#who is whipped for his girlfriend and eternally confused about her interests

[bakubowwow]

Incredible how this singular interaction was all it took to break the dam of ogasawara’s bl-related insecurity. The boy was overflowing with it in every panel we saw him after this. He was keeping it all pent up and one discussion with sasaki was all it took for him to let the demons in his brain take over.

He’s such a tortured lil dork I love him.

[shoutogepi]

As Long as You’re Safe

Bakugou Katsuki

word count : 2.1k smol boi (blurb!)

[ ☁︎, ☀︎ ]  

themes : Soooo not really sure what to call this?? Kinda angst?? But super fluff ending :3

blurb : They are fighting a villain who has the ability to see into their opponent’s memories, and also convey scenarios and images into their opponent’s mind, making them feel like real life. The villain accesses their memories of you, and realizes that that is a very weak spot.

author’s note : idk i felt like I needed a fluff sponge to clean up that nasty first post haha so heres my best janitorial work!

    ─── ・°* ﾟ✧:* • ｡ﾟ:*･☽･*: ｡ﾟ•*:✧ ﾟ*°・ ───

🅃he air whipped past Bakugou’s face, eyes turning into venomous slits as he finally was able to see the villain he had been called in to handle. He had been on patrol on the other side of the area, but when his sidekick didn’t respond to his messages, a gut feeling had urged him to come as backup. The agency had called when he was already halfway there, confirming his suspicion.

This was the guy? Tch. Bakugou snarled at the thought of this wimp being able to beat, well, anyone. The guy was slender and looked like he had almost no muscle or body fat. But he had to have a good quirk if he had taken out a handful of people already, so Bakugou regarded him with careful contempt. The explosions in his palms stopped as he fell from the third story of the building he’d been perched on, hurtling toward the ground.

“Hey asshole,” Bakugou yelled as his boots touched the pavement of the sidewalk. He stretched his palms in a wicked manner, cracking his neck in a swift motion.

The villain turned, a look of disgruntled annoyance simmering to the surface of his face. A malicious smile overtook his thin lips, and a glint in his eye made Bakugou growl. The man faced him directly now, and the terrified pedestrian he had been toying with sobbed as they ran towards the safety of the crowd gathering a respectable distance away. Bakugou grimaced as he noticed the limp body of his sidekick, sat up against one of the storefront’s flower barrels with closed eyes and a pained expression. From just a glance, he could tell they were alive… but they probably didn’t feel too great.

“Ground Zero,” the spindly man smiled, but to Bakugou it looked more like he was baring his teeth like a rabid dog. “How nice of you to grace me with your presence! I didn’t know little old me could pull in a top hero.”

Bakugou barked a short laugh. “You only got me ‘cause of sheer luck, dumbass. I have no clue who you think you are, but you’re about to be very well acquainted,” he paused, rolling his right wrist for dramatic effect,” with my fists.” 

He expected a range of reactions from the villain. He had been doing this pro-hero gig for awhile now, so he’d learned the ropes-- and this guy didn’t seem like the type to have an ass-whooping quirk, so he could most likely afford to physically attack.

“Now that is an interesting game plan, Bakugou,” the villain stated, voice dripping with rancor. His words shocked Bakugou for a moment, and just as a thought formed in his mind, the slender man vocalized it. “Oh shit, this fucker can read me like a book,” the man paused, an amused smile on his face,” wow, you have quite a way with words.”

“Tch. I don’t care if you’re in my head asswipe, ‘cause your skull is about to be crushed into the ground,” Bakugou replied, foot planting behind himself and getting ready to pounce.

“Hmm, are you sure? Will you treat me roughly?” the man continues seamlessly, making Bakugou’s eyes widen in confusion. Treat him rough? Who the hell does this guy think he is? Was he hitting on him? The villain’s smile only broadened, the sneer on his mouth flushing Bakugou’s stomach with dread. “At least, as rough as your girlfriend likes it?”

Bakugou’s mouth dried at his words, body stuttering as he processed the them. Why the fuck was this freak talking about Y/N?

“Y/N, yes-- what an extravagant creature. I wouldn’t have pegged her as someone who likes to be choked. Are you sure you can handle fighting me? It seems like you had an exhausting night, and rest is important for the body.”

Bakugou’s breath is stolen out of his lungs, his wide eyes turning into furious crescents at the villain’s words. That was private! The villain’s words automatically triggered his memory, even if he was trying his best to push the image away. You, underneath him last night, shaking and whimpering and making that irresistible expression as he fucked you raw. A light blush bloomed on his cheeks at the recollection, but he shoved it away as fast as he could. His eyes met the villain’s again, but this time, the shadowy figure’s features had morphed into a terrifying grin, eyes bulging out of his skull with disgusting delight.

“Oh, thank you so much for sharing that with me. Maybe I’ll try out choking her myself!” he laughed, voice oozing with excitement as he wrung his hands together.

Bakugou snapped out of his surprised state, shaking his head and clenching his eyes shut. He just had to wreck his loser and then he could go home to you.

Nothing could prepare him for what happened next. He looked back up at the villain, and his stomach plummeted fifty meters into the concrete below him as he registered the horrific scene.

The villain was standing in the exact same spot, but he had his arms wrapped around your throat. You were trapped in his hold, big desperate eyes full of tears that slid down your cheeks and fingers clawing futilely at his hold. You were wearing that maroon lingerie from last anniversary that drove Bakugou wild, your hair clinging to your wet chin as you sobbed. The noise was enough to make Bakugou’s knees shake, his heart felt like it had leapt into his throat.

“S-Suki,” you whimpered, slicing his heart into two.

Bakugou’s lips trembled at your cry, his hands clenching into fists at his side. His voice was much softer now, and he was surprised to find it didn’t break,” Let her go.” His feet planted square, he stared down the villain with a burning determination, steam practically pouring out of his nostrils.

“Now where’s the fun in that?” the man chided, one hand leaving your delicate throat and sliding down your chest. Bakugou’s fingernails broke into the flesh of his palms as the villain’s hand ran over your breast, lingering there as he gauged Bakugou’s reaction. The choked sob that came from you made Bakugou see red.

Bakugou stepped forward but immediately regretted it as the villain’s hand on your throat turned white. He watched in horror as you sputtered, face turning pink at the exertion of wriggling in his hold, grasping at his hand to no avail. “Stop! Please!” he yelled, throwing his hands up in front of him and taking a step back.

“Ground Zero!” Bakugou’s eyes hesitantly left your figure for a moment, trying to find the source of the shout. It sounded like someone was calling him, but from somewhere far away… or like he was underwater. He looked around, realizing the crowd of onlookers had vanished, and the unconscious body of his sidekick was gone as well. Actually, you three were the only people on the busy Japan street.

Just like that, the gears click into place. Looking back at the villain, his rage bubbling inside, he snarled and pushed his body off the pavement, explosions dancing on his palms to seal the gap swiftly.

The villain looked irritated at being found out, but that didn’t stop him from snapping your neck. Bakugou tried not to look at you, but the thought that you had been real just a moment ago made his chest tight as your gaze glazed over and your body slumped to the ground. He screamed as he drew back his fist, concentrating his power on his hand just as it connected with the spindly man’s jaw. His head flew backwards, a sick crack sounding as his body was flung into the air behind him.

Bakugou landed on his feet, and braced himself for a second as he closed his eyes. Not real, not real, she is not real. Opening his eyes, he looked at the spot your crumpled body should have been, only to find that it was empty. He breathed out a sigh of relief, attention sliding back to the unconscious villain in the middle of the road. He ignored the cheers erupting from the crowd behind him, feet moving on their own accord toward the villain’s figure to finish the job.

It was hell waiting to get back to you. Bakugou had to wait for the police to show up and take the loser off his hands, then he had to pretend he was fine and sign a thousand autographs, and then to top it all off, he had to take his damn sidekick back to the agency across town. The suspense was killing him. Even if he knew that it was stupid… a small, okay-- maybe large-- part of him needed you in his arms, and to know you were truly alright.

After he was done with the agency, he nearly ran all the way home. Using his quirk to shoot himself through the starry cityscape, the wind rushing through his hair, his chest still felt just as tight as it did earlier. It seemed like an eternity had passed as he finally planted his feet on the sidewalk, hand grabbing the main entrance door and nearly ripping it off its hinges. The security guard barely had time to recognize him and buzz him in, and he sure as hell didn’t bother with a “good evening”. He beelined past the elevator, instead opting to dart into the stairwell and propel himself up to the sixteenth floor with his quirk.

His legs couldn’t carry him fast enough, and he dashed through the hallway with urgency. His eyes finally landing on the door, he prayed it was unlocked because he really did not want to blast through the lock but damn it, he might just have to. He nearly cried as he jiggled the door handle, confirming his fear. His palm on the metal handle, he closed his eyes and wondered if you would kill him for blasting through another locksmith’s fine work.

But then the handle turned ninety degrees, and the door cracked open to reveal your bare face, hair looking frazzled as you blinked at him.

“Suki!” your plump lips split into a joyous grin and Bakugou’s soul almost left his body in sheer relief. You pulled him into the apartment, shutting the door behind him and wrapping your soft arms around his torso. “I was so worried about you! I saw the end of your fight on the news, are you okay?”

Bakugou couldn’t say any words, his throat felt thick and his eyes stung as he crushed you into his chest. His head hanging down to sniff your precious head, his lungs rattled as he tried not to burst into tears. You fit so perfectly in his arms, he couldn’t help but thank the universe that you’re safe, and you’re here, holding onto him tightly as he barely kept it together.

You frowned at his silence, but you decided to comfort him anyway because he seemed like he really needed it. Your fingers brushed along his spine as he clutched onto you, gathering his emotions. You weren’t used to seeing him so choked up, but you knew there must be some reason as to why he’s so silent. “It’s okay, baby,” you whispered, making a small sigh fall from his lips.

He finally looked you in the eye, and your stomach fluttered with butterflies at his expression. “I love you, Y/N,” he mumbled, warm hands taking your face and pressing your lips to his. You hummed happily against his mouth, hands lacing behind his neck in compliance. He pulled away, one last shred of doubt left to address. “Are you okay?” he inquired quietly, almost bashfully. His gaze was directed to the collar of your shit that his thumb was playing with, and you took his jaw in your hands to make him look at you.

His scarlet eyes looked so concerned and scared, your heart ached for him. “Of course I’m okay Katsuki,” you answered, looking at him deeply,” I have you to protect me!” A small smile adorned your lips as your nails scratch gently at his scalp. “Are you okay, my love?”

One corner of his mouth quirked up adorably as he tried to put on his brave face for you. “I’m okay,” he whispered, eyes closing as his lips touched your forehead gently,” as long as you’re safe.”

    ─── ・°* ﾟ✧:* • ｡ﾟ:*･☽･*: ｡ﾟ•*:✧ ﾟ*°・ ───

masterlist (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ 

please stop by and say hi!! i’d love any feedback <3 thanks for reading!!

𝐂𝐨𝐩𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 © 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐩𝐢 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟎. 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝.

[sunshinesholland]

the one (and all the others) [2] | t.h.

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Word count: 5.35k

Warnings: swearing, angst/pining, allusion to abusive past relationships, PTSD mention

Summary: It’s possible Tom would have outgrown the crush, but after one night where feelings were confessed and tears were shed, everything changed. And the worst of it all is that the two of you don’t talk about it, or even acknowledge that it happened. But that’s how it always goes right? It’s good until it’s not.

A/N: This part is a flashback to the night Tom alludes to in part one (see summary above). This is just some exposition to explain their relationship and past. I also just want to say a huge thank you for such a great reaction to my writing so far. It’s something I used to be so passionate about and it feels lovely to get back into it :) Let me know your thoughts, or if you’d like to be added to the taglist!

part one || part two || part three

eighteen months ago

Tom and you are sat on the couch, tangled up in your favorite blanket with Iron Man 2 playing in the background. Zendaya is away on a family trip, so naturally you and Tom are spending the whole weekend watching your favorite movies and eating lots of takeout. It’s not too different from your usual time spent together, but it’s always nice to not feel like you’re bugging her. You’re about tell him the things you’ve learned in your psychology class this week, but instead he’s trying to get you to thumb wrestle him, determined to win. 

“Okay, you know what? You’re the one who wanted to watch this movie! The second one isn’t even my favorite and now you’re thumb wrestling me instead of even watching it,” you say exasperated, though the grin on your face shows you’re enjoying your time together all the same.

“Well, you’re the one that wanted to talk instead of watch so technically this is all your fault. I just want something to do while you tell me about… about, uh,” he pauses, long enough for you to tuck his thumb under yours.

“About arousal theory,” you finish, knowing he won’t remember what you’ve been trying to tell him the past five minutes.

“Oh, now all of a sudden I’m interested, continue,” he grins at you, putting his hand under his chin to (dramatically) show he’s averted his full attention to you.

“If you were paying attention, you would know that’s not at all what that means, Tommy,” you laugh, and face away from him to watch the movie.

“Well, if it was maybe then--” he’s cut off by your phone ringing and vibrating on the coffee table. 

The caller ID shows a picture of your friend George that lights up the screen. Since most people don’t opt for calling, especially in your friend group, you answer quickly. 

“Hello?” You question, nervous something’s wrong with him or another of your friends.

“Y/N!” He excitedly shouts in your ear, so much so that you have to take it away from your ear. At least now you know there’s nothing wrong but your bleeding eardrums.

“I tried calling Tom’s phone but it went straight to voicemail! I’ve got some exciting news and I figured he’s with you though, yeah?” He continues to shout over the noise on his side. 

“I’ll put you on speakerphone,” you reply and do just that, before you place it on the coffee table. 

“Is there a congratulations in order?” Tom asks, a knowing smile on his face. You look at Tom, confused as to what he is talking about.

“Hell yeah there is! She cried and I cried but she said yes! Her family is over right now but the whole gang is coming over for celebratory drinks later, are ya in?” George asks, and you quickly connect the dots.

“Wait, you proposed to Gwen?! And you didn’t tell me? And more importantly, you didn’t ask for my help?” You question in quick succession, because as resident hopeless romantic, you should really be the first one your friends come to for things like this. 

You then turn to Tom who’s chuckling at your excitement, and now you’re yelling at him, “but you knew? And didn’t tell me either?!” 

You chuck a pillow at him, which he dodges before laughing harder at. He ignores you and leans towards the phone to reply to George’s invitation.

“We’ll be there, George. Just text me the details, oh and tell Gwen she’s a div for saying yes,” Tom replies, laughing when George replies with a ‘sure thing!’ before hanging up. He’s so excited he didn’t even register Tom’s comment as a jab, or needing a comeback (which is especially amusing considering how quippy George usually is). 

Gwen and George are a few years older than the rest of your friend group, so you’re a little unsynchronized in your points in life but they’re close friends with you all nonetheless. They have been going out since before anyone in your group has known them. They’re high school sweethearts, best friends, lovers and everything in between. They’ve been through so much in all their time together. They had been told they would never last for the first four years of their relationship. When they ended up on opposite coasts since George left to a startup business and Gwen stayed home to go to culinary school, they were told that one of them would cheat if they didn’t get bored of the distance and each other before then. When they ended up on the same coast in recent years, people assumed Gwen wouldn’t want to stay with him as he wasn’t making much money and had yet to pop the question. Neither Gwen or George paid any mind to any opinions or judgements and were happy taking their time. They were secure with where they were at and whether a shiny ring on her finger and piece of paper happened tomorrow or years in the future, it didn’t matter to either of them when it happened when they knew how they felt.

Now two years later, George’s business has taken off, they live upstate in a nice apartment with their sweet little French bulldog and they’re stable enough to plan the big, romantic wedding they both want. It’s heartwarming every time either of them tells you about their story, or talks about each other at all. Which is why you’re pissed you’re only finding out now. 

“I cannot believe you didn’t even tell me,” you mumble, crossing your arms across your chest with your eyes trained on the TV, “you’re shit at keeping secrets, but this one you decide to not tell me.”

“You’re just jealous that he came to me advice rather than you,” he grins, laying his head in your lap to look up at you.

“Well yeah! You’re not even into all that lovey-dovey, romantic stuff, I am. When you dated that girl last year you couldn’t even think of a gift to give her for Christmas, I had to pick one out. And Harry said you never even said ‘I love you’ to any of your girlfriends growing up and I’ve never heard you say that either.” you pout at the TV, despite not paying attention because it’s just your excuse to not look down at him.

Except that he is into all that lovey-dovey stuff. Or at least he has been since he met you. It’s cheesy, but it’s like you’ve lent him the rose-colored glasses you see the world through and he’s eternally grateful for it. Of course, it helps that he’s in love with you and watching you admire romance and the idea of a fairytale ending is enough to make anyone fall just as hard as he has. But all of that is just too heavy considering you’ve only recently returned to your usual self. Tom can’t be selfish and risk hurting you when you’ve only just begun to heal from your shitty ex-boyfriend. What you need now is your friend and so instead of any declaration of love, he jokes with you. 

“Guess the ladies love me because I love hard enough in other ways,” he says, winking at you.

“I live across the hall, so I know definitely not hard enough, Holland” you retort back, grabbing the last pillow on the couch to throw at his face. 

--

The both of you are in Tom’s car, on the way to Gwen and George’s apartment. The setting sun streams through the passing trees, while Tom’s playlist (the one full of all the songs you like, that he’ll always deny was made specifically for you) plays throughout the car. 

Tom glances at you as you lean your head against the window. You’ve been silent the whole car ride. Not singing along to your favorite song or blabbering about the romance of the engagement, which is unbelievably out of character. He turns down the volume on the stereo so it’s quiet enough to hear the wind whip against the car.

“What’s on your mind?” He questions, sneaking a glance at you before returning his eyes to the road, pulling onto their street.

You don’t say anything for a few minutes, making him think you didn’t hear him. He pulls into a parking spot, thankful for not having to parallel park, and is about to repeat the question when you finally reply.

“Nothing important.” You say and of course Tom doesn’t believe it. Before he can question the honesty of your reply, you’re opening the passenger door and beginning to walk up to their apartment. 

Tom takes the keys out of the ignition and exits the car, quick to catch up to you. It's colder upstate, allowing the snow to form a thick blanket on the ground. It’s fresh and fluffy, effectively dampening all ambient sound outside. While he really wants to ask you again, he can tell you’re not ready to talk yet so he stays silent on the walk up to the apartment building as well as the elevator ride up.

You reach to knock on the door, greeted immediately by George. 

“Hey guys! I’m glad you could make it,” he smiles, practically beaming. They’ve both always known it was in the cards for them to get engaged and of course married, but damn if he wasn’t ecstatic about it finally happening.

“Gwen’s in the living room, on her fourth glass of champagne so naturally she’s already started her own acapella concert in there,” he tells you, looking absolutely smitten just thinking about his future bride, even as a drunk, goofy mess.

“Oh, and Jacob brought some celebratory cigars and since you were such a huge part in helping me plan this, I’d love if you’d join me for one,” George offers Tom.

Tom looks towards you, not wanting to leave when your mood seems off like this. He doesn’t want to flat out say no to George, but you can tell this is his silent way of asking.

“You can go, I’m gonna go see Gwen. I hate the smell of them anyways,” you reassure him with a smile and congratulate George before walking through the apartment to find her.

Gwen is surrounded by people talking to her and congratulating her but as soon as she sees you, she comes running.

“Y/N! Hi! I’m engaged!” She shouts despite the music not being at a loud volume, champagne in one hand and flashing the other with the ring on it at you.

“I know you did, that’s why I came,” you reply with a smile, leaning in to greet your tipsy friend with a hug.

For a while you’re chatting with her and some other friends, not really as energetic as you would be but most people have been here longer than you and are already a little tipsy, so no one notices. You’re in the middle of half-listening to one of Gwen’s co-workers tell all of you about their upcoming trip to somewhere you don’t really care about, when a hand is placed on your back. 

“Do you mind if I steal Y/N away from you for a moment?” He asks and he’s behind you but you can just tell he’s got on a charming smile (but isn’t it always charming to you?)

All of the intoxicated girls grin at his English accent and endearing smile, nodding simultaneously and encouraging him to take you away. You think one may have even said ‘hell, you can take me!’, but regardless, Tom utters a thank you regardless. With his hand in yours, he leads you through the apartment and onto the balcony. The smell of cigar smoke lingers outside and the night air is chilling against your bare arms, having left your jacket inside.

“You brought me away from friends, free booze and the warmth of the indoors to… have me smell some cigar smoke?” You joke, arms hugging yourself in an attempt to keep warm.

“You’re being weird,” he replies before sliding glass door shut, blocking out the music and talking from inside. 

“Excuse me?” You question, furrowing your eyebrows at him, “so you’re gonna force me to be cold, smell cigar smoke, and call me weird? I’m going inside then.”

“Okay I’m sorry for saying you’re being weird,” he says quickly, “But, can you please sit down with me? You can even have my jacket,” he offers, and shrugs it off to hand to you.

You eye the jacket, then the table, before grabbing his coat and sitting down. Bundling yourself up in his warm jacket, the smoke scent lingers on his coat, but it's mixed with his familiar cologne and that’s enough to be comforting. 

“I just, I really love engagements and romance and I realize I haven’t really been excited for two of my closest friends when that’s all tonight is about. It’s just kind of weird behavior on my part and I wanted to talk to you about it,” Tom replies dramatically (the damned acting major).

You look down at the table because you know exactly what he’s doing. Really, it’s hard not to, he knows how stubborn you are and reads you better than anyone, so voices his concern this way. If he says something flat out, you don’t really have a chance to deny it.

“Oh, no wait. That’s you.” He finishes his sentence and pulls out the chair on the opposite side of the table to sit down in.

“Haha, that never gets old.” You reply sarcastically, running your fingers across the glass that covers the top of the table.

He places his hand atop of yours, stilling your movements. You look up to him, unblinking and expressionless. 

“Really, N/N what’s wrong? You were excited earlier and you’re practically the president of the Gwen/George fan club so if you don’t get excited, they’re going to find another leader.” He jokes but stops when you don’t smile.

“It’s nothing,” you reply, biting at your cheek. You’re trying your best to not rain on their parade, and no one notices but Tom. But if he keeps pushing, you’re not going to be able to hold your stupid emotions in. 

“That’s bullshit and you know it,” he reprimands, squeezing your hand, “you know you can tell me anything.”

You look at the closed door and no one else is out here, or paying attention and Tom is your best friend, and maybe if you talk about it, you’ll be able to enjoy the party.

“Sometimes I just worry it will never happen for me,” you start, looking down at your hands, “getting married I mean. Or anything relatively close, like finding someone who loves me long enough to even stay more than a few months…”

“And I know I’m only 23, and they’re 28 so they’re at a different point in their life and they’ve been going out forever but..” you pause, and Tom doesn’t interrupt, just listens. 

“After what happened with him, I’m scared of ever trying again. More than that, I think I just feel like that maybe that’s the best I’ll ever get, or even deserve,” you finish, with tears welling up in your eyes, and you look away, out over the balcony. 

Tom gets up and you close your eyes, letting the tears fall because maybe he thinks you’re selfish for making this night about you somehow and he’s leaving. But instead, he pulls you up out of the chair and brings you to his chest and holds you tightly. You stay like that for a while, until the tears slow to a stop and your breathing has slowed to normal. 

“Why would you ever think that’s the best you’ll get?” he asks and you look up at him, expecting some sort of joke because there’s no way he’s serious. 

“Why wouldn’t I? I must deserve it in some regard after how deeply and unapologetically he hurt me. After all that happened and how long it went on for, it's hard not to think somehow, it’s my fault. I must have done something wrong.” The tears are welling in your eyes again, threatening to fall.

“You cannot seriously believe that,” He softly rubs his hands up and down your arms, “hey, look at me.”

He puts his hand under your chin, lifting it so your eyes meet his. 

“Why would you ever think you deserve the kind of treatment he gave you?” He questions, and then repeats himself when you don’t answer, gingerly as though speaking too loud would scare you away.

“He wasn’t all bad,” you reply meekly, biting the inside of your cheek, “sometimes he--”

Tom cuts you off, “No, there’s no ‘sometimes’ for treating someone you’re supposed to love well, it’s not something you need to earn or something that’s rationed. He was a dick all the time, he just pretended not to be sometimes to manipulate you into staying.” 

Your heart throbs at the blunt veracity of his words. Deep, deep down, under everything that has happened, all of the trauma and damage done, you know it’s true. Internally you’ve just been at a constant tug of war, trying to rationalize all that happened. Was he in love with you at all? Did you do something to make him hurt you like he did? Could you have fixed him? Was he good under it all and just hurting? Did you imagine it all? Were you not good enough in the end, even for him? 

“Why manipulate me into staying if he was the one who ended up leaving in the end?” you question, and his own heart hurts at your words.

Tom’s not sure what to say because he saw your ex leave you and come back so many times. Saw how it slowly chipped away at you each time. When someone does that to you, time and time again, it takes away all your power. You feel helpless and like you can’t go on and the only thing you can do is wait for them to come back. While all of that makes Tom furious, and he wishes you were the one who dumped that asshole because he deserved it, he instead says what will best comfort you.

“Because he’s a blind idiot. But it’s probably the kindest thing he’s done your whole relationship,” he replies, before moving his hand from under your chin to your face, his thumb stroking your cheek, “and I know that sounds insensitive because you hurt for so long and you’re just getting over it, but it’s true.” 

“You’ll find someone who fulfills all of those fairytale expectations, because you shouldn't settle for less and you don’t have to. Someone who is kind, and cares for you, and appreciates everything you are and have to offer. I’m not saying it will take away all the hurt you have felt, but they will love you so deeply that you’ll wonder how you ever thought you deserved any less,” he promises, leaning forward to press his forehead to yours.

He wants to say he’s that someone, confess the way he felt about you since the very beginning but that’s not what you need now. Instead he gives you one last squeeze and brings you down inside, out of the cold. He’s gotten you to at least talk about it and that at least means you won’t hide yourself away, hurting and staying silent in an attempt to not burden anyone. Not that you could ever be a burden, not to Tom.

It hurts a little less when you have someone like Tom by your side. Maybe people look at you two and think he’s suffering from white knight syndrome, like you need to rescued because you’re a damsel in distress. Maybe they think you love him because he’s doing the saving and you love him for such a shallow reason. Except it’s not that, you’re just healing on your own with your best friend being there to support you and love you. It is deeper than a fleeting attraction because someone has helped you. This love is patient, kind and unwavering. As cheesy as it sounds, Tom is someone you fell for slowly, and then all at once. You went to bed one night thinking of him as your best friend and woke up the next with the thought crossing your mind while you were in the shower; ‘I love my best friend so much’ and by the time you were done rinsing away your shampoo, you realized ‘shit, I love him’.

After that it was all you could think of for weeks, noticing all the ways he cared for you. Something as simple as asking if you had gotten enough sleep last night or giving you the cherry from his drinks because you love them so much. The way he locks eyes with you in a boring lecture to make sure you’re awake, the way his hand immediately grabs yours in crowds. Picking up your favorite chips when he goes grocery shopping, just so he always has them in the cupboard for you even though he doesn’t like them. The way he doesn’t just tolerate the things you like, and he doesn’t but gets excited for them simply because he likes seeing you enjoy things. The two of you are the other’s first person to tell both good and bad news alike to. The two of you may fight but neither of you are too embarrassed to admit you’re in the wrong to the other. He makes mundane things like getting gas or going grocery shopping entertaining. While you should be scared of him leaving or being hurt again, you’ve trusted him for so long with matters regarding your heart, it only seems right that he’s the one you trust to hold your it and not harm it. But you don’t want him to think he’s a rebound from the man who’s broken your heart only months ago, because it is so much deeper than that. Your love for him is so much deeper than that. So, you keep quiet, loving him silently.

You both have fallen so deeply into each other, but both too worried about caring for the other to say anything and tonight isn’t any different. The rest of the night is spent celebrating your friends’ engagement: dancing and drinking the night away. The two of you exchange longing glances throughout the entire evening, scared to break the silence regarding your feelings.

—

Tom pulls into your own apartment complex, parking before glancing over at you. Your eyes closed, mouth slightly opened, high heels in your lap while you’re curled up in the passenger seat. Tom unbuckles, reaching his hand over to softly shake your shoulder in an attempt to wake you gently. You continue your slumber, unphased by his disturbance.

“Y/N,” he calls softly. You’re still sleeping soundly, and you look so peaceful that Tom can’t help but reach over and tuck your hair behind your ear, letting his hand linger there.

Out of all the ways you could wake up, this could very well be the creepiest way to, Tom thinks. His thought must have manifested it because your eyes flutter open slowly. While he thinks to withdraw his hand and pretend he wasn’t just thinking about how breathtaking his best friend is (and how in love with her he is), you instead lean into his hand.

“Mm, hello,” you mumble, blinking to adjust to the darkness of the car. The few streetlights lining the parking lot let in just enough light for you to see his lovely face. Tom hasn’t shut off the car yet so heat is still on and his (really, your) playlist continues playing at a low volume.

“We’re home,” he says gently, trying not to be too loud as you shake off the effects of sleep.

The words make you feel warm, hearing him say ‘home’, despite the fact that you’ve definitely referred to the general complex as ‘home’ before. Maybe it’s just the circumstances; him waking you up tenderly from a night spent out together, like you’re lovers and he’s waking you so you can go inside to the bed you both share.

“Oh, okay,” you reply, rubbing at your eyes despite the presence of makeup.

“Want me to carry you up?” He asks, innocently enough. Except that it just furthers that fantasy of being together: being carried up to your home together.

“I mean, because you’re tired and you’ve had a bit to drink everything,” he quickly adds, “and I know they’re the lace up ones and you hate doing them up.” He points to the heels in your lap.

Of course, he’s just being his usual sweet self. He’s heard you complain about these shoes enough and knows the only reason you wear them is because you say the way they look is worth the effort. But he also knows when you’re drunk and the shoes come off, you’re past the point of no return and you’ll only ever get less put together, not more. Because he remembers things like that.

The thudding in your chest quiets a little, “Yeah, that’d be nice.”

He turns off the car and gets out to walk around to your side. He opens the passenger door and grabs your shoes from you and allows you to wrap your hands around his neck. He adjusts his hold on you so he’s carrying you bridal style (great, that helps your romantic mindset) and you bury your face into his chest, telling yourself its only to shield your eyes from the change in lighting. He places you on the floor, since you’re safe from the slushy snow outside now. While he wishes he could have you in his arms the whole way up, there’s no reason for it and it would look strange since you’re just friends.

You walk barefoot beside him to the elevator, both of you silent on your way up. You’ve managed to make it home before 2 AM, but the hall and the whole complex is peacefully silent. When you reach your apartment, you both begin talking at the same time.

“I just wanted to say—”

“I hope you know—”

“Oh sorry, you go.”

“No, it’s okay, you go.”

You both laugh quietly as not to wake any of your neighbors, until Tom gestures for you to go ahead first.

“I just wanted to say thank you. For talking to me about everything tonight. And for not thinking I was absolutely awful to be thinking about myself during Gwen and George’s happy night,” you glance down at your bare feet, shy at tonight’s actions.

“You don’t have to apologize,” and he continues before you can interrupt, “you really don’t. I know you and so I know it wasn’t something you did out of selfishness.”

He reaches for your hand and holds it between you two, while the other reaches up to stroke your cheek, which you lean into again. It’s an intimate gesture he doesn’t usually do, but has managed twice tonight, and it feels like walking the line of friendship and lovers.

“You deserve so much better than anything he ever gave you, or anything anyone has ever given you. You deserve the world and I can’t believe you would ever think otherwise. I will always fight for your fairytale ending, even if you give up or think you don’t deserve it.”

Your heart swells and you want to thank him for all that he’s saying, but he only continues.

“I always want you to feel like you can talk to me, because I will always be here because I, I lo-“ he stops himself and your heart begins thudding again, because maybe he feels the same way you do.

“I-I look out for you. And you look out for me, right?” he finishes, his voice unsteady and you’re beyond disappointed.

You rest your hand atop the hand of his that cups your face.

Despite how nervous you feel, and how clammy your hands are getting and the thumping in your chest, you look into his eyes bravely and ask, “Tom, do you love me?”

“Of course I do, you’re my—”

“No. I am asking you; do you love me?”

When he doesn’t say yes, but he also doesn’t say no you decide to make the first move. You lean in to kiss him, but quickly his hands pull out of yours, pressing gently against your shoulders. Your brain goes into full panic mode: you cannot believe you misread the signals so badly, you cannot believe you tried to kiss your best friend. You turn away from him, fumbling with your keys and shoving the apartment key into the lock, shoving it in, scrambling to escape from this mess.

Tom certainly isn’t drunk since he had to drive home but the emotion bubbling inside of his chest is far more intoxicating than any amount of alcohol could be. He’s grasping at words, trying to try to express what he’s feeling right now but his thoughts are jumbled and clouded.

“Y/N,” he breathes out, walking to follow you into your apartment, desperate to explain himself.

Your turn around, pressing your hand against his chest, leaving it there for a moment, not meeting his eyes. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t try to hold your hands or assure you in any way, so you turn around to enter your apartment. You close the door softly and turn the lock, and maybe that’s scarier than you slamming the door in anger. You press your forehead to the door, eyes closed and attempting not to feel all that you are right now, as deeply as you are. You could not be more thankful for Zendaya’s family trip as she is unable to see the stupid attempt at an advance. She is not here to pretend that what you did wasn’t stupid, or that you didn’t make the biggest mistake.

You’re frustrated and annoyed that you’re hurting like this. You’re frustrated that you were stupid enough to think you’re not a broken mess, that you’re deserving of him, of love. Of course he doesn’t want anything more than friendship from you, he’s seen the train wreck that is your love life. Why would he willingly dive into that mess?  To soften the ache in your heart you tell yourself that it’s better this way, you tell yourself you haven’t felt this way for as long as you have, that it's just the alcohol and the influence of the romance of your friend’s engagement. You pretend that you don’t feign sleep on Saturday mornings to stay in his arms just a little bit longer. Those longing glances at him from across the room at parties or class don’t happen. Even more, the times where he catches you and smiles before joining you, and makes you laugh and nothing else matters doesn’t happen either. All those times he comforts you and says things that straddle that line of friendship, and you just so badly want to say something back or kiss him, those don’t happen either. You’re friends and that’s it. Friendship is safer, it won’t end in your heart broken, and a little bit of Tom in that way is better than all of him romantically. You’ll settle for loving him softly and quietly, like a friend would, and you ignore the way your chest hurts like you’ve just lost the love of your life as you fall asleep that night.

Tom is left outside of your door, stunned at all that has happened. You are hurt, alone and without your best friend and the fact that he is the cause of it is what hurts him the most. He may have had a few drinks (and barely slept that night), he remembers it vividly. He doesn’t for a moment question the authenticity of his memories when you pretend like nothing happened the next day. 

Taglist: @averyfosterthoughts @martinafigoli​

[nicolewrites]

someone to carry me home

Stranger Things 3. What a ride. So here's to hijacked motivation and my eternal sadness at how my favourite ST couple were treated this season.

Rating: T Genre: Friendship and Romance Characters: [Max Mayfield and Lucas Sinclair], Dustin, Eleven, Mike, Will Words: 7,342

"Max Mayfield likes a very specific list of things: rockstars, skateboards, old fashioned arcades, California, and sarcasm. Notably, people do not rank high on her list of positive things. Neither does Indiana and yet here she is." Lucas and Max and a memorable first year.

AO3 | FFN

Max Mayfield likes a very specific list of things: rockstars, skateboards, old fashioned arcades, California, and sarcasm. Notably, people do not rank high on her list of positive things. Neither does Indiana and yet here she is.

Purdue is a good school. Purdue is, really, a great school, and she should be pleased to be here, but as she drags her suitcase behind her into the elevator, all she can think of is the acceptance letter to UCLA that she had pinned above her desk. Max sighs and jams the button for the ninth floor.

UCLA would have been great, but Max couldn’t stay in California. She had had to leave the city, leave the state, and get as far away as possible to somewhere that her mother and her stepfather and Billy would never even consider visiting. So she picked Purdue and now she is here in Indiana for god knows why.

Thankfully her room isn’t too far from the elevator, and she manages to lug all her stuff in after only two trips. There is a little cloud with her name scribbled in it on her door and she quickly rips it down. She glances up and down the hallway, but no one seems to be out of their room, so she slips into her room and closes the door.

She doesn’t have a roommate–thank god–and her dorm room is small and pretty old, but it’s better than the pictures she had seen. She drops her suitcase to the ground with a heavy thud and dumps her backpack on the bare mattress of the bed. She sits on the mattress and exhales slowly.

It took entirely too long for her eighteenth birthday to come so that her mother was comfortable with letting her leave, but she was out. She was away from her stepdad and away from Billy and she, if it could be helped, was never going back. She had moved to Indiana for school so she figured she would throw herself into school for four years, get a job, and move out of Indiana, even further away from California.

There is a loud thud from the room to her right which is followed by a loud, feminine giggle. Max flops back on her bed and sighs. She’s pretty sure the people who room on that side of her are boys, so that means at least one of them probably has a girlfriend. The walls in dorms are notoriously thin and now she can look forward to sex noises on top of everything else.

This is why Max doesn’t like people.

-

It’s a week and a half into classes before Max finally meets one of her neighbours. Surprisingly, the room has been pretty quiet, other than the occasional chatter, but she has heard a girl’s voice here and there. She’s just stepping into the elevator to head back to her room after a particularly exhausting chemistry lecture when a guy darts forward and holds the elevator door open so he can slip inside. He smiles at her and reaches to press a button, but freezes when he sees that she’s already pushed the one for the ninth floor.

“You’re on nine, too?” he asks.

She glances at him and takes in his appearance. He’s dark-skinned with sharp eyes and a whip-crack smile and Max almost lets herself think that he’s cute before she nods to answer his question.

He shuffles his feet and his smile wavers with his nerves for a second. “Cool, what room are you?”

“982,” she answers because she might as well humour him, if at least for the elevator ride.

His brow rises. “I’m in 984, so we must be right next to each other.”

Max immediately quashes any thoughts of his good looks because if this is her neighbour, it’s definitely his girlfriend that she’s heard through the wall. “Yeah,” she replies idly. She glances at the elevator display as the number six shifts into a seven. Still two floors to go.

“I don’t think I ever saw your nameplate,” he continues and Max exhales because she really just wants this stupid cute neighbour to shut up. “What’s your name?”

“Max,” she replies shortly. She doesn’t bother asking for his name, because then she has a name to match a face, which is something she really doesn’t want.

Of course, because he’s that type of guy, he gives one anyways. “I’m Lucas. Engineering student,” he says. He holds out a hand and Max knows that it would be the ultimate asshole move not to shake it, so she does.

“Chemistry,” she offers in return.

Lucas grins. “Wicked, chem’s a tough one.”

Max shrugs. “As long as I’m not writing essays.”

“Ha, yeah you’re talking to an engineer there, so I agree.”

His wit makes her crack a smile right as the elevator dings and the doors open onto their floor. Max steps out and Lucas follows her, keeping pace as they walk towards their rooms. Max stops in front of her room and digs in her pocket for her room key. Lucas hovers, a little awkwardly, just to her right in front of his own door.

“My roommate, some friends from high school and I are going out for dinner tonight, if you were interested in joining us at all.”

Max bites her lip. “I would, but I’ve got a lab in two days that I really need to prepare for. Thanks anyways though.”

Lucas shrugs and slides a hand into one of his pockets. “I didn’t think there was any harm in asking.”

Max turns the key in her lock and opens her door. She steals one last look at the cute neighbour. “No, not really.” He gives her a lop-sided smile as she slips inside her room.

She drops her bag to the floor and sighs deeply. She’s here for school, not to get distracted by cute boys, even if they live next door. Besides, he’s attractive enough that the girlfriend next door must be his so it doesn’t matter anyway.

-

Because, of course, it turns out that Max and her cute neighbour run the same schedule on Tuesdays and Thursdays. They both get back from class or dinner or the library at 7:30 sharp and take the elevator to the ninth floor together.

Max tries really hard not to care, but Lucas is cute and funny and genuinely interesting to talk to. Plus, when she calls him ‘Stalker’ his smile gets a little lopsided and her heart does flips when he calls her ‘Mad Max’, so frankly, they fall into an easy routine of teasing and what might be–though Max isn’t hopeful–flirting.

Whoever arrives in the lobby of the residence building pushes the elevator button first, but they always get on together. Lucas asks her about class and labs and she asks him about Indiana and if there is anything interesting out in the middle of nowhere both at school and where he’s from.

Max doesn’t make many other friends, a few from her classes, but it’s nice to be able to say that she and Lucas are definitely beyond acquaintances now. Plus, he’s still cute, so she can’t really complain. She’s a little confused as to why she and Lucas appear to be meeting up so often when she still hasn’t met his roommate or the girlfriend.

-

It’s mid-October and the first Midwestern winter chills are blowing in on the day that she meets the girlfriend. Max jerks her jean jacket tightly around her as she scurries into the building lobby, huffing out cold air. It’s a Wednesday, which means no Lucas, so she heads right for the elevators.

There’s another girl waiting for the elevators, her hands behind her back as she rocks onto her toes. Max avoids eye contact as she normally does with all people, but she can’t help but notice that the girl doesn’t look familiar at all, something unusual considering Max recognizes most people who live in the building now. Not to mention that with curly, shoulder-length brown hair and a delicate face, the girl is really, really pretty.

The elevators ding and Max slips inside first, quickly punching the button for her floor. The girl follows, and hesitates, exactly like Lucas had done back in September.

A needle of doubt pricks in Max’s stomach and the selfish part of her brain chants, Don’t be his girlfriend, don’t be his girlfriend.

The girl snaps suddenly, pointing at Max. “Oh! You’re Max! Lucas mentioned you!”

Max raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, I’m Max.”

The girl smiled. “Jane Hopper, but everyone just calls me El.” She stuck a hand out and Max awkwardly shook it.

Any hopes she had been harbouring of the pretty girl not being Lucas’s girlfriend shrivel and die. Max forces a smile and adjusts her backpack. She glances at the elevator monitor: four floors left.

“You’re the girlfriend then?”

El laughs. “Wow, I’m already getting that name. I guess I am.”

Max smirks a little. “I’m glad the walls are thicker than the residence reviews said they would be.”

Her quip finally triggers a response in the girl as her cheeks flare red instantly as she giggles nervously. Max waves her off.

“It’s nice to meet you,” she adds as an afterthought.

El smiles. For a blissful moment, there is silence before it is broken again. “Hey, I know Lucas has tried to invite you out with our friends before, but we’re going out tonight again and it would be super cool if you joined us.”

Max blinks in surprise. Lucas inviting her out was one thing because they were neighbours and sort of friends, but his girlfriend doing the same? Max casts her a look, suddenly feeling shy. She isn’t used to having female friends so the eagerness in El’s voice is new.

El smiles brightly again and Max finds herself nodding before she can really think. “Ok, sure,” she replied.

“Cool! Why don’t you drop your stuff and get whatever you need from your room and then just knock on the boys' door when you’re ready?”

The doors slide open on the ninth floor and Max’s time to backpedal evaporates. “Sounds good,” she forces out.

El smiles and the two girls walk side by side to the neighbouring rooms. El pauses to glance at Max’s door before turning and knocking on Lucas’s. “See you shortly!”

Max quickly slips inside her room so she doesn’t have to see Lucas greet his girlfriend. She tosses her school bag onto her dresser and falls face-first onto her bed, groaning. At the very least this event would force her to meet more people, she thinks despondently. She pushes herself up and glances at her mirror.

She’s wearing a vintage t-shirt emblazoned with The Eagles logo paired with ripped black jeans and her trusty jean jacket. It’s a look she is proud of and she sees no reason to change. She grabs her purse and keys, runs her fingers through her curly red hair and slides out the door.

It takes her two full seconds of standing in the hallway to gather the courage to knock, but she finally does, rapping her knuckles against the wood three times.

The door swings open almost immediately and Max comes face to face with a grinning Lucas. He’s wearing a plain blue t-shirt and grey jeans, but he makes it look effortlessly attractive and Max quashes down the internal girliness which was scoping him out.

“Max, hey! El said you were going to join us tonight!” Lucas’s smile is easy-going and familiar and Max relaxes just a little. “Come on in,” he says, opening the door wider.

She steps in and takes in the room. It’s bigger than her room, with two desks, two closets, and two beds. Both sides are covered with various geek memorabilia. As she steps in, her gaze is drawn to El and the boy next to her that she presumes to be Lucas’s roommate.

El and the roommate are sitting on the bed that she presumes to be not-Lucas’s and the guy has an arm slung around El’s shoulders as they chat easily. El’s eyes are bright and happy as she looks up at him. It only takes a second for everything to click in Max’s mind.

El isn’t Lucas’s girlfriend. She is Lucas’s roommate’s girlfriend. The petty, jealous part of her instantly disappears and Max is relieved to suddenly be able to breathe again.

“Max, this is El, as you know, and my roommate, Mike, her boyfriend,” Lucas introduces as he walks up behind her suddenly.

Mike grins at her. He was cute too, but certainly not her type. He’s all lank with a messy mop of dark hair and a light spattering of freckles. “Nice to finally meet you, neighbour. I’ve heard all about you from Lucas, but it’s funny we’ve never met.”

Max laughs, her chest suddenly lighter. “Nice to meet you too, Mike.”

There’s a short, almost awkward pause, before there’s another knock at the door. Lucas spins and heads to open it. Max glances back and sees him embrace whoever is at the door. Lucas steps aside and a guy with the wildest, curliest hair Max has ever seen steps in, grinning broadly.

“You must be Max! It’s a pleasure to meet you,” the new guy says. He steps forward and sticks out a hand.

Max shakes it and takes in his appearance. He’s wearing jeans and a rumpled Back to the Future shirt with a green and yellow baseball cap. “Max Mayfield, the, apparently,” she pauses, giving Lucas a sly look, “infamous neighbour.”

Lucas just gives her a smile that makes her stomach flip. The new guy sizes her up.

“I’m Dustin, and I’m definitely the coolest out of any of these guys, so don’t worry about a thing around me.”

Lucas, Mike, and El all laugh at this statement and Max feels a genuine smile lift her lips too. “Good to know,” she replies teasingly. Friends, her brain thinks giddily, I think these people want to actually be my friends.

-

As it turns out, Dustin is the craziest and everyone in the party loves to argue. After Dustin’s arrival, the group had set out for a retro diner nearby where they met up with Will and Joe. Will was apparently a part of the original friend group from small-town Indiana, while Joe, Will’s boyfriend, is a new addition that attends the high-scale Arts Institution that Will studies at in Lafayette.

They had crammed together into one of those oddly circular booths with El and Mike and Will and Joe smushing together. Max slides in next to El and Lucas follows her in, while Dustin sits on Joe’s other side. The group is incredibly welcoming, telling funny stories and light-hearted jokes while catching up on school and social lives and stories from home.

They eat greasy burgers and fries and Max laughs so hard her stomach hurts. Joe’s arm tucks around Will and Mike’s does the same around El. Dustin doesn’t bat an eye at any of it and neither does Lucas, so Max just assumes that the behaviour is absolutely normal for the group. At some point through the meal, Lucas’s arm drapes along the top of the booth behind Max and she almost desperately wishes for it to drop down against her shoulder.

Still, she feels optimistic about things and ribs Lucas in time with the other friends and joins him in teasing Dustin or Mike about one thing or another. Joe and Will are the first to head out since they have to head across town back to their campus and El and Mike leave next, heading, apparently to El’s dorm. Dustin shrugs bids Max and Lucas goodbye, heading back to his own place.

Lucas and her walk back together, a companionable silence settling between them.

“Your friends are cool,” Max admits as they finally reach the entrance to their building.

Lucas grins. “I’ll add you to our group chat. I think everyone really likes you and you should definitely hang out with us again. Plus, I think El will love not being the only girl around.”

Max smiles faintly as she reaches out to punch the elevator button. Her hand gets there a split second before Lucas’s and his finger jabs onto hers and she recoils sharply. Lucas blinks in surprise and they make awkward eye contact before they both burst out laughing.

“Wow, that was stupid,” he chuckles.

Max grins. “Yes, it was, Stalker.”

The elevator doors open and they step in together. Lucas pushes the button for nine and the doors slide shut. There’s an awkward pause before he looks at her.

“Hey, do you want to come over and watch a movie? I have a whole collection of stupid retro films I think you’d like.”

Max finds herself smiling stupidly. “Only if we get to watch in my room. I’m almost 100 percent certain my bed will be more comfortable.”

Lucas laughs and Max’s stomach flips again. “Whatever helps you sleep better.”

She jabs her elbow against his ribs, smirking. “Literally.”

He snorts. “That one was bad, Mad Max.”

She shrugs. “You set me up for it.”

-

The one thing Max had not expected from befriending the Party, as they called themselves, was the sheer amount of nerdiness that came with them. Sure, she is studying Chemistry, but nothing prepared her for Engineer-Lucas, Biochemist-Dustin, Physicist-Mike, and Art Major-Will in full on geek mode. Sure, seeing Lucas and Mike’s room might have warned her, but when someone knocks on her door at 7pm on a random Friday night, she isn’t expecting El and Joe to ask her to save them.

Apparently, Friday nights are exclusively reserved for the Party’s D&D sessions. Max has no issues with the game itself, just the fact that it routinely means shouting from next door as she tries to study. It does mean, however, that she gets to hang out with El and Joe a lot and make fun of their boyfriends and friends.

The one night she had dared sit in on a session out of morbid curiosity had been hilarious and actually almost interesting enough to sit in on a second, but the instant she had been asked by Lucas what she had thought, El had shaken her head frantically, telling Max that it was a terrible idea.

So Friday’s become El-Max-Joe nights while the party plays D&D next door, and Saturday nights become Lucas-Max nights as they watch stupid 80s and 90s movies or really terrible horror movies. Dustin joins them occasionally, but it’s mostly just Lucas and Max. Max loves Saturdays, but some part of her wedged deep inside refuses to let her ask Lucas if he thinks that their movie nights are kind of like date nights.

-

The party makes plans to go home for Thanksgiving and Max ignores the calls from her mother insisting that she come home and she prepares to stay at school and be lonely. She isn’t expecting Lucas to stare at her like she’s lost her head when she says she isn’t going home. She also definitely isn’t expecting him to invite her back to small-town Hawkins to celebrate with his family. Not sure what else to do, she accepts, and the grin he gives her makes it worth it.

The drive back to Hawkins is three hours and her, Dustin, and Lucas all take turns DJing and singing along terribly to loud music. The three of them carpool in Lucas’s car and he drives the whole way since Lucas mentions something about Dustin being a terrible driver. Max just laughs and calls shotgun, delegating Dustin to the backseat.

Hawkins is a criminally small town, but from the stories she has heard from the Party, it looks exactly like she expects. Lucas points out the Sheriff’s office where El’s dad works and the general store where Will’s mom works and the tiny post office where Mike’s sister and Will’s brother both work part-time.

They drop Dustin off first, and all the nervousness that Max had been suppressing returns full-force as she realizes she is about to spend an entire weekend with Lucas and his family. Lucas doesn’t pick up on it until he pulls up outside a quaint two-story house and he looks over at her.

“Jesus, Max, you’re white as a sheet. Are you okay?” His hand finds hers where it sits limply on the console.

The touch is reassuring and gentle and Max exhales slowly. “Yeah, I guess I’m just grateful to be here. You really didn’t have to do this.”

Lucas shakes his head. “Hey, my family is legendary for Thanksgiving celebrations. I want you to be here, and I know my family will love you.”

His confidence bolsters her own and she nods finally. “Okay, yeah, let’s do this.”

-

Lucas’s mom is incredibly nice. His dad’s a little rougher, but still warm and welcoming and Max understands where Lucas’s kindness has come from. His family home is cozy and generous and a little loud, but it feels like a home. Lucas and his sister Erica bicker relentlessly, but the smiles that play on the faces of both parents let Max realize that this is exceedingly normal.

Compared to the brother-sister relationship she knows, and the relationship she has seen between her mother and step-father, everything that she sees at the Sinclair’s is a huge breath of fresh air. Their adoration and love for each other shine through even in the barbed insults that get traded by the siblings. Still, Max loves Erica and her sass and Lucas’s parents for being so incredibly kind to her.

They set her up in the guest bedroom and she sinks onto the mattress slowly, exhaling. It’s almost overwhelming, the amount of love that is in this house. And it hurts to know that this is the kind of thing she missed out on back in California. She doesn’t realize how long she just sits there numbly until Lucas is knocking on the doorframe.

He looks a bit concerned at her expression and he wanders in and sits next to her. “Earth to Max? Are you okay?”

Max shakes herself. “Yeah, yeah I’m great, actually. It’s just nice to be in a place where Thanksgiving is a happy thing.” She bites her tongue after she speaks and expects a prying question in response, but as always, Lucas tactfully avoids making her uncomfortable.

“My mom likes you already. Be careful, or you might find yourself invited back for Christmas and Easter.” He says it like it’s something terrible and Max laughs weakly. Spending the holidays with people who are pleasant and don’t throw fists and scalding words at every opportunity has been her dream since her mother married Neil.

Max leans her head against Lucas’s shoulder. He tenses for a moment before he relaxes, resting his head atop hers. “Thanks, Lucas,” she mumbles softly.

-

Thanksgiving is a respite, a light in her darkness, and she feeds off of the feeling of family that it left her long past November and into December as Lucas drops her off at the airport to fly home to California for Christmas. They’re wearing matching grey sweaters with ‘Purdue’ on them in gold and Max gives him a last smile before she slips out of his car.

She’s grabbing her suitcase from his trunk when he walks up beside her. He places it on the ground and pulls her into a sudden hug. She squeezes him back and has to force back tears as he pulls away. She’s going to miss him and the whole party over the break, but it’s only just two weeks. A part of her wants to just jump back into the car and go to his place with him where his mother’s smile and cooking and his father’s jokes and stories and Erica’s stubborn sass will have her laughing till her sides hurt, but she has to go home eventually.

Christmas sucks. Dinner is burnt and dry and tense and by the time Max gets on a flight back to school in the beginning of January, her Purdue sweater is hiding several bruises and a healing cigarette burn on her shoulders and arms. She was decidedly not coming home for summer, and not everyone in the house had been pleased with that news.

Mike and El pick her up from the airport because Lucas isn’t back from Hawkins yet, but Max is still incredibly glad to see the couple. They chat on and on about their break and how much fun they had and how they got the whole group together except her and how obviously she was missed. Max smiles and sinks into the seat, relishing the fact that she was back in Indiana and that Billy and Neil were in California and it would be a long while before she would see them again.

-

In early March, the whole party finds themselves at a house party halfway between Will and Joe’s art school, and El’s dorm on the east end of campus. The party is loud. Some popular rap song is blaring through the house, physically shaking it, but Max is buzzed enough that she’s still having a good time. She and El had just finished destroying Mike and Dustin in a game of pong and now she was standing with Lucas and Dustin to one side of the room after Mike and El had disappeared to dance.

Dustin drains the last of his drink and looks in both Lucas and Max’s cups. They’re both nearly done too so Dustin taps the bottoms of them to encourage them to finish. Max tips hers back, swallowing the last of the cheap beer and passes it to Dustin with a sly grin. Lucas follows her lead.

“I shall return fair maiden and sir,” Dustin says jokingly as he takes all three cups and vanishes to the back of the house, leaving Max and Lucas alone.

Lucas opens his mouth to say something, but as he does, the rap song abruptly changes to an AC/DC song that Max doesn’t completely hate and she grins.

“Wanna dance, Stalker?”

Lucas gives her a lopsided smile. “Sure thing, Mad Max.”

She grabs his hand and tugs him to the edge of the dance floor. Her hands land on his shoulders as she shimmies to the pounding beat, singing along with the rest of the party. Lucas’s hands find her waist and they move together. He doesn’t sing, but Max notices his eyes don’t leave her face at all and he looks happy. The dance makes her deliriously happy: she’s drunk and dancing with her friend/neighbour/definitely crush and it’s a good night.

Everything is going great right up until the moment she feels a pair of firm hands fall deliberately onto her ass. Max wheels around, hands flying up to shove the guy molesting her, but they meet a solid chest and the guy doesn’t budge.

“What the hell?” she demands angrily. “Keep your hands to yourself, asshole.”

The guy smirks and looks her up and down, eyes lingering on the deep scoop of her shirt. “Hey, an ass like this should be dancing with a guy who actually knows how to please a girl,” he drawls casually. His hands mimic an hourglass shape in front of him and Max is barely able to restrain from punching him right then and there.

She can feel Lucas go rigid with fury behind her and his voice is like glass when he speaks. “Back off, Troy.”

Troy, the douche, smirks and eyes Lucas. “What, Sinclair, scared she’s gonna slip out with a real man?”

Max scoffs loudly. “Unlikely.”

Troy’s smug look flickers. “Come on, babe, let me give you a real ride.” He reaches for her as if to grab her hips, and Lucas steps up quickly, snagging Troy’s hand at the wrist.

“Touch her again,” he says coldly. Troy’s eyebrow lifts. “What are you gonna do about it, Sinclair?” His other hand drifts forward and Max steps back instinctively.

Just as she steps back, Lucas steps around her and decks Troy clean in the face. The douche recoils sharply, swearing. Lucas is rigid in front of her and Troy manages to get a clean swing back at him, catching the side of his face. Lucas jerks away from the punch and Troy goes for his stomach. His defensive body positioning saves him from the brunt of the blow, but Max can still hear the sick thus it makes against his stomach. She winces and Lucas crumples back from the hit. She reaches to steady him, and his hands grip onto her arms tightly as he swears darkly.

Max fixes Troy with a wicked glare and is glad to see that Lucas’s shot got his nose which is bleeding and looks a little crooked. Just as it looks like the douche is about to go after Lucas again, his arm is caught by Dustin on the backswing. Max has never been so glad to see the rest of their friends in her entire life. Dustin and Mike are at the front, twin images of anger and El, Will, and Joe stand just behind them.

“What going on?” Mike asks, his voice sharp as he glares at Troy. “Don’t you have high schoolers to prey on or something?”

Dustin’s drops Troy’s arm and the bully jerks away, quickly noticing he’s outnumbered. He gives Max and Lucas one last dark look. “Crazy bitch isn’t even worth my time,” Troy growls before he disappears into the crowd.

Max tenses at the insult, but she can feel Lucas’s body go rigid with offence and she squeezes his arms to ground him. “He’s a dick, Lucas, it’s fine.”

Lucas stands up straight, glaring after where he disappeared to. “It’s not fine. Troy’s been harassing us since we were kids and he probably wouldn’t have even gone after you if he hadn’t seen us together.”

El shakes her head. “It’s not your fault Lucas, we all know what Troy is like.” Lucas scowls and turns his head slightly away from Max.

Will frowns suddenly. “Jesus, Lucas, how hard did he hit you?”

Max’s head snaps in Will’s direction and she sees that he and the rest of the party are admiring the split skin and developing mark on the top part of Lucas’s cheekbone. She frowns. “Anyone know where we can get some ice for that?”

Joe clears his throat. “Will and I were actually gonna head back to my suite and I know we have some in our freezer. You guys are welcome to crash there if you’d like.” Max nods. She doesn’t much feel like crossing campus in the dark at night since Joe’s apartment-style suite is much closer.

“You’re okay with this many people?”

“Mike and I can go to my dorm. It’s close by,” El says quickly.

“And I already promised Suzie I’d walk her home, so I’ll crash there,” Dustin adds.

Will shrugs. “We can figure out a makeshift mattress for one of you and the other can take the couch.”

Lucas eyes Max. “You good with that?”

Max shrugs, giving him a small smirk. “No problems here, Stalker. We do need to get some ice on that though.”

-

With plans set and the party winding down, Max follows Joe and Will out of the house, Lucas on her heels. The couple leads the way, Joe’s arm dropped over Will’s shoulders as they chat quietly, leaving Max with Lucas who has barely spoken to her since decking Troy.

The walk back to Joe’s is only a few minutes. Joe’s actual roommate, he informs them, barely lived in the suite, hence why there would be no issues. Will almost immediately disappears to Joe’s bedroom, looking like he was going to collapse. Joe points out the freezer and then follows his boyfriend, also looking drained.

Max and Lucas are left standing in the kitchen alone. The light down the hall clicks off, confirming that there was going to be no funny business from the boys because they were tired. Max then immediately turns to the freezer, looking for an ice pack.

Contrary to Joe’s statement, there is actually no ice the freezer; however, there is a bag of frozen peas which she passes to Lucas. Lucas accepts it and moves to sit on the couch in the suite. He stares blankly at the coffee table as he holds the peas to his face and Max frowns.

“Thank you, Lucas, for sticking up for me. You really didn’t need to punch him though,” she says after a long, awkward moment.

Lucas’s warm eyes flick to her. He shrugs, keeping the frozen veggie’s attaches to his cheekbone. “I kind of did. I’ve wanted to punch Troy since like third grade and the guy is a total asshole to girls.”

Max chuckles darkly and walks out of the kitchen. “No argument from me there.”

Lucas lets out a deep sigh. “I hate guys like that. Those who take advantage of girls or look down on people because they’re girls or they’re gay or–“ he cuts himself off suddenly, his gaze dark.

Max licks her lips. “Black?” she offers quietly. Lucas nods.

He sighs again. “Hey, it’s better than it used to be.”

She drops onto the couch next to him. “And thank god for that.” She pauses. “I’m sorry people still treat you like that.”

“As long as you never do, then you have nothing to apologize for.” Billy’s face and her stepfather’s face flare across her memory and the rage they’d displayed when they’d met Angela, Max’s only person of colour friend in California. She swallows and looks at Lucas again. She gets an eye full of frozen veggies covering dark skin and a curious look in return.

“Let me see it,” she says, reaching up to pull the peas away. As she does she sees the raised edges of where the skin split and the slightly puffy, shiny skin where he was hit. His dark complexion is helpful in hiding the bruising, but the purple shading is already filling in, so the shiner is going to be good and obvious anyway.

Max laughs wryly. “God, if you were at least white like the rest of us losers I could help you cover that, but I don’t think ivory shade foundation is going to be much of a help. Not even my neutralizes will help you.”

Lucas blinks slowly at her, confusion muddling his expression. “Max, why do you know so much about covering bruises?”

She tenses. “Skateboarding,” she replies instinctively, but the look on Lucas’s face tells her that he doesn’t buy it for a minute.

“Does this,” he pauses, his tone even and cautious, “have anything to do with why you didn’t go home for Thanksgiving and why you don’t talk about Christmas break?”

Max doesn’t reply, dropping her gaze to the floor. She doesn’t want his pity and shame floods through her hotly. She doesn’t want him to look at her like some wounded animal. Lucas sighs when she doesn’t reply and she feels his arm drape over her shoulders as he pulls her into a sideways hug.

“Jesus Christ, Max, I don’t even know what to say.”

“Just don’t say anything then,” she says shortly. She leans into him, letting her head rest against his collarbone. “Don’t say anything.”

He adjusts his arms around her, but says nothing.

-

Max wakes up warm in the morning and her left arm is completely numb. She jerks it, trying to get feeling back before she blinks harshly and realizes her nose is pressed into the red-checked pattern of the shirt Lucas had been wearing the night prior. She realizes they’re awkwardly positioned on the too-small couch, wrapped together with their legs entangled and that’s why she can’t feel her arm.

She elbows him. “Lucas,” she hisses. “Wake up, Stalker.”

He stirs beneath her and blinks half-asleep eyes at her when he comes to. “Hey Mad Max, what’s up?”

She squirms against him and slides her arm free, but the action nearly sends her toppling off the couch, and Lucas squeezes her against his chest to steady her. She blushes at the close proximity and intentionally draws away. She slides off the couch and stretches her arms above her head. She hears him yawn and sit up behind her.

It’s not like they haven’t fallen asleep together on Saturdays during their movie nights, but they’ve never woken up quite as entangled as that before. It felt personal and incredibly domestic, and as much as she tries to deny it, it felt comforting and nice.

She reaches out to check her phone and her heart sinks when she sees that Billy has sent her several texts.

Remember what I said over the break.

No unsavoury types or I swear they’ll never know what hit them.

Billy’s threats are so thinly veiled they might as well as punched her in the face. He’s stalked her on Facebook before and he’s clearly seen the pictures of Lucas and her grinning and laughing at the arcade. Panic seizes Max’s chest and she almost forgets how to breathe. For a moment, it doesn’t matter that Billy is across the entire country because all she can see is Troy the douche decking Lucas in the face for having the audacity to defend Max.

She must look like she’s been tased or something because Lucas coughs lightly. “Max, are you alright?”

“Fine,” she says shortly. Her voice is flat and unconvincing, but her heart is racing and fear holds her tightly. “I’ve got somewhere to be though, so I have to run. Thank Will and Joe for me, okay?” She doesn’t turn to face him–she can’t–as she heads for the door and jerks on her shoes and coat.

“Hey! Max, wait!” Lucas calls after her, stumbling tiredly off the couch.

She doesn’t pause, just turns and bolts out the door.

-

Max is only back in her room for fifteen minutes before someone’s knocking on it. She hopes it’s El or Dustin or Mike or even the stupid floor RA, but the knocking persists when she ignores it and her stomach sinks.

“Max!” Lucas calls. “Come on, open the door!”

He keeps up the incessant knocking for five whole minutes before Max loses her patience. She swings the door open suddenly and Lucas has to physically stop himself before he smacks her in the face trying to knock. He seems taken aback that she actually opened the door.

He’s still wearing the same rumpled clothes from the night before and the gleaming bruise on his face is painfully obvious in the cheap lighting of the hallway. Concern is written all over his expression and Max has to stop herself from slamming the door in his face.

“Hey, can we talk about what the hell that was at Joe’s?” he asks once he seems certain that she’s not going to slam the door.

Max exhales slowly. “I had a call to make,” she lies through her teeth.

Lucas frowns. “I didn’t push you last night Max, so don’t lie to me.”

She exhales slowly, closing her eyes. “I don’t think we can be friends anymore,” she says shortly.

Lucas blows his breath out through his nose, looking confused and a little annoyed. “What the hell, Max? We’ve been friends for seven months and you just want to cut me off?” She must hesitate long enough that Lucas knows something is really wrong because he doesn’t let her reply. “This is obviously not coming from you, so if I did something last night or this morning that was out of line, tell me because I don’t have a clue! I thought everything was going great and last night I might have actually freaking kissed you before the whole Troy thing happened, but apparently, I read that situation all wrong too!” He sounds more frustrated than angry and when she looks at him, the emotions are written all over his face.

She loves Lucas. She loves how he wears his heart on his sleeve. She loves his quirky jokes and biting sarcasm that matches her own. She loves his dedication to his friends and his no-shit-taken personality. He’s funny and clever and a whole lot better than someone as fucked up as she is deserves.

“No,” she says weakly. “You don’t get to say that,” she insists.

Lucas glares at her, but there’s no malice behind it. “And why not? Because it’s true? Why are you so afraid to admit that we’ve had something for long enough that everyone seems to know it except us?”

Max’s heart breaks. “Because you can’t like me! Because I’m all kinds of fucked up! Because I’ll never be able to bring you over to my house to visit or to meet my family because they’d beat the shit out of both of us because they’re horrible people! Because your family showed me more kindness in one weekend than I can remember in my entire childhood and your friends have made this place more home to me than the state I lived my entire goddamn life. Because I don’t know how to protect you when people attack you for being who you are or how to thank someone for sticking up for me like you did. Because I don’t know how to love you without hurting you because everyone who ever fucking loves me gets hurt!”

The words are sharp and biting and feel unfamiliar on her tongue, but they’re undeniably the truth and the confession is written there, plain for him to see. Lucas is silent, eyes blown wide, and clearly taken aback. Max counts to ten silently in her head and when he doesn’t move, she turns to close the door.

It’s almost all the way closed when his hand shoots out to grab it. He forces it back open and steps into her room. Instead of pity and fear like she had expected, his gaze is warm and affectionate. His hands grip her upper arms and she forces herself to meet his gaze.

“Mad Max, I don’t care about any of that. Your family sounds like a bunch of assholes that I don’t ever need to concern myself with. I’m not afraid to be with you because you think you’re broken because I look at you and I just see this girl who’s witty and smart and beautiful and I think, ‘Damn she’s something else’, because I like you, Max. The Party loves you, my family loved you, and you’re not just some passing thing in my life. I would take a million punches from Troy for you and I would spend a million lifetimes trying to show you how loved you are. Because you are, Max, because I love you.”

Lucas’s confession is honest and open and something in Max’s chest breaks and everything comes to a stop. She rocks forwards and kisses him hard. His hands slide up to cup her face as he kisses her back fiercely. Billy and Neil and Troy and every other stupid, racist, sexist, asshole she’s ever met leave her brain as she wraps her arms around Lucas and kisses him until she can’t breathe because he is real and he loves her.

She pulls back, gasping, but Lucas keeps their bodies in the same space, breathing hard. Max presses her forehead to his. Her heart pounds and she swears that she can hear his beating too.

It’s not perfect and it’s not easy, but she loves him. She loves him more than rockstars, and skateboards, and old fashioned arcades, and California, and sarcasm. She loves their friends and Indiana and every stupid movie he’s ever played for her.

And he loves her. And it’s enough.

[zweiginator]

Good Company- Part Eight

Summary: After Brian’s startling confession, there’s a lot to talk about and even more bittersweet changes to come.

Word Count: 5.2k+

Warnings: light kissing, a little (lot)? bit of angst, some cuteness

Author’s Note: this chapter took a lonnng time to get out because it’s the literal definition of a filler chapter. I hope you guys enjoy it nonetheless; it may be quite boring but the next chapters will be a lot more interesting!!

If every synonym for “fast” was jumbled into one excessively long, powerfully connoted word, it wouldn’t begin to do justice to the rapid throbbing of your heart within your seemingly hollowed out chest. It felt as if Brian had scooped your heart out from underneath a wall of bone--but with ease; he had no idea the effect his confession had on you--not one bit. You sat back down on the toilet as Brian fumbled with the lock, the protruding metal knob of it chipping his nail varnish that had only been painted on a few days before.

“Damn,” Brian pulled his hand away and scrunched his eyebrows, assessing the damage of his nails. “This lock is awful.” He jiggled it again and you sighed loudly, standing up to pull his arm away from the door. He whipped his head around and braced his hands on the sink, quirking an eyebrow at you, almost suspiciously.

“Brian.” You looked at the pregnancy test, still sat stationary next to the faucet, the negative symbol daunting, almost mocking you for thinking you could ever have a functional relationship.

“Yes, bub?” He hoisted himself onto the sink and tapped along the lip of the countertop, his head falling against the mirror, hard enough so it wiggled against the nails it was loosely bound on.

“Brian, you just said you wanted to impregnate me and now you’re wondering what I could possibly be wanting to talk to you about?” You pulled the shaggy bath rug towards you with your feet, crossing your arms over your chest.

Brian stepped down from the sink effortlessly; he was so tall he just had to balance his already-planted feet on the ground to stride over to you, where he knelt down in front of you, running his thumbs over the backs of your hands. “I know--” He shook his head, his curls swaying over his face, catching against his moistened lips. “I know this is a lot to take in, but--I don’t know. I just feel ready. Like my time is running out.”

“Like your time is running out?” You repeated, pulling one of your hands away from his to push his hair back, away from his face. “Brian, you’re in your twenties. Your life has barely begun.” You watched him intently, as his eyes flickered to your lap, tracing the path of a dust bunny that was fleeting over your jeans, clinging on the rough fabric for dear life, but so, so easy to tear off. It reminded him of your and his relationship in a way; a weird allegory that symbolized how close he felt to you, how completely shackled he was to you by something that was so easy to rip apart, to watch the remains flutter away and meddle into the air, full of similar broken ties, impossible to be put back together. There would always be something pulling at the ripped and re-sewn seams of your relationship, wanting nothing more than to shatter this hope of true love that felt so fading, so momentary although he wanted it to last for an eternity.

Maybe this was just a defense mechanism, a way to make sure you and him were strung together forever, by something more substantial than a metaphorical clump of dust.  Because the more he thought about it, the more he realized he wasn’t equipped to be a father; he lived in a shared flat with three other men, who all spent the little money they earned from gigs and dead-end, under-the-counter jobs on tons of cheap booze and revealing clothing used as a tactic to gain courage and sex. They had no steady source of income, not to mention Brian’s emotional health had been anything but stable; he couldn’t remember the last time he hadn’t felt a swarm of butterflies fluttering their way through his intestines. And while he didn’t blame it on you, he knew you were the reason why. The pining, the desperate sex, the condemnation from Roger. And now a pregnancy scare could be added to Brian’s massively long list of stressors, topped off with a confession he wasn’t sure he really meant.

“I mean, I know I’m young--just” He felt trapped, like he had really fucked everything up, and in his mind this was irredeemable. Asking his new girlfriend--his best friend’s ex--if he could impregnate her was more severe than a marriage proposal--which Brian knew he wasn’t ready for, not in the slightest.

“Just what?” You ran your fingers through his curls at the nape of his neck, tracing your eyes over the dark stubble peppered along his jaw. His eyes flitted downwards, his eyelashes shielding the look of despair pooling and feathering throughout his honey irises.

“You’re right--we’re not ready. I’m not--at least.” He looked back up at you, bracing himself on your thighs by running his fingers along the fabric of your jeans. Your legs shook anxiously, your feet almost numb against the cold tile floor, pained from the consistent pressure on your heels.

“Then why did you say that?” You stroked the top of his cheek with your thumb and leaned forward, partially to relieve the ache from your uncomfortable position on the porcelain--but mostly to comfort Brian who was looking increasingly uncomfortable himself. “Gave me a heart attack. I’ve thought about it you know?”

Brian stood up, your hand still enclosed in his. He ran his fingers across the ridges of your knuckles and pressed a quick kiss to the deep divot between them, his lips just a bit chapped like they always were. “You’ve thought about it?” He repeated, straightening out the cluttered sink; bars of soap were seemingly melted upon the porcelain, ivory soap caked the smooth, glassy surface and Brian furrowed his eyebrows, scraping it off with his nails. “Having a baby in general? Or with me?”

“I mean--both. But we haven’t been together nearly long enough to make a decision like that.” You explained and he nodded, understanding that of course, you weren’t ready to have a child with him; you had only been together for a few months--a few months of turmoil and chaos and miscommunication that left you in Brian’s cramped bathroom in the first place, hugging your knees to your chest as Brian blinked back salty tears.

Brian wasn’t sad; he was mostly relieved that everything was going so well, despite your argument that morning that left his eyes bloodshot and lips tingling from his nervous nibbling at the delicate skin. He was angry that your conversations had to be so hushed and shoved under the surface of everything; the fact that you had to hide in the bathroom and share whispers and secret kisses was angering to Brian; he didn’t like feeling as if loving you were some taboo, forbidden enigma when it wasn’t, when it shouldn’t be. To him, it was natural, right. “You’re right; I know.” He sighed, unlocking the door again. That time, the lock was able to be unhooked easily, and Brian was thankful he didn’t have to sacrifice another carefully painted nail. “I guess I just want stability--I don’t know.” Brian peeked out of the door, bracing his hand on the doorframe, making sure to stay clear of the splintered wood chipping away like the ivory paint.

“Okay.. I’m just a bit confused here--are you mad at me?” You stood up quickly, your circulation flowing back to your extremities quickly; your legs had been crossed for hours and  were tingling from the idle worrying that had pervaded the past two hours, wedged in Brian’s tiny bathroom, intertwined with him.

“No! No, not at all. Just a bit confused about what I want, you know?” He splayed his fingers across your lower back, leading you from the bathroom. Deaky, Roger and Freddie sat in the living area, feigning attention at the television, which was muted and playing a scientific program Brian might have found interesting on a particularly boring day. He stopped you in the corridor, pulling you behind a thin wall that acted as a partition between where the rest of the household was. Framed photographs and haphazardly hung polaroids of the boys taken by Brian and fleeting strangers fluttered against the drywall as your shoulder blade hit it softly. Brian leaned forward, looking utterly serious, his lips pursed in a straight line, his fingers twirling his necklace like he always seemed to do when he was nervous. “I was oddly calm when you thought you were pregnant.” He began, pushing a shorter tendril of hair from your forehead. “Of course I was a bit nervous, but--I realized I wouldn’t really mind if you were. I guess that doesn’t mean I want a baby right now--but I wouldn’t mind you--” He paused, swallowing and lowering his voice, which was a bit raw from his screaming match with Roger earlier. “Having my babies. Having our babies.”

You ran your thumb over Brian’s knuckles, feeling the soft ridges of the protruding bones. His hand trembled in yours, his tongue flitting out of his mouth to swipe over his bottom lip, dry from a continuous flow of anxiety. “You’re really something else, Brian.” You reached your arm over his shoulder and held a curl of his between your fingers, feeling the lock twist and coil around them. “How did you get so sweet?” You squeezed his cheeks together, the skin soft and warm from a persistent flush upon them.

Brian clasped his hands over yours and pulled them down over your hips, the calluses of his fingertips brushing over a patch of exposed skin. “Maybe it’s because I’m your honey?” He pressed his forehead against yours, the soft ends of his eyelashes tickling along the skin, fluttering like the butterflies in your stomach--but they were good butterflies, ones that you only felt when Brian was around. They were warm and inviting and very unlike the ones you had felt a bit earlier, waiting to see if your life would be altered irreparably by a tiny bundle of cells.

You cupped his jaw and smoothed your thumb over the bone, which jutted out a bit further than usual, due to his effervescent smile that beamed over his sleepy features. “You’re so cheesy--but I really do love you, Brian.” You assured him, pushing your thumb along his bottom lip. His breaths became shallow, laborious, as if he needed help to fill his hollow lungs with oxygen just to keep him there with you. “I don’t think I tell you enough.”

Brian lowered his head and nudged your nose with his own, tilting your head back. He sighed as you pushed his face forward and gently kissed his bottom lip. Brian’s head always felt irrevocably hazy when his lips touched yours, as if an impermeable grey fog rose from his numbed feet and clouded throughout his body. He couldn’t see; all he had were his thoughts, and those only pertained to you, all the time. He moaned sweetly into your mouth and you tightened your grip on his hair, wanting him everywhere--on your lips, through your fingers, against your entire self.

“I need you--” Brian ran his fingers over your hair as you nipped at the skin of his collarbones, peppering wet kisses over the warm skin. He rolled his head back quickly, his eyes fluttering shut as the back of his head hit the corner of a wooden picture frame sharply. “Ow fuck!” Brian yelled under his breath, clasping a hand at the throbbing pain.

You pulled away from kissing him and smiled, bringing your hand up to rub over the small bump forming on his head. “Sorry bub.” You pressed a kiss to your palm and patted the injury. “Will a kiss make it better?” You disheveled his hair slightly.

“Of course it will.” He gave you a wide smile, his tongue poking out to gather the remainder of your last kiss on the corner of his mouth.

You both heard a sigh, and then a sharp knock along the corner of the wall you were both leaning against. “Are you chaps done tongue-fucking each other over here? Maybe you forgot that I’m awaiting the verdict too?” He held a hand over his chest and nodded, looking facetiously sad, but his wide doe-eyes were a darker blue than you remembered ever looking into--although you had been so used to Brian’s eyes, their brown akin to a deep, sweet nectar that you had forgotten the eyes you used to stare into so longingly before.

“We were getting there, Rog.” Brian pushed his body off the wall by his sock-covered foot.

“Right.” He held his hands up and pursed his lips, which looked undoubtedly bitten by someone else, your suspicions only confirmed by two purpling love bites perched upon the junction of his shoulder and neck. “Just a bit of a detour, I suppose.” He sighed, raising his eyebrows, thick and untamed. “Well? Are you?”

“God, Roger you’re being insensitive, Jesus.” Brian rolled his sleeves up and tensed his arms, his goal of intimidating the blond revealing itself to be completely obsolete; Roger was only looking at you.

“This entire situation is completely insensitive to everybody involved. We’re past decencies at this point.” Roger shrugged his shoulders, leaning against the same spot on the wall Brian was; now he was on the other side of you, snug in the chipped doorway. “So?” He heaved out a sigh, shoving away the spilled deck of cards Brian dropped reflexively when your lips attached to his neck.

“No; I’m not pregnant. At least not according to that test.” You adjusted your shirt, pulling it down where it had ridden up, Brian’s doing. Patting Roger’s extremely tensed shoulder, you peeked around the corner and saw Freddie and Deaky chatting in a soft whisper, very uncharacteristic of their usually quite unrestrained conversations.

“Are we going to be godfathers to a very illegitimate child?” Freddie held a hand over his throat, swallowing a piping sip of his afternoon tea. His cup tinkled against the hollow wooden table his and John’s feet were resting upon; Deaky shifted them further away from Freddie’s earl grey.

“Shut up, Freddie.” Deaky shoved his shoulder, covered by a blood red t-shirt. There were a few darker patches over the front of it--a result from shaky hands and scalding tea. “But will we be?” Deaky asked, shoving his hands in his tight front pockets, his fingers rubbing over the linen lining inside of them. “Not that it’s really any of our business, I reckon.”

“None of our business?” Freddie scoffed, rolling his eyes and keeping them there, watching the warm light fading in and out due to the thick sheet of rain pouring over the streets outside. “Please. That baby was conceived in the very shower we use every day; I beg to differ that it’s none of our business.” He leaned forward, fanning his hand over the steam billowing and folding over the lip of the cup. “Bloody bitch won’t cool down.” He complained.

Brian nibbled on his already-ruined nails, his cheeks flushed the same color of Freddie’s sangria shirt. You just kept your head down, sitting on the edge of the coffee table, next to Deaky’s exposed legs. “What?” Brain questioned, hoping if he seemed clueless enough, Freddie would drop the subject.

But they both knew that would never happen. “What do you mean, what?--I came back to grab some cash that day after I left; fuckin’ forgot it because Johnny boy moves my wallet whenever I set it down.” He explained. “Anyway--you two weren’t being quiet; it sounded like two wet seals slapping against each other. And--” He shivered. “I saw the stains on one of our only hand towels...you two aren’t sly.”

“Jesus!” Roger ran a hand through his hair and nudged John over to sit between the two men. “She’s not fuckin’ pregnant, so we can stop talking about this.” He held his head in his hands and tugged the sleeves of his sweater down to warm up his numbing hands.

“In the shower? Really?” Deaky shuddered, and then nodded appreciatively. “Nice one, though, Bri.”

Roger glared at him, kneeing John in his own knobby knees. “Christ, Deaky. Enough.”

“So now you’re worried about sensitivity, Roger?” You challenged. Brian stood far removed from the situation, staring at his socks, feeling the coolness of the floors through the holes in the wool material, scratchy against his ankles.

“Deaky is my friend. I’d expect it from someone I trust.” Roger examined his cuticles with utter care, although his face revealed the opposite.

“God, Roger!” Brian threw his hands up and leaned over the table, his necklaces dangling over the exposed skin of his neck, where a new hickie was blossoming over the ridge of his collarbone. The veins in his forearms extended below his effortlessly smooth skin, feeding into the smaller ones in his hands, crinkling a newspaper in his tightening grasp. “Can you just let me be with her? God, you’re making it so much worse than it needs to be!”

Roger squeezed the taut skin of his upper thigh, refraining from looking Brian in his eyes, which were darkened into a deep, deep brown--like honey tainted with dark charcoal, poisonous to look at. “I just don’t understand why you act like you’re all high and mighty--like you saved Y/N and are her knight in shining fucking armor when you caught me with that girl at that party last year. Remember? While me and her were together?” Roger said this calmly, his jaw angled, tense.

“What?” Brian stood up, crossing his arms over his chest. Freddie and Deaky couldn’t pretend to be enraptured in the television that Brian was now obscuring, and they sighed, feeling forever enclosed once again in this perpetual drama. You did too.

Feeling like someone was was squeezing at your throat, and trapping your contrived breaths there, idle and unable to get out, you turned to Brian. “What?” You repeated. It came out squeaked and heavy and vulnerable. “You were cheating on me-before?” Of course it hurt, but you couldn’t act surprised; it seemed as if your entire relationship with Roger included deep suppression of true feelings on both of your parts, it was never meant to be. But Brian knew; your sweet, kind, guy with only good intentions--the same guy who sealed pinky promises with kisses and called you during long recording days in mud-caked phone booths--knew. All along. You couldn’t look at him, knowing your eyes would well up with salty, ardent tears--and his would too. He just had to be so sweet--so seemingly perfect that when he made a mistake it hurt like the purest, sharpest pain, pierced right in the chambers of your heart.

“I--at the party last February?” Brian questioned, confused.

“You’ve got it, Brian. Remember that? Her on my lap kissing me. You were so jealous of me already because I asked Y/N out a few weeks before. Still don’t know why you never said anything.” Roger flipped his lighter open, thumbing the etched metal cap as he fished a spare cigarette from his diminishing pack.

“I was drunk that night--very drunk. I didn’t even--I didn’t remember that until you mentioned it.” Brian was responding to Roger but he was looking at you, at the back of your head, your hair falling forward as you crossed your ankles, watching the last ephemeral glow of light flutter over the cold skin before the dawning of dusk.

“But you remembered the exact party?” Roger scoffed running a finger through a well-defined wave at the back of his scalp. “Sure.”

“Because you mentioned it! And--don’t make me the bad guy when you were the fucking cheater...I truly don’t understand your logic, Roger.” Brian strode to the door quickly, slipping on his semi-wet clogs; a pool of water sloshed in the toe of each shoe. “Can you just let me be happy? Let me have this one thing that doesn’t have to be yours too?” He pulled his coat over his shoulders, so frazzled and betrayed and embarrassed that he couldn’t zip himself up. Instead, he gave up, slamming the door behind him, the vibrations anything but subtle, reverberating and skipping over the floor.

Freddie was the one to break the silence, although apprehensively. “I’m sure he’s going to his parents’ house.” He explained, hooking his pinky in the handle of his tea cup. “He’ll be back by tomorrow--”

You interrupted him, gathering your jacket under your arm, too irate to care it was on the verge of snowing in London. “I don’t want to see him.” You sniffled, pulling the tongue of your sneaker to shove your foot in, not caring that the back was folded over, pushing against your heel. “And Roger? I hope you never get a wife. You’ll just fucking disappoint her.” You spat.

__

Brian shifted uncomfortably on a foreign couch, tucked in the back of a vast room, decorated with forest green ferns in clay pots, sat upon rustic tables. Cream linen curtains swayed in the wind but it was still dark; the time could barely be made out, but Brian could see just well enough that it was nearing seven in the morning. It took a few fleeting moments for Brian to realize he was at his parents house, curled into their brown leather sofa, his legs tucked into a fetal position just so he could fit himself on the temporary bed completely. He had driven there in a fit of rage and confusion; it was so odd, not having Roger there with him, there to be his wingman after gigs or challenge Brian’s vast knowledge, just to see him flush in anger. And not having you there was torturous; he wished his mother’s couch could be his own personal cocoon, that he could shrivel up and bind himself to the sticky leather and stay there, wrapped in a warm knitted blanket, and have nothing to fret about. But nothing could end his ceaseless worrying about your relationship--were you angry at him? Of course you were; what Brian did--or perhaps didn’t do-- was absolutely wrong and asinine, but he couldn’t help but defend himself, the id on his bony shoulder was telling him he was drunk that night, he didn’t even think about that seemingly irrelevant moment because the circumstances themselves weren’t uncommon. Brian had learned to expect catching him with casual shags, and he had seen his friend--and many girls--in very compromising positions. At one low point of his life, he thought you, too, were one of those one night stands, but he endlessly hoped you would stay--for what, exactly he didn’t know. Because he knew Roger couldn’t stay faithful. And he felt his eyelids becoming weighed down by the shame soaked through his eyelashes, mixed with dried, salty tears. He didn’t know why he didn’t tell you. He didn’t know why he felt this abiding loyalty to him when loyalty wasn’t anything Roger was even vaguely familiar with. Hearing his mother shuffle through the hallway in his father’s fleece robe, Brian quickly sat up, wiping the remnants of his sulking with the back of his trembling hand.

“Bri?” She pulled the ties to the long robe, trying her best not to trip over the thick fabric. “Are you still here?”

Brian clasped a hand to the side of his neck, rubbing the sore muscles; he had definitely slept on it wrong. “Yeah, mum. Just on the couch.”

“You never really said what was the matter last night, hon.” She pulled the baby blue blanket off of her son’s body momentarily, joining him under the warmth. She pulled it over his shoulders, noticing his persistent shivering. “Are you sick?” She touched his clammy forehead with the back of her hand, the skin soft but wrinkled, peppered with sunspots and baby freckles.

“No, mum.” He sighed, taking her hand from his forehead. She ruffled his hair lovingly, admiring the locks that poured over his collarbones, thick and streaked with the barely-there remainder of summer, caramel brown strands glittered just under the right light.

“All this hair!” She ran her fingers through, being gentle with the inevitable knots. “Where did it come from?”

“‘M not sure--my head I suppose.” He joked, his canines protruding from his mouth, a side-effect from a goofy smile.

Smiling herself, his mother pinched Brian’s lifted cheeks. “And how did you get to be so handsome?”

“Ask yourself and dad that. All your doing.” Brian nudged her shoulder. “But--seriously, my life could be...better. Lots of drama.” He nodded, picking at the nail polish on his thumb, the least callused of his fingers.

“Band drama? Is that going anywhere?” She asked. As loving as his parents were, they never would understand fully as to why their son--their bright, impossibly intelligent, scientifically gifted son--would give up his studies to be a guitarist--something his father always said with a sort of grimace-scowl hybrid. Brian was glad he was on a business trip for the time being.

“No--I mean yes, the band is doing great--but it’s not band drama. Roger drama.” He shifted uncomfortably, his neck still tender.

“Oh, that Roger, always dragging around drama like a dog on a leash. What is he up to now?”

Brian weighed his options; his mother saw him as a little boy still, and she had even set a glass of freshly squeezed grapefruit juice--his favorite--on the table in front of them, just like she did whenever he came off the school bus in primary school. She wouldn’t believe--or at least wouldn’t want to believe--all that Brian had done in college, and in the past few months. But he also knew his mother as a worrier. Plus, he was her only child--he owed it to her to be honest, forthcoming. “Okay. It’s a lot. And it’s sort of--personal. But I need to tell you, mum. I just need someone to be nonjudgmental; please keep that in mind.” He took her hands in his and squeezed them pleadingly.

“God, Brian. What did you do, exactly? You’re worrying me.” She pushed her glasses further up her sloped nose, not knowing what to expect.

“Okay, I think it’d be better if you listened all the way through. Save the gasps and comments for later; can you promise me that?”

She nodded, confused.

And Brian told her everything: about his love for you, and Roger’s commitment problems, and him catching you two in his unkempt bed after that gig months ago. About sneaking around, and the fights, and the fits of depression. He left out gritty details about the sex, not wanting to give his own mother a stroke, but he capped off the seemingly insurmountably dramatic story with the pregnancy scare.

“What?!” She held a frail hand over her heart, her wedding band sparkling under the dim lights above them.

“Don’t worry, mum!” He explained himself, touching her knee softly. “She’s not pregnant--the test was negative. I promise; that’s all sorted out.”

She slapped his knee. “You’re going to give me a bloody heart attack, Brian! Be careful--for God’s sake, I know you’re in your twenties but be smarter!” She shook her head, squeezing the bridge of her nose. “Boys and their urges I swear--you’re all insatiable.”

“Mum I don’t want to talk about--this--with you anymore. Let’s drop that subject.”

“You do know condoms ex--”

“Yeah, I know!” He rolled his eyes, sighing. “So what do I do? Do I talk to her? I know she doesn’t want to see me but--”

“Oh I’m sure she very much does not want to see you. You’ve become quite the homewrecker… it’s that band, I’m telling you.” Brian knew she was joking, but probably only halfway.

“You didn’t answer my question.” He took a long swig of the juice in front of him, in a tall cloudy glass. “I think I’m going to drive to her flat now. Love you, mum.” He gave her a tight hug, before getting up to put his empty cup in the sink, watching the last droplets of the thick juice swirl down the freshly cleaned drain.

She returned the affections, and Brian bent his knees so she could press a firm kiss to his forehead, a forever parting gift from mother and son. “Thank God your father wasn’t here to hear that mess of a predicament,” She scrubbed the glass clean, feeling the bubbles spill over her hands. “He would have surely had a stroke.”

__

Brian followed his own advice--which is why he found himself exceptionally nervous outside of your flat. It was only nine in the morning and the sun had barely made an appearance from behind the heavy purple clouds pervading the smoggy air. Brian rubbed his hands together using the lining of his coat pockets, preparing himself for your assured yelling--which he admitted he deserved; it was completely warranted given the situation.

“Brian?” You took a sip of your coffee, taking in his mussed curls and heaving chest; he was panting.

“Y/N, hi. We need to talk. Listen I’m so sorry--I didn’t know you guys were dating and I was drunk that night. You know how I get around shots. But I know it was stupid and I understand--”

“Brian--stop.” You yanked him inside by his hand, setting your chipped mug on the counter softly. “I’m not mad anymore--I know you would have told me; plus--” you sighed, feeling your throat tighten as you sat at the tall stool by the marble tabletop of the counter. “I’m just tired of being mad. It’s so exhausting.”

Brian picked up your mug, quirking an eyebrow as a silent query, asking if he could have some. You nodded softly, watching his pink lips cover the ceramic lip of the cup. He set it down a few second later, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “It really is--but that wasn’t all I came to talk about.”

You gulped, picking some lint from some flannel pajama bottoms you found shoved in the corner of your room. “Oh. Okay?”

“Are you serious about us? Do you want this to be real?” He leaned forward, swiping his thumb over your cheekbone lovingly.

“Of course--what do you mean?” Lifting your legs a bit, you wrapped your ankles around the backs of his calves, pulling him forward. He squeezed your waist and hoisted you onto the counter quickly, standing between your legs. You looked at him worriedly; his lips were parted, his tongue flitting out nervously as his eyes focused on the drawstrings of your jumper.

“I just wanted to know--” He held your head gently as you kissed along his neck, lining his upper chest with loving pecks. “Y/N.” He pleaded, unable to resist the wet kisses you were leaving over his collarbones, his thumbs digging into the soft skin by your hips.

“Hm?” You trailed kisses up the column of his throat, feeling his adams apple bob against your pillowy lips. Then you kissed his chin, and then finally his lips, swiping your tongue over the semi-chapped skin. Brian parted his own lips immediately, meshing them with yours as his tongue slipped into your mouth. “You taste fruity.” You commented, pulling away for a second. But you kept on going after that, holding the back of your boyfriend’s head and listening to his needy whimpers become louder, before they halted altogether, his voice choking as his hands fell from your waist.

“Y/N.” His voice cracked. “Queen is going on tour in a couple weeks. Freddie called me last night.”

__

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[spirify]

Artificial Flower― CH. 6

w. Rielin to never fade; only to live.

“Behind the flashiness of an eternal flower petal, there’s a liar who has never bloomed nor withered.” -Eddy Kim.

BGM | smyang piano: hug me at 4 o'clock | bts v

He was always alone. No one looked out for the young child, all of their attention was directed toward the other one. Not one person gave him a single glance. It was as if he was a ghost, as if his existence was never there to begin with.

Eid and Add.

Twin brothers. They looked and sounded extremely similar. Their hair, their eyes, nose, lips, height, voice, everything was indistinguishable, even their own parents got confused at some times. So similar yet they were so different.

Eid was the one who mastered his skills in every aspect. He was highly intelligent considering his young age. He was always so kind to every human being, not one person have seen him fury. He respected everyone, and was so careful not to make a wrong mistake. He was perfect. Everyone's dream.

And there was Add, the younger brother. The delinquent. Because of his temper, he always came back home with scars across his lips, his fingers had hint of blood. He wasn't necessarily smart, perhaps because he never tried. Not one person have seen him smile. He hated everyone, because everyone hated him. He never experienced love, except from his older, twin brother.

"You got in a fight. Again?"

Add was never jealous of Eid. Instead, he admired him. He wanted to change and be like his older brother. But how could he? How could he just copy his own brother and live his life like his older brother? He didn't wanted to get in Eid's way, he wished for his brother's success- even if that meant tearing his own life down.

"Don't mind it,"

"Let me see it,"

Eid said as he approached his younger brother while holding onto a bandaid. Add glimpsed down at the floor, afraid of showing his older brother his foolish self. Yet Eid stared at him with a gentle look, his lips were smiling at the sight of his younger brother acting like a child that's pouting.

"So…,"

Eid said and with those words, Add glanced up. Eid's eyes were filled with worry as he stared at the scars. As he placed the bandage on a tiny cut that has been made across Add's cheek, he continued.

"Who won?"

"What?"

"The fight. Who won?"

"...,"

"Don't tell me you lost… or I'm not gonna consider you as my twin brother,"

"What? Of course I won,"

"Hahaha,"

Eid chuckled at Add's reply. A hint of gentle smile was painted across Add's lips as he tried to maintain his poker face. Yet it didn't work out and the two bursted their laughter. Then at that moment, the sound of phone ringing echoed into their apartment.

"Oh a call,"

Eid said as he finished patching the bandage across Add's face. Eid quickly walked over to his phone, and as he stared into the screen, a rather big smile was painted across his lips. Add stared at him in confusion yet remained quiet as he watched his older brother.

"Hi, Eve…,"

An unfamiliar name was called by his older brother's name. Yet Add wasn't highly interested. Probably one of his new friend he made in college, he thought as he whipped his own phone out of his pocket. Add decided to play a game with his phone as he blocked out the conversation Eid was having with unknown, until he heard those three words-

"I love you,"

"...,"

"Bye,"

And Eid hung up the call. He pushed his phone into his pocket as he took a quick glimpse over to Add, who was giving him a mischievous smile.

"Who was that?"

He said with a rather playful tone.

"Um…,"

"Girlfriend?"

"Add…!"

Eid's face quickly turned into a color of a tomato as the word 'girlfriend' echoed into his ear.

"Let me see,"

"See what?"

"A picture of her,"

Add said with a hint of curiosity as he walked over to his brother. Add knew for a fact, whatever her name is, was his first girlfriend. Add knew his brother very well, that he could tell right away if he was hiding something rather important. Eid hesitated at first, but decided to show his little brother a picture of his precious one as he browsed through his gallery.

"That's her…,"

"...,"

"Isn't she pretty?"

"...Yeah…,"

Then the name that Eid called earlier during his call echoed into Add's mind.

Eve.

How pretty.

Even though all he saw was just one picture of her, he realized the weird, tingling sensation within him right away- he was in love with her.

The house was unusually quiet; there would usually be mixture of voices from television, the water sound from the shower, loud music coming from one of the rooms, yet there wasn't any of that. Add took off his earphones as he gazed around his room in silence. The only people in the house was just Add himself and his older brother. Add heard loud noises earlier, just mere ten minute ago it seemed as if Eid was furious, Add have never seen Eid yell with anger. He assumed he was on the phone with someone considering the fact that no one except Add himself is physically in the house to hear his screams. Yet the house was quiet now. Add carefully opened his bedroom door and walked out, only to figure out Eid's door was closed and locked. Add automatically assumed his brother wants to be left alone as he tried to calm himself. Add slightly wondered why he was so angry and who was his anger directed to, however he decided to quickly brush the thought away considering it's not his business.

Add walked over to the kitchen and looked through the cabinets, only to let out a sigh. No chocolate. He thought as he closed the cabinets and walked over to the front door. Add lazily put on his sneakers and threw his hoodie over his head as he walked out of the house. With a lazy sigh, the male opened the gate and walked out, only to be surprised at the sight of the female he always wanted to see.

"Eve…,"

Her name was unintentionally whispered by Add. However, Eve didn't seem to realize anything weird.

"Eid…!"

The name that his beloved called upon wasn't his name, but his brother's. Eve loved Eid. She doesn't even know Add's existence. It stung his heart, yet he wanted to see her smile.

"Eid, I'm sorry,"

At that moment, she quickly dashed up and embraced the male with her petite arms that could barely be wrapped around his waist. Her voice was filled with guilt as she shaked while being in his arms.

"What…?"

Although Add automatically figured out that Eid never told Eve about his younger twin brother due to his delinquent actions, he was extremely confused. What is she sorry about?

"The fight we had earlier… The more I think about it, it's actually my fault,"

Her delicate voice was stern and serious, even Add could tell her desperation of wanting to apologize to Eid. However, he wasn't Eid, he was Add.

As she spoke, Add glanced down and realized her cheeks were flushing hint of redness.

She's embarrassed.

The question about what kind of argument did they have, which was lingering within his mind for quite a bit quickly diminished at the sight of Eve acting shy in front of him. Although none of her words were meant for Add himself, it didn't matter- as long as he could hold her tightly within his arms just like this.

"Are you really sorry?"

Add asked rather playfully. Eve slightly released herself from his embrace and looked up with confusion, her golden eyes shimmering as the moonlight reflected her beautiful eyes.

Adorable…

Add thought to himself at the sight of the delicate female that was glancing up with the puppy-eyed look while being in his arms. She was so petite within his arms, it felt as if one, strong hug could break her; that's how precious she felt to Add.

"Of- of course!"

She stammered at the question that was suddenly asked by Add. However, that only made him burst into a chuckle.

"Then kiss me,"

With those playful words, Eve's golden eyes widened with surprise.

"Wh- what?"

Her cheeks were getting more and more red with mixture of embarrassment and shyness. Her two petite hands that were playfully tugging onto his hoodie were gripping onto his clothes with stronger force, and her lips that were slightly gaped closed suddenly as if she was determined. Slightly surprised at her sudden actions, as Add was about to take a step back, she stepped forward and pressed her lips gently onto his.

However, that only lasted for a second. It was a light peck.

Is this… what Eid do?

Add wondered to himself with a hint of disappointment. Do they call this a kiss?

Pathetic.

Before she could draw back, he quickly leaned forward and matched his lips against hers. Eve's eyes widened and her shoulders flinched as she felt the sensation of his tongue entering her mouth, gently caressing her own tongue. Indeed, it was something that Eid have never done. However, because it was something Eid had never done, it felt like something new, it felt like she was getting more closer with him. At the new sensation of the kiss that actually felt romantic, she gently closed her eyes.

After couple seconds, Add slowly backed his lips away from hers yet still kept the intimate distance between their lips. His forehead was gently pressing onto hers, and their lips were still touching one another, yet the distance between their lips allowed the two to whisper to each other.

"Do you love me,"

He whispered with a cautious voice, slightly excited yet afraid of her answer.

"I do,"

She whispered back without hesitation.

Liar.

Yet he knew, that Eve doesn't even know the existence of Add. Eve loves Eid, not Add. Although that fact painfully digged into his heart, it didn't matter. As long as he was able to see her like this, talk to her like this, embrace her like this, even if he lived the life as Eid, even if he threw away his life as Add, it was fine. Because he loved her.

note:

hi all! this chapter is mixture of Add's and Eve's past! Mostly focused on Add. /so you see Add wasn't a psycho before... lol.

sorry i had to break their dramatic scene from last chapter but this chapter is really important! it shows how Add falls in love with Eve and how he met Eve, and how Eid having Eve as his girlfriend is the only thing that Add feels jealous of!

next chapter will be back to the present, sorry if i caused confusion!

and why is this song so sad oml

oh and last chapter, i said whether if i should go on hiatus or not considering i only had this chapter written. but today for some reason i felt the need to write! this week, i've been on a role with new stories like Lucid Dream and Old Melody then i wrote the entire ending... lol. so technically, this story is finished! i will be posting one chapter every 2-3 weeks and the last chapter is chapter 10 :D

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