Can you let me in?” Robin suggests, just on the side of hesitant, making Steve feel something like guilt for shutting her out, both emotionally and in the literal sense, so he stands, shaky and unbalanced, and unlocks the door for her.

He must look as bad as he feels, because Robin's pinched face of concern melts into one of sympathy as soon as she lays eyes on him.

She steps into the back room with him, after a moment of pause which Steve had come to hate, knowing that meant whoever was speaking was going to take pity on him, asking, “You doing okay in here, buddy?”

“What does it look like?” There’s sarcasm and bitterness in his tone, though it’s muffled by his tears. He doesn’t worry about offending Robin, she’s been dealing with his breakdowns for a long time now, and she knew how he could get.

Patiently, in spite of his snappiness, she asks, “Can you tell me what happened?”

Steve’s not sure how that’s even a question anymore.

What happened was fighting monsters at the Byers. Was getting tortured in the Starcourt mall. Was losing his Billy.

To say that those things had a huge impact on him was a gross understatement. Hell, even Robin was affected too, the both of them incredibly emotionally fragile these days with about a thousand things that could trigger them, both were plagued by nightmares and flashbacks and panic attacks at random points in time. It shouldn’t be a mystery what was wrong now.

But having two hour long breakdowns in the employee lounge, Steve had to admit that was new, and Robin was obviously scared for him because of it.

So he lies, “It’s nothing, Robs. Just the same old stuf.” Steve isn’t a very good liar though, he can’t hold eye contact and his voice trails off, revealing him every time.

“Steve.” It was an attempt to appeal to him, maybe to ground him so he’d open up to her, “Please talk to me.”

An attempt, which he shuts down with, “We’re at work right now.”

Robin frowns, a crease in her eyebrow. He’s never seen her look more frustrated as she says, halfway between an insult and a joke, “No, I’m at work. You’re crying in the break room on the floor.”

But again, Steve is having it, “I’m serious, I don’t wanna talk about it here.”

He feels bad about being harsh with Robin, but his grief, this breakdown, it’s not for the general reasons she thinks, it’s specifically because of his visit to Billy’s grave this morning. The heavy realization of everything he’d vented to that cold stone that stood in place of the beaming face, the beautiful boy that always knew what to say, who he loved and still hadn’t told her about, that was what had pushed him over the emotional threshold.

“Alright, well, we’ve got like, an hour left before our shift is over, so you can just veg out back here or you can come and do some work.” Robing announces with a quick glance at her wrist watch, standing and patting the top of Steve’s head just to mess up his hair like he hated before walking out of the room.

At least she was trying.

It takes him a few minutes to find the will to follow her out, but eventually he does sidle up beside her at the front counter, his posture weak and his muddy shoes dragging on the ground, but he’s there, earning a taunting flash of Robins biggest and snarkiest grin as she slides him a stack of tapes that need rewinding.

They don’t get many customers after the initial rush of the early afternoon where he was out for, but he can tell Robin was still keeping her eye on him, just in case he needed a break, or in case he did break himself. Anymore, and much to his dismay, it doesn’t take much to get him overwhelmed, especially not if he was already upset, but he makes sure not to let that show now, putting on a mask like everything is okay, and he is managing it just fine.

Because the thing is, he isn’t managing anything, he’s still grief stricken and he’s drinking himself half to death and he has no future ahead but more sadness, but he’d be damned if he let anybody figure that out. Let anybody worry about him, when he was still living. In his eyes, it’s selfish to expect pity, when you’ve already survived the worst.

He thinks though, by the time their work is almost done, that Robin is starting to suspect something, because the second their shift is over, before the guys to cover the closing shift even show, she’s dragging him out of the store, snatching the keys for the BMW out of Steve's back pocket.

It goes without discussing anymore that on bad days, Robin doesn’t take Steve back home, which is to say, the two of them had been pretty much sharing her dinky little duplex apartment, the two of them living in the right side with a nosy older lady in the other. They both were afraid of what he could do when he was home alone, and, Robin didn’t really know this, but Steve was also afraid of what his father might say the day the dozens of rooms in that house weren’t enough to avoid him, when he realized how pathetic a state his son was in.

The living arrangement didn’t change much though. Steve still wasn’t very good at talking through his problems, and he still wouldn’t eat or shower or sleep regularly. He knew it scared Robin, because it scared him too, but he had other things to worry about.

Maybe it was true that he was so sensitive that it took practically nothing to send him over the edge, but it's not a big deal, he’ll be alright, how are you doing anyway? Robin always has to fight so hard just to get him to talk to her, his best friend who he all but lives with, because all he is worried about is other people. Something to do with losing the one person he was always caring for, trying to make up for not being able to save Billy’s life, or help him through his hardest moments. He knows that, but it doesn’t matter why he’s selfless, as long as he is, right?

Further, he reasons, so what if he’d had a concussion so bad that he still gets migraines that leave him bedridden at times? His friend is hurting and he needs to be there for her. Who cares if he has nightmares so intensely vivid he can’t sleep for weeks at a time? Robin has panic attacks in crowded places, and each time he has to fret about it for days.

It makes her worried sick all the time, knowing that Steve all but refuses to tell her if he needs something, but he doesn’t like feeling studied, can tell she is always looking for signs that something is wrong, watching him to make sure he didn’t do anything he shouldn’t. All she wants is for him to just stop bottling everything up, because she claims she had and it made everything easier for her to cope with, but he’s stubborn.

That just isn’t the way his brain works, and she’s probably sick of trying to get through to him. Somewhere in the back of Steve’s mind, he knows she’s not far from a breakthrough with him, his own coping mechanisms exhausting him to the point he might consider external help, but she doesn’t have to know that yet. For now, she sticks to what she always does in place of these tougher conversations, and that’s to make Steve tea and try to work him down to the point where he’ll talk to her. Today, it’s not going to take much convincing.

The second day he’d ever come over here, she tried to make a pot of coffee for a little chat like this, and Steve had started crying like a baby just from the way it smelled. It reminded him of his mother, of diner dates with Billy and nurses bringing him breakfast, so she had to switch to tea. He could tell it would always bother her when he wouldn’t tell her why something like that was making him so upset, but as Robin would have to come to realize the more he stayed with her, that was just the first of many things she didn’t understand about Steve Harrington.

There were endless triggers that set him off that she witnessed, and when she comforted him, he could tell she understood some of them, like when the lights would flicker when Dorothy ran her vacuum and he’d stop breathing, or when a siren would start up in the distance and he’d get so dizzy and his hands would shake so badly. But it was those overly specific things, like the smell of coffee, that she was sure had nothing to do with what they went through, and her confidence through those breakdowns would be noticeably a lot lower.

Pine tree air fresheners, the click of stilettos on tiled floors, leather car seats, the busy tone of the telephone, cigarette smoke, rose scented perfume, hairspray, crystalline ash trays. The list of things that reminded him of his parents and the utter helplessness of growing up alone and scared, and of his Billy, of everything he had lost when he died. To Robin, who didn’t have the context of his feelings, it just felt like every day there was something new that would set Steve back ten steps in the progress he’d made, and he knew it was making Robin feel so helpless and guilty.

She was getting better while he was still so thoroughly depressed, and she would take missteps on purpose to not get too far ahead of him. He was sabotaging his best friend with his own misery.

The thought draws stinging tears to his eyes, and Steve sits down at the table without saying a word to Robin, knows his composure will crack the moment he opens his mouth.

She finishes making their tea, specifically lemon flavored with two spoonfuls of honey and one of sugar, sliding him his tea in a tacky mug she’d bought him from a yard sale as a sort housewarming gift, an invitation to stay as long as he needed, and sits in the unbalanced chair across from him. “Are we gonna talk about it?”

Steve taps his fingers on the side of his mug, eyes trained on the paint stained and scratched surface of the table, “What do you want me to say? I freaked out at work, nothing new.”

Robin sighs shakily, and it makes Steve feel a pang of guilt in his chest. Despite her best efforts, he gets so defensive all the time anymore, the careless goof he was before Starcourt buried underneath all that was depressing him, and that he wouldn’t share with her. He was an awful friend, spending so much time with his past actions and losses, he’d forgotten how to live in the present.

“But there’s something you haven’t been telling me, Steve.” She bumps their knees together under the table to get him to look at her, “I’m not trying to be nosy or intrude, really, I just want to help you.”

“I don’t need help.” Steve raised his mug to his face, mumbling into it, “It’s supposed to get worse before it gets better, right?”

That same worried crease above her eyebrow appears, “Who told you that?”

He doesn’t answer, staring into the swirling mug before him. A sign for her that he still wasn’t ready to talk. She must decide that she would do most of the talking then, because she puts her mug down, takes a deep breath before saying, “Listen, you don’t have to tell me everything, I just want you to get better and I don’t think you should do it on your own. I haven’t, and I think it’s time I try to be there for you live you’ve been for me.”

There’s a long stretch of silence where Steve didn’t know what to say, the plastic clock Robin had taken from her grandmother’s kitchen ticking away the seconds, the minutes that passed before Steve swallows hard and looks up from the spot he’d been focusing on, trying and failing to find the right words again before he explains himself, “I just think.. I feel like everyone moved on way too fast.”

“From Starcourt?” What she meant didn’t need to be said. She didn’t need to specify the torture, the battle with an interdimensional monster, the fall out afterwards, for him to understand, but that wasn’t it, and he shakes his head no.

Confused, Robin clarifies, “Then from what?”

“All those people that day, Robs, they died and life is just supposed to go on like normal. We still have holidays and we got jobs again, but all those people, they-“ There are tears in his eyes so he cuts himself off, hoping that Robin got the point anyways.

From the look of clarity on her face, she does understand now where this is coming from. Steve had been struggling with survivor's guilt, Robin knew that because he insisted upon attending each and every funeral he could with his schedule at the hospital, and she’d reluctantly driven him to them without question, no matter how unhealthy it was for him.

He had even told her once, when he was drunk off his ass and knocking on her bedroom door in the early hours of the morning, that he didn’t think it was fair that he didn’t die, but all those other people did. She had never gotten an answer out of him when she asked why he thought he deserved to die, and he hoped she’d have forgotten it by now, but now he was cracking, and she was going to figure it out, so he keeps going.

“It’s just, how are we supposed to go back to normal when there’s so many people who can’t? They died, a-and they left behind their families and friends and partners.” He sniffles, tears starting to roll down his colorless face for the second time that day, “How can we act like nothing ever happened when it’s our fault?”

That makes Robin pause, her eyes going wide, “What?”

Steve freezes, hadn’t meant to say that, and he stays quiet until she asks him a second time, “How is it our fault, Steve?”

“Because we were so caught up with that stupid transmission that we missed our chance to help them. And for what? I was just trying to play the hero for Dustin, but I could’ve stopped it if I wasn’t so stupid.”

“What could you have stopped?” Asking so many questions made her sound like a pushy therapist, and it’s making Steve increasingly frustrated, answering harshly, “The-The shadow, Robin! The Mind-Flayer!”

“Okay, I’m sorry. But Steve, I really don’t think there’s much we could have done.”

Steve just shakes his head, insists, “If I hadn’t been so-so focused on doing something I thought was important, I could’ve done something that actually mattered before it was too late. I wasted so much time in the mall. But they needed me and I-I failed them. You feeling bad for me and telling me it’s not my fault doesn’t change that.”

“Steve, if we hadn’t been down there, nobody would’ve known about the gate, and the mind flayer wouldn’t be dead now.” Robin comforts, a deep frown on her tear tracked face, “There wasn’t anything anybody could’ve done.”

It’s not what Steve needs to hear.

“Stop saying that.. I could’ve saved him, and then none of this would’ve happened.” A sob wracks through his body as soon he finishes, the gut wrenching sound echoing through Robin's tiny apartment kitchen.

“Who?” Robin asks, reaching across the table and taking his shaking hand in her own, “Steve, who could you have saved?”

Through his tears he’s able to stutter out the answer, accented with a pointed sob, “Billy. I could’ve saved Billy..”

She doesn’t say anything in turn, occupied with putting the pieces together, though she’s still missing the larger context, instead pushing her chair back on the scratched kitchen tiles, pulling Steve up out of his own chair into the tightest hug she’d probably ever given anybody. They stand like that for a long time, Steve crying into Robin’s hair and her trying to comfort him through her confusion until his tears slow, or at least the hyperventilating is under control.

When eventually he does pull away from her, he wipes at his eyes and whispers, “Can I tell you something else? It’s about him.”

“Of course.” Robin answers quickly, something like relief, an unfamiliar look on her face anymore, written behind her eyes, making Steve yet again feel a twinge of guilt for hiding so much from his best friend.

He speaks quickly, struggling to get the right words together again, “You know how I said that the only time I was ever in love was with Nancy Wheeler?”

“Yeah?” Robin frowns, and Steve can see it in her face that she’s trying to work through it, what his love life has anything to do with his grief, but it’s a lot harder for him to admit than it is even for her to understand.

“I lied.” He chews on his lip, the faint and bitter taste of blood on his tongue, “And you know how when Dustin asked if we were together, I told him that you weren’t my type and we laughed about it because I’m definitely not yours either?”

“Steve I told you-“ Contemplation is replaced with fear, but he quickly cuts her off, “No, no, it’s not like that. I-I’m not done.”

Steve takes a deep breath, “You sort of are my type, but it was always someone else with-with wavy blonde hair and blue eyes and freckles all over that I was in love with.”

“I don’t understand. Who?”

Steve’s realizing he’s come full circle in this conversation, almost identical to the one they had on the bathroom floor over a year ago now when Robin can out to him, his tone and the distress in his features softening, “Robin.”

The pieces click into place, a whole range of emotion from shock to confusion to finally, sympathy, crossing Robin's face, “Oh, Steve. I’m so sorry. When did you…”

“Christmas Eve last year. Night of the snowball he apologized for being an asshole, and a few weeks later he kissed me.” Six months. The time that they’d had together was now as long as he was in the hospital, and since then how long Steve had been grieving him.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” She sounds almost hurt by it, the realization that her best friend didn’t come to her with this, especially when she of all people would be understanding. But Steve doesn’t have an answer to that, he doesn’t really know why.

All he does is shrug in response, tired of talking it out anyways, so with a forced sigh Robin tells him, “Well anyways, I’m glad you told me now. You shouldn’t have been doing this on your own for so long.”

Steve smiles weakly and lies, just as he’s been lying for so long, “It’s okay Robin. I’ve been getting better.”

But it doesn’t have the effect on Robin he wants, because she insists, for the first time not just letting him stew in his guilt and bottle everything up, “I don’t think drinking your life away and breaking down more often than ever really counts as doing better.”

Of course he tries to defend himself, anyone would against that, “Come on, Rob-“

But Robin cuts him off, “No, Steve. I’m serious. You need to get help.”

“I’m not going to a therapist.”

“Okay, but you still need to come to me with this stuff.” Steve looks away, and Robin’s tobw gets more desperate, “Steve, please. You can’t do this by yourself. I understand, I’m your best friend. I just want to be there for you.”

“I’ll.. think about it.” Is the last thing he says before he turns to leave, stopping short when he hears Robin sniffle, even on her worst days almost never seeing her cry, “Shit.. Robs.”

“No, no. I’m done talking about it Steve.” Robin shakes her head, her face flushes red as she fights back tears she doesn’t want him to see, biting her knuckles, “Just.. go ahead. I won’t bother you anymore.”

Numbly, he does. He turns and goes up the stairs to the used to be closet Robin turned into a room for him when he comes over.

~~~~

Billy doesn’t know how long he’s been in this hell.

His hair is getting longer, almost down his back now. It’s a matted mess that’ll never brush out even if someday he gets back to water that runs clear and his Gee conditioner he used to slip Susan a few bucks to buy for him, but he can’t bring himself to cut it.

He does shave though. Takes a knife to his face and does his best to use broken and grimy windows and mirrors for accuracy. It seems pointless, and for the most part it is, but his dad used to grow a beard in the winter, and the very last thing he wants is to look like him. Seeing him again would be one thing, but becoming him? That’s something Billy's willing to take a few knicks from a rusty old blade to avoid.

He used to keep track of the days, measured by the patterns in the storms constantly churning overhead, with a notch in the dying bark of a tree he passed between the convenience store and his house, the two places he’d been able to call his safe haven since he found himself trapped.

But then the dogs, as he’d come to call them now, changed. They used to circle the woods, patrol the other side of town, blocking his access to the downtown areas, like the hospital, the police station, Steve’s house. Then suddenly, they started closing in on his side, and from the many encounters he’s had from strays and crossing their invisible boundaries, he knew he couldn’t stay in that place.

So he’d lost his home, the ghost of his family that had been keeping him grounded, gone as he salvages anything he can, and leaves.

For a while, it feels like relief almost. The burden of how long he’d been here and how alone he was lifted, but he knows that’s just a way of comforting himself. He’s actually devastated.

He wants to be able to sleep on his back porch and he wants to be able to look at all the damaged family photos inside the overtaken house, no matter how fake the smiles and poses are, and he just wants to be home. Not that the building means much, home is the feeling, being with the people who he cares about and who care about him. He’s not sure he ever had the sense of what that really meant, but he’d take any dysfunctional upbringing over this.

The best he had for a while was Steve’s place.

Steve is never there, in the physical sense or in that freaky, spiritual, can be heard but not seen way. Inside the mansion is somehow pristinely kept, even in all of this wreckage that destroyed the rest of Hawkins. Mrs. Harrington would be proud of the intact decor and the spotless floors. Whatever those white particles were, which were slowly making it harder and harder for Billy to breath, were the only blemish, everything coated in at least an inch of the stuff.

Outside is another story entirely. The lawn is ripped up, the chairs and lawn ornaments are mangled or missing, and the pool is completely drained, in the place of water gangly vines and more sticky decomposition than he’d seen in even the most remote areas.

He remembers Barbara Holland. He remembers Steve saying she drowned accidentally in his pool when she got brought up. He remembers the fear in his eyes when they were out at night, the way those honey browns would scan the treeline for danger, on his worst days drawing the curtains and refusing to go out back for anything.

He starts to wonder, if maybe the vines mark the victims. His house, Steve’s pool, both completely overtaken. Heather’s house is only a street over from Steve’s, but he can’t will himself to go in there and see if his theory is correct. Same goes for the steelworks, or the community pool.

But, nice as it was, Steve’s house didn't last long as a refuge. He only stays there for a couple of weeks before he again has to grab what he can and abandon it, the dogs having followed him and cut another chunk out of his territory. There was a pack of them wandering the yard, a couple breaking off to charge at the back doors, and Billy has to decide between holing himself up in that hideously wallpapered room that had come to be another definition of home, and running for his damn life.

He chose the latter, scaling the shed roof from the upstairs bathroom window just as the monsters break the glass double doors. Down the rattling drain pipes he prayed would hold his weight, and into the shed to regroup. He’d gotten out with almost nothing of Steve’s, not that polo shirts and nike shoes were great for apocalyptic survival gear, but he wished he could’ve nabbed anything more, a picture, a coat, a bag, at least something he could use.

All he made out with though was a red bandana, which, if he ever gets out of this hell, he has to ask Steve about that, no way his reformed prep was freaky enough to walk around Hawkins advertising his preference for taking it elbow deep, an empty notebook, a pair of scissors as a just in case weapon, and an old banged up Bic which was out of fluid anyways.

The bandanas alright, paisleys not his pattern of choice and he’s more of a navy blue and grey guy than red, but it’d do well enough to keep that nasty shit in the air out of his lungs. Everything else he grabbed is basically useless to him though, so he scours the shed instead, sneaking in through the back door with a sharp eye on where the dogs broke into Steve’s.

In there he gets a little better of a haul, most of it still just junk he can repurpose for tending injuries, but on the back wall, held up by a barely standing shelf, is the golden find, a machete the length of his arm. Brand new and sharpened, a little worn from the rot but clearly never used, the Harrington’s had a gardener to trim back the branches, and everything in here was just for show so Mr. Harrington wouldn’t feel emasculated by not doing any work but answering phone calls and yelling at underpaid workers anyways, so Billy grabs it, finally having more than an old mower blade and a collection of knives from decorative to army to kitchen, most of which were all too small and almost got his arm torn off.

It’s that machine he’d stumbled upon that bittersweet day that he carries now, dripping with the oozing blood of one of the dogs, slightly bent now because another got it between its teeth and more dull from cutting through rubbery skin. The damn thing has saved his life though, many times over as the territories shift again in quick, unpredictable cycles, this last time ending with him cornered in the hospital's courtyard.

He was over there raiding for bandaging and medicine, anything that might help in the long run, but of course, it would have to come in handy just a little sooner, silly Billy for thinking about the future, because the monsters find him.

Thankfully, none of them actually get him, though one is particularly disgusting, it’s head, for lack of a more delicate way to put it, basically explodes when he stabs through it, another damn pair of his jeans getting ruined by the sticky, reddish spatter. The only worry he has time for before he has to kill, or scare off in most cases, the rest of the dogs that step forward, is the damned stain.

There aren’t too many, and those whose brains aren’t dripping off of his weapon, or as annoying as it is, his clothes, run off quickly, leaving Billy himself to move on.

First Cherry Lane, then Steve’s, and now the hospital. Guess it’s time to fucking leave again.

Hawkins is deceptively big for a country bumpkins paradise. The town and its shops and the surrounding neighborhoods only make up some half of the city, even he used to live on the edges of the civilized part, the rest of town stretching on for miles and miles of rural farmland, a couple of houses here and there the deeper you get into the country.

He’d never been over that way except maybe once when Max flipped the map upside down and they got lost on the way to Cherry for the first. That wasn’t much help now, but he was otherwise out of options. It was getting lost in the woods trying to find the more hidden houses, or it was being dinner for the dogs, which he could still hear chittering somewhere nearby, regrouping for the next attack probably.

The decision isn’t hard for Billy. He grabs whatever he’s salvaged and just bolts, bandana mask around his neck, machete in the bag on his back so he doesn’t cut himself up and make all this surviving for nothing, just getting the hell out of there before they decide they want to fight him again.

Because frankly, after as long as it’s been, his energy is getting low. He doesn’t know what he’s surviving for anymore, let alone if he’s going to be able to for much longer. His lung capacity is getting lower by the day, he’s got old wounds that won’t heal. The dogs probably aren’t too far from finishing him off if he gets attacked too many more times, so he’s just not chancing it.

Billy runs and he runs, coughing up a little blood in the process, until he ends up in a neighborhood he’s never seen before. Right now, that’s good news, so he slows his pace and takes his machete back out, just in case he let his guard down too soon.

Over here it’s a little brighter, a little less destroyed maybe, but still not right. Houses still slump and there are still pulsing vines all over, the roads still dusted with toxins. But there are a lot of houses, and that’s usually good news for avoiding the monsters.

As nice an area as it is, there's still something bigger drawing Billy to this area. Immediately he thinks back to the cemetery, how he’d felt and heard Steve that day, an event he’d come to think, after so long without a repeat feeling, had been only in his head, and he panics, for just a moment.

He knows he can’t let him slip by this time. Closing his eyes, he tries to pinpoint the feeling in his chest, like an arrow that can guide him in the direction of this, a compass pointing straight to his love.

Trusting that this feeling isn’t a warning, and he’s not about to walk into a nest, he follows it, slowly at first but with more fervor when he hears two echoing voices at the same time his chest clenches. He recognizes one as a vague face in his memory, Steve’s best friend, the one Heather never had the guts to tell about the crush she had on her, Robin maybe was her name. The other voice, well, the other voice is Steve’s.

They’re coming from a rotten duplex with no doors or windows. It looks a lot like a marked house, and he wonders if Robin knows she got a discount because the owner of the house was dead, melted into a monster that has tried to kill her along with the rest.

Approaching the house, he doesn’t know what to expect, if maybe they’ll be inside, or if this is just some delusion from a lack of oxygen to his brain. It doesn’t really matter. He steps up, careful to avoid rickety spots in he steps, and goes inside.

First, he leans his machete against the mushroom wall. There’s two reasons he never brings the weapons all the way in, first being that any mess he made in the house always had to be cleaned up by his step mother, so outside of the deepest throws of teenage rebellion, he always did what he could to minimize dirt in he house, and that included bringing a machete dripping with brains inside, even if there wasn't anyone around to see it, it was a habit built by thankful glances and praise, albeit somewhat backhanded, from his parents, so it was one he continued to honor.

Second, he harbors a deep respect for the houses he’s stayed in, despite the lack of doors on this one, each and every home he’s entered, no matter if it was for five minutes to steal some food or upwards of weeks where he slept there, these buildings were his shelter, and he feels the need to respect them, so, weapons stay at the front door. So far, the dogs haven’t followed him inside.

Looking around, he can tell Steve isn’t here either. The house is definitely abandoned just like the rest, and his heart sinks just a little, until he hears it again. A vague whisper that’s just barely audible to his ear.

He knows he’s in the right place. Every inch of him aches for Steve, but he can’t see him. He tries again to call out for him, an echo of the cemetery, “Steve? Can you hear me?”

No response comes.

“I don’t understand, why can’t you hear me?”

Things have gone silent on the other side, and Billy feels hopeless. A bout of frustration turns him around, the urge to forget about his stupid rules and just tear this house apart until he finds his Steve, curbed by seeing the wall phone.

He’s not stupid. He’s been over here long enough to realize he’s not in Hawkins, not the real one anyhow, that they, Steve and his family and everyone else are instead. The how and the why are another story entirely, but he has the basic understanding that he is alone, and they are parallel to him. Coexisting in different planes.

And if that is the case and he’s not on the worst trip of his life or just completely off his rocker, him and the dogs he kills an Agave and Pentheus type situation, then he can contact the other plane, say, by telephone even.

Luckily for him, Robin is forgetful, and there’s a list of numbers taped to the wall by the phone, only slightly worn with black gooey rot. He picks up the phone and listens to the emptiness, no dial tone in his ear. His hands are shaky as he slowly, hesitantly punches in the numbers, the three and the eight buttons getting monster blood on them from his fingers.

He raises the phone to his ear, the sound of his own ragged breathing echoing back in his ear as he waits for someone to answer, the line ringing, and ringing, and ringing.

#harringrove big bang 2021 #harringrove #billy x steve #steve harrington #billy hargrove #robin buckley #tw blood #ej writer #story by ej!#more tags on ao3

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seasonsofeverlark · 4 years

Text

Spreading Christmas Cheer

Author: @mega-aulover

Prompt: Everlark the movie Elf [submitted by @alliswell21]

Rating: G

Author’s Note: This is a story based off of the movie Elf as requested by @alliswell21 It’s from “Jovie” i.e. Katniss POV, what she would have seen and fell in love with one Peeta ‘Buddy’ Mellark.

Special thanks to @norbertsmom for her betaing skill and for the name of the story. Parts 3 and 4 will post separately.

_____________

Pt 1

I watch Peeta gently kiss the top of our first born’s head. Holly’s dark hair is braided into two plaits; her blue eyes closing softly.

“And Papa Elf said, grandpa was on the naughty list…” his voice is soft.

Suddenly Holly’s eyes widen as she remembers something. Her blue eyes are laser focused on Peeta. “Papá, es verdad que mamá estaba en la lista de los niños malos?”

“Y quien te dijo esto?” I ask from the door. We never discuss my role in Peeta’s adventure, or the fact that I was on the naughty list. Ever.

“Santa,” Holly says.

Ese gordo, Santa has loose lips. I think about teaching him about keeping secrets until it’s time to explain to our child about the past. But before I can say anything, Peeta gives me a look. He always knows when I’m having evil thoughts. I sigh, and redirect my thoughts, because Peeta made me believe in love, joy, and Christmas.

“Your papa saved more than grandpa that Christmas. He saved me too.”

Holly’s eyes lit up like her father’s before the sleepiness creeps back into their depths.

“Now go to sleep so Santa can come down the chimney.”

“Night, mama, night papa,” Holly whispers right before she drifts off to sleep.

Together we walk out of our daughters bedroom. Peeta slides an arm around my shoulders. He dips down and nuzzles my cheek. He steers me to the living room. I drag my feet. Peeta is up to something.

“Okay, spill it, Mellark.”

He gives me a wide eyed smile.

The hair at the back of my neck stands up straight.

He’s got that look, that please tell me a bedtime story stare, and not just any story.

“No.”

Peeta pauses and gives me a puppy dog look with a full lip pout.

“No.”

“Come on, Sweetums, my li’l sugar plum,” Peeta says in an excited whisper.

“No…no don’t waggle your eyebrows at me, Peeta. Buddy. Mellark.” I pronounce each one of his names.

Peeta’s grins so brightly; his eyes shine brighter than Christmas lights. His hat is slightly crooked as he hops and does that stupid little dance of his that makes me want to tear off his green tights. Yep, I said tights. My husband was raised as an elf, a six foot two, blond, wavy haired, giant with broad shoulders, washboard abs, and is genuinely sweet. Sweeter than eggnog.

He grabs me by the waist. “You know you wanna,” he says in that sexy time voice of his that’s reserved only for me.

Canasto!

I should clarify for everyone listening to my tale; you should know canasto isn’t a vulgar or bad word. It means basket. But I like the way it sounds in Spanish. So I say it with real vehemence. It’s like peaches in Spanish sounds like a curse word. Melocotón! Tu eres un Melocotón! Which translates into you’re a peach.

I digress.

I let out a big sigh. There’s no way I can say no to him and he knows it! Canasto!

“I love it when you tell the story of how we met from your point of view.“

"You’re an evil gremlin,” I say with no heat in my voice. It’s my personal nickname for him. As in the gremlins when they ate after midnight. However to be fair, if you see Peeta, he’s not scary at all, he’s more like a big teddy bear.

Peeta laughs and my heart flip flops. Because he is anything but; he is so congenial.

Peeta puts his hands on my belly, my very big belly. It’s baby number 2; actually it’s baby number two and three. They are counted as one until they’re born. I know what he’s doing, the evil gremlin! He’s trying to distract me because I’m due to give birth. I have mild pangs because I’m carrying twins and I’m nearing my due date.

He carries me and sits me on his lap. “Now start from the beginning.”

“From the candy cane forest?” I ask.

“No from your point of view,” his eyes dance gently as he rests me against his chest, rubbing my bulging belly.

“Okay,” I say quietly.

“Don’t forget to start with once upon a time,” Peeta insists, trying to contain his excitement.

“Once upon a time.”

“This is going to be good,” Peeta whispers.

“Are you going to let me tell the story?”

“Oh yea,” Peeta placed a kiss on my nose. “Go ahead.”

Closing my eyes I picture the year things changed. Because everything in my life was about others and never myself. I was always trying to be someone else, what everyone expected of me.

It’s hard being a foster kid, and getting out of the system is kind of like getting out of jail. Suddenly you have all this freedom, but you’ve been conditioned to follow all of these rules, so when you are free, you do one of two things. You get in trouble, and try to get sent into an institution; some of us call it the iron college. Or you try to keep your nose clean and learn in the school of hard knocks. In my case, I kept my head above the water for my sister’s sake.

“I love my family,” I muttered underneath my breath.

I muttered it again as my sister destroyed, no scratch that, mutilated Mariah Carey’s “All I want for Christmas."

Did I forget to mention that I love my family?

I do. I love my family and there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for them, but at that moment I wanted to scratch my ears out with dull spoons.

My perfect baby sister is a smoking hot blonde runway model and the muse for Karl Lagerfeld, but she has the worst singing voice known to man. You want to torture someone, hire my sister, and have her sing to the person you want to torture. Within 3 seconds flat, she can have even the most hardened of spies spilling their guts like a canary.

The one thing I could not stand beside my sister’s singing was Christmas.

I loathed Christmas.

I was not ashamed to say it. Every fiber of my body I hated Christmas! If I had ever met the real Santa back then, he had better hoped that I was not holding my bow and arrow, because I would have shot him through the eye. Not that I believed in Santa then, but if I had known there was a real life Santa Claus, I’d have hunted him down, and burned the fat man’s jolly red outfit. I would then gleefully take a joy ride in his sleigh into his workshop like Bill Murray did in Groundhog Day when he allowed the groundhog to drive him off the cliff into a fiery death.

At this point you are wondering why I hated Christmas so much.

There were many reasons why the holiday was so contemptible to me. One, my father died on Christmas day. Two, my mother checked out on us that same Christmas day. The next Christmas Eve was when my sister and I were separated into different foster homes. It took me a few months to find my six-year-old baby sister. I had been sent to a foster family who used foster kids for slave labor, to have them wipe and clean their floors while the Mrs. of the family spent the whole day in luxurious spas and getting Botox treatments, as if that was going to improve her mug.

My baby sister was luckier. Primrose was placed in a foster home in the middle of suburbia with a 2 story house with a picket fence. A woman named Cecilia and her husband Ronald had never been able to have kids, and they doted on my sister. They brought her up to be the princess she always said she was. Honestly, they were rather shocked when my twelve-year-old cynical self rolled up into their home screaming for my baby sister, Primrose. Prim came running out of nowhere and latched herself on to my leg like an octopus. Best Spring ever, so I do love the Spring.

But before you think we were reunited, we weren’t. The family that had Primrose never wanted me. And even if they did, we technically didn’t have the same last name. Primrose carried my mom’s last name while I carried my dad’s. My sister was Primrose Emmerson and I was Katniss Everdeen. Our parents had a silly agreement. They were also foster kids, so they decided that I would take dad’s name and the next one born would take our mothers name.

They didn’t have family, and her parents lived a common law marriage. Their childish decision caused havoc. There was a mix up and we weren’t processed as sisters. Plus, I never stayed in the same foster home for long so even if they wanted me, they never knew where I was, but no matter where I was, I found a way to talk to Primrose, because as long as Prim was loved and cared for, my situation didn’t matter.

After our brief reunion, I had to go back to the family that I was placed in, and my sister stayed with her family. I didn’t stay with mine for very long; I became a statistic. A rolling number on someone’s computer screen. I was bounced around from one family to another in all sorts of seedy homes.

So you can see why I’m so jaded. Every bad thing that ever happened to me, has happened on that freakin’ holiday. And there was one more reason I disliked that holly jolly holiday so immensely. For some reason, the universe hated me.

No matter where I went, what city, what town within the state, I could guarantee you that it was a racket, a billion dollar racket to make parents crazy and buy things for their kids they didn’t need. For some reason, it pleased people to take my olive skin, dark hair, scowling self and put me into a sparkly Christmas cheer, “gag” pointy eared elf costume.

So with a week until Christmas, I was listening to my sister butcher another holiday favorite song. Then Prim screeched. And I sighed in relief.

"Katniss,” Prim said, coming out of the bathroom. “The water is cold!”

I looked heavenward. “The pipes. I forgot they’re working on the water main outside. They said there would be interruption to service.”

“Oh, you know I can get us a hotel room,” Prim said toweling dry her pale blonde locks.

My studio apartment wasn’t what my sister was used to. She was a freaking couture runway model, six foot one, so slim nothing off the rack fit her. “I’m sorry Prim, I was so excited to see you.”

Prim smiled. “Look, I only have a few hours left. How about I treat you to lunch before I go back up to Connecticut to spend Christmas with Cecillia and Ron.” Prim smiled at me. “You know you’re more than welcome to come. They always ask about you.”

I loved my baby sister. She was amazing. And I was damned glad that the Henderson's were an amazing couple, but I knew the score. They didn’t know what to do with me. “As long as you don’t mind me wearing my elf costume.”

Primrose chuckled. “You make the cutest elf though.” She patted me on the head using a baby tone with me. Prim was taller than me by a foot. I was tiny, or as Prim said, compact size.

“I could still put you over my knee, little duck,” I growled. “Así que mira ver.”

My sister laughed and she delighted in taunting me. Prim no longer spoke Spanish, but she understood the language. “You’re adorable when you’re angry, an angry little elf, aren’t you?”

“Primrose,” I said in Spanish. I rounded my ‘r’s’ when I said her name.

“Awe, I don’t don’t get why you hate Christmas so much.” Primrose winked going to the screen divider to get dressed. My sister was used to dressing and undressing in front of dozens of people. I, on the other hand, was not so free with nudity. Primrose said I was a prude. If I hadn’t I told her to use the screen, she would have changed right in front of me.

“Did you know there are only three jobs an elf can have,” Prim said from over the screen.

I sighed. Unlike me, Primrose loved Christmas. Hell, she even suggested that there might be a real Santa Claus. I told her the only people who look for ways to sneak into people’s houses were criminals.

Prim continued her story about elves. “The type of elves that live in trees and make cookies, the types that make shoes, and the best type.”

“Let me guess, Christmas elves,” I said, rolling my eyes.

Prim grinned. She came around the screen wearing thigh high red boots, jeans and a camel tunic sweater that looked like cashmere. “Come on sis, let me treat you to breakfast so that you can go terrorize the children of Macy’s toy department.”

Pt 2

Peeta grins excitedly, breaking the narration. “You know she’s right. Papa says the cookie elves have high insurance premiums because their tree catches fire all of the time.”

“Peeta,” I huff. “Do you want me to finish the story?”

“Absolutely,” he hugs me closer. “I’m so sad you and Prim never got to grow up at the North Pole with me.”

I can’t help but smile at his sincere wish. “Oh Peeta,” I kiss his cheek.

“The only thing I would never let you do was toy testing,” Peeta whispers.

I chuckled. Peeta hated Jack-In-The-Box’s. They scare the dickens out of him. I lay my head on his shoulders. “Are you going to let me finish the story?”

“You know,” he says, blue eyes twinkling. “I’d spotted you in the city that first day.”

“You were jumping across the lines of the cross walk, “ I grin at the memory.

“I followed you until I saw the Empire State Building. Then I went to see my father.”

“I know,” I caress his face.

“Start from that point.”

“Okay, you ready now.” My babies were moving in my belly.

“Right, you were in your father’s office delivering the most awkward Christmas gram.”

Peeta chuckles. “I don’t have your pretty voice.”

I sigh. “Peeta.”

“Right, I’ll be quiet.”

I give him a look.

“But just so you know, when those guards told me to go back to Macy’s, I was curious as to why you were dressed as an elf.“

I roll my eyes. Did I forget to mention my husband is a talker. He is a chatterbox. I swear Peeta is the type who’d make friends with a paper bag.

"I thought your elf name was so pretty,” he sighs happily.

“Peeta, if you want me to tell the story. You have to hush!” I admonish, if I didn’t we would be here until tomorrow.

“Oh,” he gushes. “Yes, tell the story.”

“So, there I was in the middle of New York, like a morsel in shark infested waters. I.E….”

“That passion fruit spray is horrible,” Peeta grumbles. “I do not know how women drink that stuff.”

I want to laugh. There are still things that Peeta doesn’t understand about human society; perfume was one of them, and that fact endeared him to me.

“Can you start at the moment our eyes met?” Peeta gives me a wobbly smile.

Ah, now I know why he’s interrupting so much. “Okay.”

Sighing I recall that day. Prim and I were out to breakfast. She was harping on me to find someone. Did I fall to mention Primrose was only twenty years old at the time, and at that age I was ancient at the tender age of twenty six. Seriously twenty-six. So what if I had never dated, never had a boyfriend, and never kissed anyone. My sister was right. I was a prude, but I’d seen how love could screw you over. My mom never recovered and she died alone in some home of a broken heart. All I had in the world was my sister. My Prim, and she was the only person I would love. Until that afternoon.

“Seriously Katniss, you’re twenty-six,” Prim said.

Eye rolling was a national pastime when speaking to a glamazon who thought I needed to date.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me,” Prim said, removing my sunglasses. “And also, sunglasses in the middle of December, so not tre chique.”

Eye roll, eye roll, eye roll. Fake smile. CANASTO!

“You are the worst,” Prim hissed.

I knew my sister wasn’t mad at me. Annoyed, yes. Mad, no. “Prim, it’s just I’m not interested in dating anyone.”

“Katniss, I just don’t want you to impersonate elves for the rest of your life, and when you’re like forty-six, you’ll realize you’re alone with a cat, who pisses in your shoes, and scratches your furniture.”

I moved to pay our bill.

“No way,” Prim said, slamming her hand on the bill. “I make what you make in a month in two hours of work. This is on me.”

“Fine,” I grumbled.

“Also, stop closing yourself to Christmas. Santa isn’t going to leave you anything under the tree.”

“Like Santa exists,” I snorted.

Prim gasped. “You take that back. Santa Claus is real Katniss, just like the rainbows, and pigs and frogs having a long term, caring relationship, and love exists.”

My sister’s wide eyed passionate confession shook me, but the only words that came out of my mouth were, “a frog and a pig?”

“Miss Piggy and Kermit are together, and if they can make it, no matter what the media says, anything is possible.”

“Huh,” I said, leaving the luncheonette near Penn Station. We walked to the corner, where she’d take the stairs to the lower level.

I took a look at the stairs, knowing this was the moment I would say goodbye to my sister once again. My eyes filled with unwanted tears. I could still recall the little girl with the untucked shirt that looked like a duck tail. It’s where the nickname li’l duck came from.

“Don’t cry,” Prim whispered. “Quack, quack.”

“I hate it when we have to say goodbye,” I said quietly.

“It’s not goodbye, Katniss; it’s until the next time.” Prim grinned then she took my elf hat and put it on my head. “Go on, terrify the poor children of the city with your menacing scowl. But you better watch out, better not cry.”

I groaned. “Prim, I would rather hear seagulls squawking then you singing.”

“I know, that’s why I do it,” Prim said.

“You’re a brat.”

“Brat, I’m on Santa’s nice list. You’re the one on the naughty list.”

“There’s no such thing as Santa…” the words died on my lips as I saw a huge man dressed in an elaborate elf outfit jumping on the lines of the crosswalk gleefully. I was struck by the joy on his face.

He looked like an angel with wavy blond hair and innocent blue eyes. It was one thing to see a six-year-old child with that wide eyed innocence, but a tall, broad shouldered man with large hands made me think perhaps he’d escaped his caretakers. His elf outfit wasn’t like the cheap one I had to wear. It was made from a rich fabric with elaborately embroidered gold thread.

If there was something I knew about, it was fabric. I never had soft fabrics growing up and I was obsessed over soft materials. I dreamed of cashmere, Egyptian cotton, mulberry silks, and linens. His green tunic was made from merino wool, like the ones they made in England in those bespoke shops. Even his hat, although a ridiculous cone shape, was not some cheap fabric covered cardboard that you’d find in a costume shop. It was made from genuine thick green wool felt with a yellow satin ribbon wrapped around it. A red feather bobbed up and down as he jumped.

He was so happy. He looked up, as if sensing my presence. Our eyes met and he smiled jovially and waved at me. My mouth went dry, because, gaw, Canasto!

This man-child was gorgeous.

“Earth to Katniss.” Prim snapped her fingers in my face.

“Sorry.” I looked back to my sister.

Prim looked over her shoulder. “Are you okay.”

I dipped out of my sister’s way. “I think I saw an elf.”

Prim laughed. “It’s Christmas, Katniss. Santa’s elves are everywhere.” Prim gave me a hug before descending the stairs to the lower level of the station.

Seeing my sister go was difficult, but I couldn’t shake the tall man dressed as an elf. He even had on yellow tights with black elf shoes.

I made my way to Macy’s. I could see the Empire State building in the background as I took a left to head to the employee’s entrance.

When I arrived, the floor manager Brutus headed straight to me. He was a ridiculous man with muscles in his neck and a bald head. His meaty fingers held a tiny clipboard.

Brutus did not believe in technology. He refused to use a tablet. He said the muckety-mucks, as he called them, were out to get him. He wore dark brown pants that were too small for his large frame and even when he stood you could see his white socks. He wore a sweater vest with various pens in his front pocket and a cheap plastic necklace that was supposed to look like tree lights.

“Jovie,” Brutus said looking over his shoulder.

“Yes, Brutus,” I smiled. Jovie was my elf name.

“Our last Santa quit, and we have no one, so until then I need you to help out in gift wrapping. Don’t forget to make sure the ribbon curl is six inches.”

“But you need more than six inches, to make a good curl.”

“Six inches.”

Sighing I walked to the station and nodded to the girls who were at the gift-wrapping station. I sat there trying to make six inch curls. People were insane at Christmas; they were stressed out to buy things, and things never made anyone happy. Things were just things.

The line of people got shorter and I noticed the tree in the center of the sales floor was looking a little sad. So getting the ladder, I rearranged the ornaments and noticed one of the lights was out. From this vantage point I saw Brutus drag him in, the elf I saw on the street.

Heat rushed to my cheeks and I focused on the tree, eavesdropping the entire time.

“Buddy, you need to remember you get a half-hour break when you work under six hours and a one hour break when you work over six hours. If I catch you on the floor again I’ll have to write you up.”

His name was Buddy. My lips formed a goofy smile at his name. Up close he was prettier, his wavy hair curled up at the ends. A shiver ran up my spine at all of those curls. I could picture little boys with blond ringlets and a little girl with dark tresses in green colored elf clothing. I held on to the ladder as I swayed.

“Wow, what’s this?” HIs eyes quickly darted to the crowded sales floor.

“This is the north pole,” Brutus said looking at his precious clipboard.

“No it’s not,” Buddy waved at a pair of babies inside of a stroller.

“Yes it is,” Brutus said.

“No it’s not,” Buddy eye’s traveled to the tree and I hid behind it so that he didn’t see me.

“Yes it is,” Brutus put his hands on his wide hips.

“No it’s not,” Buddy said smiling. “Where’s the snow?”

“He’s right, there’s no snow,” a six-year old girl said. She’d been listening to the conversation.

I nearly snorted.

“Why are you smiling like that?” Brutus brows knit together.

“I just like to smile, smiling’s my favorite thing,” he said. Bouncing to the Christmas music that was being pumped through the speakers.

“Well stop smiling, and make work your favorite thing to do. And who gave you that outfit?”

“It’s mine,” Buddy said, splaying those large hands on his chest looking down at his elf outfit.

Brutus looked at the intricate gold embroidery. “Fine, if that’s your story. You should make work your priority instead of shopping.” Brutus sighed, looking at his clipboard again. “I have to make the announcement.”

Buddy nodded, but once more was looking around.

I was working on the tree lights by now and really didn’t want to get down because I wanted to keep staring at him. At his great legs. Normally tall guys had spindly legs. Not his, yum.

“Okay I’ve got an announcement. Santa will be here tomorrow at 10AM. Keep your receipts so you can see Santa.”

“SANTA!” Buddy yelled. He jumped, clasped his hands and a little girl next to him joined him. Soon there was a flock of kids doing the same thing, all speaking at once and he was nodding and speaking to them as if he knew Santa.

I chuckled cause I’ve never seen Brutus look so stunned and speechless. He was carried away by Chaff, his second in command.

Buddy turned and focused on me. I pretended that he wasn’t just a few feet away from me. I could feel his gaze as I fixed the bulb that was not letting the string of lights to turn on. The tree lit up and I swear his eyes seemed to glow brighter than the lights on the tree.

My stomach did a little flip-flop. “What!” I said defensively. I turned and saw how big his eyes were and the genuine smile. “Are you enjoying the view?”

“I love Christmas trees,” he said hesitantly. “It’s nice to see someone else who enjoys elf culture as much as I do.”

Of course the guy that would make butterflies dance in my stomach was a wackadoo. I scowled. This wasn’t happening. Getting down from the tree, I quickly walk away, grabbing a few stuffed animals that were discarded and putting them back on the display.

“Looks like someone needs Christmas cheer and the best way to do it is to sing.”

“I don’t sing,” I muttered.

“Of course you can.” He chased after me.

“No,” I said trying to get him to stop, but liking that he’s walking after me like a wide eyed puppy-dog.

“Anyone can. All you have to do is put a group of words together in a tune,” he said sweetly.

I hopped on up on the stage where the guy in the red suit would be seated tomorrow. I turned to look at him. As I spoke to him, I couldn’t keep the hurt from my voice. Because the last time I sang a Christmas song it was with my dad, hours before he died. “I know that, I can sing, but I choose not to sing.”

“Look, I’ll do it for you maybe it will make you smile,” Buddy said. He takes a deep breath, “I”M SINGING. I’M IN A STORE AND I AM…”

It was horrible, but I couldn’t help but smile.

“THERE’S NO SINGING IN THE NORTH POLE!” Brutus comes running out from behind the registrar.

“Yes there is,” Buddy says grinning at me. “I’m Peeta.”

“Wait I thought your name was Buddy?”

“That’s my middle name,” Peeta said. “Is Jovie your name?”

“No,” my voice sounds breathy. “Jovie is my elf name.”

“So what’s your real name?” His voice sounded deeper and I swear I could see nothing else but his big blue eyes tenderly gazing at me.

“Katniss,” I said, wondering why my knees were so wobbly. I couldn’t fall for a guy who thought he was an elf. A very good looking, broad shouldered guy with the face of an angel, but nonetheless, a complete wakadoo.

The ten minute warning came on letting people know they needed to go home.

“Oh I’ve got to get ready for Santa,” Peeta muttered under his breath. But before he could move Brutus appears.

“Buddy,” Brutus grabbed him by the arm and hauled him away. I was left standing on that stage with a big old goofy grin on my face.

#everlark #everlark fanfiction #winter #winter 2020 #mega-aulover #submission #prompt

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let-us-cultivate-our-garden · 3 years

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Reflections on the 20th anniversary of 9/11

I was 13 when the Twin Towers fell. At the time, I had no idea of their existence. Before 9/11, I was just a kid whose world was school, books, family trips, and Saturday morning cartoons. Looking back now, those times were blissful to the point that I was ignorant of the world at large. I imagine a lot of Americans were like that.

On Tuesday morning, September 11 at 5:48 in the morning, I woke up. Something was wrong. The light was on downstairs. This in of itself was not unusual, my mother was always up at this hour preparing to go to work and I had set my clock for 6:15 to get ready for school. Still, I felt this overwhelming sense of dread. Some force told me that I needed to get up. Now. Then I heard my mother on the phone. She was frantic. I tore the covers off of me and headed downstairs.

Mom was on the phone leaving desperate voicemails to our family in New York. I turned to the TV and saw that the news was on. I saw a slim, silver building with black smoke billowing out from the top. The news anchor kept repeating that a plane had flown into the World Trade Center and that they would provide updates as they came.

The news replayed the image of the plane disappearing into the side of the building only for a red-orange bloom to erupt from the top of the tower.

The news anchors were calm and professional and turned to other news. They never turned their cameras from the building. A small insert of Bill Clinton appeared and he was talking about an unrelated event.

“I don’t know why Clinton’s on here, he needs to get his ass off the TV!” Mom snapped, on the phone with one of our relatives.

“Mom!” I said, shocked at her language.

“Honey, people are dying!” her voice cracked.

I turned back to the TV and watched.

Moments later, from a different angle, the news showed the plane again hitting the building.

Oh great, I thought. They’re just playing the same footage over just from a different side.

Then the news anchor spoke: “It appears that a second plane has struck the South Tower of the World Trade Center.”

Second plane? It was the first time I learned that the World Trade Center was actually two buildings. The whole time, the anchors referred to the towers as the World Trade Center. The chyron had read, “WTC Crash.”

The tone of the news anchors changed. They were still composed but underneath, you could detect their fear and anxiety at the events unfolding.

Mom made me stay home from school that day while she went to work. In my naivete, I thought, Yes! No school! But that feeling was not destined to last.

The rest of the day was more like a blur. I sat in my pajamas on the coffee table, watching as the news trickled in.

Third plane strikes the Pentagon.

A fourth plane crashes in a field in Pennsylvania.

I had no idea what any of this meant or what were the implications. The only time I felt shock, actual horror was when out of no where, the towers began to collapse. The cameras captured everything; the massive plume of smoke and ash that consumed Lower Manhattan, people running for their lives as the toxic dust cloud rushed after them as if in pursuit. The antenna spire of Tower One spearing down as the building collapsed in on itself.

That night, the President faced the nation. I don’t remember what he said. We just ate our dinner in silence while watching the TV.

Over the next few days, more information came in. Of individual acts of heroism from police, firefighters, first responders, ordinary citizens, anyone. Of the self-sacrifice of the passengers of United 93. Of people overwhelming blood banks with donations. Of who was responsible.

Anyone with a living memory of that day was changed whether you were there or not. 9/11 was broadcasted live for the world to see and is one of the most documented events in world history.

From that day on, I became interested in politics, history, terrorism, crime of any nature, human psychology, any field that could explain why we were attacked. As a teen, I read The New Yorker and The Economist so I could be informed of the world around me. I needed to know why. Why was my world turned upside down? Why was I sitting there in pajamas hearing reports of people leap to their deaths? Why did I feel sick to my stomach whenever I saw the Towers, even in movies and TV shows?

I had a hunger to serve as well. I come from a military family so I was used to the rhetoric of service, of protecting our country. I applied to the military academies but didn’t get in. So my career turned elsewhere.

9/11 affected my family in other ways, too. My mom became a veteran of both the Iraq and Afghanistan wars. I had to grow up fast and learn to care for myself while she was gone.

In the ensuing 20 years, more tragedies were to come. More traumas for our already besieged psyche. Last week, Mom and I attended the memorial service for Marine Lance Cpl. Kareem Nikoui, a local boy. He was 20 when he and 12 other service members were killed in the siege at Kabul airport. The memorial was appropriate; solemn and patriotic. Everyone spoke about how he was destined to be a Marine, how he hungered to serve his country. He died to protect our freedom. I remember these words. I believed these words. This is the rhetoric that got us into a 20 year war, into another unnecessary war in Iraq the caused a million dead and a new terrorism group. This is the rhetoric that politicians used to justify torture, domestic surveillance, violence against Muslim-Americans, and invading countries to spread peace and democracy.

What exactly are we dying for?

Kareem had no living memory of 9/11, the event that triggered our long war. He died for events that were decades in the making. He served his country and he died.

But it didn’t have to be that way.

I don’t believe we ever truly processed 9/11. We let the shock and trauma consume us and fundamentally change our society and how we see the world. We are still living in the long shadow of the Twin Towers and of its grisly aftermath. I can only hope that in the years and decades to come, we look back and see how we responded, what could have been done instead, and move toward justice and peace. I hope that we can finally emerge from the shadows and step into the light.

#9/11 #musings #September 11 #20th anniversary #war on terror #iraq #afghanistan #us history #world history #personal #long post

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dripkingpetey · 4 years

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love-e.pettersson

ive been working on this for a few days and im kinda proud of it! would love some feedback from you or requests for other story lines, i promise i’ll stop doing the friends to lovers storylines haha. i also accidentally deleted this and i was so sacred i couldnt get it back but here it is! i hope you enjoy.

*lowercase intended!*

2.2k words

he loves you, you know that right?

“why did you drag me here, i really don’t like hockey and you know that.” you said as you sighed to your bestfriend lucie while she pulls you down to your seats in rogers arena.

“i know you don’t.” lucie said with a bright smile on her face. “but, you’re gonna learn to like it.” you look at her in confusion. “so, this is your way of torturing me as if you don’t already torture me enough by bringing me to parties.” you said while sitting down and looking at the players who are starting to get on the ice. “maybe.” lucie said with a wide grin and a mischievous look on her face before puck drop starts.

you’ve never been big on hockey, which is surprising considering you have lived in vancouver your whole life and your family is super big hockey fans. you also aren't the most extroverted person. sure, you’d go out to bars sometimes but mostly just with your close friends.

“what part of this sport do you even like?” you said as the game is going into the third period the canucks are now up 4-1 against the opposing team which you don’t even really know who they are. “well, if I’m being honest some of them are really hot but mostly cause of the sport.” you scoffed at her response. “none of them are hot from where i can see.” lucie looked at you with a shocked look. “oh you’ll get it once you get to know the players more.” you give her a confused look and put your full attention back to the game.

canucks ended up winning the game 5-2, lucie was very happy about it and you could tell cause she wanted to go out for a couple drinks and you didn’t want to say no so you agreed to go.

you had been at the bar for about twenty minutes and lucie was already gone which isn’t surprising, she was probably sleeping with some guy right now.

you started to panic a little when a creepy old dude came up to you and started hitting on you. “hey pretty girl, want to come home with me?” he started putting his hand on your arm which was resting on the table. you look around for lucie in panic but she’s no where to be found.

you then feel a pair of arms sneak around your waist and you get even more freaked out.

“hey babe, sorry i was gone for so long.” elias says to you with a smile but then proceeds to give the creepy dude the alien death stare which worked. after the dude leaves elias faces you and starts speaking. “sorry i touched you like that, it looked like you were alone and that guy was creeping you out so i thought you could use some help.” he shoots an apologetic smile at you.

“its okay,” you give him a smile back. “thank you a lot actually, i have no idea where my friend went.” you take another look around the bar before looking back and him.

“i’m elias by the way.” he smiles at you while holding his hand out for you to shake it. “y/n.” you say before shaking his hand.

“so elias, what are you doing in this bar on a thursday night?” you gesture for him to sit down next to you. “if i told you, you wouldn’t believe me.” elias lets out a soft laugh while sitting down across from you. “tell me, i wanna know.” elias sighs lightly before he starts speaking again. “i’m with them,” he gestures over to brock, jake, quinn, thatcher and troy. you look over to see them all waving at you and laughing at elias, you laugh softly and wave back at the before turning your attention back to elias. “ah, so i’m guessing you’re on the canucks?”

elias lets out a nervous laugh. “yeah, why don’t we go somewhere else where the boys aren’t up my ass?” you take another sip out of your drink. “i would love to.” he holds out his hand for you and as you guys walk out you can hear the guys chirping, but when you look over to elias you can see him giving the death stare to the boys and it makes you laugh. “you have a scary death stare jeez.” elias leads you to his car. “that’s surprisingly what the fans love me for.” he smiles at you before opening the car

door for you.

“…and that’s all what led me to being on the canucks.” elias said to you while eating a chip out of the chip bowl you had prepared. it had been a couple hours since you guys left the bar and went back to your apartment, you don’t know why but it felt like you and elias had such a strong bond already that you both felt like you can talk for hours and hours and never get tired of each other, he felt the same way too. “jeez, i kinda sound like a douche. i’ve been talking about myself all night, please tell me more about you.” elias said to you while you laughed at his words.

“it’s all good, i’ve been the one asking questions anyways.” you smiled while responding to him. “no seriously, tell me something about you before i have to go which i really don’t want to by the way.”

you look at the time and realize its almost twelve am so you proceed to give him a quick response. “well, i’ve lived in vancouver my whole life. and i’m currently going to ubc as a nursing student.” you smiled at his now very amused face.

“see, that’s something i wouldn’t have known if you didn’t say it,” he laughs a little before he finishes his sentence. “can i get your number? i have practice early tomorrow morning but i’m free for the rest of the day if you want to hang out.”

you smile at his words and take his phone from him. “of course you can, i’m free tomorrow too just give me a call.” you said while handing his phone back to him after you’ve entered your number. elias gives you a wide grin and you both get up so you could walk him to the door. “goodnight elias.” you look up at him with a smile as he’s standing in the doorway. “goodnight y/n, sweet dreams.” he said and then started to walk down the hallway towards the elevator. “pettersson!” you called out at him and he turns around confused. “text me when you get home.” he gives you the thumbs up and you close your door and head to bed.

no ones ever shown this much attention to elias before, at least no one he’s truly cared about.

he smiled to himself on his drive home cause he was excited to text you again.

*contact name changed to “y/n<3”*

text message to y/n<3:i just got home, thank you for the awesome night :).

it’s been a couple weeks since you and elias had met at the bar, you basically hung out with each other anytime you could.

you were each others best friends at this point, sure the guys would make fun of elias for being in love with you but you couldn’t see it, elias knows he has some feelings for you but he wasn’t sure about it yet. he also didn’t want to risk the amazing friendship you guys had started.

“hey, are you coming to the game tonight?” elias asked over the phone to you.

you let out a sigh before you start speaking. “i’ll try, schools been really hard lately but i should be able to finish studying tonight.” elias could hear the tiredness in you voice and it hurt him to see you like this. “y/n, its okay. you don’t have to try and make it, focus on school its way important. you have many more games of mine that you can watch.” he left out a soft chuckle at the end of his sentence.

“i’ll still try though, i’ll give you a text if i can make it.” you said to him as you looked at the last large text book you had to read through and look at the giant pile of coffee cups surrounding your desk.

“okay, love you, i gotta go.” “love you too e, good luck.” you both quickly exchanged goodbyes as you started reading your last text book. you knew there was no way you were going to be able to make it to his game tonight and you felt really bad, you sighed it off as you put your attention back to studying and occasionally looking at the canucks game that was now playing on your tv.

the game had ended, canucks lost by one but petey is a sore loser so obviously he was sad, which made him show up at your apartment, he brought pizza from your favourite place downtown.

you were passed out on the couch though, which resulted in elias having to pull out his spare key and sneaking into your apartment.

“elias?” you mumbled out as you felt him sit next to where you were laying on the couch, he motioned for you to lay you head on his lap and you did.

“hey sleepy girl, i brought our favourite pizza.” he said to you with a smile. no matter how bad of a day elias was having, you could always make him smile.

you positioned your head so you’re now facing up at him and you give him a big smile. “thank you, can we snuggle and watch a movie?” elias starts rubbing your cheek softly. “of course we can y/n.”

the night ended with you and elias falling asleep on the couch together while watching a movie he had picked out, you both forgot about all the stress from today and just enjoyed the moment.

“he loves you, you know that right?” brock said to you as he came by and sat next to you.

it was the start of summer, tanev decided to host a little barbecue for the whole team before everyone left vancouver and went back to their home towns for the summer.

you were sitting in the backyard watching elias talk to huggy. “what?” you said to brock with confusion. “no he doesn’t.”

brock scoffed at your response. “dude, you can’t be serious. how do you not see it.”

you thought about what brock said for awhile before you gave him a response. “does he talk about me?” you looked at brock while taking a sip of your drink.

“does he talk about you? of course he fucking does y/n, all the time. especially when you don’t show up to our games, it’s worse when we’re on the road.”

you smile to yourself at what brock said.

you were quite tipsy by the end of the night and elias didn’t want to let you go home alone, so you spent the night at his place.

“elias?” you said in your sweet drunken tone as you both settled into his bed, and you faced your body in his direction.

“yes?” he said while playing with your hair softly.

“brock said something to me earlier,” you said while pulling your body close to his.

“of course he did,” he said with a sigh. “what’d he say this time?”

“apparently you talk about me a lot?” you said with a soft laugh and your fingers now tracing up and down his back.

“yeah, yeah i do. i talk shit about you all the time.” he says sarcastically knowing where this conversation was going.

“hey!” you said as you playfully punched him. “i was going to do something but i guess not anymore.” you said with a huff.

he lifts your chin up to face him. before you knew it you guys were kissing each other, it was a soft, long and sweet kiss.

elias pulled away with a big grin on his face and you did too. you talked to each other for the rest of the night, you ended up falling asleep before elias did but he did too shortly after.

you woke up to the smell of elias making waffles, you hugged him from behind and he didn’t even notice you were awake until you did that.

“it smells really good,” you said to elias before kissing his cheek and begging for him to hug you.

he pulls you into his grip and whispers in your ear. “do you wanna go to sweden with me for the summer?”

you look up at him with slight shock. “yeah, why not.” you said to him with a smile and he gets very excited and spins you around, you kiss for awhile until you smell something burning and you pull away.

“shit.” elias mumbles as he deals with the burnt waffles and you’re both laughing your asses off.

#elias pettersson #elias pettersson x reader #elias pettersson imagine #petey #pettersson #nhl canucks #vancouver canucks #canucks hockey #canucks #vancouver canucks x reader #nhl #nhl imagine #nhl hockey

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kimberly-spirits13 · 4 years

Text

Right Hand Man (Loyal to the End) Pt. 3

Pairing: Damian Wayne x reader

Synopsis: You were like Talia’s daughter. The only thing was that you weren’t and instead, you had grown up in the foster care system and at a young age were taken by and personally trained by Talia. Along the way, you meet Damian and the two of you start to work side by side and eventually, after some time become closer and closer. However, when disaster in the league strikes, you face balancing an old, forgotten life as a normal child and the burden of right hand to the demon heir.

Note: I know that this is long and that there are a good number of time skips, but I didn’t want to make this into a series and just wanted it as a long fic because .... well because I can lol

Also, I didn’t want to have Damian so young in this so just go with it. I’m thinking maybe early 15 or almost 16 at the most. Idk I just don’t like writing for young Dami.

Warnings: mentions of murder, blood, brief mentions of torture but not for long

Word Count: 1836

Pt.1

You boarded the jet that was to take you to Italy. Looking back at Damian, the two of you exchanged quick nods and you headed into the cockpit. After a few minutes, the flight had taken off and you were on your way to Italy. As always you had promised to return with a song. It was something that he could have that wasn’t assigned or approved of by his mother. You understood that well. Sitting back, you sighed just a bit and got your mind into the game.

Damian’s POV:

It wasn’t a rare thing for you to leave on missions. You did every month or so. It was just that things seemed to be even more of a task around the compound. Training’s vigor was more noticeable. Classes were more boring. The food and company were terrible. The list went on and on when you left. It did improve greatly when you came back most of the time however. The rare nights that you got back and were injured were some of the scariest. You took the worst blows for your team. It was what made you the best leader he’d ever met.

On the nights that Damian saw you being taken to the infirmary practically bleeding out stayed in his nightmares from day one. Talia would try and make him leave since she knew that he typically reacted strongly to it no matter how hard he tried to hide it. He’d worry all night about you until you were back on the training field. The one night he lost it was when you almost died. It was so bad they had to use the pit. He could hear you screaming and knew that you would have rather died. It was a way that the league would torture you. If you messed up, they’d put you in front of a film showing all of your mistakes. After that, you would be nearly dead once they tried to bleed you out and thrown into the pit by yourself. The next day when no one was looking, he pulled you into a massive hug. It’s never been discussed since.

Now he was alone training. His sparring partner was in Italy on a mission without him. It was too quiet in the room now. Damian’s thoughts ran wild as he imagined what might happen while you were in Italy. He knew that there was something that you knew about this turmoil in the league that you were hiding. He suspected that it was on his mother’s demands. Besides, if it was a serious danger, you would say something. At least, he thought you would.

Looking up at the clock that was hanging high on the wall, he was taken from his thoughts be the time. Damian picked up his bag and left for his class that he would be late for if he didn’t rush. Talia would never approve of that. Throughout the rest of the day, he was distracted by the thought of your absence. Though, he’d never admit it. Sitting on the rooftop alone was strange. He almost expected you to join him at any moment preferring the comfortable silence and ease that came with you during these times. He found no point in staying much longer since he couldn’t relax and eventually headed to bed early.

Your POV:

It was night time in Italy. You had scouted the convention and knew all of the points that the targets could get in and out. Going over the plan one last time with your team, you had the map of the building on the desk between everyone.

“Beta, you take target two, make sure that no one of importance leaves alive.” You had explained, “Regroup at the jet once you’ve finished your task. If you’re not back by the end of the hour, find your own transportation to the compound.” “Is everyone clear on the objective?”

The group nodded, “Yes General.”

“Good, we will not be having the issues that were with last mission’s assigned team.”

You folded the map and put it into a compartment in your belt before leaving with the rest of the team and splitting up into groups. This mission was going to be easy in all regards. You had entered the dressing room of your target. The rest of the squad was taking care of the security on the outside. Breaking communication was the most important aspect of the starting phase. This way no one would know if anything was going on. You watched the security team of the foreign diplomat. They were in formation even here. Their weapons were advanced but nothing you wouldn’t be able to handle. The song of an American movie played in the background on their phone. You knew it was something from a Disney musical.

“Tightrope!” You thought remembering that you’d never gotten the chance to relay the song to Damian, “Hopefully the timing of the song isn’t ill placed with everything going on behind the curtains.” “Focus Y/N, you’re on a mission, not at a concert.”

Without a moment’s notice, you hit the signal button on your communicator and then threw in a poison dart into all of the guards. There was a sudden clamor as men started dropping. You smirked some seeing the substance work before coming behind the diplomat and ending him with an injection of a stronger substance sure to end him before giving one more dose of a different chemical to insure the death of all.

You saw that your team was finished and packed back up with the team before heading out.

“Report.” You demanded once getting to the jet on the coms.

“Mission was successful, heading to meet up now.” The squads confirmed.

“Well done to all sides.”

Careful to remember the song, you played it on repeat in your mind as you boarded the jet and took off. Ultimately, you were glad to be sleeping in your own bed tonight if you had the chance to sleep after reports were made to Talia and that the team was competent. You wanted to groan thinking about not sleeping tonight. You were bone tired but knew that the show must go on. Otherwise you’d be severely punished. No sleep was better than the pit.

Upon arrival, Talia met you at the landing pad as usual.

“Report.” She said with a better demeanor seeing you not covered head to toe in blood and rain.

“The mission was a success. All parties were taken out without alerting anyone with the approved weapon of choice.” “No intervention from myself was needed.” You said giving a very, very brief rundown before you’d have to relay the entire mission to her later.

“Good. Report to your rooms. General, I expect you in the briefing room in forty minutes.”

“Yes Talia.”

You saw that Damian was coming from down the hallway. He was later than usual but none the less, you were glad to see him. Even if you’d never admit it.

Damian’s POV:

Damian ran down the hallway upon seeing the jet land. He knew to slow down when the hall would become populated and he’d be exposed so he did. However, the moment that no one was around, he was running again. Damian heard his mother and slowed to a walking pace, taking back his proper stance and commanding look.

“Yes Talia.” He heard you say before you walked past her and towards him.

He was glad to see you ... not drenched in blood. From your blood or someone else’s for that matter. You almost glistened in the moon light as you did on the roof tops. Though, he’d never seen you in mission gear like this for some reason. You looked like the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“Damian.” You nodded walking to him.

“Y/N. I am pleased to see you not covered in blood and rain.” He commented smirking just a bit.

“Very funny demon. The feeling is mutual.” You replied.

He turned and watched you walk down the hall before going to the roof tops after talking with Talia. Damian knew that you wouldn’t be joining him tonight, however he was ready whenever you did.

_______________________________________________________________________

That day almost never came. With what you had taken on with the new rank, you were always busy well into the night. Damian hated it. You almost hated it too. You loved the nights on the rooftop. Slowly, you tried to get back on better sleep but tonight you just wanted the stars and the mountains. That was it.

Over the past few weeks, you had hardly had any time to talk. Even during training for some part was spent with recruits instead of him. You both hated it. For the first time it felt like you were away from a mission but still there. Damian thought that you were too busy for him most of the time so he just didn’t make the attempt to talk to you. You thought that he was going for space for a while so you didn’t push anything. Eventually, you were sick of it though and decided to head to the roof.

You climbed to the top noticing that Damian was already there. Carefully, you sat next to him, legs hanging off the side of the structure.

“I assumed you would not come tonight.” He commented.

“I do not blame you. I’ve been ... extremely busy as of late with this new roll.” You sighed laying down on the roof.

He didn’t say anything for a little while and just enjoyed being able to relax in a place other than maybe his chamber. You enjoyed the silence for a while before he did finally say something.

“Did you come back with a song?” Damian asked glancing at you some.

“As always.” “And do you still want to hear it?”

“Of course.” He rolled his eyes some at your answer.

You started with the song ditching the higher notes as to not be too loud. He knew you could hit them and he knew that you dodged them. He’d heard you before as Talia wanted you to be able to sing for some unknown reason. When you weren’t training as a child or in schooling, you were doing that with a professor. The two of you sat there for a while just admiring the view.

“I should be going off to bed now.” You said, “I have a lingering feeling tomorrow will be long.”

“I understand.” Damian stood with you and headed for his bedroom.

“I expect to see you at afternoon training tomorrow? I don’t have as many responsibilities tomorrow.”

Damian almost smiled, “Of course.”

You headed to your room and plopped into the bed. It was going to be a long day tomorrow. No matter how much you couldn’t wait to see Damian more, something told you not to get your hopes up. Before being totally consumed by your thoughts, you drifted to sleep.

Tag List:

@idkmanicantenglish

#damian wayne x reader #damian wayne #Damian Wayne #Damian Wayne x y/n #dc comics #dc x reader #dc characters #headcanon #robin x y/n #robin x reader #robin #batfam x reader #batboys x reader #batfam #teen titans x reader #teen titans #teen titans x y/n

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trashno0dle · 4 years

Text

Okay so last night I came up with a Harry Potter AU - and honestly I actually hyped myself with it. But here we go-

Set in the movies. Ginny-centric (I'm only just starting to get back into Harry Potter now for some reason, honestly I don't like to think about the books and the terf bitch who wrote them so let's just ignore that)

Basically Ginny's a lesbian. Yeah that's right, fuck Harry and let my girl get with Hermione. And that's exactly what she does in this AU. And instead of being tossed aside after Chamber of Secrets and brought back as a love interest for your typical hetero couple plotline during round about Half Blood Prince Ginny confesses her feelings towards Hermione. And Hermione being the bi queen she is says "lmao fuck Ron" and gets with his sister instead. The two had unresolved feelings for one another anyway, and I'm adding a lot more depth into this later on but yeah.

Then Deathly Hallows comes along. And then Ginny's lost when she finds out her girlfriend has disappeared along with her brother and his best friend. Hogwarts is hell. Death Eaters all over the castle, Slytherin reigns supreme. And Snape isn't taking any bullshit off anyone. And instead of backing down like she would have done, instead of quacking in the very presence of him Ginny steps up to defend her fellow students and their pride. She's leads the revolution of Gryffindor's in a fight against their superiors, she doesn't back down because unlike canon Ginny she's not there just for the sake of getting in a dumb hetero relationship with Harry (Harry and Ginny shippers don't @ me no hate towards the ship just complete hate towards she who must not be named for writing it the way she did) there's a lot more background to her character shining through here, how despite being under the influence of Tom Riddle she's never fully forgiven herself for what she did back in her first year, she's hurt, scared and lonely just as she was back then. And she knows Hermione hasn't abandoned her, she never would, but as the months draw on she starts losing hope. But never entirely. Ginny's scared, hurt and angry - angry about the way she and others are being treated. Her behaviour winds up getting her punished because revolution doesn't come without a price.

Then the fateful day comes when the golden trio returns. And Hermione immediately rushes into Ginny's arms. Ginny's so unbelievably relieved that her girlfriend, her brother, and her friend are all safe. Hermione asks how Ginny was hurt due to her girlfriend having a few new marks and scars and Ginny tells her how terrible Hogwarts has become. Ginny admits she thought for a moment that Hermione ditched her, but she never fully lost hope that she'd return. Part of her had almost believed she was dead. The two girlfriends share a heartfelt moment and they share a passionate kiss, not before Ron bursts in, uncomfortable at first before he tells them that Harry is confronting Snape. It's there they witness Snape's defeat. And then when news comes out that Voldemort and the Death Eaters are moving against Hogwarts the school prepares for battle.

Instead of Hermione and Ron going down to the chamber it's Hermione and Ginny. Ginny facing her trauma once more. There's a brief moment of Ginny breaking down but Hermione reassures her it was never her fault and it's all in the past. We never got to see Ginny talk about what happened in her first year because it was just brushed aside like it never happened and her facing absolutely no fear or anxiety towards it is unrealistic and we deserved a little more insight to how Ginny handled it. Anyway, the two get the basilisk fang and Ginny leaves, looking back once more before putting her past behind her once and for all. And so the battle goes on as normal. Harry "dying" and all. Y'know for this AU I won't make Draco an asshole and I'll give him a shot at redemption. He doesn't join the Death Eaters side and he's relieved when Harry stands against Voldemort once again. Drarry? Hmm- up to interpretation I guess.

And when Bellatrix corners Ginny it's not Molly but Hermione who steps in, facing her trauma as well, slightly bitter about the torture Bellatrix puts her through. So you can expect a, “not my girlfriend you bitch!” As Hermione and the crazy bitch duel, thus resulting in Bellatrix's demise. No regret here folks, that crazy bitch deserved it alright. And so Harry kills Voldemort and the Death Eaters flee. I was debating whether or not Fred should still die or not and I didn't want to differate from canon as much as I already have, unfortunately Fred dies during the battle as usual. The Weasley family grieves, each of them distraught. George is destroyed by the loss of his twin brother. Hermione watches from the side with Harry as the Weasley family embrace one another.

About 6 months later Ginny finishes up her last year at Hogwarts, moves in a nice house on the outskirts of London with Hermione and the two live together like that for a couple of years before finally getting engaged, getting a cat (because all wlw couples need cats) no more Voldemort, no more drama, just them. And that's all Ginny really needs.

Oh, and they also adopt a kid too. Felicia Granger-Weasley who's a trans girl who just so happens to be Harry and Draco's nonbinary kid Robin's best friend. Because trans women are women, trans men are men and you better fucking respect nonbinary people's identities and pronouns or Ginny and Hermione are going to come bust your kneecaps.

Yes. I wrote this much just to explain my AU where nothing really changes except Ginny's badass and a lesbian, Hermione's bi, they're a couple, Harry and Draco are also a couple at this point and Ron's a lonely little shit.

Point is it's better than what lord terfemort made up in the end and I think my versions better if I do say so myself. I know that's bold of me to say but at this point who cares :/ ekshskshsks

#harry potter #harry potter au #ginny weasley #hermione granger #hermione x ginny #ginny x hermione #alternate universe #ron weasley #draco malfoy #drarry

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nagia-pronounced-neijia · 3 years

Text

scream (until you’re satisfied)

It's a quiet night for once: peaceful, even. The sun sits low on the horizon, casting gloam over the usual summer mist; insects buzz in the trees, loud and soft and loud again. Ligiea smiles out her open kitchen window at the little copse that has taken over the edge of the complex parking lot, then slides her thumb over her phone for the last time before she starts on her dishes.

On the windowsill, a bluetooth speaker -- designed to look like an antique radio; it had delighted Nate for about four seconds before he realized he couldn't actually tune it -- begins to croon a soft jazz cover of an early 90's grunge song. She smiles, humming along, and gets to work rinsing tzatziki and chili sauce from her plates.

Something rustles in the copse. She doesn't hear it; she sees birds suddenly burst from the green, wings beating, out of the corner of her eye. She sets the pan she'd fried her flatbread in back down in the sink, watching with instincts sharpened by too much shit having tried to kill her.

She hasn't made it back to the dishes when the scream cuts through the night. It lasts so long and comes so deep from within someone's throat that she hears it gurgle for a beat before it pitches back up. When the voice finally gives out, there's only enough time for a sharp intake of breath before it starts again.

Ligeia ignores the chills that roll down her spine, the hot-cold rush of adrenaline through her veins. She picks up her holster and pepper spray, the Agency-issue Volt, and tucks her badge into her pocket. Detective Attano steps out the door, pacing in the direction of the scream.

First fun fact of the night: the scream didn't come from the damn woods. That would have made sense.

Second fun fact of the night: Bobby's standing at the entrance to the laundromat. This makes Ligeia instantly suspicious, and he apparently knows it. The red ambulance lights flash onto his face and then off again, lighting him up before they leave him in shadow, and it makes what he clearly wishes were a fetching smile look demented.

"Miss me, angel?"

Ligeia bites down on her first reply, because she can't think of their college years -- or make a crack about her annual fucking chlamydia infection when she'd dated him -- without wanting to hit something. She smiles like she doesn't want to punch her ex and says, instead, "What do I do with myself when I'm not watching your career circle the drain?"

That one hits the mark. He flinches and takes a reflexive step back, like she'd slapped him. And then he pours on the greasy smile, but there's an angry edge, a tightness, to his smile. "I see dinner didn't go down so well all alone."

She's not allowed to say, 'shut up and get out of my way,' but she can say, "This is a crime scene, Bobby. Just because the caution tape's not up doesn't mean you get to lurk." She makes a shooing motion with her fingers.

He's not dumb enough not to move, but she hears his feet on the concrete as he tries to peer through the windows into the darkened building.

Third fun fact: when the ambulance is sitting in the parking lot with its lights on, and the paramedics are sitting uselessly in the open back of the bus, there's no good news. Ligeia nods at Jeri and Ryan, and mouths three letters.

Ryan just nods dejectedly. Beside him, Jeri winces, shrugs, and mouths them back: DOA.

Ligeia doesn't let herself sigh, much though she wants to, and jerks the door open. She ignores the words "Spin Cycle 365" printed in white on the glass, focused as she is on finding the lightswitch. It takes a few useless, obnoxious moments of groping in the dark before her fingers touch plastic. She flips three switches in a row and the lights return with a click and a buzz.

She sees exactly how Jeri and Ryan had come to the conclusion of 'DOA.' It's rather hard not to, given that the poor girl had fallen onto the floor, eyes wide and staring, mouth still open in a scream. But there's no sound coming out of her throat anymore. No breath in those apparently very powerful lungs. Pale white marks dot the very corners of her mouth and jaw.

Ligeia kneels down next to the girl, considering, and pulls a pair of latex gloves from her blazer pocket. She skips looking for any kind of trauma -- there would be blood, probably -- and instead picks up the girl's hands. The victim's fingers are cool and soft, still flaccid rather than in rigor mortis, and it is the worst kind of intimacy.

She can't imagine how Verda does this every day. Maybe she just likes people and all their intricacies too much.

Not a single defensive wound. Not even a sign she'd thrown her arms out to catch herself as she fell. That's a reflex; she must have been unconscious or dead before she started to fall.

There's no new sound, but she feels something like a shift in the barometric pressure of the room. Adam and Morgan both have a quality to them, an intensity that seems to suck up all the air and interest, even when nobody's looking at them.

Ligeia straightens. "Looks like a heart attack, but I'll know more after Verda or the Agency pathologists take a look," she says. She doesn't need to look back to know they're watching. "Will we let Doctor Turner and Verda take the lead on this, or is the Agency going to take custody of her just in case?"

The words come out professional. Not cheery, certainly, but smooth, practiced. Like her heart isn't beating hard inside her chest, like she's not thinking about Murphy. Like there's something going on in her head other than an endless litany of a prayer she keeps hoping she'll get to stop praying: no more deaths, please, not in my town.

"This is a known phenomenon to the Agency," her mother's voice says. The tone is endlessly gentle. "We'll take custody."

It takes her a few more moments to look away from the girl and the blue puddle of laundry soap. It smells like fake tropical flowers and banana; it's probably called something like 'Bahama Breeze.'

Ligeia drives back to the warehouse, stopping only for fuel and a cup of petrol station coffee. It's thick and tarry as the stuff she puts in her car, smells about as astringent, but it wakes her up. Unit Bravo beat her back by at least fifteen minutes. That doesn't surprise her, given her slow car and pit stop.

What does surprise her is that Adam is waiting for her by the entry. He had been standing stiffly by the wall, like particularly handsome statuary, and as she passes him, he unbends.

"So what was I looking at in there?"

"A fae victim," is Adam's reply. He stops moving when she does.

Ligeia starts putting together 'fae,' 'screaming,' 'laundry,' and 'death,' and what she comes up with makes her groan. "You're kidding, right?" But this is Adam, and he wouldn't joke about this. Not even Farah would.

"They aren't what the folktales make of them," is his reply, steady and a little snide, like usual. He sounds a little softer when he adds, "So few of us are."

They've had the talk about his disapproval of humans romanticizing vampires. She even understood it, to an extent. She felt the same way about the slew of torture porn and serial killer movies that came out in the early 2000's. She still feels that way about the Purge movies and the way they glamorize surviving violence, the way they assume everyone's first thought is murder.

Point is, Ligeia sees where he's coming from. She doesn't push. She stays right where she is, just a little too close to him to be professional.

"I guess I should go inside and find out what they're really like," she says.

Adam holds the door for her. She turns her head just enough to look over her shoulder at him as she goes through. She offers him a smile and watches his jaw relax by a fraction.

Nate smiles up at her from where he's found an armchair -- she could swear he's always making himself smaller, and he's so big that the back of her neck thanks him, but she hates it, too. There's a haunted edge to the way half his jaw has tensed, and when the smile slips, she can see that his focus on her has wisped away. He's the same Nate as always, but he's somewhere else right now. Somewhen else.

Morgan's the one who says the word. She breathes it out around grey smoke, her tone heavy and dark not only from the cigarette but from her own closely guarded feelings. "Banshees," she says, and near her, Farah actually sighs.

#wayhaven #adam x detective #nate x detective #fucking around with irish myth #detective ligeia attano #fragment #do i know where this is going? no #mark my words this is not the final draft #i blame bunny

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sachigram · 4 years

Text

Telescope Now Chapter 6

((click here to read on ao3!!))

After the swirl of colors dissolves into nothingness, and Izaya can't tell up from down anymore, the first thing he's truly aware of is a bright, all encompassing light. He stares at it through blurry eyes, his lips turned down as he blinks and tries to make sense of it. His fingers twitch, and he looks down at his feet as best as he can, but he can't lift his head very much.

The second thing Izaya notices is that he's not alone.

“Iza-nii!”

He glances to his right and sees Mairu there, her eyes wide. Kururi is on the left, a soft smile on her face. Both of them are crying, and both of them are holding his hands.

“Am...” Izaya croaks. He clears his throat, swallows. “Am I dead?”

“Almost, you dumbass!” Mairu says. She takes the liberty of sitting on Izaya's bed. “You got hit by a truck! We didn't see it, but a lot of people did! They said you flew, and they said there was blood everywhere—“

“You died. Then you came back,” Kururi says, her gentle voice somehow cutting through Mairu's passionate spiel.

“Yeah, I was getting to that! A civilian gave you CPR on the scene, and then you got to the hospital and died! But they brought you back. You've been asleep so long.”

“Coma,” Kururi adds.

“How long?” Izaya asks. His entire body is stiff. He doesn't feel much like himself, but he imagines it might take a while to feel normal again.

“A month! A whole month!” Mairu says. She leans on Izaya and peers up at him. “We didn't call Mom and Dad. Your will said not to unless you died.”

“Oh, good. I don't want to deal with them,” Izaya says. He grimaces. “My throat hurts.”

“Water,” Kururi says, holding up a glass with a straw in it. She holds it still while he drinks.

“You had a tube in your throat. They said it'd be sore when you woke up.” Mairu nuzzles her face into his chest.

“Wow... Who knew you two actually liked me?” he jokes.

“Shut up! Fuck you! We just wanna be there to watch it happen when you die!” Mairu lifts her head and glares at him, her eyes watery. “You gotta pick something way cooler than getting hit by a truck. That’s way too easy!”

“Your crying face is so ugly,” Izaya says, and then he smiles when she starts crying even harder.

“Oh, yeah? So's yours! Yours is uglier!” Mairu swats him, and it's only then Izaya realizes he's crying, too.

“Must be a family trait.” Izaya groans at how heavy his body feels. “I'm still tired.”

“You can sleep again, if you want. But the doctor might want to check you first. Do you remember anything?” Mairu asks.

“A lot of things.” Izaya looks between her and Kururi. “You were dead, weren't you?”

“Huh?” Mairu frowns. “Us?”

“Yeah. You were dead, but then you weren't. We had a funeral.” Izaya struggles to remember details of it, closes his eyes when they become too heavy to deal with. “You haunted me... Was Shizu-chan here?”

“He was there when you got hit... Hey. Iza-nii?”

“Mm?”

He doesn't hear her reply before he falls unconscious once more.

***

Time passes. The first few days, Izaya isn't able to stay awake for long periods of time. Despite being out of it for a month, he feels his sleep wasn't restful, and he slips in and out of consciousness. Sometimes he wakes to the twins at his side, sometimes to the doctor, a stern looking woman with her hair swept in a tight bun. Sometimes there are nurses. Sometimes he's alone.

His injuries were extensive, a long list of things Izaya tunes out because it reminds him too much of Shinra's rambling. The doctor insists he stays a few days for observation, so he spends most of his time bored, but it's better with the twins around. They keep him company when they're not in school, and they don't leave until the hospital staff makes them. Izaya doesn't remember ever spending this much time with them, even when they lived together, and despite his eagerness to leave, he enjoys it. He missed them, he realizes, and he didn't even know how much until he almost died.

One day before he's discharged, he finds himself engrossed in playing Go Fish with them. They're all cheaters, so it erupts into a lot of arguing, and the twins keep ganging up on him, swapping their cards like they think he can't see. Sometimes he allows it, but for the most part, they fight until suddenly hours have gone by.

“Do you have any queens?” Mairu asks during their last game. Visiting hours are almost over, but they asked the nurse if they could finish their current game before the twins leave.

“Go fish,” Izaya says, and she pouts at him.

“Are you lying?”

“If I was, why would I tell you I was?” Izaya asks. Her eyes narrow suspiciously before she draws from the deck.

“Kururi, do you have any queens?” Izaya asks, and Mairu throws her cards at him.

“ Cheater! You're a cheater, Iza-nii!”

“Oh, you said queens. I'm sorry, I thought you said something else,” Izaya says, holding her off while she tries to jump on him. Kururi watches with an indulgent expression, and she quietly gathers all the cards back together.

“So you're going home tomorrow?” Mairu asks after she's worn herself out.

“Yes, and it's about time. I hate hospitals. It's the whole reason I have my own doctor,” Izaya says. Shinra hasn't visited, but Izaya isn't surprised. The only one to see him aside from the twins was Namie, who only did so after he blew up her phone and threatened to dock her pay.

“Okay, well we're coming over tomorrow night! And we'll watch movies. You have all the subscription services, anyway. Make sure you buy snacks!” Mairu smiles excitedly, and Izaya scoffs.

“You both have access to all my subscription accounts. You're like parasites. I'll make sure to buy lots of vegetables for you to snack on.”

“No! You better buy good snacks! I mean it!” Mairu raises her fists, and for a brief second, the twins look younger, the way they did when they'd cling to his legs and torture him for hours on end. He blinks and they're back to normal, young women who still torture him for hours on end, though they grew out of clinging to him long ago.

“Okay, okay. Text me what you want,” Izaya relents, leaning back into his bed. Both of them watch him thoughtfully.

“You're being much less of an asshole than normal,” Mairu says. “Is it 'cause we died in your coma dream?”

That's what the twins have taken to calling it, “Izaya's coma dream.” He recounted as much of it as he could to them, excluding the parts about Shizuo for obvious reasons, as well as omitting just how much he missed them. As it turns out, there were some accuracies to the things he dreamed, overlap between the dream and reality. Some of the things he experienced really was because the twins were speaking to him, usually while poking and prodding at him, demanding he wake up. His binder of old poems sits on a little bedside table, brought by Mairu, who read a few of them out loud and threatened to post them online if he didn't wake. Next to the binder are two vases of flowers, one sent by Simon, a coupon for sushi pushed into the stems, and the other sent by Shiki, a brief wish of wellness written on the card that came with it, though Izaya is certain it was for the twins' sake rather than his own. Izaya can recall the brief recognition of a floral scent in his dream.

The parts of his dream that didn't happen were his own torturous thoughts, some of them guilt-related, while others were things he's longed for but would never admit, even to himself. As for Shizuo, Izaya has no idea if Shizuo was ever really there or not. The twins say they don't know, but they think so, as they've seen him around outside the hospital. The nurses say they haven't seen anyone else when Izaya asks, though a few of them have conspiratory smiles he doesn't quite trust.

“Maybe my head injury changed my personality a bit,” Izaya suggests. “Turns out you don't annoy me as much as you normally do, but I reserve the right to change my mind on that.”

“Oh, blah blah. We'll see you tomorrow!” Mairu chirps, and she tackles him in a hug. Kururi joins a moment later, though her embrace is much gentler. They wave at him one more time before leaving him alone. He sighs and picks up his phone, planning to work a little to occupy himself, but someone else peeks into his room.

“Izaya-kun!” Shinra waltzes in, a ditzy smile on his face. “So, you cheated death again, huh? You really are like a cockroach!”

“How wonderful of you to say. Took your time in visiting, didn't you?” Izaya sets his phone down and smirks at Shinra, who rolls his eyes.

“What fun is there in visiting someone in a coma! You wouldn't have known I was here.”

“I've been out of the coma for a few days now. Besides, as it turns out, I was aware of a few things.”

“Really?” A spark of interest lights in Shinra's eyes.

“It was like a fever dream. Everything was just...jumbled. It was a strange experience, like my normal life mixed with nightmares and bits and pieces that didn't add up. I've already forgotten a lot of the details.”

“ Fascinating! Well, you're not the first to say such things. Some people can wake up speaking an entirely new language, you know? Some people live their lives as normal before finding themselves waking in the hospital.” Shinra takes a seat beside Izaya and pats his arm. “What parts do you remember about your dream?”

“The twins were dead,” Izaya says, looking down at Shinra's hand on his arm. “I couldn't really figure out how they died, and I kept seeing and hearing them even after they were supposed to be gone. It was like the more they haunted me, the more I realized they were actually alive, but no one believed me, and the more things I couldn't make sense of, the more I thought I was crazy.”

“Well, you are crazy, but not because of that. Sounds like some part of your brain knew you had experienced a trauma. It's not surprising you convinced yourself of a death in the family.”

“I thought of the truck a few times, too. Hell, maybe I was trying to tell myself they were the ones who got hit. Who knows?” Izaya sighs. “You were in my dream as well.. Possibly most suspicious of all was you actually being a decent friend for once.”

“What! I'm the best person you know!” Shinra wails.

“That's not saying much, but no, you're still one of the worst.”

“I won't take that personally because of who's saying it. Like you're a good judge of character.” Shinra crosses his arms. “Well. I'm glad you woke up, anyway. As much as you deserve horrible things, you're still my friend. It'd suck if I was suddenly down to one.”

“You're too kind, Shinra.”

“Shizuo-kun has been really...ah. He'd kill me if he knew I was talking about him to you!” Shinra shivers and makes a face. “But it's not like you'll be going out of your way to see him since you've got a broken leg. Not unless you want to go back into a coma.”

“I can't say I enjoyed it all that much,” Izaya says, though he certainly enjoyed certain aspects of it.

“He was pretty distraught. He said he was chasing you when it happened, said he tried to grab you, but it was too late. He hung around until the ambulance got there. I think he blames himself for it,” Shinra says.

“Well, I've gotten him hit twice now. I suppose he owed me one,” Izaya replies, and Shinra clicks his tongue.

“He owes you more than that! But Shizuo-kun is a good person. I'm sure he'll be happy to know you're going to be fine, at least until he kills you himself.”

Izaya keeps his face as impassive as possible, though Shinra has always been the one to see through it. They watch each other for a moment, lapsing into an easy silence. They've always coexisted well together, well enough that Izaya knew the dream Shinra was off, even if he couldn't place why.

“I don't suppose you want to play a quick game of poker, do you?” Izaya asks.

Shinra laughs. “Not with you! You're a cheater. Anyway, I only had a few minutes to drop by. I better be going now.” He stands, puts his hands in his pockets while he hovers.

“I'm going home tomorrow. I guess I'm stuck making dinner for the twins, so you can come mooch off me, if you want.” Izaya swallows, already knows what Shinra will say.

“Nah, I've got plans with Celty. We've gotten even closer and more in love in the month you've been asleep! I'll regale you sometime, since I know my true love gives you inspiration in your life!” Shinra grins, and then he pauses, tilts his head as he scrutinizes Izaya. “What's that look for?”

“Nothing. You're right, you're busy. I'm just still a little loopy,” Izaya says, and Shinra hums thoughtfully.

“Well, get some rest. Allow yourself to heal before you get back to your usual vile ways, and call me if you need! I don't know how often I'll answer, since it depends on what Celty and I are up to, but I'll get back to you.” Shinra smiles once again, and as soon as he came, he's gone.

Izaya shakes his head before he falls back in bed, laughter bubbling up before he can help it. He laughs and laughs, holds his sides when it starts to hurt, but he keeps laughing anyway.

“Vacation's over,” he says to himself, closing his eyes when they start to burn. He rolls to his side and keeps laughing, and when a nurse wanders in to ask if he's alright, he can't quite figure out how to answer.

***

Once he's back home, he begins to feel more like himself. Namie returns with her usual sour attitude, and he's taken by surprise when she volunteers to cook dinner. Usually, he has to torment her, and even then she'll sometimes still mess up the food she makes, usually by making it too sweet or too spicy. He watches her suspiciously as she bustles around, her back to him.

“Am I still in a coma?” he asks, pushing himself away from the desk so he can follow her around in his office chair. She scowls at him.

“I've been off a month, so I've had enough downtime. Besides, I expect overtime for this.”

“Right, that's fine. Hey, make extra, okay? My sisters are coming.” Izaya scoots back to his desk and starts typing, not realizing at first that Namie is staring. “What?” he asks when he finally notices her eyes boring into him.

“I thought you didn't like them?” Namie asks. She puts her hand on her hip. “All you ever talk about is how much they annoy you.”

“Yeah, well, they do annoy me, but they were pretty distraught by all this. I'll let them hang around until they remember they can't stand me.”

“Shouldn't take too long, then.”

“You can stay for dinner too, if you want. Mairu thinks you're pretty since she doesn't know any better.” Izaya leers at Namie, who looks very much like she swallowed a lemon.

“No thanks. Your sisters are almost as creepy as you,” she says.

“Ah. Well, the invitation is still extended.”

“Look at you, all hospitable. Never would've pegged you as the generous type.” She turns her back to him, and his grin stretches wider.

“As if you'd peg anyone other than dear Seiji-kun.”

She drops the spoon she's holding and stomps towards him, and since he can't run, he winds up scooting around in his chair, cackling as she slaps at him and chases after him, yelling about what a horrible pervert he is.

***

A month later, Izaya is meeting with Shiki about a job. Shiki has opted to come to him, since Izaya is still recovering, and Shiki can be surprisingly accommodating when he wants to be. Shiki arrives with two men who stand on either side of Izaya's door, and Shiki enters the apartment, bowing to Namie when she lets him in. He raises a hand when Izaya starts to stand.

“No need. You're in a cast, after all.”

“Thank you, Shiki-san,” Izaya says, leaning back into the couch.

“You look well.” Shiki walks to a cushy chair he favors during his visits. Izaya had Namie help him move it in front of the couch just for this meeting. “I hope your injuries aren't still bothering you?”

“Ah, just the leg. It broke in a couple of places, so the cast is on for at least another month.”

Namie returns then, places a cup of tea on the coffee table for Shiki, bowing before she goes back to the desk.

“My lovely secretary really makes this all so much easier. I'm truly blessed,” Izaya quips, and when she cuts her eyes at him, he winks.

“I hope she's being paid extra,” Shiki says, picking up his tea. He blows on it, watches Izaya with an amused expression.

“Oh, of course. She insists.” Izaya crosses his good leg over the cast. The worst part of it all is the itching . He can't reach inside the cast, and he's had an itch for the better part of the day.

“I'm glad you're doing well. We have other sources, but I admit you're one of the more pleasant to interact with,” Shiki drawls.

“What a compliment! Comparing me to the scum of the city is cruel, Shiki-san!” Izaya laughs. “I wanted to thank you for the flowers. I know you and Akabayashi-san checked in with my sisters while I was out. They kept the flowers you sent, dried them and made them into bookmarks. I'm glad to know they weren't alone.”

“Your sisters have quite a few friends, all seemingly older than they are,” Shiki says. “I often spot them around the city traversing with the wrong sort of crowd.”

“Family trait,” Izaya responds with a smile. “There are too many things to get involved with in the city, after all. At least they have people looking out for them.”

“It's heartening to hear you care for them. Usually you're so detached, Izaya-san.”

“You think so? We're just not an emotional family. Rest assured, I watch out for them in my own way. I keep them from kidnapping famous actors, at any rate.” Izaya reaches beside him, places a folder on the table for Shiki. Izaya spends most of his time online, but there's something so charming about paper files. He's glad to know Shiki feels the same.

“You're already done?” Shiki asks, leaning forward to take the folder. He looks impressed. “You've hit the ground running, Izaya-san. Ah...in a manner of speaking.”

“Hit the ground limping, at the very least.”

“Thank you. Akabayashi-san will be happy to put some hoodlums in their place. He's been getting antsy. It's been quiet without you around.”

“Coincidence, I'm sure! I'm happy to hear the city was quiet while I was in the hospital. I'd hate to miss too much excitement.” Izaya falls silent as Shiki reads over the papers. The TV is on, but it's muted. A home improvement show is playing.

“Very good, Izaya-san,” Shiki says, standing. “Sorry I can't stay and finish the tea, but I have work to do.”

“No apologies necessary. I hope you'll forgive me for not walking you out?” Izaya says, and Shiki arches a brow at him.

“I've excused you for more, haven't I? Get well soon, Izaya-san.”

Shiki leaves with the men, and Izaya uncrosses his legs, flops dramatically into the cushions.

“God, how pompous. Being in a room full of men in the middle of a 'Mine's Bigger Than Yours' contest is the worst,” Namie drawls from the desk.

“Oh no worries, Namie! Yours was definitely the biggest in the room!” Izaya looks up at the ceiling as he puts his arms behind his head. “We should order lunch.”

“You're not going to insist I cook for you today?” Namie asks.

“I'm craving ootoro! I haven't had it in so long. Doesn't Russia Sushi sound good?”

“I'll order it,” Namie says. “Can't risk you changing your mind, after all. I'd rather not have to make anything.”

“You can have Simon deliver it. We both have too much work to do to leave the office. As it turns out, I have a coupon!”

Simon arrives about an hour later with his usual booming voice and blinding smile. He waltzes inside and places his giant hand on Izaya’s shoulder.

“Izaya! Good to see you. I heard you lost fight to truck!”

“Oh, yes, it was a close one. Thanks for the flowers,” Izaya replies.

“Flowers good for health, but sushi better. I'm glad you used coupon!” Simon hands the bag to Izaya and waves joyfully at Namie, who waves back before going into the kitchen to grab drinks.

“Would you like anything before you're off, Simon? I have some bottled tea,” Izaya says.

“No, no. It busy day. I best get back.” Simon looks closely at Izaya and gives him a smile. The next time he speaks, it's in Russian. “I don't guess this near death experience changed you much?”

“ Of course not. A tiger never changes his stripes, does he?” Izaya says, also in Russian.

“ No, he doesn't. I hope you return to the city soon, Izaya. It misses you. But I also hope you don't mess it up too much. I love the city.”

“ As do I, Simon.”

Namie returns and hands Izaya a glass of iced tea. She sits in the chair Shiki vacated and opens the bag, passing Izaya his food before opening her own container. She frowns.

“We didn't order all of this,” she says.

“On house for pretty lady and Izaya!” Simon says, and then he bows to her. “Get well gift.”

“Thank you,” Izaya says, happy with all the extra sushi. He pauses. “No specials, right?”

“No. We know you picky.” Simon offers one last smile before he makes his way out. He stops when he reaches the door, turns to look at Izaya over his shoulder. “Shizuo was there today. He asked about you.”

“Did he?” Izaya asks, keeping his face neutral. That was definitely the kind of thing Simon could have said in Russian, so he knows there's a reason Simon said it where Namie could understand.

“He troubled by what happened. You should call him, make amends. You two have been fighting so long.”

“Shizu-chan knows where to find me. He also has my number. Trust me when I say I have no desire to see or speak to him, especially with my leg the way it is,” Izaya says, and then he eats a piece of ootoro, keeping his back to Simon.

“I see,” Simon says. “Tigers are not cowards, Izaya.”

He leaves before Izaya can respond.

“What was that about? Even Simon knows about your monster crush? How pathetic are you?” Namie asks. She never looks as happy as she does while being antagonistic. Izaya likes that about her.

“It's not exactly a secret Shizu-chan hates me. Apparently we're a bit of an urban legend around here.” He withholds a comment about Seiji, knowing they'll only bicker back and forth. Mealtimes are meant to be enjoyable, and Izaya doesn't want either of their bitterness to taint the food.

The door bursts open suddenly, halting the conversation.. Namie jumps, almost dropping her takeout, but Izaya has gotten used to Mairu's grandiose entrances by now. She gallops inside, Kururi trailing behind her, and she pounces on Izaya from behind, leaping over the back of the couch.

“I-za-nii!” she sing-songs, and then she steals a piece of his sushi. “We're staying the night tonight! We didn't ask first, since you might've made some excuse for us not to.”

“Great,” Izaya says. Kururi rounds the couch to come sit beside him, and he hands her the takeout bag.

“Oh, guess who we saw today!” Mairu chirps, rearranging herself to sit on Izaya's other side. Her legs kick out, shaking the whole couch. “Shizuo-san! He was working with that guy and that pretty girl! He asked us about you, and I told him if he wanted to know, he should see you himself, and you know what?! He didn't get mad! Isn't that amazing?!” She bounces in place.

“Mairu,” Kururi says calmly, and Mairu stops moving as if she's been shocked, looks wary of Kururi, probably due to the spray bottle Kururi keeps for these occasions.

“Since when did everyone decide to mention that moron to me so cavalierly? I thought we all knew not to mention us to each other,” Izaya says, and Namie rolls her eyes while the twins both sigh in unison.

“Iza-nii, how are you this stupid?” Mairu asks, and Izaya glowers at her.

“All men are stupid,” Namie replies.

“Oh yeah? Even your darling brother?” Izaya asks her, and rather than react to it the way he hoped she would, she just shrugs slightly.

“Sure. He's with that bimbo, after all.”

***

By the time Izaya gets the cast removed, he's so pent up with extra energy that his skin feels as if it's vibrating.

He hasn't stayed locked inside the entire time by any means, but he's had to be careful and on guard, usually accompanied by Namie or Shiki's men, who generously drive him to and from headquarters when Shiki is too busy to meet at Izaya's apartment. Izaya hasn't been able to go off by himself the way he likes, and he definitely hasn't done any work outside of his office, not wanting to risk being injured again while he's been on the mend. If there's anything Izaya hates about humans, it's their limitations, and that goes double for his own.

He opts to have Shinra remove the cast rather than go anywhere else. Shinra's chatter is obnoxious, but he's more convenient to deal with the majority of the time. He's cheerful as he works, prattling on and on about Celty, speaking so fast that Izaya can hardly decipher any of it, not that he's trying very hard to.

“There we go! All finished!” Shinra says happily when the cast is fully off.

“ Finally,” Izaya groans, reaching down to scratch at his skin. “It's been driving me insane.”

“So what now?” Shinra asks. “You're all healed. It's like the accident never happened.”

“I wouldn't say that. I certainly remember it well.”

“What about the dream you had? Do you still remember it?”

“Parts of it,” Izaya says. “Some of it's fuzzy, but I remember highlights.”

“You got off easy, but I'm sure you know that. Fate's always been kinder to you than you deserve!” Shinra stands and stretches before he gathers his things. “You should talk to Shizuo-kun, by the way. He's been moping around lately, and it's intruding on my time with Celty!”

“ Why does everyone insist I speak to that imbecile?” Izaya asks with a grimace.

“Because you want to, and because he wants you to.” Shinra grins and closes his briefcase. “Sometimes things really are that simple, Izaya-kun.”

***

It's business as usual after the cast comes off. Izaya leaves Namie to handle the paperwork and the computer files, and he roams around the city, happily resuming his usual activities. He's on his way to a cafe to grab some coffee when he sees a familiar van parked across the street, anime girl on the door shining as if she was just washed. Izaya chuckles to himself and makes his way over, lifting his hand in greeting when the van's occupants notice him.

“Izayan!” Kawisawa launches out the door and is in front of Izaya before he can so much as blink. You're all better! Did your brain get scrambled in the accident? Have you seen the error of your ways?”

“Rest assured, if anything, I'm worse now,” Izaya says, and she grins at him.

“You look well, Izaya,” Kadota says.

“Aw, Dota-chin, don't flirt with me in public! I'm shy, you know?” Izaya asks, batting his lashes playfully. Kadota rolls his eyes, clearly trying to hide a smile.

“Tell me, Izayan, is it true Shizu-Shizu was there when you got hit?” Kawisawa asks, yanking on Izaya's arm. He frowns at her, worried she'll rip his coat sleeve. “Did he carry you to safety? Did he give you mouth to mouth?! I need to know! Paint the picture for me! So there you are, injured, gasping for air, and in your line of sight, before it goes all dark, you see him, the man of your dreams, crying and gripped with fear at the very thought of losing you—!”

“Kawisawa-chan, you've got quite an imagination,” Izaya says, tugging his arm free from her. “I can't tell you what happened, unfortunately. I was a little busy trying not to die.”

“If you don't know, that means I could be right!” she shouts, practically foaming at the mouth. A hand reaches out of the van and grabs the back of her collar, tugging her inside.

“She's been like this since it happened,” Yumasaki says, poking his head out and giving Izaya a little wave. “She's asked Shizuo too, but he won't answer her at all, so she's just been going wild with the theories. She wrote a story where Shizuo was on a horse when he saved you.”

“A horse?” Izaya asks.

“It's not impossible! Celty-san has a horse, and they’re friends!” Kawisawa shrieks, and then the van shakes as she grapples with Yamasaki. Kadota sighs before he hops out of the van and slides the door closed on them.

“So you're doing better?” he asks.

“Can't complain. Should I take it personally that you didn't visit me?”

“They were only allowing family when I tried. We spent some time with your sisters, though. Made sure they were eating and gave them rides home when visiting hours were over. They were pretty messed up over the whole thing.”

“I'm glad they had some friends around. They're still being a little clingy, but I suppose that's understandable.”

Kadota grins and puts his hand on Izaya's shoulder. “Maybe the truck did scramble your brain, huh? You're being nice to your sisters. Never thought I'd see the day.”

Izaya shrugs. “They're not so bad as long as they don't get splashed with water or fed after midnight.”

Kadota laughs loudly, and Izaya smirks up at him.

“So what brings you here, Dota-chin? Did you need a caffeine fix, too?” Izaya asks.

“Nah, Togusa is in the store over there. Some kind of magazine article on Hijiribe Ruri. He's still obsessed with her. I'm sure he knows all there is to know, but he buys everything they release on her anyway.”

“How tragic for him she's taken,” Izaya says.

“He'll get over it. Hey— Do me a favor okay? Between us. Wait a while before you fuck with Shizuo again. He's working through some stuff,” Kadota says.

“I've got no desire to see him, believe me. It's more likely he'll spot me and attack all on his own.”

“I dunno, man. He's pretty messed up about what happened to you. Maybe you guys could use this as an opportunity to finally bury the hatchet. It's been peaceful lately.”

“The natural state of things isn't 'peaceful'. Something will happen whether I'm involved or not,” Izaya replies. “Besides, Shizu-chan will get over whatever he's working through, and he'll be the one to throw the first punch, just like always.”

Kadota makes a face. “I really, really don't want to prove Erika right here, so all I'm gonna say is that Shizuo isn't acting like someone who saw the person he hates most almost get killed. He's acting like he almost lost someone important to him. Maybe you guys should talk, at least. I'm not saying you’ll be all buddy-buddy, but it's worth a shot, right? I know you don't hate Shizuo as much as you claim to. You're actually pretty easy to read.”

“Am I?” Izaya asks. “Careful, Dota-chin, you're making a lot of assumptions.”

“Somehow, I think I can take you if I had to.” Kadota ruffles Izaya's hair, and Izaya huffs, shoves Kadota away, and tries to straighten his hair with his fingers. “I mean it, okay? Just talk to the guy. Shizuo is level-headed when he wants to be. Just don't piss him off and he’ll listen.”

“You're giving me an impossible task, you know?” Izaya mutters petulantly.

“Yeah, but you're smart. You'll figure it out.” Kadota smiles and crosses his arms before he chuckles softly. “You crazy kids.”

“Just kiss him when you see him!” Kawisawa shouts, and Izaya looks up to see her face pressed in the window of the front seat. “Words don't matter! It's about the passion!”

“Christ.” Kadota grumbles and shakes his head. “I'm really never gonna get a moment of peace if she's right about this.”

“As if you've ever been a huge fan of peace,” Izaya says. “Personally, I find it to be overrated.” He waves before he makes his way over to the cafe, and when he looks back at the van through the window, he sees Kadota and Yumasaki fighting to hold Kawisawa down, and when Togusa returns to the van, he takes one look at the scene before turning and walking away.

***

Funnily enough, Izaya sees Shizuo again at Sunshine 60.

Izaya is finishing up a meeting with a client, exiting the restaurant when he spots Shizuo walking past with Tom. He wonders if Shizuo is there for work, but it's more likely they're just hanging out. Tom and Shizuo are actually friends more than coworkers, and Izaya keeps in mind that Vorona might be lurking around too, as fixated on Shizuo as she is. Rather than approach as he's always done, Izaya stays still and waits for them to pass, and as soon as they're out of sight, Izaya finds himself taking the familiar path to the roof.

It's a clear night out, and it's freezing. Izaya huddles into his coat and stands near the edge, looking down at the specks of light below. So many people, all of them living their lives, and despite their numbers, Izaya finds he feels alone. Part of him wishes he bought a bottle of sake along, but it would've just been for the sake of nostalgia. Izaya still tries hard not to think of the dream, but like most things to do with Shizuo, Izaya finds it creeping into his mind often. He sighs loudly, watches his breath cloud in front of him.

“Why the hell am I mourning something that never even happened?” he mutters. The twins are alive, he's alive. In the end, that's all that really matters, right? Everything else is just remnants from a dream.

He tenses when the door opens behind him. He already knows who it has to be, but he's surprised all the same to see Shizuo there, hands in his pockets, a weary look on his face.

“Shizu-chan, what a surprise. Did you follow me?” Izaya feels the weight of his knives in his pockets, and they comfort him. This is the real Heiwajima Shizuo, one who hates Izaya and wants him dead, one who chased him into the path of an incoming truck, intentional or not. Izaya can't let his guard down.

“Haven't seen you in a while,” Shizuo says. He's not wearing his shades for once, Izaya notes. Shizuo's eyes are oddly earnest when they're not covered and aren’t full of rage. That's one detail Izaya got right in his dream, at least.

“Aren't you always telling me to stay out of the city? Maybe all it took was a truck ramming into me to make me listen. Really drove the threat home.” Izaya sits on the ledge, facing Shizuo, his back to the abyss below.

“Don't,” Shizuo growls. “Don't make it into a joke.”

“Why not? It's kind of funny, isn't it? Some part of you must think I deserved it. I certainly think I did.” Izaya tilts his head to the side, studying Shizuo. “What's eating you, Shizu-chan? Usually you would've launched at me by now. Look, I'm even on the edge of the building! I've made myself an easy target for you!”

“I said to fucking quit it!” Shizuo shouts. His voice echoes around them. “I didn't come here to fight with you, okay? For fuck's sake, flea, you almost died in front of me, so stop being an asshole for once in your life and listen to me, 'cause I have shit to say.”

Izaya mimes zipping his lips, and then he gestures for Shizuo to keep talking. Shizuo glowers at him, seeming to be on the edge of some kind of breakdown. It's fascinating, and Izaya feels the innate urge to keep pushing Shizuo towards that edge, eternally curious as he is to observe results.

“Well? Are you going to talk, or is the fact you're having thoughts at all making you short-circuit?”

“I hate you,” Shizuo says in response, and Izaya wonders if this is supposed to be profound in any way. “I really do, okay? I hate you so fucking much that it keeps me up at night. Every problem I've had, every time some fucker comes at me with a weapon, all I think about is you, and how you probably had something to do with it. You're a terrible fucking person, and I've spent years thinking of how I wanted to kill you, how much better my city would be without you in it.”

Izaya keeps his face impassive as Shizuo starts pacing. Clearly Shizuo is experiencing enough emotion for both of them, after all. It looks exhausting.

“I told myself at first that no matter what happened to you, whether you woke up or not, that I didn't care. I didn't want to care. It was what you deserved, and maybe you actually deserved worse, but goddammit, Izaya, I keep reliving that day over and over again, and all I can think of is how I wasn't fast enough to save you.” Shizuo stops pacing, turns and looks at Izaya, a helpless look in his eyes. The strongest man in Ikebukuro, helpless. What a thought.

“I see,” Izaya says, not really knowing how else to respond. “So you feel guilty.”

“'Guilty' doesn't seem strong enough,” Shizuo says, back to pacing. “I don't feel responsible, I don't feel like it was my fault, I just—“ He pauses, throws his hands in the air, and growls in frustration. “It felt like a waste, Izaya.”

“Because you wanted to kill me yourself?” Izaya prompts.

“No, because it was too fucking easy, too fast for that to be the end!” Shizuo snarls and exhales deeply before continuing. “You know, all that time I chased after you, and you were never scared. You came back over and over, and I never even thought about what I'd do if I actually caught you. It was just a goal, one of those things you tell yourself to keep you going, but I think... I think I was happy you kept coming back, in some weird, fucked up way. You were the only one who kept fighting with me no matter what. I hated it, but I think it was...a comfort, too. I got used to you coming back. I thought you always would.”

Izaya thinks of the Shizuo in his dream, the one who laughed and toasted his whiskey mockingly to Izaya. “You're the most stable thing in my life.”

“Part of me kept waiting for you to show up and say it was all a joke. I didn't... Fuck.” Shizuo groans, makes a violent gesture with his hands. “I didn't want to think about you actually being gone.”

“Tell me, Shizu-chan, did you come to see me in the hospital?” Izaya asks, and Shizuo looks up at him sharply, an oddly bashful expression on his face. “Would you believe me if I said I could feel you there?” Izaya remembers the comforting pressure of a hand in his, one too large to be either of his sisters'.

“Shinra said you dreamed...” Shizuo mutters. “Said you woke up spouting some shit about the twins being dead.”

“It was my life, but it wasn't. There were details that didn't add up, and the people around me were... wrong. Not necessarily better or worse, but not themselves. I found myself surrounded by others, and wouldn't you know it, that's when I realized it couldn't be real.” Izaya leans back a bit, crosses his legs in front of him. Shizuo looks on warily, as if prepared to leap forward in case Izaya leans back any further. “I was forced to take a good look at things, at various versions of my life, like hundreds of mirrors surrounding me. It was like being inside a telescope.” Izaya forces a smile. “Part of me didn't want to wake up.”

Shizuo sighs softly, and he steps forward, takes the liberty of sitting beside Izaya on the ledge. He reaches in his pocket and pulls out his cigarettes.

“So what now?” he asks.

“Well. I suppose this is the part where I tell you that your feelings are a normal trauma response to what you saw. I could've been anyone, Shizu-chan, and you would've felt just as guilty because you were there to see it happen,” Izaya says.

“Fuck that, it wasn't anyone. It was you.” Shizuo lights his cigarette and inhales deeply. “You were just so lifeless, folded all wrong like a ball of paper. I got your fucking blood on me.” His head tilts slightly towards Izaya, though he keeps staring forward. “It was you, flea.”

“Mm. So it was.”

“You're being weirdly understanding about all this. I kind of thought you were gonna throw a knife or something when you saw me,” Shizuo says, flicking some ashes away.

“I'm not ruling it out,” Izaya promises. He turns to Shizuo and smiles at Shizuo's perplexed little frown. “I suppose I'm just not surprised. To me, this isn't our first conversation about this.”

“Huh? What, was I in your dream or something?”

“You were. You were there more than anyone else, if you can believe it.”

Shizuo's face flushes, and he coughs slightly on his next exhale.

“You know,” Izaya begins, “I'm not sure exactly what it was I experienced. I can say it was a dream, but at the same time, it could've been a glimpse into another universe, another timeline. I saw so many things, some of them I can't remember clearly, but I remember you being there. It made me happy, Shizu-chan, and it was hard to know you wouldn't be there anymore when I woke up.”

Shizuo stiffens, his fingers clenching around the cigarette until it snaps. He curses when it burns him, and he throws it away with an angry little huff before he turns back to Izaya.

“I had dreams, too,” he says. “Nothing as weird as yours. Mostly just about us in high school, I guess since that's the most time we ever spent together. I kept wondering how different things might be if we ever tried to get along.”

“'What if' is a dangerous question, isn't it? Let's consider it progress that we're sitting here now.” Izaya smirks at Shizuo, who immediately narrows his eyes in suspicion. “Shizu-chan missed me.”

“I did not,” Shizuo says defensively, and then his eyes widen as if the thought only just now crossed his mind. “Or...I did? Fuck. I think maybe I did.”

“You don't know?” Izaya asks, and he can't help but laugh at the bewildered expression on Shizuo's face. It's been so long since he's laughed like this, without bitterness or malice. It really is just funny.

“Fuck you! Stop laughing!” Shizuo glowers, seeming to sink into himself when Izaya only laughs harder. “You're the worst. I hate you, I really do.”

“Then why did you miss me?” Izaya lilts, and Shizuo crosses his arms, looking pointedly anywhere but at Izaya.

“Maybe I'll still kill you. Shitty flea, you piss me off,” Shizuo mutters, mostly to himself. Izaya can hear his teeth grinding.

“Relax, would you? I missed you, too.”

In an instant, all the anger drains away from Shizuo's face. He turns to Izaya, his mouth slightly open in surprise.

“You were with me, but it wasn't really you. I missed my Shizu-chan! Another is no good for me.” Izaya stands and stretches, aware Shizuo's eyes are still on him. He takes a few steps towards the roof entrance.

“Wha... Hey! Where are you going?” Shizuo asks, following after, as always.

“It's cold. I'm cold.” Izaya stops abruptly and turns to face Shizuo, who stops just short of ramming into him. “Let's go get a drink somewhere warm.”

“Like, uh. Like a date?” Shizuo clearly has all the experience of a fumbling teenager, and it's so charming somehow, so unlike the Shizuo in Izaya's mind, and that's enough for Izaya to know this is really happening.

“Yes. Like a date.”

Shizuo smiles, and Izaya finds he doesn't mind that he can't recall what the other Shizuo felt like or smelled like, doesn't mind having to learn it all over again. All that matters is this: Shizuo walking behind Izaya, holding onto the back of his coat with a gentle hand, directing him to a bar down the street that has a special on half-priced bloody marys. Shizuo laughs, says it's perfect for a flea like Izaya, and Izaya savors every second of it, orders a bloody mary just to make Shizuo laugh harder.

In another universe, they never come near the truck, and life resumes as normal. In another, Izaya doesn't confront Shizuo that day, and Shizuo never knows Izaya is in the city. In another, Izaya is killed instantly, and in another still, he never wakes up, and Shizuo is consumed by grief he can't explain, and a confession he'll never voice.

But in this universe, Shizuo sits in a cozy booth across from Izaya, their feet touching under the table as they talk and laugh together until the bartender is closing down. They step outside, and Izaya turns to leave, is startled when Shizuo's hand grips the back of Izaya's coat and tugs him closer. Izaya laughs delightedly, and he tugs Shizuo along to Shinjuku while Shizuo tries very hard to look annoyed by it. They wind up sprawled together on Izaya’s couch, TV playing lowly in the background, and when they wake up curled into each other, Izaya smiles sleepily, lifts his hand to Shizuo’s cheek, and kisses Shizuo as easily as if he’s done so a thousand times, and will do so a thousand times more.

#telescope now #Shizaya #Izaya Orihara #Shizuo Heiwajima #halloween fic #this is the end! thanks for reading you guys <3

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atlas-of-a-human-soul · 4 years

Text

The Bad Guy, pt. 3 - Haunted (Gang AU)

Summary: Grayson’s attempt to pull out of his gang related business seems futile as his past comes back to haunt him. Deciding to keep it a secret only brings more issues as it creates a distance between him and Y/N he can’t bridge.

Warnings: angst, fluff, SMUT, injuries, blood, death, swearing...

Word count: 18.5k

The Bad Guy - Series Masterlist

Frowning, my eyes struggle to adjust to the light basking my skin, squinting to try and get a better view of the perpetrator although I know it's him.

If anything was certain about Grayson Dolan it was his love for sunrise and while I'm far from a morning person, waking up to watch his mesmerized gaze has become the epitome of a full life.

Quietly, afraid to startle him and ruin my favorite view, I stand up too, fighting the lightheaded feeling swaying me from side to side, nearly blinding me for a moment or two.

And I stand there, silently watching this beautiful, handsome specimen I still can't believe is mine. I watch him with fervor, with a fire unequaled to any volcano. And I admire him - every muscle, every scar, every mark life had left on his body.

He could have any woman he lays his eye on and yet he chose me? Sometimes I think it's a dream, a cosmic joke to give me everything I ever wanted before ripping it away once reality sets in, but it's not. He's here and he is mine and even after countless, nearly lethal obstacles, I can't fathom regretting being a part of his world.

Meeting Grayson Dolan has been the highlight of my life and I count my lucky stars every day as I thank the universe for giving me a chance to not only love a man as magnificent as him, but also be loved by him.

To be loved by Grayson Dolan is a powerful thing, a force of nature that is all consuming. It's a blessing and he might not agree with me on this, but if I had a chance to do it all again? I'd choose him over and over until I am nothing but ash and dust.

Perhaps we aren't the luckiest lovers in the world, but we're far from Romeo and Juliet. They had tragedy sown in their souls, but we have the space to make our own destiny and I am determined to make it a happy one.

Stalking toward him on my tiptoes, I smile when I'm almost behind him, my arms instinctively reaching for his waist and I sense his gentle gasp as my hands glide under his arms and over his stomach. I lay my head to rest between his shoulder blades, listening to the soft breathing reminding me how lucky I am to be alive - how lucky I am he's alive.

His arms reach back and his hands rest awkwardly on my back, and I know he's smiling. He's appreciating the beauty before him as much as the tenderness of my love for him.

If Grayson knows one thing for sure it's how my love for him will always trump my love for sleep and I'm not sure he will ever truly get used to that.

We remain silent, enjoying each other's company and sweetness of another morning we get to spend together, all until the alarm clock screeches and we both jump at the loudness.

Turning around, his hands move to my hips and while I've always felt insecure about the fat he'd actually rest his hands on instead of my bones, Grayson simply gave me a reassuring squeeze, almost as if he could tell I'm once again struggling with my appearance and the latest weight gain I couldn't explain certainly didn't help my body dysmorphia.

"All my favorite days started and ended with you." His raspy voice brings chills, awakens my heart and I've always said he's better than caffeine in the morning.

"Cheesy." I remark, almost teasing him with a raised eyebrow and a swift, playful wink. "You're lucky I'm into cheesy romance."

Rolling his eyes at me with the slightest inkling of a smirk upon his plump lips, Grayson is quick to pull me closer, making me squeal and not in the attractive ways girls do it in movies, rather a pig like way.

Our noses collide before our lips firmly press together, finding our normal rhythm easily. Hands roaming his chest, fingers playing with his chest hair, I can feel my mind turn numb to our surroundings, the rest fading away. Grayson always had that effect, making me forget about the world and he didn't have to try, even one look was enough.

"Y/N." He whispers my name in between kisses spelled with our lips, my teeth sinking into his bottom lip, nibbling on the soft skin until an exasperated groan leaves him and I know his morning wood has begun to bug him and our kisses certainly didn't make it any easier on him.

"I can help with that." Coy, I inch away, breathing heavily. He's smilingly shaking his head and I can't help the disappointment on my face for I know what he's going to say.

"I want to, TRUST ME, but I have an early meeting." Apologetic as ever, Grayson steps back as if distance would somehow stop some sort of an imaginary spell I've cast on him. But this has become a rather common occurrence. It's why I wake up so early, hoping to steal a few peaceful moments in his arms before he leaves for work and more often than not, he's not back until late.

I'm not better with my intern year exhausting me all the time either, but I miss him ALL THE TIME and he seems to lack the same emotion. Sometimes I wonder if he misses me too or if his job, as legal as it’s supposed to be, is still his number one priority. He changed his tune on the matter, but his actions are faltering that belief in my heart.

I want to believe in him – in us, but love is a flower that needs to be watered and lately, there’s been a draught. And we are still intimate…a lot, but we lack the kind of quality time we spent together back when we had the world against us.

Sometimes, as selfish as it may be, I wonder if having my life threatened is the only way to have his undivided attention.

"Sure. I should get ready too." Biting my lip, I thread my fingers through my hair and sigh, avoiding his eyes to hide my dejection. It's not easy realizing we're officially becoming like any other couple where we don't seem to prioritize each other and if I'm being honest, it's killing me.

Grayson is the one to break the silence first. "Doll, have you seen my shirt?"

"Pretty sure I ripped it off you last night. Might want to grab that hoodie instead, because I'd rather not have you flaunting those flawless abs in public." I smirk, stopping once my eyes catch the horror in his.

"You. Want. Me. To. Wear. A. Hoodie? I can't be seen in a hoodie!" Grayson's words only make me chuckle, reminding me that behind his bad boy facade truly is a drama queen with a notable fashion sense. It makes me feel normal, and maybe being normal isn't always a bad thing. Maybe I’m just addicted to thrill of danger we were stuck in for so long I’ve forgotten that we’ve finally found serenity – a reality that should be more comfortable for me.

"Yes?" It was more of a question than a statement, paired with an amused look in my eyes and once my teeth sunk in the left corner of my bottom lip, Grayson's heart skipped a beat.

"The only reason I own a hoodie is because I bought it so you, my girlfriend, could steal it and we'd have some sense of normalcy as a couple. You know? No bloodshed, no tortured souls or kidnapping, just the old run of the mill girlfriend stealing her boyfriend's hoodie." Grayson justified, only making me giggle.

"And it worked, so now you can do what every boyfriend does and steal it back while giving me a glare for stealing it in the first place only to kiss me and tell me I look better in it than you anyway." I retort, enjoying his casually entertaining sauntering toward me, both his eyebrows raised.

"Well, it isn't even mine anymore, it's ours." He rolls his eyes with a cheeky smile, making my heart melt. This is how it’s supposed to be when two people love each other - easy as breathing. This, right now, just him and I and no obligations tearing us apart – this is how it should be.

Grabbing the hoodie, he shakes it before me, granting me a teasing glare. "I'm not gonna wear it but stealing isn't nice. Even if it does look better on you." Reenacting my little speech, Grayson pecks my lips before continuing his morning ritual and I draw a deep breath, shuddering at the thought of losing him.

I didn't come home that night, forced to pull a double shift at the hospital yet my phone didn't ring. Most nights, Grayson would call and check up on me even though I know it’s mostly to hear my voice – he explained it was soothing, a comfort he never takes for granted.

Sighing, I lock the screen and chase a few peas across the plastic plate, wondering what Grayson is doing, if he is hungry or tired, if he's wishing he could be next to me as much as I am. I’ve almost never been to his company, my hours at the hospital too long and Grayson always volunteers to come for lunch a few days a week anyway. He hadn’t been around for two weeks now.

Perhaps I've become codependent, maybe he coddles me way too much, but something is different and I'm hoping it's about our jobs and not about his feelings shifting, a familiar fear creeping in - he wasn't the type to stay with one girl for long, so what if my time is up?

Could I ever say goodbye to Grayson?

Shaking my head, I remind myself how important communication is and how I fucked up the last time I allowed out relationship go down a rabbit hole - maybe there's an explanation for this too?

Chewing on the inside of my lower lip, I roll my eyes and set aside my pride like he has done for me so many times before. Dialing his number is easy, but the wait for him to pick up is what makes my eyes water.

Grayson always picks up before the third ring, I'm on the eighth now.

And when he does pick up, I realize it's not him.

"Sorry hon, he's busy with me."

Eyes wide, breath caught in my throat, I try to speak but the line is dead before I muster enough bravery to move my lips.

Slapping a hand over my mouth trying to hold back a sob, I realize how unnecessary that action is as my throat closes with emotions shaking my entire being.

There has to be some explanation for this. I should have some faith in him after everything we've been through, right?

Fear, hate, anger, anxiety, love, sadness, an insurmountable amount of emotions and thoughts overwhelm me, dragging me through the past and every time I was told I simply wasn’t enough – pretty enough, smart enough, ambitious enough, creative enough, sexy enough – all of the times I was reminded over and over again that no one would love me, especially not someone as grand as Grayson who can certainly replace me in a moment’s time and I’d be left on the outside looking in, seeing his many girls on the front pages of every tabloid which would slowly kill me.

I want to wash my brain in cold water, cool the whole thing but I can't. I want a coffee but the caffeine will put me over the edge.

Regardless, I find myself dialing Ethan's number, seeking advice. If anyone would be honest with me, Ethan Grant surely would even if Grayson is his brother.

Does the truth imprison us, or does it set us free?

One thing I know for sure, the truth can hurt. Especially when the truth bears what can break a heart in half.

But I have to know.

3rd person POV

"Who was that?" Grayson frowns as he sees his assistant put down his phone, wondering why would she answer his personal cellphone when it isn't in her job description.

"Wrong number." Smirking slyly, she revels in the world of pain she was certain she caused to the woman on the other side of the line, enjoying it as much as she's enjoying the way Grayson pulled his sleeves up, accentuating his biceps.

Licking her lips, she watches as he sits in his chair, exhaustion in every line of his face and she can't imagine a better moment to make a move she had been planning for a few months now. Sliding over to him, she wasted no time in moving her ass onto his lap, her lips hungrily covering his.

"Bro!" Ethan busts inside, worked up after hearing from a clearly upset Y/N, willing to reassure her it's only a misunderstanding but when he sees a woman in his brother's lap and her mouth on his, one of the women he remembers from Grayson's past? That's when Ethan loses it.

Grayson is quick to push her off and on the floor mercilessly, growling as he wipes his lips with the back of his hand, but Ethan has no patience, slamming the door behind him with enough strength that it breaks the tinted glass, shattering it all the way to the woman's floored ass.

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!" Ethan screamed, not even flinching when he feels a piece of glass graze his left forearm, the cut superficial. He’s red in the face, his eyes narrowed and if looks could kill, Grayson and the pathetic excuse for a woman would need CPR.

Gripping the woman by her shoulders, Grayson sets her back on her feet, the pressure of his hands on her enough to leave a mark. Shaking her like a doll, he gets in her face, spraying spit as he makes his intentions clear.

"I am a taken man and if you ever, EVER, try that again, I will have no mercy. Understand that?" Shaking her again until she managed to mumble a clear YES, Grayson pushed her toward the door.

"What the fuck are you looking at?!" Grayson screams in outrage, his eyes set aflame with ruthless self-loathing shimmering under the surface. His rage had always made men cower in fear, but never Ethan.

He wasn’t calm either, willing to spill blood for every tear Y/N shed and while he could easily start an altercation, Ethan realized violence begins violence and he can’t turn on his own blood. Not while they’re still so vulnerable to the criminals that want them both dead.

Apparently, no one is happy to let a gang disband without bloodshed and they’ve both been working overtime to make sure that doesn’t turn into a new gang war where their loved ones would be at risk. To be honest, Grayson has been overbearing and Ethan was wearing thin, but they have to find a solution before they end up burying their mother or sister, Y/N or even each other.

"Y/N called me in tears asking if you're cheating on her and I promised you'd never do that. Was I wrong brother?" Asking calmly, Ethan surprised himself with his poise. If he could, he'd at the very least land a few punches, damage the pretty boy look Grayson attracts attention with, but he realized Y/N might not want that.

Even if he transgressed, she’d want Grayson unharmed. She’s that kind of a soul – innocent, naïve and untouched by the madness surrounding her. And she hasn’t been quite the same since the ball but Ethan noticed her getting back to who she was when they first met her at that shady club.

She is his sister now and he can’t stand the thought of what pain this might cause her.

"No. She kissed me and I ended it as soon as I could. Y/N doesn't have to know." Grayson decides, his head a chaotic explosion of fear, anger and frustration - fear of losing the only woman he ever loved, anger over the way he was completely unaware of the situation and frustration because he's clearly not as scary as he used to be and damn it, Grayson absolutely loved instilling fear in people around him. It made him feel powerful and invincible, something he gave up for a quiet future with the love of his life...something he still missed.

"I won't lie to her." Ethan says through gritted teeth, shaking his head as his fingers thread through his hair. "She deserves better Grayson." Sighing, Ethan swallows thickly. "Do better."

And while Ethan said he wouldn't lie, he called Y/N back, faking amusement.

"No worries, sis, his assistant picked up the phone and they've been working like crazy today." Pausing, he pinches the bridge of his nose as if that would wash away the shame of lies he speaks, but what good would it do to hurt her with the truth?

He is a reasonable man and bringing this up would break her heart, besides, Grayson said it's a one-time unwanted occurrence and he wanted to believe him. He needed to.

"Are you alright, babe?" He feels a familiar pair of arms slide down his chest, holding onto the hands firmly.

"Yeah. Just my brother. Same old shit." Studying her, Ethan can't help but smile at the woman Y/N hired for him just a few months ago - at first to help him after he got shot and now to help him around the office...a woman he had taken a liking to.

"Anything I can do to help?" She smirks, pecking his nose from above, implying exactly what she wanted and Ethan wasn't about to protest.

"I can think of a few things."

1st person POV

The weight finally off my chest, I smile to myself. Of course Grayson isn't cheating on me. He loves me. He does no matter how hard I found that hard to believe before.

Perhaps it's time I trust him on that.

Barely able to stand, only a few hours of sleep in a thirty-something long shift keeping me alive, I stumble into the penthouse, kicking off my sneakers immediately.

I've been tired lately, feeling queasy and faint but it's probably the long hours and worsening eating habits. I should definitely drink more water too, but admitting this to Grayson would end up with him asking me to take some time off and take care of my health but that’s not an option. I need to finish this internship so I can get a first-rate fellowship. I may be stuck in a crazy environment, but I have every intention on finishing my journey.

Groaning, I manage to find my way to our bedroom and I wonder why was I ever so stubborn about living together. I didn't want to be seen as gold digger or an opportunist, I wanted to earn my own money but after we got cornered with paparazzi in my dorm more than once, the choice was obvious. Thankfully, I graduated just in time to start an internship not too far away from his luxury penthouse, reducing the commute.

Besides, waking up next to him is better than being alone.

The moment I enter, I see something is different - a dress laid out on our bed, rose petals around as well as a bouquet on my nightstand.

Reaching for the note, I sigh, aware Grayson planned a romantic date and while I'd rather sleep and have him rub my back, I remember relationships last only if both parties contribute to its growth and for a few months, neither of us did our part.

I can't be the one to say no.

'An exquisite dress for an exquisite woman. Put this on, doll and meet me up on the roof'

Smiling, I shake my head lightly, feeling my heart skip in my chest because even if I am about to faint, the gesture is incredibly sweet. The dress is even better - the one I had my eye on but refused to even try - red as blood, back open and lacy sleeves down to my elbows.

Managing to push my swollen feet into heels a size too big for me even now, I force my legs to take the few stairs toward the roof, a smile upon my weary lips. The wind pushes my unkempt hair back, revealing a faint scratch just below my ear that I earned in the ER.

"You look magnificent. As expected." Grayson's compliment makes me look away, smiling at the ground. It's impossible not to blush when a man of his caliber tells you how amazing he believes you look.

Pecking my lips, Grayson's finger lifts my chin, gracing me with one of his disarmingly charming looks.

"Don't go all shy on me now." His smirk is devilishly handsome and now I understood how the devil cheats humans out of their souls. It's not hard to fall for a smile like that.

"I missed you." Smiling back at him, I allow him to lead me to the table he set for us, devouring the food with my eyes already.

"And I love you for this food. I'm starving!"

3rd person POV

As soon as dinner ended and the conversation became rather nostalgic, Y/N couldn't help her smile as Grayson dedicated himself to her. It’s exactly what she’d been craving, worried that their romance might be wavering after the time they had to each other.

Holding her hand, his fingers brushing her knuckles, Grayson leans his forehead on the back of it, drawing a deep breath before letting out a heavy sigh.

"You're scaring me." Y/N giggles nervously, her right leg bouncing on her knee, making it a little uncomfortable since her heel keeps slipping off thus reminding her she really needs to buy a new pair - one that actually fits and on a day Grayson is too busy to come along. Shopping is a nightmare when the big bad CEO ex mafia boss that is also known as Hellhound joins because she refuses to let him pay for it all but he always insists.

"Do you know how it feels to love you?" Grayson asks, a rhetorical question from what she can tell and he's quick to continue, confessing all that's in his heart.

"It's a consuming, fiery passion." Smiling, he tilts his head ever so slightly to his left shoulder.

"It's a need, a primal drive to protect you, make you laugh and... well, I'm not going to sugarcoat this doll, but an essential desire to give you pleasure." Raising an eyebrow, Grayson licks his lower lip, leaving it shining under the candlelight, rendering Y/N speechless.

She's already trembling, confused with his current emotional gushing. It's not like she's unused to his love proclamations, it's that she can feel it in her bones that this one means something more than all the ones before and after the recent scare and fill of self-doubting, Y/N wasn’t keen on more surprises.

"Gray", she starts softly, worried it would discourage him or somehow hurt his feelings.

As soon as she tries to interrupt, Grayson interjects again, determined to finish his speech.

So, when he stands up and smirks at her widened eyes, Y/N only grew more confused and a little frightened when he suddenly dropped on one knee, opening a tiny box with a stunning, flower themed sapphire ring.

"You've given me hope, something to fight for, a reason to live. You've made me happier than I believed is possible and you've reminded me of what it means to be human. You make me want to be a better man." Swallowing thickly, he noticed she's barely blinking, perhaps in shock with his unexpected proposal, but he couldn't ignore how he feels and what he wants.

And he wants her.

He wanted Y/N to look at him with love in her eyes from the moment he first saw her in that tacky bar, he simply couldn't wait any longer. "You...you're everything - fun, thought provoking, caring, independent and merciful and exceptionally tactful when need be. You're spring and you're summer and you're a woman any man would be lucky to call his."

Lips parting, Y/N tries to speak, to articulate anything that she knows she feels in her heart for this incredible man, but she can't. All she can think of is the why. Why is he, a man who said dating wasn't even his thing, a man who struggled to open up for the longest time is now proposing?

She couldn't help but feel it's to appease her, but that only made her sad. She didn't want him to appease her nor did she want to succumb to society norms. She loves him, he loves her, so why complicate things?

Besides, how can she ignore the unwavering doubt in her mind? Ethan swore it was a false alarm, but her heart told her something is wrong – a sudden romantic gesture of this magnitude is suspicious, isn’t it?

"Will you marry me?" The hopeful look in his eye dwindles almost immediately when she reaches out and closes the box.

"No." Standing up, she throws the rags onto the table, her arms fold over her chest.

"We don't need to get married to love each other and be together, okay?" She could tell by the way his eyes narrowed and his lips pressed together he felt a little humiliated, but she couldn't allow him to entirely change his view on life and love to make her happy and she was certain he wouldn't ask otherwise.

In fact, she was certain he’s using this proposal to hide something she’s not supposed to know and an affair was currently on her mind. She couldn’t accuse him; she didn’t want to. But she needed to make sure the motive behind his proposal is love, not guilt.

"But I want to." Grayson stood, willing to argue on this but he could tell she's not ready and while he didn't understand why, he realized he will have to wait a little while longer.

Maybe she is right, maybe this is just his guilty self-consciousness pushing him into proposing and officially claiming her as his...most of all, allowing her to claim him as hers.

"I really do. But if you're not ready I will wait. As long as it takes." Noticing his flushed cheeks and desperation laced in his voice, Y/N caved…a little.

“Can I think about it?” And while it wasn’t even close to the definite YES he expected, Grayson had to settle for a maybe, regardless of the way it tore his heart to bits. Yet he felt this is much better than the reaction he’d get if he came clean.

Being with her is all he can ask for and he wasn’t ready to give up on her, on them. And maybe he should have told her the truth about everything, she’d probably be understanding, but he couldn’t be sure. He had put her through so much shit that Grayson feared she had too much and would use the latest troubles as an excuse to finally do what he fears the most – walk away from him.

They laid in each other's arms, holding on with a sense of uncertainty - Y/N felt guilty for making him believe she needed him to change, about the sordid lack of faith she has in him and Grayson felt guilty about the kiss he kept from her.

When he opened his eyes the next morning, Y/N was already gone, just a note left about being paged early even though she was supposed to have a day off. He planned to use that day to spend some time together and rebuild their relationship he just realized isn't as unbreakable as he thought before.

1st person POV

Days passed and Grayson never mentioned the proposal again. In a way I was grateful because dealing with a stomach flu and that night wasn't easy. Though he stayed quiet, I knew he was going back to old habits - using sex to change my mind.

It wasn’t difficult to understand Grayson is angry with me and my decision or lack there of. His usually sweet caress had become hard, gripping. Fists in clothes, shoving me against a wall hungrily, as if he’s trying to make me see that without me he’d be nothing more than this – a rampant animal out for blood even when he loves the one he hurts.

Unfortunately for him, I’m not a dainty little snowflake. He made sure of that. I can do both soft and angry and even if he tries, he’s never that violent with me even when I ask.

And as his fingers dig into my hips, I find myself thrown on the bed, enjoying the look in his eye as he takes me in – lips plump, almost bruised, cheeks crimson and desire behind my lustful gaze – something I practiced in front of a mirror but never knew if it works until he laid on top of me, keeping his body weight off just barely – he wanted me to feel dominated, trapped even, but his kisses, as always, melt away from that fiery, blinding passionate rage.

They turn into brushes of lips between shaking breaths, his hips meeting mine in a slow rhythm, allowing every inch of him to fill me to the brim and he wanted me to feel that. His lips are slow until they’re out of energy and parted, until we are left just lying there, holding each other, fingers carding through hair.

Blowing a few of my hairs off my neck, Grayson settled in the crook with a plagued look in his chestnut colored eyes. I could sense something is tormenting him, a secret he keeps and I’m not exactly talkative either. I’ve never asked him about the girl that picked up the phone…I’ve rarely been to his office at all.

“How are things at work?” Sliding my hand over his forearm, I can sense the sharp intake of breath through his nose and while it would be far too easy to just ignore it, the fact I could surely pinpoint his lack of verbal communication created an unsettling feeling in my stomach.

Pecking my shoulder, Grayson spoke – his voice oddly cool as if nothing happened moments ago and I am once again reminded Grayson isn’t just any guy I met off the street – he used to deal with people much scarier than his curious girlfriend.

“A lot of work but it’s been wonderful. The transition is going smooth and while there are a few minor issues to deal with, the company is officially legitimized and honest.” Lying is easy for him and that scares me. Maybe he’s not lying to my face, rather omitting the truth but isn’t that just as bad?

Waves of nausea force me to sit up, feeling my mouth salivating as bile rises at the back of my throat and I’m running before I even know what is happening, running to keep myself from ruining the ridiculously expensive rug Grayson splurged on a few months ago.

Sinking to my knees, retching until only clear liquid was coming up. My stomach kept on contracting violently and forcing everything up and out but the hand on my back and forehead keeping me from falling face first into the toilet kept me earthed. I could only imagine how my face looks, white and dripping bile, sweat, and tears.

“Can you leave? I don’t want you to see me like this.” My voice is hoarse and the pungent stench invaded my nostrils and I heave even though there is nothing left to throw up. My throat feels sore from the stomach acid that was layering it and my mouth tastes of vomit.

As if he could read my mind, Grayson quickly flushed the toilet and helped me lean back against the wall, rushing to fill a glass of water to help me rinse this horrid feeling out of my mouth.

I can’t remember the last time I got sick like this and I certainly can’t remember someone being there to help me and while I wanted him to leave initially, I was so grateful he decided to stay.

“You scared the crap out of me.” Sheepishly admitting to it, Grayson presses his lips together, looking ahead than at me. “You’re seeing a doctor first thing in the morning.” He adds and I scoff, giving him a quick glance.

“I am a doctor. Sort of.” Chuckling, I lean my head on his shoulder, hoping I’m not smelling like a combination of sweat and vomit, but hey, we both need a bath after what we’ve done an hour ago. Besides, making him worry won’t do him much good. There are more pressing matters he needs to dedicate himself to.

“Still. Doll, I never want to risk your health or wellbeing. Okay?”

“I’m aware which is why I know I’m fine and this was just a fluke.” I lied. This is more than just a fluke and the nausea has been going on for a month now, I just never actually had to throw up. And I understand why. My period’s late, long enough to make me fairly certain of what I plan on confirming in the morning – I’m pregnant.

I never understood how women miss their pregnancy for so long, how they don’t notice not having their periods or any other pregnancy symptoms but after everything – thinking we might die, Ethan being shot, starting this internship and then the worry about how solid our relationship is, I just assumed it was late due to stress.

I don’t think that’s the case anymore and I know I have to be more responsible now when I suspect it.

Hands folded in my lap, I interlock my fingers for comfort. Imagining this moment in the past included Grayson, excited and asking me if I'm okay about a hundred times, but never could I imagine being alone, asking a colleague for discretion after having my blood taken.

The thought of being pregnant is daunting, especially at an uncertain time for Grayson and I - another thing I never imagined happening. If anything, I could swear we finally got our happy ending. We were supposed to be stupidly in love while working toward our goals, being a power couple. Instead, we got separated by our schedules, seeds of doubt planted in this time where we were supposed to be stronger than ever.

Is the thought of having a gun held to my head just to have Grayson back too crazy? Probably.

"Hey." Looking up to see the nurse holding a paper in her hand, one I'm sure has answers to my questions and if her smile is anything to go by, the news are supposed to be happy. "Congratulations Y/N. If you need anything, just ask."

For a moment my heart stops, feeling it sink at the thought of telling Grayson and have him be anything but happy. But I am. I am elated.

Placing a hand over my stomach, a smile creeps up on me, spreading until my entire face lights up and I can't help the cheerful giggle escaping me.

"I'm gonna be a mom."

3rd person POV

Standing in front of his windows, looking down at New York with a pensive smile, Grayson thought about how he needs to step up. His first attempt at a proposal failed, miserably, but he wasn't planning on giving up.

She means too much to him to ever give up on her.

The way she said no told him there is more to the story. It was painfully obvious she loves him with all her heart but Grayson wondered what would make a woman in love refuse a proposal.

"Bro, we have a huge problem." Ethan's out of breath, stepping beside his brother with mouth open, still heaving. "And when I say huge problem, I mean a massive, colossal fucking problem."

Looking at his brother, Grayson's jaw clenches with resolve because the blood on Ethan's face is speaking volumes of their issue.

No matter how often he tried to tie up loose ends, it turns out it's nearly impossible to entirely pull out of a decades long criminal history.

"Who the fuck is it?" Fists tights at each side, Grayson's face hardens and his lips press together as Ethan sighs.

"We don't know yet. It's a paid hit, that's sure." Wiping the blood of his bottom lip, Ethan smirks. "But I intend to find out who hired him and I plan to do it the hard way." Raising his eyebrow mischievously, revealing a side of him that's usually dormant but it's awake now and Grayson already knows this would be a fine line to walk on. "You in or what?" Ethan's snarkiness makes Grayson roll his eyes as well as his sleeves.

"I actually liked this shirt." But then again, Grayson is worse than Ethan could ever be and he was about to make that man regret the day he was born. Grayson ‘CEO’ Dolan was gone and Hellhound took over.

"Oh well, I'll buy another one." A cold smile upon his lips, he reverts back to the man he was and he couldn't find it in himself to regret it.

1st person POV

Chewing on the inside left corner of my lower lip, I knew this anxiety wouldn't be good for the baby. Isn't it odd how quickly a mother starts to love her child? Even before it's a formed human being the love is so great you can't put yourself first.

I'm already daydreaming of the day I get to meet my baby, to hold it and see it looking back at me with Grayson's eyes. I'm imagining all the things we'll do together and all the ways this baby could change the world.

Drawing a deep breath, I close my eyes and smile, resting my head on my propped up hand and make a choice - I have to tell Grayson and no matter how he reacts, I will not be hurt by it.

If he wants nothing to do with us, I will survive.

Dialing his number, I tap my nails against the metal table in the canteen. Waiting for him to pick up seemed as fruitful as waiting for rain in the Sahara Desert.

Rubbing my forehead, I sigh and lose a little bit of my resolve before realizing I'll have to call his office instead.

"Dolan enterprises, who am I speaking to?" The gentle, feminine voice on the other side of the line makes me tense up, recognizing it immediately. Isn't this the same voice that picked up that night I had nearly lost my mind and frantically called Ethan, weeping as if someone had died? It's the same voice that made me doubt Grayson and the doubt never quite left me despite Ethan's reassurance.

"Y/N Y/L/N. Mister Dolan is expecting my call." I cringe at the mister part, especially since I use it way too often in a sexual manner in private.

"Oh. Well, I have no record of that. Beside, mister Grayson is a very busy man. He has no time for frolicking whores." And the next thing I hear is her hanging up on me, the line going silent.

Looking at the phone in shock, I hold onto it with a death grip. The nerve this bitch has is definitely irking me. I'm most certain she knows who I am and this disrespectful behavior is going to get her a slap - a bitch slap for a bitch.

Gritting my teeth, I let out pent up air through my flared nostrils. Usually, this sort of thing wouldn't leave a dent - perhaps I thought we were stronger than that before but now? Now when I can tell he's keeping secrets and lying to me? It's impossible not to question everything, and that doubt is exactly what breeds jealousy, possessiveness and utter hatred for the woman picking up MY MAN's phone.

3rd person POV

The last thing Y/N expected is to come home before Grayson, a little after three past midnight, courtesy of a chain car crash. What she expected less is to have him come up to their penthouse few minutes after with his normally white shirt drenched in blood.

Swallowing thickly, Y/N tried her best not to lose her mind over the sight, walking toward Grayson who looks like a deer caught in headlights. He hoped she'd be asleep by now, giving him a solid chance to hide his extracurricular activities he never wanted her to find out about.

Yet, he can't seem to find it in himself to lie to her. He's not ashamed of who he is or who he was. He's not ashamed of those he killed to protect his loved ones, her included.

She knew who he is when they fell in love. She loved him when he was drenched in blood as much as when he was picture perfect, her prince charming...from a much darker fairytale.

"Doll, I..." Before he could make an excuse or apologize, Y/N interjects, her hands cupping his scruffy, bloodied cheeks, her eyes boring into his bloodshot ones.

"Are you okay?" That's all she cared about. She didn't give a shit whose blood is on him, as long as it isn't his or any other Dolan's.

She's not supposed to condone his behavior, she's not supposed to blindly accept the fact that he made her a promise and he just broke it, yet she wanted him safe more than she wanted to safeguard her beliefs. More than she could focus on the future well being of the heartbeat under hers.

"Yeah." Grayson nods faintly, managing a weak smile for her sake but also in admiration. If it were any other woman, he'd be arguing right now, but it's not. It's Y/N, his doll, his soulmate. She simply takes his hand, as gory as it is and leads him toward the bathroom.

Sitting him down on the toilet, she works on unbuttoning his shirt, peeling it off his perfectly chiseled body. His eyes are fixed on her face and tired eyes, realizing she may not be screaming at him but this - him and his choices are wearing her thin. She's fading and he's doing nothing to help her and that makes his chin tremble, making her glance at his lips.

It would be easy to ignore it, to ignore him, but she couldn't ignore the desire to kiss his plump lips, the very lips that signify both heaven and hell to her.

Grayson stands, his fingers hooking the bottom of her shirt, pulling it off with ease, especially since her hair is up in a fish braid as it always is when she's at work.

Leaning in, his forehead rests upon hers, noses brushing as he waits, giving her a chance to bail, to choose if kissing him now would compromise her sanity. And it would. She knows that her sanity is compromised either way, which is exactly why she kisses him, giving him a hard and needful, so incredibly emotional kiss that it used up every last bit of oxygen in Grayson's lungs and he smiles against her lips because she is the only woman that has ever been capable of making him lose his breath. No one ever came even remotely close until she came into his life and claimed him hers for the rest of his life.

"Take your pants off." She commands, slipping her own off along with her panties in one try, walking into the shower without looking back.

She knew he would obey.

Starting the water, she smiles when she feels his hands on her hips, swiftly turning her back to face him in all his glory.

Her hands gripping his forearms, Y/N uses the chance to pull him under the running water, rubbing the blood off him carefully without making eye contact.

The blood pooled around their feet, making Y/N wonder if this is the rest of her life - consuming passion and cleaning the blood off him, no questions asked because she might not like the answers.

She couldn't deny the lure of darkness, of loving a man who is capable of horrific acts that seems to care for her more than anyone else in the world.

Grayson could see the wheels in her head turning, overthinking as always and once again, it is his fault. So, he does what he always does when he wants her to stop thinking - he slams his lips against hers, his left hand at the back of her neck and right one delicately sliding down her back to grip her ass.

“You’re so perfect.” He whispers against her lips, pushing her back against the cold tiles behind them.

“Really?”

A growl escapes him as if her words anger him. His hands leave her ass and move to her stomach. His lips finding hers in a rough kiss. One of his hands move lower, fingers playfully flicking over her clit before he pushes a finger inside her.

“Really.”

She moans softly at the feeling of his oddly cold fingers in her warm folds. Grayson pushes another finger in and starts moving them in and out at a slow rate.

“Faster”, Y/N moans impatiently, bucking her hips against his hand. Moving his hand faster coaxes soft moans that spill from her lips.

“Tell me what you need”, Grayson smirks, enjoying how easily he can make her his, how even when she should be screaming at him, she’s screaming for him.

‘‘You’’, she responds, her breathing fast, shallow and unpredictably paired with faint gasps that make him shiver with his own need growing.

‘‘Be specific, doll’’, teasing, Grayson slows his fingers down.

‘‘Your dick in my pussy’’, she groans with irritation, gripping his hips as if it would make him stumble into her. Yet, Grayson grins at her and his kisses grow sporadic as his hands grip his length, carefully holstering her up.

Pushing inside, he can’t help but snicker at how wet she is and how easily he fit this time around. He’s loving the ego boost, knowing she craves him with all her being and she’s taking him so well.

However, neither of them can focus too much on anything but the arising orgasms and while Grayson tries to keep a steady rhythm, celebrating every moan and pant passing her glorious lips, he can sense her clenching around him before he’s quite there.

Holding her in place until the aftershock waves pass her body, Grayson litters her neck with tender kisses.

“Let me go.” She orders, her voice a little shaky and while Grayson wanted to hold her a while longer, not even in a sexual manner, he obeys. Assuming she’s leaving, Grayson shuts the water off only to raise his eyebrows when she goes to her knees.

“Didn’t really think I’d leave you high and dry, did you?” Smirking, her hand grabs a hold of his base and slowly sucks the tip into her mouth.

Looking up at the amused man through her eyelashes, she takes more of his hardened length in her mouth. She never really saw the point of blowjobs, especially watching it on porn where it looked like every girl acted as if they’re eating the most delicious treat and would gladly choke on a guy’s dick, but with Grayson, she came to realize it’s not about the act or about it tasting good – it’s about how badly you want the other person to be puddy in your hands, how even a man as powerful as Grayson will resort to begging when she’s edging him to the brink of insanity.

It’s about power, about pleasure and most of all, it’s about love.

“Y/N”, he moans, grabbing her hair before pulling on it. She glances up at him coyly and he grunts, nearly coming because of the mere sight of her.

‘‘Doll’’, Grayson moans, bucking his hips into her mouth.

“I am going to cum”, he warns in an attempt to pull out, letting go of her hair but she holds his hips firmly, allowing him to come into her mouth, swallowing every last drop.

Panting, he stares down at her as she wipes her plump lips, unable to let the moment pass him by. She’s everything he ever wanted. "Marry me." His words make her choke on her own spit, her eyes widening.

"You're asking me while I'm literally on my knees in front of you? Was the orgasm that mind-blowing? Is it because I swallowed?" She continued berating him with a coy smile, taking his hand on her way up, allowing her hands to travel his body with care, teasing him with her fingertips fanning across his skin.

"Ah, maybe?" He chuckles, groaning as her lips connect with his collarbone only to grunt when her teeth come to play and she nibbles on his skin.

Realizing he won't get anywhere with her if she keeps on working him up, Grayson pushed her lightly, enough for her to pout but understand he means business.

"Seriously though. I asked you once and you told me you'd think about it, but can you honestly imagine a day where we aren't together?" And he made perfect sense, she knew that. But ever since she nearly died...more than once, Y/N wasn't sure about anything in her life except Grayson and she loves him, so much so she can't breathe when he's gone for too long but marriage? It still didn't seem like something he wanted nor needed.

If she is being completely honest, she's still scared he's only asking to please her, to make her happy, not because he wants to be a husband, or that he might resent that down the line.

And most of all, she’s terrified of him doing this to cover up he cheated on her. Something she’s been agonizing over that for a while, trying to have some trust in him. He’s earned that much.

"No, I can't imagine a life without you. But that doesn't mean we have to get married, Gray."

Narrowing his eyes suspiciously at her, Grayson scoffs. "You really don't want to marry me, do you doll?"

"I do. But the thing is, are you asking because you can't imagine not marrying me or because you think I won't be with you if you don't? Because that piece of paper means nothing to me if it's pressuring you to do something you aren't comfortable with. I love you too much to do that to you." Holding back some of her concerns, she finally leaves the shower with a little help from the naked specimen before her.

"I'm doing this because I want to marry you, doll. I want to be your husband, to be yours in every possible way."

"Sure you're ready to part with that bachelor title?" She cocked an eyebrow, smirking at him as her hands form a protective circle around him, pulling them closer together.

"I've been ready since I met you."

Maybe telling him she’s pregnant won’t be such a disaster after all.

Watching him run into their bedroom, Y/N follows with a new wave of certainty. He loves her. She loves him. Any of the doubts her mind created are likely due to her insecurities and she was done letting them drive her insane.

For the first time in forever, her mind was clear and she was happy to give her hand to Grayson, watching him slip on the ring officially with no regrets.

“Can we talk though?” Y/N draws a shaky breath, hoping to finally shed some light on the second fear.

“Always.” His comforting reassurance made her smile, but her heart quivers in fear.

“Did you cheat on me with your assistant?” Holding his gaze, she notices a slight shift in his pupil, lips parting.

“No. Kerry works for me. That’s all. Why…Why would you think that?” It’s not the best solution – lie right as he put a ring on her finger, even worse to make her feel guilty for asking, but Grayson panicked and he needed the suspicion gone. All this time, he assumed he was in the clear after Ethan said he lied about it after all, but he never once realized it was eating away at her.

“Maybe because she keeps messing up our lunch dates? Or how when I call I’m suddenly called a frolicking whore or how when she picked up your phone she said you’re busy with her and it didn’t sound like it was work kind of busy and I might be overreacting but I swear that woman makes my blood boil and I want to break her like a twig. You trained me! I could do it!” Rambling, Y/N started to laugh at her own jealousy, especially when she realized she’s arguing while they’re both naked. In fact, they just got engaged naked and if anything, Y/N surely couldn’t ever think they’re normal or boring.

Pulling her closer, Grayson kisses her temple. “I promise Kerry isn’t an issue. I’m devoted to you. So, don’t worry. I’ll deal with her myself.”

But happiness can never last forever. In a week’s time, exactly on the day the pair planned to escape their duties for lunch and longer, Y/N was ready to share the news with Grayson. She was prepared to tell him he’d become a father in about six months or so and she was even more excited to see the confused look on his face when she takes him to the doctor’s with her, allowing him to see the baby and connect the dots himself.

But, that didn’t happen. As always, when one makes plans, destiny sure loves to fuck with them.

"Kerry, can you please let Y/N know I'll be a few minutes late for our lunch date? Just let her into the office." Grayson smiles at his assistant, his eyes bright as they always are when Y/N is on his mind and while he would kill, literally, to be there on time, she's the very reason why he can't do that anymore. He can't be that person and love her at the same time. She deserves better than that. She deserves the man he's trying to be. The man only she brings to the surface - someone he's proud to be.

"Of course." Kerry returns his smile, a little wider, her eyes unblinking as they always are when he's around - filled with emotions Grayson never gave any fuel to. She watched him leave, her grin reduced to a wicked smirk as he disappears behind the corner, just in time for Y/N to arrive.

"Oh, I'm sorry. You don't have an appointment with the boss." Fake pleasantries and smiles never fooled Y/N, though she struggled to understand what exactly made Grayson so certain Kerry isn't an issue.

Ever since she met the snake, well, talked to the snake, Y/N was painfully aware of her attempts to drive a wedge between her and Grayson and the worst part? He's either too daft to see the truth or he's willing to drag her through hell for another woman.

"I don't need an appointment to see my boyfriend…Well, fiancé." Y/N remarks, folding her arms across her chest, glaring at the blonde before her with confidence she's having difficulty maintaining.

Kerry is breathtakingly gorgeous, incredibly well built and perhaps part of the issue stems from the fact that Y/N still can't understand why a man like Grayson would ever settle for her. Because she truly didn't know if someone like Kerry would eventually make him see how plain she truly is.

"Either way, he's not in his office. Something about a lunch date with his new client. Feel free to wait around." Chuckling, Kerry smirked, her words dripping with venom.

"Be more pathetic than you already are. Because in the end, he will come back to me." Clicking her nails against the solid wooden desk before her, Kerry bore a sly smirk, almost victorious once she realized Y/N is clueless and she finally has something to hurt her with.

"He didn't tell you. Did he? How he used to fuck me. Or how he kissed me recently." Raising her eyebrows, expecting tears and maybe even a full breakdown, Kerry wished she could take a picture for gloating.

Y/N stared at her for ten seconds, maybe more, holding her breath in order to hold back her anger, disappointment, and most of all tears. She couldn't afford to show weakness, not even in front of the secretary. Grayson might not be the scariest person in New York anymore but she couldn't allow any trace of emotion show. Perhaps it's all she went through with Mikhail or the Serpents, but she had hardened, her face remaining impassive even in the face of certain death so what is just another woman who plays with her claws.

"That's the key difference." Y/N smiles coldly, stepping closer to the desk with an air of confidence around her - fake it till you make it, she thought.

"He fucked you but he makes love to me." Planting both her palms flat against the desk, leaning closer to the woman who is hell bent on making her relationship crumble and she speaks through gritted teeth: "Get in line bitch, before I make you."

"Ahh, doll! Hope I didn't keep you waiting." Grayson comes up from behind her, placing a hand on the small of her back and she straightens up, faking a smile for Kerry before turning back on her heel, her lips finding Grayson's instinctively.

She let her frustrations free, consuming his lips shamelessly, rather unlike her in public and Grayson knew.

"Tell me you have some time for me?" She whispers against his lips, aware of Kerry's glare at the back of her head. In fact, she hoped the bitch is paying attention because if she has to stake her claim again, she'll need nose surgery. She couldn’t focus on her claims of recent events, but to learn he bedded her destroyed her.

“Actually, you have a meeting in ten.” Kerry interjects but Grayson shakes his head.

"Always have time for my favorite girl. Already took the rest of the day off." And that was an official win in her books, pecking his lips again with genuine enthusiasm.

“Reschedule Kerry. And make sure Ethan calls me back once he’s done…with his current client.” His voice is deep and authoritative, starkly different than when he talks to her. Y/N couldn't help but wonder if he purposefully speaks in a softer tone when he is with her.

Walking off with their arms linked, Grayson decided to ask about the palpable anger once they’re out of the building. So, the moment they found themselves in the limousine Grayson liked to use lately, the gloves were off.

"Want to tell me what that was about? And don't tell me nothing because I could feel you wanted to slap a bitch." Chuckling under this breath, he noticed her lips press together, her eyebrows furrowing and her gentle, warm gaze turned icy, dangerous.

"Your secretary told me you cancelled lunch and then she proceeded to tell me we wouldn't last because she's apparently so fuckable and you know that from experience." Pursing her lips, she could tell he wasn't happy with Kerry and her revelation.

"She's lying. Right?" He swallowed thickly, blinking a little too fast for an innocent man.

Avoiding her gaze, Grayson cursed at the day he took pity and allowed Kerry to be his secretary after closing his gang related business. There was no way around it, his past coming back to haunt him. No matter how hard he tries to run, to hide, it always finds away to ruin his present.

"There was a time we were friends with benefits." Admitting the truth, Grayson could see her horrified expression, the ache it caused.

"Oh my God, WHO HAVEN'T YOU FUCKED?" Grayson once admitted to an array of one night stands, she just never realized she'd be surrounded with them on daily basis.

"I'm seriously asking! How many of them do I see every day and smile kindly at while they discuss how I'll be just another girl on your list?"

"You're not another girl on my list." Grayson interjects, unaware he'd only make it worse.

"Why does she even work for you? She's been nothing but trouble since the day you hired her! She lied about our lunch date, so what else had she fucked up for us?" Shaking her head, Y/N pulls her hair back, feeling suffocated under the weight and warmth it exudes, making her sweat profusely.

"I owe her. Okay? Because when I was recklessly aiming to kill anyone who'd harm you, her brother got murdered as retaliation. Can you not understand that?" Frowning with the memory of his friend's lifeless body, Grayson let out a heavy sigh, one that reminded him of the weight he only ever feels lighten around Y/N. She was usually his cure, a medicine for all that ails him but for the first time since she came into his life, she added onto that weight.

"And that justifies leaving her in a position where she will do anything to break us up? Because if that's so, at least I know your priorities now." Turning away from him, unable to escape while driving in the back of a limousine on the highway, Y/N wished she could jump out and risk it, anything to avoid looking at him or even breathing the same air, but she couldn't. Not with a new life inside her. Not when her worst fears came true – she wasn’t his fiancée because he loves her, but because it’s convenient for him to ease his guilt.

1st person POV

“I’m pregnant.” I admit, deciding to air out all the secrets I’ve been carrying around, all the pain I’ve held inside. If he wants to end it, this is when it happens because even when I tell him news he should react to, all I get is a faint nod.

“I know. Saw the labs in your purse.” And that’s when everything comes barreling down.

Is this why he proposed? Is this why he stays?

“I wanted you to tell me on your own. I found out this morning which is why I took the rest of the day off. Thought we could go up to the garden.” But I couldn’t listen to him anymore nor his lies. The ache in my chest had torn my heart to pieces and I was so tired of holding it together, allowing a single tear to slip past my defenses.

"Grayson, I know." I frown as my voice cracks and he furrows his eyebrows. His hands are close, forming fists. His eyes focus on me, unblinking and empty as if all emotions drained from them when I spoke up, sharing what's eating at me.

"Know what?" His calm, almost political response didn't anger me like I expected, I didn't throw a fit. Instead, I simply shake my head and press my lips together, holding my breath in hope of holding back tears.

"When did you stop loving me?" Speaking is hard, especially with a growing lump at the back of my throat that's making it harder to even breathe.

My words anguish him, terrify and confuse him and I wish I could believe the sudden show of emotion but it's impossibly sad how much I wish I didn't doubt him. I wish I could trust everything he says or does, perhaps I do, but I can't allow myself to immerse in his charming, murky brown eyes again. Not when the uncertainty is gripping every inch of my aching heart.

"I didn't. I love you so, so much! Doll, I love you more than life." He speaks with such conviction, his hands quickly taking mine for reassurance. And it’s romantic and all I needed to hear, yet I can't help but wonder if that's only because I'm pregnant with his child...his heir.

Is that something I'd want for my baby? To live with a target on its back, being groomed to take over an empire their father can't seem to dismantle?

I clear my throat, fixing his fearful gaze with my softer one. "Never love anything more than life." Unless it's our baby. Love our baby more than your empire if you can't love me as much, I think but don’t say.

Wanting to do the right thing is far from doing it.

"Why did you kiss her?" I finally clarify my initial statement, because now I know and no matter what the goal was...I know and there's no going back.

"I didn't want to.” Grayson tries to clarify before I can get another word in, almost pissed I’d ever doubt him. But how can I not. How can I just ignore the signs?

“She kissed me. I pushed her off. I did everything right!" Raising his voice makes me flinch and I hate that. I hate how easily I submit when someone raises their voice and he knows that. He’s aware that’s why we talk and not yell at each other, but emotions are running high and I’m praying he’s not doing this on purpose.

"That's not the point, Grayson! The point is…why did she feel so comfortable to get so intimate? Why would she think you'd kiss her back?!" Folding my arms across my lower stomach, I try to ignore the slight ache spreading inside.

It’s impossible not to worry about the baby, if this argument is something that will cause an unfortunate event and I draw a deep breath, looking at Grayson who is shaking his head as if I’ve asked the most ridiculous question in the world, but I’ve gotten to him. His pause is simply because he is out of excuses.

"Because she's a psychopath? How should I know?! Doll, I love you."

"Don't fucking call me that!" I snap, wiping my chin to clear the spit that escaped me when the anger burst and if I could, I’d have hurt him in that moment too. I’d show him my wounds, but I stop, trying to compose myself.

Not only is my fiancé lying to me, but he’s had his brother help him cover up his deeds as well.

"Don't push me away. Don't use your insecurities as excuses to push me away and break us apart. We're supposed to be happy! Engaged and expecting!"

The audacity!

"Well, I'm not the one who lied. I’m not the one throwing your flaws in your face. Had you told me the truth or at least tried to nip it in the bud, I'd be fine with it. But you felt the need to lie, to force Ethan of all people to support your lies and I... there must have been a reason for that. You're keeping things from me and I thought it was my fault and this is the second time you've made me feel guilty for the issues that stem from your inability to communicate like a normal human being and I'm so fucking tired of it. I'm fucking tired of picking up the pieces every time shit goes down because you believe you're blameless." Looking away, I bite my lip and for a moment I wonder if I went too far. But I did mean it. All our issues come from his secrecy and lack of communication and it’s impossible not to wonder if it comes from a lack of trust too.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. It was never my intention to make you feel like that." Reaching for my hand, he sighs when I move it away, disgusted with him at this point.

"Does that actually matter when the result is pain? Fuck, Grayson, I thought you said it would be different now. I thought I'd be your priority for once, but it remains a verba, not res thing."

I can hardly stomach his presence, let alone touch and the pain in my stomach isn’t letting up.

“Gah!” I scream out, the sudden sharp pain making my defenses fall, revealing the vulnerability beneath as I grasp his hand, desperate to have him close.

No matter how much pain he causes, I still look to him for a cure. How fucked up is that?

"Are you okay?" His free hand braces me, holding me as if I’m made of porcelain, not steel.

"I feel like I'll be sick." I mutter, cold sweat running at the back of my neck and forehead, my hands shaking as they grip his as if he would save me. As if he would make it all better.

Shortage of breath is the first sign my pain has caused a panic inside, the thought of harm coming to the baby draining every bit of sanity I’ve got left. I'm breathing but the air just won't go in, like my lungs are caged birds. Next comes the rising panic I wanted to avoid, the dizzy feeling and the need to get low to the ground.

“Breathe.” Grayson whispers and I soon feel the car stop, the door opening and our driver giving me a look of pity – the kind I hated most of all.

"I'll help you out." Grayson all but carried me out, allowing my feet to touch the ground simply to save my pride, probably afraid I’d make him let me go if he tried anything more. Perhaps I would if the pain and panic didn’t blind me entirely, leaving me gasping, my mind spiraling as I look down in fear of what I might find. Noticing no blood, I manage a faint smile and tilt my head up to meet his dazzling, warm eyes.

Damn those eyes I love so much.

Swallowing my pride, I decide to thank him as the pain gradually subsides. Holding me close, keeping my heart beating, Grayson had managed to calm me down, my breathing synchronized with his and I realize my blood pressure must have skyrocketed during the argument and it must have caused pain.

"Tha –“, but I don’t get to say it. Not when a deafening sound of gunshots leaves me breathless. It takes me a moment to fully understand what is happening, the screams around me fading to nothingness as Grayson spins us around, his arms firmly around me as if they’re my armor.

Gasping for air, I feel the arms around me loosen, a loud thud following and the warmth disappears only for horror to take its place.

“GRAYSON!"

3rd person POV

Y/N’s scream rippled through the street, the raw intensity of her fear cracking the heart of any human close enough to hear. She falls to her knees, helpless as her fingers grip his white shirt lacking evidence any harm came to him.

Her eyes lay upon his, desperately searching for signs of life and while the driver dials 911, Y/N needed someone else. She needed Ethan but she couldn’t move, her entire body shaking violently.

“Doll”, Grayson breathes out and she no longer remembers the anger in which she told him to forget that nickname. It’s a distant memory as she sobs, her vision blurred with tears. His hand clutches her right one, forcing a smile to ease her mind but even he knows that’s impossible at this point.

“It’s – It’s”, a cough interrupts his need to comfort her, yet she knew exactly what he wants to tell her. She knows exactly what he means and it only breaks her further, especially when she notices the blood pooling under her knees – his blood – the blood he needs to survive. And she’s practically a doctor, she’s supposed to help him, but she can’t – there’s nothing she can do. She can’t even move him.

“It’s not fine! None of this is fine!” Inadvertently screaming, she wipes her left cheek with the back of her hand, pissed and so, so in love with him for trying to calm her down and give her some hope and while she can hear the sirens in the distance, he is fading right before her eyes and the terror of a thought invaded her mind – he will die.

“I don’t want to live without you. Grayson, we have so much more to do and I…I’m so sorry I didn’t accept your proposal the first time you asked!” Her voice cracks, forcing her to stop and swallow for a moment, long enough to catch a crooked smile on his quivering lips.

“I’m so angry at you Grayson Dolan! You don’t get to die if it’s not by my hand! Do you understand that?!” Squeezing her hand, Grayson’s lips part with intent to tell her he understands.

He wanted to tell her he loves her and always will and that she will never be alone even if he doesn’t survive. For the first time ever, Grayson looked up at Y/N with fear because he knew whoever did this to him was aiming for his girl and the baby inside her. Grayson Dolan, the Hellhound, the man who fears nothing found himself frozen in fear as his Y/N stood above him, almost hysterical. And he couldn’t do a damn thing. He couldn’t do more than he already did – save her.

He couldn’t hold her and make her tears dry and he couldn’t manage his last I love you nor a meek smile.

What he could do is imagine if she would be happier if he just let her go when he had the chance?

If he never came back into her life once she walked out that door?

She made him happier he had ever been, but did he do the same for her or is the danger he put her in by loving her worth it? She could have done all the things she wanted to without him holding her back and yet she stayed. She stayed and loved him so well he actually saw a future past the life he was born into.

She’d be happy without him, he knew it. Maybe happier than she ever was with him, but he was too selfish to allow it, too possessive to imagine another man’s hands upon her.

She isn’t happy now, he’s certain of it. The tears in her eyes tell him that and all he wishes is to take back what he said in the limo, to remind her how they were and not their last day of screaming…of blur.

Eyelids growing heavy, Grayson’s smile fades, praying she find happiness she deserves once more.

All that he kept thinking throughout their whole flight is it could take his whole damn life to make it right because he knew he had wronged her. They had gotten through so much worse than this before and he wondered what's so different this time that she just can't ignore? He could see her saying it is much more than just his last mistake and had the pain nor this shooting happened she’d have asked for some time apart for both their sakes.

And Grayson doesn't know where to look, his sight fading. His words just break and melt, there’s not enough time to ask for forgiveness. There is never enough time and he prays, for the first time in a long time, he prays for someone to save him from this darkness. All he needs is one more moment to make things right, for his last words to be of love and not a fight.

Closing his eyes, he feels his shoulders are shaking with force, realizing it’s Y/N and her attempt to keep him awake but he can’t do it, he can’t open his eyes. He can’t even hear her anymore, but he senses her hands on his face, the olive hand cream he bought her invading his senses and he’s grateful – he’s in the arms of the one he loves most – not a bad way to go for a man with his past.

“Grayson?” Y/N croaks, shaking him once more before her shaky hands grip his cheeks and her tears fall down on him as well.

She’s gasping for air that simply isn’t there. Her throat burns, forming a silent scream. The pressure inside her chest pushes forth, releasing the most hysterical cry, the screaming sobs only interrupted by her need to draw breath.

It’s a deep, primal sound, one humans are programmed not to ignore. Those who hid previously finally continued on their way, turning their heads toward Y/N, some of them even filming the scene. Caught between an impulse to help and another to stay out of bother, some simply looking for something to gather followers on Twitter, people gathered around them.

But whatever they chose their day had been altered. To be so close to such pain changes a person, even just temporarily. Their own pains come a little closer to the surface; their empathy is triggered.

Y/N can’t remember when the ambulance came, still checking his pulse – the only part of this keeping her breathing. His pulse is faint, but it’s there and she selfishly thought it’s her man fighting to stay with her.

For her.

She stepped away as they dragged him away from her, as if she wasn’t even there. Stepping up into the vehicle, she sat beside him and grabbed a hold of his hand, struggling to keep herself afloat. His hand is cold, something she never once felt in all the time she knew him and it only deepens her emotional breakdown.

It was all happening so fast, she couldn’t keep up. They got to the hospital rather quickly, taking him away from her without even giving her a chance to kiss him one more time.

Just in case.

She shakes her head at that thought, refusing to think so negatively at a time where Grayson needed hope. She needed hope too.

Pulling her phone out, she calls the one person she knew could give her some.

“Ethan?” Her hoarse voice is a dead giveaway something happened all while Ethan was in much bigger shit, blood up to his elbows after executing the last man they captured after procuring vital information.

“Who died?” It’s all he can say, realizing the answer may just kill him. He was calling Grayson minutes ago to tell him of a shooting they planned to kill Y/N in order to break him and he didn’t pick up. Shivers run down his spine as Y/N’s pause chips away what sanity he has. And it’s not much at this point.

“I need you.”

Ethan didn't think, grabbing his gun and jacket, his heart sinking at the sound of her voice. "Tell me where you are."

His assistant jumped as he barreled through the hallway, blood still fresh on his hands, a telltale sign he's losing his mind and someone might suffer for it.

"Where do you think you're going like that?" She hissed, stepping in his way confidently, refusing to buckle under his ruthless glare.

"Move." Ethan growls, his jaw clenching and his lips pressing together. He's furious, but he doesn't scare her. So, instead of moving away, she moves in, her arms wrapping around his tense body, ignoring the fact he's not returning the hug. Instead, she takes a whiff of his cologne, comforting herself since he didn't allow her to comfort him.

"I'm coming with you." Is all she says, taking her bag and his hand firmly, disallowing his near attempt at pushing her away. After months of caring for him and catering to all his needs, Selena wasn't about to abandon him when it counts the most.

Ethan wanted to thank her, to say he appreciates her kindness but the lump in his throat is too big and he fears speaking would make him crumble and he can't afford to be weak now. He can't break when he has to be the rock. So, instead of saying a word, Ethan grips her hand tighter and leads her into the company car, deciding it's best if he doesn't drive.

"Take me to the hospital." He orders the driver, turning to Selena with uncertainty in his eyes. She's trembling, he can tell, yet she's there with him - no questions asked.

Better yet, she's opening her bag and grabbing wet wipes, rubbing the blood off him meticulously to hide his crimes instead of reporting him and he never understood why Grayson was so keen on protecting Y/N before.

Truth be told, he loves Y/N like a sister and he can't imagine not having her in his life, but he finally realized the reason why Grayson loves Y/N, as selfish as that emotion is in their line of work.

Everyone needs someone to lean on and Ethan never expected to find someone he wanted as much as Selena, but in that moment he thanked his lucky stars he did. He wanted to kiss her like the moon does sea, weightless with the ability to move the deepest parts of her soul.

Ethan no longer wanted only sex and companionship, he wanted romance and vulnerability.

A faint smile appears on his lips as he shakes his head at the crazy thoughts plaguing him. Getting shot isn't always a bad thing, is it?

But reality isn't going anywhere and it weighs on him heavily.

"It's Grayson. It was a drive by shooting." Ethan tells her, noticing her pause in shock, unable to look in his eyes.

Selena lets out a shaky breath, glancing up at the tormented expression on Ethan's face and she can't help the tears forming in her eyes.

She knows Y/N and she knows Grayson and if they hadn't hired her when they did, she wasn't sure what her life would be now. She liked them, enough to make her heart ache but what made her cry is Ethan - if he hurts so does she.

And while she never thought of herself as a violent person, she discovered there is a lot more she doesn't know about herself in the past few months. Seems like Ethan is a man who is allowing her to reach into the depths of her very being, finally in tune with her own soul. So, before she comprehends it, she speaks with no remorse.

"Kill the bastard who did it."

Nodding, Ethan cracks a pained smile. "I intend to."

"Sir, we're here." The driver pipes in, ending the moment they shared effectively. Ethan had just gotten his hands clean but as he stepped out of the car, he could already tell his hands would be bloody yet again.

He didn't wait for Selena, making great strides toward the emergency room with his mind screaming at the possibility of what he might find.

He couldn't breathe until his eyes find Y/N, swallowing thickly as he sees the state she's in. Her hands are folded in her lap, bloody as are her legs. There is no light in her once bright eyes, the dash of spring her usual smile brings now turned into a harsh winter chilling everyone who dares glance at her.

Black tracks on her cheeks are constantly watering down with new streaks her unyielding, sorrowful tears create. And it breaks his heart to see her so lost, so beaten down that he can't help but remember the last time he saw her in that state - the day she rushed into his arms when Mikhail was killed and that was after a long while of torture.

This seemed worse.

Much worse.

"Y/N." His voice is deep, low, as if speaking in any other way would be disrespectful, as if her pain matters more than his.

Looking up at him, Y/N's eyebrows furrow and her eyes narrow, almost as if she can't believe Ethan is there...little did he know her mind played a trick on her and the light above his head nearly made her believe Grayson had come for her.

Standing up with the last atom of her strength, Y/N throws her arms around Ethan, holding him so tight he could have sworn she wanted to kill him. But she didn't.

She closed her eyes and pretended. She pretended it was Grayson, just for a moment. She couldn't cry anymore, not in heartbreaking sobs like she did when it first happened; the tears fell silently and her lips quivered on their own.

"He thinks I hate him." She whispers, her voice raspy and emotional, putting more weight on Ethan's shoulders. "We were arguing before it happened and", letting go of Ethan, she takes a step back only then noticing Selena behind Ethan.

Glancing at Ethan, she pressed her lips together, drawing a shuddered breath.

"If there is one thing I know it's that he loves you and he doesn't doubt your love either. He'd die for you." Ethan places his hands on her shoulders, bending enough to force eye contact she avoided as if she is ashamed of what Selena heard.

But Ethan's words rattle her, only reminding her when Grayson told her he loves her more than life. She warned him not to say that. It was heartfelt, she knew that and today she saw he truly meant it.

"And that's exactly what he did today. I want to believe, E...I want to so bad but...this was different than the first time. This was different than you." Holding her breath, Y/N felt a wave of desperation flood her and her eyes brought forth faster, anguished tears that drew their force from the very essence of her pain, so much so they don't fall but crash.

"I want to know who is responsible. I want them dead." Y/N's eyes harden as she spat hate, anger taking over as her hands form fists and Ethan could see she's out for blood. He wants to act too, he does. But she can't be a part of it.

The last thing Grayson would want is his sweet Y/N getting her hands dirty.

"I'll take care of it. I already know who it is." Ethan assures her, meaning well but all it does is set her soul aflame.

"We will take care of it. This is personal."

"No, no, no. Stay here and I'll come back when it's done. I promise." Ethan insists, pushing her back when she chuckles dryly, trying to pass him as if Selena knew the information she needed, as if she could do this herself.

Speaking though gritted teeth, Y/N stepped closer. "You can take me with you or I can follow you. Really wanna risk that?"

Licking his lips, Ethan couldn’t help but roll his eyes at her stubbornness. He’s heard how it usually troubled his brother but being confronted with it wasn’t exactly a picnic.

Her eyes are red and puffy but the determination in her eyes honestly scared him. Y/N isn’t bluffing and he had no possible way of controlling her decisions. If Grayson couldn’t, how could he?

Sighing in exasperation, Ethan rubs his chin, aware this is happening and he can’t escape. Well, he could, but it would include using force and Grayson would kill him if he even tried. Hell, he’d kick his ass just for considering it even if it was just a thought.

“Selena, can you please stay and keep us informed?” Ethan glances over his shoulder at the sweet brunette, smiling when she nods. He wished to hold her, even for just a moment but the last thing he needs is Y/N telling Grayson about them after all this is done, and it would be – Grayson would live to yell at him for inappropriate work relationships again. He knew it in his heart.

“I’ll call the boys to pick up the guilty party. Let’s go.” Y/N had to run to keep up with his stride, annoyed but unwilling to nag him when he’d given her the best possible gift – revenge.

Sitting in that waiting room would have drained her entirely, the guilt eating away at her. Y/N needed to do something to forget about Grayson’s current state, to ignore the fear’s iron grip.

The drive to their usual warehouse was longer from this side of the city, giving Y/N plenty time to think. Too much time.

It didn’t take long before her mind began to remember all the things she loved and hated about Grayson.

Ever since they moved into the penthouse, she absolutely hated his habit of spending all the hot water and forgetting to warn her about it. She hated how often he’d keep her up snoring and even more how he loved to frighten her when she’d come home from a night shift. It was a constant battle to teach him to wash the dishes properly and not just throw them away saying he’d buy new ones. Same thing applies to his clothes. She also hated how meticulous he was about the way his clothes were to be folded and especially about the way he’d insist the thermostat is supposed to be.

But there are so many things she loved about him too. She loved how sweet he is, how he’d cuddle her every day even when she was too shy to ask. He’d just know she needs it and his arms would already be around her. She also loved how he’d cut up fruit for her because he knew how she loves to snack on it, or how he’d leave her hearts on the mirror every time he’d finish his showers only for her to discover them after he’d gone to work. She adored how much thought he’d put in every word, every touch, every single gift he’d given her including his unwilling attainment of a singular hoodie for them to have a sense of normalcy. And most of all, she loved how he dismantled his gang related business just to make sure they have a bright future together.

Smiling, she realized every single action he does is to make her feel safe and loved. It’s his way of telling her he loves her without a single word passing his tender lips.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she hated herself with such ferocity over her last words spoken to him in undiluted anger. Their last interaction should have been filled with love not rage.

She never quite realized it before, but she was always his greatest achievement, the one he was proud of the most and now when they were inches from their happily ever after, from becoming a real family, they took him away from her – they ripped her heart out and she wanted to repay the favor.

“If something happens to me, you’d protect her, right?” Grayson tilts his head, hoping his brother would give him some sign he’d make sure his doll would be safe even if one of his enemies take him out. He’s tried to retire and forget the world he was born into but to do so isn’t up to him. It took him a while to understand that he will never truly be retired.

Even if he isn’t a criminal anymore, they still remember him and he’s still the symbol of the undefeated gang – The house of the rising sun ruled over New York for decades and many wanted to dethrone them, unfortunately that is possible only through slaughter.

“I would. She’s like a sister to me. I’d never let any harm come to her.” Ethan responds, not even thinking about it. It’s true, his affection for Y/N is strong and platonic.

“Promise me.” Grayson demands softly, aware he shouldn’t be distrustful toward his twin but he couldn’t help but be irrational when it’s Y/N’s life at stake.

All the signs and latest assassins have made him paranoid, spending so much of his time making sure none of them ever get close to Y/N and he wasn’t sorry.

When Y/N is at stake, he’d let blood run until there’s a river flowing through the streets. She’s his weakness and yet the reason why he remains Hellhound to any with intent of using her against him.

Those who tried are all dead now.

Ethan understood, though, willing to make his brother a vow. “I promise.”

He didn’t feel like he’s upholding his promise anymore. It felt like he broke it before his brother had even died, even more when he saw Y/N reach for a gun in her purse.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Ethan gave her an incredulous look, nearly having a stroke when he saw her take the safety off.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Her impassive response only made him more anxious and he couldn’t ignore it anymore.

“I thought he bought you a taser not a fucking gun!” Shouting, he tried to pry the gun from her hands but he found resistance.

“He did. But I took his.” Pulling away from Ethan, she rolls her eyes at his paled face.

“He thought me how to use this as well how to fight. I’m not a damsel in distress and I’m done waiting for someone to protect me and the baby.” Opening the door, she stepped out swiftly, setting off to where Grayson once took her. Granted, he took her against his will because she demanded to know everything.

“BABY?!” Ethan’s gruff scream had made her stop, waving him over to quicken his pace.

“Yeah. Congrats on being an uncle. Well, you’re not one yet but you will be.” She chuckles and Ethan can’t help but wonder if she’s completely mad at this point.

There’s one thing to put her in danger but the baby too?

Grayson will surely kill him when he finds out.

“You’re going to get me killed.” Ethan complains as she opens the door and is found face to face with three people, all tied up and gagged. Two men she had never seen in her life and a woman.

“Fucking Kerry.” Y/N spat, walking over to her, backhanding her without remorse.

Kerry seems almost amused as she shoots Y/N a wink only sending her into a fit of rage. “You fucking bitch!”

No one dared to hold her back as Y/N screamed, throwing punch after punch, not even when Kerry’s nose was clearly broken and bleeding and Y/N’s raw knuckles weren’t much better.

Ethan grabbed a hold of her, pulling her arms behind her back seemingly the easiest way to stop her without harming her or the baby.

“I will fucking kill you!” Y/N screamed as Ethan dragged her out and away from the situation. Before the door closed, Y/N could hear three distinctive gunshots. It only made it worse.

Ethan didn’t care if she hated him, he protected her as he promised his twin. Rage often makes us do what we regret when our mind is clear once again and he knew she’d regret it eventually. Killing is never easy and someone as pure as her would be haunted by it as he and Grayson are.

“WHY?! I WANTED TO DO IT!” Her venom turned to tears and before Ethan knew it, her body shook with new sobs breaking through the surface. “I can’t do this without him, E. I can’t!” She wailed, allowing Ethan to carry her back into the car.

He cradled her like a child, holding her close, his own tears showing. They truly understood one another, their pain is the same. “Shh.” Ethan whispered, worried about the baby and the stress this day had brought. “You won’t have to. My brother is nothing if not stubborn. He won’t leave us yet.”

The two returned to the hospital, neither capable of speaking anymore. There’s nothing to say anymore, nothing to do, just wait.

“He’s out of surgery but we won’t be able to see him for a few more hours until he’s stable.” Selena explains, only then receiving a hug she craved for the entire day. Ethan’s chest had become home for her and it felt indescribably good to be home again.

Y/N watched with envy, wondering when will she be able to return to her safe place. “Can I at least see him through the glass?” Y/N pipes in, weary of interrupting them in a moment they both needed. She was happy for Ethan but she couldn’t help but be bitter about her own unhappiness.

“I’ll make it happen.” Selena promised, ducking out of there quickly, a woman on a mission and she never fails.

“You lied to me.” Y/N accuses, her tired eyes giving him a bleak look of disappointment but there is no more anger left inside her. She’s desolated and the only one who would ever make it better is unconscious in a hospital bed.

“About Kerry.” She clarifies as confusion settles. “I asked you if he was cheating and he told me they kissed…Well, she kissed him. It was obviously a ploy to separate us.” Y/N musses, fixing Ethan with her gaze and he shifts uncomfortably, feeling as if he had let her down.

“I know. I saw it happen and Grayson explained. I thought the pain would be unnecessary. Besides, her motive was to break him. She admitted it to our men who took her. She wanted him to lose you, me, the company…everything before she could kill him herself. She blamed you…and him for what happened to her brother.” Ethan explains, taking her hand in his for comfort she so desperately needs but she shies away.

“It wasn’t. Anyone’s fault, I mean. Her brother knew what he was getting himself into when he joined us and Grayson avenged his death. She used their history and her brother’s death to manipulate Grayson who is drowning in guilt, but he loves you Y/N. He’d never cheat on you.”

“I know.” She manages a meek smile, averting her eyes toward the door they took him through – the door that took him away from her.

“I lost sight of it along the way, allowed that psycho to get in my head and I’m just dreading losing him now. It’s always been my worst fear…to have him choose another or lose him to death…I guess I really need to start working on my insecurities and believe in him more.” Shrugging, she glances at Ethan who nods, ecstatic she isn’t holding his lie against him.

“But you can’t lie to me like that again, E. I love you like a brother, but lying isn’t something I enjoy. Not about the psycho bitches kissing my man and not about the obvious issues regarding his past. He’s always gonna be haunted by them, won’t he?” She tilts her head to the right, sucking her bottom lips in and Ethan realizes she’s right – it’s more dangerous if she doesn’t know.

“Yes. I don’t think we’ll ever truly be rid of them. But it isn’t as bad as it seems. Not many dare come after him and those who did have all died. I expect a long while before there’s another issue. But when it comes, we will deal with it. I promise you.”

Sniffling, Y/N offers a crooked smile in gratitude though her words are borderline sarcastic. “My heroes.”

“You can see him. Go through there and they’ll take you to him. Just gotta put on those clothes, you know that better than me.” Selena’s words are like rain after months of draught and Y/N’s legs move quickly, nearly stumbling as she rushes toward the door.

1st Person POV

Shaky legs, trembling hands, I try my best not to cry as I follow a nurse on the way to where my heart lies. It’s impossible to keep my head up high anymore, this had defeated me – today had nearly killed me.

Resting a hand on my lower abdomen, I draw a quick breath to keep my mind clear, as clear as it can be considering the circumstances. What I’m certain of is that today had the power to break me yet I’m still standing and he…he’s still breathing.

Putting on the cap and gown, I’m fast to enter his room despite what I’ve been told. No one could keep me away from him in this moment, not even death.

His skin is ashen, far too pale in comparison to his usual tan. The eyes I love so much are closed shut and while he’s not dependent on a breathing tube, his state is shocking. The ever-present smirk is gone from his lips, no more teasing or sass leaving them and that’s probably the scariest part of it all – he’s quiet, eerily so.

When we first met, Grayson was a man of few words but when he gave me his heart, his trust and undying loyalty, Grayson never really shut up and while I used to be annoyed with his incredibly long stories while I was trying to study, I’d trade everything to hear them again.

"Thank you for saving me." I murmur, delicately placing my hand on his cheek, terrified it would somehow hurt him. But it doesn’t, in fact, Grayson’s eyelids flicker, his struggle to open his eyes taking my breath away.

"It's nothing." Grayson sighs; his voice raspy, his face twisting in agony as he attempts to move his hand to encase mine.

"You could have died! It’s not nothing, Grayson! Kerry could have killed us and you protected me. You kept me safe. " Helping him, I take his hand and give it a light squeeze, the one that ensured he knew how much he means to me. He manages to open his eyes, his gaze longing and sweet, no anger about Kerry or our argument from before reflecting in his brown hues.

Grayson's lips twitch as if a smile would hurt him but he wanted to try for my sake. It's as if he found my words to be ridiculous. "Dying to save the woman I love? My child? There are worse ways to go, doll. It's the most honest thing I have done in my entire life. But next time you warn me about someone, I’ll believe you."

Turning his head so his lips would press a tender kiss upon my palm, Grayson lets out a heavy sigh. "I'd have done it a thousand times over if I had to. You mean more to me than I can say, especially with morphine making me question what's real and what's a dream."

Licking his dry lips, he succeeds and smirks. "Sometimes I worry you're just a dream. You're far too good for me."

Chin quivering, I shake my head and lean in. Resting my forehead on his as gently as possible, my nose brushing his cheek, I feel my heart clench in wake of his words. I've always felt he's too good for me, but never had it crossed my mind he might feel that he's unworthy of me.

I love him very much. More than I can trust myself to say. More than words have the power to express.

“Never. We’re just right for one another.” My whisper brings about a goofy smile on his face and I can’t help but reciprocate, holding back tears I know would only weigh on him.

“Soulmates.” He speaks as his eyes close again.

“I guess you could call it that.” I nod, chuckling, receiving no response. I lean back with a fond smile, realizing he’d fallen asleep again, his relaxed smile remaining put. “Sweet dreams, handsome.”

Grayson’s recovery had certainly been difficult, especially when I once again imposed the ‘no sex’ rule until his wounds healed. “This really isn’t fair.” He’d argue but even if I did desire him, I wasn’t as easy to break.

Another thing that bothered him greatly is being unable to return to work. Ethan had taken over the business for a while, allowing me to confiscate Grayson’s work phone thus ensuring he’d take it easy for a while. However, I soon realized Ethan had a hidden motive for doing that as it protected his secret as well. Unlucky for him, one moment in the same room with him and Selena and Grayson was up to speed.

“You’re fucking your assistant, aren’t you asshole?” Grayson whisper shouts, using the first alone moment with Ethan to chew him out.

“Literally not the bigger issue here.” Ethan chuckles, watching Grayson’s face turn red and that vein on his forehead appear only signifying his frustration.

Trying to sit up, Grayson swings at Ethan in hopes of catching him and pulling him closer to do some actual damage but Ethan maneuvers around his attempt easily.

“No fighting and no getting up!” I reprimand him from outside the room, not even pretending I’m not listening in. I mean, can you blame me?

“THIS IS THE THIRD ONE IN A ROW!” Grayson growls, already seeing the headlines once a reporter catches a whiff of the story and oh the lawsuit that would follow that could bankrupt them wasn’t far in his mind either.

“At least I didn’t impregnate anyone!” Ethan retaliates and I can’t help but pipe in, slightly offended.

“HEY!”

“Sorry sis, I’m still happy for ya!” Ethan’s apology makes me smile but it also makes me walk into the room with my arms crossed.

“He’s obviously serious about Selena and from the way she handled everything that day, I’m rooting for them. So stop being a grumpy old man and start be encouraging. Love love Gray.”

Needless to say he pouted for a few days for taking Ethan’s side in the argument, but he was still the cuddliest human being on the planet. I didn’t really mind. It had given us plenty time to genuinely talk and revise what we’ve gone through and for once, neither of us had any reservations about our future.

“I never really imagined myself having kids.” Grayson admits, quietly as if it’s a sin as he lays on my chest, my fingers threading through his hair. “I mean; this life we have now is…let’s just say the old me would never believe it’s real. I still struggle believing in it.” His hand moves down to my stomach, rubbing soothing circles over my shirt.

Smiling, I pull his hand lower where the uterus is, causing him to chuckle in the process. “I hope our baby gets your brain.” He whispers, warming my heart.

“I hope she gets your eyes.” I add and in seconds, he lifts his head and looks at me with a confused look on his face.

“She?” He questions and I shrug, running my knuckle along his sharp jaw fondly.

“Just a feeling. You’re gonna have one tough girl on your hands.” I respond, enjoying the way he pales this time around.

“I can barely handle one of you. Oh, God.” Plopping his head between my boobs, he groans once more before pulling himself up and beside me. “I love you, but I’m not sure I’ll survive this fatherhood thing.”

“You ran a gang, you still run a company. You’ll do just fine you big baby.” I remark, earning an earnest cackle.

“You’re badass. More badass than me from what I’ve heard. A force to be reckoned with. Untamed, nothing but flames.” Raising his eyebrow, Grayson leans in, his eyes undeniably set on mine wishing to lean upon them with passion and fierceness.

“Thought you liked me being innocent and all that.” I roll my eyes, dragging my tongue across my lips as if to lure him in and I can tell it’s working, his gulp and dark, piercing gaze speaks volume of it.

“I supposed I was wrong. I still love all of you – innocent and ferocious. A perfect combination.” And with that, his lips meet mine and I’m in heaven once more. The happiness Grayson invokes is infectious.

It starts as a tingle in my fingers and toes, a lot like the feeling I get when I'm anxious, but instead of worry it brings forth warmth. I feel it pass through me like a warm ocean wave, washing away the stress of my days to leave me refreshed inside. As the wave fades I savor the memory of its gentle touch. The feeling is a blissful evocation of time spent with Grayson on the beach when he whisked me away to Hawaii and we dared to dream how we’d could run away and forever be as carefree.

How I loved those days when we walked on the sand and simply talked, laughed and made silly jokes as well as the long, fiery nights filled with nothing but intimacy and pleasure. But they can continue here as well, our love can remain as strong as it was back then.

There will always be another who wants to take the crown of the Hellhound – the king of New York and I was afraid. I was terrified.

Not anymore.

Grayson is no longer the only one with a taste for blood and God help those who try to harm my family.

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