#wish i could sit and gossip with her over a cup of tea

[muzaktomyears]

Mimi visited John and Cynthia in Weybridge on occasion though the times when John was actually home and not touring were growing few and far between. Still, she enjoyed the visits. She told me of a time when she was there that she heard a knock on the door. No one seemed to be around so she answered it and there in front of her were two rather scraggy-looking young men. She wasn’t used to the rather roguish look of the male fans. They asked for John and she told them he wasn’t available then quickly sent them on their way, telling them in no uncertain terms not to return. They didn’t look like the average fans, but they did look like trouble. In any event, they turned and started back down the driveway. She’d barely shut the door when John came running down the stairs from one of the upper floors. “Mimi! What have you done?!” “I’ve told some fans to leave,” she responded. “Those aren’t fans!” He ran out of the door and down the driveway to stop the two from leaving. It wasn’t until later that he told her that was Mick Jagger and Keith Richards.

The Guitar’s All Right as a Hobby, John, Kathy Burns (2014)

[oh-snapperss]

creature comfort

“We won’t win today,” Cleo says, and Etho knows she’s right. Knows their time has been running out since the first secret was whispered to them in voices all too familiar, has known that this day was coming, has known that all this time, it’s not been a question of if–it’s been a question of when. 

They’re going to die today. Distantly, Etho wonders if the domesticity they’ve worked for will die with them, or if it will follow them back home. 

Will his home ever be a physical place again? Home is where the hearth is, where the warmth is, where the world is shut out and it’s just the three of them. 

Home is where Cleo is. 

“That’s alright,” Etho smiles instead of voicing all of that, wishing, of all things, that he didn’t still have that awful cough that Cleo had insisted he rest over for a few days. “We’ll be alright.” 

They’ll be dead–and what are the dead, if not alright? The dead don’t have coughs, or pain, or fear. They’re just dead. Etho thinks he might not mind it so much, this time. He’s finally learned to spend his time wisely, and he’s built a home no flaming arrow could ever take down. 

Just by the cow pen, there’s a stupid little porch Etho had built a while back. They’re nowhere near it now, but every night he and Cleo had watched the sunset, drank a final cup of tea, and turned in to sleep over gossip and giggles only they could draw from each other this time ‘round. Before, Bdubs had made him laugh like that–now, Etho wonders how long before there’s a sword at his throat. 

Even so, while Cleo laughs and watches him set Scar’s porch on fire, Etho hopes he might have the privilege of watching the sunset from the porch one last time. He’d survive the day, if only for another sunset with Cleo. 

BANG. 

Tango’s gone–Etho knows it in his heart. Surely he should feel an ache for him, should ask how he went. Instead, it’s easy to accept it. 

The wardens are fun. That’s all they are, now. Before, they had been terrors, then the answer to a desperate prayer he and Grian had made. The carnage of those terrifying beasts feel muted compared to before, but with the wind flying through his hair, the elated cries of Cleo in front of him, Etho can’t care. Not this time. They lead two clear to the middle of the server before they’ve decided to finish having their fun, and Cleo’s just stepping up some rocks when she says it. 

“You’re my favorite, you know that? You’ve always been my favorite.” 

He does know, he does know now. He’d guessed it that first sunset, when Cleo sat down with a giddy smile to recount their day. He’d thought it, when she’d wrapped a blanket around his shoulders after his failures and rested her head on his shoulder without a word. He’d lived it, when she had shouted that she would kill him if he tried to kill her–but was reassured otherwise that night on the porch again, with the curse ebbing from his bones. 

Today, he knows it in the blatant rebellion against what’s supposed to be the end, the dread, the fear. 

“You’re mine too.” Etho grins back, and knows that they’ll see his smile even through the mask–knows they’ve come to recognize it in his tone and way his eyebrows scrunch together. . 

They wind up in the sky base with Grian–Grian, who hasn’t quite reached the same conclusion they have. Etho knows by the shadows under his eyes he won’t give up, that he’ll fight clear to the end. Once upon a season, Etho had been the same. 

Not this time. Never this time. 

Around ten minutes to sunset, Etho and Cleo set down their dripstone and bows, and sit on the edge of the cobblestone wall. 

“I don’t think we’re gonna make it back to our base for it this time,” Etho jokes, nudging his shoulder into Cleo’s. Cleo laughs, a carefree thing, and wrinkles her nose. 

“I don’t think we’re gonna make it back for it any time, if we’re being honest.” She leans back, one hand half behind her to support her weight. 

“I know,” Etho says. He brings his leg up to his chest, wrapping his arms around it. Behind them, cobblestone is placed–Grian, ever the survivor. “It was nice, though.” 

“It was nice!” Cleo beams. “Are you alright with this?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Etho hums. “‘s not so bad. Dying with a friend.” 

“It won’t be,” Cleo agrees. 

Because that’s just it, isn’t it? Etho’s never died like this–he’s died at the flames of an arrow shot while protecting his king, he’s died in fights after his allies were killed. Hell, he’s died hand in hand with a soulmate hellbent on killing him now–but he’d been in a frenzy then, a rage-induced thing meant to burn up the place that had never been a true home to them. 

He thinks he won’t mind dying with someone. 

The sun sets in brilliant hues of orange and pink, and they sit together, this final tradition not lost in the face of inevitability. Just as the first star twinkles, Grian comes over, hoisting them back to their feet. 

“They’re coming,” he says. 

It’s time. 

They shoot a few arrows, break some dripstone, all to no avail–but that’s alright, he’s got Cleo, and they’ve got him. 

But oh, the games are never kind, are they? Etho slips, his foot landing weird somehow–and he’s whistling through the air towards the ground at a speed too fast. It knocks the breath from his lungs when he lands–does he hit the clutch? Stars, he doesn’t actually know, because there’s arrows shot at him, shouts of glee from the hunters, and suddenly Etho’s not Etho, he’s just prey–and prey only know to do one thing. 

Run. 

Etho flies forward, dragging his sword out. There’s not many safe spaces left on the server–stars, Grian had even mentioned their base was but a crater in the hill. 

But the porch… the porch was intact. Supposedly. 

He enderpearls, and enderpearls again, and it’s still not enough. The screams behind him are closer, and closer, and then further–and oh, Etho knows it’s time. He’s dead, he’s gone, he’ll be but a wisp of the wind in a few minutes whether he likes it or not. 

And he won’t die by Cleo. 

Cleo, Cleo, Cleo. Oh, he’d not meant it to be like this. He’d meant to die with a smile, right by her side–just as they were meant to die by his. This wasn’t the plan, this wasn’t the plan. A sob claws its way up his throat, the beginnings of the blind panic he’d never meant to feel tonight. He’s going to die, alone, without the comfort of his Cleo. 

Home. He wants to go home. 

Home is in the air, a hundred blocks above him. He’ll never make it–but he can make it back to the porch, the one place of peace. Now, he can feel the twinge of something broken in his ankles, probably from the fall–and the cuts, the bruises, the blood scent thick in his nose. He’s so tired. 

He wants to die at home, he wants to die at home. 

“Oh, he sounds like a wounded animal… let’s put him out of his misery.” A voice said. Cold fear grips Etho’s heart, and he stumbles forward–the porch is in sight!

Let him die at home. Let him die at home. 

A shadow fills his vision, and Etho’s not even had time to lift his shield before blinding pain fills his stomach, and it’s over. 

He’s not allowed that creature comfort of dying at home. 

[sapphiresgarden]

summary ☾⋆⁺₊ You didn't even realize when the interest in your brother's friend– Clorinde, turned into adoration. But alas, your brother is no one else than Wriothesley and so your little crush will not go unnoticed… notes ☾⋆⁺₊ clorinde x gn!reader this work is meant to be read as sapphic. headcanons. reader is a sapphic disaster, crush-on-the-first-glance, not written very seriously so take it with a grain of salt. heheheHEHEH HIII this idea was so silly. i'm happy i finally wrote it. as a fellow lesbian disaster i had to write reader just falling for a pretty serious woman and be an absolutely mess (while still pulling the said woman) ft. wrio being a menace. @snobwaffles get ur food!! men dni.

→ It started as something… really, not much. You were spending most of the time in the infirmary room with Sigewinne, chatting and helping her with the patients. If not with her, you would be in Wriothesley's office, dragged by him to enjoy a short "tea break". The break was really just you relaying all the gossip and other interesting things you've heard over a cup of warm tea, but… those were simple details. It was usually just you and Wriothesley, sometimes Sigewinne if she wasn't busy, until that one day when a new person appeared in his office. That person was Clorinde, of course. You've heard of her, who didn't? But never really had the chance to talk to her before, somehow always missing her visits to the Fortress of Meropide until now. She was here just for a moment, just to give something to Wriothesley and leave, she claimed. And yet it didn't stop him from asking her to stay for some tea. You jokingly chimed in, asking if your presence during the tea breaks was not enough anymore, and at that moment, Clorinde finally spared you a longer glance.

→ Oh, archons. You weren't the person to fall for anyone with just a single, mere, one godsdamn glance, no. You were above being a hopeless romantic pining for anyone that caught your interest, really. And yet when you met her deep, piercing, violet gaze your smile almost faltered, your heart skipped a beat and suddenly you no longer could put yourself above falling for the first pretty person you see on the street. Your brother's office– the place was not the point! The point was that you just saw the prettiest yet intimidating woman in your life, someone you would actually admire from afar, watching her fight the brave fools wishing to win their freedom. And you wouldn't get bored of it. In simple words, you were simply fucked, and this? Was only the beginning.

→ Clorinde agreed to stay that day. You spent most of the tea break just sneaking glances at her, admiring her from your seat but rarely speaking. You were fine with simply watching her and listening to her talk. But then the short meeting ended and for… reasons, yes, you started visiting your brother's office more often. Be it with Sigewinne for her usual Wriothesley check-up, be it alone with the offer of a tea break, assuming he's not busy himself, all to see if you can catch Clorinde in the office again. You thought you were so sneaky with that but, no, you were nowhere close to being sneaky. Especially not when you just… ah, mentioned Clorinde in the passing, wondering when his friend would come to visit again… He gave you a look. You gave him a look. At that moment you realized that you were nowhere being subtle about your interest in her. He surely noticed the quick glances from above your cup at her, didn't he– He did. You wanted to laugh at yourself and your poor try at being subtle.

→ But for once, life decided to smile at you. Just as you wished, you managed to get another chance to meet Clorinde. Again in the office, around tea, but it was a chance nonetheless. You swore to yourself that this time, you would actually talk more to her. You would get nowhere with simply sitting in silent admiration, right? Not when your brother knew about that because you were oh, so, subtle that everyone and their mother knew. You even started to suspect that it was thanks to him who arranged this meeting… not that you were mad at him, no. You quietly appreciated it. And it was going well, this time you found it in yourself to talk to Clorinde, even despite the nerves. It was going… good, even. You were getting along with her and you could feel your little crush only grow and grow.

→ But your brother's name was Wriothesley and, frankly, that man could be a terrible menace if he wanted to. And seemed today he wanted to, given how suddenly in the middle of the meeting, he got up from his chair and apologized for the suddenness of it, but he just remembered that he had something to do and had to leave, but no, you and Clorinde should still enjoy your tea party, he would be back in a minute or two. His "one minute" was in reality ten. A part of you was happy to be left with Clorinde alone, you would finally be able to talk alone with her, just you. But the other part of you wanted to smack your brother, especially after the knowing look he gave you and, maybe, just maybe, throw him into the nearest water container and wish for him the worst.

→ And to your surprise, the conversation with Clorinde didn't instantly die. No, you two managed to find a common topic after a moment of awkward silence and you could swear she herself was trying to keep on the conversation. In a rather sloppy way, but you appreciated the effort either way. It was pleasant, even if a little awkward and the ten minutes passed way too fast for your own liking. The moment Wriothesley came back, Clorinde excused herself, saying that now she had to go back to work. You were surprised at how fast she got up because, archons, the conversation was going just well, wasn't it? Or maybe she really was busy and it wasn't just an excuse…

→ Before you could think more about it, Clorinde added that she would be back next week, her gaze stopping on you for a moment before leaving the office with a short goodbye to Wriothesley. You blinked, dumbfounded. She will be here next week. She looked at you as she said that. You would get to talk with her again. You were just about to, oh, maybe yell a little from happiness when Wriothesley cleared his throat, raising his eyebrows and going "Soooo..." in this annoying way of his and all the feeling of appreciation of leaving you alone with her went out of the room, the urge to drown– throw something at him came back. Godsdamn gossip girl of a brother.

→ But… another meeting with Clorinde was secured. That was what mattered the most. Now, you would only need to find a way to get him out of the room, his own office, but that was for later. Maybe you could even ask Sigewinne to help you… later.

[killersfool]

hiiii i’ve a wee fluff imagine idea for bobby!! : )

bobby and the reader live together in a flat in dublin and the reader goes to trinity uni to study english literature (or smt else that has like a lot of reading and essay writing anol that craic) and she’s falling behind in a lot of her assignments and it’s all piling up and she’s just all overwhelmed and doesn’t know how to cope.

she ends up breaking down into sobs or shutting down at random points in the day due to stress and rob hasn’t got a clue what’s wrong and keeps noticing these random break downs throughout the week.

basically he comforts reader and helps to organise herself and just all fluffy cute comfort fic <333

If I could flip back time, bend the seconds and go back three years ago, I would do it right now.

Pile after pile of flashcards, annotated books with pastel post-it notes shooting out of the sides, folders of Irish poetry I can hardly understand, tattered photocopies of Hozier lyrics, every work of Shakespeare staring at me from my overcrowded booksheld — dusty, messy, probably even dank. Miss Carter has decided to set three more assignments onto my workload for the week. An essay on crime fiction (I haven't even read the first book on the reading list), my creative writing portfolio and then another essay analysing a piece poetry of my choice. Reading and highlighting Hozier's lyrics of 'I, Carrion (Icarian)' is the only thing keeping me going. Phoebe Bridgers blasts through my ears. It's quarter to 11. I need a break. An early night would be nice. Or TV. But do I really want to sit next to Robert whilst he watches his weird YouTube videos?

I kick my table. Not out of anger. Not out of irritation. I just want to see all of my notes topple ontp the floor. They do. Then I'm kicking the table three more times. Or maybe eight. All my flashcards are on the carpeted  floor, next to my discarded, empty packet of pinballs. I'd stolen them from Robert's stash. He'll never find out.

Climbing over my pile of unread books by my doorway, I push open the door. It squeaks. Some oiling would be nice. Trinity college really provides the best for their students! 

I still wish my roommate was also doing English, someone to bond with over shared trauma, to gossip about our nightmarish teachers and fellow students. But no, this guy is doing a degree in bloody mathematics. The complete dichotomy of English. No similarities. No way of comparing the courses to eachother. Him and his terrifying videos that he watches with his shoes up on the armrest, cheek in his open palm, drinking a cup of tea. Like it's that simple. Numbers and sin, cos, tan and circle theorems and whatever tragic nonsense is being spouted in his lectures.

He hardly speaks to me. Three years together and I barely know him. Sometimes I tag along with him when he goes out for breakfast. Once every two weeks. Sunday morning. We talk about school, about friends, about anything that pops in our heads. Yesterday we spoke about music. He originally wanted to pursue a career in music. A band. But they didn't work out. He took a gap year to pursue this group. So he's a year older than all of the other third years. He doesn't let that faze him. When he told me stories about his band, 'Inhaler', I had to lose eye contact, look down at the pink marshmellos floating about in my cup. He looked lost. This wasn't the place for him. He missed the confidence upon stage, the ability of making something out of nothing. Life is unfair. That is when I realised it. Hearing about shattered dreams and names of songs that were never produced.

I also realise life is unfair right now, as I accidentally bang my hip onto the kicthen island, the knife-like corner lodging itself into my skin. It's like the world is against me. 

Sometimes I wonder if Robert thinks I'm an idiot. I feel like I'm an idiot when I walk past his bedroom, hunched over his laptop, headphones on as he works through the most difficult maths questions I've ever encountered in my life. He makes university seem easy. Has his allocated times for study, going out with friends, the gym, practicing bass, going though record shops, meals, watching TV. Everytime he gets home, he drops his things down in the kitchen. I sneak a glance at the big green 'A*' on all of his test papers. I look up to him. His intelligence, his masterful management of time. I'm always too frightened to ask him how he does it. He'll think I'm stalking him. 

Me, on the other hand, I waste time. I don't have balance. I never have time to be with my friends. Always locked up in my room. A prisoner. Essay after essay. Poem after poem. Book after book. A constant cycle I've been in for three whole years. The stress is weighing down on me like a hundred bags of bricks. I need to stop for a second. To breathe in. To calm down.

So I do the last thing I would normally do. I go into the living room and sit beside Robert on the sofa. He's half asleep, jeans cuffed, hair all over his face. He sees me walk in, glances up, eyes big and speculting. He instantly moves his spindly, spider-like legs from the armrest to give me some space. I can hear some sort of maths video playing on the TV. I'm scared. At least it's not English. I'm immune to maths. It doesn't affect me anymore. Whatever logorhythmic scale this American YouTube man is yapping about isn't making my face contort at all — it's like sorcery.

This could be a way of winding down. Maths. I'm calmer now. No changes of focus or narrowing of perspective. No pathetic fallacy or magical realism. Just messes of words that don't really make sense at all.

"'D'you want to watch TV? I can turn this off if you want." Robert has his thumb on the home button.

"Leave it on. I just need a moment."

He dubiously puts the remote back down. He yawns, stretching out his arms and leaning back. I hate it when boys do that. With his parted, manspreaded legs, adams apple bobbing, head rolled back. It's idiotic. Completely idiotic. He doesn't seem too intrigued by Mr American man. The video is a guy next to a whiteboard writing millions of brain-numbing equtions. Robert is nodding along. I think I'm going to cry. I don't know why I want to right now. My hip is actually starting to throb and ache. I look down at my jeans. There's a hole in them. There's blood. It's wet. I hadn't noticed before. It's properly pouring out blood.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." I exclaim, hand pressing down onto the cut through my jeans.

Robert swiftly nears me. He's looking at me up and down, hands trying to find a place to move to. It's dark in the room. He reaches for the lamp switch. "What is it? Are you okay?"

"I'm bleeding. Jesus christ. That kills. Fuck me."

He passes me his jacket and says, "Apply some pressure." 

Then he runs out of the room. Fast as a plane. A man on a mission. Long curls dancing to the rhythm of his steps. Mr American man won't shut up about algebraic expressions. He's got a really bald head. Glimmering. 

Robert is back. He has bandages. I don't know where he got those from. Antiseptic wipes, plasters, sweets, even a cup of tea. He was only gone for about five seconds. How did he manage to get all of that? He hands me the cup of tea and sweets whilst asking, "What happened?"

"I walked into the island like an eejit. I'm so feckin' stupid."

"Just breathe, okay. You're not an eejit. I do that every day." 

I have to unzip my jeans to let him check the cut. Which is awkward, to say the least. He's looking at me like a doctor — not really caring about seeing my skin — but I'm still so shy around him. He sees me struggle with the button. He undoes it, fingers coming in contact with mine. They're slender. So very perfect for the bass guitar. Then he's unzipping my jeans. Only the tiniest bit. A mere centimetre of my knickers appear out of the top. Any more than that and I'd be flush as a tomato. I've always had a little crush on Robert. Being stuck with a really smart bass guitarist with the dreamiest eyes for three years is enough to make a person fall. The reason I've been avoiding him lately has been due to that fact. I don't want to make it obvious.

He finds the cut. It's bled through my knickers, making a big blot of dark red. He pulls down the waistband of my pants, prepared to wipe the wound. I have to grind my teeth together to prevent a sob from escaping me. I'm crying. Stressed and hurt and just wanting to dissolve into nothing. The cold draft of wind isn't improving the situation. If only there was no such thing as coursework and I couldn't glide my way through university like Robert. 

More and more blood. I think I might pass out. The blue-eyed boy is knelt down on the floor, knees biting into the carpet so that he can properly see where to put the bandage. 

"So how's English going?" He's not looking at me. Only at the wound. I don't think he's noticed that I'm crying. I don't want him to. I cover my face with bloody hands, accidentally smearing the metallic substance onto my nose. 

I don't know what to say. Do I tell him how much I regret picking it? Do I make this already awkward situation about ten times worse? I hate when people pity me. I hate when I feel like eyes are lingering for far too long when I cry. But when Robert looks at me, it's different. The pools of serenity circling his iris aren't looking down at me with a sort of aristocracy. That's how my English peers stare me down. No, instead, he's looking at me like there's a billion questions rushing across his forehead. He just needs to decide which one to ask. Or to simply say nothing. Like I am. We've both learnt how to cohabit in silence. To walk past eachother and ignore the feathers of conversation falling between us. We're busy. Always busy. Except for those perfect Monday mornings that I always look forward to. Especially the one time when he showed me around his favourite record store. He had asked me to choose him a record to buy. I walked through the entire shop, fingers shifting records, reading unfamiliar artist names. Then, I saw it, the — now bane of my existence — Hozier's 'unreal unearth'. He bought it. He'd told me he only really knew 'Take Me To Church'. I'd leant against the till as he paid and said, 'it'll change your life.' Then he'd locked himself in his room. Through the ever so thin walls — paper thin — I could hear each track hum into my room. I never got the chance to talk to him about the album. I think the thought of bringing it up made me feel sick — due to the English essay upstairs still waiting patiently to be finished.

Now there is an excuse. To talk. I'm injured. I don't want to move. He's still attempting to wrap a bandage over my stomach, then across my back until it's around my torso. I feel his fingers graze my skin with every subtle movement, along my spine, the small of my back, my abdomen, my hip bone. He's still looking at me. Searching. Like I'm a new island and he's an explorer trying to name me.

"What's up, sweetheart?" He finally talks again. His words are throaty, emananting from the pits of his throat. He's still wrapping, waiting for an answer.

"Just college. You know. It's killing me."

He shakes his head. "You're so smart."

"Says you."

He shakes his head. "Look, this might be a bit weird but sometimes when you leave random essays lying around or even creative writing. I read them. They're incredible. Your mind just works in such an interesting way."

I'm at a loss for words. He reads those? Those are usually just failed attempts that I toss aside. Scrap paper. Strange drawings. I don't even want to look at them.

"You get top grades in every test," I sigh. "I'm barely passing. I'm the worst in the class. My professors hate me, I've got so much work, I'm falling behind in every assignment—"

Then I'm properly crying. Sobbing. Breathing so heavily I think I might collapse. Heaving. Sniffling. Covering my face so he can't see me. I'm like a child. Pathetic. Stupid. Worthless. I was never good enough for Trinity. Why did they let me in?

Warm arms, press of skin. Just above the wound, over my chest, arms dig into my body, hugging me from behind. Head burrowing onto my shoulders, knees into the sofa. His lips ghost the back of my neck. Tears are falling down. He turns me around to face him. I hate how he's seeing me like this. My cries are usually saved for when he's out with friends or blasting music on his record player. He's never seen me this vulnerable, just utterly ripped into shreds by the hands of life. His scent is making me feel better, the tissue now on my cheek makes me feel better, the quiet words of 'breathe, let it all out, it's okay' make me feel better. He's calming me down. I start to forget what I was even crying about when I look into his eyes. This intense eye contact. Remembering his height. Even sat down, his torso is far longer than mine.

"I've got an idea," he murmurs, peeling his body away. I miss the warmth. I miss the touch. 

"What is it?"

"We should go somewhere. Get out for a bit. Say it's a 'mental health field trip'." He curls his fingers to accentuate the apostrophes."Maybe down to the Cliffs of Moher. When you're all healed up of course."

"Give me a week."

"A week? I'll be the judge of that." He raises an eyebrow, now tying up the bandage.

"Where did you learn all this?"

"I'm actually first aid trained. Did it in my first week of uni." He takes a deep breath, settles back onto the sofa. 

I take a sip of my tea. My eyes are surely blotchy and red. I bet there's mascara all over my face. "Thank you so much."

"No problem at all. Do you want to tell me what's going on? Is there any way I can help?" He's referring to my school work. "I was alright at English in high school. No where near as good as you are. But maybe another opinion might help you."

"I'm really stuck on a Hozier analysis."

"I never told you how much I love that album. It's perfect." His eyes glow like they do when he's talking about something he loves. Usually it's caused by talking about playing bass, but right now it's due to the beauty of Hozier's music. "I learned the bass line of De Selby part two."

"Show me. Now." I don't even ask. It's simply a demand. Anything to take my mind away from that cut still bleeding profusely. A little concert would be nice. Especially if said concert involves watching Robert play bass. I sometimes peek through the crack in the doorway to see him sat down on his bed, pick between his index and thumb, bass guitar on his lap, headphones over his ears. The pure concentration on his face is unparalleled. Notes thrum quietly through the room. He falls into any piece of music.

"Alright." He laughs at my enthusiasm. "Then I'll help with your English."

"Thanks." This is probably the most I've ever spoken to him. I'm mumbling each word, not wanting to look into his eyes.

He disappears once again. This time I hear the thudding footsteps over creaky floorboards. I hear a door squeak open, the faint patter of rain upon the ceiling, the quiet murmur of distant sirens as night blooms. It's tranquil. For a moment, I'm at peace. Until I remember the stack of unread books in my bedroom. I groan into my hands. Everything just keeps getting worse and worse and—

He's back. Not empty handed. Bass in one hand, Hozier lyrics and my pencil case in the other.

"I emailed your professor about the trip. I'm sure she'll be okay with it." He's off again. He comes through the door with his amp and lead. He plugs both in. 

"You're a life saver, Rob," I say.

He starts twisting around the knobs on the bass. Volume up. Then he's tuning. He smiles up at me. I think I'm staring. I think he can tell. His long fingers, tattoos, rings. It's all too much. My fingers are restlessly tapping the armrest. My legs are up on the coffee table. He pulls out his phone and plays the song. Then I'm lost in the music. His eyes are closed as he slides his fingers up and down the neck of the bass, as he stomps his feet down on the carpet to every drum beat. If only I could go back to the days I'd go to concerts every day. If only I could go back and see 'Inhaler' on a world tour, watch Robert from the crowd, completely in his element. Exhilarated, chanting, knowing every lyric like it's my mother tongue. Sometimes I wonder what life could've been like if the band had worked out. If the world did realise just how incredible they are. But, here, appreciating each pluck of every string, the grin as he watches me. I can't take that for granted. 

[tigersullivan01]

Mother figure Alma Peregrine x Teen Reader - little trouble pt1

Having the capability to transform into a Fox as a peculiarly isn’t ideal, people don’t take the time before judging you. Being labeled a thief the moment they know is quite harsh to go through every time you enter a new loop with a new ymbryne, it makes you throw hope out the window and become what they label you as. 

So being sent off to another loop isn’t surprising, although having Miss Avocet transport you is. I never liked the old woman, she is full of herself. Everything she says has to be right because she said so. 

Sitting on the train in complete boredom with my small torn up bag with an extra shirt and my green frog stuffy, maybe i could nick some wallets? 

“I’m going to the loo” I mutter before standing up and weaving through the crowd of passengers, slipping my hands into pockets and slipping out wallets, watches, jewelry and notebooks. 

What? Notebooks contain interesting stuff, like gossip or interesting facts, or a look into the life of person I stole from. Setting back down in my seat beside Miss Avocet, sliding my goods into my torn bag. The old hag grabs my wrist and pulls me out of the train towards the docks, the sky’s sending down drizzling rain making the streets muddy and filled with water. Looking at the people we pass and snagging a few more valuables before we get to the ticket booth. 

“Two tickets please…….there you go……thank you”

 Grabbing my wrist again after buying the tickets and pulling me on the ferry. 

“OKAY! No need to drag me around like a stray dog!” I say irritated and getting slapped across the face from Miss Avocet as a response. 

“Do not speak like that young child! Show respect for your elders and you may have a home one day, ungrateful child. I’m sending you to Miss Peregrine, she’ll put you straight. She’s my best student and a strong woman, she’ll crack you in a few days. If not then you’ll be on your own”

Good can a woman spit less when talking through her anger? I’m practically soaked in her saliva! Grumbling as I sit down on the wet beach as un-proper as possible, spreading my legs widely and sitting on the edge, leaning back with my arms crossed over my chest. 

“Sit properly child! Straighten that back and knees together!” 

As the ferry docks the dock on the small island Miss Avocet grabs my wrist AGAIN and dragging me through the small town and muddy streets, through the brush and towards the loop entrance, out of the cave on the other side and up the front steps of the gigantic brick house. Almost slamming my head against the door from the abrupt stop, the doors open sharply. Revealing a tall raven/ blue haired woman in her mid twenties? A feminine suit and a pipe, sharp eyes and a commanding look. 

“Esmeralda! Glad to see that you’ve made it safely. Is this my new ward?”

“Alma dearest! It’s a pleasure to se you again, although I wish it was under better circumstances, yes this rascal is your new ward. I warn you they live up to their namesake, they have light fingers. Now I must be of, goodbye dear and you child” she puts a finger against my chest. 

“I suggest you behave, or you’ll become an orphan without an orphanage to take you in” with that she leaves. 

“Please come in dear, I’m Miss Peregrine delighted to meet you” she introduced herself and walks inside, I follow after her fast pace. 

“Y/n…..Y/n Fox” she smiles and puts a cup of tea in my hands and pulls me to the back garden. 

“The twins and Clare, Hugh with the bees and Millard the invisible one, the girl with big shoes is Emma and the redhead is Olive. Enoch is in the window on the second floor to the right, Fiona is the girl in the garden and Bronwyn is the girl that’s helping her, the boy reading in the grass is Horace” she points everyone out and turning to me. 

“I understand that you’re not the easy child to look after. Your previous ymbryne sent me a long letter about your….capabilities. I’d like to make my own observations before I jump to conclusions, how about take you to your room?” 

“Yea”  She walks inside putting the cups on the kitchen counter before walking upstairs and opens the door furthest down the corridor to the left. The room is small, a bed in the corner, dresser against the wall and a window beside it and a small rug on the floor. 

“Make yourself comfortable, supper is at five” she smiles before leaving, I push the door shut and pull out the notebooks, wallets and my frog stuffy and sit down on the bed, making myself comfortable and starts going through the wallets, counting the money and looking at the different bruises cards and notes, throwing the wallets in a pile in the corner of the room for later and moving onto the notebooks. Reading through them, and severely judging people on a few points in their notes, I hear a clock wringing. I guess it’s already super then. Walking downstairs and towards the chatter from other children I find the dining room and an empty seat beside Emma? I think that was the blonde’s name and Miss Peregrine. Sitting down and looking over my pre filled plate in front of me. 

“Go ahead and eat before it gets cold” 

Miss Peregrine announces and the children starts eating, I only push the food around and nibble on some meat. 

“What’s your peculiarity?” The boy with bees asks. 

“I can transform into a fox” I mumble uninterested. 

“So you’re a thief?” The boy that smells like death asks. A hole minute and around forty seconds before I’m one’s again labeled a thief because of my peculiarity. Called it!  

“Enoch! We do not greet our guests like that, apologize!” Miss Peregrines practically growled at the death boy. Receiving a glare from the boy as the dinner continued uneventful. 

“Go and get ready for bed so we can watch the movie” the children goes upstairs quickly but i don’t bother, i don’t even own pjs. I simply walk away and transforms into a Fox and follow the first child to the movie room when they come downstairs. I lay down underneath one of the sofa’s as the rest of the children filter into the room, Miss Peregrine standing in the doorway. 

“Where is our newcomer?” She asks confused and i wag my tail from side to side so she’ll se me. 

“Oh there you are, come here” To my surprise she pulls me out from underneath the sofa and picks me up in her arms before returning to her spot in the doorway and turning the lights off. Staying in stunned silence in the woman’s arms, this has definitely never happened, not even my own mother touched me, specially not in this form.

Horace’s dream is about clothes, suits and ties and that fancy stuff I’ll never afford. After that I’m carried outside and put down in the slightly damp grass as the others prepare for reset. A few smaller fighter planes flights over us followed by a larger aircraft that drops the bomb, after the day is rewinded again we all head inside. I quickly run upstairs to my room and curl up in a ball wrapped inside my frog stuffy and the covers, I hear the clicking of heals and feel the smell of Miss Peregrine as she enters the room. 

“Good night Y/n” she says before leaving again. I lay there for a few minutes, another first, my first time someone wished me a good night. Odd 

Hello I give you this as an apology for the latest one i posted, it wasn’t good. I’ll do the second part as soon as possible, I’m myself not patient when it comes to waiting for upcoming parts. - Tiger

[michelletsw]

Hey I saw that you don't write anything and I wanted to ask (again) if you could write general platonic with dorm members who treat f!yuu like younger sister when RSA wants to take her with them? You write really great and I would want to read more from you😍

How fun love this idea! Sorry this took so long to get out lol, takes place during vdc but where going to over look vils overblot for the story line 😅 also I might have made savanaclaw a little shipy with esme and y/n (sorry I love him lmao)

I'm gonna go ahead and make this 2 parts sorry about that

Platonic/siblings like writings

Fem reader with protective characters that treat reader like a younger sister

Warnings ⚠️ cursing, not proof read

Character’s: Heartslabyel, octavinelle, scarabia, savanaclaw (pt2. pomefiore, ignihyde, diasomnia, wip)

During vdc the rsa students seemed to take a liking to you so much so they started asking you questions about why your going to nrc? "Your such a nice and caring person why are you going to nrc?" Or they'd ask if you want to go to rsa instead they'd be more then happy to talk to there headmage about it. Everytime you always politely turn them down, but they keep pushing the question And it started to get annoying.

Heartslabyel

Riddle- r

Ace- r

Deuce- b

Trey- g

Carter- o

Che'nya- p

Reader- p

You where walking over to the tea garden for another tea party, when you open the gate che'nya pops up and almost gives you a heart attack, You continue walking and ask why he's here? "Am I not aloud to just pop by and say hi?" He says, jokingly you respond with " you are but it's you so I know that's not why your here" "your words wound me y/n" while you two where talking you ended up making it to the main area with out noticing. That's when che'nya asks you the same question he asked earlier that day "so what are your thoughts on coming to rsa instead?" "excuse you?" Riddle interups before you can say anything ace and deuce are right next to you in less then a second draging you away from che'nya and over to the table "y/n is perfectly fine right here in nrc with us there not going anywhere" ace says glaring at che'nya. "Ya y/n you can't leave your my selfie buddy, plus who am i ganna gossip with if you leave" as cater says that you sit down and deuce pushes your chair in while trey offers you a cup of tea. "If y/n wishes to go to rsa instead that's not our place to stop them, though I would love if you'd stay" "I agree with trey-senpi even if it would be sad if you left" deuce added but it was quite obvious he wanted to take aces side. "what even brought this question up to begin with, y/n are you wanting to leave nrc?" Again you couldn't get a word out before being interrupted "me and the rest of the students agree that it would be better from y/n at rsa, wouldn't it? It would be alot less stressful" "That may be true but if she doesn't want to leave you can't make her" "but I don't wanna leave" you say finally being able to talk over everyone. "Well then you heard the lady now leave us be" ace immediately says after your statement che'nya accepts his failure and goes to leave but not with out stealing some sweets and saying good bye first. After that event they all seem to have gotten a little more protective over you till all the rsa students leave after vdc.

Octavinelle

Azul- b

Floyd- p

Jade- g

Y/n- p

prince rielle- r

It's a very well known fact that the "fish mafia" trio looked at you as there little sister considering there attitudes towards you and the way you where treated. So it wasn't much of a surprise how they acted when they over heard a conversation you had with rielle, "actually that's a question I've been meaning to ask, why are you going to nrc y/n?" "Well I mean I was basically summoned by the mirror, so I guess I've never thought about leaving the school to go to a different one" "well would you want to join us at rsa? It'll alot nicer then here" the trio had been standing behind the corner just listening but that last sentence made floyd speak up "Huh~ shrimpys not leaving anywhere royal goldfishy" "I agree there perfectly fine staying here at nrc, why would you even recommend such a thing?" They say placing there hands on your shoulders. "Indeed why would you recommend something like that prince rielle, Perhaps to gain something?" "Oh! Azul, no of course not I'm just curious on there opinion on going to rsa" "shrimpys not going anywhere" floyd says now just completely laying his body weight on your shoulders with his chin rested on you head "it is up to y/n if they want to leave or not floyd" "that's dumb, your not leaving right shrimpy" floyd now whining and pinching your face " ow stop that floyd and no i dont plan on leaving nrc, thank you for the offer tho" "well then it's settled, we should get going or else will be late" you say your goodbyes to rielle and leave with the trio. Till vdc was over they definitely had you nearby at almost all times afraid one of the other rsa students would try and convince you to leave again, insert floyd being an obnoxious little shit the whole time.

Scarabia

Kalim- o

Jamil- r

Jaseem- b

Reader-p

Kalim and jamil where waking around trying to find you before vdc started, they round a corner and see you talking to jaseem. Before kalim could yell to you jamil put a hand towards his face telling him to wait a second, he wanted to know what jaseem wanted with you. "have you thought about going to rsa with us" kailm spoke up before you could answer "wait y/n your wanting to leave nrc!?" "Kailm calm down" "Oh hello, don't you think it would be better for y/n at rsa? It would be alot less stressful and they would get an actual dorm" "lowkey does sound kinda nice.." "your actually considering leaving Ó╭╮Ò" "it's there choice kailm" though he doesn't sound that worried about you leaving his face says other wise. jamil is good at hiding his emotions but he clearly looks upset from even the thought of you leaving, kailm is also clearly upset from this idea looking at you like a puppy that just got something token away. Jaseem breaks your thoughts " do you want to come to rsa y/n?" "Thank you for the offer but I'll have to decline I'm sorry" "I see thats quite alright" "great. Now that's over we need to get going before where late" With that you say goodbye to jaseem and walk to the vdc stage. Kailm was obviously more clingy till vdc was over and jamil just seemed to be a little more protective over you just in general afraid someone would want to convince you to leave nrc again.

Savanaclaw

Leona- r

Ruggie- o

Jack- b

Y/n- p

Esme- p

It's not even a question. The fact that they grew up with woman having higher power and deserve 100% respect it is very obvious that they see you as a little sister and if im being honest sometimes it would feel like your friends with complete assholes and others they look like there about to fight God for you. It's very confusing anyway back to the topic at hand. It was right after there vdc performance when esme came up to you and started a conversation the boys not really paying much attention but still listening, it's only when they hear the words "so did you think about coming to rsa?" Come out of esme's mouth do they 100% start paying attention. Ruggie pops up out from nowhere draping his arm on your shoulder like your a stand or something for him to lean on "what was that about rsa" "GrEaT 7!! where tf did you come from!?" "I was talking to y/n about switching to rsa" "why would you ask such a dumb question?" "Are you wanting to leave nrc y/n?" "Not necessarily?" "Oh so you are still thinking about it?" "Why would you want to go to rsa" (insert esme trying not to say "well they would win something for once" because if he did, he knows he might lose his life/j) "it's just an idea" "it's a stupid idea" "are you sure that's something you really wanna do?" Jack stop ✋️ i can't handle your sad face. "Again it is just a suggestion if you need more time to think on it you can just message me" "message you???" Ignoring ruggie "will do but I can't promise I'll say yes" then a little goat walks up to you both and starts to lightly headbutt esmes leg "haha it's quite alright, I better get going" he picks up the goat and you say your good byes...... "you gave him your number??"

Protective bastards I swear lmao. Definitely alot more protective Definitely insert ruggie being a rat bastard by making you help him with leona for like a few weeks or else he won't stop bothering you about the whole rsa thing. Jack just being sad that you even thought about wanting to leave.

[puckjay-blue]

But This Is Ruin: It looked like it hurt (chapter 2)

When Hephaestus opens the door he expects to be sad. That is how he always felt when Aphrodite cried. That is how everyone felt. Instead he is angry.

There is something about the perfect pink of the tip of her nose and her perfectly puffy eyes and the five strands of hair that escaped her messy bun. Something about those watery hazel eyes. He knows that when she looks like that the entire universe fawns and gives her a hug. And that means that he immediatly becomes the bad guy. No hugs, no compassion for him. She is not doing it on purpose, he knows that. She is just that pure, and if he is being honest, that pretty. And that makes it even worse.

She is holding a cardboard box a bit larger than what he expected. "Come in," he offers. She nodds and sniffles, and follows him as he wheels back into his appartement. Aphrodite puts the box down on the coffee table. In it there are a change of clothes, toiletries, several hoodies, and a collection of small trinkets. Glass baubles and welded figurines, woodcarved toys and clay cups, leather bracelets and finer jewelry. Hephaestus picks up a glass dog and turns it in his hands. "I didn't know if you wanted those back, so..." He doesn't really want the gifts that bad. Instead he wishes she had put their whole relationship in the box, all of his secrets and how he looked naked, so he could take it all back from her. "Thank you," he says, refusing to argue.

"How are you doing," she asks as she sits in the guest chair. "I'm good. Do you want something to drink?" "Tea would be nice." Hephaestus does not drink tea, but there is still some of her favorite in his cupboard. He leaves her in the living room to go to the kitchen and put the kettle on. She looks like an odd thing in his space, where everything is big and empty and in dark colors, like a small pearl in a too large oyster.

He comes back, a tray balanced on his lap with a single cup on it, and she is crying. People always assumed she was one of those pretty criers, who seemed to only cry with the water coming out of their eyes. Aphrodite cries with her all body. He soulders shake under her coat and her face contorts in a frown, yet she is still pretty. "Are you sure we're over?" she chokes a little on her words. "Come here," Hephaestus says, putting the cup on the table and bringing his wheelchair next to Aphrodite. He wraps his arms around her and shelters her face in his shoulder. He is not angry anymore.

She does not cry long. When she lets go, he finally answers. "Yes, I am. I'm sorry." Her nickname almost slips from his tongue. It's too easy, like a poem he learned by heart, and calling her "Aphrodite" just feels wrong.

Like a needle popping a baloon, a knock at the door breaks the tension in the room. "I got it," Hephaestus announces. When he opens the door he has to crane his neck up to meet the gaze of the tall woman standing there. She looks overdressed, in a silk grey suit and silver jewelry that shines like stars against her dark skin. "I'm sorry, am I interrupting," asks Athena. "No, it's ok," Aphrodite answers when Hephaestus hesitates. "I like the bantu knots on you, Thena, looks great." Athena gives a nod of appreciation as she steps through the door. "I have some papers from the student comitee." "Ouh, not my scene," Aphrodite says in an exaggerated sing-song tone. "I'll leave you two to it." And she waltzes out the door, light on her feet despite the cardboard box she grabs from Hephaestus's table.

Athena stares at him with her usual neutral look. "You're getting too popular to own only one chair." "I guess so, huh." There is a comfortable silence as Hephaestus grabs the papers and quickly reads the titles and carefully highlighted words, and Athena settles on the one chair. "So. Are you going to tell me?" she asks when she sees him put the papers down. "You're such a gossip," Hephaestus teases. Athena's neutral look does not leave her face. "Everyone is wondering." "So? Let them wonder. It's none of their buisness." "I don't do wondering. Why did you break up with her, Hephaestus?" He groans and hides his face in his hands. "Do we have to do this, Athena?" "We do. Spill the tea."

Hephaestus chuckles, a little bit hysterically. "You know what's fucking unfair? Evryone acts like she was such an angel for dating me, and im making a huge mistake by breaking up with her. No one has ever asked what she did." "What did she do?" "Nothing!" Anthena nods thoughtfully and gets up. Hephaestus follows her into the kitchen to continue the conversation as she pours herself a sparkly lemonade and leans her back against the counter. "If you want ice cubes I made some earlier. She didn't do anything big that people can point out and say "that's why". It's the little things." To other people, Athena's unmoving stare is unsettling, but Hephaestus has known her long enough to know this is how she pays undivided attention, and her stoic silence is soothing when he bares his soul. "She was even better than most my previous partners, didn't let go of my hand in public and stuff. And people treated her like a saint for that and that made me feel like shit." "I know you," Athena interrupts. "You did not break up with her because of other people treated her." Hephaestus sighs, and grumbles "Cut through the bullshit, I get it." He spins his wheelchair in place a few times as he thinks. "She didn't find me attractive. And I get it. No one does." "Not true." Athena interrupts him again. He looks at her with a raised eyebrow, surprised and disbelieving, so she points at her own face. "See this? This is my I-know-something-you-dont face." Hephaestus rolled his eyes and continued. "She never called me pretty. Or handsome. Whatever. She only called me stuff like, rugged or, strong. And when I asked, she would reassure me that she was attracted to me, but she's not a very good liar." "Is that really the problem?" Athena asks. "Stop psychonanalysing me," says Hephaestus without meaning it. "She did this thing where she'd compliment my scars and touch them all delicate and soft. And that's better than if she was disgusted by them, but it's still making a point of how not-disgusted she was, and that felt weird. Like there was no way to just be *normal* about them." Athena just keeps staring. She is not one to repeat herself, and she already told Hephaestus to cut to the real issue. "It's going to sound like it's about Ares," Hephaestus says and adds, after Athena does not say anything. "It's not about Ares!" "I did not say anything." "*Stop psychonalaysing me!*" he half-yells, but he is grinning. "I don't mind that she likes him," he conceeds. "And I know she would have never cheated on me. But seeing how she looked at him, it made me realize, he is her "one who got away". And that made me wonder what I am, what story she put me in. I don't think I'm the charity case, despite what everyone thinks, but I don't know. I think I was her beauty and the beast story, the rough exterior with a perfect boyfriend underneath." Athena stays silent. He knows that's how she keeps people talking, but for now he does not mind. "And honestly I think I'm more mad at the "perfect boyfriend" part." Hephaestus starts spinning his wheelchair in place again. "Because it's a lot of pressure, you know? It's like I have to make up for my looks, like I can't slip up and be angry, or forget an important date, or literally anything. I have to be perfect all the time." Athena nods. Hephaestus reaches into a drawer and puts a metal straw in her glass as she goes to refill it.

"You're doing good," Athena says without any inflection. "Yeah, I broke up with her because-" "Not about the break up. Identifying and communicating your feelings." "You taught me well." "You don't miss any practice." "Don't call this practice, I know you're just looking for hot goss'." Athena does not deny anything.

[alj4890]

Hello!

It is canon that Naveen is an unabashed gossip. We also know Ethan is practically his son, and he adores MC. But let's face it, we know those two had to be the source of a lot of gossip.

How do you think Naveen dealt with that?

Sorry this took so long. After the week with Tobias, it took me a little while to get back into "Ethan is going to end up with the MC" mode 🤣 So here's my take on how Naveen would enjoy the gossip going on about two people he cared about.

Rating: G for pure fluff

@hopelessromantic1352 @twinkleallnight @tessa-liam

Masterlist

Tea Time

"Dr. Banerji." Marlene greeted as she sat down across from him.

"Ah, just the nurse I was hoping to see." Naveen set his crossword puzzle book to the side of his tray. "How's your day been?"

"Busy but good." She chuckled. "You should see the new batch of interns in action."

"And how are our second year's holding up?" He prodded.

Marlene rolled her eyes. "I know you really only want to hear about one in particular."

Naveen snorted in amusement. "You caught me. How is Casey doing?"

"She definitely got the toughest intern I've seen in years." Marlene glanced about the nearly empty cafeteria. "I think she's a harder nut to crack than Dr. Mirani."

"Zaid?" Naveen winced. "Poor Casey. But if anyone can get someone to open up, it's definitely her. I've seen her work wonders on the ones you'd least expect."

Marlene nodded while picking through her salad.

"Any other news?" He asked.

"She seems to be holding her own on the diagnostics team." Marlene pointed out. "So far, I've seen each member impressed with her ability to figure out what is wrong with the patients they treat."

"Interesting." Naveen stroked his chin. "I might have to pay a visit and see how things are going myself."

He checked the time. "Looks like my reprieve from paperwork is nearly over."

"There's one more bit of news." Marlene whispered.

The smile on her face let him know she was finally getting to the good stuff.

"Trish was walking past the office when she saw Dr. Valentine in there alone with Dr. Ramsey."

"And?" Naveen leaned forward.

"And she believes they were holding hands under the table while reading through medical files." She explained.

Naveen sat back with a grin. "Holding hands, hmm? Interesting."

He got to his feet and placed his unopened pudding cup on her tray.

"Keep me posted." He said on his way out.

**************

A few weeks later...

"Baz!" Naveen called out. "Good to see you this evening."

The younger doctor turned around with a warm smile. "Naveen. It's good to see you too. How are you feeling?"

"Almost like new." Naveen teased, draping his arm around the man's shoulders. "Tell me how things are going on the team with Ethan in charge."

"They're great!" Baz exclaimed. "We are working like the well oiled machine you created."

"Umhmm." He hummed in approval.

Naveen could care less about that. He knew that Ethan would continue to succeed, never doubted it.

"And how is the newest member settling in?"

"Casey?" Baz's smile grew. "Like she's always been there."

"Really?" Naveen paused with him outside the locker room. "No awkwardness?"

"Not really." Baz stroked his chin in thought. "I mean, her first few days with us she was more quiet than she is now. She started contributing more after she talked to Ethan alone one day."

"Alone, hmm?" Naveen wondered what happened there. "Good. Very good."

He patted the young man on the back. "Glad to hear everything's going as it should."

Baz wished him a good night on his way to get changed.

Humming to himself, Naveen returned to his office. He made sure to take the long way there, pausing outside the glass doors of the diagnostics office.

He stayed somewhat in the shadows as he peered into the dimly lit room. He could see Ethan sitting there on a sofa. A rare smile was upon his face as Casey talked. With the way her hands were gesturing, she was relating a humorous story.

Naveen narrowed his eyes as he studied the man he considered a son. He hadn't seen Ethan that relaxed in quite some time, nor willing to sit there after hours to listen to someone else's story.

And then he saw Ethan reach for Casey's hand. His thumb brushed over her knuckles as the pair directed their attention to their clasped hands.

Casey's expressive face sobered. Ethan said something that made her grimace. Whatever she replied with had him hesitating before shaking his head and releasing her hand.

Naveen could almost feel the longing from here. With a slight frown of his own, he decided to maybe drop a hint or two to Ethan that one shouldn't miss out on life.

***************

A few nights later...

"Ethan, my boy." Naveen rose from the table to shake his hand. "I was just about to order us some appetizers."

"Sorry I'm late. We had a last minute development on that influencer who insists on filming everything."

"Ah. And what is her diagnosis?"

"A tapeworm." Ethan pointed at the menu. "Stay away from the steak tartare."

Naveen chuckled. "Did she film that announcement?"

"She did." Ethan smirked. "And it has been the best part of my day."

Naveen laughed once more.

After they placed their orders, the two began to discuss Edenbrook's financial crisis.

"We have to keep it going." Ethan told him. "After all the work you've done over the years to make the hospital mean something more than--"

Naveen waved his hand in a dismissal fashion.

"Whatever happens, the diagnostic team will have served its purpose."

Ethan sat stunned over his cavalier attitude over what had been a huge milestone of Naveen's entire career.

"When I was dying," Naveen began, "I had a lot of time to reflect on my life."

Ethan quirked an eyebrow in silent question.

"Believe it or not, the creation of Edenbrook's revered diagnostic team didn't even factor into my thoughts."

"What?" Ethan blinked. "What did you think about?"

"All that I'd missed out on." Naveen took a sip of his wine. "Did you know, that when I was a young man that I'd planned on doing a tour of Europe?"

"No."

"I did." Naveen smiled sadly at his wine glass. "I was going to walk through the vineyards, sample the finest wines the world has created, see landmarks I'd only viewed in travel books, and simply soak in the culture."

He sighed, setting his glass down. "I never went."

"That doesn't mean you can't still go." Ethan pointed out.

"It's not the same." Naveen argued. "I'm not the same man I was forty years ago. I can't trek all over the countryside with knees aching from arthritis. I can't look at the world with those wide, young optimistic eyes I once had. I'll see everything through my years of witnessing people be ravaged by disease and self harm."

He eyed Ethan.

"And, I'll be alone. There was a young woman I was dating at the time of my big dreams. She was more than ready to drop everything in her life, like one easily does in their twenties, to spend months with me in Europe."

Naveen turned toward the window their table was near. His eyes grew distant as he tried to capture the image of his lost love's smile. "Carmen was ready to start a life with me. I kept keeping her at a distance. I put off asking her to marry me, believing I needed first to become some great all knowing doctor."

He ran his hand down his face with a slight sigh. "I didn't give her the attention she needed. So, someone else came along who did."

Ethan's brow was furrowed in thought as he listened quietly.

"Don't let my goals become yours." Naveen stressed. "You owe me nothing."

"I disagree." Ethan muttered. "I owe you everything with my career."

"You accomplished it all on your own. I didn't give it to you. You earned every bit of recognition and respect you have from me and your colleagues."

Naveen leaned forward to drive his point home.

"As someone who cares about you like you were my own son, I don't want to see you waste your life on one single endeavor. Find other things, people, places that make you happy. Let them give you warm memories when you are old. Don't end up like me with nothing but regret when you are on your death bed."

Naveen motioned for the waiter to bring him the check. "I want you to have a full life, Ethan."

"I do." Ethan argued.

"I hope you will soon see the truth." Naveen paid the waiter and pushed away from the table. "I better be-"

"What truth?" Ethan got to his feet. "What are you trying to get me to understand?"

"I can't tell you that." Naveen placed a comforting hand on Ethan's shoulder. "That's something every man has to discover for himself."

He gave him an affectionate squeeze then left Ethan alone with his thoughts.

*****************

A few weeks later, Naveen cornered the one doctor he suspected knew more about Ethan and Casey than anyone else.

"Dr. Trinh!" He smiled at her. "How are you doing?"

"I'm good, Dr. Banerji." She slowed her pace to match his. "How are you?"

"Still going which is always a plus at my age." He replied with a wink.

She giggled. "It is at any age."

"True." He glanced at the clock. "Have you had lunch yet?"

"No sir." She grimaced somewhat. "I've been going nonstop since I got here this morning."

"Then as Chief, I insist you take a needed break." He took the folders out of her hands and set them at the nurses station. "Danny, take care of these for Dr. Trinh please."

He then took Sienna's arm and led her towards the elevator.

"But, I should really--"

"Are any of your patients in danger?" He asked.

"No." She replied. "They are all stable."

"Then we aren't arguing about it." He told her. "I'm starving and would like some company this afternoon while I eat. Would you join me for lunch?"

Sienna blinked in surprise. "Of course. Thank you."

"I should be thanking you. You're saving me from people staring at me with curious pity as to why I'm eating alone at a restaurant."

Sienna laughed. "I doubt that's why they are staring. They are probably curious what type of physician you are once they see your white coat."

"Or how that old man ended up alone." He teased. "Allow me my dramatics, Dr. Trinh. It's one of my few enjoyments in life."

"Then I guess I'll have to humor you." She said with another laugh.

"I hoped you would."

******************

"Sienna, so you do see what I'm talking about?" Naveen exclaimed. "Why don't they see it?!"

"I don't know!" Sienna dropped her head back in frustration. "They are in love! But Casey won't force Ethan to make a definite decision about them and he keeps saying he can't because of their job."

"I thought I was helping them when I put Casey on the team." Naveen grumbled. "I wanted to reward her brilliant mind with more challenges after discovering what I once thought was my unsolvable illness. I wanted to give Ethan a chance to grow closer to her. I never dreamed that the man I once considered highly intelligent could end up--"

"An idiot?" Sienna slapped a hand over her mouth for insulting Dr. Ramsey in front of the one man she knew adored him.

"Precisely. The biggest idiot, save for my former self, that I've ever seen." Naveen grumbled.

"Can't you talk to him?" Sienna asked. "I know Ethan respects you."

"He does, but Ethan is very stubborn. If he has it in his mind something has to be handled a certain way, there is no swaying him differently."

Sienna placed her fingers at her temples and began to rub in slow circles. Her eyes narrowed at the table top while she tried to find a way around getting her best friend with the man she loved.

"Could you talk to Casey?" Naveen asked.

"I have." Sienna sighed. "A lot. She wants him and is holding out hope he'll finally say they can be together. At this point, I think she'd be willing to keep their relationship a secret. But from what I can tell, Ethan won't do that to her."

"Hmm." Naveen scratched at his chin. "There has to be a way forward for them."

"I know. I want there to be one." Sienna slumped back in her chair. "It can't just stay like this. Something's bound to give and I'm worried it will be nothing but heartache for both of them."

"Me too." Naveen checked the time. "We should probably head back."

Sienna began to dig around in her purse for her wallet.

"Put that away!" He scolded. "This lunch is my treat for you humoring an old man."

"That isn't necessary." Sienna smiled at him. "It was nice eating with you."

"I'm glad you think so." He eyed her for a moment. "Shall we make this a weekly meeting?"

Sienna's eyes lit up. "So we can plan a way forward for a certain pair of doctors?"

Naveen beamed at her. "Sienna, I am very happy I approved of your internship at Edenbrook."

She giggled. "Me too, sir."

*****************

As the weeks went by, Naveen heard more and more snippets of gossip about Ethan and Casey. With Sienna, Marlene, and an unknowing Baz keeping him updated on a weekly basis, he knew that most of what was whispered about by others was true. It seemed the two doctors were becoming a bit more daring in the affectionate touches.

Then the attack happened. Naveen was only able to briefly observe how Ethan was taking the news that Casey had been affected by the maitotoxin. He was forced, as Chief, to handle the panicked staff and removing patients from the floor.

Once he finished, he made his way up there to get an update. After speaking briefly to the group of doctors, he was hopeful to see that Tobias believed he had figured out a way to fight the poison that was doing its best to kill Casey and Rafael. Naveen didn't want to have to make two more phone calls to families to let them know they had lost their loved ones. It had been hard enough with Danny's parents and Bobby's wife.

He glanced around at the physicians working with a speed only the young and desperate possess and noticed one missing. Curious but not wanting to interrupt them anymore than he already had, he slipped quietly out of the room and made his way to the observation window.

He ducked into the shadows when he saw Ethan sitting by Casey's bedside. Ethan's face was nothing but pure torment as he held her hand, watching her as she struggled through tears to say what she regretted in her short life.

Then Ethan admitted how much he regretted all the times he'd pushed her away. Naveen watched as Casey's pale face lit up briefly with happiness as Ethan continued to say he wanted to be with her and that he was done fighting against his feelings.

When Casey said she'd always thought they would be good together, Ethan's surprise was soon replaced with a smile as she pointed out that was the reason she kept bringing up that they should try and make it work.

Naveen felt his heart nearly break when Ethan climbed into bed with Casey, taking her in his arms to hold her while she slept. From this distance one could easily see Ethan's face contorted in a sad sort of anger. Naveen wondered if it was because he finally knew the truth about what he needed in life and yet believed he was about to lose her.

Naveen silently crept away with anxiousness for the coming dawn. He hoped that the next news he heard was that Ethan and Casey had a future.

****************

On the evening of the gala to help raise the needed funds for Edenbrook, Naveen was pleasantly surprised to see Ethan arrive with Casey. He tried to keep his attention on what one of the donors was saying to him, but he found his attention was more focused on keeping tabs on the couple.

Sienna slipped over beside him.

"Mrs. Parker," Naveen said to the donor who was oblivious to his lack of attention, "will you excuse me? I need to speak to Dr. Trinh about two patients of ours."

"Yes, of course." Mrs. Parker smiled at him. "I hope they are doing well."

"They are!" Sienna couldn't contain her excitement. "They've improved more and more these last few weeks."

The elegant lady left them with a congratulations.

Naveen led Sienna off to a less crowded area of the party.

"Well?" He prodded, his own excitement growing with hers. "What happened?"

"So much! I think they have been secretly meeting! Ethan asked her to the gala!' She whispered. "He said it was to represent the diagnostic team, but Casey knew the real reason."

Naveen chuckled. "Of course she did."

"But," Sienna continued, "when he arrived at the apartment to pick her up, Casey introduced him as her date."

"She did? And how did Ethan take that?"

Sienna was practically beaming. "He didn't correct her."

Naveen noticed the couple talking to a possible donor together. They then drifted over to the bar for a drink.

"Sienna, look!" He gestured toward the ones they were gossiping about.

Sienna turned to see Ethan take Casey into his arms, kissing her passionately in front of everyone.

She squealed softly, throwing her arms around Naveen in an excited hug.

He couldn't stop smiling as he returned her hug.

After all, he saw that he would have many, many more delightful gossip sessions about the two people who held special places in his heart.

[2darklymelanatedstories]

Secret Club : Part 2

(ft Whis&Vegeta&Piccolo)

Special guest : Vados

_

Welcome to the club

Where we like our tea a bit salty...if you know what I'm sayin'

~

"What the fxck is she doing here!!",Vegeta shouted as he pointed at the angel sitting at the antique table, holding a cup of tea with a smirk on her face.

"Can't a lady just come over to enjoy some tea?"

Vegeta turned to Piccolo angrily.

"I blame you for this Namek!"

Piccolo's eyes widened. "What for?!"

"It was your idea to move this outside. Now look, Champa's servant found us. I wonder who else is coming!"

Vados sighed. "Relax Saiyan. I was merely invited by my dear brother. No reason to yell at the Namek for suggesting to have some fresh air. You clearly could use it."

Piccolo smirked. "She's only been here a few minutes and is already better company than you, Vegeta."

Vegeta crossed his arms and scoffed.

"Ah, gentlemen. I see you've noticed we have a guest."

All eyes were on the male angel as he descended from the sky.

"And don't worry, Vegeta. We're in a secluded area. No one will know you like to drink tea and gossip with us every month."

Piccolo stepped in before Vegeta could say anything else. "So why is she here?"

"Isn't it obvious? To vent and eat free food just like you gentlemen do. I mean who can resist Earth food."

"Didn't Beerus wish you guys a planet with the super Dragonballs?",Vegeta questioned.

"Well, their food isn't as good and besides I missed my little brother.",she said with a pout.

"Great, now it's like we're on a female talk show.", Vegeta sighed as he sat down, still not happy with Vados joining them.

Whis huffed. "There's literally three men and one woman, Vegeta. Calm down."

Vegeta gave a harsh chuckle. "No, there's one gay, one woman, one green freak of nature and a powerful prince.",he said earning annoyed glares from everyone else.

"And I thought Champa was an annoying, delusional egotist.",Vados muttered.

"Nope. That goes to Vegeta.",Piccolo said before taking a bite of a muffin.

"Hey! I'm the prince of saiyans. I've killed so many of my enemies that it should be written in the history books!

Piccolo chuckled. "Yeah, it'd be called Psycho Prince, destroyer of lives. Still never managed to kill Goku."

"Come to think of it. Wasn't Piccolo the only person that could kill Goku?",Whis wondered.

Vegeta scoffed. "Pssh, that's not a big accomplishment."

"Seemed really important to you not so long ago.",Piccolo said.

Vegeta slammed the table angrily, surprising everyone that it didn't break.

"Oh shut up, Namek. Acting like you're all that. Like you didn't go fuck Kakarot's wife after you killed him!"

That caused everyone to almost choke on what they were eating or drinking. Whis holding in the tea he was about to spit out.

"NOW HOLD ON A DAMN MINUTE!! I NEVER DID ANY OF THAT!" Piccolo stood up, looming over Vegeta in a intimidating manner. Vegeta just standing up as well, though unable to match to Piccolo's height. "And how would you know?! You weren't even there!"

Vados couldn't help but laugh at the scene. "I thought you all came together to talk shit about everyone else, not to kill each other."

Whis gave his sister a smirk. "We have fun."

Soon after, Vegeta and Piccolo sat back down, acting as if they weren't about to kill each other not so long ago.

Vados returned the smirk. "Well, I'm going to like this club."

Feel free to let me know if there's anything else you'd like them to fight...I mean talk about. Also if I should add other special guests

[contreparry]

Happy Friday Contre Parry! I would love to see what you are thinking for "A conversation you wish had happened in canon" this week!

I'm really on a Vivienne kick today, so here's a conversation I wish could have been expanded upon in the canon for Vivienne and a mage!Trevelyan for @dadrunkwriting!

The resemblance was uncanny.

Not in physical appearance. Senior Enchanter Lydia was, as Vivienne recalled from the one time she met the woman in person, as similar to Enchanter Evelyn Trevelyan as the sun was to the moon. And they were different in demeanor as well, Lydia all sunshine and smiles to Trevelyan's measured cool calm. But here and there she spotted traces of her old friend in the young woman who stood before her. There it was in the critical examination of every paper that passed her desk. It was in the way she flipped through the dusty pages of old tomes, gentle, so gentle, caressing each page as though it were as precious as gold. And Vivienne saw it now as Trevelyan eagerly expounded on a minor detail of her herbal research.

Shared enthusiasm was not uncommon upon mentors and disciples, but the light in Evelyn Trevelyan's dark brown eyes was eerily similar to the brightness of Lydia's spring green whenever she spoke of thaumaturgy. It was remarkable.

It was frightening.

"I was well acquainted with Senior Enchanter Lydia, you know," Vivenne said when Trevelyan paused for a moment in her impromptu lecture. The letters they exchanged over the years would have filled volumes, but who knew how many of those letters survived the fall of Ostwick Tower? Who knew what happened to Lydia's things when she died. Was murdered. And as for the murderer... Vivienne carefully examined the woman sitting across the table from her.

It was not a question of capability but of motive. Lydia had many pupils, but few could have ended such a skilled Mage. Even fewer could have found the opportunity to do so. But Trevelyan... Vivienne watched the woman pour a cup of tea. Her hands did not shake.

"I know," Trevelyan finally said, her voice soft and even. "Lydia spoke of you often, Madame."

"Oh?" Trevelyan was giving her an opening, which was rare for a woman as guarded as her.

"She enjoyed the gossip you shared, of course. Nothing happens at Ostwick. Happened. But she discussed your research the most. She always said you were the most inventive alchemist she had the pleasure to meet," Trevelyan confided, her expression wistful. Masterful actor or innocent party? Vivienne watched Trevelyan stir a dollop of honey into her tea, watched her eyes go misty with memory- or was it guilt?

"Ever the scholar, Lydia was," Vivienne said.

"That is the Ostwick way," Trevelyan replied distantly. "She... I cleaned out her study. After she died."

"After she was murdered by her pupil," Vivienne corrected. Trevelyan didn't wince. Her expression was as stone, but her eyes- there was a tempest stirring in those eyes, and wasn’t that interesting? Lydia was like that as well, Vivienne recalled. She could lie and flatter and blather on like any other skilled player in The Game, but if you knew where to look- if you looked at her eyes- her true feelings were easily discerned.

Trevelyan was angry. Clumsy to let her feelings be known, but Vivienne wouldn't complain about a gift falling into her lap. Anger was something she could work with, though it also brought some interesting questions to light. Was that anger at the death of a beloved teacher or anger at being accused of murder? Or perhaps it was anger at being found out. It was not the murder itself that was scandalous, for The Game could not be played without a few pieces falling under the sword. But this was personal. Lydia was a friend, and if Vivienne could unravel this mystery- well, her heart would rest a little easier if she knew why Lydia died.

"Mages are not in the habit of carrying poisoned misericordes. But you know that,” Trevelyan replied coldly, her tea dangerously sloshing around in the teacup when she set it down. Didn't even take a sip. How very interesting- but Vivienne hadn't known about the misericorde. A distinctive weapon. Flashy. If Trevelyan was being truthful, then Lydia's murder was not exactly what it first appeared.

Of course it wasn't. When had Lydia ever done anything expected? Even her death would be a layered mystery.

"A Bard in Ostwick Circle sounds absurd,” Vivienne finally said, “but as it was Lydia, I will allow for the possibility that one might pay her a visit.” It made a twisted sort of sense: Ostwick Circle was neutral, which Lydia gracefully maintained for a long time- too long, clearly, for someone removed her from the picture and flung the sleepy Circle into chaos. Anyone could have done it, and Trevelyan wasn't quite in the clear yet, but somehow... Vivienne looked over the young woman again. Shemet her gaze, unflinching, and Vivienne smiled. Enchanter Evelyn Trevelyan, no matter if she was guilty or innocent of the crime of murder, was going to be interesting.

"We have many matters that need our attention," Vivienne declared, and she broke part of an overly sweet tea cake over her plate. "But rest assured, I will investigate Lydia's murder. Thoroughly."

[leporidaes]

FFXIV Write Day 21 [Solution]

Another prompt for my character's non-WoL timeline. This takes place before the "Anon" prompt.

“This could have been avoided.”

“Perhaps. But this is my choice, and I won’t be swayed into another option.”

Dulce sighs. She sits back in the chair, rubbing at her eyes. The tea she’s offered Korrine has gone cold, for she had much to say about her decision to remain behind in Radz-at-Han. While fair and compassionate, the Hyuran woman did not appreciate fibbing. So Korrine told her everything. About the confession to U’mir, and S’imula’s subsequent rage at hearing about it from her faithful husband.

Korrine did her best to hide the bruise on her cheek with cosmetic powder.

Her free company leader glances at her, still sitting back in the chair with her arms crossed. “I’m once again willing to dismiss her from the company.”

“And I already told you why that’d be unwise. Of us all, she’s able to easily adapt to different fighting styles. Besides, if you dismiss her—”

“Yes, yes. We’ll also lose U’mir, loyal husband that he is.” Dulce sighs, looking at her lap. Then she regards Korrine again, brown eyes meeting her rolanberry ones. “Your absence will be felt.”

Smiling weakly, Korrine reasons, “We have more than enough competent healers. And… I shared with S’imula all I know about the art of the dancer—from whatever my own mentor had taught me. Losing me won’t be detrimental. Besides, if the Warrior of Light truly needs one more person to assist him in battle in the future, you’ll know where to find me.”

Dulce is quiet, her stare unwavering. “I’ve failed you as a leader, but I won’t ask forgiveness.”

“There’s nothing to forgive.”

“Yes there is. Over time it became clear how S’imula was treating you when her husband’s back was turned—and when the rest of us were none the wiser. I shouldn’t have listened to your past insistences to leave it be, and now look where we are.”

Korrine huffs, dragging the saucer and cup towards her. Though the tea is cold, she drinks it anyway. “No, I wanted you to drop it. Aside from… U’mir’s near fatal injury in the Azim Steppe, our teamwork hasn’t been affected. But for my own personal reasons—the ones I’ve told you before—I need to leave. I can’t… I don’t want to keep living like this.”

“This is truly the only solution you could come up with?”

“It’s the only one with the least amount of consequences.”

Dulce opens the record book sitting beside her on the table. She flips through a few pages. “Very well. But I won’t budge on giving you your fair share of our coffers. You’ll need it if you wish to build a new life for yourself.”

Korrine finishes her sad leaf water, and then says, “Thank you, Dulce.”

“I’ve done nothing of late to warrant your thanks. So instead, I will support your decision. And thank you for all your help in Sol y Luna.”

“It’s been a pleasure, truly.”

Though she doesn’t smile, Dulce doesn’t frown either. She simply nods and gets up from her seat to open the wooden chest tucked under her bed.

—

Supper was going well in the meyhane. Everyone had a full plate of savory Hannish cuisine and laughter spread as cups were refilled to the brim. Korrine was the only quiet one, smiling here and there as she listened to quips or gossip from the others in the company. Wedged between Nieve and Pierrepont, two companions much taller than she. You wouldn’t even know the Auri woman was there had they not been chatting her up.

That is why Itztli isn’t the least bit surprised at the subject of her announcement.

“I won’t be returning to Eorzea with you all.”

All noise is vacuumed into the nether, eyes on her where she stands at the edge of the table. Before anyone can bombard her with questions, she explains her reasoning. Feels like she still has a lot of room to grow, and gil is thinning with every new addition to the company. She likes Raz-at-Han, a beautiful city with its vibrant architecture and delectable dishes. She can learn Hannish alchemical techniques to supplement her healing magic, not to mention this is where her mentor learned the art of the dancer, and thus passed it on to her.

Many more reasons flow easily from her lips. It’d be innocuous had Itztli not been aware of the true cause of her willful resignation.

U’mir looks as if he’s been shot with an arrow as he says, “You’re… leaving?” though Itztli doubts anyone but him hears it. Everyone else is beginning their barrage of questioning and attempts at convincing Korrine to stay. When U’mir receives no answer, he looks to his plate. Slowly his ears begin to fold against his head, and a frown creases his otherwise sunny disposition.

Itztli himself is silent. He’ll get his chance later to confirm his suspicions with Korrine. Right now she’s holding her ground, shaking her head and insisting it isn’t anyone’s fault. She just feels she could be of better use here, there are enough healers in the company, etcetera and etcetera.

“Well if this is truly what you wish to do,” Nieve starts, “then tomorrow we must spend some time together! All of us! I know it’ll be you who is seeing us off, but we don’t know when we’ll meet again! Ooh, Korrine,” the Viera woman holds her close, “why didn’t you say anything sooner?!”

“I’m sorry, Nieve,” she apologizes, returning the hug. “We’ll just have to make the most of tomorrow.”

Everyone starts asking her what she’d like to do. Some offer to treat her to a meal, others wish to browse the markets, a few want to spar—and so on it goes. Nieve begins organizing a list, so Itztli reaches across the table to slip the quill out of Pierrepont’s hand when the Elezen man has finished penning his own activity to do with Korrine.

“Must you be so impatient, Itztli?” he asks with a tired sigh.

“You’re all going to suffocate her with well-wishes and tearful sentiments tomorrow.” The Viera drags the paper over to himself, quickly jotting down his contribution. “Someone needs to offer her a moment of reprieve. Need to volunteer myself for this very thing before anyone else steals my idea.”

U’mir looks at him and asks, “May I have the list next, Itztli?”

S’imula side eyes her husband, partially hidden by her bangs. Itztli grins, handing it over to him. “Sure. Everyone ought to be part of the itinerary. Don’t you think, S’imula?”

Both Miqo’te look over the list. U’mir rubs the quill between two fingers, eyes scanning the page. S’imula frowns when he finds a timeslot, though Itztli has a feeling it’s his small smile she’s discontent with, and not the list itself. That smile of an assured bonding event with a close friend, one who has always been important to him.

“Aww, but Mirmir,” she says, pouting and batting her eyes at him as she places a dainty hand on his arm, “I thought we were going to have one last look around before our departure!”

U’mir blinks at her, an eyebrow quirked. “We’ve sort of done that a lot already, don’t you think?”

“Oh, yes of course. But we didn’t get a proper honeymoon,” her voice grows a level louder, “and Thavnair is so lovely!” She leans her head on his shoulder, ear flicking against the side of his face. “Besides, once I’m further along, we won’t be going anywhere for a while.”

Well. That’s definitely a development.

Yeyepahe, one of the company’s marauders, sets his pint of spirits down on the table. “Let’s ‘ave it here, U’mir. Yer takin’ too long.”

Before U’mir can tell him to wait, S’imula slips the paper away from him and slides it to the marauding Lalafell. She then plucks the quill from U’mir’s hand and passes it over to the smaller man beside her.

“I wasn’t done,” he says, frowning.

“Eh, ‘m sure it’ll be passed ‘round again later.” Grunting, he looks over the list and begins to scribble in an empty space. He gives a quick belch before rubbing at his eyes. “And further along with what, S’imula?” Snorting, he adds, “How much ‘further’ can ye get from home? We’re in bloody Thavnair!”

Oh to be that stupid while intoxicated. Itztli can’t relate.

“Imula, we discussed—” U’mir starts, but she’s already standing and clearing her throat before he can finish his sentence.

“Since we’re on the topic of surprising announcements, I have one of my own.” She bounces on her feet, clasping her hands together over her chest. “Mirmir and I are expecting!”

“What?” Nieve shouts. “S’imula, really?! You’re pregnant?!”

She nods, placing a hand over her abdomen. Everyone now shifts their focus to her, several mimicking Nieve’s astonishments with their own questions.

“I know! I just found out the other day.”

“S’imula,” U’mir’s mouth is in a thin line, brows furrowed, “I thought we agreed we’d tell everyone later.”

“Oh but everything is so festive right now! I couldn’t help it!” She pouts at Korrine, sighing. “I’m sorry, Korrine. I know this was a big deal for you to tell us about your stay in Radz-at-Han.” Itztli bets she does. “But you inspired me to share our own new beginnings!”

Her expression is neutral for the first few ticks. Then she smiles, and replies, “It’s okay, S’imula. You’re right that this is a happy occasion for everyone to share their own news. Congratulations,” she then looks at U’mir, “to the both of you.”

It’s odd how sheepish U’mir looks when caught in her line of sight. No, more… guilty? There isn’t embarrassment there. No reddening cheeks, or a sweaty face. He looks away to the table, and then another quick glance up at Korrine before he says, “Thank you. It’s—yeah, we’re really excited about it.”

Are you really?

The conversation tilts in S’imula’s favor, Korrine’s list having been passed around back to its inception. The Miqo’te woman is asked if she’s thought of names yet for her child, do they think it will be a boy or girl, how much longer are they going to stay in the free company because of it—and Korrine once again remains wedged between Nieve and Pierrepont, partially hidden by their arms. 

She looks over the list when it returns to her. Eyes scroll over the page. A quick glance up in U’mir’s direction, though his attention is occupied with answering supplemental questions mostly directed at his wife. Korrine looks at the parchment again and frowns, placing it beside her cup on the table.

Pierrepont asks her something, and she quickly smiles up at him, shaking her head. Whatever it is she says, he doesn’t push her for more. Instead he passes her a platter of confectionaries hidden behind a half-empty bowl of fruit. As she eats a few, he periodically glances at her, frowning once, before offering the parents-to-be some advice on raising a child.

Korrine stares at a random spot beside her plate, slowly munching on the sweets. Eyes unfocused, arms close to her body. Dulce watches her for a good moment before reprimanding Yeyepahe about ordering yet another large pitcher of his spirits. S’imula laughs and tells him to drink enough for her since she won’t be able to again for several moons.

The noise is grating on Itztli’s ears.

[heavenbykvar]

Richmond, Virginia.

Emma Dixon’s world was shattered. A shatter that was caused by another woman. 

She was the kind of woman to normally hold her head high no matter the situation. This situation, however, crushed her. 

She still loved John.

When she isn’t drowning from shame and embarrassment from the divorce, she quietly fantasizes about the woman he left her for leaving him and John crawling back to Emma. When, or more accurately, if that day comes, she would make him a nice cup of tea like a nice Southern lady and caress his face and lightly pull on those lovely black curls of his. She would tell him she still loved him, no matter what happened between them. Her love for him will last for eternity. And she will remind him that no other woman can love him the way she does.

She read the letter sent by Edmond Kent, a close friend of her dead father. Edmond had lived in Richmond but moved to the west as war began. He moved around California during the war years and settled permanently near Santa Rosa. 

Mr. Kent was John’s neighbour. He saw what unfolded between John and the petite redheaded lady.

“Dearest Emma,

I’m positive you will be pleased to hear the woman that caused your divorce has been taken care of. 

Believe me that I was just as unhappy as you about the incident. A good woman like you did not deserve it. 

I honestly am not sure why your husband was enticed by that soulless ginger whore. I am, however, sure she is some kind of courtesan–I have heard rumours that her name is Heaven, and to me, that sounds like a name a courtesan would use. I am positive that is not her true name. 

You are everything she is not–pretty, tall, cultured, heroic, and with that Southern charm that Virginian ladies are so famous for. In other words, perfection. 

Why he left you for that little ill-bred redheaded cat, I don’t know. You deserve him more than her. I hope he sees it, too, and reclaims the years-long love you both have shared. 

Bless your heart of gold. Do tell your lovely mother I said hello.

Edmond Kent.”

“Who is she, really?“ Emma pondered. She became obsessed with the idea of finding out who the woman really was, and how did she manage to steal John away from her? She could have not been that beautiful, charming, and accomplished like her. From Mr. Kent’s letter, the other woman had red hair. How could John choose a ginger over blonde-haired, blue eyed Emma? How could he leave a Southern woman for someone who is not Southern? 

She had fulfilled Mr. Kent’s wish about greeting her mother, Annabelle. Her mother did not care what John was doing or where he was right now. That damned murderer could die in a hole and go to hell and she would not think twice about it. At least her daughter and granddaughter would be safe for the rest of their lives–only if a joyful event had occurred. 

But Annabelle hated how Emma’s reputation was ruined, a result from the divorce and gossip from the spiteful society ladies of Richmond. She believed Emma deserved to have the reputation of a great noble woman, she did save many lives of their Confederate soldiers, after all. Emma should not be a scorned woman.

Emma locked herself in her bedroom of misery, yet again, and gripped her blonde hair in frustration. Tears fell slowly from her blue eyes as she brewed more hatred for this Heaven woman inside her.  

“She ruined everything..” 

Emma wiped her tears off with a handkerchief. Her eyes glanced to her bedside table. Sitting on it was a shiny pair of scissors, among other small items. Somehow, the scissors stood out from the rest of the items. It seemed to be calling her name. 

The blonde woman picked the scissors up, looking at the edge and then gently and slowly running her finger against it as to not cut herself with it.

“I saved lives.. and I can end one with ease. No, not with ease. I will slit Heaven’s neck and watch her life drain from her eyes. A shot from a pistol would be too kind for her.” 

Emma smiled mischievously. 

She now understood how Henry Bradley felt, the man that was so crazy for her. But that did not mean she loved him now. She understood him greatly. 

She vowed to have her John back, after killing his whore. She believed, with all her heart, that they were still meant for each other. 

And this proved that even a kind person with a loving heart such as her can be pushed beyond limits.

[chocosvt]

love café

⚬ pairing: jeonghan x fem!reader ⚬ word count: 17.6K ⚬ warnings: some vulgar language, i guess! ⚬ genres: big time nsfw, dirty talk, lap dances, quickies, bath shenanigans, exhibitionism, overstim - you get what i mean. big ole romance, angst, fluff, jeonghan is very rich and very hot, joshua has a not so subtle crush on you. 

✧✎ synopsis: while you’ve spent the last few months pretending the love café doesn’t exist, you realize you need its services now more than ever. this brings you face to face with jeonghan, the son of a luxury fashion designer who’s got money to burn. your exchanges are strictly business. until they’re not. 

✧✎ a/n: YES, ANOTHER REWRITE. the original love café was just so unsalvageable that i almost fully wiped its plot, minus the actual concept of the café. so, this should read as fairly new! I HOPE U ENJOY IT !!

It’s not that you were desperate. Because you weren’t.

You were actually more than desperate at this point, and no longer could you sit on that uneven couch with the broken leg, staring at the chipped paint, listening to your neighbours’ screams, believing you should continue like this. More than anything, you were shortchanging yourself. There was no point in holding onto that little string of hope in which those employers might phone you back. It would be impossible to contact your family when you had affirmatively cut ties with them ages ago. And, it was becoming increasingly foolish to ignore your one saving grace, just a street over from your rundown complex.

But, could you really commit to it? Would anyone even be able to look at you and think you were someone desirable enough to reward?

Those thoughts often hung over you like a dark cloud, and poured down so heavily that you were metaphorically drenched, in your own pessimism. However, on that day, you were beyond patience with the cards you’d been dealt. Such a despairing apartment, with all its bugs and drafts and horrible neighbours, could not be your brightest and most fortunate future. There had to be something you could do.

Even if it meant going to the Love Café.

In other words, an easy gig to financial heaven, in exchange for sexual pleasures of course. You walked into your bedroom and sat down in front of the wooden vanity, clicking on a dim, flickering bulb to help illuminate your face as well as its lifeless expression which stared back at you. It didn’t take more than ten minutes to pat your skin with some emptying makeup and thinning pans of eyeshadow. Then, you fixed up your hair and chose a simple, mute-coloured dress from your closet, immediately swallowed by the large winter coat you cozied into.

You hurried quickly down the corridor, ignoring the muffled shouts from your argumentative neighbours bleeding through the nickel-thin walls, past the barking dog which jumped against the door, scratching its nails whenever you waited for the elevator, and you didn’t even spare one glance at the very strange man who always hovered in the central lobby and watched you ignore his coos every single day. By the time you arrived outside the Love Café, you were breathing like a marathon runner. Despite the cold weather, you felt a sweat run like a breeze down your temple as you wiped your face before heading inside.

The space felt warm. Everything was red, pink, or white. And when you inhaled, the air smelled like a note of rose petals and candy. It was surprisingly easy to sign up for a ‘Love Card’ at the front desk.

“This card has twelve punches per service with your partner. If, by the end of the twelfth punch, you’re not looking to pursue something serious with this individual, you can pay for another Love Card. If you do manage to find, ‘the one’, then congratulations, and well wishes. Since you’re a first-time client, you get twenty-five percent off your first card.”

Whoever the lady was, she seemed less than enthusiastic as she pushed a cherry-red paper across the counter with a finely manicured nail. You thought she must have given this spiel so many times, the script probably haunted her in her sleep. Nonetheless, you thanked her, and heeded her direction when she advised you to choose any of the free tables, marked with a pale rose. For some reason, you picked the very last table amongst the row and slid yourself onto the uncomfortable, white chair, the metal back moulded into the shape of a heart.

Whoever reserved the table wasn’t exactly punctual. About half an hour after being seated, ordering yourself a tea, and examining the different clients who filtered in and out the café, you were beginning to assume the worst. That they cancelled. Flaked. Decided to pull from the service and direct their affluence elsewhere. As you titled the last few droplets of tea around the base of the cup, feeling utterly depressed and bored, you heard the little bells clink above the door, followed by a gasp from the employee at the front desk. Considering her microscopic range of emotion, you figured whoever entered must be some flawless rarity.

“Jeonghan!” She fixed her slouched position. “I wasn’t aware you made a reservation today. I haven’t seen your name in the system.”

“No worries. I set an anonymous appointment the night before. After all the chaos I caused last time, I figured it’s best to stay under the radar. I know I’m late. I was finishing up a term paper.”

“That’s quite all right. Here, I’ll just quickly renew your information. One moment… Okay, Yoon Jeonghan, you’re all set.”

At that, your eyes practically bulged right into the teacup. You’d heard his name in some conversations with a few university friends, before you had dropped your program. His father was an inventive in the fashion industry for nearly a decade, and his brand was considered high-end luxury, with people forking up the big bucks just to wear a piece from the collection. His mother recently begun a perfume company. In fact, you had a bottle from her Sunrise series sitting on your vanity, though you used each spritz very sparingly considering its outrageous price point. According to the most recent gossip, Jeonghan had ended his relationship with a model who’d been strutting his father’s cloths.

You couldn’t believe he was here.

No – even worse, you couldn’t believe he was making his way toward your table. It had to be some sort of mistake. How could it be that you chose to sit here? Was the universe attempting another cruel joke?

His visual seemed even more daunting outside his photographs in the magazines. Beyond a glossy page, he was softer. Thick hair, shiny and dark brown, which swooped beneath his ears and parted smoothly at the forehead. His lips were the same shade as the windowsill roses, as well as the high arches in his cheeks. But then, he was sharper too, with a trim, angular jaw and such a defined yet judgemental brow. You had expected anyone else but him. And now, this esteemed, much too beautiful man had come to the very last table, wearing an expression of waning curiosity. Or, as you interpreted it, clear-glass disappointment.

Before Jeonghan seated himself, he untucked his phone from his coat pocket and clicked a side button to check the time. He then sniffled, looked straight at the wall, and sighed. Despite your now devoted wish to disappear, you attempted to begin a conversation that wouldn’t backfire.

“Yoon Jeonghan. I’ve heard the name. It’s nice to meet you.”

He settled one arm on the table, tapping his fingernails.

“Yeah. I’m guessing you’re not a regular here—” he then peered over at your bright red Love Card placed by the teacup to say your name.

Bouncing your leg underneath the table, you nodded. “No, not really. I’ve been debating for a while if this was a choice I should make, but I can’t seem to have ends meet doing anything else. So, I came here.”

Already, Jeonghan looked painfully bored. He stopped tapping his fingers and leaned his chin against the hand instead. You knew it was the insecurity barking. Unnecessarily, you apologized to him.

“I’m sorry, I know I’m probably not the woman you’re expecting and I get that. I wouldn’t be all that offended if you wanted to save the Love Card for someone else or—”

Out of the blue, Jeonghan laughed, though he attempted to mute the sound by digging the bend of his index finger between his teeth. Your sentence trailed off with an awkward, dying breath. He suddenly leaned back in his metal seat, shaking his head apologetically and pulling back some of the soft hairs from his eyes. You felt utterly confused.

“Sorry, sorry,” he smiled, “didn’t mean to discourage you there, sweetheart. I’ve just never had someone apologize for—well, their looks.”

“I-I don’t know,” you lunged for damage control, “I just thought you seemed disappointed and I… Well, I haven’t done this before, so I don’t really know all that well how it works. I… I should stop talking…”

It felt as though someone had swatted both your cheeks in an iron-slap, because the skin was stinging hot like never before. You knew he was staring at you, probably thinking to himself that you were a train wreck waiting to happen. Afterward, an employee visited the table to collect your emptied teacup, and asked Jeonghan if he’d like anything to drink. Refusing to look elsewhere but the clenched fists in your lap, you waited for the employee to leave once Jeonghan rejected the offer. He’d pulled out a piece of paper and a pen from his pocket. Uncapping the pen with his teeth, you watched him sloppily scribble something down.

“My number.” He said, sliding it across the table. “Listen, I’ve gotta go home and proofread that term paper before I submit it. Just send me a text, okay? I won’t be free for a few days, anyways.”

“Oh, okay.” You sniffled.

Quite frankly, you couldn’t comprehend that he was still interested in pursuing something venereal, even when you had embarrassed yourself like a circus act. He rose quickly from the table and wrapped the waistband of his coat tight around his small waist.

Staring down at the paper, you blurted out, “are you sure?”

Jeonghan titled his head. “Am I sure of what?”

“Never mind.” You answered. “I’ll text you later.”

“Okay.” He nodded, on the verge of walking away when he abruptly stopped himself. “Are you always this nervous?”

Caught off guard by his question, your elbow whacked the edge of the table and you meekly stuttered, “I-I don’t know…”

You were more than positive he was going to ghost all your texts.

To a degree, you were correct.

Over the course of the following week, you sent Jeonghan at least three texts, each on separate days, only to be rewarded with a demotivating lack of responses. You knew he was a busy individual who probably didn’t have much time to waste on promiscuous affairs, let alone a committed relationship. So, you tried very earnestly to not feel upset or unimportant at his methods – even despite the series of required payments glaring you down from those white envelopes scattered atop the kitchen table.

And then, during the black, late hours of a snowy Friday, you received a reply. A surprisingly urgent one which detailed that you make it to the downtown Opal Studio before eleven o’clock, as there would be a backdoor entrance left unlocked for your access. He mentioned a storage closet underneath a staircase, worded very sternly as: … Wait inside, and do not make yourself known. I’ll see you there shortly, and ensure you leave without being spotted. Uncertain of what the situation would entail, you phoned a cab and payed the driver using some remaining funds from a paper note purse. The studio’s front was a smooth, velvet black, with a wide window which illuminated several mannequins wearing Mr. Yoon’s newest issue. Each outfit cost a pretty penny.

Like you anticipated, Jeonghan was late to meet you in the storage closet; however, you were at no point going to scold his blatant disregard for scheduling when he’d pressed you tight against the door looking the way he did. Buttons popped down the chest of his unwrinkled dress shirt, sleeves cuffed to his elbows, and his neat, styled hair beginning to dishevel around those intense eyes. He braced his hand beside your head, studying your lips as though they were glittering.

“Can I kiss you?” Jeonghan asked. The question seemed to rumble from deep in his throat and you felt your knees weaken.

You nodded immediately, allowing his hand to frame the side of your cheek as his warm, soft mouth nudged against yours. It was gentle for a fleeting touch, and then there was pressure, teeth, a slick tongue running across your bottom lip and leaving you in such a sensual daze that you just stood there with a parted mouth. Jeonghan definitely knew what he wanted from you in that moment. And he wanted it quick. You were flipped around, chest pushed against the door, skirt hiked up impatiently as the fabric ruffled around your hips. His hand slid between your thighs to rub you through the thin pair of underwear, pressing firmly enough that you could feel the cold, thick rings on his fingers.

Eagerly, you began a slow gyration of grinding against Jeonghan’s touch while simultaneously biting down hard on your bottom lip, knowing embarrassingly well that you were already sticky and soaking and ready for him to use you like a designated fucktoy. He was rather flush to your backside as he dug the heel of his palm against your clit, so much yet not enough between the cotton. Something about his scent was beyond arousing, and it gripped to him like a web. An expensive cologne no doubt, mature, raw, and ocean-fresh. You heard the sound of his belt being whipped open, followed by a zipper.

“Alright,” Jeonghan hummed, passing a hand up his length, “let’s make this quick. Gotta be back upstairs in five to finish the measurements and tapering and all that boring shit. Now, just be a good, quiet little girl for me, sweetheart, and this’ll be a cake walk.”

Your mouth stretched into a low, whiny groan as Jeonghan held your underwear aside and began to sink inside of you, his hips stalled against your skin. His light breath then fluttered at your ear, “bet you’d make such a perfect toy to keep my cock nice and warm. Feels so perfect, being this deep inside you, sweetheart.” He shuddered against you, thrusting once, twice, slowly and teasingly dragging himself out before ramming right back in to pinch you against the door.

“Fuck,” he cursed between his teeth, “life would be so much easier if I could just keep you right here on my cock, wouldn’t it, baby?”.

Undoubtedly, that smooth-talking tongue of his was going to be an impending problem. You don’t know where he got off exactly on such scandalous thoughts, but you were too consumed in your own lust to care. The way he fucked you against that door with one hand scraping at your hip and the other wrapped up your throat, fingers pressing hot into your drooling mouth to keep you quiet, it was more bliss than a one-way ticket to Eden. Jeonghan timed his orgasm appropriately, slipping himself from your warmth at the last second and finishing himself off using the hand which had been maintaining your silence. His breaths were slow but husky in the aftermath, his fingers painted in cum.

“You wouldn’t want to use that pretty mouth of yours to clean this, would you?” He laughed.

Before you could respond, Jeonghan had grabbed some paper towels left to sit on a shelf and cleaned the mess himself. Then, as though nothing had happened, he asked if you were carrying that damn Love Card before you could even flatten down the wrinkles in your skirt. You grabbed the small note purse you set down next to the paper towels and revealed the obnoxiously coloured card. Jeonghan smiled.

“That’s the one.” He took a dry erase marker from the shelf and wrote his initials in the first circle.

“Here,” Jeonghan proceeded to offer back the card, “one session down. I need to scram. The hall should be clear at this hour, but have a cab ready just in case you need to bolt fast. Oh—before I go, you got the money to pay the driver? It’s no problem if you’re short. I can cover.”

“N-No, I should have enough.” You answered.

“Cool. I’ll transact you tonight.” Jeonghan nodded, tucking in his shirt rather poorly before slipping past you to exit the storage closet.

One week later, you were at the entrance to the library, pulling open the door with a big, cold huff. It was much warmer inside. You were beginning to feel the tips of your stiff fingers again.

Despite your service at the Love Café, you wanted one last time to test your luck on a receptionist position at the downtown hair salon, simply because you would think better of yourself if you weren’t relying chiefly on Jeonghan to pay your bills. His last transaction had been more than you anticipated. Finally, you were able to erase that huge electricity bill, and you still had enough of the money left over to supply some warm meals for the next few days. If you could just submit your newest resume to the salon, then you might be able to permanently cover the groceries.

Except, you needed access to a computer.

Ever since you tipped over a glass of water onto your old laptop, it had stopped working properly, and the library was the only place close by which let you use the computer room without fees. However, as you peered in through the backroom window to find an open space, you realized just how crammed full it was. Judging by everyone’s intense typing and unblinking eyes, you weren’t going to steal a seat anytime soon, which pulled out a frustrated sigh as you fiddled with the USB in your pocket. You thought about heading home, until you saw Jeonghan.

He was seated at the distant left corner, leaned back comfortably in the chair while he examined something on his laptop. A gym bag was slid underneath the table, and he was dressed as though he had some sort of sports practice; quite the contrary to his usual crisp, ironed shirts and heavy winter coats courtesy of brands you couldn’t pronounce. He seemed concentrated, chewing on his thumb nail while he tapped the touch pad. In fact, he didn’t notice that you had approached him until you said his name quietly from across the table and his eyes flickered.

“Uh, hey.” Jeonghan replied, sounding bothered while he pushed his thumb harshly against his bottom lip. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“And I didn’t expect to see you.”

He shrugged, maintaining his uninterested glance on the laptop screen. “Well, I’m looking over some notes. Last minute stuff.”

You nodded. “What’s with the duffle bag?”

“My friend Joshua – he’s been making me coach this Peewee soccer team with him at the Greenfield Dome.” Jeonghan puffed out his chest, letting an arm fall loosely to his side. “Those kids are insane. They have too much energy. I shouldn’t have let that bastard sweet talk me.”

At that, you giggled, though immediately hushed yourself when the librarian came by with a metal cart, filled with books to shelve. You stepped around the table to move out of her way. Jeonghan pulled out the chair beside him using his foot and nodded that you take a seat.

“What are you doing here?” He asked.

You reached into your pocket and pulled out the USB.

“I need to upload my new resume. I mean, I probably won’t hear anything back from this place, ‘cause that’s how it usually goes. But, whatever. Thing is, I busted my laptop, and now the computer room is filled up. I’ll just come back later and hope it’s cleared out.” Staring down at your shoes, you avoided Jeonghan’s gaze. “I know I’m doing this Love Café stuff, but it would still be nice to have my own income, you know?”

“I get that.” He replied, scratching at his collarbone. “I’ve already got my laptop here and everything. You can use it, if you want.”

“Really?” You smiled wide. “Thanks.”

Jeonghan closed a few tabs that he’d been rotating between before sliding his laptop over to you. Wriggling the memory stick into the small slot at the side, you logged into your email account through the main search engine. As long as you could send your resume to the salon before they closed their application deadline, then you would hope for the absolute best, even if it was an unstimulating, lacklustre gig answering phones and scheduling hair appointments all day. Just as you went to drag the file into your email, Jeonghan’s laptop froze.

“Uh, Jeonghan,” you whispered, “nothing’s moving. Do I just wait? Does this normally happen? Did I screw something up?”

He shook his head and laughed. “Relax, relax. It’s been doing that a lot recently. I figured out if you hold down these keys—” Jeonghan suddenly scooted his chair in very close, his thigh pressing against yours as he reached a hand underneath your arm, the other lightly nudging your fingers off the keyboard, “then it goes back to normal. See?”

“O-Oh, yeah. It’s working.” You stuttered, not all staring at the specific keys he clicked because the side of his face was much too pretty.

Granting you access to the keyboard again, Jeonghan leaned away, though he didn’t move his thigh from yours even an inch. It was almost concerning how flustered you felt. Jeonghan had literally pinned you against a closet door and fucked his own hand right in front of you, and yet, your heart was fluttering tenfold. In a much different way. And it lit this spark of fear and adrenaline at the core of your chest like gasoline hitting a wicked flame. You detached the USB stick, logged yourself out from the email account, and moved quickly off the seat.

In a hurried breath, you said, “thanks so much!” and proceeded to leave the library as though someone were trailing you with a pitchfork.

While it was embarrassing, you knew it was necessary. There was no way you were going to crush on that boy. It was strictly business.

Tired. Aching.

Uncomfortable moisture covering the slopes and divots of your body. You didn’t think there was anything left inside you for him to so commandingly take, like his name were inked to your each and every limb. And yet, Jeonghan wasn’t ready to let you rest. The mattress dipped behind you, the heat of his chest sticking to your back, the weight of his erection pressed right at your tailbone. While his lips kissed softly up your neck, Jeonghan slid his hand in between your thighs to continue pleasuring you, ignoring the responsive whimpers attached to your sensitivity. He’d already brought you to two orgasms, though you were sensing the overbearing rush of a third.

An index and middle finger slid down to your entrance, the contact beyond slippery, a sort of wet velvet, and you hardly recognized the sensation unlike the first time he’d touched you. Jeonghan hooked the digits deep, using the heel of his palm to rub a thorough friction against your clit. Working faster and faster, his laboured breaths fanned hot across your neck while he sharply concentrated on making you starry-eyed. It was pain. It was bliss. It was exactly what you wanted most and everything you couldn’t endure at the same time. You came heavily, screamed as the pulsation at your core felt almost violent.

Unable to fully ride out the pleasure, you attempted to curl away from Jeonghan, hiding your face in the pillows and further tilting your hips. However, the boy followed your movement. He stayed snug to your back, practically leaned over top you with the latter arm braced next to your head while his hand pounded and pounded. The amount of liquid gushing onto his fingers and spilling down his wrist felt almost comical, and you were certain that you had never orgasmed so intensely in your life. To make matters worse, it seemed as though he’d taken that little memory box in your head filled with all your language and tossed it right out the damn window. You couldn’t form one word other than sobs.

Jeonghan breathed a light, shaky chuckle beside your ear. “Trying to run from me, sweetheart? When I can make you feel so good? Look at how much you can take, honey. Such a good girl when you cum so fucking hard ‘round my fingers I can barely move them.”

The sound of his digits sliding out from your entrance was the most impure, salacious noise you didn’t know could exist. Rolling slowly onto your back, you saw the immediate coating on Jeonghan’s hand and the drops beading down his wrist. He caught one with his tongue, licking all the way back up like he was cleaning the juice from a melted popsicle, and you almost couldn’t watch him. In fact, you were exhausted. There wasn’t anything left for you to offer, and the thought of moving from his bed when your core felt this utterly sore and your muscles this tight set a perfectly timed cue for your eyes to fall shut. It was heavenly.

Nonetheless, Jeonghan had a very specific rule. There was no staying past your session, and he was often strikingly clear about it. But  this was the first time you’d been pushed to such a degree. He must be able to recognize that it was only a short nap you needed, and perhaps a quick minute under the shower to rid your skin of the sticky sweat.

Out of the blue, something was tossed onto your face. It was your t-shirt earlier stripped and thrown to the floor by Jeonghan. Cracking an eye open and peeling away the fabric to hang loosely from your grip, you sighed. He had already slipped back into his exercise pants.

“Seriously? I’m exhausted.”

He threw a loose flannel over the long, beaming red scrapes that you had clawed down his back, shaking his head with a huff.

“I’m not saying you need to get out right now. I’ve got a dinner with the parents at eight.” Jeonghan proceeded to drop the rest of your undergarments onto bed. “So, you gotta be gone by a quarter to, alright?”

Swallowing dryly, you nodded.

“Alright.”

The next morning, you were seated on the edge of your bed, staring with bleary eyes at the smooth, red Love Card that was initialed to its fifth circle, leaving only eight more sessions with Jeonghan. Though you approached the café with nothing more than an intention to earn money (even if the sex would be inexplicably dull), you were beginning to presume that there was more to this business than you thought. Because the sex wasn’t dull. It was concerningly amazing. And the very man who you had sworn to maintain a no-strings-attached type relationship with was throwing you for a loop. But he was boundary driven.

Be ready to go by this time. No sparkly clothes. Leave nothing in the washroom. Don’t show up here. Don’t show up there. Don’t text me unless this. Don’t call me unless that. Jeonghan knew very explicitly that you were a simple trick to relieving his stress and fulfilling his sexual desires, yet, anything further than that was laughably impossible. And, besides, it’s not like you needed to be in love or have this dazzling, perfect boyfriend. There was too much on your plate already.

You had gone to bed in a thick wool sweater, layered with the heaviest comforter you had due to the broken heating. Ignoring the cold, your next-door neighbours had found themselves in another drunken argument, forcing you to hear the unnerving crack of beer bottles and an outrageous number of insults, ranging from the very straightforward, ‘ridiculous bitch” to the audacious, “go fuck yourself, narcissistic prick.”

Thankfully, the dramatics ended just before three am.

You set the Love Card back on your nightstand. After you splashed mild water onto your face from the sink, you started multitasking, attempting to brush your teeth and remove your pyjama bottoms at the same time. Then, there was a knock at your door. You spared a glance through the peephole while the toothbrush hung from the corner of your mouth and the frigid air hit your bare legs. Upon recognizing the face reflected through the fisheye lens, you nearly choked on the mint-flavoured spit collected at the back of your throat, which forced you to unpleasantly compose yourself at the kitchen sink.

He knocked again, and you pulled the door open almost immediately, probably appearing as though you just hiked through the wilderness. Jeonghan’s eyes widened as he smiled at you.

“Damn. Sleep well?” He remarked, looking you up and down.

You were in the midst of a yawn as you answered. “Um, yes. I-I mean no. Wait, I don’t know what I’m saying. What was the question?”

Jeonghan nodded. “I’ll take that as a no.” He then reached into the pocket on his flannel coat. “Anyways, I have your phone. You left it on my bedside table the other night. Figured it’s kind of useful, I guess.”

“Oh my god. I did that?” You winced, realizing you must have been so tired and discombobulated from Jeonghan blowing your brains out that you forgot. “It won’t happen again. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

Leaning your temple against the door, you sighed. “How was that dinner thing with your parents? Was it any fun?”

The boy shook his head, pulling out his car keys and tossing them from hand to hand. “No. It was all business bullshit. What they want me to do with my future after I graduate uni. How to be responsible with my money since they think I’m gonna blow it in a few years. Trying to structure my life around stuff I don’t really give a damn about.”

“O-Oh…” You frowned, “well, was there at least good food?”

Jeonghan stopped playing with his keys and titled his head at you. “Yeah,” he said, his eyes gentle, “they had great red velvet cake.”

Unfortunately, your neighbours must have woken up and decided it was a little too peaceful at such an hour, because you heard a loud, clanging thump echo from the room beside yours, like someone had dropped a metal pot or pan on the ground. Of course, the yelling started.

It didn’t last nearly as long compared to the night before, just a few scolding comments which were ultimately muffled. You wondered what Jeonghan was thinking as he blinked at the neighbour’s door and realized how despairing the narrow, dimly-lit hallway looked. After visiting his high-end apartment numerous times based in the luxury core of the city, with its beautiful architecture and sparkle, you were frankly a bit humiliated he was witnessing this drab part of your life – the reason you were seeking his service in the first place. You apologized through your teeth for the commotion, though Jeonghan merely shrugged.

“It’s better than nothing, right?”

“Yeah, that’s true. But those two next door can be a handful sometimes. I don’t get it. If they hate each other, then just break up. Get divorced. It’s like they want to be miserable on purpose.”

“Bet you wish you could get the hell outta here, huh?”

“All the time.” You replied wistfully. “I’m thinking of going to the mall today, actually. I need a new bath towel. Whatever gets me away.”

“You want a ride there?” Jeonghan asked, shaking his keys.

At that, you smiled a little too wide. “Maybe.”

Carefully, you picked up a thin, glass bottle of pink perfume from the display counter, tilting the liquid back and forth as the lights gleamed off the gold nozzle. Everything inside the store was diamond bright and almost blinding, while the air smelled strongly of expensive floral. The employees were tailored in smooth, sophisticated suits, which made you more petrified than usual to touch anything, hence your very delicate inspection of the perfume as you waited for Jeonghan to finish his conversation with the front clerk. Since his father’s collection was sold at the boutique, Jeonghan seemed to have a cordial relationship with the staff, and they had recognized him almost immediately.

As most of their merchandise was quite expensive, you always ignored the boutique until Jeonghan suggested you stop by. It didn’t help that there was actually some cute clothing begging to be bought, though you knew one swift glance at the price tag would change your mind. You brought the perfume bottle close to your nose and inhaled lightly.

“What does it smell like?” Jeonghan asked.

You sniffed again. “It’s sweet, though it’s not strong.”

“Let me smell.” He said, and so you raised the bottle up to his nose. Jeonghan wrapped his hand around yours as he took a breath, shaking his head in disapproval. “That’s all wrong. I don’t like it.”

“It is kind of high schoolish.” You told him, setting the test bottle back onto the counter as though you were laying down a jewel. “I just need a new scent, you know? I actually love that one bottle your mom did, the summer tropic one. It’s so peachy but mild. I’m running out.”

“For real?” Jeonghan laughed, his eyes skipping over the different shaped containers. “You use one of my mom’s perfumes?”

“Um, yeah. Have you even smelled the tropic one? It’s amazing.”

“I don’t hang around her laboratory too often.” He replied. “It gives me a big fucking headache. Smells like this place times a hundred.”

You shrugged. “I guess that’s understandable.”

Suddenly, Jeonghan had latched his hand around your elbow, pulling you around to the opposite side of the counter. He grabbed a tall, slim bottle that was made from foggy glass and a chrome silver pump.

“C’mon, give me your wrist for a second.” He said. “Try this scent. I don’t know why, but it reminds me of you.”

Pulling up your sleeve, you stuck out your wrist and allowed him to spray a thin layer against the skin. Then, you sniffed the area. At first, your forehead crinkled as you attempted to decipher its concoction of notes. There was something a little fresh and cool, but then there was this oddly mature hint of a distinguished floral scent. You couldn’t pinpoint the flower, but it was certainly addictive and very intriguing.

“It’s called Orchid Night. Smells great, right?”

“Yeah,” you smiled, rolling your sleeve back down “just don’t tell me what it costs. It has to be at least fifty bucks.”

“Try sixty-nine,” Jeonghan corrected, “plus tax, don’t forget.”

Immediately, you grabbed the bottle from his hand and returned the perfume to its small podium on the countertop.

“Well, let’s put it back before we break it.”

Jeonghan smirked. “I could buy it for you.”

For a split second, you were tempted to succumb, though you snapped from the thought at the last second and shook your head.

“No way. I wouldn’t let you, anyways.”

He buried his hands in his pockets, rolling those gold-copper eyes of his. Jeonghan made sure to purposefully bump into you as he walked down the bright aisle toward the clothes. “Honestly, you’re so boring, man. That scent, on you? It would be sexy.” The boy then turned around to smother you with a burning gaze. “But, fine. Have it your way.”

You hurried after him, scoffing lightheartedly to camouflage the fact your heart was beating like a broken pendulum. Jeonghan had stopped at a rack of neatly pressed clothing to sort through the hangers.

“My way is the better way,” you smiled, “always.”

Jeonghan moved the long-sleeved button-up he’d been eyeing back onto the rack, merely blowing out a puff of air.

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Besides, I still need to get my bath towel.”

“We can find it on the bottom floor. At the new essentials store that just opened up. The Shower Duck, I think.”

“The Shower what?”

He couldn’t help but cackle while repeating himself. “The Shower Duck. You thought I said something else, didn’t you?”

When you were too tongue-twisted to reply, Jeonghan decided to place his fingers softly on your chin, holding your head still as he leaned in very closely to whisper, “you’re such a dirty girl, you know that?” You almost hated how casually he pulled away and continued to examine the clothing, as though he hadn’t just murmured a lascivious comment into your ear while the employees were standing a mere few meters across the store. More than anything, you desired the courage to deservingly tease him in return, to break that relaxed little shtick of his. Except, you weren’t confident nor subtle enough to attempt anything in public.

But when your eyes landed on that brand-new lingerie set wrapped primly on the nearest mannequin, you had a wonderful idea.

“No, are you being serious? Why? Why?”

His blunt fingernails sunk into the leather arms of the desk chair, scraping upward, as equally frustrated with your cruel antics as he was aroused and impatient. Maybe it was somewhat meanspirited to strut the thin, beautiful lace and ribbons curled around your body in a baby pink, and indeed, there was a moment where you pondered leniency, though, you severed the thought, because Jeonghan would surely tear each garter and bow from your outfit like it hadn’t cost anything at all. Pursing your bottom lip, you smiled, sinister and cold.

“I am being serious,” you stated firmly, nearing closer to his desk chair, “your hands won’t touch a single part of me, Jeonghan.”

He glared up at you with a dark, flickering fire in his eyes,  as if he were already weighing the consequence to breaking such rules. You began to sit comfortably on the boy’s lap, curling your arms around his neck while maintaining the intensity of the stare.

“And, if you do, I’ll grab my things and leave. It’ll just be you and your hand, for the rest of the night.” Purposefully, you brushed delicate lips, featherlight, along his warm, red-tinged ear, to which you could practically feel him harden underneath you upon the whisper, “and there’ll be nothing you can do other than remembering how good it felt when I was in your lap, grinding down on you, baby boy, just like this.”

Slowly and with focus, you rolled your hips in a deep, smooth gyration, ensuring Jeonghan felt the heavy pressure against all the right places. His hands keened for your waist, so you immediately reminded him of your unnegotiable rules, forcing them to settle on the arms of the chair. He drew in a sharp breath. And then, he started to laugh, like a beaten protagonist receiving their first, acrid taste of defeat. Jeonghan titled his head back to smile very lazily at you.

“Evil.” He said. “You’re fucking evil.”

“Mmhm,” you agreed, continuing the unhurried, steadfast pace of your hips rolling back and forth, observing with poorly hidden glee as the boy lost his smile, “but you’ll still cum, won’t you, Jeonghan?”

Before he could sneak in a clever rebuttal, you adjusted yourself even lower onto his lap, digging your nails down the back of his neck as you circled a thorough motion against his erection. Admittedly, it was difficult to maintain the domineering act. Even through the black material of the slacks, his cock was managing to create a friction with your lace underwear, a friction so rough yet fruitless that you were already tempted to take him, full and aching inside you. In order to distract yourself, you licked the tender side to Jeonghan’s neck, looping your tongue in a messy, warm pattern overtop a sensitive vein.

“Ff-fuck,” Jeonghan stuttered, scraping harshly along the chair, “you devilish little girl, c-can’t believe you’re g’nna make me cum like this—b-but it feels so damn good the way you’re moving, baby.”

You suckled until you’d drawn a shiny, wine-coloured hue to the surface of Jeonghan’s skin, to mark a dark bruise as a keepsake. He kept breathing through a parted mouth, each exhale shakier and more erratic than the last, his knuckles hard like stone while they gratingly tensed and betrayed his frustration at not being able to touch you. With slow, teasing hands, you began to drag them down his chest, nails clawing at the expensive fabric of his dress shirt. Jeonghan squirmed. He clenched his jaw and cursed rough under his breath. You focused on where his cock was poking you to apply the most dizzying pressure thus far, rolling your hips until something inside Jeonghan snapped and you felt him cum.

“Jesus—fuck!” He shouted, the loudest you had ever heard the boy, and there was a notable tear in his usually soft voice. “Keep going, keep going,” Jeonghan panted, squeezing his eyes shut, “keep fucking moving just like that, sweetheart. A-Ahh, ff-fuck, feels s-so good—"

At the pulsating sensation right beneath your core, you submitted to Jeonghan’s wish and continued grinding down, even if you were beginning to tire at your lack of stamina. However, there came a point where you were too breathless to maintain such a pace, so you trickled to a halt and steadied your hands on his firm shoulders. He tossed his head back, neck leaned against the edge of the chair. The hazy, glass look to his brown eyes and the rose glow smeared on each cheek made it appear as though he’d just touched down from heaven. As you shifted slightly in Jeonghan’s lap, you noticed the white stream of cum that had soaked through his pants, and that somehow, he was still hard.

“I didn’t know you could beg, Jeonghan.” You remarked, grinning, meanwhile attempting to catch your breath.

He shook his head. “Don’t expect it too much.”

“Well, I can tell you’re satisfied, either way.”

He chuckled, brushing some of the loose hairs from his face. You felt his hands settle upon your waist’s bare skin, warm and squeezing. In that moment, you just didn’t possess the same acuteness to scold him.

“Almost,” Jeonghan huffed, “but, what do you suppose you’ll do to please yourself, sweetheart?” He leaned forward, until his forehead was just a sliver away from bumping yours, the boy sliding a hand down your abdomen and beneath the lace underwear. As he stroked the tips of his fingers along your slit, he smirked. “I’ve never felt someone so wet before, dripping all over my fingers and I’m barely touching you. Did it turn you on that much, sweetheart? Feeling my hard cock right underneath this needy pussy of yours?” Jeonghan teased with a smirk and a low, calm tone. You couldn’t tell if you wanted to duct tape his mouth shut or allow him to keep talking, as there was something about his honeyed voice which wound you up like clockwork.

Yet, before you could even start the syllable of a response, Jeonghan pushed you strongly from his lap, his hands glued to your waist as he guided you to stumble against the bed. Your back hit the mattress, the sheets puffing up around you. And then, Jeonghan was kissing you, lips clashing messily while he took advantage of the switched power dynamic to run his hands over your every inch. One second, they were cupping your breasts overtop the baby pink bralette. Another second, they were grabbing at your ass and kneading so desperately. You were being ravaged. It was overwhelming, it was gratifying, it was needed beyond belief.

“Hey,” Jeonghan said, separating his mouth from the side of your throat to stare at you with an oddly sentimental eye, “before I get all up in your guts and everything— you look beautiful. Even if you did choose this outfit to be a big fucking tease.” His fingers brushed down the edge of your jaw, and he smiled at you in a way that wasn’t clever or teetering on sarcasm. Your heart leapt like a little frog in your chest.

“Really?” You questioned him, not because you didn’t believe the lingerie suited your figure, but rather, you weren’t expecting this sweetness from someone who was always so quick to get rid of you.

He nodded, raising a suspecting eyebrow. “Yeah, really. What, you think I’m lying to you or something?”

“No, I don’t think that,” you answered quickly, curling your fingers into the bedsheets, “I just—I wasn’t… Uh, never mind.”

“Alright,” Jeonghan laughed, lowering his head to delicately kiss your cheek, and then your neck, “you’re a bit strange sometimes, you know that?” He mumbled against the sensitive skin, even daring to dig his knee between your thighs to make you increasingly pliable.

“I-I know,” you stuttered, unable to help your embarrassing voice crack. But you still smiled, letting Jeonghan explore and pleasure your body with an uncharacteristic tenderness for the remainder of the night.

Twelve am.

Usually, at this time, you’d be at the bottom floor of his apartment complex, seated by the lobby water fountain. You’d be examining your face with a pocket mirror, awaiting the yellow taxi cab, and trying to avoid eye contact with the wealthy businesspeople filtering from the elevators in glamourous congregation.

However, tonight was different.

Tonight, you were in Jeonghan’s bed, with a white sheet covering the lower half of your bodies, an ear pressed to his bare, warm chest while you breathed him in like the wind on a bright summer’s day. You felt his fingertips trace long figure eights down your spine and then dance back up to the subtle curve of your shoulder blades. Sometimes it tickled, other times it was a touch so soft it was hardly there, and in between you thought he might have been tracing words. The room was quiet. But good quiet— the comfortable quiet. And then you heard Jeonghan speak into the crown of your head while his hand stilled at your waist.

“Did that salon ever call you back?” He asked.

You sighed, focusing on your thumb which brushed a small freckle on his pectoral muscle. “They emailed me, and said their position was already filled, but that they’ll try to look for another opening.”

Jeonghan rubbed your hip. “That’s good, right? I mean, they didn’t just flat out reject you. They’re gonna keep you in mind.”

“It’s better than what I’m used to getting,” you answered, pressing your lips together and tilting your head up at him.

And, that’s when it struck you, like someone had just clanged a bell right beside your head. You were still in Jeonghan’s bed. You were still in Jeonghan’s apartment. You were still with Jeonghan. Feeling as though you’d broken some vastly significant cardinal rule, you operated on a strange basis of panic and autopilot, already seated at the edge of the mattress while you tucked your underwear back on.

“I’m sorry,” you spewed, reaching for your shirt next and straightening it out frantically in your lap, “the time escaped me. I-I know I have to go. And, my Love Card, I think it’s in my purse or—”

“Can you slow down?” Jeonghan laughed, casting a hand through his loose, disarrayed hair which you had admittedly tugged earlier in the night like your life depended on it. The boy’s arms circled around your midframe, hugging your back to his chest. “I don’t care about that stupid card right now,” Jeonghan hummed into your ear, “stay.”

At that, you almost choked. “Stay? You want me to stay?” You repeated dumbly, dropping the inside-out shirt back onto your lap.

The coldest shiver split down your spine as Jeonghan buried his face against your neck, taking a breath of your scent, kissing your skin.

“Yeah,” he purred, now pecking the soft spot behind your ear, “I want you to stay. Or, if you really want to go home, I won’t stop you.”

“No,” you replied almost immediately, melting into his voice, his touch, his body, “trust me, I’d rather be here.”

Jeonghan’s arms relaxed their snug grip.

“I figured that.”

Even though you had strongly protested the idea, Jeonghan succeeded at wearing you down akin to an ocean tide forming whorls into rock, and now you were seated before your vanity with an array of makeup scattered at your fingertips as you prepared for a dinner. His parents were going to be there, in addition to some business partners and close friends, which sounded like something from a hellish nightmare. In fact, Jeonghan himself didn’t seem all that eager to attend. He’d been sprawled across your bed for the past half hour, with the long drapes of his coat fanned around him, as he flipped through an old magazine. You were certain he just didn’t want to tough another dinner alone.

After focusing a spritz of perfume to your neck (the orchid one, bought by Jeonghan, because he was very insistent that you not smell like his mother) you shut off the vanity lights and sighed.

“I think I’m ready… Physically though, not mentally.”

Jeonghan yawned, tossing the magazine aside before he pushed himself to sit upright on the bed. He rubbed at his eye.

“Trust me, it’s not going to be the big, royal midnight ball that you’re picturing. My parents have these dinners all the time. You’ll be the centre of attention for a few minutes, and then it’s pretty much just business central from there. You’ll be lucky if you can even get a word in. I stopped trying months ago.”

You smiled at him, feeling slightly better about the situation, and took one last, scrutinizing glance in the mirror. The dress was simple yet elegant, a mute shade of dark blue with a beaded, crystal belt that you had forgotten about, as you discovered it laying behind a stool shoved in your closet. The fabric had an elastic tightness to it and was hemmed shorter than you remembered, just above your fingertips. You tried not to judge or overthink the figure which reflected in the vanity glass, or what Jeonghan’s parents might assume upon their first introduction to someone who was so clueless on their accolades. It was merely a dinner.

“Stop worrying so much,” Jeonghan hummed, sensing that you were at the forefront of a spiral. His hands settled to your hips and he caught your eye through the mirror. “No one is going to judge you, or poke fun at you, or say anything mean. I promise.” He then grabbed your winter coat off the bed, helping you slide into the arms, and even doing up the buttons. “You’re gorgeous.” Jeonghan said, tapping your chin.

It didn’t help that he could fluster you so easily.

Joshua wasn’t at all who you expected him to be, while simultaneously encompassing everything you would indeed expect from the position of Jeonghan’s closest friend. He was a juxtaposition personified. Slick, ash blonde hair combed into a handsome wave, eyes which twinkled like the restaurant’s diamond chandelier, and a soothing voice which could be a cup of warm milk on a frosty day, though his interactions with Jeonghan portrayed him as childlike and frivolous. He greeted you, at first with a quick hug. You heard him exhale deeply.

“Wow,” Joshua commented, retreating to shake your hand, “you smell amazing! I mean—well, I hope that doesn’t sound weird.”

You laughed, and wondered how someone could smile with such a prettiness. “Thank you! I’d be upset if you didn’t notice, actually.”

Joshua continued to shake your hand. “Oh, yeah, agree. It’s wonderful to meet you. Jeonghan’s been trying to hide you, it seems.”

“Go shove a break stick in your mouth,” Jeonghan scoffed, blowing a loose piece of hair from his eyes, “and stop shaking her hand like that. You’re gonna snap her whole arm off.”

Finally, Joshua released his grip, and your arm fell back to your side like a limp noodle. His cheeks were starting to turn pink.

“I was not. Anyways—” he nodded at you, “like I said, nice to meet you. I hope we’ll talk more tonight and I’ll pick your brain.”

“Sure thing,” you answered, waving the boy off as he returned to the dinner table before facing Jeonghan. “He seems nice.”

“And totally into you. I haven’t seen him shake someone’s hand like that since I introduced him to Elouise from France. He’s gonna turn into a lost puppy all over again. Bet he’ll try to sweet talk you later.”

“Can’t wait.” You grinned, already giggling through your teeth.

Jeonghan c0nsquently thwapped your forehead with his finger.

However, meeting Jeonghan’s parents was starkly different than the good-humoured Joshua. They both appeared cross, and firm, and before you had even shaken their hands you were forced to wipe yours against your dress. The father was a bit softer around the edges, showing you a pleased smile that reminded you instantaneously of Jeonghan, while the mother was stone-faced and seemed as though she hadn’t slouched since birth. Even when she complimented your fragrance, there was a tartness to her voice which made it sound disingenuous.

“Well, Jeonghan,” she said, clasping her hands together, “I’m glad to finally see you with a lovely lady on your arm. I didn’t think it was possible that you could settle for someone after being with Baejin.”

“Oh?” The father piped up, “you’re my son’s girlfriend?”

Before you could respond, Jeonghan had beaten you to it.

“No, she’s…” he bit his lip hard, “she’s just a friend. Mom kept nagging that I always come to these dinners alone, and she was down.”

For some reason, it felt like someone had pierced a pin straight through your heart – a very tiny hole which shouldn’t hurt all that much, yet stung like flesh to orange, glowing metal. In fact, there was a visible shift in your countenance, from a nervous smile to a sunken frown, but you were able to veil it very quickly and pretend nothing was wrong. Why should you feel so disappointed that Jeonghan had introduced you as a friend? The promiscuous nature of your relationship didn’t immediately loop you two together as soulmates, or lovers, or even the mildest beginnings of boyfriend and girlfriend. You tried to refocus yourself.

Jeonghan’s mother nodded. “Even if she isn’t your next Baejin, it’s nice to meet a new face. The dinner talk might bore you no doubt.”

“No, not at all—” you forced a smile, “I’m just excited to be here.”

It was easier to endure the night than you thought, because true to Jeonghan’s word, the conversation was a bunch of business lingo that you didn’t exactly understand, with the occasional question flitted to you by Joshua who sat across the table. You had completely emptied your glass of ice water, and were halfway through your wine when two fancy, tuxedoed servers stopped by the table to collect everyone’s dishes. A distant relative was seated to Jeonghan’s right, and they had swept him into a discussion of whether or not he was interested in pursuing his current degree or if he would abandon it to work fulltime for his father’s brand. Meanwhile, Joshua had whisper-shouted your name.

You raised an eyebrow, “what?”

“Are you getting dessert?” The blonde asked, already shoving a small, plastic menu to his face. “I can’t decide what I want.”

“I guess so,” you picked up an extra menu sitting by a purple wine bottle and started to browse the list of decadent food.

Joshua sighed, “I usually get the cheesecake… but, I’m torn. What if I want the caramel apple baked pudding with black truffles?”

“The caramel apple baked what?” You questioned, laughing from the absolute mouthful that Joshua just worded so effortlessly.

“I know, I know. It’s a jumble. But my family and I come here all the time so I’ve gotten these names down pat. What are you thinking?”

“Um, I’m not sure. I’ve never been here before, actually.”

His eyes, glistering and delighted, locked with yours. “Can I recommend you something, then?” Joshua said while smiling. “Red velvet cake. It’s right at the bottom. Not to mention the slice is huge so there’s always leftovers for the next day. It’s a favourite here.”

The relative responsible for dragging Jeonghan into another trite conversation concerning his future had excused themselves from the table. He was finally able to return his attention to you, and you slid over the dessert menu so he could pick something. You noted that Jeonghan’s hand had fallen onto your thigh, right at the hem of your dress, and you could only surmise that trouble was brewing. Joshua took a sip from his water glass, then settled it back on the table while subtly eyeing you.

“So, I’ve never seen you around before. Are you in school?”

You tapped your nails against the white table cloth, shaking your head, “no—I had to drop my program. It just wasn’t what I thought it would be and, well, I took a huge hit financially. So, no school.”

“Not everything is going to be a bullseye,” Joshua said, “I’m sure there’ll be more opportunity down the road. This other friend of mine, his name is Mingyu, he does this thing called the Love Café—” the boy then gestured to Jeonghan, “and I know he’s done it once before. Have you heard of it? Maybe it’s not up your alley, but I hear it’s good money.”

The suggestion had quite visibly stunned you. It seemed that Jeonghan was intent to keep the foundation of your relationship as covert as possible, which prompted his ‘friends’ comment before dinner, therefore you had no choice but to follow the rouse, even if the boy was currently sliding his hand further up the inside of your thigh, pushing inch by inch under your dress. Jeonghan didn’t contribute a single word.

“Um, the name sounds familiar. I’ll have to look it up.” You then glanced at him, hanging his head over the menu like a child who forgot their glasses, probably hiding some million-watt smirk.

“Are you having dessert?” Joshua asked his friend.

Jeonghan sat up straight, nodding, “I am.”

“The red velvet cake?”

“Vanilla ice cream. The one that comes on the skillet.”

“Oh, that one’s seriously good,” Joshua groaned, “ask them to put a chocolate chip cookie on the side. It gets all warm and—”

“Joshua,” the young lady beside him, probably in her late twenties, with petal-shaped, twinkling eyes similar to his and ice-like smooth skin, suddenly wrapped her hand around his arm, “can you come outside with me for a few minutes? I think I left my wallet in the car.”

He pushed out his chair. “Sure thing—guys, I’ll be back in a few. I need to help my cousin. If the waiter comes, order for me please.”

While you might have promised Joshua to follow through on his unnecessarily complicated apple pudding, such thoughts were quick to be discarded the moment he’d left the table, as Jeonghan had given you much more to think about. The boy’s hand was wedged between the apex of your thighs with two fingers pressed flat against your underwear. You felt heat, and the faintest burning of pleasure, one that yearned for you to start a gentle undulation against his hand because your unruly body was already eager for stimulation. Jeonghan picked up his wine glass.

“What are you doing?” You tried to shelter the whisper from the table’s guests, hoping the business speech was too engrossing.

As laid back as an ironing board, Jeonghan took a long gulp from his drink, swishing the wine from cheek to cheek before he swallowed. He set the wide-rimmed glass back down and wiped his mouth.

“What do you mean, ‘what am I doing?’” He said, raising an eyebrow at you as though you’d conjured a make-believe tale. However, the instant he started to slide up his index finger so it could push firmly against your clit, a smirk penetrated that complacent expression.

You grabbed his wrist, stared him dead in those honey-brown eyes. “Are you insane?” the whisper was harsh, “we’re in public.”

He tilted his head indifferently. “What’s your point, love? I get to play with your pussy whenever I want. It’s mine now. Remember?”

The dirty-mouthed comment split a fire beneath your cheeks like a flint cracking steel. Not only that, but Jeonghan studied each minor contort of your face as he slipped two digits beneath your underwear, brushing his fingertips ever so softly around your sensitive clit. You gulped, dry and gritty, hating that your thighs were starting to spread.

“Jeonghan!” A voice called his name from down the table.

Fear gripped your poor heart like latex glove. It was an older relative, asking him to pass down the remaining bottle full of wine.

“Oh, such a nice boy!” She chirped.

You nearly gawked at the remark considering the immoral placement of his hand and what he was doing. On the contrary – as much as you wanted to be embarrassed for allowing Jeonghan to touch you in public viewing– he knew his talents much too well, and the manner in which he used your own arousal to lubricate the massaging motion of his finger to your clit was an astounding bliss. Your legs fell wider apart, inviting him to explore a more rigorous touch, and that’s when Jeonghan curled his two fingers inside of you until his knuckles couldn’t fit.

Before your pinched expression could be caught by anyone at the table, you looked straight down at your lap, watching his wrist work beneath the navy-blue fabric. In fact, very faintly, you could hear the squelch from his digits pumping deep and slow into your warmth. Your bottom lip was quivering as he drew them out, now running the long length of his fingers upward to graze beneath the hood of your clit. He repeated a stroking gesture. It triggered the nerves to swell and pulse.

“I see Joshua walking back,” Jeonghan murmured, an arrogance thick in his voice, “and you don’t want him to find out about this, do you? Or, maybe I’m wrong.” He slid his entire hand beneath your underwear and cupped your centre, squeezing like he owned it. “Maybe you want him to know you’re such a whore of a girl that you’ll take my fingers anywhere. I mean, look at how much you’ve opened your legs, and I didn’t even ask you to. I love when you behave just for me, honey.”

Joshua collapsed back at the table with a huff, combing some snow flurries from his hair. “We found the wallet.” He said.

Yet, you couldn’t even bring yourself to face him. Jeonghan had spread your lips with his index and ring finger, using his middle digit to make rhythmic, deep circles around the bud. An erotic whine escaped your teeth and Joshua’s eyes widened; his face tinged with concern.

“Are you alright?” He questioned. “Did you get a Charlie horse?”

“N-No, I’m fine, really.” You composed yourself with a weak smile, and took a sip from your wine. “I got one of those rib pains.”

The blonde boy winced. “Ouch, those hurt big time.”

Honestly, you didn’t think it was possible to endure dessert without revealing to some degree that you were being, well, stretched open by Jeonghan. It was sheer torture staring at the waiter while he took your order, knowing the boy was lazily pumping his fingers inside you with a half-smirk seated so comfortably to his face. When that huge, delicious slice of cream red velvet cake was placed before you on the table, you could only fork a few pathetic bites, and when Joshua offered you to try a spoonful from his warm apple pudding, you nearly squealed the word no as Jeonghan rolled your sore clit between his fingertips. The most egregious aspect to the entire daubable was that the boy stripped your orgasm from you at the very last second, like stopping a rollercoaster just before it tips over the downhill plummet.

“How was the ice cream?” Joshua asked him innocently.

You observed with horror as Jeonghan brought that sinful hand to his mouth, lapping his tongue against his two fingertips as though he were actually savouring a sweet and flavourful vanilla.

“Delicious.” He grinned, catching your mortified stupor from the corner of his eye. “I’d taste it again in a heartbeat, Shua.”

Dropping the slice of bread into a shallow bowl, you used the spatula to submerge it underneath the milk, egg and cinnamon mixture until it was completely coated. Then, you slid the bread onto your buttered frying pan to let its surfaces crisp and brown. Since you began utilizing the service granted by the Love Café, life at your depressing excuse for an apartment was becoming more bearable, though your ultimate goal would be to ditch the paper-thin walls and insult-spewing neighbours once money was no longer a prevalent issue. You were still insistent on supporting yourself too, if you could ever score a job.

You flipped the bread onto its opposite face, pressing it down with the spatula as the pan sizzled and the butter popped. A few days had passed since your last intimacy with Jeonghan, and the proof would have been stamped to your Love Card if the boy had actually written his initials like usual. The thing was, Jeonghan – who had always been so firm and unwavering on the rules of the café – was now skirting about the regulations as though they were optional. There were days when he didn’t even initial the card, but still delivered his transactions. In fact, you were almost positive that sex had happened more than twelve times and that you could be renewing your card if wanted (you didn’t).

As silly and cliché as it sounded, you liked Jeonghan. You constantly thought about him and missed him and wondered what he was doing while you were trapped in bed listening to another argument between your spiteful neighbours. There was always a deep, electric pounding in your chest upon weaving the tips of your fingers along his skin, touching him, exploring him. Yet, when he held you close, tucked your body tight against his like there was nothing surrounding you but ice, comfort found a home in your belly like a warm, homecooked meal.

After spilling some icing sugar and strawberries across the toast, now fried a delicious shade of golden-brown, you took a seat at the counter and dug in. There had been an occasion where Jeonghan brought you breakfast after warping your legs into complete gelatine (you had no idea that kitchen table sex could be so fiery and passionate), which proved to be a pleasant morning, where you could still feel the softness of his thumb as he kindly brushed some whipped cream from your bottom lip. You sighed, sticking a strawberry into your mouth. How foolish it might be to fall this far and this devotedly for someone like him.

But you didn’t want to stop yourself.

In fact, you reached for your phone across the counter, swiped into your messages, and decided to be bold. You texted him.

[  9:29 AM ]: Hey! I know that I’m not supposed to send you anything unrelated to our business lol, but

[9:29 AM ]: Just wondering if you’re available to grab a coffee with me or something along those lines?

Setting the phone down and turning it over so you wouldn’t be tempted to helplessly wait for a notification, you continued eating. After scraping the last few pieces of toast and syrup around the plate, there was a vibration and a quick, ding! Strangely, you were starting to sweat.

[ Jeonghan | 9:34 AM ]: Sorry. In a lecture rn.

Of course, your surge of bravery immediately dehydrated, and you decided it was best to pretend that you hadn’t asked him anything at all – for your confidence’s sake. The next two hours were spent cleaning the kitchen, taking a short walk outside the complex to feel the Northern air refresh your face, and finally, a long bath, in which you nearly fell asleep and drowned as the steam lulled your eyes shut. While wrapping your body snug in that new, hot pink bath towel, you heard a knock at the door. You assumed it was the painter who occupied the room directly below yours, as you had borrowed his vacuum the night before, though you weren’t exactly raving at the thought of answering him in a towel.

However, by squinting through the fisheye lens, you were shocked (and greatly relieved) to discover that it wasn’t the middle-aged painter dressed in his splattered, dirty overalls, but Jeonghan.

And he was holding a drink.

You unlocked the door.

“Uh, hello after all. What are you doing here?”

He smiled at you and held up the cardboard cup, “my lecture ended, and I thought I’d do you a solid. Couldn’t remember if it was two sugars-one cream, or two creams-one sugar. So I tossed a coin.”

“What exactly was the result?” You giggled.

“Heads,” Jeonghan answered, “two sugars-one cream it is.”

“You’re lucky that’s correct.”

Accepting the warm cup from his hand, you set it carefully on the kitchen counter. When you returned to the door, Jeonghan was evidently ogling you. He really suited the image of a casual university student when he wasn’t dressed to gems and jewels in his sumptuous clothing.

“I knew the hot pink towel would look good on you.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m not dropping it, so forget it.”

“Whoa,” he chuckled, shaking his head, “I didn’t ask you to drop it, sweetheart. I’d rather you not actually, with this door wide open and everything.”

“Did I really just hear that from you, Mr, Dinner Table?” Folding your arms, you stared him down with an accusing expression.

He held up one finger in defense. “First of all, that was under the table, so unless someone bumped their fork or something, then we were pretty much safe. This is you dropping your whole towel right in the doorway like there isn’t a weirdo probably peeping you across the hall as we speak. And I’m not letting anyone look at you like that, ever.”

“Fine,” you sighed, hoping he couldn’t spot the flustered heart pumping your chest beneath the towel, “you’ve made your point.”

Jeonghan checked his silver wrist watch, “fuck. I gotta get going, need to be at the studio so I can be a taper dummy again.”

“Oh, okay,” you nodded, “talk to y—”

Suddenly, the boy was cupping each side of your face in his hands, and his lips pressed soft but quick to your forehead. Jeonghan then pinched your thigh under the towel, a gesture which felt oddly endearing rather than sexual, before he left the corridor.

“Later!” He’d called.

Shutting the door, you returned to your seat at the counter, holding the coffee cup up to your mouth as you took a small, nervous sip.

How could you let yourself fall this easily for him?

Jeonghan’s washroom was somehow nicer than your entire apartment, and you were fairly certain that your eyes had never seen so much white-grey marble, all squeaky-clean and aglow with lights. He’d shot you a text roughly an hour ago, right after he was released from the painful effort required to keep Joshua’s peewee soccer players in check, wondering if you were available to come over. Of course, the innocence to the term ‘come over’ was nothing more than a euphemism, a means of sugar coating what Jeonghan actually intended: to be inside you no doubt. And since the boy was so drained and unwilling to instigate any work himself, Jeonghan decided that a steaming, hot bath should do.

Well – a bath which involved you seated on his dick. The tub was dark grey tile, square-shaped, and practically the size of a small jacuzzi. It even had a bench to sit on. While it had been difficult at first to simply cockwarm the boy – when all you could feel was how deeply he spearheaded into your sensitive spot and how this shock would ripple from your abdomen at even his gentlest movement– you knew he wasn’t looking to make things quick and temporary. Therefore, you settled into his lap, wrapping your arms around Jeonghan’s neck while his circled your waist beneath the water. Both of you were starting to fall asleep.

“Jeonghan,” you whispered, lifting your head from his shoulder, only to remember that you were indeed naked and this heat lapping around you was definitely not a blanket, “can I tell you something?”

With his eyes still shut, he nodded, his fingers digging appreciatively at your hips. “Of course you can, baby.” He replied, his voice sounding deeper than usual as he orientated on the edges of sleep.

Smiling, you combed through the damp hairs at his nape, your voice reverberating like a musical instrument off the marble. “Remember the salon place? They called me two days ago, said they had an opening for me and that I could start next Monday. I… I wanted to text you about it, like, as soon as it happened. But I wasn’t sure if I should.”

“What? Really?” Jeonghan was staring at you now, his head straightened from its leisurely position against the edge of the tub and cocked with interest. The fact he seemed so intrigued, that you could read the genuine excitement building up in those brown eyes, had almost made you happier than the salon’s phone call. “Congratulations!” He leaned forward to kiss you, pecking your lips chastely the first time, and then slower come the second, his hands squeezing your thighs.

After a tiny laugh, you sighed contentedly. “Thank you. It’s going to be so nice having my own cashflow and everything. And if I can work my way up and become like, a kickass hair stylist? Can you imagine?”

“Should I grow my hair out more so you can practice cutting it? You’ve got a steady hand, don’t you?” Jeonghan asked, mostly teasing, as you could imagine his parents harping him during his next session at Opal Studio if he looked as though he’d ran through some hedge clippers.

Returning the affection, you kissed the rosy tip of his nose. “I think my hands are pretty steady. We’ll find out I guess, and we’ll know for sure if a huge chunk of your hair falls to the floor.”

Your laughter immediately mingled, and you hid your smile against the boy’s neck, a very moonstruck, loopy smile which felt like riding a blazing comet between the stars. If you were legitimately able to climb higher amongst the business, then you could picture a life in which you didn’t need to lean on Jeonghan and the Love Café for financial support. In fact, there were moments where you felt rather dirty using his money even when he was completely insistent on such matters, like buying food and paying off bills. You held tight to a certain hope, that you could become independent again, and maybe, just maybe, be able to keep this beautiful boy whom you once thought would hate you.

His fingers tapped up your spine, urging you to face him.

“Seriously,” Jeonghan said, “I’m happy for you.”

“I know,” you answered, so quietly he could hardly hear it.

And then, you decided to kiss Jeonghan, placing your damp hand upon his cheek while your mouths slotted together. The contact had lost its grace almost instantly, and the kiss turned from a sweet gesture to a sensuality so thick you could feel it swelter the air and pool between your legs. He offered his tongue for you to suckle by sliding it smoothly into your mouth, and from there, Jeonghan’s intended relaxation had vanished. His hands grazed to the front of your body, reaching up and sliding back and forth over each breast. It wasn’t until Jeonghan began massaging his thumbs in circular motions around your nipples that you moaned into his mouth, a sound which flicked a smirk to his face.

Once his lips were shiny and slick with your saliva, he moved each kiss down the side of your neck, now pinching at your nipples, even twisting gently and making sure to ease the dull throb by rubbing them afterward. It was becoming unbearable. You needed to move. However, the second you started a rhythm in Jeonghan’s lap, he shook his head.

“Be still,” he told you, lightly gripping your chin.

The desperation in your whine was horribly apparent, almost soaking each word. “No Jeonghan, I-I can’t do that anymore—” ignoring him, you continued to grind your hips and move the water around you, feeling his engorged head tick against that one spot of insane pleasure, “I need t’cum now, all over your cock.” With every bounce in his lap, you begged, “please, please, please.” This prompted Jeonghan to grab your waist much tighter than usual and slam you down, holding you still.

“No, not like that,” he grunted, and you wondered if his control was simply otherworldly or if he was just that talented at hiding how good he felt. “I’ll make you cum, sweetheart,” Jeonghan nodded, “but you can’t move. I just want you to sit there, all the way down.”

He then leaned in close to your face, nearly pressing his forehead to yours, and that’s when you felt his thumb brush with a featherlight, fleeting touch across your clit. The sudden stimulation jerked your body. Jeonghan bit his lip and grinned while continuing the sensitive touch, the pressure becoming heavier with each minute that passed. Your thighs started to tremble, and your moans were echoing around the washroom.

The honeyed dirty talk crawled up Jeonghan’s throat. “You’re such a cute little cocksleeve, sweetheart,” he purred, titling his head as he rubbed his thumb faster, “oh, look at you, baby. Shaking and crying and taking it like it’s the only thing you’re good for—” a messy kiss to calm you down, thin strings of saliva hanging in the air each time your mouths separated, “I bet you’re gonna cum for me soon, right?” The boy encouraged, keeping his forehead flush to yours so he could observe with utmost clarity the beautiful contortions of your face. “I know you are, sweetheart. Because it feels so good, right?” You nodded frantically, digging your fingers into his neck like a cat sinking in its claws. Jeonghan’s thumb pushed beneath the hood of your clit, directly massaging the soft bud, and the pleasure inside you leapt to a new high which made you dumbly lose all sense.

“Cum.” Jeonghan commanded so gently, his gaze burning against your eyes, squeezed shut. At the straightforward word, you allowed the sensation to swallow you like a current, and the hot, teary cry you mewled had been quickly snuffed as the boy pushed his lips to yours.

“Can feel you clenching so fucking tight around my cock,” he chuckled, digging his nose into your hair and speaking warmly beside your ear, “and how much you’re throbbing right under my thumb. Must feel so good, sweetheart, cumming all over me like such a good girl.”

You slumped against him, overwhelmed, emptied, and breathing so heavy that you were afraid the oxygen might dwindle completely from your lungs. The fact Jeonghan could remain so composed while buried to the hilt in your heat was something else that frightened you, though, in the moment, you preferred not to think about it, instead concentrating on the distant sensation of Jeonghan drawing galactic shapes to each your shoulder blades.

Hopefully, he’d let you stay the night.

Once you started the receptionist job at the hair salon, you had bumped into Joshua on a Friday evening. While his platinum blonde look was indeed enchanting and princely, he complained that it was difficult to maintain the roots, and that he often found himself back in the stylist’s chair for a touch up. He’d come in on a whim. Luckily – due to the late hour – there was an open seat, and Joshua puffed a great sigh of relief as he hooked his jacket onto the salon coat hanger. Curious if there was more behind the reason to his abrupt appearance, you conversed with him while he waited for the stylist to tidy up her work area.

That’s when Joshua informed you of the Opal’s Galleria Night, a fashion exhibition which would display Mr. Yoon’s newest edition for his upcoming Spring line. Joshua seemed surprised that you hadn’t known about the Galleria, or, that Jeonghan hadn’t mentioned it to you. Oddly enough, Jeonghan had been radio silent the past three days; not a phone call, or a voice memo, or even a text. Yesterday you had hoped to catch him stuck in the books at the library, but the area where he usually sat was occupied by a study group of freshman. It concerned you a little.

An ungraceful quickie in the washroom after his three-hour lecture ended on Tuesday was your last encounter. Not to mention, there was only one more opening left on your Love Card.

“He didn’t say anything,” you told Joshua, pretending to act indifferent “so… I don’t think he wants me there. It’s not a big deal.”

Yet, that’s not how you truly felt. There had to be some reason for the boy’s keeping you in the dark. Did he not want to explain the ‘friends’ trope to all the Galleria members, like at the dinner? Or, was he thinking that you wouldn’t be interested? It wasn’t easy to seem unphased.

“Jeonghan doesn’t need to invite you,” Joshua had said, “cause I’ll invite you myself. Mr. Yoon said it was more than  fine if I brought someone along. So, why not you? It’ll make the night more fun.”

At first, you vehemently rejected the invite, no matter how sweetly Joshua attempted to rope you into a night of free perfume samples, delicious catering food and a chocolate fountain perfect for dipping strawberries. However, when the hair stylist pulled Joshua away to fix his darkening roots, you had much time to mull over the offer, and even the fact you felt poignant about dismissing it. As you tapped a pen against the desk, staring out the window into the grey, dulling sky, you convinced yourself there could be no harm in attending the Opal’s Galleria Night. Besides, you and Jeonghan weren’t cast in stone. He probably wouldn’t bat any eyelash anyways, knowing his eased nature.

And so, you caught Joshua just before he left.

You told him you’d changed your mind.

When Jeonghan first saw you at the Opal Galleria, it was from across the ballroom that had been temporarily converted into an exhibition space, stood next to a mannequin draped in a cherub-pink slip dress. Almost comically, he gagged on some sparkling champagne held in a thin and tall glass, though he recovered smoothly as to not interrupt the conversation his father was sharing with the dense crowd. You waved at him, not too noticeably of course, but he either didn’t catch it or had decided to ignore the gesture. Shrugging, you tried not to overthink it.

Mannequins were lined up along both sides of the ballroom, adorned in the mild tones baring semblance to Spring, with the blips of baby blues, clementine oranges, and cream violets transforming the Galleria into an acrylic painting. Jeonghan’s mother took the opportunity to offer some spritzes from her most recent line, which had both you and Joshua smelling like a tulip garden. While exploring the room with the blonde boy, you stopped to examine a mannequin dressed in a relaxed, high-waisted pant and a lace camisole that seemed breezy and flowing. This collection was definitely tamer compared to the usual extravagance you had always seen through the store windows and in magazines.

“Would you wear it?” Joshua asked, chewing on a strawberry that he might as well have plucked from thin air.

Tilting your head and squinting, you took a moment to contemplate. “If it was my size I might, if I could find a price hanging off somewhere. But I don’t want to even touch it. Mannequins are weird.”

“No prices are usually displayed at the Gallerias,” Joshua informed you, “though, I will agree. It’s probably a Toy Story thing where they all start moving at night when no one’s here. Spooky, huh?”

You sighed at him, “thanks for the nightmare material.”

Suddenly, there was a tap to your bare shoulder, and you nearly yelped like a cat with a stepped-on tail as Joshua laughed between bites from his juicy strawberry. Turning around, you were met with Jeonghan, who had this flat-lined, unenthusiastic smile hardly touching the corners of his mouth. He looked rather agitated in fact, and you felt cold inside.

“Hey!” Joshua exclaimed, punching his friend’s arm. “Finally escape your dad’s novella-length speech on the pink slip?”

The crowd once gathered around the mannequin had started to disperse, with the visitors now exploring the rest of the outfits.

Jeonghan hardly payed any mind to his friend, throwing out an impatient, “yeah, it was whatever,” before he began questioning you. He started with a rather inhospitable, “why are you here?”

“I invited her,” Joshua announced, “since I ran into her at that salon place. I thought it would be nice and everything. The Gallerias can get pretty stiff if you come alone. Plus, there’s chocolate fountains.”

He appeared nettled, like he’d woken up and spilled coffee on his favourite shirt. You couldn’t place the exact emotion, nor could you identify the reason behind Jeonghan acting as though there were one-hundred choice words waiting to zap off the tip of his tongue. For an instant, you wondered if it would be worthwhile to question him, though there was a shout of the boy’s name and you spotted his parents beckoning him over from across the exhibition. Jeonghan merely rolled his eyes, disappearing just as quickly as he’d arrived to accompany them.

You folded your arms concerningly. “Do you know if something’s wrong? I haven’t seen him like that before.”

Joshua dropped the rest of the strawberry into his mouth. “He’s probably stressing over something. I wouldn’t worry too much. He’s not really one to blow up or get all in your face. I’ll talk to him later.”

Seeing as there were others who wanted to examine the camisole mannequin, you and Joshua seated yourselves at a tiny table right beside the chocolate fountain and catering foods. Though, you were unable to quell the curiosity at what Jeonghan was needed for, prompting your eyes to wander as unnaturally as possible in his direction. He’d just pulled a young woman into a hug, and she was positively gorgeous, dressed in a silk-fabric dress, form fitting and ruby red, with an elegant slit parting up to her right thigh. Her ponytail was slicked shiny as though her hair had been styled professionally, and she flaunted a dreamy smile that reminded you of a vintage female heroine.

And then, like a slap to the face, you realized she must be the woman whom Jeonghan’s parents seemed to be obsessed over.

Baejin, his ex-girlfriend.

She mentioned something into his ear, and they became giggly, the two pulling in again for another short hug. Jeonghan’s father gestured back to the pink slip mannequin, and the four walked over to discuss it for the umpteenth time. You wondered if she was going to be modeling some of the clothing. The assumption felt correct as Baejin touched the dress’ delicate fabric and the beaded, glimmering string tied around the tiny waist. Quickly, Jeonghan fetched the girl a champagne glass, the two drinking together while the father appeared to be entering another in-depth explanation. And, perhaps dignifiedly so, you were feeling mislead and upset. You speculated if this could be the reason for him to keep the Opal Galleria a secret – Jeonghan didn’t want you to catch even a glimpse of him reuniting with Baejin.

They hardly portrayed two ex’s who were now settled on different chapters to their lives. The longer you stared, the angrier, yet, more confused you felt. As you thought before, the odd relationship between you and Jeonghan was not set in stone, and it certainly didn’t ignite with the intention of actual love taking a blossom to your doorstep. It could be that you were jumping to conclusions, misreading things, or disillusioned by your tendency to wishfully think. Nonetheless, the sight still hurt.

Joshua bumped your elbow.

“Are you hungry at all? The scent from the catering tables is getting to me. I can grab a plate for you, if you want.”

With a sigh and a fragile smile, you shook your head. “No, I’ll come with you. Besides, you don’t know what I like anyways.”

“Fair enough.” Joshua agreed.

He stuck out his hand for you to take while rising from the chair.

Grabbing a small plate, you started at the end of the catering table and began making your way down, using the plastic tongs to serve yourself some spring rolls. Joshua filed after you, instead taking a bowl and scooping up some of the fresh zucchini pasta. Admittedly, you had lost your appetite after watching Jeonghan act so cordially with Baejin, though you were determined to not let the plight sour the otherwise enjoyable night you were having with Joshua. Once you reached the chocolate fountain, you swore a sparkle jumped into his eye.

“Why are you so obsessed with the fountain?” You had tried not to laugh as you asked the question.

The blonde boy looked aghast. “Because, it’s beautiful!” He picked up a strawberry arranged neatly around the base, dipping the edge briefly beneath the chocolate. “I mean, how can they make it so delicious and velvety? When I came to my first Galleria, I spent like, half my night just standing by the fountain, eating the fruit.”

You couldn’t help but think Joshua was adorable, and you grinned at him, “well, maybe I don’t have as much of a sweet tooth.”

“Just shush up and try this.”

He held out the strawberry, inviting you for a taste. At first, you paused, wondering if there was some flirtatious intention behind the gesture or if Joshua was just being his overtly kind self. And then, you held onto his wrist and took a bite from the strawberry, the warmth of the melted chocolate satin-smooth against your tongue.

Wiping the edge of your mouth, you nodded. “It is pretty tasty, actually. Let me try dipping it. You make it look weirdly fun.”

After setting down the catering plate, you took Joshua’s strawberry while he picked up a new one. Together, you pushed your fruits beneath the streaming chocolate, twisting it at the green leaf to fully coat the sides. So it wouldn’t drip, you immediately took a huge bite with a hand placed just below your mouth, humming contentedly.

“Okay,” you mumbled, still chewing, “I can see why you like this so much. I think I could get addicted to chocolate strawberry dipping.”

“Me too,” Joshua chuckled, “oh! Look, there’s whipped cream here and I didn’t even see it!” He set down his plate beside yours and grabbed the bottle like an eager little child. Popping off the cap, Joshua shook the can and pressed his fingertip against the nozzle, spraying a white-frosted peak onto the top of another strawberry. You copied him, though you had accidently sprayed too much. Once you licked the cream off your finger, you poked the entire fruit into your mouth like a funfetti-sized cupcake. For some reason, Joshua started giggling at you.

“What?” You glared at him playfully. “What’s wrong?”

Rosy tinges flushed to the arch of Joshua’s cheeks. “Uhm… Well, l-let me just—” he stuttered, cupping his hand gently to your face, his thumb brushing at a spot right below your bottom lip. “You had some whipped cream on your… chin slash lip. Sorry about that.”

“O-Oh, it’s okay.” You were stumbling yourself, tongue darting out instinctively to ensure there wasn’t anything still there.

At random, you felt this prickle tiptoe up the back of your neck, a sensation that was hardly perceptible yet singeing enough for you to notice it. Gulping, you peered toward that faceless mannequin draped in its pink slip dress, toward Jeonghan, Baejin, and his parents who were enthralled in a conversation with her. Jeonghan was glaring so blatantly at Joshua that you’d forgotten how to speak, and you couldn’t even pronounce a single word of warning as the boy started storming his way across the ballroom.

His grip was on your elbow like a viper’s teeth.

“Geez, where’d you come from?” Joshua said, though he was  able to note the tension this time, and Jeonghan’s surly behaviour.

“I need to talk to you,” Jeonghan murmured by your ear, ignoring Joshua yet again, “in the hall just outside the exhibition.”

You didn’t want to agree. Strangely enough, you felt this urge balloon inside you, an urge to cause a gigantic scene with screaming and thick tears and unnecessary curses, because as much as you wanted to dismiss your anger, there were jealous, wronged feelings inside, on fire and itching to escape from your gut. Miraculously, you held your composure, and announced to Joshua that you’d talk to him later.

Jeonghan then tore you into the empty hallway.

It was like a lightning bolt, how quickly he exploded.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Jeonghan ranted, pacing back and forth as the distant echo of music bled through the wall. “Seriously, I don’t text you back for like, three days, and you’re already going on a date with my best friend—” he softened his voice in a purposefully mocking way, “letting him get all delicate with you, feeding you all lovey-dovey style and wiping that cream off your lip. Did you think I wouldn’t see it?”

“Excuse me?” Your brow instantly creased like a folded map, and you felt an intense ache hit the front of your skull. “Um, you’re one to talk! How come you didn’t tell me about the Galleria? Because you didn’t want me to see you with your arm around your ex’s waist? Because you don’t think I’m good enough to show off to your parents?”

Jeonghan gawked at you. “Baejin? For real? You think I’ve been secretly dating her behind your back or something?”

“How am I supposed to know?” You barked, tucking your arms defensively across the chest. And, while it might have been too early into the argument to pit such a statement, you had already started bubbling, and you knew there was nothing to snuff your fire. “Besides, you hardly ever get back to me apart from when you want to fuck!”

At that, the boy was momentarily stumped. What sounded like a rebuttal fizzled at the back of his throat, though it faded away. The silence worried you, because it echoed a confirmation that Jeonghan might’ve actually never seen as you as anything more than an outlet to alleviate his carnality. That, once the Love Café ordeal was finally over with, he could forget you had ever existed like erasing a mistake of smudged lead. The thought made you glassy-eyed and thus, terribly vulnerable. However, you also craved the truth to your relationship.

“Just admit it,” you beseeched him, “admit that you want me only for sex and nothing else. Is that why you didn’t bring up the Galleria? Because you think it’s easier to shove me in the dark when it’s convenient for you? Is that why you were acting so mad?”

He skimmed a hand exasperatedly through his hair. “I don’t know what you want me to say. I’m not dating Baejin behind your back, I have never once thought you weren’t good enough to show off to my parents, and I didn’t purposefully hide the Galleria from you.”

“Right,” you scoffed, “but you’re fine with labelling me as a friend and pretending like we don’t hook up every week.”

“It’s…” he clenched his teeth and growled in frustration, “it’s complicated, alright? Can’t you just accept that?”

“Complicated?” A shudder coursed down your spine at having to repeat the boy, and the tears sprung from your eyes with such a sharp sting that it became impossible to hold them back. You felt each drop, cold and runny, drip along your face. “That’s the word you’re going to use? You’re going to look straight at me, after the entire span of our relationship since the Love Café, and tell me we’re summed up best as complicated?” Again, the word struck you like a stiff punch. If he was going to regard your connection so trivially, then you didn’t care whether or not he knew the verity of your heart. Like it would affect him anyways.

“I would’ve said we were in love,” you shrugged, watching his expression drop in a mere instant, “but—sure, let’s call it complicated.”

And, with the tears shining like salt stars on your face, you stalked out the building into the softening winter weather.

You didn’t know it could be so difficult to ignore someone, especially when you were supposed to hate them. The effect Jeonghan had on you was almost phantom-like; a constant lingering, even if the boy himself wasn’t palpable and poised right before your eyes.

It had been three days since the outburst at the Galleria. That night, you cried, and wept, and broke out the amber bottle stored beneath your sink which was only sipped from in occasions of complete misery – very well suited to the situation at hand. You had questioned calling the Love Café’s customer service desk to issue a termination of your card, and, at one point, you were standing drunkenly by the toilet contemplating your decision to rip up the red paper and flush it. Though, nothing ever came of either idea. Instead, you faceplanted onto your bed and allowed the intoxicated dizziness to fade black. The next morning, you were faced with multiple texts from Jeonghan, missed phone calls, voice notes. But you didn’t listen or respond to anything.

Complicated. That was the word you kept hearing.

Absolutely not, you had thought that morning, you weren’t ready to speak with him, even if the temptation seemed like it could be promising. The air was still too bitter. And you couldn’t handle another argument.

On the second day after the outburst, you were seated at the receptionist desk in the salon, flicking through a magazine while you became increasingly mindless to the humming of the blow dryer and the potent fragrance of the hair products. When you glanced out the window, you nearly combusted, as both Joshua and Jeonghan were about to enter the salon together, hurrying in from the melted snow and winter’s final downpour. You hid in the breakroom until they left, forcing your co-worker to take your position at the desk. Joshua was apparently getting his hair trimmed while Jeonghan had asked about you at the reception.

“He’s gorgeous!” Your co-worker had immediately gushed to you in the breakroom. “Why are you avoiding someone like that?”

“It’s complicated.” You’d phrased it simply.

Dang it. You hated the fact you’d used that stupid word.

But, on the third day, most of your bitterness was gone.

After breakfast, you were back at the vanity mirror to prepare for work, and while you buffed some makeup to sit seamlessly on the skin with your puffy foundation brush, there was a knock at your door. This time, you didn’t bother peeping through the fisheye lens, because you knew exactly who it was – damn his persistence. Jeonghan’s brown hair had been slightly mused in the wind, and there was a glow as soft as a peach to each his cheeks. But that easygoing, relaxed smile was by far the most heart fluttering. He extended a coffee cup to you. When you reached out, Jeonghan suddenly pulled the coffee away with a tsking sound.

“You can have it only if—” he held up his finger, “you agree to let me in so I can explain myself. Yes, I’m bribing you. And yes, I’m an asshole from time to time. But five minutes at least. That’s all I need.”

For a moment, you wavered, only to mutter a resounding, “fine.”

Despite Jeonghan’s company, you still had work to get ready for, so the boy followed you into the bedroom. He took a seat on the edge of your mattress while you settled back into the vanity chair. Picking through your jar of makeup brushes, you plucked a round, oval-tipped one to apply your eyeshadow. Jeonghan was silent at first, watching you through the mirror as you hurried about the look. It wasn’t perfect, in fact it was a bit sloppy and rushed and there was already some fallout  sitting like a glittered dust on your cheeks, though Jeonghan was staring at you with such fondness, you wondered if the mirror was reflecting the same image. Of course, the Love Card was sitting on your desk too.

“Well,”  you spun around in the chair, pressing your lips together, “I’m waiting for you to explain, y’know. Like you said you would. Technically, you’ve lost a couple minutes, and I should really try to be at the salon early, but I’m still going to give you full time since—"

“I love you.”

“… What?”

“I love you,” Jeonghan repeated himself casually, a slow smile spilling from each corner of his mouth, “I’m in love with you, as deep as I could be, I think. Anyways, you want me to keep saying it? I love you.”

It felt like someone had taken a picture with the blinding glare of its flash, a picture you couldn’t be more unprepared for, the dots still dancing and fumbling across your vision. The moment was disorienting, but you experienced a very fulgurant warmth take shape inside you. It was comforting yet daunting, a sugar rush and a hangover, something so alive you knew you wanted it more than anything else in the world.

Yet, “you… are in love with me?” was all that you could express.

Jeonghan fiddled with the coffee cup in his hands. “You’re a funny girl, you know that? But I can say it a fifth time if you want.”

“N-No, I—I just, I wasn’t expecting—”

“Yeah, I can see that, “ he’d laughed, though it quickly fell into a sigh and suddenly Jeonghan’s temperament had shifted. “Look, I know that night wasn’t pretty. I know I ghosted you. I know I didn’t tell you about the stupid Galleria,” the boy glanced up, catching your eye, “but… I didn’t say anything because I was confused. I knew your Love Card only had one signature left, and just like that… you could be in my bed for the last time. If we’re really gonna get sentimental about it,”

Jeonghan chuckled, scratching his chin a bit shyly, “it could be my last time holding you, and kissing you… I just, I didn’t want it to be like that. But I didn’t know how to confront you about it, so I hid. And I stressed myself out, and I got so stupidly jealous and angry when I saw you with Joshua. That was my bad. I should’ve been upfront.”

Tucking your hands together anxiously in your lap, you nodded, beginning to understand the missing pieces.

“Thank you for saying that.” You murmured, tapping your feet in a nervous rhythm against the floor. “I… I was being unreasonable and jealous too,” you subsequently admitted, “I was assuming things about you and Baejin when I shouldn’t have. I don’t know what I was expecting anyways, that you act like she doesn’t exist? It was dumb, and I was adding pressure. I’m sorry too.” Wanting to lighten the tone, you smiled at him, “I guess we both have our flaws, huh?”

He returned the tender glance and held out the coffee cup.

“I guess we do.”

You grabbed it politely.

Turning around in the chair, you grabbed the bright red Love Card off the vanity, initialed until its last circle, “what should we do with this? I mean, we kind of messed up their rules, fooling around more than twelve times. And, well, I’m not gonna renew it.”

“Oh, let me see.” Jeonghan said.

As soon as you passed the card to him, he ripped it clean in half, crumpled each piece, balled them together in his hands and tossed the shreds into the trash can sat in the corner.

“Well, that was fucking easy,” he smiled, getting up from the mattress, “aren’t you late for work? Do you need a drive?”

You looked at your alarm clock.

“If you can get me there in the next ten minutes, that’d be great.”

Jeonghan headed to the front door while you hurriedly grabbed your coat from the closet and snatched your bag off the floor, resting the strap over your shoulder. With the coffee still in hand, you headed into the living area, looking around in one final swoop to make sure you had everything packed for the day. A sheet of sunlight spilt into the room from outside the window, pale, like the morning sky, yet filling every crevice of the cheap apartment with a dull shine. And for a very fleeting moment, you thought this place wasn’t so abhorrent. It had been your home, your stepping stone, a thumbprint which identified a period of hardship and growth. But, despite this bittersweet taste on your tongue, you couldn’t envision yourself staying.

“Come on,” Jeonghan pinched your hip, “at this rate I’ll get a speeding ticket trying to get you to work on time.”

Turning around, you stuck a kiss to the boy’s cheek, just catching the cool beginning of a smirk on that dazzling face of his as you interlaced your fingers and pulled him into the corridor.

No, you could not stay here.

Not when your future was with Jeonghan.

✧✎ a/n: yeah, so this was clearly A LOT longer than the original love café teehee. i remembered the plot vaguely therefore i refused to reread my first version weufhewif PLS IT MAKES ME CONVULSE SO BAD !! i just had to rewrite the plot and do it some actual justice! i hope this version is a lot better and that you rly enjoyed it! i wish yjh would give me money but i guess we can’t all live in a fantasy world!! thx for reading!!

[talesofstyles]

Drs Styles

paediatric heart surgeon harry, husband harry and dad harry. honestly the holy trinity.

warning: they did it in the car. bloody animals.

Harry

“Move your car, please!”

“What are you going to do? Write me a ticket?”

“This is in the interests of safety for the children!”

I look at the time in the car. I’ve still got about twenty to twenty-five minutes to watch this drama unfold at the school gate. I just wish we had popcorn because drop-off and parking situations at the school gates are always more entertaining than Good Morning Britain. 

The school gate is a strange social scene, and honestly, I don’t blame my wife for trying to avoid it like a plague. Sometimes, you don’t even have to talk to these people to know everything about their lives and more. I swear there are more gossips in the class WhatsApp group and daily playground chattering than in the copies of The Sun and Daily Mail combined. You know who’s married, who’s getting a divorce, whose husband shagged the au pair again, whose party you haven’t been invited to, even who’s looking for a builder. 

I see the school caretaker chuckling to himself as he sweeps the autumn leaves off the pathway, no doubt also enjoying our morning entertainment. 

“Why is Mrs Chambers screaming like that?” Alma, our eldest daughter, asks from the back of the car. 

“Because that man parks his car in a drop-off zone,” I reply, still watching him as he removes a child from his car seat. “Do you know who that is?”

“I think the boy is your classmate,” Alma turns to her sister.

Fiona, our youngest, peers over to inspect. “Oh yeah, that’s Rufus and his dad.”

“Do we like Rufus?”

“Not unless we like boys who pee down the slides,” Fiona scrunches her nose up. “He stood at the top and peed down like a waterfall. I haven’t gone down the slide ever since.”

I shake my head and let out a chuckle. “M’sure they’ve cleaned it up since, button.” 

Did you know that choosing a school for your child after nursery can be a head-throbbing, stomach-twisting, heart-pounding experience? Well, it can. How is one supposed to choose a school anyway? According to the proximity? Leavers Results? Adorable uniforms? Parents’ agendas?

After many, many discussions and visits through more schools than I can count, we ended up with Thomas’s Kensington. It’s a great school, and only ten minutes away from our home, making school runs easier. The downside of this school is the fact that it costs us an arm and a leg and that they’re always trying to rip us off any chance they get. Also, they only take the kids until 11, so after that, we’ll have to look for other schools again. But since our girls are only seven and five, we can worry about that later. 

There’s a strange mix of parents at this place. I went to school up in the North and the school gate scene is nothing like this. Here there are more au pairs, fancy cars, nicer clothes and people coming with impressive tans from their last weekend break in Antibes. The kids here are suited up too: the PE kit is the size of a small weekender bag, and we put them in uniforms that make them look smart, hoping that will increase the size of their brains. A child walks past our car with a cello case, another with a hockey stick. It’s a different land here. One that my socialist in-laws constantly tease us about and one which my mum was hysterical about because she was scared her grandbabies would be little Tories. I promised her I’d keep them grounded by only giving them plain hobnobs. None of those luxury chocolate covered ones.

Jokes aside, my girls are happy here. They’re thriving. They learn French and Spanish and Mandarin, even if they share a class with kids who have ridiculous names like Kitty and Archibald. 

A knock at my window calls me to attention. I wind it down.

“Are you Fiona’s dad?” A mum asks me.

“I am.”

“It’s about Ophelia’s riding party this Saturday at the riding stables.” 

Like I said, it’s a different land here.

“I thought we RSVPed to that?” I look at her in confusion.

“Yes, you did, but we have to change the food options as one of the partygoers is allergic to nuts. I’m making everyone aware and we need to let the guests know that they can’t bring any nuts on the day.”

A dirty joke is right there on the tip of my tongue and I’m trying my hardest to keep it in. My wife would definitely find it funny though, I’ve got to remember this and tell her later. 

“Noted,” I mean, I wasn’t going to send my daughter to a party with a packet of cashews anyway but I nod politely.

“And just gift vouchers for gifts please. Smiggle, if you can.”

Again, I nod, biting my tongue at the presumptuousness. But then I suddenly panic, because we haven’t entered the realms of pony riding just yet. Do I have to buy jods and boots? If I don’t, will my daughter be the odd one out? But Ophelia’s mum saunters off before I’ve got the chance to ask.

“Do I have to go to that party, daddy?” Fiona asks. 

“Well, we’ve already replied, poppet,” I tell her. “Did you not want to go?”

“I’ll go if I have to.”

I don’t answer because I get distracted by a vacant space. I edge the car forward so my girls can hop off. 

“I love you both. Have a good day, make good choices.” 

“Bye daddy! We’ll see you after work!”

***

Evelina London Children’s Hospital is our second home. Of course, as a children’s hospital, we try to make the place as fun as possible as not to freak those little patients out at being ill. It is bright and primary coloured, and each ward is decorated according to its own theme with different colours and lovely artworks. There are televisions and toys almost in every corner. We have a giant slide on the ground floor, and even the bins are shaped like red London buses. The aim was to help the children to forget that they’re in a hospital and take their minds off their sickness.

Since my wife and I are in the same department, our offices are next to each other, both overlooking the Thames. It’s nice up here. Would’ve been nicer if we could sneak in a quickie, but that’s practically impossible with our shared secretary’s desk sitting literally in front of our doors. 

Speak of the devil.

“Good morning. Here’s your tea,” my secretary follows me into my office with a cup of tea and a tiny plate with a couple of rich tea fingers. “Clinic until 3 pm, scheduled PDA ligation in the laboratory for 4 pm and then evening rounds on the wards.”

“Mornin’ Rhonda, you look lovely today,” I greet her cheerily. She’s a stern-looking woman who definitely likes her tea as strong as tits and who has probably never cried in her life. With such severity, she runs a tight ship, but she secretly has this affectionate side in her too. Not only is she a great secretary, but she also takes care of us in a way as a grandma does. She makes us tea, feeds us in between surgeries with biscuits or nice baby cheeses and crackers just so we wouldn’t starve. 

See that sofa over there in the corner of my office? Rhonda got me that. It was around the time when I had just become a new father with the sweetest, most gorgeous little baby who did not sleep. Alma wasn’t a fussy baby though. For some reason, she just wouldn’t go back to sleep after her midnight feed for months. Believe me, I tried everything. I changed her nappy, I swayed and jiggled and rocked and sung her to sleep. Odd nonsensical songs like, ‘Alma darling go to sleeep. Sleepy sleep sleep. Pleeeeease. I’m so tirrrred. My eyeballs may actually exploooode. I don’t want you to see thaaat.’ And she would just look at me all wide-eyed like I’d lost the plot. Those were song lyrics? That was rubbish. Please don’t give up your day job. Also, it’s not sleeping time. I’m awake. I’m ready for life. Come on, entertain me, old man. Isn’t this nice, just you and me? Tell me everything you know. EVERYTHING. 

Except of course she didn’t say all that. She would just stare at me and I had no idea what was going on in her little head. 

I took over my wife’s patients at the hospital during her maternity leave, so I had longer hours at the hospital. One day Rhonda found me napping on the floor between surgeries, so she sweet-talked some porters into looking for any old sofas on the go and paid to have this one reupholstered. She even bought me a fleece throw for it too. We really don’t deserve her.

“You hittin’ on me?” She deadpans. “Yer wife not doing it for you these days?”

“It’s the blazer. I’m a sucker for a blazer.”

“If I’d known, I would’ve worn it more often,” she replies. “Did my nice dress yesterday not give you the fanny flutters?”

“It’s schlong shiver for me,” I roar with laughter. “And it’s the tartan, makes you look well old.”

“YN, yer husband’s a bloody git, did I ever tell you that?” Rhonda says loud enough for my wife to hear, and I can hear my wife’s laughter from her office next door. “Drink your tea. Your first clinic appointment is in twenty.”

“Yes ma’am,” I salute her. 

***

The Arctic ward in the Evelina is home to many of our imaging, heart and kidney services. The name is probably giving it away, but everything is decorated in blue and white to go with the theme. We have several zones, and since paediatric cardiology clinics are held in the Walrus zone, I spend a great deal of time each day looking at walrus and snowflake decals. 

“Doctor Styles!” I hear a little voice shouts in excitement as I walk towards the waiting room in the outpatient ward. I smile, because I recognise that voice even before I see the little person.

The waiting room is very open here compared to other hospitals. There’s a sea of noise, snacks, tiny juice boxes and colouring pages. There’s also always a look of expectation, judgement on the faces of parents and guardians every time I walk in. They want to see if their doctor is old or qualified enough to see their children. There’s always one child who has the whole gang with them; parents, two sets of grandparents and even several aunts and uncles, and there’s also at least one child running around in circles out of boredom. 

This little lad bounces off his chair and hurls himself at me in a way like a little puppy would when its owner comes home from work. I put an arm out, hoping that he’ll apply the brakes but no such luck and he bundles himself into my arms. “Nice to see you, mate.”

His parents smile as they watch their son’s antics, who then runs off as I shake their hands. I turn around to see what caught his attention, and I can’t help but chuckle when I realise it’s my wife. 

“Doctor pretty Styles!” He exclaims excitedly as he bundles himself into her arms. She gets a mouthful of curls in the process. 

“Hi Rory,” she greets him as she runs her fingers through his curly mop. 

“Oi,” I pout as I walk towards them. “You don’t think I’m pretty?”

“Your wife is prettier,” he says with a shrug, his tone matter-of-fact.

She laughs and gives him a high-five. “Rory, you are officially my favourite patient.”

She is right. Rory is one of our special patients for sure. We’ve both known him for about six years now, ever since Rory’s mum gave birth to this tiny human next door at St Thomas and his heart was literally broken. I remember watching proudly from the theatre when my wife replaced two of his valves when he was born. It was in our early years of training. Long time patients like Rory almost always feel like family. We’ve seen all their parents’ tears and watched over their children throughout the years. They send us cards and wine every Christmas and despite all attempts to keep a professional distance, their kids do feel like our own.

Rory shrugs off his dinosaur rucksack and unzips it, pulling out a drawing of a blue whale and an opened packet of KitKat. I like that the whale wears a top hat and appears to also don a moustache. 

“I drew you both a picture. Only one though, because I figure you can share,” he says with a big toothy grin and hands the packet of KitKat to my wife. “And I’ve got half a KitKat here. Do you want it?”

“I’m good for now. Keep that KitKat for later on the tube,” she smiles and waves at Rory as she begins to walk away towards the fetal cardiology ward just down the hall. “Bye Rory, thanks for the picture.”

“Bye doctor pretty Styles,” Rory replies, making my wife laugh as she walks away. I give her a wave and a wink. 

“Hey Rory, did you know a blue whale has a heart the size of a small car?” I ask him and his eyes widen.

“No way! That’s mega!” He exclaims. “Do you think you could operate on a whale heart?”

“I would need a very big ladder,” I tell him. “And a wetsuit. I’d give it a go though.”

A senior nurse from the outpatient ward, Florence approaches us with a junior nurse trailing behind her. “Dr Styles, always a pleasure.”

I smile at her. “Florence. How are we today?”

“Busy as usual,” she replies. “We’re about twenty minutes behind I’m afraid. We had Dr Goodridge in this morning and you know he likes to talk.”

“He always runs over,” I chuckle. “Well, don’t worry. I’ll skip lunch and get us back up to speed.”

“I’ll make sure to send some snacks for you. Here’s your chart, your files are already in your office. And this is Alice, your nurse today. She’s newly qualified so might need some instructions.”

The new nurse looks terrified so I smile at her to try and calm her fears. I totally get that. When you work in medicine, unfortunately, you’ll realise that there are a lot of rude self-important wankers. 

I look down at my chart and find Rory’s name on the top of the list. “Well, look who’s coming with me to the exam room.”

Rory reaches out to hold my hand and we walk towards the examination room. His parents follow us closely, carrying the usual coats and devices that people do when they know they’re bound for a hospital waiting room. I see them inside and sit behind the desk.

“So, young man, I hear we’ve had a touch of drama with you. Can you tell me what happened?”

I’ve actually already got the information in the file, but I like the way this kid tells a story. He reminds me of my youngest. 

“So… I was at school and we were doing PE and I wasn’t really feeling it because it was cold and really we should have been inside but Mr Witter makes us go outside because he used to be in the Army apparently and he says we should get used to the cold but that’s what they do in prisons.”

I smile. “Go on.”

“And then my heart started running.”

“You mean racing?”

He nods firmly. Racing isn’t even the word. It sprinted to the finish like Bolt at 252 beats per minute, three times the speed it should.

“It felt like bubbles in my chest and then the school went crazy panicky and they called the ambulance and they brought me to the hospital but not this one, it was another one and it wasn’t as good because you weren’t there and they had really bad biscuit.”

His mum adds. “And they gave him some drugs to bring it back to a steady rhythm; they were close to shocking him.” Her voice trails off and both parents’ faces look drawn and pale remembering the incident.

Rory looks absolutely unbothered by this. To be fair, we have put this little man through everything. We’ve cut his chest open more times than is necessary for someone so small, we hook him up to machines and put him on treadmills. His resilience and character amaze me, and I really can’t imagine what it feels like to see your child so vulnerable and helpless, to be paralysed and weighed down with such worry.

“Alright then, little man, we need to make sure that your heart is working as it should. This is Alice, and she is going to take you over for an ECG and we just need to make sure your tick-tock is in good shape.”

Rory nods and jumps off the chair. His dad offers him a piggyback, and his mum smiles at them. I can hear Rory offering that half KitKat to Alice as they leave the room. 

His mother turns to me as the door is closed, her shoulders relaxing, allowing herself to breathe. “And how are you?” I ask her.

“You just think it’s done and then something like that comes along to scare you,” she says with a sigh.

“Let’s have these tests and then see if it’s anything major to worry about,” I try to calm her. “Episodes of rapid heartbeat is quite common in Rory’s case, and we can look into drugs to remedy that if necessary.”

She smiles, nodding.

“Did you have any other questions for me?”

She studies my face for a moment too long. “I… well, it will show up in Rory’s records soon, but my husband I are… I mean we’re getting a divorce.”

I pause for a moment. Of course, I know these things happen in life, but I’ve known this couple for years. I’ve seen them at their lowest ebb, bound by friendship and their love for that boy. I really do feel sorry for them.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I mumble.

“We just… we’re terrified about telling Rory.”

“He doesn’t know?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “We’re scared of breaking him. I mean, look at him. All of this stuff he’s been through and he carries on like nothing has happened. We don’t want to upset him.”

“It took a team of us the best part of six years to build Rory’s heart. There's a warranty on that workmanship,” I reassure her. “Have that chat with him. He’ll be fine.”

***

“Have we got time for dinner first?” I turn to my wife as we walk out of the hospital. We don’t normally have the luxury of ending our shift at the same time, but today is exceptional. We have parents’ evening at the girls’ school so Rhonda made sure to clear up our schedule after our evening rounds at the ward. 

“No, but we can raid M&S and eat in the car?”

I’m starving and I almost cry with relief at the suggestion. “Always knew I married the right woman.”

She chuckles. “Damn right you did.”

We leave the car at the hospital and she drags me along the walkways to Waterloo, the breeze biting at our cheeks. I pull her into M&S, dodging the marching commuters and grab a basket. 

“I’ll look for some wine,” she says before she saunters off. “Oh and I want sushi. None of that crap with the mayonnaise please.”

“Alright.”

I skipped lunch today so the whole place calls to me. I start taking very random things off the shelves: a packet of raspberry iced buns. That’ll do. I also take some hummus for my wife because she bloody loves hummus. I’m not even joking, I’ve seen her down a whole pot of it. Then I take some sushi as requested, some coleslaw, a family bag of mature cheddar and red onion crisps and a trifle. I hope I don’t bump into Rhonda. Next are cheese twists, noodle salad and cocktail sausages. 

It takes me a while to notice that there is a man right next to me with a roll of yellow stickers in their back pocket. Hello there, you are one of my favourite people tonight. Have I managed to find that sacred hour when all the food is being marked down? He labels some prawns with dip and even though I get a little squeamish about eating fish near its expiry date, I put it in my basket. I then follow him around the corner. Now, this is dinner. I put all sorts of random food in my basket and smile at the thought.

Ooh, knockdown pizzas. I should get a pizza. That’s tomorrow’s tea sorted, the girls will love it. Although I can’t help but wonder, what’s the limit for us to feed our daughters frozen pizza in a week before they get taken away from us? But eh, we might be able to get away with it if we give them frozen peas on the side. 

“Look at you,” says my wife, depositing two bottles of red in the basket. 

“Yes, it’s me. I’m the yellow sticker bitch.”

She snickers as we turn to head for the tills. “Excellent work.”

***

“Mr and Mrs Styles, welcome.”

“Mrs Ebner, always a pleasure,” I shake the headmistress’ hand who’s standing at the door. 

“Busy evening?” My wife asks her as she shakes her hand next.

“Always,” the headmistress replies with a smile, then proceeds to speak like she’s reading out of brochures. “But such a wonderful opportunity to connect with our parents and build on the special relationships we have with our school community.” 

Two uniformed minions appear.

“Lewis, Maggie, could you please show Mr and Mrs Styles through to the drinks reception?”

They both nod in unison. The boy holds his arms out like a waiter showing us to our table. We follow them through the school’s grand corridors to the main hall. It’s the one thing I like about this place. It’s very Hogwarts-like with hefty engraved name boards and sepia photos of successful sports teams. In the hall, a throng of parents mill around waiting to see respective teachers. It’s the same every year. We all dodge the people from the PTA trying to sell us quiz tickets, and the bowls of crisps out of hygiene concerns.

“Red or white?” Asks a lady in an apron.

This right here is the very reason we get through parents’ evening. From the look of the bottle, it’s decent wine too. I think that’s where a good proportion of our fees is going. 

“Red, please.”

We both take our glasses and walk to the corner of the hall. It’s essentially a holding area without the background music. The idea is that all the parents will get on and create a party vibe but it just becomes a strange family gathering. As terrible as it sounds, it’s sorted into cliques: parents who know each other via NCT groups, the international expat brigades who keep to themselves, the parents who’ve ostracised themselves by gossip, the ones who you know regularly brunch and ski together.

The boy from earlier suddenly appears in front of us. “Mrs Hughes is ready for you.”

I put my hand on the small of my wife’s back as we walk towards the classroom. Fiona’s teacher first and then Alma’s straight after. Right, we can do this.

“Mrs Hughes, we meet again,” I shake her hand. I’ve got no qualms about Mrs Hughes. She’s a seasoned teacher who likes a slack and sensible moccasin and we’re familiar with her since she taught Alma two years previously. When we enter the classroom, Lewis bows in reverence, taking his leave and I wonder whether to tip him. 

“It’s always lovely to have another Styles girl in my classroom. Fiona is a particular delight.”

My wife and I smile proudly. I’m sure Mrs Hughes says this to every parent here about their child, but that’s always nice to hear. 

“She talks a lot about you,” my wife says. “She seems to have settled in well.”

Mrs Hughes opens up a couple of books and it’s classic Fiona. Alma is ordered and neat—if she makes a mistake then she erases it completely and she underlines things with a ruler and listens to instruction carefully. She gets that from her mum. Fiona though, on the other hand, she’s all me. She has more wild abandon about her; no rulers, no rubbers. She puts giant crosses through things that don’t work and likes her bubble writing decorated with doodles of many, many cats.

I glance around the classroom as Mrs Hughes talks to us about standardised scores. The theme of the school is to show you how smart and educated these children are. Look at the copperplate handwriting, their reproductions of Van Gogh and our languages corner where they’ve all had a go at telling us what they like in French. I spy a contribution from my girl. J’adore les chats et le gâteau au chocolat. 

I’ve lost track of the conversation so I try to catch up.

“So to push Fiona into those top scores, perhaps we can look into tutoring? For maths, in particular, so she can grasp some of the concepts a little more tightly,” says Mrs Hughes. 

My wife and I look at each other confused. “Uh, I don’t think there’s a need, right? She’s only five.”

“It’s never too early,” replies Mrs Hughes. “We run an after-school tutoring club on Tuesdays that would help.”

Back when I was a youngster, clubs were fun endeavours that involved matching baseballs caps or were a chocolate biscuit that you had in your lunchbox. Maths tutoring session was not a club.

I ask her. “Is it free?”

“It’s fifteen pounds per session.”

See? My point being this should be a parents’ evening, not a sales session.

“Well, then it’s something to think about,” says my wife. “It could be that Fiona catches up with people throughout the year.”

“Possibly,” Mrs Hughes nods. Still, though, she proceeds to go into her folder and passes me a form. Sneaky. “Fiona has also shown great interest in languages and art. Her pictures have been a joy.”

Mrs Hughes goes to a file and pulls one of Fiona’s drawings. I glance down at it. It’s a standard child piece of art. The grass and sky are strips of colour to the top and bottom. It’s a family portrait, and we are as tall as the broccoli style trees. Wait, hang on a second. I count the number of people in the picture again. Is that-

“And Mrs Styles, I gather congratulations are in order,” she says with a smile. “Such lovely news.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Fiona told me it’s a boy,” she adds, and the sheer terror on my wife’s face at the realisation is priceless. “You must be very thrilled.”

I study the picture. There’s a house in the middle, and standing in a line in front of the house is our family. The one slightly taller than the broccoli tree is me. I’ve got my white lab coat, and I look like a serial killer because I’m holding a scalpel with the size of a butcher’s knife. Next to me is my wife, also with a white lab coat, but instead of a scalpel, she’s holding a very chunky baby who rather looks like a basketball with a head.

“Oh dear,” I chuckle. “Guess now we know what she’ll ask for Christmas.”

“Yeah,” my wife shakes her head. “We’re not expecting.”

“Oh, I apologise,” Mrs Hughes says with a sheepish smile.

“No worries, Mrs Hughes,” I tell her. “So, what else has our girl been up to here? Besides gossiping of course.”

Mrs Hughes laughs under her breath. “Well, in class, Fiona is attentive, bright and very helpful. She is a credit to you both.”

***

“I swear your daughter, Styles.”

We’re sitting in the car now. Finally done with parents’ evening, still laughing at the slightly creepy, chunky basketball baby in Fiona’s picture and the fact that three people, including Mrs Hughes, have congratulated us for the ‘baby’.

“You haven’t called me Styles in years,“ I turn to her with a grin. “Not since medical school.”

I can’t help but flashback to the good ol’ days when we had matching university hoodies and we’d test each other on the parts of a kidney whilst walking into lectures, sitting next to each other, sharing pens and cans of Lilt. 

“Well, after that I became a Styles too,” she chuckles. “Would be confusing then, wouldn’t it?”

“True,” I laugh under my breath, then I grab her hand and pull it to my mouth so I can kiss her knuckles. “Thank you.”

“What for?”

“For being a Styles.”

“Aw, aren’t we soppy tonight?” She smirks. “Alright, stop the car.”

“What?”

“There,” she points to a dark empty spot and I oblige. 

Then, before I can even ask her why, she reaches over and grabs me by the collar. Pulling me close to her and gives me a kiss. I kiss her back, and I smile when she bites gently on my bottom lip.

“Oi, oi. Something’s got you randy.”

The next thing I know, she undoes her seatbelt and then rolls her trousers down her legs along with her knickers, fumbling and giggling at the awkward movement. I push my seat back and pull my trousers down. 

“Don’t fall on gearstick now,” I joke as she climbs over to straddle me. “Well, unless you want to, of course…”

She laughs as she lowers herself over my lap. I really can’t believe what’s happening here.

“Mrs Styles, we’re about to have sex in a car. Around the corner from our daughters’ school.” 

“I know,” she says with a smile before she runs her tongue along my neck. “Not our first rodeo though.”

“Oh right, we did it in our Volvo years ago, didn’t we? Thought the suspension couldn’t take it.”

“And it turned out fine. Told you that you needed to have more faith in the Swedes, they’re a reliable breed.”

“I love it when you talk about Sweden.”

“Ikea.”

“Fuck.”

“Meatballs.”

“Billy Bookcase.”

She throws her head back in laughter and I take this as an opportunity to run my tongue along her collar bone. She gasps. I reach down to lift her before I slowly lower her over my cock. We both sigh as I enter her, a long exhalation with our lips barely touching. 

“Viggo Mortensen.”

“Isn’t he Danish?”

“Tomato, Tomahto.”

I smile at my wife and push my hips up, silently telling her that we don’t need to talk about Swedish people anymore. She grabs onto the car seat and levers herself up and down. I look at her in the eye, a goofy smile still plastered across my face.

But then I squint. Light. Bollocks, what’s that? Where’s that light coming from? Crap, that’s bright. Shit. I see the flash of a hi-vis jacket, a knock at the window and someone shaking their head.

Oh sodding fucking bollocking shit wank.

[hawthornewhisperer]

epiphanies

Some DILF!Draco for @ambpersand. Currently 1,500 words and rated T, but I hope to add a second chapter tonight/tomorrow/soon that would be rated M. This will stay tumblr-only until I have that second chapter ready, then I'll put the whole shebang up on Ao3.

Inspired by this incredible fanart by @mignon-chignon and thank you to @bgonemydear for her on-the-spot betaing.

Hermione hadn’t even finished getting dressed when the owl from the Ministry arrived. She scanned the note, swore under her breath, and dashed off a reply. If the Mitford hearing had been moved up, that meant she needed the files and she needed them today.

She had last seen them in Malfoy's briefcase as he went home two days ago, but he'd been out of the office ever since. She hurried up the stairs to her building’s owlery, scribbled a note to Malfoy and returned to her flat, hoping against hope she was wrong.

His return owl arrived when she was halfway through her toast and she groaned under her breath. Mitford files are at my place. I’ll leave them in the Floo Parlor.

That was it, not even his initials as a sign off. “Rude prat,” she grumbled under her breath. Malfoy had been working at the firm with her for the past six months, and while he was no longer the sneering bully she remembered from Hogwarts, he was an exceedingly grumpy arsehole most of the time. Everything he said was clipped and sardonic, and he seemed to have a deathly allergy to saying thank you. She would have hated working with him if he wasn’t so bloody good at his job, which had downgraded her feelings towards him from “loathe completely” to “tolerate grudgingly.”

Hermione always did have a weakness for competence.

She grabbed her blazer and joined the queue in the lobby for the floo, still piling her hair into a bun on the top of her head when she took her turn.

Malfoy’s Floo Parlor was immaculate. It looked like a magazine spread, tastefully decorated and without even a speck of dust. In contrast, her tiny flat looked like a library had exploded in it, largely because one basically had.

But of course Malfoy’s was neat and tidy and...empty. The Mitford files were nowhere to be seen. She let loose a swear that would have made her ex-husband proud and steeled herself to walk into Malfoy’s apartment proper, wishing she had had time for an extra cup of tea if she was going to have to deal with his surly face before nine am.

She pushed open the door to the rest of his flat, ready to snap at him, and froze.

He had his back to her, looking out the expansive window that framed much of London, and the first thing she noticed was he had a very nice back.

A very nice bare back, because he was shirtless. Shirtless and holding a baby.

She knew he had a child, of course. He had one framed photo of the boy on his desk— the only photo of any kind in his entire office, which otherwise resembled a prison cell with a very fancy sofa— but Malfoy did not talk about personal matters at work. All she knew was his name— Scorpius— and that he was approximately Albus Potter’s age.

The little boy shared his father’s blond hair, but there was a soft curl to the ends that must have come from his mother. The Malfoy-Greengrass divorce had been the subject of more than one gossip page article, but Hermione hadn’t read any of them— she didn’t like how exploitative they felt, turning people’s pain into sport for entertainment.

Not that she cared much about Malfoy’s pain, per se, but it was the principle of the thing.

Scorpius’s eyes were red rimmed and his cheeks looked sticky with tears as he eyed her over his father’s shoulder. His father’s exceptionally muscled, well defined, bare shoulder. The boy pawed at his eye with a chubby fist and she watched as Draco pressed a soft kiss to the side of his son’s head, the sort of careless affection she was used to seeing from Harry with his boys but she had never once thought she would see from Malfoy. “It’s okay buddy, I know. It hurts,” she heard him murmur, and she realized she had been staring for entirely too long.

She cleared her throat and he turned with a start. “Fuck, the Mitford files,” he said, the soft look on his face vanishing in an instant.

Hermione felt an odd sort of loss when his familiar cold mask slipped into place, like she had gotten a glimpse of something she would never see again.

Why she wanted to see that look on his face again was a mystery she didn't much feel like solving.

“They’re in my study, hold on,” he added, shifting Scorpius higher on his hip and padding barefoot towards a closed door.

Hermione used his absence to compose herself. She was just thrown by seeing her coworker out of context, that was all.

Out of context and shirtless with an unfairly sculpted chest, plus a pair of joggers slung low across his hips. Did all men have muscles that arrowed down from their hips like that? That was not something she had seen in the flesh before, and it had her flustered.

By the time he returned with the Mitford file, she was thoroughly uncomposed. “You know if you’re going to be off work you really shouldn’t take home client files that can’t be owled,” she snapped.

Anger flashed across his face. “I’ll be sure to have Scorpius schedule his sleep regressions and teething fits with you next time,” he growled.

“It’s nothing to do with him,” she said, doing her best to keep her eyes anywhere but where they wanted to be, which was staring at the play of morning light on the planes of his chest. “These files are supposed to stay at the office for a reason, Malfoy.”

Exhaustion abruptly flooded his features. He pressed his thumb and forefinger into his eyes and Scorpius nuzzled into his neck. “I know,” he said, broad shoulders slumping. “Look, this week has been hell. I didn’t think I would be out this long. I’m sorry,” he added, and quite frankly, she never thought Draco Malfoy would ever apologize to her for anything.

The shock from hearing those two words was the only explanation for what came out of her mouth next. “When was the last time you showered?”

Something that was almost a smile tugged the corner of his mouth up. “I look that bad, huh?”

Actually he looked like a Greek god carved out of marble but she wasn’t about to tell him that. And he did have rather alarming purple shadows under his eyes, plus stubble that indicated it had been several days since he shaved. “You’ve looked better,” she said, reaching out and plucking Scorpius from his arm. “I don’t have to be in for a bit. Go shower.”

He hesitated, but Scorpius was already interestedly pulling at her hair. “Okay,” Malfoy said, something unreadable in his grey eyes. “It’ll only be a minute.”

Hermione stuck her tongue out at Scorpius, who giggled. “Take your time.”

By the time Malfoy emerged from his bedroom, freshly showered and shaved and in jeans and a white v-neck shirt, Hermione and Scorpius were on the living room floor while he clambered all over her like a muggle jungle gym. Scorpius was fascinated by her hair and was sitting next to her while she laid flat on her back, grabbing chubby fistfuls and yanking on it.

“Careful, he’ll skin you bald if you let him,” Malfoy drawled.

She pushed herself up to sitting, at first grateful Draco had put on a shirt and then disappointed as it meant his chest was now hidden from view. But then he crossed his arms and the muscles in his biceps strained against the sleeve of his shirt, and she circled back to grateful again.

“There’s plenty to go around,” she said, gently prying Scorpius’s hand from her hair and retying it into a bun. Draco's gaze rested on her as she did, and an unaccountable blush started crawling up her neck.

“Sorry about earlier,” he said, sitting down on the couch, lifting Scorpius into his lap and bringing the total number of apologies she had ever heard from his lips to two.

She shrugged. “Honestly? You’ve been worse.”

He huffed, a noise that almost sounded like a laugh. “I have been a prat, haven’t I? Between the divorce and Scorpius, I’ve been an arsehole at the office. I’ll try and do better,” he said.

The utter sincerity of his words drew her up short. “Actually, I was talking about Hogwarts but yes, you have been a prat at the office.”

Draco blinked. “Fuck, I— I never apologized for that, did I?”

“You didn’t, but it’s okay,” she said surprising herself. Apologies were nice, but they didn't mean much if the person didn't actually try to improve. She wasn’t sure when, exactly, but at some point in the last six months she had stopped thinking of who Malfoy used to be and accepted that he had changed for the better.

“It’s not, though,” he said. “Again, with the divorce and everything I’ve been— it’s isolating, is all. I'm sorry.”

“Pity there’s no one else in this room who knows what it’s like to go through a divorce,” she said drily.

His eyebrows shot up. “Are you saying I can come to you for tea and sympathy, Granger?”

“I’m saying you don’t have to do this all alone,” she said gently, and stood. “McAvoy will be waiting on the Mitford brief though. I should get going.”

He stood, Scorpius once again snuggling into his chest. “Thanks, Granger. I owe you one,” he said.

Hermione leaned over to place a kiss on Scorpius’s soft curls without even thinking. She could smell Draco’s skin that close, the soap and shampoo from his shower filling her nostrils. “I’ll hold you to that,” she said, and headed towards the Floo Parlor, Mitford files safely in hand.

She only wished she could say the same for her hormones.