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allysunny · 3 months

Note

heyyy hope ur well <3 i looooove ur writing so much it’s amazing! i had a request for bruce if that’s ok 24 & 2 + a book i was reading gave me an idea lol so could the reader be in an unhealthy abusive toxic relationship and falls for bruce who treats her soooo well and loves her soooo much unlike who she is currently with (she could have a reason why she can’t leave her partner maybe she’s so scared) and bruce is there for her always protecting her looking out for her worrying about her spoiling her he he genuinely is in love with her and you can add all ur magic to it and all ur awesome ideas. anyway if it’s not something u think fit ur writing or u don’t have enough time don’t worry it’s totally ok :))))) <3 <3 have a great day xx

For the Better

“You light up even the darkest of days” + “Please don’t leave me” + Kiss on the lips x Bale!Bruce Wayne

Pairing: Bale!Bruce Wayne x Fem!Reader

Words: 22.1k words

Warnings: Abusive & toxic relationship, domestic violence, gaslighting, lying, manipulation, I'm talking really, really unhealthy relationship, angst, bruises and some blood, fluff, angst with happy ending, kissing, I literally don't know how else to tag this, but please read the warnings because this is a very fucked up relationship.

A/N: Hey everyone! This is the last entry for my 200 Followers Event. I want to thank everyone who participated and all those who showed their support. That means the world to me.

Now, oh my god. This is my magnum opus, I believe. It took me a whole week to write this. This fic is the apple of my eye, my baby, my sin, my soul, I would die for this. I think it's my best work so far. I have worked my ass off for this, I really have, and I have no words to convey just how special and dear this fic is to me.

I would also like to apologise if there are any inconsistencies - I started writing it last Monday and finished it Saturday, so it's been nearly a week and I might've forgotten small details as the days went on. I tried to proofread it!

I really hope you guys will enjoy it and cherish it as much as I did. <3

To Bruce, you were the most gorgeous woman in the entire world.

Your eyes could rival even the brightest star in the sky, the sun did not hold a candle to how radiant your smile was, and no flower could compare to your beautiful. You were simply gorgeous, inside, and out.

Unfortunately, you weren’t his.

Bruce had met you during a charity event. Some wealthy couple was raising funds for the Gotham Police Department (even though Bruce did not believe half of them deserved such charity), and he had of course been invited. The couple in question could not care less about philanthropy – they were merely trying to appear that way. That’s Gotham, for you.

You’d been waitressing during the event, carrying trays of hors-d'œuvre and champagne, smiling politely at guests and trying to do your job the best you could. You’d walked by him twice, and although you weren’t really paying attention to the guests (you were far more preoccupied with not tripping and making a scene), he couldn’t take his eyes off you.

He was so mesmerised, that he found himself searching for you whenever he wasn’t talking to anyone else. Sometimes when you returned to the kitchen, he saw you talking to your coworkers, smiling, and giggling about.

After a few hours of being bored to death by patrons with faux smiles and untrue compliments, he was ready to call it a night and return to the loneliness of his mansion – and that’s when you caught his attention.

Or rather, everyone’s attention.

You’d bumped into someone’s shoulder (it was actually someone’s shoulder who had bumped into you) and spilled the tray of appetisers on top of an old man who wasn’t pleased with the situation. The man, who he recognised as Charles Carnegie – a crooked businessman famous for his dabbles with illegal gambling and corruption – yelled at you, insulting you with every name in the book. The man was just about to raise his hand, no doubt to strike you across your face, when Bruce intervened, rushing between the two of you and gripping the man’s arm.

Charles looked up in confusion and his turbulent eyes widened in recognition.

“Mr. Wayne!” he exclaimed, voice dripping with anger, “Let go of me this instant. Did you not see what happen? This foolish girl was not paying attention and spilled her tray all over me. I do not know how such incompetent staff can be hired. Someone ought to teach this insubordinate brat a lesson!”

Bruce’s hold on the man’s arm only tightened. How dare he speak to you like that? You were standing behind him, head hung low and muttering a string of apologies that were barely audible.

“Mr. Carnegie, if anyone here deserves to be taught a lesson, it is you.” He said, eyes narrowing. “Your inebriation and inability to watch where you’re going is not this woman’s fault. If you cannot behave at a public function, perhaps you shouldn’t think of attending. This server is not at fault, and you will apologize to her.”

The older man scoffed and tried stepping away from Bruce’s grip but failing.

“How dare you! Mr. Wayne, this – this – this harlot bumped into me! My suit is ruined, and she has insulted my dignity. Let go of me this instant, Mr. Wayne, or else – “

“Or else what?” Bruce asked, his voice dropping to a whisper, audible only to the man standing in front of him. “We are currently surrounded by the police our hosts were so kind to fundraise for. The entire Gotham Police Department is here, and while I know that most of them are corrupt scum like you, I am also familiar with the ones who would be more than overjoyed to throw you into jail for illegal gambling, embezzlement of funds and propositioning. I can ruin you with nothing short of three sentences, and you can bet that should you not apologize to the young woman standing behind me, I will.”

The colour drained from Charles’s face, and he stuttered, trying to come up with a decent response. It was no secret that the Carnegies were a powerful family. But the Waynes were almost royalty, and everyone in Gotham would rather swallow their whole fist than get into their bad graces. Especially Bruce Wayne’s. Surely, a man who showed up to every social function with not only a new car but a gorgeous new woman on his arm, wasn’t afraid to pull a few strings to get what he wanted – even if that meant ruining someone’s life.

“I – I – Mr. Wayne, how dare you – “

“Apologize to the young lady, or I will personally make sure all your belongings are gone by the time this godforsaken party is over. You’ll be sleeping on the floor before you can threaten me or anyone else again.”

Charles stuttered a few more times, before gulping and nodding. Bruce released his arm, and the man was quick to hold his wrist, twisting it a few times. Who would’ve known the Wayne orphan had such a death grip?

He looked up and Bruce moved out of his way to partially reveal you, yet still close enough to protect you should Charles decide to hurt you further.

“I – I am…” he stumbled over his words, shaking his head. “My apologies, Miss. My behaviour was… It was unacceptable. I am sorry for my lack of attention, and for bumping into you. I hope you can accept my most sincere apologies.” The words sounded scared – not necessarily genuine but scared – and they almost made Bruce smirk.

“It’s alright,” you muttered, eyes still fixated on the floor. “Don’t worry about it.”

Bruce wrinkled his nose at how meek you sounded and looked around himself. The situation had turned rather awkward – people were staring in his direction and murmuring to themselves. So, he did the only thing plausible.

“Ladies and gentlemen, why are we standing here, when the caviar has just been served?” he exclaimed loudly, plastering on his most charming Bruce Wayne smile, which had the guests immediately react, answering with soft chuckles of their own. “Our lovely police force should be honoured the right way – but that doesn’t mean they should get all the good food for themselves!”

The crowd that had formed around you three quickly dissipated, and so did Bruce’s smile when he finally got a good look at you. You were down on your knees, picking up your tray and trying to pick up some of the appetisers to clean up your mess a bit.

“Hey,” he chided softly to get your attention. “Hey, please, look at me.”

When you didn’t, he kneeled down next to you.

That’s when he saw you. Truly saw you.

Your face was puffy, eyes red and wet with tears that you’d tried your best to wipe away. You looked nervous and miserable, and all Bruce wanted to do was bring you close and make you feel better.

“Sir, I – he was right,” you mumbled, shaking your head, trying your best to clean up the floor with nothing but your bare hands and the napkin you carried on your arm. “I bumped into him. You shouldn’t have gone through all that trouble.”

“I saw him,” Bruce replied softly. “He bumped into you. And even if he hadn’t, it did not mean he had the right to hit you. I was not going to let him do it.”

You nodded and sighed, wiping your tears with the sleeve of your arm.

“I caused you all that trouble. I’m really sorry. Shit, I feel terrible. I ruined that man’s suit and made such a mess… Nathan would mock me to hell and back if he saw me like this…” this caused the dam to break, and you wept loudly. Bruce did not really know what to do. What did one do whenever a woman was crying? He’d had a few one-night-stands in which the women cried once they realised he wanted nothing more to do with them, but they usually left by themselves, claiming he was a “heartless jerk”, and that was the rest of it.

He took the napkin from your hands and offered you a reassuring smile.

“If it makes you feel better that man deserved it. Charles Carnegie is a well-known corrupt and needed a reality check. If I could, I would’ve probably done that on purpose.”

This earned a soft chuckle from you, and you stood up, Bruce following right after.

“I’m going to call someone to take care of this.” You said, to which Bruce nodded.

“I’ll come with you.”

“There’s really no need for that, it’s okay – “

“Nonsense. That old jerk might try to follow you and threaten you again. I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

You nodded, and quickly made your way towards the kitchen, where you asked for someone’s help. They were quick to reply, and within a few minutes, the whole place was spotless, and no one could tell anything had happened if they looked at the floor.

As soon as it was done, you turned to Bruce and offered him a small smile.

“Thank you very much, Mr. Wayne. What you did back there was very kind. I don’t even know how I could ever repay you.”

Bruce lifted a hand and shook his head.

“There’s no need to repay me. I’m just happy I could help.”

You nodded sheepishly, and extended your hand, telling him your name.

“It’s very nice to meet you.”

Bruce shook it and his hold may have lingered on yours for a tad longer than what would have been acceptable, before tasting your name on his lips.

“It’s a lovely name. I’m Bruce. Wayne.”

“Yes – I gathered. Everyone knows you,” you chuckled.

“Sometimes I wish they didn’t.” He confided.

“I’m not sure that’s for the best. Being invisible has its downsides, I’m afraid.”

You gave him his number, and the two began to talk rather quickly, even going as far as deciding to gather for ice-cream about two weeks after your initial meeting. He texted you, saying he knew of a fantastic ice-cream parlour next to his company’s building, and invited you. You’d agreed almost instantly, replying with a bunch of emojis – and that’s how you found yourself next to Bruce Wayne, eating ice-cream. You’d gotten a lemon flavoured scoop, while Bruce went for mint.

“I was surprised you wanted to meet up!” You said, beaming up at him once you had paid for your sweet treat. Or rather, after Bruce had paid for it. He insisted, telling you he couldn’t possibly let a lady pay. You made him promise he’d let you pay next time, to which he replied, “We’ll see”.

“Really?” He replied. “Why is that?”

“Well, you’re Bruce Wayne. Don’t you have like, I don’t know, a bazillion cars to drive, and a bunch of models to date, and lots of money to spend? Why’d you invite me to ice-cream?”

“I’m spending my money on ice-cream,” he gave you a cheeky smirk.

“That’s not what I meant.” You chuckled and ate a spoonful of the treat in your hand.

“To be honest, my day was going terribly. I needed some fresh air, and you seemed like good company.” He was being as honest as he could. His day at Wayne Enterprises was going terribly, with a bunch of investors trying to go behind his back and steal some of his money. It had been a hassle, but thankfully all had been taken care of. He needed something to distract him from the stress.

“Oh, tell me about it,” you groaned, rolling your eyes. “The restaurant today was hellish. It was as if Satan had spawned a hundred different little devil women to make my day worse.” You told him about all the “Karens” that had bothered you, insisting you’d gotten their order wrong, when they were simply too drunk to function (even though it was around midday), complaining about how weird their food tasted, or even going as far as telling you they did not like the decoration. It made your blood boil, but a girl needed to pay her bills, so you sucked it up.

Bruce chuckled at your descriptions of the acts you’d like to perform to those women – none of them very family friendly – and found it rather cute when you decided to deal with your frustrations by scooping a large spoonful of your lemon flavoured ice-cream. You moaned in delight once the soft food melted on your tongue and smiled.

“Nathan would just freak out if he tried these,” you said, “He’s a sucker for good ice-cream.”

Bruce’s brow quirked quizzically. Nathan? The name sounded oddly familiar coming from your lips, but he couldn’t quite tell why. You seemed to notice his expression because you were quick to continue.

“My boyfriend. I’ve mentioned him before, remember? I think I mentioned at the party too.” You hummed and ate another spoonful of ice-cream, groaning once again. “This is good. Really good. Wow.”

“Ah. Yes, your boyfriend.” Bruce nodded. He couldn’t say he wasn’t disappointed. Sure, he’d only known you for two weeks, and you had told him about Nathan early on (he simply decided to ignore that) but he’d be lying if he said the thought of more than just a friendship hadn’t crossed his mind. It was only natural, and he considered himself to be an efficient man, who went for what he wanted – well, almost. Batman had made that a tad impossible, but Bruce was still figuring it out.

“Mhm!” You exclaimed excitedly. “Nathan and I have been dating for a few years. We’re actually close to four!” You quickly told him how you and Nathan had met, something you surprisingly had not done before. You’d been accompanying a friend of yours to the ER after someone had spilled a pan of burning hot oil on top of her. The Emergency Room Doctor, Nathan Smith, had taken care of her very quickly, but it was on you he had his eyes during the entire appointment. After the both of you had thanked him, and your friend had a bandaged arm, he’d stopped you in your tracks and politely asked if you would give him your number. You couldn’t lie to yourself – he was handsome, with dirty blonde hair and blue eyes, and a kind smile, and you swore he could’ve been a model if he wanted to. So, you had said yes.

“And the rest was history,” you finished. “We’ve been together ever since.”

Bruce hummed and busied himself with taking another spoonful of mint ice cream to his lips. “I see,” he hummed. “Well, I hope everything goes well with your relationship. He sounds nice.”

“He really is. I love him.” There were stars in your eyes, and while part of Bruce scowled, unhappy with this man he had never met before, another wanted to smile, because you did seem like a lovely girl, and he did want to see you happy.

After that day, you and Bruce became close friends.

He got to know you. You worked a job at a two Michelin star restaurant, waiting tables. That’s how you’d heard of the charity gala gig – word spread around that a rich couple was looking to hire some servers, and you’d applied in the hopes of making a few extra bucks.

He learned that you were a very resilient person, not at all like the way you’d appeared that day at the gala. You’d told him you were simply having a terrible day, with a few costumers yelling in your face during your regular shift. Charles Carnegie doing the same thing at night was the straw that broke the camel’s back and seemed to break you.

He got to know all your hobbies, and the things you liked to do for fun. Learned all your favourite books, the movies you liked to watch when you were down, the snacks you liked to munch on whenever your day went sour. He learned what made you tick, and the things that inspired you. You told him about your family – the relatives you loved, those you were close with, and the ones that simply did not deserve to be in your life anymore.

Every time you disclosed some piece of information about your life, Bruce drank it all up. He wanted to know you, all of you. He listened whenever you complained to him about work, whenever you texted him with any sort of happy news, or when you called him late at night because you felt lonely. It had been so long since Bruce had someone to call his friend, and he loved every bit of it. He knew he wasn’t the first person you came to whenever you wanted to talk. Part of him wished he was your first choice, but he saw the look in your eyes whenever you mentioned Nathan.

And speaking of, he even got to meet said Nathan.

A few weeks after your second meeting, the one where you’d gone out for ice-cream, Bruce decided to surprise you by having a meal at the restaurant you worked at. He asked for a table, and specifically asked for you as his server. The owner was clearly surprised; not only did he not expect Bruce Wayne of all people to have dinner at his restaurant, but he also wasn't expecting him to ask for a specific server. Especially one that seemed as insignificant as you. Bruce assured him it was vital that he had you as his server, and the man quickly relented, happy to tend to the billionaire’s every need.

“Hi, welcome to La Lune d'Argent. My name is – “ Before you could continue, you looked up and a grin spread across your face. “Bruce! What are you doing here?”

“Having dinner. What does it look like?” He replied with a smile.

“You could've told me you were coming! I’d have gotten you the best table.”

“This one is just fine, I promise. And letting you know in advance would sort of ruin the purpose of a surprise, don't you think?”

“You wanted to surprise me?” Heat rushed to your cheeks, and you shook your head, trying to get rid of it. Not only did you have a boyfriend, but you were also at your workplace and needed to remain professional. “Thank you. That’s very nice.”

Bruce smiled once again, before opening the menu in front of him and eyeing it.

“What do you recommend?” He asked.

“Well, the Seared Scallops with Truffle Risotto are our specialty. The Lobster Thermidor is also really good, and so are the Stuffed Shrimp with Crabmeat. But if you’re not in the mood for fish, then I recommend the Chateaubriand and the Filet Mignon. The Tournedos Rossini is a costumer favourite, but I’ve tried it and don’t think it’s all that.”

Bruce nodded, before going over the wine section.

“And the wine?”

“It depends. If you pick any of the fish dishes, then you should go with the Chardonnay or the Prosecco. If you go for the meat, then you should most likely enjoy a glass of Cabernet or Merlot. There’s plenty more, but I’m I wouldn’t be of any help with those. I’m terrible when it comes to wine.” You recited, the words spilling naturally from your lips – you’d done this a thousand times.

“That’s okay. Well then, how about I have the Foie Gras Terrine and the Truffle Risotto Croquettes as appetisers, and for the main dish, I’d like the Chateaubriand if possible. I’d also like a side of salad. As for the wine, I trust the owner’s good judgment. Cabernet it is.” He waited until you were done writing everything down and handed you the menu.

“Anything else?” You asked, taking it, and tucking it under your arm.

“Is your company too much to ask for?” He offered you a smile.

“Some of us have to actually work, Mr. Wayne,” you joked and stuck your tongue out playfully, “I’ll have your appetisers here in a minute.”

Dinner went well. The food was stellar (there was after all a reason the restaurant had two Michelin stars), the wine lived up to the expectations, and your company – or rather, the small moments you managed to spare him – warmed his heart. You offered him small quips about your work, told him about the usual costumers that sat on their usual tables and had their usual meals, gossiped about those you didn't like. It felt nice, to have a good time at work. You didn't completely hate your job, no, and some days were definitely fun thanks to your coworkers or any sort of shenanigans that happened during your shifts, but it could get boring and lonely and upsetting. Bruce being there was a nice change, and a welcome one.

“When does your shift end?” He asked, after he’d eaten a nice slice of cheesecake for dessert.

“In about half an hour, I believe. I have an early night today.”

“I’ll wait for you then.”

“Oh, you really don’t have to, Bruce – “

“Nonsense. Do you have a ride home?”

“I’ll just take the train.”

“I'll give you a ride then.”

“Bruce, that’s seriously not necessary – “

You were interrupted by the voice of your boss, calling out your name in an accusatory tone. “Do I pay you to sit around and talk to costumers?”

You sighed and nodded towards Bruce.

“Thank you. A ride home would be nice.”

He waited until you were done, paid for his meal and left you a nice tip, and then waited outside. You took a few minutes, but soon enough you were walking towards him, wrapped around in a comfortable looking jacket.

“You ready to go?” you asked before a voice called out.

“Babe?”

You turned around, and your eyes widened before softening at the sight before them. “Nate!” You smiled, making your way to him, and hugging him tightly. Nate hugged you back just as tight, but his eyes did not leave the tall man that had been by your side.

“Who is this?” He asked, discontent clear in his voice.

“Oh!” You turned to face Bruce, arm linked with Nathan’s. “This is Bruce! I told you about him, remember? He’s my friend.”

“You did tell me about your friend. You did not mention your friend was the Bruce Wayne.”

“Well, that’s because he’s not the Bruce Wayne to me. He’s just Bruce.” You smiled, and Nathan didn't seem too pleased once Bruce extended his hand.

“Bruce Wayne.” He spoke. Nathan shook his hand, steel-like eyes taking the taller man in, his expensive clothes and pulled-together appearance.

“Nathan Smith. So, you’re my girl’s friend, is that right?” He asked, pulling you closer by the waist. It wasn't hard to miss the jealous look in his face, and Bruce decided to ease the guy’s mind a bit, not wanting to get into any trouble. And not wanting to get you into any trouble.

“Yes, that’s right. I’ve heard a lot about you, it’s nice to finally meet you.”

“Yeah? That’s funny because she’s barely said a word about you.” Nathan replied, offering Bruce a tight-lipped smile, and turning to you. “I came here to surprise you. Heard you were getting an early night, wanted to give you a lift home. Maybe we can make up for lost time? I miss you.” It did not take an idiot to see what the hell he was getting at, and it made your duck your head slightly, clearly embarrassed.

“That’s very kind of you, thank you. I loved the surprise.” You faced Bruce once again and offered him an apologetic smile. “Nate will take me home, if that’s fine by you.”

“Fine by him? What's this got to do with him?” Your boyfriend asked, chuckling dryly, and giving you a not so amused look.

“Bruce had offered to take me home. It was kind of him, so I said yes.”

“Yes, yes, very kind.” Nathan turned to Bruce too. “As you can see, your help is no longer needed. I’ll be taking my girlfriend home now.” He said the words with a sneer, happy to claim you as his.

“Yes, well. Thank you for taking care of her.”

“Oh, I do.”

You looked awkwardly in between both men and cleared your throat moving away from your boyfriend to envelop Bruce in a hug.

“Thank you for the surprise. It was really nice. And thanks for the offer too. The ride back home one. I’ll see you some other day?”

“Absolutely,” He replied and turned to leave.

As he walked away, he could hear Nathan’s voice and how accusatory it sounded.

“Surprise? What was that all about? Why was that guy visiting you at work?”

“He’s a friend, Nate. He just wanted to stop by.”

“Oh yeah? And what business does he have just stopping by? He’s not your boyfriend. I am.”

“He’s just a friend, Nate. I promise. Let's just go home, please? I miss you.”

Bruce was inside his car before he could properly make out whatever Nathan had replied to you, but he could tell it was nothing good.

The next time Bruce saw you, you were sitting by yourself at a coffee shop, having an iced drink and reading a book. He thought about approaching you but decided against it. You looked peaceful, and he didn't want to upset you should you not want to see him after the whole ordeal with your boyfriend went down.

But he was pleasantly surprised when he heard your voice call his name, and your hand beckoning him to come closer.

“Hey! I had no idea you came to this place. Wanna sit next to me?” You asked, moving your bag out of the chair in front of you, making space for him,

“Sometimes, on my lunch break. I take it today is your day off?”

“Mhm! Got today all to myself. I was supposed to spend it with Nathan, but we kind of fought so I decided to get some fresh air myself. You know, just to clear my head.” You said the words “kind of fought” as if they meant nothing, as if fighting with your boyfriend was a daily occurrence. He didn't like that.

“I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do to help?” Bruce sat down in front of you, placing his own coffee on the table.

“Nah, not really. That’s just who Nate is. He gets upset sometimes, and I have to put some space in between us. No big deal. What about you? What are you up to?”

“Well, like I mentioned, this was supposed to be my lunch break, but I took the afternoon off. Alfred – my butler – is supposed to come pick me up later. It’s the anniversary of my parents’ marriage. I want to visit their graves.”

Your eyes softened and you placed a hand on top of his. Your palm felt warm on top of his, and Bruce immediately turned his hand so he could slot his fingers in between yours.

“I’m sorry.” Was all you said. After all, what more could you? Everyone knew Bruce Wayne’s story, but you did not want to seem presumptuous and assume you knew all about him. “I’m sure they’ll appreciate it.”

“Me too,” Bruce replied quietly, his voice thick with emotion, the way it usually was whenever he mentioned his parents. He didn't speak about them to many people, but let his facade slip completely for those he did trust enough.

“Is it okay if I come with?” You asked, and immediately regretted it. Why would you ask such a thing? Why would he even allow you to attend such a private thing with him? It was dumb, really. Before you could take your words back though, he replied, eyebrow quirked.

“Really?”

You shrugged sheepishly.

“Sure. It sounds tough, and I don’t want you to suffer all by yourself. You tend to do that.”

It was true. Bruce often hid his feelings, his emotions, shielding them from everyone. It hadn’t been that long since you two had started talking – maybe one or two months – but you could already tell he was very selective with the people he trusted. And how could he not be? You wanted to be someone he could trust, though. Wanted to be someone he could rely on, help him shoulder all his burdens.

Bruce thought it over for a bit. It would be nice to have some company. Visiting his parents’ grave was a very personal and intimate thing, yes, but he considered you a friend, and he’d be lying if he said he didn't want your company. He was sure both his father and his mother would've liked you, would've enjoyed your sense of humour and appreciated his kindness. So why not?

“I would appreciate that,” he said, and you smiled. “Won't it be a problem with Nathan?”

“Don't worry about him. He’s not the boss of me, and I'm not doing anything wrong.”

That’s how you found yourself, standing in front of the graves of Thomas and Martha Wayne, the beautiful Wayne Manor just ahead.

“I’m sure they loved each other very much,” you said, eyes not leaving the carved stones in front of you.

“They did.” Bruce agreed with a nod. “My father would bring my mother flowers nearly every day. She used to joke about having her own private flower shop thanks to him. He never stopped though. He’d bring her different flowers according to her mood. That’s just how he was. Always looking out for her. He could tell whenever she was sad, or happy, or worried.”

“What an amazing husband,” you smiled, picturing the late Thomas Wayne reading his wife and choosing flowers accordingly.

“And my mother was just as amazing as him. She could tell when he had had a bad day at the hospital. I never could – she used to tell me she could sense it in the first few steps he took whenever he arrived home. Whenever he felt down, she’d help Alfred make his favourite meal. He didn't have to ask, she simply did it out of the goodness of her heart, and all her love for him.”

“It must've been incredible to be surrounded by such love. You were very lucky, Bruce. And I'm sure your parents loved you just as much as they loved each other, if not even more.”

You smiled up at him and he offered you a small smile in return. You were right. He had been lucky to have experienced such love and affection at a young age. It made him realise the kind of relationship he wanted to be with and taught him the kind of partner he should be.

He was just about to speak when your phone started chiming.

“Sorry – forgot to mute it,” you mumbled, turning the sound off. It didn't do anything to quiet it down though, since it just kept vibrating in your pocket. You huffed and turned it on, brows furrowing in confusion, and then relaxing.

“It’s Nate,” you said, not looking up from the screen, “He’s apologising for our fight. Says he was in a very bad emotional state. Poor thing… He’s very self-conscious, you know. Keeps telling me he’s too lucky to have me, that I could have anyone in the world, but I settled for him. He always thinks he’s not good enough for me, that I'll leave him for someone else” You chuckled dryly, before continuing, “He couldn't be farther from the truth, though. I’m the lucky one.” You looked up and Bruce and pointed to the phone in your hand. “I should probably go. Nate wants to apologise in person, and I should probably talk to him.”

Bruce nodded and pointed to the limo standing near the street.

“Alfred will take you home.”

“Thanks.” You smiled up and him and moved forward to hug him. Bruce softened immediately. You slotted perfectly against him, and he felt like a piece of a puzzle that had just found its matching half. Unfortunately, you pulled away, taking all the warmth with you.

“I’ll see you some other time,” you said, walking away.

Once you were out of his view, he turned to his parents.

Perhaps someday he’d be able to love you like they loved each other.

Bruce was working when he received a text from you. It had been a few days since you’d visited his parents’ grave with him, and you hadn't spoken face-to-face since. You’d been texting non-stop though, telling each other about your day, sending pictures of your respective meals, or just sharing funny anecdotes or pictures you saw online that reminded you of each other. Bruce clicked on the notification with your name.

Look at this!

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Clicking on the picture, he could see your radiant face, partially hidden by a huge bouquet of roses. They did nothing to steal the shine from you though, and Bruce cringed at how they paled in comparison to your beauty. He was quick to shoot back a reply,

They look pretty. Secret admirer?

You were even quicker to reply.

They’re from Nate, as an apology! Isn't he the sweetest? He’s been spoiling me rotten. I don't think I deserve it.

Bruce’s stomach twisted at the mention of your boyfriend. His fingers flew across the screen as he typed.

You deserve that, and much more.

You replied with a smiley face, and that was the end of your conversation for the day.

It was hard to get back to work after that, his thoughts plagued with you. Your nice smile, your kind words, the way you fit perfectly against the shape of his body and how tightly you’d hugged him back on the Manor grounds. He knew it was wrong to want you - you were dating someone else, and it’s not like you knew each other for a long time, but he couldn't help it.

Bruce took a deep breath, and gulped down an entire glass of water, before chastising himself and focusing on whatever task he had left to complete.

It didn't work, and Lucius found him staring at the screen of his phone for a good five minutes, before deciding his boss probably deserved a break from his somewhat incessant teasing.

After that, you met up with Bruce a few more times.

You’d meet up sometimes for lunch or a late afternoon snack, and you’d even had breakfast together once. You chalk it up to friendly outings, and so does Bruce (although he’s sadder than you to admit that). Unfortunately, these meetings were not filled with chatter about your lives, motivations, and dreams for the future. Instead, you worried your pretty little head off thinking about Nathan, who didn’t text you for hours, seemingly pushing away from you, only to give you mixed signals the next day and apologising for his behaviour. Bruce could see how draining it was, could see how you always glanced at your phone whenever the two of you were together, and how you seemed to walk on eggshells whenever Nathan called you.

Things would get harder for the two of you at night – Bruce was out patrolling the city as Batman, something he had not and would never tell you – and you sometimes you got lonely. Bruce simply told you he was busy, and you in good faith, believed him. After all, he was a busy man, running a busy company, leading a busy life. You were lucky enough he managed to spend some time with you during the week.

Bruce had become your closest friend. You loved hanging out with him. It was like he got you. He was a great listener, always providing you with great insight whenever you asked for it, or simply being a shoulder to cry on if you wanted to. He would give you solid advice, support you on (nearly) every decision and all of your hobbies, encouraging you to seek out new experiences and the things you’ve always wanted to do but were never brave enough to.

One day, the two of you were meeting up for coffee. You had your legs tucked under yourself, grabbing a warm mug with both of your hands. You loved this café; loved the ambient, the fluffy pillows and couches, the vast choice of drinks. It was your own special little corner, and you were happy to bring Bruce along.

You two were in a middle of a conversation about your favourite books, before your phone buzzed. You decided to ignore it, but it just buzzed again. And again. And again. A bunch of texts messages started coming through, and as you picked up your phone, it started ringing.

“It’s Nate,” you mumbled, accepting the call, and mouthing a small “sorry” to Bruce, who nodded.

“Hey honey,” you said. Bruce could make out your boyfriend’s voice from the other side of the line, and he could tell he wasn’t pleased.

“Where the hell are you!?” he heard Nathan say, and you involuntarily flinched in your seat, frowning.

“I’m at a café. I told you this, didn’t I?” you asked.

“Yeah, well, Ricky just texted me saying he saw you sitting with some other guy. What the fuck is going on?”

“Another guy?” you mumbled, “Nate, I’m with Bruce. We’re out for coffee, that’s all.”

Bruce heard Nathan scoff, and his fists curled on his lap. He was just glad you couldn’t see it.

“Ah, of course. Fucking Bruce. It’s always him, isn’t it?”

This seemed to get you riled up.

“I asked you if you wanted to come with me, and you told me no. You said you had better things to do and hated this place,” you shook your head, brows furrowing in anger. “So, I invited a friend. I’m allowed to have other friends, you know.”

“Yeah, sure. And it had to be a guy? You had to invite a guy out for coffee? Just the two of you?”

You curled into yourself and away from Bruce, lowering your voice.

“Nate, if you cancel on me, I’m going to invite other people. It’s just Bruce.”

“That guy’s trying to get into your fucking pants, and you know it, and you keep encouraging him. How does that make me feel, huh? Knowing you’re out there with some other douche who wants to jump your bones?” Bruce wanted nothing more than to seek out the asshole you were dating and beating him to a pulp. How he even dared to speak to you like that was beyond him, but he decided to say nothing. At least not yet.

“Nate, I don’t like it when you talk to me like this. He’s just a friend, I told you, you have no reason to be jealous – “

“Yeah sure. Don’t bother coming home.”

And he hung up.

Bruce eyed you, the way your pretty eyes welled up with tears and how you quickly wiped them away, throwing your phone and belongings to the purse sitting next to you.

“I – I’m sorry, Bruce, I – I need to go. I have to sort this out with him.” You mumbled, standing up. Bruce, however, was quicker, and stood in front of you, blocking your path.

He furrowed his brows and spoke in a low voice as not to startle you.

“He shouldn’t talk to you like this.”

“He’s right. I know he is – I know he’s got low-self-esteem issues, he’s just worried is all. He’s afraid to lose me, I know he is.” You said these words like a mantra, and Bruce wondered just how long you’d been repeating them to yourself. It made his heart ache. He reached out to wipe your tears, but you took a step back, shaking your head.

“I’m sorry for cutting our meeting short, Bruce,” you mumbled. “I’ll see you later.”

And you were out of his sight.

“Hang out?” Bruce asked, balancing his phone between his ear and his shoulder as he shaved.

“Yeah!” he could hear your excited voice on the other side, and it made him smile. “It’ll be just me and Nate and some more friends. I know how you are with strangers, so you don’t have to come if you don’t want to, but I thought it’d be nice if you were out of your house for once. You spend all those nights working, you’ve gotta learn to have fun!”

It was partially true. He did spend all these nights working. Just not a very conventional job. In fact, he’d been spending the last few weeks looking into Nathan Smith. His past, his present, and making assumptions on his future. He had all eyes on this douche.

“Bruce? Are you there?” you called, “Look, I’m sorry. I know you’re not a fan of other people – “

“I’ll be there.” He said curtly, blade gliding against his smooth skin. “Just text me the details and I’ll meet you there.”

“Really?” you let out a squeal of excitement and Bruce nearly cut himself with the sound. He realised then just how much he wanted you to be like that all the time. Happy. Excited.

“Really.”

“Okay – okay! I’ll let you know where and when! I can’t wait to see you again! I have to go now though, my shift’s about to start. See you soon, yes?” You hung up and Bruce chuckled to himself. He couldn’t wait to see you either. He wasn’t, although, very eager to see Nathan. But for your sake, he’d be on his best behaviour.

You met a few days after the phone call, at a local bar.

It was bustling with people and energy. Loud music was being played on speakers, the whole place smelled of cheap beer, and the people’s noise was deafening. Still, he overlooked all of that just for the sheer pleasure of hanging out with you.

“Bruce!” You called out, getting up from your spot near the counter and hurrying to meet him halfway. You hugged him tightly and he once again felt like you were meant to be in his arms forever. When you pulled away, he smiled. “You made it!” You were wearing an off-the-shoulder top and a pair of shorts decorated with small lace at the bottom. But Bruce couldn’t care less about what you were wearing – you always looked radiant.

“Of course I did.”

“Here, come meet my friends!”

You dragged him to a small group of people and introduced him to everyone. He was expecting more and was glad to find it was only you plus 4 others. Nathan was still on his way, you told him.

All of you kept light conversation for a while. Bruce did not really try to keep up with your friends’ conversations. One of them kept rubbing herself all up against him, giggling and obviously trying to get herself into his good graces. She was clearly only interested in his money, and Bruce had to excuse himself a few times just to get away.

After a few minutes, your head turned and you smiled, standing up to greet someone.

Nate.

“Hey honey!” You smiled, lifting your head to kiss him on the lips. Nathan quickly scanned the table, and once his eyes fell on Bruce, he scowled, one hand coming down to grip your waist, and the other to give you a light squeeze on your ass cheek (which made Bruce cringe and want to punch this jerk to next Sunday).

“Hello. Didn’t know we’d be having so much company,” the doctor sneered, eyes lingering on the Wayne billionaire.

“Well, if you don’t like me meeting up with friends on my own, I thought we could all meet up. Isn’t it a nice solution?” you smiled, but Nate didn’t seem to care about it. How dare he, Bruce thought. If you were his, he would never overlook your smile. Never. But she’s not yours, a tiny voice whispered inside his head.

Nate then turned to you, eyeing you up and down. His eyes lingered on your exposed collarbone and shoulders, and on the shorts that adorned your pretty legs. He sneered.

“And what the fuck is this?” he asked with a scoff.

“Hm?”

“What the fuck are you wearing?”

“Oh! These are new!” you spun in your place, showing off your outfit. “Do you like them? I thought the lace details were super cute – “

“So you’re wearing this out?” Nate crossed his arms, visibly upset. “Seriously? Don’t you think it’s a bit too revealing?”

It wasn’t, really. The top, even if it was off-the-shoulder, did not expose your cleavage too shockingly. The shorts weren’t too short either, covering just the right amount of skin. And even if the clothes were too short (which they weren’t), Bruce thought Nathan should just mind his fucking business.

“You think so?” your smile was quickly replaced by a pout, and you looked down at your clothes self-consciously.

“Yes, I fucking think so. I don’t understand why you feel the need to dress like that, show that much skin. People might get the wrong idea.”

“What wrong idea? Nate, they’re just clothes. There’s nothing wrong with them.”

The atmosphere had become tense. Your friends were all giving each other knowing looks but kept to themselves. Bruce didn’t have the heart to simply stand there and watch though. He put an arm in between you and Nathan and spoke calmly.

“Look, I think she should be allowed to wear whatever she wants. It’s not like she’s naked – “

“Stay the hell out of this, rich guy. I couldn’t care less what you think, this is not your relationship, and she is my girlfriend.”

Bruce looked at you, but you seemed to be avoiding his gaze, eyes fixated on Nathan.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think they were that revealing when I tried them on. I just liked how they looked on me.”

“Yeah, well, I’m fucking embarrassed to be seen with you when you dress like that. Dressed like a common whore.”

That was enough for Bruce. He stepped forward, ready to send his fist flying across this jerk’s face, but your smaller hand wrapped itself around his arm.

“Bruce, please,” you pleaded, looking up at him with wide eyes. “It’s okay. He’s right. I am showing too much skin. I should dress more modestly.”

“He’s being a jerk,” Bruce muttered, eyes urging you to let him go. “I’m not letting him speak to you like that.”

“Please.” You sounded so meek, so small. It tugged at Bruce’s heartstrings, and he immediately lowered his arm. He’d do anything for you, really.

“Fine.”

“Yeah, that’s better.” Nathan scoffed, before grabbing you by the arm and pulling you close. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

Without sparing him a second glance, you were out of the bar.

“I’m telling you, Alfred, that guy is the worst. I don’t understand how she’s still with him, he treats her like shit,” Bruce muttered to himself as he paced back and forth in his bedroom.

“Master Wayne, although I admire your compassion, I cannot help but wonder if you are sticking your nose in someone else’s business.” Alfred replied. He’d been watching Bruce walk holes into the floor, and although he wanted to help, the older man knew there was really nothing he could do.

“I know. I know I am but – she deserves better. She does, she deserves someone who’ll treat her right, who won’t talk to her that way, who will respect her and adore her – “

“Someone like you, I presume.”

“Yes. Exactly.”

Bruce sighed and sat on his bed, defeated.

“Master Wayne, have you considered telling this girl the feelings you’re harbouring for her?” Alfred asked, moving closer to the bed.

“I can’t. She loves him Alfred, she… she loves him.” He muttered again.

The butler gave Bruce a sympathetic smile, before walking away.

You loved Nathan. You didn’t love him.

So why did it all feel so terribly wrong?

You walked inside Wayne Manor for the first time a few weeks later.

It was raining – pouring, even – and you’d desperately knocked on its big doors. Alfred opened them for you, and recognised you instantly, having stolen glances at Bruce’s phone whenever he looked at pictures of you.

“Hi – Hi, I’m sorry for the intrusion,” you quickly introduced yourself, tears running down your face. “Is – is Bruce here?”

Alfred gently guided you to the living room, where he told you to wait. You stood there awkwardly, picking at your fingers, and looking around, taking in the beauty of Bruce’s family home.

When Alfred returned, he brought with him a few towels, and Bruce Wayne himself. The latter was just about to leave for patrol, but upon hearing from Alfred that you were standing on his doorway, drenched from head to toe and crying, he decided to ditch his nightly duties.

“Hey,” he said, hurrying towards you. It was all it took – you collapsed in his arms, tears running down your face. Bruce held you tightly and you cried, burrowing your face in his chest. Alfred simply placed the towels on top of one of the couches, and took his leave, silently going upstairs to get a robe for you. “Hey, it’s okay. I’ve got you.”

Once you managed to stop crying, you looked up at him and sniffled, shaking your head.

“I’m so sorry – you’re all wet because of me now,” you told him.

Bruce shook his head and moved to hand you a towel.

“It’s okay. Just tell me what’s wrong.”

You sighed and used the towel to dry your hair, wrapping the other one around your shoulders.

“It… it was Nathan.”

Bruce looked at you, eyes narrowing.

“What did he do?”

“Nothing! I mean – we just fought, that’s all. But it was a really nasty fight.” You said and burst into tears again. “He – he kept saying all I did was walk around and cheat on him! He said I didn’t truly love him, that I was selfish and only thought of myself. It – it’s not true! I love him Bruce, I really do!” You buried your face on your hands, and Bruce moved to sit by your side.

Bruce held you tightly in his arms, hand stroking your back and your head. You melted in his hold, breath evening out and tears eventually subsiding.

"I just... I don't know what to do, Bruce..." You mumbled against his chest. "I really do love him, but he said all of those mean things..."

Bruce's lips pressed into a thin line as he navigated the best way to go about this conversation.

"Nathan..." He mumbled, hands running through your hair. "Does he speak to you like this a lot?"

You sniffled, stilling in his arms.

"We fight... Lately we've been fighting a lot, but... I know he loves me... He doesn't mean it. He's been under so much stress, things at the hospital are getting chaotic and I've been stressing him out..."

Bruce shook his head, his hold unconsciously tightening around you. So he took his stress out on you? Jerk.

"That's not okay. He can't speak to you like this, he doesn't have the right to." Bruce pulled away to look you in the eyes and you sniffled as his big hands wiped your tears.

"He doesn't mean any harm, you know... He's under a lot of pressure from his superiors..."

He sighed once again, and then watched from the corner of his eyes as Alfred carried in his hand a tray of warm drinks and a fluffy robe.

"Look," he said, tilting your chin to meet his gaze. "How about you change into something more comfortable, and we'll talk about it over a drink?"

You smiled and nodded, getting up and thanking Alfred, grabbing the robe so you could go change.

Once you came back, you told Bruce you did not want to talk about such sad topics any further, and simply wanted to distract yourself. Bruce was happy to oblige.

You settled in the couch side by side with a blanket covering your laps. He let you pick a movie, and you sat side by side, poking fun at whatever it was that was playing on the TV, sipping on warm beverages, and talking.

“So you’re telling me you don’t know how to make a cup of tea?” You asked, leaning back to look at Bruce with a serious expression.

“Look, I was a failure and I decided it was better not to learn instead of having Alfred annoy me about it. He’s very serious about his tea. You should hear him yell at me.”

You chuckled and involuntarily placed your legs over Bruce’s lap under the blankets. He was quick to lay his hands on top of them, drawing patterns absentmindedly.

“You’re impossible,” you chuckled.

“Oh, so you’re all high and mighty and capable of cooking anything and everything?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Even if I wasn't very good, I'm sure I'd be able to cook more than you. I had to, you know. Living on my own and all,” you shrugged, “Some people don’t have butlers doing everything for them.”

Bruce hummed. You were right. It was one of the things he admired the most about you. How unafraid you were to tell him exactly what you think, and how resilient you were, how strong-willed and stubborn. Bruce was sure he’d never met a woman as strong as you in his entire life.

“Alright, pay up.” You extended your hand.

Now you were sitting a few inches apart, a Monopoly board on the couch in front of you.

“You’re cheating,” he huffed, counting his bills.

“No, you’re simply not very good. Aren't you like, supposed to be a god at this or something? This is your whole life.” You popped a popcorn inside your mouth and smiled.

“Usually, lives aren't dictated by the throw of a dice,” he said, handing you two bills. “You're ruining me here. I’m gonna go bankrupt.”

“Then learn how to play better.” You shrugged and rolled your dice again, moving your piece accordingly. Bruce smiled. He could get used to this, spending time with you, cuddled up in his couch. That's where you were meant to be, next to him, in his arms, in his blankets. You were meant to be in his home, brightening up the place with something as small as a smile, in his life, brightening his whole existence with just a tilt of your head. It was at this moment that Bruce realised that his feelings for you ran way deeper than just a simple friendship. After all, friends didn't wish to spend eternity together. Friends didn't want to lick the popcorn salt off each other’s lips, friends didn't want to hold each other close and whisper sweet nothings in their ear.

As the night went on, so did the activities. When you were done with board games, you switched to card games (getting your ass kicked by Bruce, who was far too good at Poker for your own liking). You changed movies about three times, simply not satisfied with the choices you’d picked earlier – not that Bruce minded. You’d made a game out of changing movies every time the characters gave you second hand embarrassment and had plenty of fun yelling at the protagonists who slipped and stuttered and acted like bozos.

“Oh, come on,” you cringed, body twitching involuntarily. “Why is she singing Fight Song on top of a table? Do directors think this is how people behave?”

“You stood on top of my couch and yelled. I think that’s close to what’s happening on the TV,” The man next to you eyed you with amusement as you scoffed and pointed an accusatory finger at him.

“That’s different, I won Monopoly,” you said nonchalantly, “Everyone knows you’re entitled to do whatever you want once you win Monopoly.” You grabbed a pillow and threw it in his direction, but you should've known better, because Bruce simply picked it mid-air and raised it in front of his head, to hit you back. However, at the sudden movement, your eyes widened, and you quickly flinched away from him, panic spreading all over your face.

Bruce let go of the pillow, heart breaking at the sight before him. What the fuck had just happened? Did you flinch away from him?

“I – “ You seemed to notice his worry and were quick to shake your head, laughing weakly. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you okay?” He asked, torn between reaching out and staying in place. He didn't want to scare you even more than he already had.

“Yes! Yes, I am. I’m sorry, I wasn't expecting you to do that. Was just trying to get away from the pillow.”

“You scrambled away from me.”

“Well, yes, you were going to hit me with a pillow, weren't you, Bruce?”

“I would never hurt you. You know that,” he whispered, and you looked away, still trying to pretend everything was fine.

“Well, I didn't want a pillow on my face. Alright? It’s nothing, I promise.”

He wasn't convinced in the least, and Bruce knew what it usually meant. His mind went back to Nathan, to the way he had treated you at the bar, to his behaviour towards you whenever you and Bruce were out for ice-cream or coffee. The gears were turning in his head, and you took notice of that, moving forward and holding his hands.

“Hey,” you smiled, although it didn't reach your eyes, “It’s fine. I promise. Everything is okay.”

He didn't believe it. Didn't buy it. But he had to earn your trust if he wanted to do something about it, and scaring you away wasn't an option.

He attempted to smile back, and nodded, muttering a small “Alright.”

You settled back next to him, and he could feel the way your body had tensed up as soon as your arms had brushed together. He needed to calm you down. So, he spoke.

About his life, about his childhood. He told you about all the times his father would let him tag along whenever he went to work at the hospital, how fascinated he was with his occupation. Saving lives. How great was that. He told you how much his father’s work had inspired him. He explained to you the intricate games he’d play in his gardens, pretending to be a detective who was investigating every sort of crimes. He wanted to save lives, just like his father did.

“You do, you know,” you mumbled, looking up from under his chin to get a good look at his beautiful face. “Even if you’re not a doctor, you still save lives. You make people’s lives better. All your philanthropy and charity are helping Gotham. You’re not doing this in vain.”

He smiled. If only you knew how much his charity and philanthropy extended.

You replied with stories of your own. The things you liked to do while growing up, the games you’d make up in your room, thinking of faraway lands with castles and elves and fantasies. You’d be a police officer one day, and a pirate the next. You told him about your childhood home, your high school, your college major. You showed him pictures of your roommates and the fun activities you did together.

It was an exchange. You’d tell him about yourself, and he would open up to you in return. The TV was still on, and both of you were looking at it, but none was paying attention. Your conversation was much more important.

Bruce told you about his childhood, how lonely he would feel sometimes. He told you sometimes he would isolate himself, the grief of having lost his parents far too much to bear. It made your heart ache and you found yourself leaning closer, wishing to take all of his pain away.

"You don't have to suffer all on your own now, though," you said, looking up to meet his chocolate brown eyes. "I'm here now. You can count on me to help you with whatever. You can trust me, Bruce." Your hand was suddenly on his cheek, palm hot and caring, and Bruce instantly leaned into it, sure that this was where he was meant to be – in your arms, staring into your eyes, baring his soul open. The air crackled in between you – it was as if the world had shifted and finally landed in place. It felt right. Everything felt right, and your eyes briefly drifted towards his lips.

He was just about to say something when a few loud knocks could be heard on the door. Your head whipped around in panic, the sound clearly startling you (something Bruce kept in mind).

"Alfred, could you please get that?" He asked, arm wrapping itself around you in an unconsciously protective move. You relaxed in his hold just as quickly as you’d stiffened, and his heart leaped. Did you feel safe with him?

The door slid open, revealing behind it a massive bouquet of red roses. The roses moved and Bruce quickly spotted the figure who was holding them.

"Nate?" You whispered, untangling yourself from Bruce's hold and taking tentative steps towards the door. Shit.

"Babe – hey," Nathan replied, sighing with relief once he spotted you. "I'm so sorry, I – I'm such an idiot. I'm the worst."

You eyed him sceptically, something like doubt shining in your eyes.

"I shouldn't have said any of those things. The hospital has been so busy, my bosses have been giving me shit every day, and I took it out on you. I'm so sorry, will you please forgive me?"

You hugged your arms, shielding yourself. You looked back at Bruce, who was watching the situation, lips a thin line and eyes cloudy.

"I didn't like the way you spoke to me... You really hurt, Nate, did you mean all of those things?"

"No! No – fuck no, I didn't. I was an idiot. I am an idiot. Please, let me make it up to you. I don't deserve you, but if you forgive me, I'll spend the rest of my days trying to prove to you I am worthy of your love. I'm so sorry. I'll be better. I promise. Babe, you make me better."

Bruce wasn't fazed by this speech. He didn't buy a single word of what Nathan had just told you, and once again, he would not keep it to himself. This man was manipulating you, preying on your emotions and your love for him, probably even going as far as laying his hands on you, and you deserved better.

"Perhaps you should've thought of those things before you treated her like shit." He said coldly, standing up and walking towards you. You turned away from him, which had Bruce's heart clench. Why were you turning from him?

But he didn't need to give it much more thought – you were already falling for Nathan's narrative.

"You – " Nathan's grip tightened. Bruce saw the way it tightened and saw your eyes land on his fist as well. This caused him to loosen it, and give a small, dry chuckle. "Bruce. Thank you so much for taking care of her. Truly. I'm so thankful you took care of my girl when she wasn't feeling well."

You raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Yes, babe, really. He's your friend, and I'm willing to get along with your friends. I'd do anything for you, you know it. Don't you?" He stuck out his hands, presenting to you the bouquet of roses in one hand, and a box of chocolates in the other. It was only now that Bruce (and apparently, you as well) realised that both items, as well as the person who was carrying them, were dripping wet.

"You came all the way out here in the rain to apologise?" You asked, stepping out towards the man standing outside the door.

"Yes. Of course. I would do this and more for you, baby. You know that, don't you? I'll do anything for you. You drive me nuts, that's it. That's all! It's only because I love you so much that I act like this. Please give me another chance. I won't waste it. I know you deserve better than me, you could literally get any guy out there, but fuck... Please, just let me prove to you that you make me a better man." He looked desperate, panicked, blue eyes widening with fear.

It was useless. You were completely entranced by the manipulative bullshit this guy was spewing.

“Do you promise not to yell at me again?” You asked, taking another step towards him, fingers softly touching the rose petals.

“Yes. I do. I’ll never do it again – I promise babe. I’ll be better. I am better whenever I am with you. I know I overreacted, but it’s only because I love you. You make me crazy – I am crazy, for you.”

You looked up at him, something unsure in your eyes. You glanced back at Bruce, who furrowed his eyebrows and softly shook his head “no”. It wasn't a command or an order, simply some advice. This jerk didn't deserve you. You turned back to look at Nathan and took the roses he was holding from him.

“These are really pretty,” you mumbled, inhaling their scent.

“Not as pretty as you. So, what do you say? Will you forgive me? Please? Just give me another chance.”

You seemed to ponder it, quietly analysing the roses before you. Then, a bigger smile spread across your face, and you nodded, moving towards Nathan to wrap your arms around his neck. He sighed in relief and hugged you back, burrowing his face in your hair. When his gaze caught Bruce’s, his eyes hardened. If looks could kill, Bruce would be dead and gone. Perhaps it’s a good thing he wasn't scared of this jerk.

You let go of your boyfriend and turned to Bruce, holding the bouquet tightly in your hands.

“Thank you for your kindness, Bruce.”

“Are you sure about this – “

“But this is my relationship. We’re friends, aren’t we? I need you to trust me here, okay? It’s fine. Nathan’s apologised. Everything is okay now,” you smiled, and Bruce swore he could see something breaking behind your eyes.

“He doesn’t deserve you, he yelled and – “

“Look, I said I was sorry, alright, rich boy?” Nate interrupted, spitting the words. “Mind your own business. This is my relationship, alright? I appreciate that you were here for my girl, but your help is no longer needed.”

Then, he turned, taking you away with him.

The last thing Bruce saw before Nathan’s car was out of you, was you leaning over the console to press a sweet kiss on his cheek.

He didn't like this one bit. And he was not going to rest until he was sure you were away from this guy.

He didn't see you for a while after that.

At least not directly.

During his patrols, he would stop by your apartment and watch for any signs of either you or him. But either you were extremely shy, or Nathan was very careful about not letting anyone peek into their lives, and usually closed the blinds. Bruce was sure it was the latter. He could no longer peek inside – Lucius had destroyed the system that had allowed him to spy on every citizen in Gotham, after all – and was stuck texting you and trying to pry information from you.

The only thing you told him was that everything was fine. Nathan was a gentleman, taking you out for dinner and showering you in gifts, telling you he loved you. According to you, things couldn't be better.

Your texting patterns would be sporadic. Some days, he’d spend all day chatting with you, sending pictures and things that had reminded him of you, making plans to meet up and grab a bite. Others, you’d ignore him all day, giving him one-worded replies once or twice.

“Alfred, I just don’t know what to do,” he confessed once. “I’m pretty sure the bastard might be hitting her or something. The way she acts, the way he acts? Yelling at her, fighting, and then showering her with gifts and affection? It doesn't sit right with me.”

“Have you thought about reporting it to the police, sir?”

“I don’t have enough evidence,” he grumbled. “She flinched once, and they fight. That doesn't necessarily mean he’s abusive towards her. Besides, what if anyone investigates it, does not notice anything wrong, and he gets angrier? What if he takes it out on her?” Bruce placed his hands on his face and laid his arms on his knees. It was a tricky situation. If he wasn't abusive but was still a scumbag, he doubted you’d ever leave him. If he did hurt you in any physical way, he might be risking your own safety in case he reported anything.

Suddenly, his phone chimed, and he was pulled from his thoughts as your ringtone played. He picked up on the first ring.

“Hello?”

You were breathing heavily but did not say anything. Bruce was starting to worry.

“Hello? Is everything okay?”

“Yes – yes, it is,” you quickly said, and your voice held a foreign emotion to it, something Bruce couldn't quite place. “I’m sorry, I know it’s short notice, but do you want to grab something to eat? I was supposed to meet a friend, but she cancelled on me.”

Bruce looked up towards Alfred, who nodded in acknowledgement.

“Yes, sure. Of course, I'll meet you. Did you have any place in mind?”

“There’s this sandwich place near Gotham Mall, perhaps we could go there? I’ve been meaning to try it out for a while, but… Well, it’s just never been a right time. I’ll text you the address if you want to.” Something was up with your voice. You didn't usually sound so unconfident, at least not with him.

“I’d appreciate that. I’ll meet you there in 20. That okay?”

“Yeah, that’s perfect. Thank you, Bruce.” There was a small tilt to your voice that Bruce paired up with a smile, and then you hung up.

20? He’d be there in 10.

Bruce was already sitting down by a window, wearing a casual dark blue polo when you walked in. It was impossible to miss him – you found him the most handsome man in the world, with his beautifully carved jawline and his kind eyes.

What were you even saying? You have a boyfriend. Control yourself. If he knew you were even having these thoughts…

Instinctively, you wrapped your jacket tighter around you.

Once Bruce spotted you, he stood up to meet you halfway. You hugged him briefly, tensing under his touch, which he simply chalked up to awkwardness after that night. Had you felt the same he had? Was that why you were acting so strange?

“Thank you for meeting me,” you sighed, sitting down. “My friend cancelled last minute; I didn’t know who else to call. I hope you don’t feel like a last resort or anything – you were actually the first person I thought about.”

Bruce nodded. A waitress came over and asked you both if you would like to see the menu. You looked over at the options and a small smile was pulled from your lips. Once Bruce had picked a Caprese sandwich, you asked for a Pesto Chicken one, and a lemonade. The waitress smiled at you both (well, she smiled at Bruce), grabbed your menus (making it a show of bending over to show off her cleavage) and walked away.

Bruce, however, didn’t seem to notice, seeing as his eyes were on you.

“Is everything okay?”

You looked away, before meeting his gaze. And you smiled. It was gentle, and soft, and fake. Bruce knew, because he plastered on the same smile whenever he had to attend galas full of people whose only interest were his last name and his bank account.

“Yeah! I’m just tired, I think. Haven’t been sleeping well.”

Bruce’s gaze landed on your figure. You were leaning on your right arm, staring absentmindedly at the counter. You were wearing a pretty denim jacket, and a simple purple shirt underneath, as well as a pair of jeans. It wasn’t a very flashy outfit, and yet he thought you looked gorgeous.

“Aren’t you going to take that off?” he asked, nodding towards the jacket you were wearing.

“Hm?” You turned to him and blinked repeatedly. “Oh – no. No need, I’m kind of chilly. How have you been?”

Rather good at deflecting attention, you were. He decided to play along for the time being.

“I’ve been good. Work has been hectic, but what else could you expect when you’re running a company,” he sighed. “I’ve been worried about you, though. You’ve been ignoring me for a few days – are you sure you’re doing okay?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. Work has been hectic as well. The restaurant is going through a few renovations, and we know have more tables to wait. It’s been a hard adjustment, but I’m doing my best.”

“I’m sure you are,” he smiled.

After that, conversation flowed easily, as it usually did between you two. Your sandwiches arrived and you tried each other’s comparing tastes and flavours, trying to prove to each other that your choice was superior. You told him about your new patrons at your job, an old couple who left you extremely big tips and called you “darling” every time you walked by. In return, he told you about this big investor who was interested in a fundraising project to combat poverty in Gotham.

It was as nice as always, and when the bill came, he reached for it without batting an eye.

“Hey – Mr, let me. You can’t just pay for everything.” You chided, reaching out to grab the bill from his hands.

“No, that’s out of the question,” he replied, as casually as asking about the weather. “You don’t have to pay for anything when you’re with me.”

“Bruce,” you whined half-jokingly, still trying to fetch the piece of paper from him. He lifted it over his head, and you huffed, leaning back once again. “You can’t pay for everything every time we’re out.”

“Why not?” Bruce raised an eyebrow. “I’m allowed to spoil you. Aren’t I?”

The word spoil had you turn your head, heat creeping up to your cheeks.

“I don’t deserve to be spoiled.”

“Sure you do. If anyone deserves to be spoiled, it’s you.”

You looked into his eyes for a few moments, unable to form any words. Every time you were with him, you felt your heart warm. You felt like everything was right. It was easy to talk with Bruce. To Bruce. You felt like you could tell him just about anything.

Not anything.

“How about we go for a walk?” Bruce asked. You nodded and moved to get up.

But as you did so, the left sleeve of your jacket got stuck on your table. You pulled away, causing your whole arm to be exposed to him, a large bruise running along it. Your eyes widened and you panicked, forcefully pulling your jacket from the chair, and wrapping it around yourself again.

You heard Bruce call out your name, but you were far too focused on picking up your things and running out of the establishment, Bruce right behind you.

“Hey! Hey! Come black, please! Don’t go!” He wanted to scream, to yell, to reach out to you and hold you tight, but he knew doing any of those things could scare you off. He could lose you forever, and he was not going to let his anger at Nathan cloud his judgement.

You didn’t want to run, though. You crossed the street and stopped right in front of a park bench, tears streaming down your face. Once Bruce caught up with you, he maintained his distance, but remained close enough should you want to come closer. He called your name. Softly. As if it was some sort of prayer, a mantra. It felt nice coming from his lips. He sounded kind. Unlike…

“Who did that to you?” he asked, exasperation in his voice. There was no point dancing around the subject.

“No one. I tripped, and I fell, and I – “

“Please, don’t give me that crap.” His words were harsh, but his voice was soft, and everything was so confusing, all you could do was sit down on the bench in front of you and cry.

“I fell, Bruce. I’m so clumsy, I fell during one of my shifts at the restaurant and that’s all, I promise you.”

Bruce sat down next to you. A few inches, but still, next to you. His mind was running hot with anger. That bastard had done it, he’d actually touched you and hurt you, and Bruce was going to do everything in his power to make sure he never saw the light of the sun again. You raised your head and looked at Bruce. You thought he’d be looking at you with disgust, but there was none in his gaze. Only kindness, only softness.

“It was an accident…” you mumbled, and he had to move closer in order to make out the words you were saying. “It was my fault. I provoked him…”

There it was.

Not his fault. You’d provoked him.

Bruce did his best to school his features. He needed to be calm, he needed to look collected and cool. If he acted out and showed just how angry he was, he might scare you off, and that was the last thing he wanted to do. He didn’t want you to associate him to Nathan, to the monster who’d hurt you.

“Can you tell me what happened?” he asked.

“It, it was my fault…” you sobbed. “He came home from work, and he was so tired… He’d had a really rough day, and all he wanted was to come home to a nice warm dinner, but, but… I was so tired, Bruce, I was so tired, so I didn’t cook – not even for myself! And when he came home, he started shouting and telling me I wasn’t good for anything, that he couldn’t even count on me to make him dinner.” You hid your face in your hands and sobbed louder. “So – so I told him to cook his own dinner, and I know I shouldn’t, because he was so tired! And – and he got mad, and… He... he...”

“Can I come any closer?” you furrowed your brows. Why was Bruce asking that? Why was he being so sweet with you? Especially after you’d just told him you were a terrible girlfriend, being as selfish as to not cook for your boyfriend after a tiring day. But the only thing in his eyes was gentleness. And he was being so sweet with you. Did you even deserve such a treatment?

You nodded your head yes, and he slowly moved closer, hand picking up yours.

“You need to report him to the police.”

Your eyes widened, and you began to shake your head while he spoke.

“He hurt you. This is domestic violence, it’s abuse. You need to report him – “

“No. No, no, no – “

“He can’t keep hurting you like this. All the yelling, all the fights, he’s taking advantage of you, and you don’t deserve any of that. Honey, he’s hurting you – “~

“No, no, no, no, no, no – “

“He’s abusing you.”

“He’s not – he loves me, it was an accident – “

“It wasn’t an accident; he’s hurt you before – “

“He hasn’t!” you exclaimed, shaking your head, “He has not hurt me!”

“Not physically, maybe, but he treats you like shit, which also counts as abuse. Listen to me, please,” he moved closer and slowly lifted his hands to cup your face. He did it slowly, giving you plenty of time to adjust, react, move away from him, do anything to show your discomfort. You did not, so he held your face in a way that showed just how afraid he was that you would break.

“You deserve better. This scumbag is hurting you. Let me help you.”

You looked into his eyes, and the whole thing felt foreign to you. Being held so gently, being talked to so calmly, being regarded as something close to precious, to dear. Wasn’t this how relationships were supposed to go? Wasn’t Nathan supposed to be just like this?

“I love him…” you whispered, attempting to look away. Bruce did not let you. He kept his gaze focused on you. “I can’t leave him Bruce, I… He was so sorry… You should’ve seen him; he was so broken… He regretted it so much.”

"He looked broken because he's trying to fool you." Bruce let go of your face and held your hands in his, hoping to convey everything he meant just by this touch. "I can't stand and watch as he hurts you like this. Please let me do something. Let me help. I'll get him fired. I'll get him arrested. This can't go on; he can't keep hurting you – "

"I love him!" You sobbed, shaking your head. "I do, and he loves me, and he did not mean it! It was an accident! You can't do anything; you can't take him from me! Please, if you care about me in any way, don't do anything. We'll sort it out. I promise you it won't happen again, honest."

Bruce was torn. Torn between storming out of there and beating that asshole boyfriend of yours into a pulp and staying there comforting you. He wanted to do both so badly. He couldn't just stand aside and do nothing, but he also did not want to lose you forever. He could still do it, of course. Hurt Nathan, the same way he'd hurt you. But then he was most definitely sure he'd lose you forever. And would that be worth it? It would. He'd lose you, but you'd be safe. And wasn't that what mattered the most in the end?

"Please, Bruce... Trust me..." You whispered, looking deep into his eyes, trying to find some sort of sign in there that would show you he was still on your side, by your side. Your friends were against you, so was your family. Nathan was right. They were all terrible, they hated you and did not want you to be happy.

With all those people gone, you needed to know you still had Bruce. That despite everyone leaving, he was still yours.

He's not yours though, a little voice said inside your head. You tried to drown it. Who Bruce belongs to is none of your business. And it’s not like he even belongs to someone, he is his own person. Not some property to be handed around carelessly.

You’d never handle him carelessly though. You’d love him. And he’d love you, the way you’re meant to be loved. No. This was wrong. You were not supposed to have these thoughts. You had Nathan. And you loved him.

Did you, though? What had Nathan done for you as of late? Hit you and berate you and fight you and yell at you. Was that even how relationships went?

Sure. That's how passionate relationships went. And you knew Nathan was passionate about you. That’s why he got angry so often, because your love drove him nuts. Loving you drove him nuts. He adored you so much, you made him lose rationality. And wasn't that romantic?

Bruises aren't romantic. Taking care of someone is romantic. Holding them while they cry. Cheering them up with ice-cream and Monopoly, and surprising them at work. What a wonderful boyfriend Bruce would be.

No. Stop it. Those thoughts are wrong.

You looked at Bruce, standing in front of you, regarding you with so much care and worry. How you wished you could just melt in his arms forever. Sometimes you liked to relive how nice it felt to rest in his hold. How natural. You wished you could hug him again and never let go.

It was frightening, really, the way your feelings for Bruce were growing. He’d been just a friend at first, someone you could trust, someone you could spend time with and have fun. But now, he was so much more than that, and you feared the lines between friendship, and something more had begun to blur.

“I’d treat you so much better,” he suddenly blurted, drawing circles on your hand with his thumbs. “You deserve better than him. Please let me do better. Let me show you how you deserve to be loved.”

Tears found their ways to your eyes, and you shook your head, slowly.

You couldn't. No, you couldn't, possibly.

“I’m sorry…” you started, trying to choke back a sob.

“Please. You deserve to be treated with respect. With kindness, with love. Nathan isn't doing any of these things, he’s disrespecting you by laying his hands on you and hurting you all the time.” His face was mere inches away from yours now. Why was he so close? You could smell his cologne, see every speck of light in his eyes, listen to the breath he let out as his lips parted.

It wouldn't hurt to get closer. His lips must taste nice.

It would be wrong. So wrong.

You like him, don't you? And he treats you nice and likes you so much.

You love Nathan. You’d been with him for years now and loved him. He was good for you. He loved you, he provided for you. He paid most of the rent every month and 1bought most of the groceries. Your salary as a waitress could not compare to his, the one of a prestigious doctor. You couldn't leave him. It would ruin you.

Bruce has way more money than him. He would help you get back on your feet.

Quickly, you scrambled to your feet, getting away from him. This was wrong. Extremely wrong. You were dating Nathan. And that was the end of it.

“I'm sorry, Bruce,” you said, sounding more confident than you felt. “I'm in love with Nathan. Please trust me on this. I know what I'm doing.”

“I can’t just stand by and watch as he hurts you.” Bruce's voice held something to it you couldn't quite place. It felt like sorrow, like grief. You hated it. It made your stomach churn.

“He won’t hurt me anymore! He loves me!”

“Are you saying that because you believe it, or because you're trying to?”

The question took you by surprise.

“I…” you stuttered, shaking your hand. “I… I believe it.”

Did you?

“If you care about me Bruce, please let me be. My relationship is none of your concern.”

“What? Please – “

“Please mind your business, Bruce.” You mumbled, pulling your jacket tighter around you, and sighing. “Thank you for the sandwich. I’ll see you around.”

You spun on your heel and walked away, leaving behind a very broken-hearted Bruce Wayne.

You were constantly on Bruce’s mind. You plagued his thoughts 24/7 – your face, your eyes, your smile, your laugh. Again and again, from the moment he woke up, to the second he closed his eyes and fell asleep. You haunted his dreams too. Cried, lovely face covered in black and purple bruises, blood dripping down your mouth. These nightmares usually ended with a blood-curdling scream from you, and Bruce waking up in cold sweats.

It wasn't pleasant. Not at all.

And the worst part was, he had no idea what to do.

“If I report him, he might hurt her even further.”

“Yes, but that was when you had no evidence. You’ve told me she told you he hit her, things are different now, she confessed he was acting abusive towards her.” Alfred said, preparing a cup of tea. Bruce had foregone coffee for a while. Ever since you made it so difficult for him to sleep, Alfred had been trying different methods of getting his boss to sleep.

“Maybe I should have a little run-in with him. Or rather, the Batman should.” Bruce muttered, running a hand through his already messy hair.

“And what good would that make, Master Wayne?”

“I’d tell him to stay away from her. Shake him up a bit. Beat him up. Teach him a lesson.”

“I thought this wasn't about revenge,” the old butler settled a cup of tea in front of Bruce and sat next to him with a sigh. “Master Wayne, may I speak freely?”

“Of course.”

“Gotham has just begun to see Batman as a symbol of hope. You don't want to scare its people by beating up a doctor. Granted, he’s a despicable man who dares hit his partner, but a doctor, nonetheless. It would be foolish to destroy everything you’ve worked so hard to build so far.”

“Then what am I supposed to do, Alfred? How am I supposed to save her if I'm not Batman?”

“That is curious, because I don’t remember hearing the Miss say she liked spending time with the Batman. She did not cling to his arms and cried and told him her darkest secrets. She did not invite him for lunches and afternoon snacks and walks because she liked his company.” He mused. “She did all of that with Bruce Wayne. Perhaps you don't need a mask this time, Master Wayne. Perhaps, this time, being you is enough.”

Bruce thought the words over in his head. Alfred was right – something that happened abnormally often. You had never needed him as Batman. Just Bruce was enough.

“There’s also the fact that your family has left you a rather comfortable fortune, and more prestige that you could ever ask for. I’m sure Bruce Wayne would suffice.”

Bruce chuckled humourlessly, sipping from his cup of tea.

“She won’t open up to me, though. I mean, she will. She told me he was hurting her, that he’d pushed her. But she refused to let me help and said that I couldn't tell a soul. How am I supposed to get her to trust me?”

Alfred hummed.

“Perhaps you should invite her over again. Tell her you would like to talk. Or, you know, go to the police like a regular person and end the nightmare she is undoubtedly living.”

“I’ve done some research, Alfred,” Bruce sighed, “Dr. Nathan Smith is well liked in his community. Volunteers, donates to charity, the whole ordeal. If she tells the police, it was an accident and she fell, they’re likely to believe her. We need something more concrete.”

Alfred hummed once more. He could see where Bruce was coming from. On one hand, it was endearing. He’d never cared so much about someone and was clearly smitten by you. On the other, he was afraid the man would make a move far too late.

“And your plan, Master Wayne, is?”

Bruce dropped his head on the kitchen table. The white marble felt cold against his skin, and he relished in the comfort it provided.

“I don’t know, Alfred. I don’t know.”

“I thought I told you to stop hanging out with her?”

Bruce would recognise that voice anywhere.

As soon as it reached his ears, his fists clenched involuntarily. It seemed to him it was second nature to be angry around that piece of shit.

“Nate, she’s my oldest friend… I miss her terribly; it’s been ages since we've hung out.”

You were walking a few steps ahead of him, arm linked with Nathan’s. Well, rather, Nathan was gripping your arm, and you were simply being pulled along. Harshly.

“Ah, I see. So you’d rather hang out with her than me.” Nathan scoffed and shook his head, and you turned to face him. Bruce could see the heartbreak in your eyes.

“No! That’s not true!”

“She hates me. She doesn’t think we’re good together and wants to break us apart. And you want to hang out with her. Just tell me you want to break up and leave me the fuck alone!”

Nathan shoved you away from him, before shaking his head and walking faster down the road. Your teared up and ran after him. “Nate!” you yelled. “Nate! Please!” Once you reached him, you held onto his hands tightly, trying to get him to stop. He did not. “Please, Nate, I’m sorry! I won’t bring her up again, I promise!”

Nathan kept walking, not even sparing you a glance.

“I promise Nate, I’m so sorry! I’m sorry, please, forgive me!”

No one seemed to give two damns about the two of you. After all, people were selfish and did not care enough about the world around them. Only Bruce’s gaze was on you.

Nathan finally stopped, and sighed, looking at the floor.

“If you want to be her friend, and don’t love me anymore, I get it. That’s okay. You can move out, get your stuff – “

“No! No, I don’t want to be her friend, Nate, I don’t,” you pleaded, holding both his hands and shaking your head vigorously. Bruce felt like a creep, staring at you like that, staring into your private life like that, but what else could he do? “I’m sorry. I won’t bring it up again. I promise. I love you. Okay?” You placed yourself on the tip of your toes to reach his face and kissed his lips gently. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, please, I love you, please forgive me…”

Bruce swore he could see the glint of victory in Nathan’s eyes, and it made his insides churn.

“You promise?”

“I do! I promise! I love you so much, Nate, I won’t talk about her ever again. I love you and only you. You’re the love of my life!” You reached up to kiss him again, and Nathan responded, albeit unexcitedly. It was enough for you though, and you linked your hand with his. “I love you, Nate. So much. You’re the only person I need.”

The blonde man hummed, and you pulled him along. You tried your best to keep him close to you, but he wasn’t responding. That’s when Bruce decided he needed to intervene.

It was only when Bruce said your name a second time, louder, that you turned around, eyes widening with surprise.

“Bruce!” He could tell you weren’t expecting to see him here. He could also tell you were scared. Not of him, of course, but of the man at your side, by the way your whole body tensed, and your eyes drifted from him to Bruce.

“Ah. Bruce.” Nathan spit, looking at him with a fake expression of politeness. Bruce could tell his smile wasn’t real and noticed how his hold tightened on you. “What a coincidence. Have you perhaps been following us?” He laughed dryly. It was a poor attempt at a joke, and an even poorer attempt of figuring out if you’d listened to his whole conversation with you.

“Ah, no. I was just on my way home.”

“What were you up to?” you asked, voice relaxed as it often was when you were around him.

“Well, I'm celebrating the establishment of a new children's school in my family's name. It's a very important cause, and I’m throwing a party later this week. Alfred and I were shopping together.” Bruce replied.

“You? Shopping?” There was a happy tilt to your voice. Bruce only wished you would always sound like that.

“Well, I wasn’t alone. Baby steps.” He chuckled.

“And who is this Alfred?” Nathan interjected. “Some servant of yours?”

Bruce frowned. He did not like the way your boyfriend referred to the man who was the closest thing he had to a family. Still, he wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of anger.

“Alfred is my butler. He has been with my family for many years, and I consider him part of it. He is not a servant, and it shocks me that someone surely so well-read as you would refer to someone with such a degrading term.” Bruce raised his eyebrow, and he could swear he saw Nathan shrink a bit. It made you smile. It made Bruce feel good.

“My apologies, Bruce.” Nathan responded, offering a tight-lipped smile. He did not like losing, and that’s all he felt himself doing when he was around Bruce Wayne. Losing his temper, losing his control, losing his upper hand. It was something he detested greatly. He needed to get away from there. And quick.

“Honey, we need to go. Don’t want to steal too much of Bruce’s time, do we?”

“It’s not a problem, really,” Bruce retorted, ignoring your boyfriend, and turning to you instead. That’s when he noticed what you were wearing. Another jacket – a big one, oversized, a turtleneck and a pair of jeans. Gone were your shorts and flowy tops, you were now covered from head to toe. Why? To conceal what, exactly? And now that he got a good look at your face, was the hell was going on with your lip? It seemed split. “There’s nothing else in my list. Say, do you have any plans for next Friday? I would love if you two stopped by. It’s for a good cause, and perhaps you’ll have fun?”

He had to get you there. He had to get you alone with him, safe, away from Nathan.

“A party? At Wayne Manor?” Nathan asked.

“Yes. Will you be there?”

You looked up at your boyfriend, hope in your eyes.

Nathan noticed your excitement and blew air through his nose – the closest you’d get to a chuckle.

“Of course. We would love to go.”

“Really?” You beamed. That was not the answer you were expecting from him. Nathan hated Bruce – you knew this. Did this mean he was trying? Trying to befriend your friends? For your sake?

“Of course.” Nathan bent down to kiss your forehead, earning a genuine smile from you. “If you’d like to.”

“I would!”

It was small, the notion of a happy relationship, the notion that you were happy. But Bruce saw right through it. None of it was real. He was just playing a part.

“We should get going. It was nice seeing you, Bruce.”

“Oh – okay!” you yelped when Nathan turned you around and pulled you along with him. “It was nice seeing you, Bruce! I’ll see you Friday!”

And just like that, you were gone.

But Bruce wasn’t one to give up. Something felt off. Something smelled fishy. Nathan had been too kind, too nice, too allowing. Was it all a façade? He knew Nathan would never allow you to go to a party, especially one hosted by him. Something was definitely up. His feet moved, and before he could realise it, he was following the two figures in front of him to a dark alley. He heard voices and walked deeper.

That’s how he found you, pressed up against the wall, Nathan’s hand cruelly pressed against the hollow of your throat.

“Why the fuck are you still talking to him?” Nathan grumbled, tightening the hold he had on your throat. His knuckles turned white. “Huh!? You say you love me and then go around and fuck that rich motherfucker? Is that it, yeah?”

“N-No!” you sobbed, struggling to breath. Tears streamed down your face, hands clutching his. “Nate, please. You’re hurting me.” Your words were interrupted by coughs, and just before your vision could go completely black, you saw Nathan get dragged around and thrown on the floor. As soon as your vision (and your air) returned, you saw Bruce do to Nathan what he’d done to you.

“How dare you lay your disgusting hands on her,” he bellowed, and you somehow recognised that voice. It felt familiar. Bruce turned to you, and shook his head, arm still against Nathan’s neck. “Are you okay?” You nodded silently, wiping your tears, and taking a few steps back.

Bruce was surprised no one else had interrupted the two of you, but then again, this was Gotham. It didn’t matter if Batman was ridding crime for good, people would still look the other way, far too accustomed to violence to even bother.

“Are you seriously going to let him do this?” Nathan scowled, fighting against Bruce’s iron grip – it was no use. Somehow, this rich dumb playboy was stronger than he looked.

“I… I…” You looked in between the two men, still wiping your tears away. Part of you wanted Bruce to teach him a lesson. The other wanted him to let go of your boyfriend.

“Fuck – do something! Are you going to let this brute hurt me like this!?”

“Keep your filthy mouth shut,” Bruce whispered, before turning to face you completely. “What do you want me to do?”

This surprised you. You had a choice? You could decide?

“If you want to, I’ll beat him to a pulp myself. We’ll take him to the police. I’ll protect you. I promise I will. I can take care of you. You will never have to look him in the eye again.” Bruce’s eyes were filled with longing, and you found yourself walking towards him.

Wouldn’t that be nice? Nathan could go to jail. He’d leave you alone forever. No more fighting, no more hitting you, no more hurting you. You’d be free.

“Tell him to let go!” Now, Nathan’s face was turning a nasty shade of purple, and his lovely blue eyes were wide with fear. “Tell him! Are you going to let him do this to me? I love you!”

Bruce said your name softly. “Don’t listen to him. He’s done nothing but lie to you over and over again. You can end this nightmare right now.”

“Please! I’ll be better! I promise” Nathan coughed, the lack of air getting to him. “I was just jealous! You know me, I – I get like this! I thought you were going to leave me for him! I can’t compete with Bruce Wayne.”

“Shut up.” Bruce shook his head. “All you’ve been doing is hurting her. Abusing her. Do you seriously think I’m letting you go unscathed?”

It was scary, to be honest, seeing Bruce like this. You’d never seen him this angry, and he somehow reminded you of Nathan. Granted, the anger wasn’t directed towards you, but it still made you feel uneasy and unsafe, and all you wanted him was to go back to the sweet and kind Bruce who stole spoonfulls of your ice-cream and cheated at Monopoly when you weren’t looking.

“Bruce?” you whispered, frozen in place.

“Yeah?”

“Let go.”

“What?”

“Please let go.”

He looked at you and noticed the fear in your eyes. Something inside him broke and he wanted to punish himself for making you feel like that. Were you afraid of him? His hold on Nathan’s neck loosened, and the latter took this as an opportunity to get away and walk towards you. Nathan embraced you tightly, burrowing his face in your hair and crying loudly.

“I’m so sorry… I hate myself for the way I’ve been treating you… You deserve so much better than me, and I don’t deserve your forgiveness… I’m just a mess who seems to ruin everything… Please forgive me for being so possessive, I just – I just never feel like I’m worthy of you.” Nathan’s lies spilled from his lips, and the very same lips found their way to yours, kissing you softly as he held your face in his hands.

You seemed unresponsive, though, eyes fixed on Bruce. Was this how he always behaved? Had you simply not seen it before? Would he act this way towards you?

“I’m sorry…” his voice somehow got through to you. “I just… I couldn’t just stand by and watch as he hurt you…”

It was true, you gathered. He’d said it before. He’d always put himself between you and Nathan whenever you two fought. He’d never allowed Nathan to mistreat you in front of him, always protecting you – or trying to – no matter what.

Still, it had been horrifying to see those eyes who regarded you with such kindness, look at someone else with nothing but rage. To hear that lovely voice that always cheered you up sound so hateful. It wasn’t your Bruce. It simply wasn’t.

Your arms wrapped themselves around Nathan’s torso, almost as if mechanically. You had to do it. It’s what you did. Nathan yelled and fought and hurt. And then he’d apologize and take you back. It made you feel sick and nauseous and empty inside. But you knew no one else you love you like he did. No one would love you as passionately as Nathan did. And you didn’t want to be all alone.

“Let’s go home, okay, baby?” he asked, one hand caressing your cheek, the other rubbing circles on your hip affectionately. “We can cuddle and watch a movie. Anything you like. How does that sound?”

“Don’t,” Bruce pleaded, eyebrows furrowing. Were you seriously still going home with him? After all that had happened?

You did not break eye contact. You knew you shouldn’t go back home with Nate. At least a part of you did. A part of you knew this was wrong. Knew that you deserved better, knew that Nate was abusive and did not deserve you. But that part had long been defeated, and all that was left were small voices in your head that yelled “No one else is going to love you like this” repeatedly.

And you always let them win.

“Let’s go,” you mumbled.

Nathan wrapped his arm around your waist, kissed your forehead, and Bruce watched as you two left the alley.

You did not text him anymore.

And on Friday, none of you appeared at the Manor for the party.

It was close to 2 in the morning when Bruce was stirred awake by the sounds of knocking on his front door.

He’d fallen asleep on the couch, exhausted from exploring a few new gadgets and functions Lucius had implemented on his suit. Patrol had been rough on him, the new holographic projection system taking a while to get used to, but well worth it in the end. It would spare him a handful of bruises and stress.

Alfred had retired for the night long ago, so it was just Bruce, a copy of a book you’d mentioned in passing once and he decided to read, and a fire cackling in the fireplace.

He got up, groggily rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and made his way towards the door. Far too tired to be careful (really, who the hell would be knocking at his door at 2 in the morning? And it’s not like he could blink the sleep away in a matter of seconds. He had enough training for that) Bruce opened the door, coming face to face with a hunched figure.

“This better be good for you to be knocking on my god damned door at 2 in the morning –“

That’s when the figure in front of him shifted. It was no longer a mere figure. It was you.

You were hunched over, looking down, head covering your whole face, and Bruce could make out faint sobbing. He called your name once, twice, three times, softly. All you could do was shake your head. hands tightly clutched in front of you.

“Come on, let’s go inside.”

Bruce stepped aside so you could walk in. He would not touch you without your permission, without not knowing what had happened. You stepped inside, shaking all over. The clothes on your body were comprised of a flimsy pyjama set, a long-sleeved shirt, and a pair of pants. Your feet were bare save for the fluffy bunny slippers on them. You looked cold – had you left in a hurry?

“Hey, can we sit on the couch?” Bruce asked, fluffing up some pillows. You nodded and followed him, sitting down, head still hung low. Would you even look at him?

“Do you want something to drink?” He kneeled next to you but did not try to look into your eyes. He wanted to be on the same level as you, make you feel safe, but also give you the space and freedom to move away from him should you want that. He’d never want to smother you. You nodded your head softly, and Bruce was quick to move to the kitchen. He knew your favourite by heart, and within a few minutes, had it prepared and on top of the coffee table in front of you. “There it is,” he mumbled, sitting back again. He'd wait for you to take the first step.

And when you did, all the air left his lungs.

You looked up, hair clinging to your sweaty forehead, silent tears streaming down your face. Most of the lights were off, the fire being the only thing illuminating your features. Your delicate lips, your nose, your beautiful eyes, and the black and purple bruise surrounding one of them. The look Bruce gave you, whatever it was, just made you sob uncontrollably once again. He didn’t know if whether to touch you, come closer or back off, but you answered that question yourself when you wrapped your arms around him, sobbing loudly.

“I’m sorry…” you sobbed, holding onto him tightly. Bruce reciprocated the hug, spreading his legs so you could move comfortably in between them. He adjusted you in his lap and kissed your forehead, just holding you tightly.

“No, none of that,” he shushed you, rocking both your bodies back and forth. “You don’t have to apologize. Never.”

“It wasn’t my fault… it wasn’t Bruce, you have to believe me…”

“I do. I believe you. It’s not your fault.”

He wanted to know what the hell that jerk had done to you. But he knew he couldn’t – you might close yourself off even more and refuse to talk if he pressed further.

So, he made sure you were comfortable. Bruce picked you up and moved to the couch, covering both of your bodies with a blanket, and pulling you closer. You took the hint immediately, snuggling up as close as possible to him, face pressed against his neck. You were hiding from him, but it felt nice to be in his arms.

The two of you stayed like that for a while. Bruce turned on the TV and allowed you to pick a channel (“Mhm” for yes and “Hm-hm” for no) until you were watching some silly rom-com that got you chuckling occasionally. Bruce was stroking your arms gently, bending down to press kisses against your forehead whenever he felt you might need them. He wasn’t paying any attention to the movie in front of him, instead coming up with a plan to throw that idiot in jail.

After you’d finished your drink, you gathered the courage to shift in his lap and completely face him. The bruise covering your eye was on full display, and Bruce could now make out the dried blood on your lip.

“He… he hurt me, Bruce…” you mumbled, reaching for his hand. Bruce squeezed yours tightly, a silent reminder that he was there and listening, and that you weren’t alone. “I’m so scared… He pushed me and kept hitting me, and I was begging him to stop but he wouldn’t… I didn’t know what else to do, so I just waited for him to fall asleep and ran… I had to – I had to wait. He wanted to sleep next to me. He kept apologizing and promising he’d be better, so I told him it was okay, and I went to bed with him…” Bruce wiped away your tears, nodding along. Outside, he was the picture of compassion and sympathy. Inside, a fire was burning, and he had to control every bone in his body not to get into his car and drive to your (hopefully ex by now) boyfriend’s house.

“You’re so brave,” he muttered, running his hand through your hair to soothe you. “I can’t believe how hard that must’ve been. But you’re so brave, and I’m so proud of you.”

“I thought he could change,” you started to sob, shaking your head. “He – he said he would. He said that he loved me a lot and he’d only hit me because he was jealous and afraid I would leave him. All because I told him I regretted not going to your party that Friday… I’m so sorry, Bruce.”

“No apologies needed. You’re not the one to blame here, okay? It’s him, and him alone.” His hands reached up to wipe your tears, and you flinched, the pressure of his fingers on your bruise sending painful memories through your head. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “Let’s take care of this, shall we?”

And he did.

Bruce took you to the master bathroom and sat you on top of the counter while he fetched his first-aid kit and a few ointments and creams. Your hands never left him as he worked – on his shirt, on his shoulders, on his hands. He cleaned the bruise with some water and pressed an ice pack against it to reduce the swelling. He told you a few anecdotes that had happened at Wayne Enterprises – angry costumers who tried to scam him, spilled coffees, and other amusing situations – to keep you grounded. His voice was like a lifeline to you.

After the swelling was taken care of, he softly applied ointment around your eye, being careful as to not put too much pressure on the pads of his fingers. He smeared some of it on the tip of your nose, earning a smile from you, before moving on to your lip and taking care of it too. Once all was done, he took a step back.

“Don’t look at me like that…” you mumbled, looking away.

“How?”

“Like that. Like I’m pitiable.”

“Hm.” Bruce tilted his head, pretending to think your statement over, “No. Not pitiable – that’s not who I’m looking at.”

You met his gaze again.

“I’m looking at the bravest woman I have probably ever known.” He crouched in front of you to stay at your eye level. Your hands did not leave his. “I’m looking at a remarkable woman, one with a big heart and a courageous spirit. You’ve endured all of this, and you’re still standing.”

“I’m a coward, Bruce,” you shook your head. “I let him to this to me. I let him break me. He’s right – who would ever love me after him? Who will ever love me like him? Maybe this was a mistake – I shouldn’t have left me. He’s the only one who will love me as I am.”

Bruce was quick to refute you.

“He’s wrong. I hope you know just how wrong he is. Nathan has spent all this time hurting you, lying to you.”

“He hasn’t – I’m broken, I’m damaged goods – who will ever want me?”

“You’re not damaged goods. You hear me? You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. You’re so kind and brave. What you endured is beyond me, and I know I will never understand it, but please believe me when I say that you’re not broken. You’re not damaged. And Nathan is not right. He’s lied to you.”

You looked at him and searched his eyes for any sign of falsehood, of deceit. All you found was kindness. And a warmer emotion you couldn’t pinpoint yet but wanted to figure out.

“You light up even the darkest of days,” Bruce mumbled, moving closer to you. His hand moved to cup your face and you instinctively pressed against it. You’d never felt safer than whenever you were in Bruce’s arms. “And I will do everything in my power to protect you. To keep you safe. The truth is…” He looked at the floor for a few seconds, before meeting your eyes again. “I love you.” You sucked in a breath. “I have, for a while. And I know that’s not what you want to hear right now, nor what you need to hear. And I’m not saying this to force you to be with me, especially after I took care of you. What I’m trying to say is, I don’t expect compensation. I don’t. I’m just saying this because – because I want you to know Nathan is wrong. You’re not damaged goods. And I love you. So much. Ever since I met you, my life has been happier, brighter. For years I’ve had a hole inside of me. Something empty, something that would eat me up from the inside. But then you came along. And you filled that void. And Nathan is so, so wrong, because how could someone not love you? How could someone not love you? How could he try and make you believe you’re not worthy of love, when that’s all you deserve?”

Tears were now streaming down both of your faces. Bruce had never been this vulnerable before, and to his surprise, it didn’t hurt nor scare him. It felt right, to trust you like this, to open up.

“You don’t need to say it back. Please don’t feel forced to say it back. I just wanted you to know that you’re worthy of love, and that I’ll be here to help you. Always. Even if all you feel towards me is friendship. I’ll protect you forever, I promise. He will never touch you again. No one will.”

When you did not reply, Bruce’s stomach fell. Had he screwed up? Had this been a terrible occasion to let you know of his feelings? It wasn’t ideal, no, but he had to tell you. Fuck. He had screwed up, didn’t he? And now he would lose you forever –

You interrupted his thoughts, hands on his jaw, pulling him closer. You blinked slowly – once, twice.

“I love you too,” you whispered, afraid that should you say it any louder, the fantasy might break. “I think I have for a while too. But I was so scared, Bruce… I have nothing to offer – I work a shitty job, and Nathan was paying for everything. My bills, my groceries, my clothes. I was so afraid of leaving. And then whenever I was with you, all I felt… Was happiness.” You chuckled through the tears. “You made me feel so happy, Bruce. And so safe. I always feel safe with you. But I was so scared… I’m so sorry…”

“No – shh. You don’t have to say you’re sorry,” Bruce shook his head, turning to place a kiss on your palm. “You’re so brave. Have I said this already? You’re so brave. I’m so sorry for everything you had to endure. I’m so sorry I didn’t do anything earlier. Shit, I’m an idiot. I should’ve reported him to the police as soon as I realised he was hurting you, but I was too scared he’d turn their heads and you’d get the short end of the stick.”

You smiled, something warm blooming in your chest. Bruce really did care for you, didn’t he?

“My plan was to report him, but I didn’t know if you’d lie to the police in order to cover everything up. I was afraid you would, and he would hurt you further. I’m sorry.”

You repeated his words back to him.

“You don’t have to be sorry. You always stood up for me whenever Nathan was around. You never let him talk to me the way he did whenever you were there. I just wish I hadn’t been so blind… I wish I’d trusted you the first time you told me he was no good… It’s just – we’d been together for so long, and I was so afraid to leave him. Nathan was all I knew. I didn’t want to be alone. I didn’t want to be unloved.”

“You’re not.” Bruce shook his head again. “Not unloved. I love you. You’re worthy of love, and happiness, and kindness, and good things.”

You nodded at him, a single tear running down your cheek. This one, however, was a tear of happiness. Your eyes flickered to his lips, and Bruce whispered.

“Can I kiss you?”

You chuckled.

Bruce raised an eyebrow.

“Is this funny?” he asked with a smile.

“You’re always asking for my permission. If you can touch me, if you can hold me.”

“I would never do anything you were uncomfortable with. Anything you didn’t want.”

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Please kiss me,” you mumbled, and no other words were needed, as Bruce closed the space between the two of you and kissed you on the lips.

It was the softest kiss you’d ever had in your entire life. There was no roughness, no edge, no anger, or rage – all the things Nathan kissed you with. Bruce, however, kissed you with love. His lips moved in tandem with yours, brushing and caressing and telling a story of tenderness and warmth. It felt nice. It felt perfect. It felt like you had been made to kiss him. You pulled him up by his shirt, and he did so, placing his hands on either side of the marble to trap you. Your legs spread instinctively to accommodate him, and his hands brushed against your cheeks and hair, fingers shyly exploring, afraid to break the moment he’d been waiting for for so long. It was only a shame it had to be in these circumstances.

When breathing became more important than kissing, you pulled away and Bruce pulled you against his chest. You breathed him in, the smell of cologne and bodywash and something so inherently Bruce calming you down almost instantly.

“Please don’t leave me,” You whispered, gripping his shirt as if it was the only thing keeping you alive right now. And maybe it was. You needed him.

“I wouldn’t even dream of it,” he whispered back, kissing your forehead. “And I’ll fix this. We will fix this.”

“What if he comes after me? He’s a very respected doctor, Bruce, I – I don’t want him to hurt you or anything.”

This caused Bruce to chuckle and pull you back to look at your face. Even with a terrible bruise covering your features, you were the most beautiful women he’d ever laid eyes on. Your courage and kindness only added to that charm. What a lucky guy he was.

“I don’t usually brag about my status, but I happen to be Bruce Wayne. I’ll take care of him. I promise. You won’t have to worry about anything.”

“Promise?”

“I promise. He won’t be able to hurt you anymore.”

You smiled. Bruce loved your smile.

“Do you want to get some sleep?” he asked, caressing the side of your cheek that wasn’t bruised. “I can sleep in one of the guest rooms. My bed is quite comfortable, you can stay there. Unless you want to stay somewhere else? I won’t force you to stay here.”

You shook your head.

“Here is fine. Although…”

“Yes? I’ll do anything.”

A blush crept up on your features.

“I… I don’t want to be alone tonight. I can’t.”

Bruce nodded.

“Do you want me to stay with you?”

“Please.”

Bruce gave you a soft look, a quiet question, asking for your permission. You answered it by lifting your arms and allowing him to pick you up and carry you to his bedroom. He laid you down on his bed, and you sighed at how comfortable it was. He smiled. You looked content as you adjusted, getting under the covers.

“Are you going to join me or just stare at me like that?”

“I’m just happy you’re here. Safe, with me,” he said. “I’m sorry the circumstances were… not the best.”

“I’m here now, though, aren’t I? And so are you.”

“I am. I’m not going anywhere.”

Bruce moved and laid down next to you, pulling the covers over himself. “Can I?” he asked. You nodded, and he wrapped an arm around you, bringing you close to his chest. Your bodies fit perfectly together, like two pieces of a puzzle that had come together at last. You entwined your legs with his and rested your head on his chest while his arms snaked around you, protecting you even in your sleep. The beat of his heart soothed you and lulled you to slumber in an instant.

Before you lost conscience, you felt Bruce’s lips move against your head, and made out a soft “I love you”.

It was the best you’d ever slept.

It was hard adjusting to live after that, but Bruce was there for you every step of the way.

You finally filed a report against Nathan. It was tough, and you cried and doubted yourself when you gave your statement, but with Bruce by your side, you felt like you could do it. He reminded you of how brave you really were, and how much you could accomplish – with him or without him. But you liked his company anyway.

Thanks to Bruce’s resources, an investigation was conducted. You’d kept records of nearly every time the two of you fought in your diary, and even photographed every bruise he’d given you. He did not know of this, of course. You did it whenever he was asleep, a small voice in your head telling you it’d be useful to bring him down.

Apparently that little voice had been right, and your pictures were essential for the investigation.

Your friends testified in your favour, and you had cried when they’d hugged you after, congratulating you on your bravery, and lamenting what you’d gone through. You’d missed them so much.

All seemed like it was going in the right direction.

Your old apartment had been cleared, and although you’d gotten a place of your own (Bruce told you he did not want you to feel like you had to move in with him simply because he was helping you out and you two were in the beginning of a relationship), you found yourself spending more time at Bruce’s manor than your own house, and you quickly sold it in order to move in with him.

Everything was going perfectly.

You felt happy – more than ever – going about your daily job, meeting with friends for coffee and lunch and walks on the park without being berated or yelled at. Bruce supported you on every endeavour you went on, encouraging you to spend time with your friends and go out with them, instead of keeping you home all to himself like Nathan did.

In fact, Bruce was the perfect boyfriend. He’d bring you breakfast in bed sometimes, offer you rides to your job, bring you flowers when he could tell you’d had a hard day, and even when he had to cancel date nights or other plans you two had made because of some last minute emergency at Wayne Enterprises, he made it up to you later, with lots of love and reassurance, perhaps a bouquet of flowers and a ticket to whatever event you’d been interested in.

Bruce reminded you of what love felt like. True love. He never raised his voice at you, opting to voice out his concerns in a calming manner. He never made you feel like you weren’t worthy of him – quite the contrary. Every single day, he thanked you for choosing him, letting you know just how lucky he was to have you in his life.

Alfred liked you too – very much. He adopted you as his family rather quickly, teaching you how to make your favourite drinks (even better than you used to do them), and spending time with you whenever Bruce wasn’t home, and you felt particularly lonely. He liked having you around. In his opinion, “Master Wayne was in need of a woman’s touch in his house and his life”. You couldn’t agree more and loved him immensely.

There was only one time you crossed paths with Nathan after you’d left him that night.

The Gotham Police had gathered enough information and evidence to build a case against him, and you’d been called to testify. You weren’t sure you wanted to do it – you were still scared of whatever he could do to you.

That day, Bruce sat you down on his lap, kissed your forehead and promised Nathan wouldn’t even be able to touch you, and that he and your friends would be there.

It was all the reassurance you needed, and although you choked back a sob once or twice once your gaze met his, your testimony was clear and strong, and it was enough for the trial to be wrapped up in around two days (and perhaps Bruce had pulled a few strings to get it over it so quickly, but you didn’t need to know that, now did you?)

As he was being handcuffed, Nathan turned to you, face twisted in agony.

“Babe – “ he yelled, doing his best to free himself from the police officers’ grips. “I’m so sorry – tell them this is just a misunderstanding! Tell them! I love you so much, fuck, don’t let them do this to me!”

When it was obvious you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction of an answer, he furrowed his eyebrows.

“You slut! You stupid bitch! I bet you’re fucking him, aren’t you? You’re fucking the rich bastard, aren’t you? I knew it! You’re a slut – you’re disgusting! No one will ever love you as I loved you, you’re a slut now, and you’ll be a slut fore – “

Bruce’s fist collided with Nathan’s face, promptly shutting him the fuck up. He adjusted his cuffs and his blazer and offered you a doe-eyed look.

“I didn’t do anything. I don’t know what you’re talking about. Officers, I’ll be sure to guarantee you all a very nice Christmas bonus if you keep this little incident in between us.”

The excited nods from the officers around him were enough of an answer for him to walk away unscathed. That, and your giggles.

“Couldn’t stand hearing him go on and on about you like that,” he’d muttered to you lately as you cuddled up together on the couch and watched a movie.

That was the last you saw and heard of Nathan. You’d heard Bruce tell Alfred that he was going to be locked up for eternity one day, and while it was suspicious (surely it wouldn’t warrant him a life sentence, would it?), the thought of Bruce using his influence to put your abusive ex-boyfriend behind bars forever made you smile.

Right now, you were sitting on top of a plaid picnic blanket in the gardens of Wayne Manor. On your right hand was a book, on your left hand the chocolate brown curls of your boyfriend, whose head was resting on top of your lap.

You had never felt so at peace with yourself.

Your physical scars had faded, bruises had healed, leaving your soft skin as it once was, but you were sure the emotional ones would remain. Luckily, you had the best boyfriend in the world to aid you in every step of the way.

His voice pulled you from your thoughts.

“You’re beautiful,” he mumbled, eyes closed. This was one of his favourite things to do – lay on your lap after a hard week and relax under the sun. It was one of your favourites as well. You got to spend time with the person you loved the most and remind yourself that even though your life was so dark once, it could get better. It was getting better.

“You’re not so bad yourself, handsome.”

“Not so bad?”

“Fine. You’re the most handsome man I have ever seen in my entire life.”

“Hmm. That’s a lot of responsibility.” He raised an eyebrow.

“I think you’ll manage.”

Bruce chuckled and lifted his head up ever so slightly. You rolled your eyes with a smile. How needy. Bending down, you met him halfway, kissing him tenderly. His tongue swept over your lower lip, and you sighed contentedly before he pulled away and closed his eyes.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Bruce. So much.”

Yes.

Everything was going to be better.

A/N: And that's it! Oh my god what a rollercoaster hahaha! I hope you guys enjoyed this! I understand all abusive relationships are different - a lot of this came from my own experience.

I also hope the ending, the little epilogue wasn't too rushed! I wanted it to be a nice conclusion, not dwelling too much on the past, but rather focusing on the hope of the future.

Alright, this is all! I think I'll take a break from Bruce fics for a while, hahaha. Once again, I really do hope you all enjoyed this.

Have a wonderful day ahead! <3

#bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x y/n #bruce wayne x you #bale!bruce wayne #bale!batman x reader #bale!batman #bale!bruce wayne x reader #the dark knight #the dark knight trilogy #nolanverse #the dark knight fanfiction #the dark knight fanfic #bruce wayne fanfiction #bruce wayne x fem!reader

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virgincels · 4 months

Text

BELL JARS AND BUTTERFLIES !

ft. infinite darkness!leon s. kennedy x fem!reader

tags. emotional abuse, mom-son incest, power dynamics, sub leon, some references to past physical abuse not explicit tho, few drug references, p in v

note. hai :3 put id leon cuz that’s who i saw but!!! u can think ab whoever u want :3 thank u to @devilmayfuck for proofreading oh my gosh :3 still ignore mistakes bc I tend to make em while formatting! feedback n rbs so appreciated <3

tumblr removes fics that, for example, use tw non-con and any nsfw tags in general from the tags. for this reason, as i’d like my fic to appear in the tags, please understand that this fic contains dark content under the cut. reading this comes at your own risk.

It’s no surprise that Leon breached contract and put his dick in his shrink. He tends to do these things around women that sound like school teachers. To be fair, the contract wasn’t his to breach, she’s totally taking advantage of his vulnerability or whatever.

“You still live with your mother, Leon?” It’s a statement, not a judgement, he takes offence either way.

“She’s sick,” Leon says, and it’s a bold-faced lie, they both know that she, his shrink, has his file. That you’re well and alive. He doesn’t like to talk about you to her. Mainly because what you have done to him is private, no one else needs to know, it’s the only thing no one knows about him— The only thing that’s not written across his dossier in bright red is that he and mommy have a less than sound relationship. It’s the only thing that is his.

“Sick?” She’s not much older than you, and she’s not as beautiful as you.

“Sick,” He confirms, and it’s not far from the truth. Physically sick, nah, but Mommy might be, she certainly is, the biggest narcissist Leon has encountered in all twenty-eight years of his shitty life, and that says something. ‘Cause Leon works with the US government. He’s owned by them, actually, to say he’s working would be a lie— He’s been owned all his life, first by mommy, then by work, and Leon has started to think it’s always going to be this way. That it’s okay because he doesn’t have to dissect, ache and hurt like he does when he’s thinking.

When she tries to probe further, as it is her job, her duty, in the same way it is Leon’s duty to save the world on any old Monday, he leaves. The apartment is his by lease, but Leon has never stayed long enough to call it a home, he’s never considered it anything more than where you are.

His fist knocks against the lacquered wood, and you answer a minute or so later. It doesn’t suit you. Trying to fit in with all the D.C career women, prim and polished and intelligent, that’s just not you. At your core, mommy is trailer trash through and through. Your smile is artificial, and your nightgown is too, it’s ill-fitting, the only thing you’ve worn well is his father’s anger. Leon thinks that if he wasn’t so full of the milk of compassion, whatever it is Lady Macbeth said, he would help you out. Show you what you’re truly worth. Unfortunately, all Leon would like, all he has ever wanted, is his mommy.

“Leon,” Your concern comes sparingly, so he takes what he can, head dropping to your shoulder. He melts. You’re about as friendly as a loaded gun, but Leon’s got suicidal tendencies and all that jazz. “Baby, what happened? You look so thin, my goodness, you must weigh less than me.” It’s true, looks like he weighs seventy pounds soaking wet. Skin stretched thin over his bones. Teetering from left to right on ankles so thin they’re ready to snap. “What’s this? Looks expensive.” Your eyes sparkle as you take in his appearance, tracing the fabric of his Armani tie with tenderness you have never given to him.

“Ma,” Leon mumbles into your neck, he stumbles past the threshold and the door clicks shut behind him. All he wants is a kiss or two.

“Leon,” You say his name the way you did before, “That’s not my name, darling, you used to be such a good boy.”

“Mommy,” He corrects himself, it’s always been mommy and no one else, “I’m sorry for— I’m sorry for leaving.”

“It’s not your fault, baby,” Whether he comes or goes, you don’t care, your flippant nature drives him insane. “You’re too much like your father.”

He is not. If Leon was anything like that man, more scum than blood and flesh and bones, your face would be in the concrete. But Leon is your son, and he is who you’ve made him to be. Cowardly. “I’m sorry,” The words dry up in his mouth when your nails rake down his clothed chest, a soft whine slips from the base of his throat, like he’s a dog. Then you scratch behind his ear, and he really is a dog, tail between his legs and everything.

“Oh, my poor baby,” Mommy says, and you pout at him— Did you get your lips done? The money wired over to your account is for necessities. He’s a civil servant, there's nothing classy about that. You piss him off. You do. But you’re his mommy, and he loves you.

The bed smells like you, it was his once, but you take over every aspect of his life. Eat away at any part of him that isn’t appropriate by your terms, a vetting process harsher than the DSO’s. Now Leon’s here, faced with the same hole he crawled out of. The same hole he wishes to crawl back inside. It was safe in there. Warm and quiet. Darkness cradling him like you never have. The one place in which he cannot move, speak or be. The closet he can get to that is stuffing his dick inside.

“Outside clothes on my bed,” You tut, lifting back the covers so you can undress him, “What’s this?” In your hand is an orange tube that you’ve swiped from his back pocket. Leon blinks as you squint at the label. “Oh, darling, you don’t need these, let mommy keep them safe, alright?” Leon nods. That was a new prescription, paroextine, fluoxetine made him a smidge less suicidal, meaning instead of wanting to drive his car off the side of a bridge anytime he got in, he simply drove without a seatbelt in hopes of being crushed to death by a thirty-two tonne truck. Natural selection or whatever. Side effects were shakes, to the point where Sherry was worried he went and got himself put down in the Guinness World Records Book as the youngest recorded case of Parkinson’s disease.

“I need those, ma,” His voice breaks when you tuck them into your bedside cabinet, facing him with your beautiful, cruel smile.

“You don’t need them, Leon,” You gesture for him to come closer, he does, presses his face into your tits, and lets you tell him what’s right and wrong. When it’s coming from you it will always be wrong, but he’ll listen anyway. “It’s not real, baby, you know that, don’t you? I thought you were smarter than this— Shouldn’t be wasting all your money on therapy of all things, I mean, you go to talk for an hour and that supposedly makes everything better?”

“Mm,” Leon makes a noise that is both a grunt and a hum. Please, for the love of god, shut up and get him off— Do something. Hold him. Comfort him. You’re his mother.

“Then they want you to take all these pills-“

“They’re meds, ma,” He corrects for the sake of his— Well, for the sake of nothing at all. Not his ego, not his dignity, they have been depleted completely.

“Meds, huh? You can get addicted fast, and then next minute you know, darling, you won’t be able to function without them- You’ll be like a zombie.” You kiss the top of his head, cooing softly when he raises his head to look up at you like the sad, wet dog he is.

“It’s not crack, ma.”

I know you wish it was.

For an indolent lady who spent half her time doped up on what could only be described as sludge, putting morphine in his milk bottle, you do talk a lot of shit.

“Hah,” Your face changes, you laugh anyway, “You’re so funny, Leon.” You tell him, and he thinks, obsessively, that he would do anything to hear that laugh again.

“Thanks, ma,” Leon’s unrest is mollified by the featherlight touch of your hand on his bare chest, your nail drags down his sternum, as if you’re splitting him in half. It digs into the toughness of his abdomen, he squirms, “That feels weird,” He mumbles, unable to voice out his dislike properly.

“Leon,” You sigh heavily, heavier than his cock in his briefs, “You don’t feel anything, my sweet thing, you’re all empty inside.” He’s a bell jar waiting for its butterfly.

“My poor baby, look at you, can’t do anything without mommy.” Without mommy Leon doesn’t know how to be a real person.

“Can’t eat,” You trace his ribs, sticking out in odd angles through a yellowed layer of skin, “Can’t sleep,” The hollows of his face, his sunken eyes, they tell you everything, “Can’t even breathe without me, can you Leon?” Without mommy he has to be kicked in the gut so his lungs remember what it’s like to breathe. He has to constantly be on the verge of death to know what it’s like to live. “It’s so tiring, darling, I’m too old to be taking care of you.”

“Mommy,” Leon pleads, helplessly, the only manner in which he can behave is helpless.

“Baby,” You toy with his waistband, “You need mommy to help you feel, don’t you?” Feeling should be innate to a human being, shouldn’t it? “Even when you were a baby, Leon, you only cried when mommy did, I used to think it was sweet, but now, darling, it’s gotten a little old.”

Leon whines softly, animal-like, caught by the ankle like a hunted stag, “I’m sorry, mommy— I can’t help it.”

“Oh, it can’t be helped, Leon,” Mommy says impassively, because it is such a chore to jerk off your mentally stunted almost thirty-year-old son. It’s not his fault. He didn’t choose to be this sex-mongering freak that needs to be punished to get off, to not feel ill— To be alive. You started it, and Leon’s sure you’ll end it. Brought him into this world, and you’ll take him right back out of it. At the drop of a hat too.

Your nail, red and glossy and a tad too sharp, presses into his leaking slit. One hand curled around his jaw, the other down his pants. You fish his cock from his boxers, “Mommy was waiting for you,” That makes his chest ache, knowing that he had crossed your mind even once for just a split second, god, he could die a happy man, “Every time you leave I get so worried, I start thinking, well, gosh, how is my Leon doing without his mommy?”

Bad. He does bad in general. Around you it’s bad. He is entirely bad at all times, at every minute, every passing second. With you it’s less bad.

“I just miss you,” Leon says, helplessly beyond help.

“All the time?”

“All the time,” He agrees.

“Oh, baby,” You coo.

“Do you… Did you miss me?” He asks, breathless, twisting in your grip like he’s fitting. Your touch is a million pinpricks on exposed nerves. There's no answer, you just stroke his dick instead, and his moan shatters like an ice fractal. Leon wants to ask and beg and demand— He turns stupid too quick when you cup his balls, squeeze ‘em hard.

“So noisy,” Mommy spits on her palm, real classy, a bit of your whore heritage comes out— See that, it’s a real Kennedy move, dad would be proud. Then you get his cock nice and wet, pumping his shaft as he leaks through the gaps in your fingers. “My sweet boy, you used to be so cute. I miss when you were blonde— It happened to your dad too, it’s a shame.”

“Sorry,” Leon says as if it is his fault natural progression took place, his hips bucking upwards into your fist, schlick, schlick, schlick.

“Well, there’s no need to be sorry about it, you can’t do anything about it, Leon,” Well, at least you’re sane enough to know that, “You know what you can do, darling?”

He shakes his head, abs contracting, balls tightening, ready to blow—

“Clean up before you come to see me,” Your hand is gone, his dick twitches like there’s a parasite inside of it waiting to burst out, “I’m not stupid, Leon,” Your palm sits on his cheek, looking at his stubble with distaste, “And you should shave, look too much like your dad otherwise.”

The scruff is purely out of neglect for his appearance. Leon has never put much thought into it, no one’s ever complained, he’s fuckable. Very fuckable. So fuckable— It’s just you. Mommy says and Leon scrambles to do.

“Off you go then,” You shoo him away, force him to pick his discarded clothes off the floor, he tosses them in the laundry basket. His shrink left the print of her brown foundation on his collar— That’s what you meant by clean up.

In the bathroom cabinet he finds a packaged razor covered in a film of dust. His hand is shaking, nicks his chin once, the sting is not half as bad as your touch. When Leon returns, the nightgown is off, folded neatly on the side, he almost trips over getting to you.

“Mommy,” Leon mumbles around a mouthful of tit, like a proper stupid baby, dumbed-down to fit mommy’s taste.

“I know, baby,” You kiss the crown of his head, stroking over until your fingers toy with the hair at the nape of his neck, “Oh, there is just nothing inside of you but that big ol’ heart, huh?” It’s true. He’s empty but his heart. A heart that turns on its hind legs, rolling over onto its back for mommy and mommy only.

Leon hums, suckling on your nipple like he’s going to get milk out of it. “Can I—“ Leon lifts his head, ducks back down to avoid your scathing gaze.

“Can you what, baby?” You thumb his bottom lip, nail grazing his teeth.

“I want to fuck you,” He says, because he would like to fuck you.

“That’s not how you talk to mommy,” You go to push him off, but Leon shakes his head, and he is stronger— He is, he pins you down, presses his face into your neck. An apology that you accept.

“I’m sorry, mommy,” He’s trembling, “I’m sorry… I’m sorry, didn’t mean to talk like that— I’m sorry, please, can we-“

“Fine,” You cut in, and he knows that mommy is a slut. More so than him. That you want it just as bad, you just like playing games.

Leon’s lips part when the tip of his fat cock sinks into your heat. He wishes that your hole would gape like the maw of a beast and swallow him up David Cronenberg style. Wouldn’t that be so fun?

There’s a falter in your breath when he bottoms out with a squelch. You try to be this way, so unaffected, but Leon knows that you’re a glutton for cock. Not his alone, which crushes him, any old dick would do for his mom. It’s how she got by way back when.

“I love you,” Leon moans into your mouth when let him kiss you for the first time tonight, he savours it, lets the taste linger, “I love you, mommy.”

You loop your arms around his neck, pull him closer so his cock is deeper, hitting your cervix with the fat head. The most he can do in your grip is move his hips back and forth shallowly, never allowing more than an inch out of your sweet cunt. It’s suffocating and yet he loves it. Your love is a cage. Contains him. Leon licks the droplet of salty sweat that trickles down between your tits, he spurs his hips forward, fucks you with all that he’s got— This is all he’s good for, just good to give you your fill of dick. That’s why you had a son.

“You can do it better than that, Leon,” You’re panting, eyes glassy as you smile your gorgeous smile at him, “I know you can.”

With a grunt, he fucks you with fervour, balls slapping against your ass, all the nasty shit you love. His dick jumps inside of you, and you gasp, biting down on your tongue as he slams into you once, twice, thrice— Oh, it's so over. Leon can’t help it. Mommy’s pussy is so warm, so hot and wet and tight. Your disappointment is tangible. No need to hide it.

We can work on that, his shrink usually says to mask her annoyance at his premature ejaculation.

Mommy just shakes her head while frowning.

“I’m sorry, mommy,” Leon’s body jolts, hips still moving despite the oversensitivity, his cum makes your cunt sloppier. He fucks it back into you like the filthy boy— man he is, so set on making you come undone that it comes across as a little freakish. Like he’s in a trance or some shit. “I’m so- I’m so sorry, mommy— Didn’t mean to— Fuck, I’m sorry, sorry—“

“Leon, stop that,” You place a hand on his chest. He stops. Leon is good at that. Taking instruction no matter how life-threatening, no matter how embarrassing, he’ll do it to be worth something.

“I’m so sorry,” He croaks, truly humiliated by his dick’s lack of selflessness. Shit just cums without Leon telling it to do so.

Mommy pats his head, “It’s okay, baby, you’re only a stupid little boy, aren’t you?”

Leon nods. Mhm. Mhm. Yup. Yup. That he is. Mommy’s stupidly depraved little boy. Just makes sense.

God, yes. “Yes, mommy,” Leon finds himself face to face with your cunt. One that popped him out. A well-beaten yet pretty pussy, because all of you, to Leon, is beautiful no matter how worn out. He parts your cushioned lips, teeth tugging at your labia as he dribbles his spit over your fat pussy. His cum sticks to your inner-thighs, a shiny trail that dries up before he can lick it up and spit it back onto your puffy cunt.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling at his hair till he’s sure the roots have weakened and now he’s even more prone to male pattern baldness than he was before. Leon focuses his attention on your clit, it’s small and fleshy on the tip of his tongue, the more he sucks the more you drip drop and fill his mouth with your slick. Crazy that is. The clit. It’s just a gift that keeps on giving. And it's good both ways. Leon gets to quell that urge, the sucking on a tit urge, and mommy cums so hard her thighs snaps shut around his head. Your back bows off the bed, and god dammit is he proud.

With the lower half of his face covered in your wetness, Leon re-emerges to kiss you. “That’s enough, darling,” You tell him after the fifth and final kiss. He holds onto it. He just wants you, his mommy. Is it so bad to want?

“I love you, mommy,” Leon says for what might be the third or hundredth time of the night.

“I know, darling,” Your nose bumps his, “I did miss you, Leon, if I’m being honest.”

“Really, mommy?” His heart skips a beat or two. God, it might’ve fucking stopped. Then he’d just be a doll of some sort. The rarest collectors doll that mommy could put in a glass case and show off and dust off— Well, to think she’d care enough to dust him off, Leon has a bit of an overactive imagination.

“Really, darling.” Mommy nods, and he’ll take it. He’ll take it and treasure it.

#leon s kennedy x you #leon s kennedy angst #leon s kennedy smut #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy angst #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x reader #resident evil x reader #resident evil smut #resident evil angst

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ghostiexe · 5 months

Text

Teacher!Wilbur x Teacher!Reader Part 2

hello friends & merry christmas to those who celebrate! my gift is chapter two of this haha. i might start doing a taglist, so please let me know if you want added!! cw: lots of awkward conversation (not uncomfortable topics wilbur is just shy), wilbur spills boiling hot coffee on his hand, i think that's it!

words: 3,831

also, welcome tommy to the stage everybody :)

part one here

On Monday, you find yourself waking up to the realization that your alarm never went off. A panicked sound slips past your lips, and you practically throw yourself out of bed.

Okay, yes, a bit dramatic. However, you really don’t want to have to rush to get ready. You ended up having to go home before you were able to finish decorating your room, so you had been hoping to get to the school as early as possible and get it done.

You start to root through all your clothes, still mildly panicked. You finally find something suitable to wear, shoving it on and glancing yourself up and down in your full length mirror on your closet door. You sigh softly and nod at yourself, a weak attempt to hype yourself up. Then you drag yourself to the bathroom and start to brush your teeth, staring at yourself blankly in the mirror before you lean down, spit out the toothpaste, and hurry to finish the rest of your routine.

On your way out the front door several minutes later, you adjust your shoulder bag and sigh as you check the time on your phone. You don’t live too far away from the school, only a couple blocks, so you opt to walk. You don’t have a car, anyway– it had broken months ago, and you didn’t have the energy or money to get it looked at.

So, walking it is.

It only takes you about five minutes to get to the school, and when you arrive, you rush through the building to your room, shivering slightly from the walk. The school was mostly barren outside of a couple kids who were waiting outside and a few teachers you passed, though you didn’t know them. As you finally make it to your room, you reach for the door until you notice the sound of arguing a couple doors down.

You probably shouldnt pry, but your curiosity gets the better of you and you slip down to the door, peeking inside to discover Wilbur bickering with some tall blonde kid with curly hair and bright blue eyes. Wilbur is standing with his back turned to the door, trying to hang up a map, while the (presumably) teen boy sits on his dark oak desk and chastises Wilbur on his “horrible placement skills”. You clear your throat and they both turn their attention to you.

The blonde kid just stares at you, but Wilbur smiles. “Oh, hello!” He greets you. You nod, eyes slightly furrowed as you take in his outfit. It’s quite old looking, but it goes perfectly well with his large glasses.

“You look like you came straight out of the ‘90s.” You say instead of greeting him back, leaning on his doorframe. His face goes a bit pink and the blonde kid laughs loudly.

“That’s what I told him!” He says gleefully, like he’s just won an argument. Maybe he has.

Wilbur groans. “Tommy, go find your classes or something.” He grumbles, and you feel a flicker of confusion at the way the two of them interact. “Uh, and who is this, again, Wilbur?” You ask, pushing yourself upright instead of leaning and wandering further into his room. It’s a bit dark, the overhead lights are turned off. Instead, the room is lit by several lamps. You quite like it.

“Oh.” Wilbur says, gesturing to the blonde kid. “This is my brother, Tommy. He’s 17, I’m technically his legal guardian.” He says, and you nod, not pressing for further information. Tommy chimes in. “I’m actually a very strong man.” He informs you.

“Oh, I don’t doubt it.” You say with a laugh, starting to take in the rest of Wilbur’s classroom. “It looks nice in here, you’ve done a nice job.” You say, looking over at him. A playful grin spreads across your face. “Mr. Soot.” You add. Wilbur smiles bashfully.

“Thank you. Tommy hates it.” He says, running a hand through his brown curls. You laugh.

“Well, I don’t. It’s very cozy.” You say. Tommy groans. “Ugh, who cares about cozy? It needs some spice. Some danger.” Tommy insists, hopping off of Wilbur’s desk and sauntering towards the door. He salutes lazily to the two of you. “Anyway, have fun talking about boring teacher stuff, I’m going to go see if they have breakfast yet.” He says, then promptly walks away, sneakers squeaking as he goes. You and WIlbur both wince at the noise.

“He does it just to annoy me.” Wilbur informs you as the two of you both stare at where he just walked away. Wilbur’s gaze flickers over to you, and you nod.

“Little brothers.” You say, looking over and meeting his gaze. Wilbur cracks a small smile.

“Little brothers.” He agrees.

–

Four short (or painfully long, you can’t decide) hours later, it’s finally lunch break, and you immediately slump down onto your desk, groaning as you rest your head against it. Your kids were pretty good, and it was pretty relaxed since it was only the first day, but you’ve already got an itch on which kids will be causing trouble.

Tommy had ended up in your second period, and to your pleasant surprise, he was actually very enthusiastic about the topics you discussed teaching that year when you went through the class modules and he had very smugly told you to watch out for when he came back for your creative writing class later today.

You actually quite like Tommy, and his friends. He told you he’s friends with everybody, but you can tell by the way that most kids avoid him that he was just saying that. He does have these two kids that he was talking to, though, a short brown-haired boy and a really (ridiculously) tall boy with a mask. You don’t remember most of the names of the kids in your class, which– yeah, you should probably work on that– but Tommy’s group seemed mostly pleasant, if a bit chaotic.

Back to the present, you lift your head off of your desk and sigh as you reach for your tupperware with your lunch in it, dragging yourself to the teacher’s lounge to heat up your leftovers from dinner last night. When you get there, you see Wilbur hovering awkwardly by the microwave, posture a bit hunched as a small group of random teachers talk on the other side of the room.

You walk up to Wilbur and almost tap on his shoulder, but you refrain. You don’t know much about him, after all, he might not be okay with casual touch. Instead, you stand next to him.

“Hey.” You greet him, and he startles slightly, then his body languish shifts into something softer and less tense when he sees you. He offers you a stilted smile.

“Oh, hello.” He says, reaching to open the microwave when it beeps. “How has your first day been so far?” He asks, pulling his food out and pushing his glasses up with his opposite hand. You hum as you think of how to word your answer.

“Good, but exhausting.” You say after a moment, and he laughs softly, looking down at his food.

“That’s fair. At least you’ve got the upperclassman, yeah?” He asks, stepping away from the microwave and gesturing for you to go ahead. You pop your food in and start it, then turn back to him, clearing your throat.

“You’re right. Uh, how’s your day going?” You ask, and he cringes.

“Uhh, I think okay? The kids certainly haven’t forgotten that I’m the boring teacher, though. Um, hopefully I’ll be able to get them interested, though.” He says, tapping his fingers against his food container. Your eyes drift down to them and you notice how calloused they are, but don’t mention it.

“I’ll manifest it for you.” You say, smiling a little bit, and he laughs a bit breathlessly.

“Thank you, I appreciate it.” He says, shaking his head and shuffling awkwardly.

The microwave beeps and you pull your food out, looking up at Wilbur, who’s staring down at his shoes.

“...Do you want to eat with me?” You ask, breaking the awkward silence. “Okay.” He agrees, looking back at you, then glancing around the teacher’s lounge. “Um, we can eat in my room.” He decides, then his gaze flickers back to you. “If that’s okay.”

You nod, cracking a smile. “That sounds nice. Thank you.” You tell him, holding your food close to your chest. He smiles back, this time a little less awkwardly, and nods.

“Okay, then. Um, it should be pretty quiet there. The only kid that really drops by is one of my brother’s friends, but I don’t know if he’ll be doing that a bunch this year.” He explains, and the two of you start the walk to his classroom, holding your respective tupperware containers.

“Oh? The tall one with the mask, or the really short one? Or are there some other secret friends hiding around the school somewhere?” You ask, since it’s wholly possible that Tommy has more than just two friends.

“Ah, the tall one.” Wilbur tells you, unlocking his door and holding it open for you. “Thank you.” You say, stepping inside and then letting him usher you over to his desk. He pulls over a comfy looking chair for you and gestures for you to sit, pulling over his own spinny chair to face you.

The two of you sit, and you tap your fingers awkwardly on the lid of your container. He looks at you, then down to your hands, then he clears his throat and starts to tap his blunt nails against his desk.

“Well.” He says, like he has something to say, but he doesn’t add anything after that, looking up to stare at you blankly.

You blink slowly. “Well…” You agree, sitting back in the chair and crossing your legs.

Wilbur takes the lid off his food and starts to poke at it with a black plastic fork. You set your food down in your lap.

“The Front Bottoms.” You say, trying to break the silence. He looks up at you, looking mildly bewildered, then huffs out a breathless laugh.

“What?” He asks, a bit of the tension melting away. You laugh too.

“Sorry. I just meant… Um, you like The Front Bottoms. What else do you listen to?” You ask, and he smiles shyly, looking down at his food.

“Oh, well, I like a little bit of everything.” He says, sounding a bit bashful.

“Come on, lay it on me.” You say, waving your hand as if to brush off his shyness. “Okay…” He says slowly, clearly trying to think. “Well… My favorite band is called Los Campesinos!, they’re a seven piece Welsh band.” He explains, pushing his glasses up with one finger. You think it’s adorable. “But I also like Crywank, Arctic Monkeys, um… The Strokes, american poetry club, Modern Baseball…” He cuts himself off. “Sorry, I’m talking a lot.” He apologizes.

“No, no, it’s okay! I asked, after all.” You reassure him, reaching over to pat his hand before pulling away and starting to poke at your food with your fork. “I know a couple of those bands, we have similar music tastes.” You say, lifting your fork and covering your mouth with your hand as you chew.

He smiles at that. “Oh, yay!” He says, clapping his hands lightly. You swallow and smile. “What music do you listen to?” He asks, looking genuinely intrigued. You think for a moment, genuinely drawing a blank.

“Oh, well, um…” You say, furrowing your eyebrows. He takes a bite of his food. “I- Uh, sorry, I’m not good on the spot.” You apologize, and he shakes his head.

“No, it’s okay. We can talk about music another time.” He says, leaning back in his chair. “You’re right.” You agree, setting your food down again in your lap. “By the way, what’s with the outfit?” You ask, immediately regretting the way you worded it when he frowns. “I love it! Seriously.” You add hurriedly, reaching over and patting his knee. “Just curious.”

He shifts slightly when you pat his knee and he crosses his legs, scratching his jaw as he thinks. “Uh, well… I’m not sure, I just like how it looks.” He says, gesturing to his outfit. “It reminds me of my favorite teacher from when I was in middle school. He was quite old, honestly, but he’s sort of my inspiration for becoming a teacher.” Wilbur explains, a light blush on his face. The soft ‘awww’ slips past your lips before you can stop yourself. “That’s… actually really sweet.” You say, smiling at him gently. “I kinda just assumed you were into the vintage fashion scene.” You say with a soft giggle.

“Well,” he says with a short laugh, “that’s also true. I mean, the glasses should make that obvious.” He says, gesturing to his face.

“Well, it suits you!” You say, smiling. “Seriously, I think you look very handsome.” You tell him, taking another few bites of your food before closing the tupperware and wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. He smiles. “Thank you. I’m glad you like it, usually the students just make fun of me and call me old.” He says with a soft laugh. “Well, clearly they have no culture.” You joke, gaze wandering from him to the bookshelf in the corner of his room. “Oh, do you mind if I take a look?” You ask, pointing at it.

“No, of course I don’t mind.” He says, putting his hands on his knees and standing up. You follow the action, walking with him to the back of the room. “This side is all textbooks,” he explains, gesturing to the right side, “but the other is all books I’ve brought from home for students to borrow.” He says. You nod and trace your finger over the spines of some of the books, glancing across them.

“I should do that, too.” You say, tilting your head to the side to read some of the titles. He hums.

“Yeah, you are the English teacher after all. Don’t want to get caught lacking.” He says, and you roll your eyes fondly.

After a few moments of comfortable silence, he speaks again. “You look nice, too, by the way.” He says.

You’re confused for a moment. “Huh?” His face goes a bit pink. “You said I look handsome. Um, you look great too. Your style suits you well.” He explains, and it’s suddenly your turn to blush. “Thank you.” You say bashfully, brushing a bit of hair out of your face. “Yeah, of course.” He tells you, reaching to pull a book out of the shelf, but suddenly the bell is ringing. You jump slightly and huff, placing a hand on your chest as your heart races.

“Fuck, I need to get used to the bell.” You complain under your breath, standing up straight. “Thanks for letting me eat with you, Wilbur, I seriously appreciate it.” You tell him. He nods. “No problem. I wouldn’t mind making it a habit.” He says, smiling at you. “Let me walk you to your classroom.” He tells you.

“And I wouldn’t mind that either.” You agree. “It’s only a few doors down.” You remind him. A couple kids start filing into his class.

“I know.” He says. “Please?” He gives you his best puppydog eyes and you roll your eyes.

“Okay, fine.” You relent, and he beams.

The two of you walk out of his room and he walks on the left side of you as you make your way down the hallway. Once you make it to your door, he opens it for you and you shoot him a grateful smile.

“Why, thank you, Mr. Soot.” You say, bowing clumsily at him. He giggles.

“Yeah, yeah. See you later.” He says.

“See you later.” You agree, nodding and stepping into your class. You sigh as you walk over to your desk, watching the student pile inside.

Time for your first creative writing class of the semester.

–

By the end of the day, you’re absolutely exhausted, and you feel like a mess. You probably look the part, too, seeing as Tommy gives you a weird look when he walks past you later in the hallway on your way to the teacher’s lounge on your prep period. You’ve been in there for probably twenty minutes now, just holding a mug of herbal tea and staring blankly at the floor. The ceramic mug is hot under your hands, a pleasant burn on the pads of your fingers as you space out.

All in all, not an awful first day, just… wow, you need to decompress. You’re so thankful that you didn’t assign anything for the first day, God knows you can’t grade right now. You’re mostly alone there until about fifteen minutes until school ends, when Wilbur happens to walk in, bee-lining toward the coffee machine. His sudden entrance makes you snap out of it, and you look up at him, walking as he sighs and waits for the coffee, having not yet noticed you.

After a minute of watching him in silence, he finally turns, holding his mug of coffee in his hands. Apparently he was not at all expecting anyone else to be in here, because he jolts slightly and a bit of coffee splashes out and all over his hand. He hisses in pain and sets the mug down, and you stand up.

“Oh, shit.” You say, setting down your own mug and walking over to him, lifting his hand and examining it. You drag him over to the sink and turn on the cold water, guiding his hand under it and holding it there, your own hand also under the water.

“This is embarrassing.” He mumbles after a moment, then laughs softly. “It’s fine. I’ve spilt boiling water on myself too many times.” You say, trying to console him. He hums in acknowledgement and you blink when you realize that you don’t need to be holding his hand anymore, pulling it away and wiping it off on your shirt. “Uh, you can take your hand out when it feels a bit better.” You tell him, walking over to the small table and grabbing some napkins. After a moment, the water turns off and you turn to hand the napkins to him. He dries off his hand and looks down, crumpling the napkins and tossing them into the trash. “Kobe!” You whisper shout, a habit ingrained into you from hearing teen boys do the exact same thing for years. He giggles and shakes his head, and you gesture for him to show you his hand. He lifts it obediently for you and you examine it before humming thoughtfully to yourself. “It doesn’t look bad, it’s only a first degree burn.” You tell him, letting go of his hand. “I have some lotion, it’ll help.” You say, looking up into his eyes. He nods, smiling shyly.

“It’s okay, you don’t need to.” He says, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “Are you sure? It’ll soothe the burn.” You insist. He relents after a moment.

“Okay. Thank you, I appreciate it.” He tells you, letting you lead him back to your classroom. You hum as you unlock the door and beckon him inside, taking his hand again as you lift your lotion from your desk and take a little bit of it, spreading it gently across his hand. He hums softly as you do so, and after a moment, you let go of his hand and spread the remaining lotion across your own hands.

“Does that feel any better?” You ask him, and he just looks down at his hand before glancing at you again. “Um, yes, thank you.” He says, smiling shyly. “You’re too kind, really.”

You both laugh softly and then you brush a bit of hair out of your face. “It’s no problem, Wilbur.” You assure him, smiling softly. “...we’re friends, right?” You ask, a little bit cautious now.

He seems surprised, but nods eagerly. “Yes! Yes, we’re friends.” He says, reaching a hand out to awkwardly pat your shoulder, but it is a bit comforting. You relax. “Okay, cool.” You say. “Cool.” He mimics. “Coooool.” You say, leaning forward slightly and smiling up at him.

He giggles and tentatively pushes your face away. “No more cool.” He says, trying to sound firm, and you return his giggle.

“Sorry.” You apologize, straightening up. “I’m glad that you’re my friend.” You say. “You’re pretty cool.”

“I’m hardly cool.” He scoffs, but he’s smiling widely. “I’m glad you’re my friend, too.” He agrees.

After you lock up your classroom and the two of you start going back to the teacher’s lounge to take care of both of your mugs. You both work in relative silence, only speaking again once both of you have finished.

“I hope you don’t mind…” Wilbur says, breaking the silence and glancing over at you. “But is it okay if I could get your phone number or something? Just so we don’t have to only talk at lunch and during our prep periods.” He explains, running a hand through his messy curls.

You ignore the way you have instant butterflies in your stomach, nodding. “Yeah! Yeah, of course, here, let me get my information pulled up.” You agree, pulling out your phone and smiling giddily to yourself before handing your phone to him.

“Thank you.” He says, looking a bit flustered as he puts your contact in his phone, then hands your phone back. “Text me so I can save your number, too.” You instruct him, looking down at your phone expectantly. After a moment, a text comes in that simply says ‘hi :)’.

You smile and send back an enthusiastic ‘hi!!!’ before saving his number as “Mr Soot >:)”

He giggles when he gets your text, shutting his phone off and putting it in his pocket. The bell rings, and you both look at the door.

“Well…” WIlbur says. “I look forward to talking to you.” He says, awkwardly extending his arm for a fist bump. You smack your fist against his and then unfurl your fingers as you

pull your arm away, making an attempt at an exploding sound as you do so.

“Text me whenever you want.” You tell him with a soft smile as you look up into his eyes. He nods and stuffs his hands into his pockets, smiling back at you.

“Okay, I will. Thank you again.” He says. “You seem very nice, I’m glad that our rooms are so close.” He says, face tinged a bit pink.

“I’m glad, too.” You say.

You definitely don’t spend the rest of your evening at home waiting (im)patiently for him to text you, and you definitely don’t kick your feet and shove your face in a pillow when he finally does.

#wilbur soot x reader #wilbur x reader #wilbur soot x you #wilbur x you #wilbur soot fanfic

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boyfhee · 1 year

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› HOW TO GET BACK WITH YOUR EX : five do's and don'ts

SYNOPSIS · You were all in for a new start; a new city, new apartment, new department and new colleagues— though, not under the best circumstances— you tried to make it through your early thirties while lost between whether to give up or go on, and then you meet Heeseung, who happens to be on the other end of the same street.

WC · 26.2K ( guys pls give this a chance )

GENRE · melodrama, angst, slice of life, romance, exes to ?

WARNINGS · lots of drinking, marriage talks, mentions of failed relationship and breakups; implications of sexual activity, very existential, mentions of suicidal thoughts, blood, lot's of tense changes ( since this transits between past and present a lot ) please read at your own discretion.

NOTE · i know i'm on hiatus but this was almost done and i had a sudden burst of motivation so here we are. my longest fic till date, i'm so proud of how this turned out. experimented a little with my writing style here, overall a fun experience. i hope you all enjoy this as much as i did, happy reading. ps the quote below is actually by john mark green, but let's assume it's written by hee for the sake of this fic. okay, good bye again, see you guys soon :›

playlist : tune in for better experience hehe

“ And if love may be madness, may I never find sanity again, ”

— Lee Heeseung, Red Wine

I. Regret and Remorse

You don’t think you’ll ever become someone who’d look forward to the working experience that comes with job transfer. In fact, you don’t think you’d ever become someone who’d grow a liking to job transfer in the first place.

Autumn of 2022 was supposed to be filled with vacation plans and a self-sobriety program in one of the many remote towns of Gangwon, away from the internet and daily complaints of your employer and family members. To put it simply— you’re tired of the life you’ve been living so far. Looking back, when you were a fresh graduate from one of the best universities of Incheon, life seemed to offer more opportunities than it does now. Your goals weren't any different from other people in the same age group as you, which majorly consisted of getting a job that pays well, maintaining financial security, getting into a good relationship, and perhaps visiting a few places on your travel list that you made in your first year of university. The idea of ‘ideal workplace’ leaves your mind the moment you step into the industry. Over time, you’ve realised that there’s no such thing as a job that fits to your liking and pays well, along with a hundred other benefits ranging from covering medical expenses to providing paid leaves. While that may apply to some, most of the crowd isn’t lucky enough to experience the luxuries of their dream job or workplace. Unfortunately, you happen to be just another person of that kind.

You wake up, it’s the same old Monday morning— and no matter what day it is, it always feels like a Monday morning. You look through your same seven sets of office attires in your closet and pick one for the day; you go to the kitchen and find the same dish you had last night. You heat it up and eat the same for breakfast. Albeit, you find yourself at a cafe downstreet if you’re hoping for a change of scenery. You go to work, review the same old files, look at your same old colleagues and the same old boss who makes your blood boil. You aren’t the most sociable person and prefer to have lunch at the canteen, and coincidently, it’s the same old menu from four days ago. The day proceeds in the same old direction and you arrive at your apartment by six in the evening if your team leader doesn’t make you work overtime. You make dinner, sleep on the same old bed in the same old room with the same old feeling of dissatisfaction stuffing your stomach, and the same old cycle continues.

Intellectually, there has been no progress— you've read scarcely half a dozen books, haven't made one new, exciting friend, haven't had a starling or unusual thought. Economically, things are no better— same old bills to pay, same old pay that hasn't been increased over years now. You get your paycheck and half of it goes into buying necessities. It's the same old job, same old routine of nine-to-five workdays, the cheese and ham salad for lunch, same dreary ride home. No change, nothing but routine, sameness, monotony— it's as if you're vegetating.

If you could go back in time and meet yourself when you were still a college freshman with high hopes and even higher aspirations, you would tell yourself to stop. Now that you’ve seen how the world works and have experienced the stagnancy of life, you wouldn’t want your young and carefree self to go through the pain of disappointment after encountering it yourself. You would instead tell yourself to switch fields since finance doesn’t seem to have a lot to offer. Instead, you would push your past self to go for liberal arts when you suddenly wanted to switch majors in the second year. Perhaps, in that case, your life would’ve been a tad bit better.

Well, better than what it is now, at least, because currently, you’re sitting in the living room of your new apartment with a beer can in hand and tons of unpacked boxes around you. You’ve been thinking of unpacking for over an hour now, but every time your eyes land upon another beer, you’re back on the floor, chugging the drink down and regretting your life choices. Things would’ve been better if you had turned in your resignation instead of waiting till the last week of July for your pay; because now it’s August, and you’re in a new city with a new apartment, and the only thing you remember is the way to the nearest seven-eleven store from your apartment. You don’t want to think of this negatively, really, since you’ve been asking for a change, after all; and nothing is better than starting anew in a completely new location. However, you don’t want to work in the sales department when all you’ve ever worked about is finance. You don’t want to go through the pain of getting lost in the streets and chased by some dog, for you’re hitting thirty and you feel your bones cracking. You wanted a new start, however not in this field. A new start, for you, meant going on a vacation, detoxifying your mind off all the stress and tension, picking up a hobby, focusing on self-care— just anything that would help you change your views about life.

Your silent remorseful session is interrupted by a knock on the door, and you’re certain you heard a doorbell, however you’re not sure if it’s the alcohol playing with your mind or whether someone is actually waiting at your doorstep. Forcing yourself to stand up, you stumble towards the door, the sudden decrease in blood pressure leaves a hint of dizziness as you step forward. Since you’ve just moved in, expecting anyone besides mails and landlord is pointless. While you remember having a friend living in the same city, you never told her your address so it’s unlikely for her to visit you either. You stand before the door, fixing your hair before moving down to the creases on your shirt as you unlock the door with a forced smile; and the time ceases to exist.

“Hi,” Heeseung mumbles.

You step aside to let him in, involuntarily— “Hi,” you breathe out before stressing your mind to come up with a reason for letting him inside. Could it be that you’re so lonely that now, you’re treating your ex as just someone you’ve been expecting to see? Maybe not, maybe it’s because you just moved in and despite the notes that you both ended on, it would be disrespectful to shut the door on someone who came with seemingly all good intentions.

His steps are laced with hesitation. There’s a Château Margaux in his hands as you notice his fingers nervously tighten around the bottle before he turns around, albeit you avoid his gaze actively. “I heard someone moved in so I came to meet,” A pause, and then: “Didn’t know it was you.”

He puts emphasis on the word as if it’s a bad thing. As if you’re an outsider trying to invade his peaceful life yet again, only to cause mayhem. However, the question is, had you known that Heeseung lives here, would you have moved in? Or, would you continue to live knowing Heeseung is your neighbour and that you would possibly see him for the rest of your life? You don’t know the answer to that one— not sure if you even want to find one, in fact. The last thing you need is to worry about bumping into an ex. You gesture at him to take a seat and to your surprise, he sits on the floor, exactly where you were having your drinking session before he came along. You grab the wine glasses from the kitchen before making your way back to the living room and sitting opposite to him. There’s a heavy tension in the air, one that is suffocating both of you, though you’re sure a major part of it is arising from you. After all, you let him inside as if he was an old friend, one that you were hoping to see, as if he isn’t your ex.

Heeseung and you got together in your second year of university. You met him through a mutual friend on their birthday when they invited a few people from another department. You didn’t plan to go initially, you had presentations to make, but something inside of you prompted you to give in and had it not been for that day, you would’ve never come across Lee Heeseung in your life. The first time you met him at the bar, Heeseung seemed to be a heavy drinker— droopy eyes, messed up hair, a few things written on the palm of his hands— he didn’t even come across as someone who paid attention during lessons. However, much to your surprise, he excused himself early, sitting outside with a can of cold coffee he got from the vending machine in his hand while reading what seemed like economics notes compiled in pdf format. Perhaps, Heeseung knew he came off as a showoff when you found him chugging down his drink in an attempt to erase whatever effect alcohol could have on him.

You sat next to him and all of a sudden, he started explaining how he doesn’t usually dip in the middle of gatherings with friends and step out to study. He simply happens to have a test the next day and his friends dragged him along. Simultaneously, you learnt that it was his first time drinking despite and he swore not to drink anything that wasn’t caffeine. It was nice, really; while Heeseung was busy worrying that you might dislike him for being such a show off, you were enjoying your time with him because in the end, you weren’t a big fan of drinking with your friends either. The two of you talked about wasted matters, complained about subjects and teachers, shared social media handles. It was fantastical, almost unreal, because you don’t remember the last time you clicked with someone so quickly. You didn’t have impressive social skills to initiate conversations, which consequently resulted in you being left out most of the time. It didn’t really matter since relationships and all were secondary at that time, for you had a set goal to work towards. You had always believed that people can make friends and fall in love anytime. However, life gives you just once chance to achieve your dreams. Disconnecting from the public didn't have any effect since you got your work done. While your friends wasted their nights at clubs, you spent it studying and completing assignments. You never felt the lack of friends and interactions eating you slowly. The loneliness didn’t hit you until you graduated with hands full of bills to pay and responsibilities to handle.

After that night, you started seeing Heeseung more than usual. Despite being in different majors and completely different schedules, you saw him at the campus more often than you used to. It was as if he was always there, waiting for you to find him. Despite changing Twitter and Instagram handles, the two of you barely talked. There was no communication except interacting with each others’ posts, leaving a comment every now and then, tagging each other in stories. You would mutter a soft hello every time you’d bump into him and if fate allowed, you’d have a small conversation. There was no progress in your relationship until a few months after your first meeting, at one of the fests hosted by the Art Department. You had no one to visit with and Heeseung wasn’t interested until you came across him in the library, taking down notes of the lectures he had missed. He asked if you wanted to visit the fest, much to your surprise, and that was the first time you had hung out with Heeseung after knowing him for five months.

“You seem excited for work,” It’s a question that leaves you confused until your eyes land upon the stacks of files and documents lying stray on the kitchen counter. The next thing you notice is that Heeseung’s voice has gotten a lot deeper, possessing all the necessary qualities of a voice a hiring manager would want to hear in interviews.

“Do I?” You offer a rhetorical response, not knowing exactly what to say. For a brief second, you considered pouring yourself more drink and going off about your lethargic and unfruitful lifestyle. A chuckle falls off your lips as you stir the wine in its glass, feeling the weight shift from left to right before chugging the remaining liquid down. “I hate my job,”

You pour yourself another glass. Heeseung’s fingers flinch watching your hands reach for the bottle but he didn’t dare interrupt your actions. Another second passes in silence, another sip of wine hits your system. You feel fatigue fill your sinuses as you fight off sleep for another hit— another line of thoughts.

You can go on for days, complaining about your job, despite knowing that looking down on your work and throwing shade on your boss isn’t going to get you anywhere in life. But at the end of the day, you have nothing else to talk about either. While your colleagues spent weekends drinking, going on dates, and watching movies, you worked your ass off to finish off a project and get a promotion; because promotions come with an increase in pay, and the thing you need the most at the moment is money. Even in school and universities, you used to spend your days and nights studying hard because in the end, the employers from big companies always look for candidates from the top universities, students who graduated with high honours and those who have a lot to offer to the market. Graduating from one of the best universities in Korea in your department should’ve helped you get a high paying job with several benefits. You didn’t lack knowledge, nor did you lack the brains to tackle the problems in finance. You graduated on top of your class so your educational qualifications weren’t below the bar either. If it comes down to experience, one can not expect a fresh graduate to have work experience. In the end, you’re left with the lack of information once again, not knowing why your life turned out this way when every step you took ensured success.

“Then, why don’t you try doing something that you like?” Heeseung suggests, twirling the glass in his hand, unknowingly mirroring your actions. While he thinks he’s doing a good job at keeping the conversation going, Heeseung knows his advice isn’t worth a penny. Imagine telling a full-time employee to quit their job and do what they like! He thinks to himself, almost ready to take his words back, because he can’t even imagine himself doing the same thing for the sake of a better life.

“You can’t depend on your likes and dislikes to make a living,” You chuckle yet again, voice laced with bitterness. Failure and disappointment were something you never had tasted until now. You remember the dissatisfaction you felt when your mother gave you sliced apples when you told her you were hungry. You refused to eat, but your mother said that when you’re starving, you don’t look for food that suits your taste. You just eat whatever you get; and thinking about it now, you think it applies to practical life as well. Survival in this world isn’t possible if you depend upon your preferences. Humans have the ability to adapt to various situations, and the key to adaptation is working under different circumstances, often that don’t suit your preferences. That is how you secure your position in the world. If things revolved around one’s likes and dislikes, you sure would’ve been a billionaire for you love to stay on your couch all day and dislike capsicums.

“What about you?” You counter with the same question. “You look even more tired than how you were in university.” Now, your attention is on his dark circles and weary eyes. The Heeseung you remember from university was phenomenal, having an urge to do anything and everything. His eyes searched for opportunities, hands aching to work on something new. His never ending passion and a desire to know more made him an ideal figure for the juniors as well as someone who the seniors used to envy. However, the eyes of the Heeseung sitting in front of you are telling a whole nother story. They’re talking about the good times while his hands look tired from having a lot on his plate with no time for himself.

“Work load,” Heeseung sighs, eyes fixed on his drink as he continues to twirl it around. Your gaze shifts to the corner of his lips, watching them curl into a faint smile. “Do you remember how we used to spent weekends hunting for part time—”

And then a pause. Your eyes avert to his’, meeting him in the line of contact; they resonate with just two emotions— regret and respect. You fail to decipher the meaning behind his gaze, you lost the ability to do so years ago. He presses his lips into a thin line, pressing his fingers against the glass in an attempt to suppress his emotions before looking away from you. The comforting silence suddenly weighs upon your shoulders with its hands around your neck, suffocating you to the point of breathlessness; and then you ask yourself— what am I doing? The clock strikes seven and it didn’t hit you how quickly the time flowed until everything dawned upon you. Once again, you’re left questioning your whats and whys about life, for after all, you didn’t expect to spend your evening drinking with your ex. You notice splatters of rain against your window pane as they blur the golden glow of the city scape behind. The rain falls louder, the room fills with the sound of clouds rumbling, you take another sip of wine— it takes you back to your days with Heeseung.

You don’t know if it’s alcohol blurring your paths down the memory lane, but a part of job hunting with Heeseung also included applying for the same part-jobs and competing so see who gets hired. Although, both of you ended up receiving a polite rejection most of the time, it didn’t affect your relationship. Actually, you don’t think anything regarding job interviews or grades affected your relationship with him. It was a good, healthy race, one that allowed both of you to grow as individuals, for yourselves and for each other. There were days when you came home with the news about getting hired, only to know how his application was rejected or he was fired, and vice-versa. You both took your turns comforting each other— it didn’t feel like your life was any different from his. In fact, every second with Heeseung felt as if you both were living the same life. Watching him go through the exact same thing you went through a few weeks ago, or finding yourself in the same situation you found him merely a few nights ago; it was like watching just another version of yourself.

Seconds catapult before you. Heeseung gets up and makes his way towards the door. No words are shared, the world is spinning too quickly, it gets harder and harder for you to retrace your steps to figure out how you ended up here. His name falls off your lips— it’s not louder than a soft whisper. You don’t know why you stopped him in his tracks. Is it intentional? Is it involuntary? Or is it because you were hoping for something else? You would never know, at least not now. Months expanded into years and the time when you dated Heeseung still feels like yesterday. It’s as if you woke up— there is his face next to you, the sunlight offering a soft golden glow to his eyes as they light up your whole words. His lips meet yours, a smile emerges under the tender kiss, Heeseung tells you he loves you and you couldn’t be happier. The day rolls by, your steps follow him everywhere he goes, breaths mingling into each other in secluded corners of streets, hidden from the world because it’s a love to be harboured in secrecy. Your hands intertwine with his. It’s two souls living as one, two hearts beating in synchrony. The night rolls by and you’re back in his arms, a little closer to heart, deeper into his mind. The moon sighs in admiration, night slips through his feather light touches as he traces every inch of your skin with love. The sun comes up— and suddenly you’re exes. You never had enough time to process his departure from your life, just the way you failed to process his impromptu arrival this evening. Heeseung is in front of you like the way he used to be. However, just like the first time, the universe agreed but the stars never aligned, and Heeseung is leaving once again as you fail to hold onto him one more time.

“Why don’t you resign if you don’t like your job?” Heeseung stops by his door, and you realise the words that leave his mouth are the same ones that people throw at you whenever they hear you complain about your work life.

“I was about to, but was transferred here. Thought I should give it a try before quitting.” While that doesn’t sound like the most convincing reason, it sure is a plausible one. You had been looking for a change— any change— and throwing away the chance to have one while it had been in your hand would be a bad decision, no matter how unfavourable it sounds at the moment.

“Doesn’t that sound familiar? When I confessed, you said you weren’t sure about your feelings but would give it a try,” There’s a faint smile on his face, albeit you aren’t able to perceive the meaning behind his words. “I’m sure it’ll turn out better,”

You take a step towards the door before shutting it completely. You don’t know why he said that, nor do you think you’ll ever get the chance to ask him. Perhaps you wouldn’t ask him willingly in the first place. You turn around, leaning against the door as a sigh escapes your lips. Heeseung has his own life, and so, his own views on different things. If he resents you, you’re in no position to try and change that for him. You don’t think you’re in a position to interfere with his life when you decided to walk out of it in the first place.

If regret was his part to play, then remorse was yours.

II. Don’t be a ‘know it all’

Drinking with Heeseung feels like yesterday, when in fact, you haven’t seen him in four days.

Life is busy, and it’s even busier for someone like Heeseung who works as a chartered accountant if your memories from last evening aren’t defying you. You can’t imagine yourself in that position, not like you want to in the first place. Excel sheets and tons of documents about taxes are all you could think of when you hear anything along the lines of accountancy, which is intolerable to you, given that you’ve majored in finance, ironically.

A lot of things in your life are contradicting, actually. You don’t like to cook but cooking for close friends is something you’ve always loved. Examples follow, and at one point you realised that your life barely makes sense. Expectations from friends and relatives made you a try hard, so much that anything less than a perfect score made you feel suffocated. People had desires and interest in certain things, but you needed to be good at everything, and saying that it was for yourself would be a lie, because you had to set an example of an ideal person in front of your younger siblings. Your parents were strict to you and it didn’t feel unfair. You were ten when you saw your mother cry because of all the financial burden, but she had to be the perfect mother for her children, so you never saw her complain ever again. Fifteen year old you didn’t have a goal in mind but she knew that there’s a path ahead of her that leads her siblings on the right track, towards a better future, and so she took it— no aims and dreams of herself, just whatever she could’ve done for her brothers. It was hard at first but the formula to success was easy— hardwork and determination, and all you had to do was avoid distractions. Again, the reality didn’t hit you until you met Heeseung.

It was as if you were both her two sides of the same coin. Persistence flowed in both of your veins, but every time you looked at him, you realised that he enjoyed everything he was doing. Heeseung enjoyed waking up at four, going out for a jog, attending classes, job hunting, staying up till two or simply not sleeping on some nights. Even on the darkest of the days and coldest of the nights, you would see Heeseung looking at you with a warm smile. He always managed to find a reason to smile, or make a situation humorous enough to make others smile as well. You don’t know how he did that, you never had the chance to ask, but you’re certain that even if he told you, you wouldn’t understand. Heeseung’s principles of living were beyond your comprehension— staying up late yet waking up right when dawn breaks, buying books but never really reading them, researching articles on topics that don’t concern your subjects even marginally— but that’s just his curiosity getting the best of him.

Often, he’d find himself amidst a financial conflict like any other college student, but it never had an impact on his desires, and he used to say, ‘A sale wouldn’t wait for me to pay my bills so that I can buy my favourite shirt with the money left,’ as if his rent was going to pay itself. If someone asks about the biggest difference between him and you, it’s about desires. You suppress yours while Heeseung lives them like it’s the last time he could ever wish for something. You believe in the cause, while Heeseung did in curiosity, and that’s where it creates a line. Though lately, you’ve been hearing other things about him, new things, if you must say.

The landlord told you about the Heeseung who’s quiet, who doesn’t leave his house until it’s about work, who eats the same menu for days until his system demands something new, who now has been prescribed actual specs because of his family history of hypermetropia. You find yourself smiling about it because back in university, Heeseung used to brag about his perfect vision, and you would say, ‘family health history is no joke. you take that shit down to your grave,’ and now when it has actually happened, you wonder what he has to say. Hearing stories about him made you realise that a lot of things changed, but Heeseung didn’t. Maybe, the situation demands him to live vegetatively, or maybe he’s saving up for a bigger plan.

“They say you’re a loner,” You had said one time when you bumped into him on the lift. “That you never leave your apartment except for work,”

Much to Heeseung’s surprise, a lot of things changed after he entered his thirties, the most prominent being his back pain, which may or may not have arisen from the lack of workout and constantly sitting in front of his desk for hours. He would smile at plants or sit by the balcony, watching the city being ever so lively and yet so monotonous. Afternoon naps became mandatory to continue proficiently for the rest of the day and before he realised, Heeseung became the old man of every highschool student’s imagination. Truthfully, he spent his first few months after graduation in his room, amidst sketching pencils and loose sheets. While other fresh graduates hunted for jobs or ways to fill their resume to fit the companies’ requirements, he spent his early months as an unemployed lad who graduated with top honours from one of the best universities in Korea. For the first time in life, he found himself looking at his ceiling and wondering, what’s next. Heeseung, who always had a plan for something despite seeming reckless, was about to step into adulthood with no plans to follow.

“I guess I’ll be that,”

He was back in your apartment, same wine in his hand, same old complaints. It’s been quite a few weeks since you’ve moved in and Heeseung always finds himself in your living room at noons when he doesn’t sleep, making small talk about topics that usually stir a little interest. You haven’t had the time to go out with your colleagues and make new friends or explore the city, which gives you a perfect excuse to see Heeseung and call it socialising. Not to mention, you’ve been introducing him to your previous workmates as the ‘new friend’ you’ve made in the new place.

“We both know you’re not that,” You continue, recalling all the reasons why Heeseung isn’t how people around describe him to be.

“No one is the same after actually getting a life,” He replies while going through his emails, scrolling down with one hand before placing the wine glass by his side and proceeding to type something. “Look at yourself, for example,”

You don’t know whether it’s a compliment or an insult. Perhaps the latter, albeit the chances of him noticing a good difference in you are low but never zero. Your eyes fix on his fingers, following them as he types something before clearing it all, and then typing all over again while mumbling the exact same words with an expression ranging from confusion to worry. You reconsider his words, he isn’t half wrong.

Adulthood is climacteric. You think you’re an adult the moment you turn eighteen but in reality, you aren’t one until you’re in a position to make it through life profoundly, and ironically enough, you don’t think most people get a taste of adulthood until they hit their late twenties or enter their thirties. Your mind traces back to what he said— ‘yourself, for example,’ and suddenly, you become conscious of every single thing that has changed about you. You learnt piano but now your fingers don’t flow smoothly over the keys as they used to, given you haven’t played piano in years. You were a part of the science club in highschool and the student council president in your senior year. You wanted to go into aeronautics but seasons changed and one day, you looked in the mirror and saw the version of yourself who was about to graduate with honours in finance. Even after graduation you had a chance to switch fields but you didn’t, or rather, couldn’t. You were hired in the same year, which gave you even more reasons to continue since it would relieve your dad of the financial burden looming on his shoulders. Maybe, that’s what adulthood is supposed to do to you. You find yourself working in a field you have no interest or experience in and by the time you gain experience, you’re too old to grow an interest.

Statistically, your school life was much better than college and onwards. You had, although little, but knowledge about all the subjects, a desire to know more, time to yield interest and a will to keep going on. To think, almost everyone in high school grows up under the same circumstances. They either have the opportunity or are given one to pursue what they want, taking it or not is up to them. For you, it was the former. You were given the chance to participate in the maths olympiad which you didn’t because of school exams. You were recommended to the best science institute in the country but you dropped out in just two months. Your music teacher offered you a chance to learn music professionally in Vienna but you never reached out to her on that again. You were given multiple chances to live how you wanted to but you simply discarded them and went with what proved to be the easiest way.

That moment on a comparatively warm august afternoon, sitting next to him with wine, you went all the way back to all the instances and decisions that lead you to where you were right now.

On the other hand, you shift your attention back to Heeseung, and even though you never got to know about his childhood or parents properly, you certainly knew that the way he experienced both of them was better than yours. Growing up as a single child gave him absolute control of things that he did and did not want. His decisions were not influenced by his parents, which could be classified as some sort of independence in regards to making his own choices from an early age, but neither did he have any siblings to set an example for. All his life, Heeseung has only lived for himself, and it reflects in his personality, if one tries hard enough to notice. While you had to give up one thing or other for your siblings, Heeseung got a taste of everything he wanted. He knows how it feels to not sleep all night but you never had the chance until much later because you were always thought to sleep on time and wake up early, whether or not you had anything to do. There may have been someone guiding him all along but most of the time, his experience gave him a clear insight and freedom to choose what he wants to do.

To sum it up, you might be more qualified in terms of academics but Heeseung has more experience when it comes to diverse situations, and experience is all employers want these days in their employees.

“Well, you still are the ideal candidate for marriage,” You chuckle, remembering what the lady told you a few days ago. You notice him marking a few emails before closing the app, picking the wine glass back up once again. It’s not a surprise to see someone like Heeseung being approached with several martial arrangements. He, despite being described as a loner by a few residents in the apartment, is still the guy with whom you would want to marry your daughter off. He works nine-to-five like any other family guy, is disciplined, comes from a good family and education background, and his looks work as cherry on top.

“All they want is a guy with a stable job and salary,” He spat with a smile, chugging down the drink in his glass all at once. “That’s not who I want to be,”

“Who do you want to be, Heeseung?” You ask above the silence lingering in the room, just loud enough to pique his interest. His phone screen lights up with a mail, but his eyes never leave your sight, not even for a second.

People usually wouldn’t recommend talking to your ex, let alone sharing a deep, therapeutic session about life and self-development. If you say you’re starting as friends again, they would say it’s impossible because the bare minimum requirement to classify as a friend— the lack of romantic emotions— has already been violated. Even if you claim to be over Heeseung and treat him as just another one of your exes, you know there are unsaid feelings blooming in the air. You wouldn’t call Heeseung a friend, he never was one, actually. Heeseung was never there when you actually needed a friend but you never noticed his absence as your colleague, or as your boyfriend. Heeseung is terrible at being friends because he confessed to you the day he introduced you as ‘just a friend,’ to his friends. You wouldn’t consider being friends with your ex, yet you don’t think you could be anything more with him either. You started talking to him as a stranger but Heeseung has always been way too familiar to identity as a stranger. Too familiar for a stranger, too strange to be familiar, it’s another one of the things your life could be contradicting about.

He looks at you, directing your question back to you as if you’re a better candidate to consult. ‘Who do I want to be?’ All your life, you’ve never done something that counts for yourself. Even your perfect sleeping schedule was meant to set an example for your brothers. Your achievements were never yours to begin with. You were good at piano, but that’s because your teacher taught you. You never composed a piece and simply played what has already been played. Even at work, you do what you’ve been told, and not what you want to. There’s no innovation, just flow of ideas from one level to the other, and it keeps being passed down to a level beyond which, it’s no longer fruitful. ‘Who do I want to be?’ You ask yourself over and over again, but it’s a question you don’t know how to approach. Rather, you would like to know, ‘Who am I right now?’

Just like that, October passes amidst wines and visits from Heeseung every other afternoon or evenings on weekends that weren’t swamped with work. For some reasons, workload increases as December approaches with his cold and calloused hands, which could be the reason why you’ve been seeing less of him lately. Occasionally, you would pour two glasses of wine and sit in the living room, but it would end up with you drinking yours in silence while his’ rests untouched. On nights you stay up till twelve or so, you could hear him unlock his doors in a hurry and shut it just as quickly. Maybe, that’s how a busy lifestyle is supposed to be. Consequently, you stopped waiting for him, coming in terms with reality once again. For a brief while, you considered flying back to your hometown and living with your family for a while, but the idea was dismissed as soon as the announcements about promotions emerged in your department. Once again, you found yourself working day and night with eyes set on no one but Heeseung to spend your upcoming Christmas with.

Usually, you’re someone who prioritises family over work but a promotion is what you need the most at the moment. Time and patience, they say, but you have neither of those. You don’t have time to sit and rethink or start all over again, time to start from scratch, and patience was never one of your positive traits. At times, you would consider resigning and moving to a whole other country but it was too late to do that. You were no longer a stranger to society, you knew how things work and you had to make things work, with no time to try anything new. At thirty-two, no one wants to see you resign and fly to Maldives for a vacation, to live like you have no worries to worry about, not even yourself. See, that’s the pain of growing up. Parents would tell their children that they have their whole life to do what they like and just a few years to study and make something out of themselves, and it’s nothing but a lie. The truth is, you only have time when you’re young and, as you grow up, time starts slipping out of your hand. A kid is expected to be able to walk by the time they’re eighteen months old, or two years at most. Beyond that, it’s a problem and you have to consult a paediatrician, even if you don’t want to. A student is expected to graduate by the time they turn eighteen, people are expected to have a job by twenty-seven, you’re supposed to be in a relationship before thirty and married by thirty-five. As you grow old, the time to do something runs out and by the time you’re seventy or so, you realise you’re too old to do what you want.

“I actually wanted to go back this time but, mom’s trying to convince me into getting married,” He said when you accidentally bumped into him this morning, signing off a delivery. Heeseung, in college, came off as someone who would be rather interested in marriages, someone who’d commit to a serious relationship in university and end up marrying them. You wanted to ask the reason but chose not to, maybe because you remind yourself that you’re exes and there are boundaries that should be maintained.

“So, you just don’t want to get married,” It’s supposed to be a question, albeit it comes off as a statement. You lean against your doorframe, watching him carry his parcel inside and placing it next to his couch. Usually, you’d lend him a hand but today, you simply crossed your arms and waited for him to respond.

“I don’t want to get married right now,” He replies between huffs. “I can barely take care of myself,” There’s a faint bit of fascination in his voice, a smile evident on his face that leaves you wondering if the slight humour was necessary or whether it’s supposed to be a facade for his rather unsatisfactory lifestyle.

“Well, you are doing much better than me,” You counter with the same fascination, shifting your weight on both your feet equally in hopes to engage in a full fledged conversation instead of a small talk. “Besides, marriage is a two way street. Being the husband doesn’t mean you have to earn and be responsible for the whole family, or being the wife doesn’t mean she has to cook, there are no roles to play. Marriage is just, sharing what you do, good or bad, right or wrong, and helping each other become a better version of ourselves.” A string of silence follows, you notice his chest rise in an attempt to reply, but words never leave his mouth. You wonder if you said something wrong, but part of you knows you didn’t. Marriage is not as horrific and most of the people make it to be. We all need someone to hold onto, someone who you know will be there when the world isn’t— it’s similar to dating, except you’re committing to just one person, which is better than breaking up and living in vain for months before falling for someone and living the whole process all over again.

“You seem to know a lot,” But Heeseung never replies and shuts the door, and it’s just you and the silence once again.

You spend the next few weeks locked in your bedroom, in front of your laptop, making a presentation while living off noodles and beer. You sleep schedule has been in shambles, you’ve grown prominent dark circles, living the vicious cycle of working your ass off with little or no sleep to suffice for your constant workload. This is the most productive you’ve been in a while, especially after your transfer. You wouldn’t say your job pleases you and better, but being aware that this project could really end up with you getting a promotion and thus, a salary increase, is enough to keep you going.

You were back where you had started a few years ago, reading reports and watching your laptop overheat from all the tabs and applications running at once. You knew what you were doing but everything felt so foreign. The excel sheets spread open with the pointer blinking for you to add an input but your fingers no longer dance above the keyboard like they used to in the first few months of your job. You consulted your seniors, talked to your team leader, watched conferences of qualified professors of your field, took notes, but it all led you to the same thing— deleting and rewriting the whole thing, or simply a blank document that would light up your room on nights you chose not to sleep. You even considered talking to Heeseung at some point but after recalling the way he dismissed you the morning he was receiving the parcel, you choose not to. While most people wouldn’t mind taking ten minutes to offer a word of advice, you simply choose not to involve Heeseung with your personal issues.

Taking half days from work using it as an excuse to work on your presentation gave you an opportunity to watch Heeseung leave and arrive at his apartment everyday. You’d sit on your balcony with beer, or tea, rarely, and your laptop on your lap, scrolling through emails and numerous files, and around seven every evening, you’d see him step out of the cab that drops him off right in front of the apartment. On mornings, you usually see him walk up to the intersection which you think is to compensate for the lack of exercise in his routine. Often, you find yourself peeking down from your railing to catch a glimpse of him as soon as the minute hand crosses seven twenty. When he doesn’t arrive by eight, you grab another can of beer and take rounds from your door to the balcony with a pacing that increases with every second that passes. One time, he came home at nine and you rushed to open your door before realising that you can’t tell him you’ve been waiting for him for the past two hours. Good thing is that you had your phone and continued on your way to the apartment garden, telling him that you have to make an important call.

You met him as his ex and now you find yourself dropping everything and waiting for him as if he’s your first priority. That’s when you realised you needed to create a line, but for now, you don’t mind hanging out in the neighbourhood with Heeseung as his friend, according to how he now introduces you to people he knows.

“You’re telling me you never went out and explored this place?” His mouth was agape, too shocked to say anything. There were days when your antics spilled out relentlessly, but living in a city for over almost four months and not knowing any of the routes besides the one to your workplace has to be the worst one of those. Even back in university, you preferred to spend weekends in your dorms instead of at some club or bar, like your friends did. It would be a stretch if Heeseung said you are a hopeless case because he was no better, but he wasn’t as bad either, in several ways.

“Hm, well, work gave me a perfect excuse to not go out,” You say with your eyes glued to the data sheet on your phone and it reminds him of the day you saw him studying Economics outside the bar. These are a few of the similarities that Heeseung noticed between him and you, similarities that he likes to see but is too scared to address in words. “Besides, it would be a waste of time and fuel when you can get the exact same things at your doorsteps.”

“Is that why you never went out in college either?” He asks finally after a long drawn silence, albeit it never hits you since you’ve been too busy going through the documents on your phone. “Hey,”

“Maybe, but that was more because of academic reasons,” A poke on your shoulder manages to draw a response out of you, but it doesn’t take Heeseung to realise that you’re no longer interested in his questions. “Should we get more beer?”

Heeseung stares at you, wondering if you still want a response because you’re already picking up cans from the shelves and walking towards the counter for billing. Gradually, he realises that you don’t even remember asking him for his input because you’re simply paying the bills and thanking the woman for her service. Instead of a question, your words resonate more like a statement. As if, you are no longer asking for a third-party input, you don’t need it, you’re simply letting them know your next decision, disguising it as an action of. . . kindness? Soliticion? He doesn’t know.

Now that the sun is approaching the horizon, offering a purple hue to the ever so beautiful sky, Heeseung finally comes to terms with what he thinks about you. His mind traces back to the day you told him that he’s not who people make him out to be and for a brief second, he questions the credibility of your words. You claim to know him, but do you know that he has been living by the edge all this time, or that he has been fired thrice before getting a job in the bank he’s working right now, or that he tried to call you after you broke up with him, that he has been diagnosed with some sort of congenital heart condition? You didn’t lie when you said one’s family health history will follow them down to their grave. And just like you, he doesn’t know much about you either. Even though you’ve told him most of the things, ranging from your family to your current situation, Heeseung doesn’t know who you are. There’s an unfamiliar familiarity, or a familiar unfamiliarity, either works, he doesn’t have a better phrase to describe it. To think, while you consider yourself in a position to classify people’s thoughts on Heeseung as right or wrong, he doesn’t even consider himself in a position to pay for your food, and it’s probably because how you’ve been taking slow steps away from him, eyes still glued to your phone while you keep talking to him as if he’s right next to you, when actually, he’s twenty steps behind. The sun that has disappeared, leaving behind a sombre glow over the whole city, taught him something— that no matter how long you’ve known someone, you never know them enough. There are pieces of you that separate you from them, actions that tell you that no two people are mirrors for each other’s soul, for one’s body and mind knows how to differentiate between self and non self, and no one’s a ‘know it all,’ after all.

“You’ve changed,” He mentions abruptly, and that’s when you finally look up in his direction, soaking in the awareness that Heeseung is no longer standing next to you.

For some reason, the evening led you to a local restaurant and while you were busy on your phone again, Heeseung took his time reading the menu card. As he took his time ordering the drinks, your attention shifted to the view of busy streets on the other side of the glass window pane. You watched as the high schoolers had the time of their lives next to a vending machine, following the actions of the book store owner as he reopened his shop for the evening. You swear you heard Heeseung call out your name a couple of times, albeit it felt like a fever dream and you didn’t respond.

Change, as he described you, you wonder what could’ve changed inside you. You don’t think there’s a lot. You still work like a maniac and refuse to go out. Your complaining nature never changed, but you still don’t voice your problems where you should. You still get terrible headaches and take a pill for every little inconvenience. In the end, you don’t think you’re very different from how you were when you met Heeseung. Except that your hard work barely pays off these days, you think you’re still the same, monotonic version of yourself that he fell in love with, the same you that dumped him on the day of graduation ceremony four years ago.

“You said I changed,” By the time your drinks had arrived, you were knee deep in the simulations that could’ve made Heeseung feel like you’ve changed. “In what aspects, if I may ask,”

“Like, in general,” He replies with a nod. “I can’t point it out but something about you has changed— well, of course, your age aside,” Liar, he thinks. Heeseung, in fact, knows what has changed, but he doesn’t know how to put it in words. Well, I can’t say you’re no longer looking forward to my opinions on something. Because even though you met as neighbours, even though you’re in a restaurant with him, having a meal and sharing bits of your life’s stories with each other, even though Heeseung looks forward to seeing you everyday— he needs to remember that you started as exes.

You manage to draw a long hum out of you, nodding cautiously as you take his every word into consideration. They don’t offer much insight about what he’s actually thinking, but again, you never know exactly what is going on inside someone’s head. However, you take your chance to try and get something out of him. “A good change or a bad change?”

“That’s for you to figure out,” He says softly, tying his words with a long, silent pause that follows closely after. He shoots you a cheeky smile before digging in and you take your time examining his features under the yellow lights of the restaurant, noticing the way he cuts his steak, or the way his eyebrows perk up as soon as his phone rings. You watch him turn to his side as he picks up the call, putting hand on his mouth to minimise the sound, though it was loud enough for you to decipher it clearly.

You read the slight changes in his expression and gradual curve of his lips swifting upwards. Amidst all, your phone rings as well, interrupting the decorum of the restaurant. You pick it up quickly when Heeseung sends you a displeasing look, though you believe it wasn’t intentional. You didn’t check the caller ID but the voice tells you that it’s your team leader and for some reason, you’re expecting something good. Call it a hunch or the change in scenery tonight but something tells you that there must be good news waiting for you in a secluded corner. While you try your best to focus on what is being informed to you from the other side of the line, you’re too busy analysing Heeseung’s grimace that now you’re mirroring the same smile that’s dancing on his face. He glances at you and his smile grows wider, making you do the same in return. You really hope your call isn’t about the presentation due tomorrow because if yes, then you’re going to mess up, for your attention is nowhere near your call. You’re so lost taking note of every single change in Heeseung’s expression that now, everything your team leader is telling you from the other side of the phone is a blur. It’s as if you’re in a crowded room and the only thing you’re able to perceive is him. You’re so busy indulging in his actions that the only thing you’re able to hear clearly from the phone is that you’ve been removed from the project.

‘I know that you’ve been working hard but the Chairman thinks you’re not skilled enough to collaborate with us on this project,’ You start paying attention to the conversation now, letting everything else around dissolve in the yellow glow of the restaurant. ‘To make sure your efforts aren’t wasted, you’re free to give us a brief view on what you had in mind and if we decide to include it, I’ll put in a word or two for you to the Chairman.’

‘Promotion,’ he mouths the word with a cheeky smile when your eyes focus back on him before getting back to his phone once again. You don’t put down your phone and pretend to be on a call to avoid hearing about his good news, or share the bad one from your side. You try to respond with the same smile but your lips feel like they’re frozen. No movements— you don’t know what to say, how to smile; numbness is all you could comprehend. For the first time in all the years that you’ve known him, a slight hint of envy intoxicates the air between you and Heeseung. You should be happy for him— you’ve always been. You’ve always been a part of his success despite falling to the rock bottom on your part. On days Heeseung called you to inform you about the awards he received in a particular competition, you’d invite him over for a celebratory drink even if you, yourself, lost terribly. It was a long drawn process of mutual development and self-care. What people thought of as a relationship written in the stars, was a selfish way of ensuring your well being in the most selfless ways ever. You stayed with Heeseung because he was the only person down to hang out with you in your apartment instead of forcing you to go out. You enjoyed his company because he motivated you to do better, to test your potential and go beyond your limits; and somewhere inside, you knew you were worth the same for Heeseung too. Watching him do well, isn’t that what you wanted? You should be happy for him— but you’re not.

Heeseung excuses him outside the restaurant once his phone starts blowing up with texts and calls, giving you a chance to drop your facade and let the whole situation sink in. You lean back on your chair, phone on the table as its screen lights up with a message from your team leader, informing the team that you’ve decided to step down from the project— which is a lie but you assume it’s been told to save you for further embarrassment. You sniff, a chuckle falls off your lips, there’s no use of it at all, what’s done is done. On the other side of the glass pane, you could see Heeseung talking on his phone with a triumphant smile, making invincible patterns on the pavestone with the tip of his converses. It feels as if he’s shining against the busy streets behind him, as if he’s the centre of attention at the moment. It takes you exactly back to your graduation day— he was just as happy sharing the news about his graduation with his family. You were sitting inside a cafe and watched him talk for what felt like hours. Your heart was full of the same dissatisfaction, but now that you think about it, perhaps it was just jealousy back then too. While Heeseung was born smart, brimming with passion, you had to fight to get what you wanted. And despite being one of the brightest students in his class, Heeseung’s achievements never had a chance next to yours. You stood in the first three ranks of your school, first five all your college life, been recommended to prestigious schools, were given more opportunities, you were better than Heeseung in all the possible ways.

You watch Heeseung come inside and pick up his fork, only to put it down and get back to typing once again. There’s a smile on his face and it tells you that you’re equally deserving of the happiness he’s experiencing, perhaps even more than him because life was way harder for you than anyone else you’ve known till date. For the first time in years, you think life is unfair to you because even after giving your best in everything, you’re met with nothing but failure and discontent. No matter how hard you try, your efforts never pay off and people start treating you like a pushover, thinking you would do everything they’d say because you need to put up a good image of yourself in your workplace. You walk hand in hand with failure and watch people succeed with their bare minimum effort. You look at him once again and think, why must it always be you who suffers the pain of failure and shame.

Why me, why not him?

III. Remember why you broke up

By the time winters arrived and marked their peak, you barely got a view of your neighbour. A part of it could be because of his even busier work life that comes in with promotions. You took the weekend off, saying you have an annual health checkup scheduled at the City Hospital, even though it was a white lie and you never had an appointment with your physician to begin with. Those two days felt longer than usual with the four walls of your apartment making you feel suffocated in your own house. You paced around for hours on empty, rearranging things, cleaning rooms, cooking meals, moving furniture— just anything that would make you feel useful. Truthfully, being depressed over a promotion makes you feel even more stupid about yourself. It’s a part of life, something you involuntarily signed up for when you applied for your job and you can’t run away from it no matter how much you try. Being in the workforce comes with disappointment and pleasure, failures and success; it’s not your first time losing but it still feels like the burden of failure is occupying every little space in your room, making it harder and harder for you to breathe.

You thought things would be better once you get back to work but everything starts caving in when you hear the team leader discuss details about the project. Initially, they would let you in their meeting, offering you a chance to share your ideas to see if they can cultivate anything better but it didn’t last long either. You started learning about their meetings after work from other colleagues and they started leaving you out of their discussions. On some days, you would sit by an empty table in the canteen and go back to every move you made, trying to track down the mistakes you could’ve made for them to push you away. You didn’t expect them to keep you updated on everything since you’re no longer on the project team, but it would’ve been better if they had simply said that you’re not needed anymore instead of watching you run around cluelessly before you caught a hint. Everything would’ve been a lot easier if you didn’t have to drag yourself around to survive and make a living. On days like these, you would imagine Heeseung in his cabin with a complacent smile, laughing with his friends and receiving compliments. You don’t know why but at one point in time, you started picturing yourself in his shoes while idly resting in your apartment.

Occasionally, you would hear his footsteps outside your door and stop everything you’d be doing to hear him unlock his door and walk in. Having Heeseung with you was slightly better than living alone and drowning in your overbearing thoughts, but you decided to maintain your distance. Heeseung— apart from being your ex— was someone capable of doing something, anything. You’ve known Heeseung for years and the once carefree young adult found a purpose in life. He had goals to achieve, perhaps a to-do list to complete; you didn’t want to disturb his decorum with your lethargic lifestyle. On some days, he would knock on your door and you’d pretend to be asleep. He would stand for a minute longer and knock again, you would focus on the sound of him tapping his shoes until they faded behind his doors. You started with leaving him on seen and stopped reading his texts altogether. For a few days, it felt refreshing— as if he was never a part of your life to begin with— but the loneliness didn’t hit you until he stopped dropping by your door. And you realised— you were never able to get him out of your life properly. After you broke up, you moved away, blocking all means of contact, but met him at a reunion, and something inside of you prompted to get his number, and so you did. Even though you never talked, you found yourself staring at his number with your fingers hovering over his caller ID.

It took you years, but you think you’re coming to terms with the truth, that you can never get Heeseung out of your life, and it’s not because you can’t, but instead it’s because you don’t want to. Life without Heeseung felt like a maze, but with him it’s as if you’ve found a way, and you would never admit but having him next to you was so much better than living alone with alcohol.

When his absence overwhelmed you, you would try burying yourself into stuff as a distraction. It started with books, then painting, followed by poetry, before you would slump on your couch again with no motivation to do anything. Job wasn’t any better or busier. People had little expectations from you and you had even less. At times, you would pace in your living room, trying to complete a presentation or prepare an excel sheet. The deja vu caved in when you’d hear Heeseung’s cab stop by the apartment entrance, except you no longer ran to your balcony to catch a glimpse. You no longer sat on the balcony with tea, waiting for him to arrive. As time passed, you stopped paying attention to the sound of him unlocking his door. His footsteps dissolved in the heavy silence, too miscible for you to perceive. Occasionally, you’d find yourself thinking about him in the shower or before bed, but the thought of him never lasted long enough for it to dawn upon you. Before you knew it, Heeseung became just another neighbour you had, another resident living in the fourteen floored apartment.

One evening, you bumped into a woman who was standing in front of Heeseung’s apartment. You didn’t see her face, for you were standing behind her with grocery bags, but you could picture what she looked like. Your eyes settled upon her chiffon shirt and the way it complimented figure, her stilettos, a handbag from Lana Marks, you couldn’t help but compare yourself to her. The thoughts about her knowing or being related to Heeseung didn’t cross your mind until a few minutes later. She, despite being someone you never met, was the exact image of how your younger self had imagined herself in future.

“Excuse me, does Lee Heeseung live on this floor? I just want to confirm,” And her voice is just as captivating. You find yourself staring at her face longer than you should, losing the sense of reality because of all the questions hurdling inside your mind.

Who even are you?

“He does, but he’s at work right now,” You reply with a bitter smile.

Who are you to him?

“I see,” It seems like she’s about to say something, and you’re not up for a small talk with a stranger, or Heeseung’s girlfriend, or his ex-girlfriend, your ex’s other ex girlfriend, whichever fits the scenario better. Actually, you’re not half against the idea of him dating someone else, not like your refusal will mean anything either. Truthfully, the idea never crossed your mind. You spent your days working days and nights to get the degree you’ve been aiming for, apply for jobs, fueling your hunger for having more and more.

Maybe, that’s why college is supposed to include one of the most youthful years because after all, it is the only time when you’re free from most of the worries. You didn’t have stress about attending classes regularly or having proper notes like you did in highschool, nor did you have to worry about fitting into the workforce and numerous interviews. College, for you, was the time you could see yourself falling in love, and you did, and now that you stand in your marginally empty living room with your gaze reaching up to the farthest of the buildings touching the sky line, you realise that you don’t see yourself falling for someone the way you did for Heeseung. Perhaps that’s why your conscience refused to imagine him with someone else. Maybe because he had such an impact on you that you don’t see yourself with someone else, you sort of hoped that the time he spent with you had half, if not the same, impact on him as well.

The evening passed by with you sitting in front of your laptop, scrolling through the document your boss sent you the same noon. The beer cans lie stray on the tiles, right next to you as you shiver under your beige cardigan. You’ve been wanting to close the balcony for a while now, except you don’t want to get up from the cushion that has warmed up with you sitting on it for two hours now, especially in this cold weather. You’re not busy, but you’ve been trying to indulge yourself into little work here and there. Even if it’s just moving your furniture from one corner to another, or going through a file that you’ve already reviewed the previous evening, anything that could make you feel less lonely is welcomed.

These are the moments when you zone out involuntarily, thinking about Heeseung, or more precisely, his work life. You picture him in his cabin with a cup of coffee, skipping lunch because he has files stacking up on his desk. You imagine him amidst his colleagues at a local bar after working hours, having his drink of relief that hits his system with a wave of satisfaction after a long and busy day. You think about him a little too often for someone who’s trying to forget him. Usually, the thoughts are laced with traces of envy. Today, they’re drowning in something between regret and jealousy. You take a sip from the can in your hand, and suddenly, the image of Heeseung with the lady from earlier pops inside your mind. You’re not sure if they dated, or if they are dating, but you do know that they’re more than friends. Perhaps, it’s just a hunch, an intuition that’s terribly wrong and is driving you to insanity because of all the stuff you’re thinking about. You know you should stop but you can’t help but picture them together.

Now, you’re thinking about their life together as a couple, the stuff they’d do, the things they’d say. You feel like an intruder peeping into their lifestyles, someone who’s uninvited in their story, a third person. You think about them doing everything you and Heeseung did together, but again, neither of you had a lot of things in your hands to begin with. You had your problems, he had his part-time job, a sorry excuse of a college major that both of you found interesting, along with each other’s shoulders to cry on when needed. While your stories started off as any other tale of love with paths decorated with flowers, it was far from how they portrayed love life in universities in the media. In reality, you barely have time for each other and if somehow you do, you know in the back of your head that you’re missing out on other things. College is, actually, just a bunch of things to do with limited time, and the time is running out of your hands while you sit on your bed and contemplate life decisions, crushing over some person from one of your classes, thinking about the bartender from that cafe downstreet, making up for everything you didn’t get to do during highschool.

You and Heeseung didn’t have a lot of time to offer each other. Texts were shared, he’d face time with you every morning and you’d call him if you couldn’t see him after classes. Hugs shared in hallways reduced to apologies at your shared apartments, you both went from making out in club rooms to barely getting a glimpse of each other on weekdays. Initially, when he would get back after extra classes, you would be at the door, waiting with your arms open. After sometime, you’d be in your room, busy with your work while he would be lost in his own world of things to tend to. At first, Heeseung’s presence made you feel better about yourself but later on, it didn’t matter if he was there or not. It all felt the same, and the worst part, neither of you tried to work on it. Both you and Heeseung started to get used to the lack of each other.

Your fingers tighten around the can, your mind goes back to thinking about the lady. Maybe, the lack of affinity in your relationship gave Heeseung a reason to give up and move on. Perhaps, she was everything to him that you couldn’t be, maybe she keeps standing at her doorstep to welcome him after he returns from work, that the two of them seek for each other instead of getting used to whatever has been offered by the circumstances. Could be that every kiss meant as a thank you for being in each other’s life instead of a sorry for not being able to see each other for days and more. Maybe, he is happy with her and you have no right to be jealous because in the end, you gave him every reason to try to forget you.

Another shot of beer down your throat, another can added to the emptied stacks, your senses start fading into nothing when you hear distant clicking of doors, or perhaps it’s the hangover blanketing the sound for you. With the last bits of energy and soberness left in your system, you get up and open your door.

“Didn’t expect you to remember me after all this time that you’ve been ignoring me,” Heeseung snaps at you playfully, or maybe, with a hidden sense of disappointment. You have the answer to his question if he asks why you suddenly opened the door when he didn’t even ring the doorbell, or why you’re here standing at your doorstep with nothing but a thin cardigan in this chilling weather. You’re just hoping he won't ask you for the reason you refused to see him until now, because you don’t have an answer to that.

“Someone came, looking for you,” You say, and meanwhile, in the back of your head, you think of reasons why you actually ran to see him the moment he arrived from work. You don’t want to admit it’s because of the woman from earlier today, you don’t think she’s the reason behind the sudden changes in your mannerisms in the first place. “Some lady,”

A pause, you notice realisation seeping through the cracks of his skin. A second passes, and then another, his eyes tell you that he knows who it could be. “Right,”

And, Heeseung steps inside your apartment as if it’s yours, and you step aside, letting him in, as if he has always belonged there, and it feels as if the walls have started to fade out the moment he takes a seat on the couch, taking a sip from the bear can you offer him with eyes ever so indulged in him, as if he has returned home after months. Heeseung exhales deeply before letting the words fall off his lips. “We dated for a while,”

You expected that much, judging from her mannerism and the way she took your name. You had expected them to be in a relationship, or had pictured them as exes who are planning to get back together, a luxury you could never afford. Consequently, you bury those thoughts deep inside, taking a seat next to him, and for some reason, you feel breathless in your own house, on your own couch, with your own bear intoxicating your systems. It’s something Heeseung has always done to you; making you feel out of place.

You want to yell at him.

Looking at Heeseung, you don’t know what exactly made you fall for him in the first place. For example, say, you can claim that he dislikes drinking out late with friends and is the type to study even during gatherings based on just one incident. You can sit back and claim to be almost, if not just as, similar to him, pointing out the similarities while completely ignoring the differences, crossing them out of your list of reasons why. But considering everything now, Heeseung has always been different, and a better different. He received good grades even after spending empty hours at your apartment, watching you study. You complained about having day long picnics with him, saying the two of you could use that time more efficiently. As a result, there were nights you could cry yourself to sleep because you were unable to look at your relationship from his point of view. You would kiss him but it’s an apology for the upcoming week that you wouldn’t be able to see him, and you would cancel dates just to study another chapter beforehand. Every single second spent next to him reminded you of all the sacrifices he made for you and every thing you did to disregard his efforts. No, you weren’t a bad partner, his timing was wrong, but saying that would be just another excuse to soothe your aching heart. Looking at him now, it takes you back to all the days you’ve spent together in pain and pleasure, between yes and no’s, do’s and don’ts, a choice between leaving and staying for a little bit longer; the memories are bittersweet like your favourite wine, or rather, they resemble a cold autumn breeze that makes you shut your doors and windows, keeping you from enjoying your favourite season. Time spent with him was short, though nice, but thinking of him makes you blue. You said you wouldn’t see him again but you’re still here, next to him, stuck in the past, still young, still making mistakes, still growing, not knowing if you’ll ever learn.

“So, how was work today?” You ask, partially because you don’t want to think about him and partially because of the slight curiosity you have regarding his work life, about how it feels to do something he likes, something that doesn’t feel like a chore.

“You’re not going to ask why we broke up?” He questions back.

“I figured that it’s your private matter,”

“She said I didn’t love her,” He says it factually, as if it’s something you’re supposed to know. “That I used her to pass time while waiting for someone else,” His words are unclear, insinuating towards something that you dare not assume, but his eyes are telling you that it’s your fault.

And for once after you broke up with you, you wonder if Heeseung resents you for calling off your relationship. The thought of him hating you has never crossed your mind, be it your pride or habits to avoid taking the blame. You don’t resent him, he can’t either. You loved each other, you got over it, you broke up, that’s life. That’s the flow of the universe, to meet people and leave him to meet someone else and to keep meeting a new person until you find the one you could stay with. If he thinks you’re the reason why he hasn’t been able to move on, then he’s no different from you, for the thought of him dating someone else has been bugging you ever since the two of you had a drink together on the night you moved in.

To you, love was inordinate. I love you, Heeseung would say, and you’d ask, how much— he wouldn’t find the words to answer you then. You can go on, pretending none of this ever happened, draping sheets over all the memories about everything you and Heeseung were, in the back of your mind, and fall in love with him all over again, living as all the things you could’ve been. You’ve put too much faith in your love for him, knowing that even after spending the sunsets alone, your mornings will always commence in his arms. There’s fear lurking around, you chose to ignore it. So resentment, in your relationship, was a bliss neither of you could have. For every day that you stood him up, Heeseung paid you back multiple folds. Every moment spent in his arms struck you back with arguments that seemed to get bigger, and none of you were ready to work things out. The pain was mutual, you both hurt each other, then why does it seem like only you’re in the wrong?

“Turns out, I never gave you a congratulatory gift for your promotion. I should be having a bottle of wine if I’m not wrong,” You get up from your couch; a subtle attempt to change the topic and drive the atmosphere in any other direction except the one it was flowing into.

Silence takes over, you’re in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, he’s on the couch, the sound of water dripping down your kitchen sink hits your ears as you get conscious of the periodic sounds of the clock ticking. Maybe, wine is just an excuse to get away from Heeseung and everything that his presence takes you back to. It feels like university all over again, where you could spend hours in silence next to each other, though this time, you’re apart, but still, under the same roof. The sense of something being terribly wrong looms in the air, but none of you could bring yourselves to say something, because you both need a shoulder to lean on. There are heavy untold words housing the back of your mind, unasked questions that haunt Heeseung in his sleep, suppressed emotions both of you know couldn’t be expressed so easily this time ‘round.

There’s no wine at your place, but you put water to boil while preparing hangover soups for both of you. His exhausted grimace tells you he needs it, and you need it even more than him. You’re taken back to the days when either of you would have a run down to the nearest convenience store to the university to get beer and then spend the night before the test amidst alcohol and sheer stress weighing your shoulders. You would refuse to waste your time instead of studying but one look at Heeseung and you’d lose your composure. Blurred words about how both of you should be studying for exams would escape your lips between sips from your cans and, Heeseung would simply laugh at your failed efforts to pull yourself together. On days, you think about the possibility of you and him and you could’ve been if time had allowed, wondering if you could’ve made things right by attending the reunion last year instead of making excuses to pass just because Heeseung was going to be there. You consider every single scenario where he and you could’ve been together if time had allowed, and if either of you had taken a step towards making things right, then again, a voice from the back of your mind would tell you to give up.

You hear Heeseung let out an exaggerated sigh. “I resigned,”

“What?” And it feels like your lungs have collapsed. “I mean, you’ve been promoted then, why?” You don’t get it. Resigning from a job that had everything to offer seemed too incomprehensible in your knowledge. Had it been you— had it been anyone else— would think the same.

You’ve spent months in despair, searching for a purpose in the way you make money, a reason to keep going on between oceans of failure with pieces of your shattering will staying afloat. You’ve spent nights staying up, working on a presentation and giving it your everything to secure a better position in your department. Not a day has passed when you didn’t feel like you’ve lost the purpose of everything and yet, kept going with the flow of life to see if something good lies at the other end. And Heeseung would say, who cares about the standards of normal people, but recruiting managers don’t look for something out of the ordinary. They’re not looking for someone who would operate things based on whether it fits their sense of satisfaction, someone who would resign after getting a promotion when other employees struggle to get one. You would consider having a long talk about the choices he made and one he should’ve gone with, but instead, you sit in front of him on the cold winter tiles.

“Promotions can make you feel good for a while, but they can’t satisfy you in the long run,” He says it easily, a little too carelessly for your comfort. “I just want to do something I like,” And once again, you come to the conclusion that these are the reasons why you and Heeseung wouldn’t have made it even if you had tried.

He’s too different.

Heeseung has nothing to lose, never had to begin with. When you saw yourself for a whole month, doing everything in the same way, he was out enjoying his life. Now that you’ve managed to pull yourself together and learnt to handle your emotions, though not by a long shot, he shows up and tells you that he has resigned from his perfect job, or rather, a job that would’ve been perfect for you, at least. You would’ve been a better employee, you’re efficient, you don’t make decisions impulsively, have excellent qualifications, know how to separate work and private life, how to separate likes and dislikes from needs and necessities. You wouldn’t have resigned because if you did, you would’ve lost your only source of income, your last straw, something that has been keeping you from returning back to your stagnant lifestyle. You would’ve been a much better employee than Heeseung.

You’ve seen him living like he has no worries. You’ve seen him switch clubs, change hobbies, drop subjects until he settled with something that satisfies him. Heeseung is about kissing his lovers between paintings at an art museum, promising forever, but he’s so quick to change his heart. Heeseung knows what’s important and what’s not a little too much, he knows what he needs and things that have no use for him anymore. Perhaps, it’s a sense of fearlessness that you acquire growing up the way he did, exquisitely happy and desperately carefree. You think it’s just a waste of time and resources for people like Heeseung because they don’t understand the value of certain things just because they’ve received it too easily. You wouldn’t disregard his efforts because you’ve seen him work hard to make ends in university. Even though things were a tad bit easier for him compared to you, you know it was the hardest time he had during university. You admire Heeseung for his consistency and passion, but you despise him for throwing away something you’ve seen people cry for; something that you’ve cried for, over a hundred times. While you may come to respect his choices when you wake up the next day, but right now, you wish that he was in your shoes, living life the way you’ve been living, suffering, struggling, suppressing.

“People just don’t get by through society with their likes and dislikes,” There’s a touch of envy in your words, you hope it wouldn’t get past him. You grew up doing everything that would result in a secure future instead of something that satisfies you, to put it straight. The managers at interviews don’t look for candidates with most unique or extraordinary likes and hobbies, but rather they’re in search of someone with experience, ironically, and someone who can adapt to different circumstances without diminution of their efficiency.

And you think, the childhood people have, or the way they grow up, what they go through and the circumstances they lived in, it really shapes their future selves. Growing up in a financially suboptimal family made you believe that money is everything, and people can try convincing you otherwise but their views wouldn’t alter the truth. Even if you wake up and try to think that money isn’t the most important thing, you would learn to believe otherwise the moment you open your empty refrigerator by the end of this month. You didn’t waste time having highschool romances and university love stories. You’ve had your fair share in having crushes and one night stands until you met Heeseung, and thinking about it now, a part of you knows it was a better decision to stay with him instead of hoping you had someone by your side on days when you didn’t feel like yourself. Perhaps, you did use him like a part of your conscience claims. Maybe at the end of day, away from all the concepts of love and lust, that’s what he was to you, a band aid that needed to be replaced before it infects the very wound it was healing.

“You’re going to regret it,” It’s a breathy confession, a bitter truth. “Decisions made impulsively, they always leave heavy regrets,” You’ve been walking hand in hand with regrets. You’ve made decisions, many of which you thought would offer great results but instead, left with heavy regrets. You know better than giving up on the perfect job in search of something you’d enjoy doing, or walking in another direction knowing it’s the longer way home. Life has given you your fair share of events to think back to whenever you sit back, planning to do something new. Sometimes, you wonder why all of this only happens with you, and as an answer, you think that maybe, you’re the only one who would take life for its lessons and losses and still keep on going as if nothing ever happened.

“Then, did you ever regret breaking up with me?” You see, Heeseung was never successful in comprehending the whole logic behind love. He was told it’s warm, but he knows love is the loneliest place a person could ever find themself in; he read that it’s kind, but Heeseung has spent nights spilling tears on his pillow, all because of love. It’s self contradicting; love is supposed to make you feel happy, but it stings. It gets under his skin, makes him unsteady, makes him question everything he has ever believed about love. He didn’t see it coming. Truthfully, Heeseung didn’t see you coming into his life. You were a boon and a blessing, the one who made him feel reckless and out of control; the one he is infuriatingly and inexplicably drawn to. Ironically enough, you’re not the one who tucks him in bed, but instead the reason why he cannot sleep at night. So, Heeseung needs to know if his presence made you feel the same way, or if he was really just another passerby in your melancholy.

His question is the words you’ve been avoiding to notice ever since you called off your relationship with him. It has been hiding in the back of your head, popping up every once in a while when your heart aches for love and when your arms feel emptier than the streets after midnight. And amidst your heavy heart and cold tiles, your hands find their way to his. A faint apology falls off his lips, whispered in your ears. The moon watches you slip his shirt off his shoulders, your lips tracing along his neck while his hands find solace in your curves as if you’re the home they’ve been yearning for; an old spark ignites again, a beginning of something tragic.

As the night dwells further into the darkness, the two of you are pulled back into the old cycle of healing and hurting, the give and take where both of you would be standing with your hands stained with losses by the time it ends. Your steps are heading towards actions you couldn’t reverse, and the very reason you broke up flashes in front of your eyes, though faded enough to have you ignore it. Guilt trickles through your fingertips, seeping through the cracks of his skin, his eyes gleam of remorse, and the moment your lips meet his’, fate decides to play into the hands of your history once again.

IV. One step at a time

It didn’t feel right watching Heeseung being so busy even after resigning from his job. You always see him on his laptop, typing or reading something. Morning to evening, from noon to night, you’d see the lights in his apartment switched on, faint rumblings of furniture and numerous phone calls filtering through his walls and entering yours. He was busy, he was planning something huge, and you didn’t like the sound of it.

You’ve come to a point in life where you can finally accept your pettiness and slash or, your jealousy. Maybe, it’s one of the few emotions you’ve been feeling over the past week, and now, you finally know the reason why. Waking up this morning, you imagined yourself in his shoes once again— without a job, without a secure financial flow, without a purpose or strong sense on what to do next, just as someone in the workforce who’s contributing to nothing. The furthest your imagination took you was to your terrace, you don’t know how you would live through a life like that.

Some things about Heeseung have never made sense to you. While he might come off as someone who has plans prior to everything, you always see him as someone who lives his life based on a hit and trial concept. He does one thing, and if it doesn’t fit to his liking, he switches to other, and then other, and then he has a never ending cycle in his hands. You weren’t there when he got a job but you know how Heeseung looks when he is passionate about something. The evidence lies all the way back to university, or during the few months that you’ve witnessed him go to work before quitting abruptly. You’ve spent evenings trying to deduce a conclusion as to why he resigned, and every possibility leads you to the answer that it was a decision made in spur of the moment. A part of you thought about asking him for a reason if he ever had one, but you ultimately realised that a person like him doesn’t need a reason to choose something that he likes; no one does, except you. People don’t put a second thought when it comes to choosing what they like and what they don’t. They date their crushes, eat their favourite food, watch their favourite movies, attend concerts of their favourite artists; favourite, it’s a word that tends to solve most of the trivial problems that arise throughout one’s life. Perhaps, that’s another reason why you decided not to ask Heeseung about the night from two days ago. Even though you made the move, the most he can say about complying and giving in to your acts would be because he wanted to do so; no reason, no plans, nothing.

Maybe, it was your fault. You could’ve taken one step at a time, starting from dinner, then something else— you don’t know what people do to get back with their exes. You’ve never done that, would have never if it wasn’t for Heeseung, because something about him has you gravitating in his direction. That’s why, you sit on his couch, the TV remote in your hands as a random show plays on the screen. Your eyes are rather focused on Heeseung, who sits by the kitchen counter, typing something on his laptop for the past hour. He has been busy with that lately. You pictured unemployment as lying on your bed all day, or pacing around your apartment uselessly, having the days feel longer and watching the time pass because you have nothing better to do. But, Heeseung is way too busy for someone who has recently resigned, he’s even busier than how he used to be. You asked him about it once, and he said it’s something he has been wanting to do for a while now. Heeseung never gave you the context, but you know he is putting his time into writing drafts for his book.

Occasionally, you anticipate a small talk with him, but with no signs of Heeseung being interested in anything except his drafts, your eyes instead run all over his living room, taking a note of every single detail that exhibits his taste in interior decor that has changed over time. The wine coloured curtains are a little too vibrant to fit his choices of decors and furniture. You remember him planning out the living room layouts with you back in university when you were still together, when life was beautiful and you were impossibly happy.

You find it amusing how quickly things change. It’s been years but if you’re being honest, it feels like just yesterday, you were accepted in the university you’ve been aiming for, as if just yesterday, you earned the scholarship, and just yesterday, you had met Heeseung. Your heart still picks up a pace at the sight of him.You’ve spent months thinking about the time you spent with him, regretting every move that led you to the decision to break up with him. You’ve had your fingers just centimetres above his caller ID, just impulses away from making a call, seconds away from asking him to get together back again, heartbeats away from giving into your desires. It started with your falling for him first, and you kept falling harder and harder until you realised that you were at the bottom of the pit and it was getting hard to breathe. You spent years trying to make your way up, step by step, and when you were finally by the edge, he came back and pushed you back to where you had started. You would say you hate him but a part of you wants to believe this could lead to something better than how it was last time, because things have started to feel a lot like love, and you’d like to take a chance with your broken fate yet again.

“Heeseung,” You call once, voice low and quiet like a whisper, one that dissolves between the sound of television. You expect him to hear, but your words fly by his ears as if they’re of little to no importance. “Heeseung,” You say again, this time a little louder, eyes fixed in his direction, watching the seconds pass and waiting for a reply. For a second, you wonder if he’s pretending to not hear you deliberately, but you push yourself to sit up straight, hoping he’d hear you this time. “Hee,”

And he whips his head in your direction. It was for a brief second, but you could see a hint of surprise in his eyes. You would’ve said you have accomplished something if Heeseung had spared you a little more attention, but his eyes go back to his laptop and before you know it, his fingers start dancing above the keys yet again.

“What are we?” You ask, half hopeful, half defeated. You don’t know where the question comes from, or why you are even asking it. Your heart isn’t hoping for a happily ever after romance, your mind isn’t looking for a redemption arc. You’re not hoping for a good response, you’ve learnt to keep your expectations low after everything that has unfolded in the past. You’re not hoping, you tell yourself, but your soul knows otherwise.

A second passes, then another, your mind starts coming up with answers to your own questions. What could you be? To strangers, you’re neighbours; to your friends, you’re exes; to yourselves, it’s a broad question. You could tell your mind that you’re in a friends-with-benefit relationship that has a terrible lack of communication and get away with it, but your heart knows it was supposed to be something wrong.

“You tell me,” A soft laugh falls off his lips, it makes him sound like he’s lost as well, just like you. You take it as a good enough response but Heeseung stands up from his chair, making way towards his bedroom as if you aren’t even there, as if your question holds no meaning. You would’ve assumed his response meant that even if you both are without labels at the moment, you could be something in the future. Maybe, your actions from two nights ago would’ve lead to something good if he was less busier, but for now, all they do is guide you to the answer to your own question:

A temporary fix.

That’s what you both are. It’s exactly how it was back in university, a sense of mutualism with no sense of responsibilities. Things were obligatory, dates were barely a show to the world for your sorry excuse of a relationship. It started off like a fairytale, as if you both were supposed to meet, meant to fall in love, made for each other. In the first few weeks or even months, having Heeseung next to you felt like a blessing. A luxury to come home to someone, to have someone you can vent to about that one professor who kept dismissing your essays, someone who you can talk about your endless project and seminar ideas and they would reply with the same enthusiasm, someone who could make you feel like you’re seeing the world just by staying within the four walls of your messy apartment. Dating Heeseung had you believing in all the romance tropes you’ve ever come across, so much that you forgot that you’ve been living in a painful reality.

You tried not to ponder over it so much. You went back to work once the weekends passed, back to your old excel sheets and same old job. Occasionally, you would wish he stayed next to you until you finished your work just like he did back while you were still dating, but you knew it was too much to even hope for. You would say, you’re going crazy. Perhaps, you shouldn’t think so much about the one-night-stand sort of thing you had with your ex, your neighbour. You both are adults, one without a job and other without the will to do the job, both brimming with unsaid feelings, tied to loose ends, holding onto unasked questions for answers, troubled by old memories and the future that was about to come. He deserved an explanation, you had an excuse to share. Whatever happened, was bound to happen.

Sometimes, you wonder if Heeseung thinks about it as much as you do. Memories from that night haunt your mind like spirits, making it hard for you to focus on anything and everything else, yearning to feel his touch one last time. There are evenings when you’d come home in hopes of having a conversation about what would happen to the two of you in near future, but then you’d see his eyes glued to his laptop screen the moment you enter his apartment and you’d realise that it has only been you all along. Watching Heeseung do well even after giving up his job no longer induces anger or jealousy. Instead, a sense of inferiority floods inside of you whenever your eyes fall upon his figure leaning over his laptop, typing relentlessly with a content smile on his face. And the reason, once again, lies in the concepts of too many similarities and even more differences.

Months ago, when you were still in Incheon, still bound to your old apartment and old lifestyle, there was a point when you had seen yourself at your lowest. You used to drag yourself to work, force yourself to smile, push yourself to make it through everyday. You struggled to do the bare minimum that was necessary to survive. You wouldn’t say your situation was any better than Heeseung only because you still have a job while he doesn’t, because inside the four walls of his apartment, he’s doing better than any other unemployed person out there. He’s doing better than you while you still had your job, while you still had money in your hands to spend on useless things. You spent months pulling yourself through just to make sure you don’t lose your job, and Heeseung resigns from his’ a little too easily. You feared every second that passed because you didn’t know what the future would hold, and if you still had a future, but Heeseung is sitting on his couch and writing as if he has nothing to worry about. You saw yourself for months, doing the same thing, in the same way, and Heeseung is living every minute as if it offers him something amusing.

Life was always easier for Heeseung, and you wonder if this is the reason why you’re standing by his door with your nails digging into the palm of your hands. Maybe, if this is why you don’t try to strike a conversation and instead, walk out of the door as if you accidentally walked into the wrong apartment and now that you’ve realised your mistake, you would make sure you don’t repeat it and end up in the same place ever again.

The next few days pass by rather slowly.

You’ve been trying to keep yourself busy with work. Though it’s a bit hard to focus when everything else is plaguing your mind, things have started to get into place once again. Additionally, you’ve also been busy trying to grow a liking for your job after getting an earful from your boss. The truth is, you don’t exactly hate your work life. Materialistically, it’s perfect— a good environment, impressive benefits, a considerably loaded paycheck— it’s wonderful, but intellectually, you feel you’re at the same place where you started from. You haven’t gotten a new project in a while ( was kicked off the one that kept you motivated ) not a single new thing about work except reviewing documents and passing them on for signatures. One could tell you to quit and look for something you prefer to do, but resigning and pursuing something that you like, unlike Heeseung, is a luxury you never had on your side.

Before you realised, it had already been a week since what happened between you and Heeseung. You wanted to talk about it, hoped to, but he’s harder to see than the most. You could see him through your kitchen that faces his bedroom. You would see his shadow roaming behind the curtains, a notebook in his hand, or a laptop, rarely. Heeseung likes to scribble his thoughts on a paper before settling with one, it’s something you’ve noticed back in the university when he spent nights working on his projects while you sat still at the corner of your bed. You can still watch him on and on for hours, sitting on his couch and imagining him walking up and down his living room while working on his drafts.

Watching Heeseung is one thing you will never get tired of. It’s a little discovery on its own. Every step he takes and every move he makes tells you something new, something you hadn’t known before. You remember sitting next to him in libraries late at night and watching him study. It was supposed to be a simple observation, perhaps an intention to catch onto his tricks and tips to study, and suddenly you see him biting his nails as if his pores are dripping with nervousness. It made you feel better knowing that someone like him has his moments where he’s nervous, even scared, maybe more. Watching Heeseung was something you had on your daily checklist because those moments reminded you that he’s not all strange, that there are similarities, and that he also falls weak, just like you. Watching him felt like watching yourself, as if he’s more you than you are. It felt like taking a look into the mirror and realising that whatever souls are made of, yours and his are the same.

But mirrors for each other's soul has a cost: by the time they part from each other, the individuals have become indistinguishable. Before their merger, they each yearned for the other; as they part, they part from self. Maybe, that’s why leaving him felt like leaving pieces of yourself and meeting him again felt like you could breathe once again.

You can hate him for all the reasons why he is better than you and for all justifications you could offer to prove otherwise. You can spend hours explaining why life has been unfair to both of you, yet still he gets to have the better end while you always fall back to the start even after all the times you’ve tried. You can go out and tell the world your tales of misery and braveness, how you didn’t give up even after life dragged you beyond what could possibly be the worst, and you can complain your heart out about how Heeseung, despite having everything you could ever ask for, gave up all because it didn’t fit to his liking. You can call him a coward in front of eight billion people and would still find yourself in front of his doorsteps at the end of the day, just like now, because after all, he’s the only person who would welcome you with open arms.

“Have you ever tried painting?” You ask while taking a look at all the loose sheets lying around on the centre table in his living room. It comes off a surprise when you find that what he has been scribbling behind his beige curtains were sketches of characters of his novel, rough and messy, some drawn seemingly in love while others had patches of pain in their eyes.

“As a kid, yeah. My parents made me try almost everything out there,” He replies on his way from the kitchen with two coffee mugs in his hands; and amusingly enough, it would be the first time you’d be having coffee with him ever since you moved, because every other conversation was accompanied with alcohol or wine. “But paint brushes aren’t my forte, really,” You take one of the cups, nodding in the process. Your childhood wasn’t any different, despite the financial shortcomings. You remember taking extracurricular classes at least four days a week, all for different fields, art being one of those. You wouldn’t say your painting skills are worth exhibiting, but they are better than his. Maybe, that’s why you briefly consider pointing out his mistakes, telling him that he could try fixing the body proportions to make the figures look more presentable but again, you refrain yourself from doing so.

Instead, you take your time observing Heeseung, again.

A sip of coffee hits your system, you sit on the couch, watching him arrange the sheets into one place. Earlier, it seemed as if Heeseung didn’t care about you seeing his living room in such a mess, as if it’s something you’re allowed to see because it’s you. You notice the way he’s holding onto the coffee mug, you’ve always loved how his fingers wrap around its perimeter completely. It’s one of the things about him that you find attractive. He sits on the opposite end of the couch and you’re sent thinking about the last time you both sat like this, having coffee over silent smiles. One second, you’re thinking about all the good times you’ve had and the next, your mind drifts back into the thoughts from a few nights ago.

The coffee started tasting bitter or maybe, it’s just your thoughts. From thinking about his hands in yours to the smile that used to warm up your evening, nothing seems to cross your mind except the way you felt when his lips captured yours for the first time in years; nothing compares to that, not even close. You thought it’d be fine this time ‘round, people don’t make the same mistakes over and over again. Meeting Heeseung again was like falling back into the hole you’ve been climbing up, but hitting the bottom never hurt. You thought things would work out just fine because you’ve grown up. You’ve learnt things, you know what you did wrong back then and you know exactly what to do to make things right. All these things, they ran an imaginary conversation inside your head where everything went back to normal. There was a point where you couldn’t distinguish between daydreams and reality, and the truth didn’t hit you until you were sitting on the floor of your shower, hyperventilating his name into your hands; and you asked yourself— is it so bad for people to just use one another?

Because friends with benefits is also a relationship based on convenience, you don’t get why loving someone the same way is deemed toxic or simply unacceptable. If things had worked that way, you wouldn’t have ever ended up on this turn of life. You and Heeseung would kiss but won’t be in love, sleep next to each other but won’t be a couple, share your secrets but won’t be friends. He would be someone you would’ve seeked on evenings you couldn’t stop crying and you would be someone he could hold onto on days that made him feel like he couldn’t go further. Not lovers, but not friends, just something, someone you could use and not feel guilty about, someone who could walk away a hundred times without hurting you, someone you didn’t feel obliged to focus on. You both could’ve been someone who didn’t feel like a chore to each other. If people could just use each other, perhaps, you and Heeseung would have lasted longer.

Commitments are hard. Loving is hard, because a day comes where you run out of all the reasons to love. You become selfish, starting thinking about the give and receive, the shortfalls, the absence. The part of your lover that you fell for becomes the very reason why you fall out of love. Instead of appreciating the times spent together, you start complaining about all the minutes that went in waste, all the days they weren’t by your side. You take a step away from the commitment you swore upon and then one day, you start walking away before you even realise. So, loving is hard, and it’s even harder to fall in love again when you’ve walked away once and you’re afraid to do it again, not because you don’t want to hurt the person you love, but because you want to save yourself from hurting all over again.

“How are you doing?” You ask above the silence, voice no louder than a whisper. You’re hoping for a conversation none other than about what happened that night. It’s not because you want him to take responsibility because you’re just as responsible for it, perhaps more. You simply hate how you’re the only one still hung over it, you hate how he can go on with his life without worrying about the things he did that have shifted the ground beneath you.

“Good,” He replies, just as quietly. A pause follows, you feel his eyes on your while yours are still fixed on the mug, fingertips running circles along its rim. “Great,” And, you find another reason for why you’ve been acting lately. The worst part about walking away isn’t the realisation that you have to leave everything that once made you happy, but instead, it’s the hope that follows you everywhere you go. You hope that they’ll run after you, that they’ll stop you and tell you not to leave, that they’ll beg you to say and tell you they need you, but they never do, Heeseung never did.

You look at him after much consideration, there’s a certain look of inevitability in his eyes. It’s not welcoming but it’s not pushing you away either. It’s like he’s telling you there would be a moment when you would look at him in a certain way, and you both would cross the threshold from friendship into something so much more. Perhaps, it’s just the mood of time or your imagination that has you seeing things, but you feel a certain innuendo in his gaze and the way it traces every patch of your skin, from your eyes to down your hands, threatening to transverse further down below. It could be an innocent play of eyes, a harmless action that doesn’t mean anything more than. . . something.

It’s how you begin, your mouth against his, and his fingers tracing along the back of your neck. It feels euphoric and equally sinful, the way his lips move in synchrony with yours, fitting like puzzle pieces. Heeseung tugs you closer by your waist, a faint gasp escaping your mouth that dissolves immediately into your breaths mingling together. He’s pushing you back into the couch, your mind plays all the moments with him like a short film, it feels like a warning sign, but you’re far in too deep to pay attention to anything else except him. Every swivel of his head sends you down a spiral of pain and pleasure, you’re somewhere between pushing away and pulling in. You’re so lost, it feels like you’re on an island and Heeseung is the water. If you’re drawing, he’s the oxygen, if you’re falling, he’s gravity— his presence in your life is contradictory. He’s the reason you’re hurting, and the very reason you like every second of it. Heeseung pulls back, a gaze full of love, he whispers a sweet confession.

“Date me,” he says. You don’t remember responding, and the next time those words flood back inside your mind is two days after the incident, when you’re laying on your living room floor with beer once again.

You’re counting now, the amount of times you’ve ended up on the floor with beer, thinking about all your past actions and regretting. It kind of sounds funny to think about it, to think an adult can’t pull their life together and resorts to alcohol even at minute inconveniences. His words haunt your mind day and night, in sleep and when you’re awake, in happiness and in sorrow. It seems like you’re back to stage one, where all he ever did was look at you and all you ever could do was think about him for as long as possible. Focusing on work doesn’t help. You tried shifting your furniture from one corner to the other, avoided Heeseung for three days before he was at your door with the electricity bill that was accidentally given to him. Consequently, your alcohol intake has increased again, not that it ever went down, but frequent meetings at work gave you a reason to stay sober. As for now, you’ve been spending each day the same way, vegetatively, ever so stagnant, like water in an infected pond that is born to numerous parasitic diseases. Your refrigerator is getting emptier day by day, you feel too exhausted to buy groceries. Days transform into weeks, Heeseung leaves for Busan for a week. He didn’t tell you. You overheard it from the ladies in the elevator. Now, there’s a closed door in front of you everytime you open the door to your house. A door with letters and envelopes piling up, a plant that is drying up day by day because looking at it, you assume Heeseung had forgotten about it. When the energy to cook leaves your body, you resort to ordering takeouts. Missed calls from work are the only thing preventing your apartment from drowning in silence. When the last of your hope dies, you resign from work.

You think you’re going crazy, because you get back to the cycles of standing in the balcony around the time Heeseung used to return from work. A part of you knows he doesn’t work anymore, heck, he isn’t even in the city, but you spend most of your day thinking about him. At times, you wonder the point of all this. You wake up, check your phone for any texts from Heeseung or simply anyone. Fifteen minutes pass and you drag yourself out of the bed, eat ramyeon, watch television, sit on the balcony with bear, watch the people come and go, eat ramyeon for lunch again, sleep, ramyeon for dinner— you needed someone else, something that would break you out of this vicious cycle. There are days when your own skin suffocates you, when the image in the mirror doesn’t feel like yourself but rather, a faceless person. You’ve spent hours sitting in the shower and letting the water prune your fingers. You let your tears wet the bed sheets. For some reason, it feels like you’re coming to terms with reality.

As days pass by without Heeseung, you’re starting to realise your feelings, able to sort out things you want and don’t. You thought your dream was to live an average, normal life. Looking at it now, you don’t think it’s what you wanted, maybe you didn’t have a choice to begin with. You studied in a prestigious university, you had scholarships to support your tuition fee, you had a job that paid you well enough, you had everything any other person your age would desire, you had those things because you wanted to set an example. You lived for your siblings, you lived for your parents, you lived for the expectations that came with your intelligence and skills. Sitting in the bathtub as your mind revisits every decision you’ve ever made in life, not one was for yourself. Or maybe there was— loving Heeseung.

Perhaps, at the end of the day, you wanted someone who would love you, someone who would watch you be selfish and slowly clap at the back of the theatre because you’re doing a good job, you’re choosing yourself above everyone else. Heeseung was the person, it’s the only thing you’re so sure about in your life. He was like a saviour in the apocalypse. He’d tell you to blather about your insecure mind that kept nagging you regarding all the things you couldn't do and, he’d explicate how exquisitely it told you lies that you believed. You thought you could reciprocate, but every moment spent next to him reminded you of things he was and things you could never be. You were scared he’d notice your insecurities, the voices tell you that you’re only worth abandoning. You guessed it wouldn’t be hard, you just had to hide your feelings, and years later, your decisions prove you wrong once again. You’re struggling to breathe under your skin, your heart desires for him, you’re falling in deep again, and you’re about to pack your bags. That’s how your life has always been, to avoid getting hurt, you hurt the people you love.

Maybe, you need him after all. Heeseung was one thing you were certain of in your life— still is— but you had your pride ruling your life, and he had stars to reach.

At some point during Heeseung’s trip, you pick up a paint brush. It’s a sudden decision, an impulsive move. You wake up one morning and your senses crave the smell of oil paints and brushes. You never had a talent for painting, not by a long shot. You attended classes back in middle school but had to drop out because of your family’s financial conditions. You think you’re trying to copy Heeseung. You both have unsaid words in the back of your mind, both need to convey their feelings one way or another. Heeseung picked a pen, you chose a paintbrush. It’s supposed to be therapeutic, you have heard about art therapy. There is no set subject, you draw whatever comes to your mind. Your first piece exhibits your kitchen. There are unwashed dishes, you used yellow to add a light glow except, you used a little too much of the colour. The second one, an apple from your fruit basket. Third, your ceiling— white, blank, empty, you’ve named it ‘My head’s ceiling,’ as lame as it sounds. Your fourth is the cat that roams the neighbourhood on most nights. You don’t know about anatomy, but you sure do see slight improvements with colouring. Your fifth and the last one is Heeseung from the night you met him for the first time after moving in, and then he finally arrives from his trip.

“Did you miss me?” He asks you when you show up at his doors in a thin cardigan and a bottle of wine in your hands. Weather was never a problem, any place with Heeseung tends to feel warmer. You walk inside, eyes on the loose sheets lying all over his kitchen counter. You wonder how he will react after hearing about your resignation.

“I missed drinking with you,” You may or may not have a motive behind your words, maybe you wanted to feel him against you once again, maybe the wine ends up being an excuse again, but the night doesn’t flow in that direction. You tell him about your resignation, he finds it funny after the ‘pep-talk’ you gave him when he resigned. You tell him about your newly found interest in art, he tells you to practise since you have plenty of time. His responses are short and specific, not a word more or less from what’s necessary. His eyes make their way to you once in a few minutes and the rest of the time, they’re on his laptop screen. There are so many things you want to talk about, you have so much to share, so much to do. You had plans for tonight, but all he offers you is a short talk. It’s as if you’re not important anymore, as if you’re the third person between him and his drafts, and he’s doing you a favour by not sending you back to your apartment. He’s being distant, it doesn’t surprise you anymore. Half of it is because of his drafts, the other half, his interest. Heeseung is passionate about what he does. Whatever he does, he sacrifices all of him, it’s about catching his interest. You pour yourself another glass, Heeseung asks you a few questions about his work in progress. You realise he’s losing interest in you, little by little.

You sort of expected yourself to be better after his return, it turns out to be false. You’re still on your living room floor, hands and clothes having stains of reds and blues. You painted the wine bottle from last night. You haven’t got any sleep, the image of Heeseung pops up everytime you close your eyes. It feels like the world is giving you what you had given him long ago— all the pain and insufferable longing, all the reasons that made him believe that he deserved to be abandoned. When you got busy with studies and a job in your last year of university, ignoring Heeseung seemed to be the only way out of your hectic schedules. You had exams, a job to cater too, money was already a problem so you couldn’t afford giving him gifts on all the days they have made for couples. Heeseung used to show up with something new every single day and no matter how pretty it was, a part of you despised him because it made you feel inferior. Leaving Heeseung wasn’t an option, it was your only choice. He was the only thing you had that you could throw away.

“Can we talk?” Heeseung shows up at your door on a Thursday morning with words that brushed away any traces of sleep in your eyes. It’s eleven, you woke up barely fifteen minutes ago, and you find him at your door; hands empty, no traces of his laptop or notepad. You think you’ve finally become one of his priorities, after all.

“About what?”

“Us,” He responded quickly, he came prepared. “I want to talk about us,” And there it is, confrontation knocking at your door. You’ve been waiting for this moment for a while now, for weeks and more, perhaps, and now that it’s in front of you, waiting for you to hold it’s hand and guide it inside, your body freezes under his gaze. It’s a game of push and pull, like a pendulum oscillating between two extremes. You want him to tell someone about you. The thought of you vanishing completely from his world is unbearable. You can’t stand the thought of being a silent tomb in his heart, you don’t want to be an inscription on the first page of his book. You want him to tell the world about you and promise you a forever, but a part of your heart gently reminds you of the impossibility of the kind of love you’re wishing for. It’s not Heeseung who you can’t trust, rather, it’s yourself. You’re scared of your demons. When things get happier, you get anxious because you might ruin it once again.

“Do you want to come in for coffee?” And here you are again on your couch with mugs and words you’re busy burying inside. The situation feels oddly familiar, your eyes travel to him. There’s a look of dejection in his eyes.

You join a wellness club a week after, and Heeseung is the first person to know about it. You saw the advertisement when you went to buy fruits two days ago. It didn’t interest you until you walked back home and found yourself in front of your mirror, thinking of what you were and what you’ve become. Your dark circles have grown prominent, your joints ache from the lack of movement. Walks with Heeseung after dinner are the only reason why you wake up everyday and eat your meals. You have your paint brush and wine, you have every reason to not live any longer. If it wasn't for him, you don’t think you would have been breathing at all. You look up the fitness club on Naver, take your time reading through the programmes they’re offering and the pricing. Maybe, this is the change you needed in your life. Not Heeseung, not money, not a job, but some time for yourself. A place to think about yourself and how you are doing, a place to be selfish without being ashamed of it.

The first few days were nice, you met new people, saw new faces. One new thing in your life, apart from painting. The sessions mainly focus on meditations, you were never the most patient person in the crowd. Some sort of yoga follows before a break, and that is usually the worst part. You would sit on the wooden floor and watch others talk, their laughter and murmurs filling in the hall. It makes you feel like how you used to be in the university— in silence, by yourself. You had conversations with your mind, with your heart. You looked around and saw eyes looking at you. Every second felt like they were talking about you when in reality, the thought of you never crossed their mind. You were no one, despite being popular, it’s ironic, and you hate how the exact same thing started happening in the club. It would have hardly taken you five sessions to give up and get back to your routine of painting, drinking, and sleeping. When Heeseung asked, you excused it as boredom and unsatisfactory. Actually, you have started feeling better ever since Heeseung returned from his impromptu trip. With him next to you most of the day, you feel functional and sane. You feel like you could think again, you decide to get back to cooking your own food instead of ordering take outs or simply sleeping after drinking. You didn’t see the need to attend the wellness classes anymore until a few days before, when they texted about a trip in the groupchat. You tell Heeseung about it, he locks himself in his apartment for the following days to come.

You don’t know how or why he made that decision. You spend hours everyday thinking about all the probable reasons, only to end up with nothing. After three days of consideration, you land onto the conclusion that you take too much of his time. It makes sense, of course, he’s busy, he’s working, he has a job, even if it’s basically sitting into his room all day and typing. You, on the other hand, don’t have anything. You have your issues that you project onto people, you have problems you try to ignore, you have indecisiveness and can’t decide what you actually want. You spend too much of your time thinking about if onlys and begging God for last chances. Days pass by without him, alcohol becomes your only solace. The voices in your head remind you of the consequences of your actions. They scream about the mistakes you make, laugh at your actions. They recite tales of how you tend to ruin the person you like, how you’re a parasite and Heeseung is a host, and how you feed on his blood to keep yourself alive. You wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, you feel like wanting to scratch off your skin. At times, you want to run to Heeseung and profess your love to him, tell him how much you want him, how much you need him. You have always been aware of your feelings, of what you wanted, but deep down, you’re afraid that you might be a worthless person after all. And now, you are the worthless person who is trapped in their own empty life.

You want to try living your life as a different person. A life where you’re not you, and all the things you have now aren’t yours, good or bad. An alternate reality where Heeseung isn’t someone you meet at your lowest, where he isn’t just a use and throw to you. You want to go to a place where nobody knows you and live as if you have no history at all, you want to know how it feels to live without having people expect something from you. A life where running away isn’t the only thing you’re good at. You haven’t talked to Heeseung in five days and you're already on the way to his apartment from the supermarket after getting some fruits. Perhaps, you just want to live a life where his presence and absence wouldn’t mean so much to you, where it wouldn’t cost you your life and pride.

When Heeseung opens his door and invites you inside without asking any questions, you realise he has been expecting you anyway. Heeseung gets back to writing, you’re left alone in silence yet again. You envy Heeseung. As a writer, he has an inclination to step inside someone else’s shoes, to get under their skin and see the world through their eyes. It’s a blessing, you think, to be able to live as a thousand different characters and experience a thousand different emotions, to be able to express them so beautifully in words and actions. If you were him, you’d live as a different person everyday, in a skin that makes you feel comfortable. You could be a pianist pretending to be nervous, or a ballerina with her broken shoes. When Heeseung doesn’t say anything for the next few minutes, you pick up an apple from the grocery bag in your hand and enter his kitchen to grab a peeler. It’s an old tradition between you two, to say things with actions instead of words, to hug each other when sad, to offer fruits when you’re in pain, to sit in silence when you are sorry.

“I’m leaving tomorrow,” You say abruptly, letting words fall off your lips without control. Heeseung’s hands stop in the midst of typing, hovering over his laptop. When the sound of keys stops, the air starts feeling emptier and heavier than ever, sending a wave of shiver down your spine.

“What?” A soft gasp, a voice of disbelief. “Why didn’t you tell me any time sooner?”

“Well, I am telling you now,”

“The night before you’re leaving,”

“I would’ve told you sooner if you could take a break from whatever you’re writing,” A pause. You look at him, his shifts ghosts your sight and falls upon the apple in your hand. You’re looking at the document displaying on the screen, your eyes fall back on the fruit in your hand just a few seconds later. You wish for Heeseung to be more open with you, to yearn for you the way you do for him, to want so much that every moment without you feels like death’s hands around his throat. Maybe, he already does, maybe he wants to but couldn’t because the fear of you leaving yet again is eating him from inside. You have given him all the reasons to doubt himself and you as well, every reason to think thrice before knocking your door. Writing is an escape, you know he has his own problems, after all, how many times did someone pick and pen or and paint brush when they couldn’t pull the trigger?

“When will you return?” He asks, a little unsure of the question, if he should even ask you.

“One month,” And you respond, peeling the apples between your words. “It’s a paid trip from the wellness club I joined, some sort of detox, so I don’t think we’d get to talk much either,” Your thoughts aren’t sane, they’re all over the place, everywhere. It’s hard to walk, harder to crawl, it feels like you’re standing in a deep pit, the way out is in front of you but you don’t know how to reach up there. Calling it a detox sounds stupid, but you know you need it, it’s for you, for him, and for whatever the two of you are becoming.

“It’s alright,” Liar. “It’s just one month,”

Before you know it, you’re in his arms and you’re hugging him back. Perhaps, you missed the embrace, the warmth of loving and being loved. “Just one month,”

“I love you,” He smiles against your ear, arms pulling you closer. You’re stepping into happiness for the first time in months, you’re reminded of its previous betrayal. And you realise that the person you’ve been yearning for is the one you should step away from.

V. Should you get back with your ex?

It’s been five years since Heeseung has heard from you. He has been waiting, but he doesn’t have time to sit back in his apartment while putting everything aside. He has been keeping himself busy with drafts and publishing, lost amidst plots and characters he created, living in a whole another universe as an escape from reality. It all makes him sound crazy, or rather, like someone who has been through severe grief. But, Heeseung has been busy thinking about all the new genres he can try and every single thing that he can include in his writing because no one can stop him, and his imagination means no bounds. After all, Lee Heeseung, after five years of waiting and working, has finally published his most awaited work.

Heeseung isn’t used to distances. They drift people apart, as they once did the two of you, but he didn’t mind anything when it came to you. You were going to return within a month either way, and thus, he found solace in texts and calls while waiting for the days to pass. You’d send him pictures of the city while he’d forward you an image file of another blank document. For days, you both texted restlessly, between meetings, during meals, while taking a walk, before and after bed, it was as if you had returned all the way back to how your life was in university. On days you couldn’t make time to call him due to your busy schedule, he would leave voice notes regarding every single thing he has been up to. It was a small step towards forgetting the past since neither of you tried to talk about it. It was more of an attempt at ignoring your past mistakes and moving on, taking a mental note to not repeat them again. While the need to talk things out bugged both of you every night, you were just fine with whatever the two of you had at the moment.

Things had started off good, but the two of you started hearing less of each other. His busy schedule or your lack of internet could be blamed. You really needed some time to yourself and it seemed to be the perfect excuse to not text him first, or even back. Days morphed into weeks, weeks into months, Heeseung was finished with the first draft for his next book. That was for you but Heeseung, again, isn’t used to distances. You would see his texts on the top of your notification bar, holding onto a fragile ray of hope that he’ll hear from you anytime soon. You’d see his missed calls, voice notes, emails, direct messages on social media, even a letter he sent once. You could feel guilt pool inside of you, realising that once again, you’re being the one to draw a line, to create distance and while you promised that they wouldn’t affect you both this time ‘round, you’re the very reason why they keep on increasing. But, Heeseung is good at these things, hoping, holding, waiting; he’s good at sad things. Perhaps, it’s just another thing he has come to learn because of you.

When you didn’t contact him for another two months, he started reaching out to your friends and family. He called your friends and his friends, his family, even. It was like he was in a forest with a lantern, looking for treasure, and the flame went out.

He used to think he could go a day without your presence. Without telling you things and hearing your voice back. Then, a day arrived when he found himself struggling to feel your presence but the next was harder. He knew with a sinking feeling it was going to get worse, and it wasn’t going to be okay for a very long time.

Losing you wasn’t an occasion or an event. It didn’t happen once and instead, happened over and over again. Heeseung loses you every time he picks up your favourite coffee mug, whenever that one song plays on the radio, when he unconsciously scrolls all the down to the bottom of his messaging app, coming across your contact. He loses you every time he thinks of kissing you, holding you, or wanting you. He goes to bed and loses you, when he wishes he could tell you about his day and everything that he has planned for the future; and in the morning, when he wakes up and reaches for the empty space across the sheets— Heeseung begins to lose you all over again.

“What inspired you to write this book?” And now, he’s sitting at his book launch event, a faint smile on his face, a good of pride gleaming in his eyes. Through the years, Heeseung has released short stories and poems; poems that he wrote while looking out of his window at every flight that flies by, hoping you’d arrive one day, while sitting outside next to your apartment late at night, while drinking your favourite wine knowing you would’ve had the whole bottle to yourself if you were to join him. Heeseung would sit on the cold tiles of his living room and let his mind paint a picture of you. The image of you in his mind is blurry, but he feels every emotion you gave him to this day.

“A friend, my neighbour,” His smile grows wider, a little more filled with sorrow, yearing oozing through the cracks of his skin. “My ex-girlfriend,” Calling you his ex doesn’t seem right since the two of you never broke up. You need to be in a relationship to break up, and Heeseung and you weren’t anything.

His first poetry work, ‘Red Wine,’ was written in the first few weeks after you stopped contacting him. Those were some of Heeseung’s worst days of life, days he felt like doing nothing except lying down and staying still until his systems gave up due to the lack of movement. He has written about you drinking red wine on the floor just like you do, and on the other side it’s him, cold and bleeding. You’re looking at him— he pictures you as such, and you continue to sip on your wine, watching him bleed. Is there a possibility of you and I? Heeseung wouldn’t know, for you enjoyed your red wine while his blood pooled around your legs, and you wouldn’t flinch because you wouldn’t know if it’s blood or wine unless you taste it, and you wouldn’t know if he’s hurting for you’re too busy dwelling in your own mind.

“Did you get back with her? Is that why the book is named ‘How to get back with your ex’?” Heeseung thinks the question is rhetoric. Anyone can tell if he and you are together or not after reading the book. Few seconds pass in silence, it’s not the question he’s running from, but the answer that lies around. Heeseung doesn’t know if there was ever a point when you considered taking him back into your life with labels, just as how it used to be back in university. You waited for him at odd hours but never admitted to missing him. He confessed, you never gave an answer, but you kissed him as if he was a part of you that went missing centuries ago. Your touch bled with yearning, love rolled down your cheeks, and you never accepted your feelings. You’re not his lover, he likes to keep you as his favourite incomplete fish.

“No, actually, we’re not in touch anymore,” Heeseung isn’t familiar with loss. He doesn't have a lot to offer, not at all. Lee Heeseung, in fact, doesn't have anything to give or lose, his hands are empty. He has a mediocre job that he resigned from over a mediocre reason, and a mediocre life, a mediocre apartment with some mediocre flowers in the mediocre vase a friend gave him as a congratulatory gift on graduation day. He has the same mediocre thoughts and books, tropes and genres, no new thought in a while; Heeseung, actually, has more to accept than to lose.

To think, he has always been on the receiving end of life.

The first month was the hardest. He started hearing less of you, and then none. Losing you, it was like experiencing withdrawal symptoms. Heeseung would pace around, hours on empty, looking obsessively at his phone to catch a hint of you, just one text, one missed call, anything. His editor continued to call him, even show up at his place, telling him to write, to do his job, but words don’t flow when you’re not around, and the thought of you pains his heart inexplicably. He knows he’s always talking about second chances, how there is always a second shot at things that slipped out of your hands. The day you cut off all contact with him, Heeseung realised that it was probably his last chance with you. He cried the first time the news of Bus M4107 crash on its way back to Incheon. He ran back to his apartment, avoiding getting hit by a lorry only by a few minutes, vision getting blurry as his mind started coming up with all the worst scenarios possible. Heeseung went through all his contacts, looking for names familiar to the two of you and begged them to try to get in touch with you. He spent hours looking at his phone, his eyes were like a searchlight. How they looked at the sky with such longing, how they always turned towards the door hoping you’d walk in any moment. Heeseung doesn’t care if you’re with him, he doesn’t mind seeing you across the street while pretending to be strangers. He doesn’t mind not being able to hold you. Even after all these years, even when he’s Korea’s bestselling author, even when he has everything he has ever dreamt for, his life has voids that remind him of you, but it’s fine. Things were fine, you left him one Sunday morning with his cup half empty. It was supposed to be just a month, but five years later, Heeseung pads around his apartment following your presence that still lingers around. Outside, the rain is already falling, there are still pieces of you behind every door, he can live just fine. He can live knowing you’re here, in this world with him, amidst the eight billion people. It’s better than accepting the fact that you’ve left him alone, forever.

Fifth month was a little easier, Heeseung published his first short story. He was doing good, and had work to stop himself from thinking of you. Friends and family kept him busy, book signing events occupied most of his days. You didn’t leave his mind, you just started residing less. He thought of it as a routine— every morning, you’d leave his mind as his schedules began. He pictures you floating over the city, over the busy markets and sublime lakesides. You visit sometime in between, when he’s resting on his bed or enjoying his tea. You walk back in and tell him about everything you’ve seen. You talk about the balloons stuck in the tree, about the girl running behind her school bus, and then you leave again and he sits to write. You walk down the streets through the sunset, the fragrance of sea-food spinning in the air. There’s a couple on their first date, a group of friends taking pictures outside a hotpot restaurant, a wife waiting for her husband, a mother picking up her son, a family going shopping, and then you’d come back right before he’s going to bed. You’d tell Heeseung about them, your voice ringing in his ears. You kiss him goodnight, he goes to sleep, your thoughts are like a lullaby. And the next morning, the cycle repeats again.

Around the twelfth month, Heeseung found himself at his lowest. It had been a year since you left, a year since you disappeared off the face of earth with no trace of you even after investigation. The case was closed, Heeseung felt the ghost of you leaving his mind bit by bit. Your empty apartment had been sold off to a woman in her forties, he didn’t like the idea of someone else occupying the place that had once belonged to you. In his mind, you still live there, and you still spend your days lying on the living room floor with wine. The renovation began soon after, Heeseung found himself standing in the living room of your apartment. With every inch of wall painted, the absence of you caved in on him closer. Every inch of brush stroke on the wall covered the evidence of your existence, painting white over the pieces of you that you left behind the closed doors. It felt like a sign to move on, as if the world was forgetting you and so, Heeseung was supposed to do the same. It boils his blood to this day, his heart aches inexplicably. The universe knows you as someone who disappeared off the face of Earth, it doesn’t know you like Heeseung does. It doesn’t know the impact you have on his life, it’s unaware of the little things you did that changed his view about things. People are moving on, the media forgot about all the people who died in the accident. He doesn’t understand how everyone continued with their lives as if nothing ever happened. Twelfth month was the hardest for Heeseung. Disappearing memories of you from his mind froze his mind, he wanted to die, if it meant he could see you again.

You see, getting back your ex isn’t always about the romantic feelings you had for each other. You can be friends with your ex, or neighbours, co-workers, and it would still mean you got back with them, because getting back together means putting the past behind and working together to help each other become a better version of themselves. Isn’t that what we do even when we start dating our exes; being better than how you were with them in the past, not repeating the mistakes that drifted you apart in the first place? Heeseung doesn’t mind getting back with you even if you’re a stranger he sees at the supermarket. It’s fine even if you’re someone he sees once a week at the subway. If there is even a little chance that you’re here, Heeseung is okay living with just a glimpse of you. He has waited five years, he will wait for fifty more.

“Do you still love her?” A journalist raises the question, and Heeseung could ask himself the same thing over and over again, always ending up with the same answer: he doesn’t know. Saying that he does would be an overstatement because Heeseung doesn’t know where his heart lies, and denying it would be a blatant lie. So, instead, he likes to think of you as just someone who came into his life and lost her way out of it.

Just someone who he met one night by the bar, someone he warmed up to so quickly that every single neuron in his body went off with alarms, alerting him of all the possible consequences about how this would take a tragic turn. It happened like this : he met you, and for some reason, he felt more connected to a stranger than anyone else— closer to you than his closest family. Someone who taught him what loneliness is because before you, Heeseung was used to doing things alone, on his own. Someone who made him rethink every life decision, someone who, he knew, would turn his life upside down, and still he let you do it. You were someone he spent his happiest days crying about and saddest moments reminiscing over. Heeseung gave you love, and in return, you gave him an insight on life, an important lesson, and an answer to all his whys and hows. Your love was soft and tacit with all hands and lips and hearts in tandem. It was like a storm and he was walking into it straight. Heeseung is an explorer, you were a traveller. You both met at the intersection, the lights went red, the world stopped for a brief second. He saw love in your smile, he wishes he could see more of it. But you had a plane to catch and Heeseung, he was already home.

Dedicated to my ex-girlfriend, the one I didn’t expect to meet after years of trying to move on, one who left and came back as if nothing ever happened and turned my life upside down. I think it was obvious that this was about you anyway. I hope you are happy, wherever you are. I hope you’re still here. Thank you for being someone I could rely upon, for being my muse, for being my one and only love.

—

Thank you for reading, ‘How to get back with your ex’.

618 notes · View notes

the-kr8tor · 8 months

Text

Threaded Through

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Word count: 6.7k

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, No specific physical description of the reader (except for her clothing), Hobie is mentioned taller than R, CW food mention, Drinking, CW spiders, TW arachnophobia, Suggestive content, Fluff.

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CHAPTER 9 >>> CHAPTER 10

"Hobie!" You whisper yell, "what are you doing?" Eyes scanning the dark, ears perking up at the chains rattling.

"Relax, no one's here" Hobie slips through the metal gate where the chains of the lock stretched enough to give him room to wiggle himself inside. "C'mon then" he extends his hand to you, flexing his fingers impatiently. The dirty sign on the gate reads 'no trespassing' adding to your worry.

You tap your foot, biting your lip, looking behind the abandoned theme park. "Nuh uh, nope" shaking your head, you're sure something ran past behind a decrepit tent. "I'm not dying inside the old carnival! Let's just go back to the party"

"That party sucks, they're playing spin the bottle, bloody original of 'em" he scoffs, rolling his eyes. "Besides we've got the good booze" sure enough, Hobie brings out a bottle of vodka tucked inside his zipped leather jacket. The liquid swishes inside as he shakes it for good measure.

"Where'd you even get that?" You laugh, surprised, eyes twinkling in the moonlight.

"Brent's dad's liquor cabinet" he says, a smug smile on his lips. "Come the fuck on, I'm freezing my balls off" Hobie lifts up the chains as far as it would allow so you could duck under it.

"We have exams on Monday!"

"Easy enough, it's all just stock knowledge" he points at his temple.

"For you it is. I'm not like you, I actually need to revise."

"And you will, Come on" Hobie sees you sticking to your stance, sighing. "If i help you revise tomorrow will you come inside?"

"Fine, I'll blame you if we get murdered by a killer clown" You duck under while Hobie's hand shields your head from the rusty metal.

"I can take him–" Hobie stops mid sentence as you stand to your full height, face mere inches away from him. So close he can see every detail of your face, how the light bounces off your eyes, clouds of air puffing out of your lips. His breath hitches in his throat.

"You and those skinny arms? Don't think so, Hobs" you try to play it off, lips pursing closed, trying to even out your breathing. "Where to go next?" You chuckle nervously, stepping away from him, taking in his sudden silence as him being uncomfortable.

"I've been eyeing that ferris wheel" Hobie shakes his head, clearing his thoughts. He walks side by side with you, keeping you close. In case there is a killer clown on the loose.

Eyes on the rickety ride. "God, no! That thing hasn't been working since the eighties, you wanna kill us?" You didn't notice that Hobie's not next to you anymore, whirling, you look for him. "Hobie? Hobie! What the fuck?" Hugging your bubble jacket closer to you in comfort. "It's not funny, Hobart!" Yelling out, you have a sudden urge to run away, but you don't, not intending to leave him.

You jump when lights suddenly turn on, blinking at you. Colorful bulbs do their best to stay on after not being used for years. You gasp out, laughing breathlessly. The place doesn't seem so scary now. You half expect the speakers to come back to life, but it doesn't, the only noise is from the whirring of the old generator and crickets singing in the dark.

Hobie lingers on the side, bottle in hand, completely enthralled with you bathed in light. A love sick smile stuck on his face.

"Hobie! Holy shit" noticing him, you call out to your best friend, waving your arms in delight.

He saunters to you, absolutely smug, you scoff playfully at his ego. "Let's hear it" Hobie brings his hand to the shell of his ear, acting like he can't hear you.

"What do you want me to say? Good job?"

"How 'bout 'You're the man, Hobie!' Or just start showering me with praises"

"I'll shower you with that vodka if you don't stop"

"Rude of you to assume I wouldn't actually like that"

You shove him lightly, "Good job flicking a switch, Hobart"

"Oi, I had to figure out which switch to open"

Rolling your eyes, you grab his arm, putting a stop to your bickering, if you don't you two would've gone all night. Leading him further inside, Hobie slyly moves his arm so he could hold your hand instead, you pretend to not notice, finding the lights to be the most interesting thing in the world, your hand cups his warm ones, squeezing it lightly.

Friends do this too, right?

Hand in hand, you stop at a booth that looks like it was for some kind of carnival game. Cartoon clowns lined up on the far back, mouths open. There's still some stuffed toys hanging on the side of the booth albeit too dirty or broken to take with you.

"Oh man, I wanted one" You pout, leaning on the divider to check for better looking toys. Hobie copies your movement, rummaging behind the counter.

Something hits your head with a squeak, you glare at Hobie acting nonchalant, feigning innocence as he examines a soft ball. You bet that it squeaks when squeezed.

"Oh 'kay" you bite your lip, blindingly reaching out towards the first thing you touch, unfortunately for Hobie it was a crusty plushy, aiming for his head, it hits him square on the chest, leaving grime and cobwebs all over his jacket.

You laugh loudly as he wipes wildly at his clothes, yelping when his hand touches something wet.

"Disgusting!" Hobie has an idea, he extends his arms towards you for a hug, taking small strides. "Come here, lovey" with a mischievous glint in his eyes and a lopsided smile, he closes the distance.

"No, don't even think about it!" Walking backwards with a smile, your back hits a pole. "Ack!" You screech when he embraces you, warmth and his familiar scent wafts your senses. A giggle escapes you, making Hobie hug you tighter.

"Now we both smell" you try to wiggle out of his hold, Hobie shakes you from side to side, you go dizzy in his arms, going limp, feigning hurt. "Oi," he shakes you lightly, chuckling at your antics. "She's dead, I can finally sacrifice her to the clowns" he moves you towards the cartoon clowns.

You drag your feet, he carries your full weight. "A little help here?" Hobie asks, you open one eye only to tightly close it again. "I'm tryin' to appease the gods here y'know" he says in between laughs, flicking your forehead.

"Really clown gods? Could've chosen better ones" you smile giddily up at him, he beams back at you, cradling the back of your head.

He scoffs, "or a much more willing sacrifice" Hobie straightens you out, fixing the collar of your jacket. You let out a small thank you, hot where his fingers grazed your skin.

"I saw somethin' better than the ferris wheel" he mumbles out.

"Yeah? Let's go then" taking his hand in yours you loop your pinky finger with his. Hobie leads you with a wobbly smile.

—

Hobie helps you up on the large Gondola, an out of commission viking ride that's supposed to swing up and down, now it's inoperable, looking glum amidst the twinkling lights. A wooden mermaid is carved on its bow, marred by time and exposed to the elements. It must've been a sight back then.

Using your foot as leverage, Hobie lifts you up by your hand, "I've got you" he heaves, your foot loses balance on the edge, threatening to fall off. "Shit!" Gasping out, you reach for his neck as he panics to grab a hold of you.

"I have you—Holy fuck!" Hobie secures you by your waist, your eyes tightly closed, head right on the crook of his neck. "You okay?" He places you back on solid ground, the ride creaks in the wind.

"Yeah," you exhale a shaky breath. Pulling away. "I'm gonna need that vodka" sitting down on the boat, you gesture towards the bottle on the floor. It wasn't even a far fall if he didn't catch you, but the thought of you getting hurt sounded alarms in his head.

Hobie snickers, he opens the bottle before he hands it to you, fingers touching yours for a split second. It's more than enough to warm his skin, not needing the alcohol to heat him up anymore. You take a sip whilst Hobie lounges to the seat in front of you, arm stretched on the back of it, long legs propped up next to your lap.

The moon casts him in a dark shadow, his newly pierced ears glinting in the moonlight, he looks ethereal this way, divine and out of reach. The lights whir, having a hard time lighting the old place.

You do the same to him with a smirk, legs right next to his jeans, taking a swig while your eyes stay to him. The warm liquid slides to your throat, warming you immediately.

You have no idea the effect you have on him. Hobie clenches his fists, breathing staggered, eyes flickering to your lips. It's not your intention though, you just wanted to show off that you can take your alcohol.

Hobie taps your thigh with his boot, clearing his throat before talking, "you're gonna drink all of it" He takes the bottle from your hand as you cough loudly. "That's what you get for hoarding all the vodka" chastising you, he leans to pat your back with a lot of effort on his part, almost folding himself in half.

"Fuck, that's– whew" your face all scrunched up, regretting your choices. Coughing again, your throat burns.

"You good, Gromit?" He asks with a laugh.

"Did you bring water with you?" Tears prick your eyes, sniffling.

"No, didn't think to" Hobie says apologetically, he winces when you let out another cough.

"You could've grabbed a bottle? I feel like my throat has razor blades in it" clearing your throat, you knead at your neck.

"Your fault, love. I didn't dare you" He takes a sip, taking your slight cough as a cautionary tale.

"Why'd you take us to this death trap anyway? Wait, did you plan this?" You look at him with a raised brow, realization hitting you.

"Nah, I told you the party was boring me to death" he lies, but you know him too well, noticing his tells. The slight bob of his adam's apple, eyes flicking to the side of your face for a split second, fingers itching at the back of his hand. You don't mention it or even tease him about it, intending to enjoy your time together.

"Yeah, going to jail for underage drinking and trespassing sounds better" you laugh, Hobie brings his feet to your lap, soles grazing your jacket. To his surprise, you don't protest. Legs parallel to each other, you play with the aglet of his boots.

"No one goes here except for teenagers wanting a place to snog" he regrets his words immediately, his ears feel like it's about to burst into flames.

You look at him with a growing smirk, with the alcohol coursing through you, it gives you liquid courage when you say the next words. "You planning on snogging me here, Hobs?"

Hobie almost spit takes at your question, he answers with the same bravado, shyness nonexistent as he feels his skin warm up from the alcohol. "If I'm gonna snog you, we would be in a better place than this rust bucket"

Instantly sobering up, you blink in surprise, chuckling nervously. Biting more than you can chew, your eyes try to avoid his lips.

Sitting in an awkward silence, Hobie takes another swig, you hug your torso from the biting cold. The tension is thick, his legs sit heavy on your lap. He notices these kinds of silences have increased these last few years, Hobie hopes it's not because you're pulling away from him or worse, him pushing you away with his growing affections.

You finally try to cut the tension, "Can we–" Hobie thought of the same, unintentionally cutting you off.

"I'm–shit. Sorry, go on" He really wants to hear what your next words will be, it could either cross the line between your friendship into something more. Hobie anticipates, hanging to every syllable you would utter.

"Can we go home? This place kinda gives me the creeps" He did not expect that, "the lights help but now some of them are flickering and it's like something's gonna come out" biting your lip, you look at Hobie directly.

The only reason you want to go is to get rid of the awkwardness, blaming the dark yet romantic atmosphere. You want to stay, you really do, but if the air stays like this between you, you'd rather go home. Save yourself the embarrassment of pining for your best friend. Guess Hobie isn't the only one lying tonight.

"Yeah, sure" He sits up, dejected, legs retreating back to him.

"Sorry, what was it you're gonna say?" Leaning your elbows on top of your thighs, you take the bottle from Hobie, getting his attention.

He sighs, you see a rare sight. He looks somewhat afraid. Why would Hobie be afraid though? It's just you.

You try to encourage him with a joke, "you feeling okay? You look constipated, is it the vodka?" He chuckles, you stand up, mirroring his small smile.

But that's the thing, it's you, a few years ago his little crush turned into puppy love, and that love turned into full blown yearning, longing for you to see him as something else other than your 'best mate' at first he thought it was just a phase, muddled with his teenage hormones, latching to the closest person he feels attracted to. Then it persisted, he realized that his deep affection for you was something else entirely other than some hormone induced crush.

It was safe to say Hobie hated puberty.

He bites the bullet, if he's gonna tell anyone it would be you. "I'm leaving school"

"Oh" dropping down from the gondola, you hide your frown. He's leaving, he's leaving you. Hands shaking at the thought, you mindlessly walk away, following the brightest thing in the carnival. "Why are you leaving?" Trying to hide the shakiness of your voice, you wring your hands together, taking another sip of the warm liquid.

Is it you? Did you cross the border too much? Is he sick of you? The cold doesn't help with your thoughts.

"I don't like school, you know that" Hobie watches your retreating form, he knew you wouldn't take it well but it still hurts when you turned your back on him. "Y/n" he calls out as you step on the carousel.

Turning around, his explanation calmed you down a smidge. You try to fix your expression. The bright lights of the carousel envelopes you, a halo forming around your body. You give him your hundred dollar smile.

"Okay, just don't forget me when you're famous" laughing dryly, Hobie joins you in the light, taking your shaking hands.

Knowing you for a long time, he reads you like an open book, looping his pinky with yours, Hobie looks at you straight on.

"I'm staying in the city, just not at school. 'm not leaving" you, he wanted to add but he's not brave enough to say the word.

Inhaling, you focus on the horses instead of his hold on you. "You should've led with that," you say with a tight lipped smile, extending your encouragement to him, you swallow your sadness. "I'm proud of you, if anyone's gonna make it out there it would be you" finally looking at him, gold bounces off his iris, honeyed flecks dancing in his eyes. "You can go on tour if you want to, you don't have to stay in the city" with me, the words echo in your mind.

Telling the absolute truth, your face is serious, hiding the ache. You will always be supportive of him even if it means leaving you in the process.

"Well we have to build our reputation first before goin' on tour," Hobie sways your intertwined hands. "Besides, my number one fan is here, who's gonna cheer us on?" He gives you his best smile, the same one that haunts your dreams.

Legs wobble from under you, leaning towards him, Hobie's eyes widen at your movement.

You embrace him, head laying on his broad shoulder. Mind reeling, you can't help but feel you're holding him back from doing greater things.

A sharp whistle pulls you away.

—

Hobie opens his eyes, back aching from the lumpy settee, his right arm practically numb. He's not usually a morning person, but with you sleeping comfortably in his arms, he wants to wake up earlier just to see this rare sight. Hobie smiles at how relaxed your face is, brows unfurrowed, mouth slightly parted and your skin glistening in the early morning sun. Your back to the couch, squeezed in between him and the settee, Hobie's arm wrapped around your torso, protecting you from the springs protruding from the cushions. Your Hands tucked to his side, fingers curled unconsciously on his shirt.

He doesn't care that his long legs dangle off the armrest, couch too small for his tall stature, or how there's a crick in his neck. Despite it all, Hobie hasn't slept this well in a long time. He's glad last night wasn't all a dream. Gently caressing your cheek with his pinky just to make sure you're actually real in his embrace.

You shift in your sleep, licking your dry lips, inhaling a gulp of air. It's like you're attuned with his senses, already knowing he's wide awake. You fake sleep, acting like you're deep in slumberland. Feeling his chest rise up and down, you can't help but curl your lips into a small smile when he covers his leg over yours, securing you in his hold.

Hobie knows you're awake though, his enhanced senses telling him the shift in your heartbeat and breathing. He's in a good mood so he intends to tease you this morning. Testing to see what your reaction will be in this new found position he has you in.

He tries to leave the couch, carefully taking his arm from under you, leg up, untangling from yours. You immediately protest, grasping his torso with your eyes closed. Pulling him back down to your side. Chuckling at your reaction, butt hitting the cushions with a thud, he slides back down to your side, going back to the same position. Your cheek pressed to his chest as Hobie kneads at the soft skin of your waist.

Still in your outfit, his fingers fiddle with a sunflower stitched to your cami. You lean further into him, arm over his torso, feeling his warmth through his shirt.

You're the first one to speak, sleep still lingering in your voice. "You talked in your sleep"

"And you drooled all over me but no one's keeping track" Hobie's morning voice sounds deeper, goosebumps appear on your skin when you feel the vibration from his chest.

"Hmm" you hum, content in his arms, savoring the precious moment. "I don't drool" cracking one eye open, you fight the sleep off. You rile him up just to hear the deep rumble of his voice.

"There's a wet patch on my sleeve that begs to differ" he says, nuzzling your hair. "What did I say?"

"Hm, you woke me up for a bit when you said clowns and my name. Sounds like you were having a really good dream about me" you take a peek at him through half lidded eyes. Hobie gently rubs the sleep off the corners, you practically vibrate at his touch.

"Well, you are a clown" he quips, you gasp dramatically, grabbing the hem of his shirt, balling it in your fist.

"What did you say? You punk?" Trying to sound as menacing as possible even though you're half asleep, you smile through the threat.

"I said you're gorgeous" his eyes flick to your lips for a second before Hobie gives you his best smile. You feel like a gem in his gaze, letting out a small 'thought so'. "For a clown" he says against your lips, chasing the soft plush of it.

"You–!" Pushing him off the sofa, he laughs all the way down, his butt landing on the floor, back on the foot of the sofa. His hands glued to your waist, almost bringing you down with him. You lay upside down with Hobie's hand on you, his face upturned, inches away from yours.

Pecking the tip of his nose, you don't care for morning breath, with Hobie, nothing embarasses you anymore. He feels the same, leaning up to change the course of your kiss to his waiting lips.

Giggling, you cup his jaw, neck straining to reach him in the upside down kiss. Hobie feels like he's dreaming again.

Before the kiss could go any further, you pull away, already missing his lips. "Can I go shower?"

"Sorry, I should've brushed first" he winces.

"It's not that, we literally made out last night with shawarma breath. I don't give a shit, Hobs" you chuckle, leaving a chaste kiss on his lips for good measure. He grins at your words, "I just really need to get out of these clothes and wash my face"

"Right, You just want to wear my clothes" Hobie flicks your forehead, "perv"

"You're the perv, dreaming about me with clowns and shit" laughing, you sit upright, nudging him with your socked foot.

"Yeah, it was bloody steamy" he riles you up again, it doesn't work this time though.

"Tell me later" walking to the bathroom, you spare him a sly glance over your shoulder.

When did you get so immune to his teasing? Hobie feels he needs to up his game.

—

Hobie scrapes off the egg sticking to the pan, now in his home clothes, a plain band shirt with the sleeves cut off and sweatpants hanging low on his hips. Hissing when hot oil flies towards his hand.

He feels you before he hears you, shutting the bedroom door behind you, the broken answering machine takes your attention from Hobie's toned arms.

Wiping your arms with the towel, you glare at the machine. "What are you planning with this thing?" Gesturing vaguely.

"What thing?" Taking the mugs out of the cabinet, he spares a look behind him. Maybe he shouldn't have. You look right at home, his jumper hugs your torso comfortably, pajama pants that he hasn't worn in a long time fits just right on your waist.

Hobie wants to kiss you as soon as possible. His senses are still a bit wonky, jumping slightly when the bread digs out of the toaster.

"Your machine" moving closer to him, feet padding on the wooden floors, you take the plate full of eggs, scrambled for you, sunny side up for him. "Thanks, Hobs"

"Ah, you forgot somethin'" you hum curiously, letting him turn you back around by your shoulder. Thinking that he might hand you the mugs of tea, instead he kisses your cheek, you squeak out, carefully balancing the plate in your wobbly hand. "There, what's up with the machine?" He goes back to making tea as if he didn't steal a kiss right under your nose. You don't seem to mind though.

"I think you should just throw it out"

"I can still fix it" He pours milk into your cup.

"Hobie, I know you can but that thing is bloody cursed" tone serious, you place the eggs on the kitchen island.

He guffaws at your comment, he can't believe your minds are so in sync with each other, Hobie sometimes feels like you're connected to him.

He still asks you even though he knows your answer, a ploy to keep hearing your voice. "Why do you think it's cursed?"

"Well, you bought it off an estate sale, it's probably haunted by the old owner. Second, it shocked you while you were installing the damn thing." Hands on your hips, you lean on the counter. Hobie snickers at your comments. "And lastly it has committed a crime against us"

Hobie laughs loudly, shaking the boat slightly as he doubles over in laughter. "What's the crime that my machine committed?" Mirroring your stance, he drapes the dish cloth over his shoulder.

You bite the inside of your cheek with how attractive he looks right now. "Sabotage" mumbling it out.

"Sabotage?" Hobie closes the distance, hands lovingly holding your shoulders. You click your tongue, moving his hand from your shoulder up to your jaw before you place your hands back to your hips again.

He tilts his head, thumb circling over to your cheek. "Cursed or not, the thing's expensive. I can still fix it"

"My parents have a spare one, I can nick it for you" biting your lip, you say the next words softly like you're still unsure. "Take it as a housewarming present from me, before I move in?"

Hobie's giddy smile melts your trepidation, leaning in, he stops a few centimeters from your lips. Closing your eyes in anticipation. Your brows furrowed when you don't feel his lips on yours. Cracking your eyes open, you see Hobie smirking mischievously. Huffing, you stick out your tongue in annoyance. Pushing him away with your palm on his face.

He chuckles, pinching your nose for a brief second before going back to making your tea. His houseboat has never felt more like home before, Hobie thinks you're the missing piece in making it so.

—

Hobie and you share a plate, standing hip to hip near the kitchen island, forks fighting for the last bit of egg. Soft music plays in the background from his old record player, the slow song a rare one in his large collection of vinyls.

"Since when?" He stops attacking you with his fork, moving the egg closer to your side of the plate, surrendering.

"Hmm? Since when what?" You ask, cutting the egg in half, giving the bigger cut to him.

He hums appreciatively, bringing the egg to his mouth. Suddenly feeling anxious at what he's gonna say.

Drinking your tea, you wait for him to continue.

"Since when did you start fancying me?" You almost choke, eyes widening at his question. Hobie never fails to surprise you.

You swallow your breakfast, "well," buying time, sipping your drink. "I don't know the day exactly. I think everything just clicked for me" answering, you avoid his gaze.

Hobie moves your chin so he could look you in the eyes. He didn't confess to you and make things awkward between you. Breaking the tension, he moves closer, leaning against the counter. Hand comfortably pressed on the small of your back. You bring him closer by his waist, hand staying there.

"So you just woke up one day and went 'I fancy my best mate?'" Fully joking, he raises a pierced brow.

You chortle, "No, I remember it being gradual. Like slowly getting past your ego," he rolls his eyes, you chuckle at his reaction. "your teasing and all the spikes." Giggling, he clutches his nonexistent pearls. "I dunno exactly when" shrugging your shoulders, you tell the truth. "But a rough approximate, probably between year eight or nine"

"You fuckin' telling me I could've been holding you like this since year nine?"

You guffaw loudly, "maybe not like this! We would've been too young!"

"A couple of years later then" Hobie matches your laugh, hugging you closer.

After a minute of comfortable silence, you continue to eat while still clinging to each other, Hobie pipes up. "Do you have someplace to be today?" He hopes for a 'no'

"Yeah, I have to go back to campus to submit my papers for graduation" biting a piece of your toast, noticing his lack of reply. "Or I can do that tomorrow." You see him perk up in your peripheral, "deadline isn't till next week anyway" slyly side eyeing him, a cheeky smile on your giddy face.

"Good" He acts disinterested. Hiding his smile behind his mug, but you know better.

You wait for a few seconds, smirk slowly spreading on your lips. "You've got something planned for us?"

Hobie chuckles, "Nah, just wanna stay home" he wipes the crumbs off your chin. "With you"

"Oohh I feel so special" leaning into his touch, you blink at him prettily.

"Gorgeous" he softly says, staring deep into your eyes.

"Yeah? Even with crumbs all over me?"

Without warning, He lifts you up by your thighs effortlessly. Laughter fills the modest boat, you cling to his neck, leaning down to kiss him. He tastes sweet because of the tea, you savor him, legs tightening around his waist. Humming into the kiss. His hands squeeze your upper thighs, still at a respectable distance.

Thanks to his new found senses, Hobie leads you back to the couch, a feat in itself without bumping into furniture while his eyes are closed. His back lands on the lumpy cushions, earning him a groan as he feels the friction between you. Kissing you deeper, fingers massaging the back of your neck.

You arch your back, Hobie lets out a deep sound from the back of his throat. Needing air, you pull away with a breathless smile.

"Fuck" His chest heaves up and down, half lidded eyes stare up at you.

Chuckling, satisfied at his reaction, you lean back down to pepper his jaw with kisses. Hobie laughs (which sounded more like a giggle to you) with every smack of your lips on his skin.

"You sound" kiss "so manly" kiss "right now"

"That so?" Surroundings blur as he flips you over quickly but carefully, a large hand cradling the back of your head so that you don't hit the armrest. Your back landing on the cushion, legs still wrapped around his waist. His arms cageing you, grinning down at your flustered face. His necklace swings over your face, you restrain yourself from grabbing it to pull him further down to you.

You gulp down on air, like butter on a hot pan, you melt under him. Hobie sees your bare fingers, having an idea. With love seeping out of his pores, he slips his favourite ring off his finger. You give him a curious stare, feeling loopy with all the affections.

"Hand" he instructs you with a goofy smile, fingers flexing towards you. Shaking your head, you play hard to get. He rolls his eyes, smiling staying put. "Please"

Giggling, you give him your left hand, your heart threatening to pump out of your chest as he slips the metal ring to your pointing finger. You bite your lip when the ring twirls around your finger, ring too big for it. He huffs, sparing you a playful glance. You shrug, biting your lip to tamp down your giddy laughter.

Hobie takes the ring out for a second before putting it on your middle finger, it fits perfectly around you. The metal arms of the spider curl around your finger, hugging it. The red gleam of its eyes makes it look alive.

You bring the hand closer to your face, fanning your face like a southern bell about to faint from the summer heat.

Hobie's face feels like it's about to set on fire, pulse drumming loudly against his skin. He laughs at your antics. Admiring his ring on you.

"I made you so soft for me" your eyes tender, saying it in a sing-song cadence, hand reaching up to cup his cheek. You feel how warm he is, his ring grants him reprieve, cooling down a tiny area of his skin.

"Not soft right now though" Hobie leans down with a grin. You know exactly what he meant.

Gasping out, "Hobie! You–" Hobie cuts you off by blowing raspberries on the soft plush of your neck.

—

Hobie drops you off in front of your dorm building, you're practically wearing his wardrobe, save for your own shoes. Leather jacket over his jumper, too long jeans that he folded on each leg so you don't trip over the denim. His ring shines in the late morning sun right on your middle finger, still giddy at the thought of you wearing it. Your heavy bag full of clothes slung over your shoulder.

Hobie sits on his bike, motor still running, his hands sit comfortably on your waist. You're slotted in between his legs, fingers fixing the stray threads on his leather vest that you've lovingly given to him.

You've (reluctantly) come back to the dorms to submit your graduation requirements, having the entire day to yourself (to your dismay) but it's a necessary evil so you could spend the entire day with him tomorrow.

"You sure you don't want me to pick you up tomorrow?" He loops his thumb over your (his) belt loop.

"Nope, I can meet you there. I need to drop by aunt Janet's for my last order and you've got that protest. I can go with you if I finish early though"

"Right, call me if you need a ride" Hobie doesn't want to pressure you or worse, make you feel stifled.

"Mm-hmm, it's just a roll of fabric. I've managed before" you act brave in front of him. Truth be told, you want him next to you the entire day tomorrow, but you don't want him to think you're being too clingy. You're gonna move in with him anyway.

"Then I'll help you move in" as if reading your mind, Hobie pipes up excitedly.

"Then you can help me move in" chuckling, you agree with him. "First proper date tomorrow, huh?"

Hobie snorts, "Don't think that's the first one ever. We've been on hundreds"

"Yeah, but this one would be the first proper one. You asked me this time" looking at him through your eyelashes you can't help but peck his cheek. "You've got a plan for us then?"

"Maybe" Hobie guides your face with his hand, moving you to his lips instead. "Hell, I'll even get you flowers if you want. Since it's the first proper one" he says against your kiss bitten lips.

"Looking forward to it then" kissing him goodbye, you embrace him tightly. "Oh!" Pulling away suddenly, he pouts his lips. "I almost forgot, here" you take something out of your bag, placing it in his hand.

He looks at the red and blue spider trapped inside the glass casing, "it's dead right?"

"Yeah, you squished it. I've been meaning to give it to you since you gave me one" showing your ringed finger, twirling the metal spider around.

"How romantic, a dead spider" He says deadpanned, side eyeing you.

"Fine, give it here. Peter will love it" reaching over to take it from Hobie, he moves it away from you.

"Nah, it's mine. You gave it to me first" clicking his tongue, eyes crinkling in the corners, Hobie pockets it with a ghost of a smile.

You shake your head with a loopy grin, pecking his lips one last time before leaving. "Drive carefully" eyes soft, leaving one last kiss for good measure.

"Yeah, see you tomorrow, love" He chases your lips, hesitantly pulling away.

—

You bump into your RA in the hallway, she looks at you from head to toe, clearly not in your own clothes.

"Fun night?" She asks with a knowing smirk.

"Very fun" you indulge her because of your good mood. She does a double take, not expecting you to actually answer her like that.

—

You sigh for the umpteenth time, closing the door to the admin's office. Still in Hobie's clothes, coming down from the high of being with him, you crave him more. Having some sort of withdrawal symptoms, feeling jittery and excited to see him again. Of course you wouldn't tell him that or he'll endlessly tease you about it.

Smiling like a mad woman, you walk past your old classroom.

"L/n!" Mrs. Williams calls out to you. Surprised she knows your last name or even remembers you. You peek around the corner, seeing her sitting down on her desk littered with stacks of papers and Manila envelopes.

"Good afternoon, professor" smiling politely, she gestures for you to come inside.

Truth be told, you were saving her for last on submitting your requirements, even though she was strict and (undeniably) terrifying, Mrs. Williams was an inspiration to you. Always prim and proper, her talent in designing is top tier. You learned a lot from her.

You stop right next to her desk, glancing at the various portfolios on her desk. Spotting yours in the forefront, you flick your eyes back to the brunette, hiding your sudden nervousness. Maybe you should've changed into something more fashionable before going back to campus. Hiding your hands inside Hobie's sleeves, you anxiously pick at your nail polish or what's left of it.

"Knock knock" someone suddenly knocks on the (already) open doors with enthusiasm. Turning around, you recognize the man as Mr. Riley from the fashion show, he holds two lattes in his hand.

He stands up straight the moment he spots you, "oh great timing"

"I assume you've met each other?" The woman genuinely smiles at Mr. Riley.

"Yes," answering, you don't miss their lingering looks towards one another as Mr. Riley gives her the latte.

"I was about to tell her about your proposition" Williams says through her paper cup.

Snapping out of it, Mr. Riley gives you his best smile. "Well, I've faxed my boss your portfolio and she absolutely loves it!" You beam at his words. "We would really love it for you to be part of the team after you graduate"

"That's amazing! I–I don't know what to say" you roam your eyes towards your professor for approval, she looks at you with a nod and small smile. "Thank you!" You laugh in bewilderment.

"Is that a yes?" Riley brings his hand for you to shake. "Of course we'll give you ample time to sort your papers for the move. Two months seems like the right timeline."

You were about to shake his hand to accept his offer but you stop halfway when he says the word 'move'. "I have to move? Where exactly?" Voice shaking, you drop your hand back to your side.

"L.A. in America" He says as if that's the closest place to move to. "You know, where our headquarters are?"

Mrs. Williams notices your knitted brows and slow blinks. "Ian, may I talk to my student for a minute" she looks up at him through her long lashes.

"Yeah– of course, I forgot your scones anyway. Be right back!" He walks away, shutting the door behind him.

Heart stuck in your throat, you look at your professor for guidance.

"Listen, out of the entire graduating class, only three were approved. One of them is you."

You release a shaky breath, lips tightening to a flat line, trying to stop your heaving. Your excitement turns into something indistinguishable, something that feels unwarranted, a stabbing sensation all over your skin.

Williams takes your portfolio in hand, flipping through it. "You see this?" She shows you a sketch of Hobie's outfit, his eyes seem to pierce through you. "This is the outfit, the only reason it didn't make it to the top three is because there wasn't enough of you in it."

You try to wrap your mind around her statement, ears focused on her words.

"I understand your…" she tries to find the right words. "...worry. But you must understand, not a lot of people get this opportunity. Don't let it pass you by"

You recognize those words, heart clenching at the different meaning behind it.

"Riley will only be here till next week, you have that time to decide. Please take my words into consideration, I want all my students to thrive."

You nod, murmuring a small 'thank you'. Walking away from the room, you slip away to an empty broom closet. Mind racing, it all stops to him, his smiling face appears in your mind's eye, voice echoing amidst the rushing and chaos of your thoughts.

Silent tears slide down your cheeks. You don't even know why you're crying. Already knowing what to do, wiping your eyes, tears sticking on your lashes, you already know, Right?

A/N: Thank you for reading! I can't believe we're almost at the end 😭 let me know your thoughts ❤️

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quackarl · 9 months

Text

YOU BELONG WITH ME; QUACKITY X READER (STRANGERS TO FRIENDS TO LOVERS, SLOW BURN.)

A/N: Hiii! I did not realize how hard it is for me to write about friends to lovers until I was writing this. I think I'm better at established relationship stuff, hahaha. But there was an interesting request in my inbox if I could write a Quackity X Reader piece, where the reader is hired by Quackity to edit his videos and Spanish subtitles and such, and proceeds to fall for him somewhere along the way. So, I did that, with a few twists of my own imagination. Be aware, that this story includes usage of alcohol. And it's painfully slow burn at times, hahaha, but that's the beauty of it sometimes.

I can’t remember a time in my life when I have felt more hopeless. Looking for a job really sucks, actually many things suck and I hate how life seems to pass me by, almost even faster when I feel like running out time, almost as if to tempt me to keep count of all the time I waste. Time flies when your life is falling apart, isn’t that what they say?

I wish it was few days ago when this started, this desperate job-hunt, but it’s been so long now. I need something, and fast.

I see my phone light up, the only source of light in the dark room. I see it’s already 11 PM, which means I have wasted another night staying up thinking about my future and where do I fit, if anywhere. Great.

Besides that, what captures my attention next is that it’s my friend texting me, and they’re not here to chit-chat about the usual stuff we talk about every night, but telling me they have a perfect plan for me that’s worth a shot. I wonder how that’s possible, at 11 on a Monday night, and how do they know it any better than me what’s right for me? We both know that’s a lie, though, they know things about me before I even know them myself.

I demand to know more about this plan. I’ll try anything, that’s for sure. Anything to get my foot in the door in this world, you know? The next thing they send me is a mysterious link. I click on it and see it taking me to an application form. For what exactly?

I let out a frustrated puff once I read the first line;

“We are hiring! Apply here for the position of ‘Video Editor’ and ‘Translator’ for Quackity!”

Ridiculous. I already feel defeated, rejected, because how would I have a chance, out of everybody else applying? What makes me special? That’s probably one of the questions on the application and I don’t see myself writing anything worth reading over in it.

I text my friend promptly, my will to fight suddenly vanishing into thin air, telling them exactly what I think of this idea, that it’s far-fetched and I’m not going along with it. Still, curiosity, or whatever, is kind of getting the best of me, I can’t lie, as I eye the open application.

My friend texts me back, full of persistence;

“And why not? You studied editing and you’re good at it AND you speak Spanish which is what they’re looking for. You’re the whole package?! Tell me I’m wrong, you can’t.” 11:06 PM

Well, I can’t argue on that. It’s my power that I did happen to take editing courses, and Spanish courses too, for reasons I wasn’t sure about back then, but now it could all make sense.

I confess to my friend that I’m actually considering filling out the form, but I feel stuck. I don’t know what I would answer to certain questions such as why should they hire me, or what makes me, well, me. I don’t know.

I mentally hit a dead-end as soon as I got to the question of what makes me unique and stand out from the other candidates. I wrote out my first, honest thoughts, and everything the perfect version of me in the perfect world would think or say, if I only was more brave and less insecure. I wrote, a lot of stuff. If I say so myself, it was a good application in the end, with a little humour.

The scary part was to scroll down the page, hit the blue ‘submit’ button, and watch text appear on the screen;

“Thanks for your application and your interest towards working with us! We will be in contact as soon as possible as the recruitment process will proceed!”

I think I just jumped out of my skin. I want to cringe at the thought of them reading over my application. Can I just not be me for a second, while I try to get over this?

I text my friend the last thing for the night, before deciding I need to sleep this shame off, and maybe tomorrow it all doesn’t matter, and we move on;

“Guess what? I just sent the application. I hope you’re happy now.” 11:25 PM

I watch their text pop up;

“I am! You’ll be too when they hire you, trust me!” 11:26 PM

Sure, I think, almost wanting to roll my eyes. I appreciate the enthusiasm my friend has for my future when I don’t have any, but I mean, like I said before, this is an insane attempt. I drift to sleep soon after. A total shocker that I was able to even sleep a wink that night. What have I done and what am I doing to myself?

The more time went by, the more all of this felt like a joke I always knew it was. It’s been a week now since I sent the application, and everything almost feels too normal for anything life-changing to happen anytime soon.

Well, it wasn’t until I checked my email on a Wednesday morning when things started to feel somewhat real and moving again. I had something there waiting for me. An email regarding my application. I imagined it to be a nicely worded rejection, something along the lines of “We would like to thank you for your interest in us and the position you have applied for. Unfortunately, at this point, you are not being considered for this role, blah blah blah.”

I suddenly felt like I was in fact not fine at all, when I started reading through it;

“Welcome to our team! We were impressed by your application and would love to proceed further with you! Please reply to this email as soon as possible if you are still available and interested in this position.”

What do I do?! I will reply, tell them I’m still interested, right? That I’m ready for things to proceed. Am I? How, or why, am I the lucky one here? I’m not used to claiming first place, I’m usually just a runner-up. But here begins my winning streak, I guess.

I type a response with shaky hands, then put my phone down. I don’t think I’m actually ready for things to move any faster than I can take, and it’s already feeling like a lot right now, like I’m biting off more than I can chew. But if they see enough potential in me, it’s all in my head.

Safe to say that it startled me when not even a few minutes later I received a follow-up email, asking me a few more questions, to which I replied to to the best of my ability. Questions such as am I certain I can commit to such schedule in a long run. It was sinking in for me as I was typing, that this really is a one hell of an opportunity that they are offering me, and I need to be the best. There’s no other option.

The next email they sent, it meant all business;

“We are thrilled to hear you are ready to work with us! Would you be free for a call tomorrow at 8 PM?”

Okay, straight to the point. I tell them I’m free and ready.

Except that I didn’t feel so ready anymore when I received one last email;

“Great! We will have Alex call you tomorrow.”

Yeah, I’m absolutely sweating bullets now. I stayed up much later than I had intended that night, mostly thinking about how fast things are happening now, and if I have started something here I can’t end. I typed his name countless times into the internet to see more of him, but it feels like the more I know, the less capable I am of dreaming of the possibilities of what will happen. So I just went to bed.

The next day arrived faster than I hoped it would. Can I really do this? Am I ready? So many questions and not enough time to figure out the answers. Quite literally, because I lingered in bed the whole day and hurriedly had to jump into my clothes when I eventually got myself up.

It was 7.50 PM when I sat myself down at my desk, ready to take on whatever was coming. Even if it knocks me down once, I will get up twice. No matter what it takes. It didn’t help my nerves when I kept checking and re-checking the time on my phone. Now I just want to get over with it, so I can finally have some peace of mind and not live in the distress for a minute longer.

Then it was finally 8 PM, sharp. This is a waiting game, I guess. A matter of minutes.

When the phone finally rang, it was 10 minutes later. The longest 10 minutes of my life, by the way. I’m surprised I didn’t curl up and die within those 10 minutes, that’s what it felt like.

I give myself a few second pep-talk, clearing my throat, before picking up as nonchalant as I could, acting like I haven’t been sitting and waiting here shaking like a leaf, thinking about if death was more painless, “hi there!”

I mentally cringe at myself for sounding a little too excited and loud, but Alex didn’t seem to mind as he speaks back to me, “hi! Hello. How are you?”

“I’m good, yeah! Nervous, actually, if you can’t tell yet. You?” I’m already starting to crumble and my voice is wavering as I realise that I’m just… me, and he is he. Even as strangers, he’s way out of my league. He is known, adored, watched by millions of people, I am not. I’m average, boring, some would even say. I don’t blame them. So, remind me how am I, out of everyone, here, in this situation?

I hear him smile into the phone, “don’t be. I’m good, fuckin’ amazing, to answer your question. And just overall, you know…,” he trails off, before taking a sharp breath, “anyway, I guess I’m just here to sort of do a vibe check. I mean, I can tell you’re cool, so there should be no problems there, but—talk to me, about anything. I would appreciate it, though if it was related to the job, but don’t fret too much, okay?”

I now smile to myself too and at the fact that he, first of all, is here trying his best not to overwhelm me, and that he keeps cussing as if he doesn’t care this is technically a business call. I could loosen up a bit too in my own ways.

“Well, I—first of all, thanks for doing this. I’m really excited about this opportunity,” I ramble until I realize how I’m getting a bit sidetracked here from the question, thankfully he doesn’t point it out, but instead encourages me to keep going, so I did, this time right on subject. I tell him what I can, about myself and my studies that I worked hard for and that would benefit me in succeeding in this job position. He listens every word, throwing in some comments and pleased sounds, as to approve what he’s hearing.

“Wow, yeah, that’s fuckin’ impressive, you should be proud. Not everyone can do it, you know? Like that’s some tough shit if you want to be any good, so I definitely respect what you got goin’ on.”

Why am I now spiraling? Maybe because I can’t recall the last time someone bothered to compliment me on this so thoroughly, and out of all the people possible, it has to be him. I didn’t expect it to actually rob me of words like this.

“Thanks,” I eventually stutter, “didn’t think I was going to hear that, especially from you. It means a lot.”

“Of course, I’m glad it means a lot. I really mean it.”

This is definitely not the kind of vibe I had prepared myself for. I feel like we are already…. bonding? Just a little bit. I feel it more as we keep talking, and one conversation turns into another and then another. I learn something, that he undeniably has a great sense of humour, very witty and likes to laugh, but can also be serious when needed, talk sense into anybody and be the voice of reason. I think it was at least for a good hour that we just exchanged words and stories, and laughed a lot too, of course. I even come out of my shell and tell him jokes, that makes him laugh in turn.

Before we could get any more in depth, he mutters through a yawn, “I’m genuinely excited to have you, it’s gonna be so fuckin’ great. So, welcome to the Team Quackity—no one says that, I just made that up, I just lied to you—but, I really think you’re gonna do amazing. I think I’m going to put my little best foot forward and head to bed at a decent time, for once. My feet are not little though, like I’m not a fuckin’ gnome or anything.“

We both laugh. It is getting somewhat late and our brains are getting to the stage of tiredness when everything said is suddenly funny. It’s very reassuring to see this human side of him, that he is so easy to talk to and that maybe I was anxious for nothing, and felt the pressure to appear so interesting for nothing, because he made me feel interesting so effortlessly.

And I guess I’m in now, I got the job, judging by his words, that he is excited to have me around in the future. It’s going to take a while to get used to this. Maybe I ever won’t, so he’ll always keep me on my toes.

”I’ll see—or talk to you soon, I think,” I tell him.

He doesn’t bother correcting me or himself, “yeah, I’ll see you soon, very soon probably.”

After that all I heard was rustling from his end and a small noise indicating he was getting tired, so we both know it’s time to wrap things up here. Until next time. It made me want to squirm to know there will be a next time.

I still don’t know how I managed to fall asleep that night with a mind running a thousand miles an hour, but I did, eventually.

It didn’t take many days at all before I already had something waiting for me in my inbox, some work to do. This is what he must have meant by seeing me very soon.

And so the first day of work and then a whole week of work was over in a blink of an eye, and I found myself busy trying to juggle everything. Doing my best was the best I could do, as I spent my days taking everything in and making this my new normal. Speaking of, it will take a while for any of this to feel normal.

I got to put my rusty Spanish skills to use, I even surprised myself with how easy I suddenly found the language I struggled with at a certain point in my life. I guess all it really takes is finding the right thing.

As to what comes to Alex, I barely hear from him. Mostly because this is strictly business, and when we do talk, it’s about work, and even then he keeps it very short. I understand, he’s busy, I’m not his only priority. The one-on-one talk I got to have with him on the phone that one night, when he was supposed to interview me but we ended up talking about anything else, that was one time and definitely won’t be something that happens frequently. Things have changed since then. There has to be some boundaries set of what is appropriate, because after all, I just work for him and not playing any role of a friend.

So, it’s been very independent, lonely at times, doing this job and I don’t know how or who to talk to about it. New job blues, it must be. Whatever it is, I don’t like it.

I was startled out of my sleep to my phone obnoxiously ringing. Well, it was obnoxious at first to be woken up like that, until I realised there aren’t many people who would call me this early in the morning.

I make grabby hands for it, until I find it in the midst of the covers, and to my horror see Alex’s name on the screen. It was still there no matter how many times I tried to blink the sleep out of my eyes, confirming I’m not dreaming. This could be pretty much about anything, which scares me. It’s very unlikely for him to call me anymore just to chit-chat about nothing in particular. There has to be something else.

I hesitantly pick up, “hello?”

“Hi! I just wanted to… you know, check in, ask how’s it going?” he sounds way too happy for there to be to bad news. Whew.

I tell him it’s going good and hear the smile in his voice as he seems to be satisfied with my brief answer, “good, I’m glad. I know it might be a shit show at first, like everything’s new, you feel like you’re alone in it—all of that, but you’re not, okay? Like, I really do appreciate the hell out of you and what you’ve done so far. It’s been really great to see it!”

“Thanks. That’s actually what I needed to hear. It’s been a lot of…. change for me,” I feel like I’m flustered like a fool right now, good thing he can’t see it because I must look crazy. I wish I knew better words to express my gratitude for him right now, because it’s exactly what I wanted to hear, especially after feeling low, but I never thought he’d actually say it. Especially not right now on this specific, beautiful morning when I’m still half asleep and oblivious to the world.

“I’m sorry if I haven’t really been there to show my appreciation more, but I’m genuinely just so fuckin’ busy, or if I’m not busy I’m sleeping or some shit, because as great as I am, I still do need my little beauty sleeps. But, if there’s anything I can do for you, just—you will let me know, right?”

I don’t know where this is coming from and what is causing him to talk to me in such confidence and care. All I know is that I suddenly don’t feel as alone as I did not too long ago.

“Sure. I’m really glad you told me that. Takes a bit of a weight off my shoulders.”

“Of course,” he emphasizes, “I’m glad we’re on the same page. So, what are you doing right now?”

I’m surprised at his attempt to keep talking to me instead of hurrying to go on with his day, like he usually does. I rack my brain for something sensible, if there’s a right answer to his question, “uh—is this a trick question? Is there something I forgot to do?”

He laughs, “no, no, I swear! So, you’re not up bright and early, not a morning person?”

“Who is?” I chuckle and fight off a yawn.

He groanes as if stretching himself to prove his point, “fair. So, you’re not doing anything? You’re free to—I don’t know—have a little chat?”

Is there something he hopes to discuss, since he keeps hanging on the line? I don’t know for the life of me what that would or could be, or maybe I’m wrong and mean and paranoid and he is just kind enough to call me and initiate conversation after not hearing from me in a while.

“Yeah, sure. Anything in particular you want to talk about?”

“No. Just anything, like fuckin’… why Spanish? Why did you learnt Spanish in the first place? Why did you chose it?”

Great question. I smile to myself, “sounds like you had something to ask me all along.”

And so we fell into a conversation about it, about me deciding to learn Spanish in the first place, me telling him it was more of decision that I made one night when I was bored and couldn’t sleep and thought it was a such a godsent, brilliant idea. And so I applied for those classes that same night, I think I was half asleep and delirious, and the next morning I had to suck it up and face the consequences of my sleepy actions and attend those damn classes. It was surely tough at first, like everything new is, but eventually, with some hard work, I got the hang of it.

It was over 30 minutes later, when we finally said goodbyes and hung up and then it was silent again, except for his words now echoing in my head, and how he seemed to be very into learning more about me, like he eats, sleeps and breathes that new information.

Now that I sort of have his permission to rely on him if I need to, I want to make the most of it. I mean, possibly, if I ever need it, but on the flip side, I’m aware I’m not here to make friends or connections. We haven’t really even connected more than as people who work together so far, which I understand. Except for those few longer talks we’ve had on the phone, but I think since he’s so approachable, he probably talks like that with everyone. I don’t feel too special yet.

Things slowly made more sense and fell into place as it was that same cycle for the remaining of the week and the weeks after. I spent the days sitting at my desk, working. Time flied, for sure. The only thing that made me feel as if the days were dragging, was that I didn’t hear much from Alex. I actually didn’t hear from him at all, except for when I reached out to him concerning work, but other than that we didn’t really talk. I didn’t want to be the one to reach out to him for a casual chat, because it felt inappropriate, unprofessional even.

I definitely got crashed back to the harsh reality from whatever high I had been on when he used to have the time to talk to me. I understand it, but I did kind of crave some human interaction, some communication. Blame it on me and that I’m a people person and that maybe I find him interesting just a little bit.

I want to know how he is doing and kind of wanted to have him ask me how was I doing too. Well, I am buried in work, that’s how I’m doing. I sometimes too need something, or someone, to share the burden with. I wonder if I’ll always feel this way.

Something blaring disrupts my sleep and wakes me up. Whatever it is, it’s too loud for whatever time it is. It’s not my alarm, I acknowledge, but my ringtone. My phone. I recognize that sound.

It almost hurt to pry my weary eyes open so fast, but I still experience a deja-vu. This sort of feels all too familiar, doesn’t it? Who’s calling me this early? It’s 9 AM on a... Saturday!? I completely forgot it‘s the weekend. That’s what intense work hours does to a human.

“Hello?” I didn’t even try to conceal the sleep in my voice.

“Well, hello to you too,” my oh-so-dear-friend speaks on the line. Right now I feel like I could tell them off, but to be fair, we haven’t talked in a long while. I just realised how long it’s been since I have heard their voice now that I’m hearing it.

I groan groggily, “hi, hello. Cut the chit-chat and tell me why you woke me up.”

I pull the phone away to check the time again on the screen, if I had read it correctly. Yep, 9.01 AM on a Saturday morning. No one should be awake at this hour, especially not me.

“I was finally able to sleep in today, you knew this,” I keep whining.

My friend just laughs like this is all a joke, “or you could come and have breakfast with me, just like the old times. I work too, so don’t tired-shame me! I love sleep as much as you do, but it’s not every weekend we can do this anymore. You barely even talk to me these days.”

I sigh again, now out of pity, because as tired as I am, they’re right. We really don’t even talk as much as we used to do when we were not busy with work and well, adulting. Life. Ugh.

“Fine,” I eventually agree to it, “you got me. I’ll see you soon then, I guess.”

My friend squeals, “you really gave in already, this easily? I’ll see you soon!”

I stretch my tired body that feels like it isn’t ready to get up just yet. I need a minute, or two, or ten to wake up and I probably have like 30 minutes to an hour to get ready. Definitely enough, even if I stall in bed for a bit longer. And that’s what I’m planning on doing.

I cry out when my phone rings again not even a few minutes later. There’s no way my friend is on their way already. Or maybe something came up and they are telling me I can go back to sleep. Am I an awful person for wishing that? I had a change of attitude when I saw who was calling me.

“Hello?”

“Hey! Long time no see, or talk,” he speaks. It’s Alex.

Why is he calling me now? I’m suddenly feeling way more awake than I did just seconds ago. Yeah, screw sleep. What does he want?

“Yeah,” I laugh nervously, “what’s up?”

“So, something needs to be up for me to call you? I can’t just call you?” he speaks before breaking into laughter, “I’m just fuckin’ around, I’m kidding! Anyway, speaking of that seeing, how—what would you say if I asked if you want to pop a visit to my place? I’d love to see you in person, you know, and I’m in town, I have like no shit to do for once, I’m a free fuckin’ man. If I was you, I’d take advantage of that, but you do you, I guess.”

This is not what I expected in a million years. Even if his house was the only house in this world, I still wouldn’t expect access there. I mean, I’m flattered as hell, but why? I’m sure he has other friends he would rather see—and we’re not even friends, actually.

I guess kindness comes in many forms. He doesn’t really owe me anything, especially letting me to see such a private part of his life like the place he calls home. Just because I’m now a part of his job, an acquaintance perhaps, doesn’t mean he has an obligation to let me see more of him. But, who am I to say no?

I hesitate, before finally uttering a response, “sure—I mean, if you’re sure, then yes. I’d like to, it’s not like I have anything to do.”

Except that I actually do have something to do. The breakfast.

Of course I don’t have the heart to correct myself, not when Alex sounds this excited, “great! So, I’ll be expecting you… let’s say in a few hours? Nothing too crazy. I want to—you know, I usually have a thing that I want to see as many people as I can who I’m working with to kind of, just to see them, makes sense, right? A vibe check, some would say.”

Finally he tells me he’ll text me the address later and there he goes, as the line goes dead and I’m left with my own thoughts. As terrified as I feel, I also do feel a little curious. What’s going to actually happen once I get there? Is this a build-up to something bigger? What will he think of me when I’m not just an ideal voice on the phone, but a real, existing person standing in front of him?

I call my friend and they immediately pick up, “there’s no way you’re already ready! I’m leaving in a few—”

“No!” I yap, “listen—this is an actual emergency, like Alex just called me and asked me to come over, like he actually wants to see me and I said yes, because I spoke before I could think, so here I am, thinking what the hell I have just done.”

“What? What are you talking about? Like right now? You have to go right now?”

“Like soon-ish, yeah, I mean—should I not? Am I actually going to go?”

“Of course you’re going! In what world would you not go?!”

“So—you’re okay with it?” I ask. I don’t care what anyone’s telling me right now, I still feel stubborn if this is the right thing to do. I mean, there’s a lot at stake here. I could like, say something stupid to him or get all tongue-tied.

My friend sighs loudly, “I’m saying this as kindly as I can, but shut up. You’re going! I’ll just see you another day! Just tell me how it goes then.”

We talked for a bit more, or more like, my friend talked and I halfheartedly listened. I feel completely unprepared for what is about to happen. Good luck to me. Luckiness is not my strong suit, but it has to be today.

I was finally walking to the bus stop when a drizzling rain started to fall, and it did when I got on and off the bus too. Before I was caught in a storm, I check the address on my phone, and then I’m on my way to my destination.

It was not more than 15 minutes when I had made it, and there it was. In front of me was a really nice apartment building. The dark, cloudy sky made it look even more majestic, as it stood tall and proud. As I walk along the concrete sidewalk, I maneuvered my way to the entrance and right up the few front steps.

I feel like I’m doing something I shouldn’t as I make my way inside. Thankfully, I don’t see anyone as I step into the well-lit lobby, because I was definitely a sight to see, a bit damp from the rain and looking around like I don’t know where I am.

My heart is still heavy in my chest and my ears in the elevator. I keep tapping my foot whenever I could keep myself still, which was nearly impossible. But I had some time to think; what do I actually do once I’m there? No idea.

I finally make it to the right door and then it’s now or never. Well, it’s not going to get any easier, so I guess I have to go for it. After I gather the courage to ring the doorbell, I hear the lock turn and see the knob twist, and there he is, in front of me.

He has a really nice, contagious smile that I’ve only seen on screen before, but I never saw just how it reaches his eyes, the dark and captivating eyes that reminds me of nice things in life, framed by his long lashes. He looks relaxed, his face a bit sleepy and his hair covered by a black beanie.

“Hey!” he smiles wide, looking like he can’t stay put in one place much longer either, “it’s so nice to see you! Come here!”

Before I have the time to say or do anything, he pulls me into a warm, welcoming hug. Definitely a good hugger too. His scent fills the air around me, which has a calming effect. The hug was warm like a sweater and a soft, pleased sigh escaped his lips.

“Hi,” I mumble against him, “it is. I didn’t know you’re a hug person. Noted.”

Alex just laughs, like it was everyday for him, “thanks for thinking I’m an asshole. What, should I just fuckin’… push you like the asshole I am?”

We laugh off any tension, if there ever was any to begin with. See, he’s really funny like that, which makes me think that maybe there won’t be any rough patches today and we will get along fine. When we pull apart, he takes his body heat away with him, and I feel a little chilly again from the rainfall. He steps aside in the doorway and with an excited grin, invites me in, “come on in!”

I give him a tight-lipped smile as I walk past him, “gladly, thanks.”

God, I need to stop being so formal and boring, and lighten up a little. My head is still hazy, I can’t remember the reason why I am here in the first place. Was there ever such thing? Guess I’ll find out soon.

He shows me around inside. What I saw in front of me, was a place that was really simple yet modern, very inviting indeed. Lots of tones of grey and white. There wasn’t any clutter in my sight, everything looked squeaky clean and organized. There was a corner that looked like his streaming set-up, that looked more messy than the rest of his place did.

“So, this is my place slash office, where I do work. Hence the name ‘office’,” he tells as he gestures me to take a look around. I laugh, and he seems satisfied at successfully amusing me, as he moves our attention to the living room.

I agape at how spotless it is wherever I look at. There’s no way he does this himself with a schedule like his, or if he does, it’s impressive.

“I’m a clean-fuckin’-person, okay! As you can see. Honestly, my life hack would be just not to do shit. If you don’t do anything, there won’t be a mess. See, it’s fuckin’ easy.”

We both snicker out loud again and he motions at the tiny kitchen, exclaiming, “this is where I cook! I bust my little ass in this little kitchen every day.”

“You do?” I ask, surprised. Shit, I didn’t mean to say that out loud, especially after what he said, so now it sounds kind of awkward, but it’s also kind of funny. I’m just surprised that he seems to be so good at everything.

He just chuckles, “yeah. I’ll show you someday. Only if you promise to pay attention to the food and not only to my ass, like get your priorities straight first.”

Oh God. Someday? I’m here for the long run? I’m just going to ignore the latter comment. I put my hands up in surrender, “I promise.”

As we laugh again, I wonder how he is truly, effortlessly funny, like a breath of fresh air. I’m sure I haven’t met someone like him before. Now it all clicks why he has such a wide audience from every corner of the world, it’s not hard to find his personality likeable at all. He wears his sense of humor like it’s his lucky charm and it works.

I follow him with my arms tightly tucked on my sides to the living room area, that’s kind of one with the kitchen, like a joint. I must look painfully awkward.

“And this,” Alex gestures, “is where I kick back and relax. Not too much time for that lately, I’ve been so fuckin’ busy with work.”

“Yeah, I don’t doubt it. I’m glad if I can make your life a little easier in that spectrum.”

He has a nice view of the bustling city from the window too, something I find hard to divert my gaze from, just to find myself staring right into his eyes when I did.

“You do!” he smiles widely, “that’s why I wanted to see you, actually, to kind of know even more about what you’re all about. You wanna sit down for a second? Can I interest you in a drink?” he pulls his best British accent for the question. Oh, so here’s the part when it gets real, him questioning me.

I agree and again follow his trail to the kitchen and watch as he pulls out a chair for me. He made it seem like it’s such a nonchalant thing to do, but it strangely made my face feel warm. He didn’t have to do that, but he did. I thank him and sit down.

“So, what would you like to have?” he speaks behind me.

I eye the kitchen, “honestly, whatever’s the easiest for you.”

I hear him hum and then he is gone. I watch as he walks around the kitchen, opening the fridge and the cupboards. I feel a bit creepy just following him with my eyes, so I sneakily pull my phone out of my pocket and see there’s a text from my friend. I should’ve known.

“What’s going on there? I’m dying to know!” 1:01 PM

I kind of did promise them that I would text them as soon as things progressed or happened, which they really haven’t so far. I’m just kind of lost in the moment right now, taking it all in.

I mentally shake my head and fight a smile, texting them back that I promise and vow to tell everything later, except that not much has happened yet. We haven’t exactly gotten to the point here, whatever it is.

There’s one thing I can’t deny so far and could talk about forever, which is that he’s really fun to be around. He’s one of those people who can immediately light up a room with his energy, which is what he probably does every time he’s with people. I suddenly feel small in his world. Sure, I’m here right now, sitting in his house, and I’m lucky enough to call myself someone who gets to work with him, but still. I’m just one of the many people that gets to watch him shine from the sidelines.

I put my phone away once I hear him coming back, and watch as he places a drink in front of me, “for you,” and one for himself “and for me,” and sits down opposite me. The drink is lime green. It looks delicious. I tell him that and shiver as I wrap my hand around the cold glass.

He smiles at me with his pearly white teeth on full display, “it’s fuckin’ amazing. I think it’s so cool, like the shit that bartenders do, mix a bit of that, throw a little bit of that in, and this is one of my many creations. I do feel like a bartender whenever I make this.”

I smile and take a sip. It was amazing. “You make this for everyone?”

He seems stunned, “no, no! I mean, I rarely get people over, we’re all just so fuckin’ busy to dilly-dally, and if I do, it’s work related—you’re work related too, I know, but—it’s a day off for the both of us, so fuck it, why not, you know?”

“Yeah,” I take another sip, “well, I’m glad you invited me over.”

He broadly grins at me from behind his glass, “you already told me that.”

I feel myself getting flustered. I’m not really too good with human interactions or words today.

“I’m just kidding,” he gently laughs, “I’m glad you came over, too. Uh—you—how have you liked everything so far? I feel like I know a lot about you already, but you just—you’re a very interesting person.”

So, this is the kind of stuff he wanted to talk about? And did he just call me interesting? I’m going straight back to feeling nervous. Meanwhile he takes a sip of his drink too and keeps his eyes on me the whole time.

“Me?” I gulp, “I don’t know whether to thank you or tell you that you’re delusional.”

He just snickers again, there was no hint of real hurt or judgment there, “no, no! Like now, you could’ve told me more, something I don’t know, but it’s almost like you got some secrets, like you’re avoiding some shit. Are you? Every time I try to talk to you, you don’t.”

He holds a mischievous twinkle in his eyes and I’m thinking if I should hold back my words here. Have I been holding back that much? I haven’t realised it, if I have. Maybe I’m just scared of being too much and I don’t want to, well, be too much. I don’t know how deep is too deep, especially considering our work situation-ship.

Just when I thought I somewhat know him, he shows me a new side of him. There’s been a lot of people in my life who’s had their eyes on me, but never cared enough to look closely enough to see me the way I am. At least not in the way I feel I deserve, like I do with him. He seems fairly interested in me, which is the highest compliment, I think.

“I thought you invited me here just to talk business,” I stutter.

”We’re not working right now, I already told you.”

His face was content as ever as he leaned on the palm of his hand and listened to me talk. And what did we talk about? Everything. All about me. I found it rather easy to open up to him, once I got started. The only time it didn’t feel as easy was when I was reminded how intensively he’s listening and looking at me. I gulp down my drink and relish the sweet taste.

“I think it’s kind of a fair trade if you tell me something about you next,” it’s my turn to grin at him.

It was enough to make him crack up, “what is this, a fuckin’ truth or dare? Spin the bottle? You want another drink? I could go for another one. Fuck it, let’s do 10 more! This is fun, I’m having a good time.”

He convinces me to have one more with him. I mean, I can’t leave him now, I think it’s just getting good here. We are having fun, is it a bit too much fun? I don’t know, but neither of us seem to care enough to stop it.

I agree, “sure, I’ll have another and dare you to tell me something next, like how did you pick me? Or was it even you? You had your fair share, now it’s my turn.”

I can play this game too and I’m really interested in why he chose me. All this time I thought it was luck, but was it? What else does he see in me?

He grabs our glasses, going to the kitchen to work his magic again, with his back facing me. It didn’t take him long, but it was long enough time for a silence to fall over us, except for a few clinks from the kitchen, and enough time for me to wonder about what has happened to far today.

He is so chill, unlike me on the inside. He didn’t make a big deal of us meeting, which is fine. I mean, I do work for him, this is all business, so I don’t know what else I would expect to happen. But I am taken aback he is willing to share so much with me and that it doesn’t seem to phase him much. He is letting me read him like an open book.

He was way too soon back with our second batch of drinks, “so, you want to know why you’re here?”

I nod coyly.

He beams and leans back on his seat, resting his arm behind him and fiddling with his glass with the other hand, “I mean, you know everything I need you to know and you’re good at it. You know a lot, you’re very smart and you work hard. I saw your application. And I know you’re very funny, too. You were funny as fuck on the phone when we first talked.”

Oh no. Yeah, that was my tired brain talking back then.

He interrupts me, “no, I think you’re funny as fuck. You should do that more often. Why are you holding back?”

“I don’t know,” I don’t know what I’m actually going to say to this one, “I’m not used to mixing my humour with work, I guess, but glad it works for you.”

“It does, like you don’t need to hold back around me. Be yourself, you know? Like, fuck it. I say stupid shit too, but you don’t think any less of me, do you?”

“No, I dont,” I confess. I’m happy he told me that. He’s giving me the freedom to be me, which I never realised is the greatest thing someone could give you.

After both of our glasses were empty and we had gone over the stupidest jokes and stories that matter, I think it was time for me to get out. We really had found ourselves talking about everything, from our tastes in music to plans for the future.

I tell him, “I should go soon, but this was fun! We should do this again—probably not! But if we ever happen to… I don’t know.“ Damn it. I know very well we shouldn’t and probably won’t ‘hang out’ like this again. Stupid me, not knowing when to stop. I’m such embarrassment-prone.

To my luck, he shakes his head, “no, I’d like that! You have a phone, I have a phone, you know, let’s make shit happen. Easy.”

I dodged a bullet right there. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to think that us meeting up again would be unprofessional or weird and I didn’t make matters worse.

We get up and I let him lead me to the door. I’m about to step out, but not before turning to see him standing there with his arms spread out for me. A little warmth rushes into my cheeks as we mold together and share a hug for the second time today and he gives my back a soothing rub.

“Have a safe trip home,” he speaks lowly in my ear.

I watch him return the small smile through the little crack, until the door shuts close with a soft click. I walk back to the elevator, and once I’m certain I really am alone, I pull out my phone and text my friend. I didn’t even realise what I was typing as I was typing it.

There’s one thing in my mind I need to air out, because the longer it stays there, the more it becomes a secret. And I don’t want to keep secrets from my friend right now, secrets that are confusing me as much as it will confuse them;

“Oh my God. Since when has he become so attractive?” 3:05 PM

It didn’t take long at all for my friend to reply, like they had been waiting by the phone, but certainly not for a message like that. For the first time ever, I was honestly scared to see what they have to say this time. I don’t blame them though, I myself even feel a little scared of what I’m feeling right now.

“What?! What did you guys even do? You know this sounds very suspicious?” 3:06 PM

Trust me, I know it’s stupid, but it’s the way he actually cared to listen to me, and, I don’t know, appreciate me like no one has before. I’m afraid no one will understand what I mean, they would have to meet him and be in my place to understand. He is somehow irresistible in every way, the way he talks, the way he listens, both just as important qualities.

I guess there is no use in explaining myself, but I still text my friend back, trying to find the right words;

“Nothing like you’re imagining, we just talked! But he said some nice things to me, like he finds me interesting, like he’s just a very nice person and he has an attractive personality. I don’t know if that’s a thing but if not then I just invented it.” 3:09 PM

I know if there’s someone who sees right through me, it’s my friend and I will probably be called out any second now. Just to be clear, I would not mess with him nor this job opportunity. I’m not like that, I just appreciate a good personality, I guess. And I mean, I’m not saying his looks are bad either... but, no.

My friend replies,

“I believe you, but this sounds like so much more. And I’m quoting you now, ‘attractive’?!” 3:11 PM

I wish I would’ve kept my mouth shut, because I don’t think I will ever hear the end of this. I end up finding my way back home safe and sound, which was actually a miracle, considering that I didn’t really pay attention to where I was going or which bus I hopped on, because there was just one thing on my mind. I don’t like Alex like that, but I’m also running out of ways to defend my case. It’s too soon to even think about these things.

I went to bed early, deciding to catch up on some tv-shows, because I didn’t exactly know what else to do with myself. And sure, I was also texting my friend, telling them it’s not like that and if we can now drop it and move on. I feel too stupid and embarrassed to think about it any longer. So I just got ready for bed and started up a tv-show re-run. Of course I couldn’t pay much attention when I had my friend blowing up my phone and my brain screaming the same stuff at me. This secret can never get out.

The next day, as I woke up, the first thing on my mind was whatever it was that had taken over me yesterday, but other than that it was all the same. I so wanted to text Alex, thank him for having me over. I suddenly felt so very bored of my own life, as I realised that wasn’t going be something we do often, if ever again.

I spent the whole day in bed, just killing time and relaxing, not like I had anything else to do. I could call up my friend, but I honestly still feel a bit embarrassed to talk anything over with them yet. I would rather solve it myself. My feelings, my problem, right?

A few weeks have passed. I haven’t talked much with Alex. It’s the same as usual, we have fallen back to the normal ritual, where the only interaction we ever have is strictly work-related talk.

I, myself have also finally fallen back into my calm state of mind and so has my friend. Everything feels the same it’s always been. Obviously, my friend hasn’t completely let me live it down, but I can live with it. We still occasionally talk about it, or more like, they ask me if I’m okay, because apparently, I sounded so passionate about my feelings and it’s not healthy to brush them off.

It wasn’t until a few more weeks had passed by swiftly, when I heard from Alex again, on another Saturday evening. My phone was going off, with his name on the screen.

“Hey. Sorry if this was sudden, or whatever,” he quietly speaks to me when I pick up.

“It’s fine,” I assure, “I actually have been waiting to hear from you.”

Was that too much? I feel like that’s one thing that would have been better if it only existed in my head. I was relieved to hear him find the humour in it though.

“Yeah?” I heard him chuckle on the phone, “you’ve been waiting for me like I’m fuckin’ Santa or some shit?”

I laugh too and played along with his usual banter, “oh, yeah. Now, do you have something for me?”

He actually sighs and gets serious, “I have like, bad news and then there’s like, amazing news.”

Oh no. How bad are we talking about? Is it about me? Just when I thought things would go back to normal, whatever normal is. I make a noise to urge him to keep going.

He sighs again, “okay. I’m… going to have to move and leave that fuckin’ amazing apartment behind, that you just saw a few weeks ago. Like, what the fuck? I get it, like life comes at you fast, but like, fuck.”

“What?” I ask him, sounding too disappointed for my own liking, “you have to? Like, this is it? You’re getting evicted or something?”

He finally laughs lowly, “okay, fuck you. I’m just kidding! No, actually—I got this offer, hear me out, this is a big ass spoiler, but I’m getting a huge sponsorship, which means that the amount of content I have to do for them, and with them, of course, is just so much that it would be necessary for me to live there. At least for now.”

He keeps on rambling about this opportunity and genuinely sounds like he couldn’t be more excited, meanwhile I don’t make a peep.

“And I figured to tell you now, because I know you’ll be cool about it. I’ll still have work for you to do, so technically this doesn’t change anything for you, but, I mean, fuck it, why wouldn’t I do it?! It’s time for me to spread my little wings and go out there in the big world,” he keeps going while I still remain silent.

“Oh, wow, not what I expected to hear, but that’s awesome. So, where’s the bad news?” I finally say to him, when I don’t hear his voice anymore, trying my best to conceal the lack of excitement in mine.

“I know right! Those aren’t even bad news, ‘cause like, what the fuck? It’s going to be amazing. I figured I should let you know, ‘cause when you see me filming from somewhere else, just so you know I haven’t been kidnapped, I’m not streaming from someone’s basement. No one’s forcing me to make content.”

Well, that got a genuine giggle out of me. I want to show my support more, but I feel a bit sad about this. I don’t know why. Why do I find it so hard to be happy for him right now?

I understand that this is really something he wants to do, something that’s bringing him lost motivation back, so what else would I tell him other than ‘yes, it’s a good idea’? Even though it means he’ll be far away in another state, God knows exactly how far, but I can’t be selfish and act all hurt when this doesn’t even affect me. But, how long will he be gone for?

“So, when will I see you again? Not anytime soon, I assume?” Now I’m asking the real questions here.

“I know... yeah, probably not. Shit just happens so fast, isn’t that crazy?”

At least he’s honest. I don’t know and neither does he. There’s my answer. I’m not going to lie, I’m a little upset. I guess we have—I don’t even know how much more—time left, and then everything will change, or not, like he assured, but I think it will all change for us. Maybe not in all the worst ways, but how often does change not hurt at first? It always does.

That bitter feeling didn’t die, no matter how many days I tried to drown it for. There’s still a tiny string in me holding onto the hope that he’s not leaving. I know it’s selfish, I hate it too. I hate how I’m doing this to myself. I’m especially having one of those days today, when I feel like doing nothing, but I have to get work done. It’s just hard not to think about him when my work centers around him, like I really can’t get away.

I just never thought we would run out of time. Isn’t it cruel how we only appreciate time when there’s not much of it left?

I decide to wrap up work early today. I had sat on my desk the whole morning, staring at the screen and realising that words don’t make sense to me, I feel like I don’t know what I’m doing, like this stupid editing program suddenly feels like a stranger. If I’m going to do a crap job, I might as well just not do anything. The deadline isn’t until tomorrow.

My mind is more occupied with things with a shorter deadline, other things I have to solve before I can immerse myself in anything else that requires complete focus, like the strange feeling I got after hearing him break the news. It shouldn’t matter to me, so why does it feel like it does?

I shut down the computer after saving the little work I got done. I need to look after myself, do the things I used to do and enjoyed doing before all this happened and he came and rocked my world and hopefully I’ll get over it, and myself.

Just out of pure curiosity, I want to know how things are going for him. I’m not trying to get my feelings hurt, but it’s only been a few days, nothing too major hasn’t happened yet, right? The buzzing of my phone jerkes me back to reality. It’s Alex!

“Hi!” I balance my phone on my shoulder, as I finished patting my face dry after a very refreshing shower I just had.

I can hear him clear his throat and speak, “hello. I just woke up, I know it’s like, what, 1PM? Holy shit. Anyway, uh… what are you up to?”

I wonder what is the reason for this call, but I’m not going to ask. I’ll happily take as much of his time as he can give me, before he gets busy with moving and his new life.

“Nothing,” I reply truthfully, “I mean—I’ve had kind of a slow day today. I just—I’ll get back to work later, right now I’m just trying to unwind myself, I guess.”

“Oh,” he replies, “something on your mind?” Oh, you have no idea.

I try to laugh it off, hoping he won’t try to dig any deeper, “honestly, the usual. You know, life.”

To my relief, he just laughs in response, “yeah, me, if anyone, would know about that. Like, fuck—tell me about it! I don’t know at this point if I’m fighting demons, or if I’m the demon.”

We both laugh and it’s so nice even for a few seconds to just laugh with him, and I hate even more what is about to happen to us.

“Yeah, like I don’t know who prayed for my downfall, but it’s working for them.”

He yawns, “see, you get it! I knew you would.” Except that I don’t…

“Anyway—you’re probably wondering, how am I doing, so considerate of you. Being all worried and shit. I am after all just a baby. But I’m doing great! Uh—I’ll be busy as fuck soon, so...,” he trails off.

I hum. I know what he means by that, that he won’t have much time for me anymore. “Yeah, I understand,” I tell him, trying not to sound too sad nor too happy. Just neutral, like how I wish I could actually feel about it.

“Yeah, so, it’s a big fuckin’ step, but I still think it’s a step that needs to be taken, content-wise, because, after all I just want to keep getting better and bigger. I mean, there is no such thing as too big. That’s what I tell myself every time I—okay, I’m gonna stop myself right there.”

He laughs at himself and I stand stunned for a while, until the joke hits me and I laugh too. And… it made me feel flustered. He is just something else. That’s why I like him. As a friend!

“What was I saying? I don’t know, but yeah, it’s happening and I’m excited. So many fuckin’ great things happening. I hope the same goes for you.”

I hum again, since I don’t trust my voice right now, “thanks. I hope so too. I’m really excited for you. Don’t miss me too much while you’re gone.” Just one lie after another.

“I’ll try not to. I think I should be the one saying that. You don’t miss me too much.”

“Wait, who are you again?”

“Okay, fuck you. Bye.”

We both break into laughter again over the ridiculous banter and hang up. Seems like things are going, and will go, well for him.

I put on a very lazy outfit, since I had no plans to go anywhere today.I had too much time on my hands, so I started overthinking again, and for the rest of the day, it was one thought after another. I wish I could see him one last time, why didn’t he ask to? I mean, I know why. Because we’re not close like that. It was a one time thing, won’t happen again. He probably said that he wants to see me again just to avoid disappointing me and hurting my feelings. They will be hurt either way.

I wonder what Alex is doing right now, 7PM on a Wednesday night. A text pops up on my phone as I'm scrolling online… from him?!

“Hey! I have some spare time tomorrow, you wanna come over? I kinda owe it to you, but I wouldn’t mind you seeing you either. It’s a fucking mess here but I’m sorry I can’t pack neatly.” 7:01 PM

What on Earth? It seems like for some reason we are in each other’s subconsciousness. I asked for this, but now I feel weird that this is happening. I’m getting what I want and I don’t think I will want it again. I reply;

“Sure! Thought you’d never ask.” 7:03 PM

I slept better that night. Who knows why.

The next morning I was up before the sun, bright and early. It wasn’t until the afternoon when I had promised to be at Alex’s place, but I couldn’t sleep and lay still anymore. I’m itching for something to happen, something that involves him and getting to see him, possibly for the last time in a long time.

Then later in the day, it was me going downtown again in the same bus, walking over to the same building. The same elevator ride upstairs. The same long hallway. The same door that already looks like coming home. I shouldn’t get so attached anymore. No more crazy thoughts.

This time I didn’t even wait around, but rang the doorbell as I pulled my earbuds out. Ironically, there’s nothing but petty, angry love songs on the radio today where someone’s leaving and someone gets hurt. I feel like I have nothing to be scared or nervous about right now. If anything, my feelings should be scared of me, because I’m not going to feel anything. Whatever I felt the last time I was here, I’m over it.

I heard him turning the lock and there he was, opening the door, all smiles. He looks happy. This time, though, I don’t think I’m alone the reason for it. He doesn’t surprisingly look as disheveled or tired as I imagined, either. In fact, he looks like he has been personally touched by an angel. He is, well, glowing, you could say. Every piece of him.

“Hi!” he ushers me inside, not wasting any time.

I march right inside, “you’re happy to leave.”

He rubs his hands together, “c’mon! I’m having the fuckin’ time of my life! Like—I’ve had good news, c’mon on! Cut me some slack!” He’s so excited to go. Wow.

If I was him, I would feel more bittersweet, perhaps, but people like him just don’t seem to be having a hard time saying goodbye. Maybe people like him aren’t even supposed to stay too long in one place, like the world needs him as much as I do. Good for him, but sucks for me. He then went off, leaving me by myself, like I’m already one with the house and know my way perfectly around.

I followed him to the kitchen, where it was boxes upon boxes. The living room didn’t look any different. The house looks swept, from what I can see so far. His setup is the only thing that looks somewhat the same, but I can tell there’s things missing, already been put away.

“Wow, you really weren’t kidding, like, this is really happening,” I say, mostly to myself.

This place looks weird and dead now that it’s almost empty, like it’s empty of life too.

“Yeah! What, are you gonna miss me and shit?” he asks me, amused by the thought, “no sad, happy!”

Then he quite literally places his hand on my shoulder and gives it a comforting rub, before taking off again. I don’t know if it made me feel better or worse.

“I—“

“So,—“

We start at the same time, following by us both saying ’sorry’ in sync. Awkward. But hey, that got us to laugh again. Oh, how I just like laughing with him. I think it’s one of my favourite sounds. God forbid, if he could read my thoughts right now.

“I was just going to ask if I ever get to see you cooking in that kitchen, like you promised?” Way to change the subject.

Alex gasps with his mouth agape, “no fuckin’ way! How the fuck are you one step ahead of me? I made some of it last night, wondered if you wanna have a bite with me? I mean, of course, you fuckin´ do, right?!”

He starts clapping excitedly, before I could say anything. But the answer is going to be yes, nonetheless. A perfect way to waste some time with him.

In the kitchen, I already knew my seat. It’s the same one I sat on the last time I was here. It felt like personally addressed. I reach for the chair at the same time as he turns to pull it out for me as an act of chivalry. It caused us to knock into each other. Not hard enough to cause an accident, but hard enough to make us both feel embarrassed.

We laugh again, more awkward this time. That was probably the worst fake laugh I’ve ever had to do with him. I sit down and watch as he turns his back to me and takes something out of the fridge.

“This,” he announces, “is my secret recipe, fuckin’ incredible, guacamole.” He brings it to the table and goes back to kitchen to fetch us something to enjoy it with, until sitting down with me. He tells me to dig in, while sitting back and taking off his beanie and running his fingers through his hair. God knows why it made my breath hitch.

When I finally make the move to dig in like he told me to, it’s unlucky he made the same choice at the same time. Our hands touch lightly, before we both quietly apologize and pull them apart like they just had been burned.

“Relax, it’s all yours,” I tease him.

“Fuck you,” he giggles, a smile creeping in, like he’s glad I broke the tension.

The food was honestly pretty good. I hum in enjoyment, “this is good, you were right.”

He laughs, “I told you. Get used to me being right, if you haven’t yet, it’s about time. I mean, I was right about you, too.”

Is he doing this again, getting all mysterious and sentimental about me? And he does it whenever there’s no escape for me from the conversation, too. I wonder what’s really weighing on his heart.

I ask him instead, “okay, what does that mean? You always do this.”

“Well, if it wasn’t for my mastermind, you wouldn’t be here, and I wouldn’t have something here that made me thought about staying, but, you know, it’s not like I’m leaving for good.”

I was on his mind as something that’s worth staying for? There’s not much left he can give me anymore, we’re running low on things to say or do when there’s so little time left, but he never wanted to leave without telling me that. It’s the one last high, before we flatline.

“You really think so? That I’m that special? I’m sure whatever you will find next is going to be worth it, though. I’ll be fine.” I can only keep lying to myself for so long. I’ll be a mess.

Alex straightens himself in his seat, like he’s about to say something crucial, “you’re so fuckin’ special, like I don’t know who hurt you so that you always have to question it. Like this is not the first time we’ve had this conversation.”

He’s right. But what he doesn’t know is that it’s him leaving that hurts me. Maybe I’m just insecure, because I know I’m always replaceable. But maybe he doesn’t think so.

He slyly continues, “whatever it is, whoever they are… they don’t matter now. Don’t think about them, just think about us—or me, you know I would never judge you for how you feel. And I even told you already that you mean a lot to me, so what are you scared of anymore?”

“I—,“ I really don’t know what to say, “I don’t mean to make this about myself, but… I guess I was just excited to spend more time with you and now you won’t be here. And I know it, that I was a chapter in your life, but you have a whole book to write. So I don’t know how much space there is anymore to write about me.”

I know better than get attached to people like him. They have the whole world to impress, I’m just one person.

“Damn, that was some deep shit. I was not fuckin’ ready for that by any means, but fine. Fuck it, let’s take the deep road,” he babbles in his usual way, “it’s not like the next time I see you will be awkward anyway, because, you know… I won’t fuckin’ see you. I’ll be long gone.”

I pretend to gasp at the joke and play along, even though the truth behind it hurts.

“But I agree, it’s been great, but, you know, I’m just a call away. And I always, always have time for you, like I’ve already fuckin’ saved you a seat in my mind, so I never forget to keep you in my thoughts. See? That was pretty good, I can get deep in shit too,” he grins almost child-likely and nudges me as he gets up and goes on his merry way to the kitchen, cleaning up the table.

He seems like he’ll be fine enough, so I feel dumb to push it anymore. I just nod, even against my own will and avert my gaze. Maybe I should stop acting so ungrateful, I still get to keep my job and it’ll almost like force him to talk to me once in a while. It’s not the end of my world. Maybe.

We talk more, this time with me trying to act reasonable. He seems to like and laugh at everything I say. I try my best too to keep a smile on my face and tell him, “I’m sure it’ll be fine and we both make it. I’ll be here rooting for you, king.”

“Thank you so much, thank you. It really means a lot coming from you. I’m glad you seem to feel better.”

Yeah. Surely, I’ll be fine… I’ll fake it if I can’t make it. As he’s cleaning up, he tells me I can feel at home and get some water from the fridge if I want to. Well, I eventually figured I should make myself useful and walked up to the fridge in unbreakable strides.

He seemed to be finished with the dishes and stepped to his right where I was, and our bodies had another collision, I think this being the worst one yet. Like we’re used to it already and know the route out of the awkwardness, we just laugh it off. I don’t understand what the universe is trying to tell me to do right now, because it seems like every move I decide for myself to make is wrong.

And there comes that weird tension again. I hope he doesn’t think I’m trying to try something here. I would never. But he seems more than fine, and definitely not like he’s internally cursing my name, as he is casually standing there next to me, making these ridiculous expressions and sounds in result of a brain freeze, since the water was pretty much ice cold. It made us both laugh and smile like nothing had happened.

What do we do now? Is this it? I thought as I soon announce that I should leave, before anything else can happen. I make quick work on putting my jacket on and tying my shoelaces, reaching for the door just as he does, and there I find myself bumping right into his side again.

I suddenly feel the urgent need for the floor to swallow me whole, but since that’s not happening, running out the door seems very tempting. I can’t handle another one of these accidents. I’m so embarrassed. Not the kind of ending I imagined for our story, but I guess it’s better than drowning in tears. Maybe I have a chance in surviving losing him, if this is how I feel.

“Sorry for whatever that was,” I apologize again, God knows for how manyth time today.

He just timidly laughs, not as loudly and lively as he usually does, but it was still a laugh, “it’s okay, you know, it takes two to… fuck up, something like that, right?”

I laugh too now, “that’s true.”

Now we are just standing in the doorway, thinking who’s going to be the first to say goodbye. And I didn’t find it in me to just run out and leave without it. To my luck, he breaks the moment of silence, “so, uh…. I wanna tell you that I’ll see you soon, but I’m actually not sure when I’ll be able to do that. So—I know you understand, right?”

I do. I understand what is happening. It’s almost like it’s finally sinking in that this is it. I don’t know what the future holds. Will I see him again?

“I don’t want to make any promises, but… I’ll see you at last whenever I’m back, whenever that will be. I’ll talk to you about the new work schedule too, when it’s more topical,” he rants. Yep, at least I get to keep my job.

I just nod sympathetically, “I understand. Good luck with everything, honestly. I’ll see you someday and in the meantime, we can always talk on the phone.” I feel the need to still remind him that just because he’s not here, doesn’t mean I’m not waiting to hear from him every day.

“Of course,” he smiles genuinely, so wide that it reaches his eyes, which makes me want to take his word for it.

He then pulls me into a lingering hug, which surprised us both, how there was no hesitation this time to be so close to each other. Sure, my time with him has been short-lived, but it has meant something. Every second mattered and in a matter of seconds time will be irrelevant. Oh, how life goes.

He pats my back, which felt both like a curse and a blessing. It felt too nice to not happen again in a long, long time. Why couldn’t I feel this way when there was still time?

When he next stares at me from under his long lashes with an unreadable expression on his face, like he’s trying hard to memorize something, I make the move to leave before I fall any deeper into the despair.

It takes a second for him to realise it and to follow me, and now he leans against the doorway, as if he needs something else to cling on to now that I’m out of his reach.

“Go on then, little superstar,” I giggle, “I won’t forget you. Which would be impossible, anyway.”

He starts grinning again, and before he can get too ahead of things and himself, I roll my eyes, “I’m trying to be nice here.”

He gets serious and gives me a more gloomy look before turning it into a smile to almost prevent any emotions spilling, “I know, I know, sorry. Me neither. Trust me.” Trust. That’s what I need, to trust him and let the rest roll off my shoulders.

Soon after we say the final farewells and I watch and hear the door click close for the last time and he is out of my sight for also possibly the last time, at least for a long while. Call me selfish, or a bad person, all of it, but there’s no way he’s actually leaving. I don’t want him to. There’s no way after all that sunshine, it’s now raining this hard. When it rains, it really pours.

Quite literally, indeed, because when I stepped out of the building, it was raining. Ironic. I put my hood on and made my way quickly to the bus stop, staring at the black screen of my phone like any second now he’s going to tell me something, something along the lines of like he has changed his mind. I wiped the raindrops off the screen, they reminded me of teardrops. For some strange reason, I don’t feel like crying at all.

I was already cursing the bus, the bus route, the bus stop. Everything here is going to remind me of him. I can never come back here, unless it’s with him. There’s no way I’m in this deep already, but I am. And there’s no bottom or no one to hold me up this time, I’ll just keep sinking.

The next morning, and the next one, and the next one my immediate thought was Alex, not to anyone’s surprise. The thought of his existence didn’t get me so high as it used to do, since he will now exist so far from me. Just when everything started falling into place. I had already let myself forget the day he’s leaving. Was it yesterday or today, or tomorrow? Or maybe it’s better if I don’t know and will let him leave quietly. So quietly, that the sound of it doesn’t make me flinch.

I figure I can’t just lay down here in my bed the entirety of my existence or Alex being gone, I have to get back to work and back to, well, what life was like before there was him. But what was my life like without him? I’m not sure I can recall it.

I realise I could do anything I ever want, but I’m stuck here and there’s a void in me that looks like him. I feel like I’m supposed to just sit on my hands, what else would I do? Later that night I throw myself on the bed again, ready to waste time scrolling through my phone, maybe watch some TV.

I open Twitter and wait as it loads new content for me to see. So, what do I do on Twitter? I do follow Alex, and I see that he hasn’t posted anything new. I also do follow people I find interesting, a few friends, people who have the same music taste and interests as me. I haven’t caught up with the timeline since last night.

The further I scroll, the more I see concerning headlines of news. What the hell is this?

“Another COVID-19 lockdown possible, says experts.”

What’s going on? It says just a few states have been put on high alert, the one I’m in is not included, at least for now. We still get to go about our lives here. I feel my heart sink, thinking about going back to square one. I don’t think we as society can take another one of those. I see it before my very eyes how the news are spreading like wildfire. Everyone is talking about it. It’s all I see and I think it’s all I will see even in my sleep tonight.

I read until the words didn’t make any sense to me anymore, they were just words of confirming what we all fear. They just made me sick. As the night fell on me, I know I wasn’t the only one in the world who laid wide awake that night. What’s going to happen?

So much for summer plans and so much for possibly visiting Alex or him visiting me. Shit. I just realised what this means for us. It’s the state where he went that’s one of the few mentioned to be prepared to shut down. If only he had never left.

I couldn’t take it anymore. It’s now been more than a few days since I had last seen and heard from Alex, too long when he’s all I think about. I want to know more, ask him how he is. I’m also a little worried, like how he had joked I would be, but now I really am. The world is suddenly not ours to take anymore, so I guess I have a valid reason to be. I text him;

“How is everything?” 1:24 PM

A completely harmless, friendly question. It doesn’t give away too much and he can write me back whenever he finds the time to.

Instead of doing so, he almost right away was calling me. Even a bigger bargain: I get to hear his voice again!

I picked up the phone expecting him to be in a frantic, excited hassle, but he was calm, it was almost too quiet on his end for someone who’s doing as much as he is. Actually, he didn’t seem to be in a rush at all and definitely didn’t sound as excited as he had the other day. I can only assume he’s tired, that’s the only logic that makes some sense.

“Hey,” wow, he does sound worn-out.

“Hey. I bet you’re tired, so you didn’t have to call me. I just wanted to know that… how are things in wherever you are?”

“No, of course I want to talk,” he assures, “I’m—something happened. I’m sure you’ve seen the news. It’s fuckin’ crazy out there.”

It hits me again. The news that feels like the end of the world all over again. I feel for him. Is he now possibly stuck in another state for longer than he anticipates?

I sigh, “yeah. I was hoping it won’t mess with you too much?”

“I’m just as fuckin’ caught off guard as you, but… I really can’t go. It’s too bad out there where I was supposed to go to that I can’t go, I can’t risk it. And I don’t want to seem like an ignorant asshole and just take off.”

“What?” I stutter, “I mean, it makes sense, but you mean—where are you right now?”

He lets out a little sad laugh, “I’m still here, in this great apartment of mine, in the middle of all these boxes and all of my shit is packed up, all of it. And now I’m not even going. Think about it.”

He is still here? He never even left? Or more like, he didn’t have the time to leave? He continues before I could get a word in, “I mean, fuck it, I still might as well fuckin’ move to the next block in the spite of having to pack and unpack everything.”

That made us laugh amidst all of the chaos. I feel bad for him, but it’s a funny thought. But, back to the real topic, he is not leaving after all? What is this universe up to? Did I manifest this unfortunate and unexpected turn of events? I’m starting to feel like I did.

“So, stupid question, I know, but how are you? You never got to leave? I thought for sure you were already gone,” I ask, “sorry, this must be so shitty, I can’t even imagine, and you probably don’t want to answer my stupid questions right now.”

“No, no! I do want to talk, more than ever. I was supposed to leave the day after I last saw you and then all of this kind of happened overnight. I don’t know—I’m just thinking about all the things and shit I don’t get to do now.”

He was so excited just for everything to be called off right before the kick off. I pity him. I’m not exactly sure how to comfort him in times like this, how to say the right things. What even are the right things to say? I know I wanted him to stay, but I never wanted it to happen like this, in a way that drains him of all of his contagious joy.

We talked a long while. Or more like, I let him talk and didn’t wait for my turn to talk. I listened with curiosity and empathy, for as long as he needed. I didn’t fill in the silences, just listened. The last thing he says to me on the phone before we hang up, comes as a total surprise, “hey—you wanna come over?”

And so it went, there I was again taking the same bus downtown to him. I never saw this coming. This looks like a film everyone would love to act in, where the one never gets away, but this is real life. I don’t know how to direct it yet, but I will keep looking for the answers for why this is happening and why he keeps always coming back to me, sometimes even against his own will.

Of course I said yes, when he asked me to come over.

By the time I rode the elevator, I was fuzzy in the head. This was not supposed to happen. I wasn’t supposed to come here again, not after we said those goodbyes not even a week ago.

I walked up to his door, and as by some instinct, he opened it before I could even knock. I did a double take, I couldn’t believe my eyes. I mean, it’s him, but... he looks great. Happier, for some reason, even when there’s not much to be happy about, or so I thought. I wonder who made him like that. Whoever it is, consider them lucky. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look so serene and beautiful like he does in this light.

“Hi!” he lets me in, “alright, let’s just forget about the fuckin’ dramatic goodbyes that we had and pretend none of that shit happened.”

He then giggles at his own recollections, so did I. How many times you get this lucky when there is no bye in goodbye? I also still don’t know what is keeping the smile on his face right now. If there is sadness in there, he’s not showing it.

“Yeah, this is pretty fucked. Not to make things about me, but I thought I would like never see you again. Like you’re gonna start a whole new life without me.”

He shakes his head, “not this time. And I mean—I still wanna keep you, I’m not just gonna fuckin’ let you go, no matter what happens. You’re stuck with me, pal.”

“Yeah, literally. You couldn’t get too far even if you tried.” I wonder if he will ever make it out of here. Right now, everything feels impossible. None of us will get out anytime soon.

“Yeah, see?” he grins.

I see some of the boxes in his house are still up, some of them opened and unloaded, as if something necessary has been taken out of them. He follows my gaze and laughs nervously, “yeah, I know, it’s a fuckin’ mess here. And—it’s just that all of these news are fuckin’ with my head, you know? You feel it too?”

I nod. It’s not bad at all where we are, but what if it gets bad here? The only rule is that we can’t exit the state, but that’s already enough to mess up people’s plans. Like his. It’s all ruined for him.

We talk about these arising fears as he guides us to the kitchen and motions me to take a seat. I smile at his thoughtfulness and sit down. He sits across from me, bringing some snacks on the table.

As I secretly watch him there in the brief silence that occurs when we chew on the snacks, I feel the same old familiar excitement to see him and to be here with him. Like I want to fight all the odds that prevents keeping me right here forever. He makes me feel excited about life, especially when we have more promised time now. That’s the closest my words will get to the feeling I can’t explain.

And, he looks... great. Brand new. Attractive, even some would say. Not me, of course… I clear my throat, hoping he’s not catching on to me, “so, you called me here, because… you wanted to talk?”

“Yeah, pretty much. I just needed to know that… I still have you. Like no matter what shit goes wrong, I’ll always have you here. Especially now, when being alone is the last thing I want. I can’t even see my friends from other states or from home, in case shit gets worse, but you’re always here, right?” he rambles.

I’m still too a bit freaked out that I now have him here, right here where I wanted him all along, I suddenly don’t seem to know or remember what I always wanted to tell him. I think he just beat me to it. I think we really need each other, especially at times like this when loneliness is almost bound to happen.

“Yeah, of course. As selfish as this sounds… I’m glad you’re still here. I don’t think I was ready to say goodbye just yet,” I didn’t know what else to say to his emotional outburst other than answering with the same concerns. If honesty is what he wants and needs to hear, then so be it.

“I knew it. I knew you’re happy I never left”, he tries to suppress his usual grin and raises a brow challengingly at me, “you need me.”

I roll my eyes, “what? That’s all you decided to take from that?”

We both laugh at the banter, like we always used to do. I’m glad we are able to pick up right where we left off. It’s like nothing ever happened. Even though I think we are getting a little sidetracked here.

He adjusts himself in the chair and leans back, crossing his arms as if to appear more intimidating, “what can I say? I have a selective hearing, you tell me you need me and I’m fuckin’ all ears, just like that.”

“I—okay. I didn’t say I need you, I’m just happy you’re still here. I know, it’s probably weird for me to say this—“

At this point I felt like I was squirming in my seat under his gaze. Why is he doing this, almost obsessed with the idea of me needing him?

“Hey, no. I’m sorry if I went too far joking about it and making you feel like it’s weird. It’s not. I feel very… fuckin’ happy you think so highly of me.”

We talk more, and I learn that the news of the possible COVID-19 outbreak, even if it’s not happening here, has really messed with him and I understand a little better why he is being like this. No one wants to feel isolated and alone and he seems to be holding onto me now more than ever. I understand him, but it will change us. For worse or for better, nobody knows.

“Anything else before I go?”

“Actually, yeah. I have a few friends pop over in a few days. You should come too,” he tells me like it’s nothing and like he has already made up my mind for me.

“Oh?” I ask with genuine surprise, “are you sure? Do you really thinks it’s a good idea for me to meet them?”

“Of course! I think it’d be fuckin’ awesome! They’ve been in the city for a few days now, they’re not coming from another state, so it’s all good, all safe.“

“Okay.”

He grins happily, “great!”

What am I getting myself into here? I need to think things through when I get home. He walks me to the door not soon after that. I thought to open the door and walk myself out, but he had the same thought to open it for me, causing us to collide with each other again. This is such a deja vu, but I didn’t remember how awkward it exactly is.

“Yeah, that’s it. I’ll stop being a gentleman right at this fuckin’ second,” he laughs. I laugh too, because as awkward as it is, he makes it funny.

“Okay, I’m gonna go now, before you jump at me again,” I finally make the move to leave.

“Uh—excuse me!” he yells after me, “it takes two! It takes two, pal!”

I keep backing away until I’m so far from him, that we pretty much have to yell to make ourselves heard in this hallway, before waving him goodbye. I made some quick strides to the elevator, it was waiting for me on the same floor as if to rescue me. What is he doing to me and why is it working? And why do I kind of like it?

So, how do I actually feel about Alex inviting me over with his friends there? The thought of it seemed to excite him greatly, but I, on the other hand, am not sure if I can reciprocate his feelings. I do like hanging out with him doing nothing, but when you throw other people in the mix, will it just blow up in our faces? Am I just ruining things to make myself miserable at this point?

I so want to text my friend at times like this, even though I’m highly aware they would force me to go and socialize, but I figure this is something I just have to decide myself and for myself. Some would say this is out of my comfort zone, but what else would I find comfort in if not being around him? How bad could it be there?

My phone makes a sound. There’s really only one person who would have a reason to text me right now. It’s time to make up my mind, I guess.

I was right, it was Alex,

“Sooo you coming tonight? I hope?” 4:35 PM

Fortunately for him, I don’t think I have it in me to tell him no. Not when he sounds like this, like he needs me. Like it’s up to me to make or break his night. It’s a lot of pressure to be this important to someone like him.

For now, I reply,

“Yeah, I’ll be there!” 4:39 PM

It’s as if he knows me inside out again and that I’m still questioning my choice, because he doesn’t leave it there, but says,

“Awesome, I was already thinking you’d bail on me.” 4:40 PM

That’s awkward.

“Never.” 4:40 PM

Guess I’m going.

I popped by a liquor store on my way to his before I hopped on the bus. I’m not usually the one to drink, especially on the first meeting, but I think I need some liquid courage, because I will decay before I can meet those new people if I think about it too hard. Have I already made it obvious that I’m a nervous wreck? It’s already an accident scene in my mind. When I finally arrive at his door, I could already hear the voices of many that I’m not familiar with. It’s still not too late to back out, but I won’t. I didn’t come this far just to come this far.

I knock on the door, and then it opens, revealing Alex behind it, smiling at me radiantly as ever. The smile that I think makes this all worth it.

He seems to be already having fun with his friends, so it’s still unclear to me why he wanted me here to shuffle the pack. I put on a happy face and my best foot forward, greeting him with the same enthusiasm. Faking it until I make it.

“I’m so glad you’re here!” he was grinning, like he was proud to have lured me here.

“Of course! Always up for a challenge.”

“Hey, everyone’s gonna like you, as much as I do. You don’t ever have to worry about that,” he pouts.

I wonder what caused him to say that. What is suddenly so likeable about me and how can he sound so sure of everything?

I step in the living room and see three other people that are still strangers to me. So that’s not too bad, I can tackle three. And perhaps Alex was right, if he invited me here it must mean there’s something he sees in me that everyone else will too. It was when I found my seat that they started talking and then it was my job to keep up.

“Hi! I’m Karl!” a brunette opposite me spoke and gave me a little wave.

“Punz,” the person next to him raised his hand as a greeting and popped snacks into his mouth.

“Oh! I’m Foolish!” the last person speaks and laughs lightly.

I wonder what happens next and how much they already know, or more like, what has Alex told them about me. Well, I was nevertheless about to tell them something that I hoped to be interesting enough, but got cut off by Punz as he waves me off and gestures to bottles on the table, “oh, we know who you are. Here, have one—oh, you brought your own drinks, nice.”

Oh, now I really am curious what have they heard from Alex. If it’s anything like what he told me at the door, I have a lot of expectations to meet. I’m totally cool about it, as cool as the drink I crack open and take a sip of. Bless them for initiating small talk while we wait for something to happen, since we are still the guests here.

Speaking of Alex, where the hell did he go? I haven’t seen him ever since he let me in and told me I don’t have to worry about a thing. Well, now I am worrying a bit, am I the only one who feels bothered by his absence?

“Yo, where the hell did he go?” Karl asks everyone at the table.

So, it seems I’m not.

We all look around ourselves but he was nowhere to be seen. As if he planned this all along, leaving me alone with his friends so we have no other choice but to gather around and talk to each other. It would have happened even without his shenanigans, so I don’t understand why this was necessary, if that is the case.

We couldn’t help, but laugh at the absurdity of the situation. Karl hid his smile with his sleeves and slapped the armrest, “he really said hi and bye. Can you believe him?”

He shakes his head disapprovingly. Punz seems fixated on the snacks he is still eating, good for him. Foolish was laughing too, like this was the main entertainment. I feel anything but entertained, I forgot to expect the unexpected whenever I am with Alex. You never know with him. I just sat there and drank my drink.

“So, what do you guys wanna do? Since it’s just us,” Foolish asks and wiggles his eyebrows, leaning forward to rest his hands on his knees, balancing the neck of a bottle on his fingertips.

I don’t want them to change their plans for me or to stop doing what they were doing before I got here, but obviously, true to my nature, I don’t dare to tell them that. My head is playing tricks on me, making me think there’s still a reason to keep my guard up and shy away.

Karl looks like he’s going to say something, like a brilliant idea washed over him, but then just asks me, “you two seem like you’re pretty close. Are you?”

My jaw slacks open in surprise. I assume he’s talking about me and Alex. What do I even say to that?

“Yeah, I think so—“

“Really? What do you like about him?” Karl bombards me with more questions, “ahem, as friends, of course.”

What is this about? What are my answers being used for?

I’m confused, but answer, “uh—everything?”

I don’t really know what to say and I acknowledge that Alex could come back any second and I don’t exactly want to be caught talking like this.

Karl tucks his lips into a tight-lipped smile, “well, if that ain’t the cutest thing. I asked him the same thing and he told me pretty much the same about you. Do whatever you want with that information.”

It’s now my turn to ask him, “really?”

He said that?

Karl just smiles again and yells out to Alex, wherever he is, “in case you forgot, you still have guests over and we would like to do something here, with or without you!”

Okay, so that conversation is over and I’m left drawing the conclusions and connecting the dots myself. It looks like a messy map of undecided feelings and missing truths. Did he really mean it, and if, why?

We all dissolve into laughter when Alex finally comes out of hiding and yells, “okay, asshole! Some of us has to look good tonight.”

Not too much had changed about him that would explain why he was gone for so long. Well, he had changed his outfit and from what I can tell, maybe fluffed his hair a bit, but I don’t see why that is necessary. He can do whatever he wants in his house, I guess. Not that I mind what he looks like, I myself am very casual and so are the other guests.

“So,” he claps his hands together and sits down next to me, not taking his eyes off me, “you okay?”

I nod. He has no reason to worry about me so much, but I appreciate his heartfelt care. It’s a two-way street, I acknowledge I would do the same. It causes a grin to break out on his face, “great! So, should we play something? Jackbox?”

We did that. I was sitting there on the couch, with my legs pulled up to my chest, curling away, watching the game play on, downing my drink.

Somewhere along the night, he was resting his arm on the back of my seat. I didn’t think much of it, until I felt his fingers toy with my hair. Does he even realise he’s doing it? I let it go and let him do his thing. It’s new for the both of us, a touch that’s so gentle and light as a feather it’s almost make-believe, but it feels nice and real. It’s making me want to stay here longer.

The game went on, we didn’t get through a round without laughter and genuine fun. I don’t know what happened to me about halfway through the night, I drank like never before. It occurred to me that it’s a receipt for disaster, but I’m way past thinking straight anymore. We just had a bit too much fun, or I did. Like I said, I never take things this far, but the rules slipped my mind tonight.

Foolish stretches with a strained cry and we all contagiously yawn as we wrap up the game for the night.

Alex mumbles next to me, “did you guys know there’s a fuckin’ fancy pool downstairs? I think it’s closed now and probably has restrictions and shit anyway—”

“Why tell us about it then?” Punz asks.

Karl was giggling again, “and who asked? We get it, you’re rich and we can’t go there—”

“No!” Alex defended his case, “I just—that would’ve been cool.”

It would’ve. I’d like to see the pool. Maybe someday.

Karl hums, “hm, did you want to look at the stars with me and kiss me under the moonlight?”

We all laugh again and watch Alex throw a cushion at him.

Everyone soon scattered around the house to take bathroom breaks and such. As I attempt to hoist myself up, I definitely feel more drunk than I had intended to be tonight. I give up and sit back and hug my knees again, hoping this will pass. Alex gets up too to clean up the empty bottles on the table and floor. I’m scared I’m going to make a mess that won’t be so easy to clean up.

I’m mentally cursing everything and myself, mostly myself for crossing the line, and how awkward it is sitting here alone. I want to get up and make things better, but before I know what is happening, I find myself falling to the ground. There’s no way to really say how I feel other than that I feel like I’m on a merry-go-round that doesn’t stop for anyone. It’s making my stomach churn and head spin. Everything is spinning, until I crash and hit the ground, or whatever I fell onto.

I’m listening but don’t hear anything, thinking it’s the alcohol messing with my head, until I realise there’s no sound. It’s a pin-drop silence. We’re almost frozen in time, right in this moment.

Alex finally fills the silence and speaks to me, holding onto me, “are you okay? Should I—tell me what can I do for you?”

Did he…. catch me? I mean, he must have, because I’m not shattered on the floor right now, but instead it was a very delicate fall. It didn’t even feel like falling, but the proof that I did is right there when I open my eyes that brings me a distorted vision of the floor.

“It’s probably just the alcohol, you know. We should get them water,” I hear someone else speak for me.

I then hear sounds from the kitchen, until it’s silent again, anticipating.

“Here,” Alex advised me, “drink this.”

I felt a glass tilted against my lips and gulped down some water, and prayed this will all pass. This is such a nightmare, and I don’t even know who’s the villain here. I didn’t even drink that much, or did I?

Alex shakes me a little to get my focus, “do you feel sick? Just nod or shake your head.”

He kneels by my side and lays a warm hand on my shoulder, rocking me a little. That’s one thing I’m painfully aware of right now, how close we are. I hesitate to let him get any closer to me, in case this turns into an awkward memory. I mean, it’s already embarrassing enough as it is, I just don’t need him to touch me in ways he will later regret.

He seems to notice my upset state and lifts my head to rest on his knees for a little comfort and holds me a little closer. This way, I can feel his every move, almost even every breath he takes. It oddly helps me, trying to synchronise our breathing, reminding myself that I can live through this.

I shake my head weakly, too weak to speak. Thankfully, he understands. I can see it in his terror-stricken eyes. Is he scared for?

“So, that’s a no. Would it be okay to move you onto the couch?”

I nod, giving him the green light. I’m still here, pathetically lying on the floor like a wounded animal and no one knows what’s the right thing to do.

Alex nods back at me, “okay. Is this a stupid question if I ask if you can stand up? Even just for a few s—”

“Oh my God,” Punz groans, “yeah, no offence at all, but that’s a stupid question. I mean, look at them.”

Yeah, look at me... I know there’s no judgment there behind his words, it sounds almost pitiful, the way he talks about me. He sounds like someone who wants the best for me.

“Okay,” Alex panics, “sorry. Is it—do you want me to carry you?”

Like he’s asking permission from me before daring to move me or touch me in a new way. I’m not in a good headspace to think, but that was kind of adorable of him. I nod, before I feel overtaken by nausea again. I can feel it in my guts, literally.

I can make out Alex again hovering somewhere over me as he witnesses the colour draining from my face and my eyes drooping, like there’s something I’m trying to fight against. He seems to get the hint when I gesture him that I don’t feel good and then there’s four voices again frantically talking over each other about what to do with me.

“Are you—okay, okay. Should we go to the bathroom?!” Alex’s freaking out. Poor him.

Meanwhile I think I officially have the worst taste in making decisions. I’m in last place in learning lessons. This should have never happened. It doesn’t matter anymore, but I know better.

“Yes!” Punz steps in, “take them!”

Those are the last words I can hear before I feel like silently I’m blacking out and spiralling into darkness.

The next time I gain some sort of consciousness is when someone is talking and gently caressing me. I’m on the floor again, and that floor is cold, which feels nice on my hot skin. I don’t know where I am now, or who is with me, but my head is too heavy to ask myself those questions. I want to lay here for a second and just catch my breath, before I catch myself triggering another wave of nausea.

I feel someone leave my side for a minute, before they come back and drape something warm over me, as I lie still, too sick to utter a word. And so there were no further words spoken, until they squeeze me tight and whisper, “are you okay? Please, for the love of fuckin’ everything, tell me you’re okay.”

Assuming they are talking to me, I nod. I’m getting there, I’m going to be fine. I think.

“Oh, thank God,” they whisper back, keeping their voice low, “tell me if you need anything and I’ll deal with it.”

I really need my bed. No more words are needed when they say everything with their touch, rubbing their fingers comfortingly against my skin where they are holding my arm. I take a sharp breath as I feel my stomach twist and turn again very unpleasantly and pray they don’t hear it, but they do.

“It’s okay,” they murmur quietly again, “is it okay that I’m here with you?”

I nod again.

I lost all track of time and place as I laid there in the silence. The silence seemed to be fulfilling enough for the person with me too, like keeping me company was the main reason they are here. By the way, I have no idea how long me and they have been here, wherever we are, but they never rush me. It never happens, no matter how many minutes of this night we are wasting.

Then it comes to the point of intoxication when I feel very swept up in emotions, like I had burned like a birthday candle that burns for joy, but now I’m burning out. I don’t even flinch when tears prickle my eyes and I start sniffling, as dramatic as it is. I really try to contain it, but my body doesn’t listen and wants to stir the pot and make me more of a mess. So I have no fight in me.

The person next to me doesn’t seem to mind as they lean down to fully capture me, their body radiating warmth against mine and hands urgently pressing wherever they could and stroking my back. Still no words said, but letting the actions speak. I know it’s not the right time or place for this, but when’s the last time someone has held me like this or would love this version of me? They keep me there tightly in place, tucked against their chest, giving my frame a few easing squeezes to tell me to take my time.

When they pull away, I whine in the loss of comfort they once brought.

“One more hug?” they ask me. As soon as I nod, we are back to cuddling there on the floor. It must not be so comfortable for them, but they put up with it, for me.

I’m startled to the core when I hear a door opening to the room we’re in, and a voice, “the car’s here. Ready whenever you are.”

That sounds a lot like one of Alex’s friends I met tonight.

The someone who’s still lying by my side tells them, “okay, great. Uh—we’ll be right out, okay?”

That sounds a lot like Alex.

Wait, so I’m still at Alex’s place, in his bathroom, and everyone is still here? I’m embarrassed. Cheers to the night I wish to forget. The only memory I wish to revisit tomorrow is Alex and his tendency to closely watch over me. He did more than what was enough and showed me something about him I haven’t seen before. I like the new highs he took me to, but I’m not going to like the come-down tomorrow.

I jolt somewhat awake when I’m being helped to stand up and then walked downstairs and put in the awaiting car. This ride is not going to be nice with an upset stomach like mine. I don’t have to worry about that for too long though, when I close my eyes and then I’m out like lights.

I wake up to sunlight peaking through the window, shining on my face. I don’t know anything, but I do know that I feel like hell, at least emotionally. My mouth is dry as ever and my body feels icky. It’s uncomfortable to a point, that I wish I could step out of my current skin and put on a clean, nice one that doesn’t hurt. I’m happy to make the observation that I’m in my bed and that I made it home last night, or, well, I must have made the absolute walk of shame home last night.

I don’t know how long I have laid here like the dead, it doesn’t feel that long at all since I was sick at Alex’s. Speaking of him, how will I ever speak to him again without wanting to die of embarrassment? I didn’t have much time to think about it, when my thoughts were diverted to something else; I’m wearing more clothes than I did when I left. I’m talking about the soft hoodie I still have draped over me, Alex’s hoodie that he lent me for comfort. Awkward. It’s so bad I wonder if it will ever get good again.

I’m scared to check my phone, I really don’t want to know or see anything right now that would make me feel worse, but I still check it. The time on the screen tells me that it’s 11:45 AM and that my friend had texted me not so long ago;

“Come to my place today! We’re having a partyyyy. I know you love those ;)” 11:34 AM

Right, it’s Saturday, of course they are having one. When it comes to this party and my invitation, I can’t even look at alcohol right now, not after the night I had. It’s the last thing I need to expose myself to and it’s almost inevitable.

No text from Alex, nothing. A part of me wishes to see him, to apologize and give back his hoodie, but I don’t know what he thinks of me anymore. I know it would be better to make the big step forward and own up to it, but I was so out of line last night that I’m honestly terrified to talk to him right now. He probably resents me. I do too, it’s almost inspiring. I might be weak and unstable, but at least I’m trying. He and what we have, it means too much to let it fall apart.

I went back to bed and texted my friend back, telling them about last night. Not all of it, but enough for them to know I feel vulnerable and psychically I’m not doing much better.

While I lay there in the silence I created, I let the memories from last night creep back, or the ones I can remember. The tender touches from him, the whispers that were all for me. The hold he had of me, like I was the only thing he wanted to touch. I have forgotten to miss his touch already when there’s still a mess I have yet to clean up and this time he won’t help me. He hadn’t signed up for taking care of me, but he still did and followed through like it was a contract. God, how will I ever make it up to him?

So, tonight’s party. I think I feel fine enough to go as long as I stay away from the drinks, stay there for an hour or two just to say hello to my friend, and then come straight back home and continue rotting in bed. It’s settled then.

I take a long, refreshing shower which soothes some part of me, but I still have this shame that doesn’t come off in the wash. That’s not how life works, unfortunately.

As I’m picking out an outfit, my phone pings to notify me of a text from Alex. Shit. I’m terrified to see what he has to say, but I know I have to take on my biggest enemy right now; the consequences of my actions. I don’t want to leave him hanging right now, so I read it immediately.

“Are you okay???” 1:34 PM

That’s all his text says.

Well, I have this shame in me that’s eating me alive, but other than that, I feel okay, I guess. This is why I sometimes hate texting, not being able to read people. I can’t tell if he’s mad or worried, or somewhere in between, and I don’t know how I deserve to be perceived right now.

“I’m okay, but so embarrassed I’m not even sure I can talk right now, but I know we need to.” 1:36 PM

He must’ve been waiting to hear from me, because it didn’t take him long to respond;

“No, it’s fine. Seriously don’t worry. I’m just glad you’re okay. It was an honour to take care of you ;)” 1:36 PM

Why would he say that? I can’t remember what I have done and am not sure if I want to know. And when it comes to him reassuring me this is fine, I want to tell him it’s not and that he has every right to be frustrated, but I don’t exactly want to go against what he is saying to me and argue. How will I win if I don’t want to fight?

“Stop, this is so embarrassing. Can’t wait to never be invited again.” 1:37 PM

I fairly wouldn’t be shocked if last night was my last night at his place. His lack of irritation and ability to brush things off has so far been surprising. I wonder if he really is okay and what is he doing today. Is he thinking about me, us, and what to do with me? He is not going to fire me over this, is he?

He replied shortly;

“Can’t wait to invite you again ;) What are you doing today?” 1:39 PM

Just like that, he read my mind.

“I’m actually going to a friend’s place, there’s a party BUT I am NOT drinking! Just wanna say hi and then bounce. Believe me, alcohol is the last thing I want right now. What are you doing?” 1:41 PM

I feel stupid now that I said it out loud, that I’m attending another party after last night. He must think I’m insane, if he already doesn’t.

My phone pings again to alert another text from him;

“Oh nice, don’t drink, I’m not there to save you ;) Doing nothing.” 1:44 PM

I’m just going to ignore those winky faces he keeps sending me and how they make me feel. Just when I thought things couldn’t get more weird between us, they do. I type;

“This is as embarrassing for me as it gets, but I still have your hoodie. Tell me when to return it!” 1:46 PM

“Oh, it’s no problem. Think you need it more than me ;)” 1:47 PM

He is acting like he’s the one out of his mind right now. Did we both get up on the wrong side of the world this morning and fell into some alternate universe where nothing feels real or makes sense?

I don’t know what came over me next when I typed before I could think;

“You wanna come with me to the party? I think we really need to talk.” 1:50 PM

I was terrified to check my phone when it had been a few minutes, and even more when I saw no reply from him. Why did I have to go and do that? Haven’t I been enough trouble for him already? I really need to think more and do less. Or, even better, I could have at least waited until Monday, when he’s going to text me anyway about work and the schedule for the week. It’s really not easy being me right now when I can’t stop screwing up and upsetting people, it seems like.

Next time I checked, he actually had replied;

“Needy smh, but what wouldn’t I do to see you ;) Tell me where and when.” 2:01 PM

He just said yes, as in I will see him very, very soon? This was an unexpected turn of events and I don’t know if we are heading for a dead-end here. I haven’t been this scared in a long time. This is what I wanted, but I think I underestimated myself.

I also made sure to text my friend and keep them in the loop, telling them I will be bringing him with me. I’m only doing this because I will not let him settle for anything less than a proper sorry. But sorry is just a word and not so simple, so what he decides to do with my apology, it’s up to him.

I got to the party before Alex did, which was lucky, because it meant I could have some time with my friend before he arrives. I know it’s not all fun and games when he gets here since we still need to talk about… well, last night and I’m not sure what kind of a conversation that will be. It if doesn’t kill me, it probably will make me wish it had. Will we work or hurt?

I soon spot my friend in the crowded living room that had been turned into a dance floor for the night. The reek of alcohol and the sight of it is enough to make my stomach turn. I’m never drinking again. I push myself through the crowd and tap my friend on the shoulder. They turn around, their eyes lighting up as they see me there.

“Do you want—right, you’re not drinking tonight!” they yell over the music.

I shook my head, “no way. I’ll be just hanging in the kitchen probably, you know, serving you drunks.”

“That’s fine! And hey! What were you last night then?!”

“An idiot.”

They shoot me a sympathetic look and nod again, changing the subject like the good friend they are. We catch up some more, before I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket. I know it before even checking that it’s Alex texting me, telling me he’s finally here.

“I’m going to find him now!”

My friend just dramatically grins and sends me on my way, “hurry up! Don’t let him get away!”

I make my way back outside, and once I get there I inhale the fresh air that doesn’t stink of alcohol, which washes off all that nausea. My gaze immediately fall on Alex as he stands there cooly, with his hands in his pockets. He really came here for me, or at least that’s what I want to think, but I’m afraid he’s not here to see me just to see me, but for something else.

I forget for a second that I’m supposed to feel ashamed when his face holds a mysterious grin that makes it hard to believe there has even been anything troubling him, “hi! Good to see you standing, literally.”

Okay, so maybe there’s a chance he will try forgiving me and maybe forget.

I gladly accept his hug, letting him pull me to his chest, feelinghisthumb softly rubbing my back as he holds me in place, “shut up, but I am too, but shut up.”

He laughs lightly, music to my ears, “you’re a fuckin champ, though, because—how the fuck are you even standing after that? I thought I was going to have to carry you to the hospital.”

Ashamed isn’t actually even the word for how I feel, it’s deep regret for what I put him through. If there’s any part of him that is mad at me, he is suppressing it very well, so well that I’m not sure he is letting me see it.

“I don’t know, but even thinking of alcohol makes me sick right now, so I think I’ll be hanging in the kitchen, playing the bartender.”

Alex grins at me widely again, his tongue darts out to lick his lower lip, before he admits, “it’s a shame, truly, that our time together was so limited. We didn’t even get to the good part.”

“Which was?”

“I don’t know, like we could’ve snuck to the pool. That would’ve been fuckin’ sick—sorry, I do apologize for my choice of words right there,” he shrugs, emphasising the word ‘sick’.

“Shut up or I’ll be sick on you the next time, whatever, goodbye,” I turn on my heel and walk inside, pretending to be annoyed and it didn’t take long that I heard him on my tail, following me inside.

“Next time?” he asks behind me, tickling my sides, “there will be a next time?”

I don’t need to look at him to know his eyebrows are quirked and that he’s wearing that stupid smirk again. It’s truly his favourite accessory whenever he’s around me, especially today when he has something new to tease me about. My head is hanging down as I’m trying to hide the smile creeping across my face from everyone passing by. They would never understand, when I can hardly understand how he makes me feel.

I kind of did take on a role of the bartender in the kitchen. You know, serving everyone who swings by whatever drinks they are looking for. Alex grabbed a seat and came to sit right by me, like I’m the only interesting thing here, or in the whole wide world.

“Sorry I forgot to bring your hoodie,” I blurt out. Better to get on with these apologies, there’s a long list to go.

It was his turn to roll his eyes, those eyes that held such care for me last night, “listen, that’s—it’s yours now. If you’re gonna give it back to me, I’m just gonna give it to you, you know that?”

Because friends totally keep each other’s clothes, right?

It’s like he could tell there was a lot on my mind as if he wanted to do something about it, “listen. Stop apologising or thinking you did something wrong last night and shit. I mean, I didn’t think either that you would find yourself in my arms, literally, but shit happens. Just let it go.”

“You know I was only there in your arms, because I quite literally passed out?”

“Yeah, sure,” he just grinned at me, like he wanted to believe that’s the real truth, “you seemed more awake when we… hugged and shit. Cuddled, even. It’s all good, I liked it too.”

I groan and cover my ears. So embarrassing.

I serve a few drinks to people, not exchanging a word or even a look with anyone else other than Alex. He is what matters.

“Wait, you have Snapchat? You should add me,” he leans back in his seat like he’s here for the long haul, already pulling out his phone.

“Ugh, really? You’re one of those guys?” I hate that stuff, I don’t really see the appeal and I don’t know if it would make any difference to what we do now, but for him, sure, I guess?

“Hey!” he straightens up looking up at me, extending his hand for my phone, “it’s a great fuckin’ app, okay? You just boom, boom, pow, and everyone knows what you’re doing.”

I give it to him without further complaints, expect for, “I don’t need everyone to know what I’m doing.”

“No, no. Just me,” he smiles smugly, softly brushing his hand against mine. I don’t know he meant to do it, but if not, then he’s real damn good at pretending and these happy accidents.

While I was handing out drinks, he is doing God knows what on my phone. There’s not a single word exchanged when he seems to look interested in whatever he’s finding there and I’m not bothered to intervene, just enjoying his company in all its forms, until he talks again, “yo, what the fuck is this? This don’t even look like you.”

He flashes my Bitmoji on the screen, just enough for me to get a glimpse of it. Yeah, I know, I really don’t care about that stuff or if it looks like me. I have never felt bothered to change it or customize it, so sue me.

“Oh, really?” I challenge him.

“Yeah, I could make that amazing, like—you’ll see. You’ve never looked better.”

Before he could get any more heated over this dumb debate, I agree and let him work his magic on my phone again. Meanwhile I try to steal glances at him of sitting with his head low, leaning on his knees. He’s so chill it almost gives me chills. I can’t believe we made it through what happened last night, or did we?

I let him mess with my phone while dealing with more drunk people looking for more drinks. I gave them what they wanted. Ugh, they’re gonna feel like hell tomorrow. After last night, I can’t look at drunk people the same way, sorry.

“There,” he slams the phone back on my hand.

I raise it up to my eyes, “what the hell?”

He had made me look absolutely ridiculous and freaky. This, if anything, does not look like me. Well, as long as he has fun.

“Thanks for making sure no one will ever talk to me again,” I tuck my phone deep in my pocket.

“They shouldn’t, you’re right. I think I should be the only one,” he lays his eyes on me again, raising his eyebrows challengingly and crossing his arms across his chest.

For an hour, he sat there with me, like the time had stopped for us and there was no hurry to be anywhere else. I understood a little bit better why many feel drawn to Alex, and how it’s his commentary on things that is rather entertaining. I just want to hear him talk and joke more. I noticed he had rolled his sleeves up at one point and now his other sleeve had fallen down due to his dramatic hand gestures. It was kind of adorable.

“I’m definitely not drinking ever again. I’m so glad I’m not one of these people here, they will feel like hell tomorrow,” I tell him after watching another drunken person stumble out of the kitchen, leaving the two of us alone again.

He suddenly seems concerned, a total shift in his mood, “are you sure you’re okay? Did you even throw up last night? Like, you know, you need to get that shit out of your system.”

I bury my head in my hands, “I don’t know, I don’t remember anything after I was put in that car. What was up with that though? Who drove me home? Whoever it was, I just want to tell them that I’m sorry for being such an idiot.”

He hurries to my comfort, “it’s okay! You don’t remember? I got my friend to pick us up, he drove you home and then drove me back to the house.”

“You were there, in the car? Why?” I was surprised. He didn’t have anywhere to go, since he was already home, so why would he be there?

“Holy shit, you really don’t remember a thing,” he tries to contain his laughter, “of course I had to be there with you, I mean, not to spark some memories, but you were quite literally all over the place and I feel like it was my duty to get you home, so I came along, which by the way turned out to be the right thing to do, since you kept passing out and leaning on me.”

I did? And he was there for me the whole car ride? Ignorance is bliss, but I wonder what made him do it. Was it his head or heart that made that decision? Is he hiding something to be considerate of me or is there something he is not telling me? I would do the same for him, though, but I’ll never tell him that, since we all have something to hide here.

“Oh God,” I groan in shame, “yeah, I don’t remember how I got home from the car, but I don’t think I want to even know. I know it will be embarrassing as hell.”

He seals his lips with his pointer finger, “okay, okay. I’m not telling you, unless you absolutely demand me to, but let’s just say that you were clinging on to me when I was walking you to the door like—”

“Stop!” I cover my face with my hands. This is so bad for me. I will never, ever hear the end of this.

Well, that was until our night came to an end when he told me he has to get going, since he had promised to stream later tonight. Safe to say I was disappointed, but duty calls for all of us sometimes and I can’t do anything to stop it.

I didn’t let him leave until I told him, “I can’t wait for the day when this will all be forgotten and we can go back to normal. I am so, so embarrassed.”

“You’re asking me to forget how it felt to have you all over me? You’re driving a hard bargain, I’m not sure I can do that,” he grins mischievously and reaches for my arms as I walk him to the door. This is hopeless, he is being impossible. Impossibly… flirty?

Hhe closes the distance between us to capture me in a quick embrace, wishing me a safe rest of the night, and then he is gone, vanishing into the night too soon for my liking like a figment of my imagination. For a second I really think if this is all just a really good book that we live in. He’s too good to be true sometimes and that’s what scares me. I think it’s safe to say I am free to move on from last night and that we are in the clear.

I had to really comb the whole living room in the hope of finding my friend, to tell them I’m out of here for good. Now that Alex’s gone, I feel like this place is dead and I have already overtimed my stay. I made my way through the dancing bodies, bumping into a few.

“Hey, who are you? Where did a beautiful thing like you come from?” says someone behind me. I know they’re talking to me, because I can feel them trying to grab my arm to slow me down. Not to my surprise, when I make them the favour of turning around, I see a guy I have never seen before. He wasn’t too drunk to function or to know what he’s doing, but definitely has more than a few drinks down.

“Uh…” I stutter, “I was just about to leave.”

He groans, “nooo, c’mon, stay! I’ll get you a drink if you stay and—”

“I don’t drink tonight, actually. I still have a killer hangover from last night, so I just came to say hello to a friend here,” I tell him firmly before he can finish that sentence. I don’t need to hear it, because my mind can’t be changed.

He seems taken aback and puts some space between us like someone will charge at him if he gets one more move wrong, “okay, I hear you, I respect that.”

Thank God. I smile in hopes that he lets me go on my merry way, until he tugs on me again, “hey, you’re not interested at all? Like, can I get your number at least? I swear I’m not a creep, but you’re really, really beautiful, and I’d like to know you. That’s all.”

He raises his hands up in surrender as to prove his innocence to me and I internally want to roll my eyes. I thought he might have been cool and all and and then he raises a red flag. Nothing good ever starts with what he said, ‘I’m not a creep, but…’. He seems harmless, even a little nervous to be talking to me, which almost makes me feel flattered. Almost. He is innocent until proven guilty. Hope it’s not a dead-end case.

Before I can pick him apart any more in my head, I agree to his deal and he seems to notably cheer up, “awesome. Thanks for giving a guy like me a chance, it’s not every day I get this lucky.”

Save those compliments for the date, I’ve already said yes, I thought. That said ‘date’ though, all I’m saying is that I won’t be mad if it never happens. I’m not particularly excited to possibly see him again, but I rather take the risk than the regret of what could’ve been.

I just smile again when we quickly exchange numbers, and then I leave. It’s unlucky I can’t see my friend anywhere, so I just text them on my way out that I’m leaving. They wish me good night. I

Ever since that weekend, I felt the universe shift again for me. I know I say that a lot, but something really changed between me and Alex, like someone had wiped our slates clean and tied our souls together into a pretty bow. Or maybe it was because of that damned Snapchat, he definitely has used it to his advantage and sent me stuff all day and night, telling me where he’s going or what’s he doing, like he wants me to know his every move. Whatever it is that we’re doing, I kind of don’t want it to stop. I want to hear more from him, see more of him, and if this helps the case, then so be it. I want to give this my best.

Work has been okay, actually more than okay, now that I finally know him the way I have wanted. Sometimes he calls me while I’m working and we go over some bits together and laugh about them, or he tells me about the game he has been playing lately and I try hard not to get distracted. If I’m having a tough day, he always manages to put me back together. It was not so long ago when I still felt like walking on eggshells around him, like I was desperately just trying hard to make a good impression on him, but now we ask all the deep questions and keep each other up all night talking about anything and everything. It’s weird how fast things have fallen into place with him.

Just like today, when I finished work and was almost expecting him to blow up my phone again for no particular reason. I actually can’t wait to hear from him. My phone did eventually ping to alert a text, but my smile fell when I saw it wasn’t a text from him, but from a number I don’t recognise nor have saved;

“Hey. Still up for that date, I hope? How about tomorrow?” 5:32 PM

A date? With who?

“I’m so sorry, who is this?” 5:34 PM

“It’s me from the party! You didn’t drink back then, but I wondered if you’d like to go out, I mean you did say yes after all. Unless something came up?” 5:35 PM

Oh, it’s him, from my friend’s house party. Tomorrow is Saturday after all, if it happens it will happen tomorrow. I don’t know if I exactly feel like wasting a perfectly good Saturday night on him when there’s endless potential for it, but I guess one date won’t hurt, so I tell him;

“Oh sure, tomorrow is fine. Text me the time and place?” 5:38 PM

“Great, there’s this restaurant I think you’d like, I’ll text you the address. How about at 7PM?” 5:39 PM

How does he think he knows me already? I’m just going to go along and hope for the best, whatever the best here is.

“Sounds good to me!” 5:40 PM

It was 6.15 PM when I left the house the next day for this so-called-date. He had kindly offered to pick me up, but I told him I’d rather meet him there.

The restaurant looked promising, at least on the outside. I don’t even remember the last time I went out to eat, now that I think of it. I definitely didn’t in a million years think my next time would be with someone I barely know, an actual date. He didn’t seem to care too much about the finer things, so I’m surprised this is the kind of place he decided to choose for us tonight, but I appreciate the effort. I’m lucky if I even remember what he looks like and if we find each other in this parking lot.

I was there, leaning against the wall and looking around, until I saw a silhouette of someone I think I recognise getting out of a car. I’m pretty sure it’s him and he confirmed my suspicion by smiling at the sight of me and waving, making his way over.

“Hello there,” he greeted me politely, “let’s get inside and see what this place is all about, shall we?”

I nodded and let him lead the way. How bad could this be?

It was a few steps to the door that opened up a bustling, dim space for our eyes. I could barely make out what he was telling me, but I figured it was something about finding our table. I just nodded and went along with him as we walked further inside.

“How did we, or you, manage to get this table tonight?” I asked him when he found an empty booth and we made ourselves comfortable in it. I mean, this place is packed and if I saw correctly, there was a small queue outside that we were able to just waltz past.

“Well,” he blushed a little under the yellow light, coming from the lamp hanging above our table “I booked this for us on the same night when you gave me your number. I’m sorry—I probably went ahead of things a little, but I couldn’t let this opportunity go.”

“Oh, that’s fine.”

At least he’s honest.

“Okay,” he smiled at me as if relieved, “good.”

A waitress came by to get our drink orders first. I decided to settle for one glass, he did too, and then we fell into small talk.

“So, what is it about you? Why are you ‘you’?” he questioned me.

Well, that’s one way to ask for my story.

I cleared my throat and thought about how much do I exactly want to share, before telling him about my studies. That’s always a good place to start, right? He kept nodding while listening to me, occasionally letting out approving sounds. Not that his opinion on what I should do or should’ve done matters too much. I asked him the same question in return, and that’s when he went into great detail about his life. Wow, I would’ve never guessed he’s so... educated and wealthy. A guy like him just doesn’t look like someone that walks around with such riches and glories like it’s nothing. Guess I could have not been more wrong about him.

If Alex was here, he would definitely crack more jokes and never make me feel less than I am—stop! Why am I thinking of him right now?

He kept rambling, not stopping even for a second when our drinks and food got placed down in front of us and we dug in, “I don’t want to brag, but I could change your life too if you gave me a chance. I have everything anyone could ever want and you look like you could use some of that.”

I wanted to roll my eyes, because that’s exactly what he’s doing this whole time; bragging. It’s not the lifestyle I’m interested in nor do I need it from him. I suddenly feel very content with the simple life I have, I don’t need any of those things that he’s trying to force on me.

As I was sipping from my glass, I could already imagine if Alex was here, how he would definitely steal some food from my plate and then act offended when I call him out for it and how we would make fun of pretentious people like my date. On the other hand, I need to stop thinking about him so much and stop looking at life through him and manage on my own for once.

We chat more between bites and gulps, mostly about him or the more serious stuff and the future, things that I didn’t really feel the want to discuss on a Saturday night or if ever, especially on a first date. I mean, we’re so young, what’s the rush planning the rest of our lives right this second?

I let out a few forced laughs here and there at his stories about his trips around the world, laughs that I never had to force with Alex. I felt almost ill at one point, like my gut was telling me something and I wasn’t listening. It didn’t get any better when he fell deeper and deeper into the same cycle of boasting himself and convincing me that he’s the greatest I will ever find. I think he should just date himself at this point.

He eventually slows down, “that was something, wasn’t it? Are you impressed, you don’t look impressed? What about you? What do you think you want to do?”

“Um,” I gulp, “I don’t know.”

“Hm,” he thinks out loud, “you could do so much more than you do right now. I’m not saying you could be as good as I am, these kind of things only happens to the few. I’m just the lucky one, but I think it would be good for you to give me a chance. You don’t need to be miserable for the rest of your live, when you could be happy with me.”

Oh God, I just want this to stop. How would he know what’s good for me and that I’m miserable with how life is going for me when in fact I am not? I mean, I am absolutely miserable right now here with him, but as soon as I get out of here I’ll be the happiest I have ever been and will go on living my perfect life that he won’t ever see. It’s perfect because it’s all mine and no-one else’s.

I nod just to get him to shut up, but as soon as I think it’s over, he looks like he’s eager and ready to delve into another story about himself. I sit there finishing up my food, occasionally listening to him, occasionally shamelessly thinking about Alex again. It’s a scary thought, how attached I feel to Alex all of a sudden. Maybe it’s moments like this, when I realise how good he is to me, so if nothing, at least this date gives me some new perspective on him and how he is the only beautiful thing in this ugly world. I can’t believe there ever was a me without him.

We finish our plates just as he comes to an end on his story. I wonder if he timed that somehow and hope he doesn’t see through my facade and figure it out that I wasn’t paying much attention.

To my luck, he’s just all smiles, “thanks for listening. Now I guess it’s all up to you how you feel.”

Yeah, I’m not feeling much of anything.

He pays for us, at least he is a gentleman, and then we get up. I’m the one leading us outside this time. We stand there in the dark parking lot and he asks me if I need a ride home. I hastily lie again and tell him that I have a friend to pick me up, you know, any excuse just to walk away alone.

He seems to believe it and asks me instead, “so, will I see you again?”

Now’s the time for me to be honest. I shake my head, “sorry, I don’t think so,” and leave swiftly, but not without shooting him a sorry look. I don’t know exactly what I’m sorry for, I’m sorry for myself if anything. Almost everything he said tonight was uncalled for, I deserve something better.

As I make it far enough to not to be in his sight anymore, I fish my phone out of my pocket. It’s only 9:35 PM, I see.

Before I can exactly control myself, I dial Alex’s number.

“Too drunk again?” he picks up, a taunting smirk evident in his voice.

Oh, how lovely it is to hear his voice, and just like that, he immediately makes me want to laugh the realest I have laughed the entire night. All it takes is really nothing from him to make me feel like this. It’s so easy for him to make me happy.

“Ugh, yeah,” I pretend to slur, “I went on this crappy date and drank for my misery the whole time.”

“You did?” he asks, sounding surprised, “I mean—what’s the truth? Did you really?”

“Yeah, I actually did.”

“No fuckin’ way,” his breath hitches for a second, “with who? You don’t know anyone.”

I laughed again, because he genuinely sounds like it’s news to him that I actually can go out and hang out with someone else other than him, “so you’d think, because I’m pretty sure I was just sitting at a restaurant with this guy, who, by the way, was—”

He rushes to interrupt me before he hears too much, “okay, okay! I get it, fuck. What the fuck—is this why you’ve been so quiet today?”

He’s right, we have not talked much today but I didn’t think it would concern him much, but now he makes it sounds like I should be behind bars for neglecting him for a day.

“Calm down, bucko. I didn’t even get to the good part, which is that I’m not interested in him and hope I never see him again.”

“Huh,” he exhales, “that bad?”

“Yeah… not the worst, but I didn’t have the best time either.”

“What happened? Why was he an asshole?” he inquired, almost defensively.

“Okay, imagine someone rich and successful—”

“Yeah, me,” he interrupts me again.

I shushed him through my giggles, “—and they just make it about themselves the whole time, like you didn’t have to come all this way just to tell me that you think you’re better than me.”

He groans in response, “yeah, definitely an asshole. What the fuck were you even doing there?”

“Well, I thought it’d be fun, you know, as you usually expect from dates, but it’s not every time you get lucky, I guess.”

“Yeah, that’s why there’s only one of me,” he states.

I laughed again, “right. But, I’m definitely over it, so you don’t need to worry your little mind. The only thing you need to worry about is when will I see you again before the next date candidate comes along and steals me away again.”

“As you should, as you fuckin’ should be over it. That shit doesn’t sound like worth anyone’s time, especially not yours. I’ll see you next Friday, it’s settled, alright?”

This made me feel a whole lot better, I can’t lie. He’s so easy to be happy around, he doesn’t try too hard to be funny and that’s what makes him funny. I think he’s one of those people who I could list good things about for days. One of those people who constantly celebrates you like it’s your birthday every day. Someone who knows what you need before you know it yourself.

“I love how you know exactly what I need and want and how I should spend my time,” I tease him. What if he is that someone?

“I do. I have something for you that will surely make you feel better, wait.”

“Okay...” I will wait. I have no idea what he could have up his sleeve now, but I think I will be pleasantly surprised, like I always am with him.

All I hear next is rustling and him murmuring to himself as if setting up something or moving something heavy. It went on for a minute, before I heard him loud and clear again and what sounded like him placing the phone down, “so, I have this piano, I don’t know if you knew but… I haven’t played it in a long fuckin’ time anyway.”

I didn’t know that. I don’t know what it has to do with anything, but I will trust the process.

He starts playing and talking in a voice so obnoxious that it makes me cringe for a second, “if you could see that I'm the one who understands you, been here all along, so why can't you see? You belong with me—I'm in the room—in my room, I don’t know—it's a typical Tuesday night—a Saturday night, actually—I’m listening to the kind of music he doesn't like, and he'll never know your story like I do—something like that.”

I don’t know what is going on here, I mean it’s pretty obvious that he’s trying to lift my spirits that were stomped to the ground, but where is this coming from? All jokes aside, he’s pretty good at playing, but of course I don’t dare to tell him. Even if this is not genuine, I’m not mad about it, at least it’s something to laugh about, but if he’s this good when he’s not even being serious, I wonder how good he could be when he wants to be good.

When he decides he’s done, it’s silent until I speak. He seems to be amused by how I’m struggling to make sense of this and laughs loudly, still playing random keys in the background, “yeah, that’s a good fuckin’ song, okay? It’s just straight up disrespectful if it doesn’t make you feel better. Like, I’m sorry I can’t write that shit myself, but I’m still here trying to make the most of it for you.”

For the rest of my way home we talk about nonsense and laugh, it’s what we do best. I try my best to keep good company, even though I’m not able to get back my mind that I had lost on him earlier and I hope for the best that it’s not too obvious that my mind is somewhere else, literally. Will I ever know the truth behind what he did, did he really mean it? Whatever the truth is; will it hurt, is it going to be worth knowing?

After we hang up the phone, I stare at the screen like it would tell me all the answers. That was one hell of a night.

He seemed to be completely oblivious to everything the following weeks. Work was as usual, except that it almost had became a ritual for us to see each other every Friday night. It felt dangerous, like I could finally live instead of just exist, it was living between existing. I lived in ways I had never before and no one knew, no one but me and him, but I liked it like that. We would hang out at his place most of the time, I would keep him company and he would keep all of my secrets. His place felt like a hideaway from the real world, most of the time I even forgot there was a real world out there, it felt like it was just us two. We spent time talking about anything and killed time doing much of nothing when there was nothing to talk about. Nonetheless, all time spent with him was time well spent.

As I was on my way to his place one Friday night, I had a different feeling about it as I typically do. Last week had been busy, maybe it was the stress catching up to me. I made it to his door, knocking, waiting until he appeared behind it, looking a bit disheveled. We greeted each other and he let me in.

I was touching up in the front of the bathroom mirror when he barged in, “I was thinking—“

I looked at him through the reflection, silently asking him to keep going.

“—we could go down to the pool now. I can see it from the window, there’s literally no one in there right now.”

“We can?” I asked in surprise. I mean, I’m really not surprised about it being empty, it is almost 9 PM, but I for sure would think that it’s closed at this hour. Isn’t that what he has told me before, when his friends were here too and we asked to go there but he said no, because it closes for the night?

“Yeah!” he cheered, “why not? It’s always open for residents. I know I might’ve said last time that it’s closed at nights, but it’s technically not. I just wanted to—I don’t know—be there with you, not them.”

I’m not sure what he means by wanting to exclude the others, or why he suddenly seems hesitant to even look at me, or why he sounds like his guard is down and he struggled to say those words out loud, but I shrug it off.

“Okay,” I agree, “but I wasn’t exactly prepared for this, I didn’t bring anything.”

If I would’ve known this was on the agenda for tonight, I could have been more prepared, but he is so full of surprises and spontaneousness that I shouldn’t be surprised. One of the many things I have learnt about him so far, I wonder if I will learn more tonight at the pool.

“No, no,” he waved me off, “I got it all.”

He walked over to the fridge and pulled out a bottle, “I have this left from… that night. Is this okay? Just something chill.”

I agree to it, knowing exactly the night he means. He has learned not to poke anymore holes into my remorse than I already have. It’s something we just have moved past.

I watch as he runs around grabbing the keys and the bottle and also two glasses from the cupboard, and then we’re off.

The air at the pool almost stood still, it was so quiet and calm. The moon hit the surface of the water right, making it illuminate before our eyes. I pried my eyes off of it just to see the stunning night sky above us. I suddenly felt small in this world and overwhelmed by how that sky is black, apart from the hundreds of stars, but I’m only seeing colours when I’m here with him. There’s so much beauty in this world that I will never get to see all of it, but this moment makes up for it; the way the universe is kind enough to always stay beautiful to make moments like this more beautiful. Or maybe I just fell for him and got a concussion that’s making me see stars and colours. One or the other.

We sit down on the side of the pool, making ourselves comfortable. He pops the bottle open and pours us both a full glass.

“This is nice. If I could I’d be here every night,” I broke the comfortable silence. ‘Nice’ is definitely an understatement, but I don’t want to overwhelm him like I’m overwhelming myself.

He grinned and swirled his glass, “well, who says you can’t?”

“You, realistically.”

He looked surprised as he gulped down some, “the fuck? You can come over here anytime you want, okay? You know that?”

“Yeah, I know.”

There’s never a point in arguing with him when it comes to… well, me. Like how he always wants me around and if I can’t be there with him, he always makes sure I know I’m at least on his mind by blowing up my phone, asking me how am I. Yeah, I told you; we’ve come far from where we started.

We had a few glasses and talked, a lot. The night got darker as we got lost in endless conversations. I usually forget a lot of things, but I’ll never forget this night, I’m sure of that. It’s the way our minds and words merge together like missing parts, creating an entirety of mutual understanding that only makes sense to us.

As he eventually laid down on the concrete to relax himself and I decided to join him, the view of the luminous sky was undeniably impeccable from this angle. I could still hear the soft sounds of the pool too, the sound of the water gently splashing against the walls, that made me want to close my eyes. There are so many things to be happy about right now, but I’m thinking; what is it that we’re doing here? Are we crossing lines or are we just friendly? Why am I here every Friday night if it’s all innocent? Do I even want to feel like that about someone? Everything is good as it is, so why ruin a good thing like I’m doing right now. But if it’s not him in the end, then who?

I think I’m going through the melancholy you get in this position, when it’s late at night and you think too hard about the world and you get a bit sad and apprehensive about everything.

“The same person that’s destined for you or cares for you or will become your everything someday could be looking at the same moon right now. Isn’t that insane?” I don’t even know what I said that, I didn’t mean to get so sentimental. I still don’t seem to know how deep is too deep.

He sounded tense, “it is, yeah.”

It didn’t sound like him at all. Where’s the laughs and the jokes that are more like him? I was almost expecting him to laugh at me and call me out for being too philosophical for his liking, but he didn’t. It made me nervous.

I turn to look at him as he seems to turn away. It gives me no answers. I think the silence is the loudest and clearest answer here. I’m not sure what happened in the span of these few minutes and why are we now acting like we don’t know each other at all?

When he finally turns to me, I see a look on his face that I have never seen before. He looks almost emotionless. I know he knows this is getting weird and I don’t know anymore who’s to blame, I fear it’s me. There has never been a better time for him to quiet my fears than right now. I just wish he would.

Is this the moment for the inevitable hurt when something goes awfully wrong? Whatever it is, whatever will come out of his mouth next, will change something, change us. I’m sure of it.

“Can I ask you something?” he finally stutters. It’s so quiet I can barely hear it. I wonder how loud it must be in his mind.

“Yeah, anything.”

He laughed sadly, “yeah, anything but what I’m about to ask you.”

It can’t be that bad, can it?

“What is it?” I urge him to tell me.

He abruptly sits up, looking afraid of God knows what, his head slumped, looking very stiff and uncomfortable in his own skin. He has never been the one to run when the heat turns up and it scares me how much he looks like he’s just planning his escape from this situation right now. I want to be there for him so bad, to reassure him that everything is okay, but I settle for silence. I’m not sure what to say to him when he’s acting like this, it’s my first time hanging out with this side of him. So we just sit there, I’m literally counting the seconds, because I don’t know what else to do with my thoughts nor how to sort them.

He finally gets it together and sits up straight, “sorry—can I kiss you?”

Is that really what he wants? Does he know this could make us or break us? One move wrong and we fall apart. But, why do I want to say yes? I thank the lucky stars that it’s dark here, so he can’t completely see my face, I know I look as dumbfounded as I feel. I felt a rush of energy, I’m not sure what kind of energy it is yet.

“Yes,” I slyly give him my verbal consent and sit up.

“Holy shit, yes—really?” he slurred, almost as if he was drunk on this.

When I nodded to confirm his question, it didn’t take him long at all to slot our lips together confidently, like he has thought this over before. I wonder if he has. I’d like to find it in me to ask him some time, but for now now our mouths are busy pressing and massaging against each other over and over again.

It felt like a movie with fireworks, like that whole Hollywood blown-way-out-of-proportion magic. I think moments like this, that are like something out of a movie, only happens to you once in your lifetime and I don’t regret one bit spending mine on him.

Excuse my language, but shit got very real when he wrapped his other arm around me and deepened the kiss. It felt new and breathtaking. I’m pretty sure that he could make all my dreams come true overnight. Maybe that’s my head and the adrenaline running through my veins talking, but if this is already the dream, then I don’t want to wake up ever.

We slowly pull away, so slowly that it feels like for a moment we are one, and it takes a while for him to come back to reality and take his hand off of me. I want to tell him that it’s okay and that he can keep it there, but I’m not sure if I’m ready to talk just yet. My lips feel like they’ve been claimed for more important things, like they should never be used for any other purpose ever again than kissing him. He remained silent too and I wonder if he feels the same. I felt wildly flustered again as I thought about the possibility of me in his thoughts. I was even more flustered when I realised how much I want to do that again, but I’m not sure how much is too much. We’ve already crossed one line, so what’s another one?

He seemed to know it too and make it known that I was there, in every corner and place of his mind, when he looked into my eyes and whispered the only words that matters, “was that okay—did you like it? I liked it.”

“More than okay,” I reassured him, “I liked it so much that I’d like to do it again.”

Relief washed over his face and his eyes gained their usual whimsical twinkle back as he nods and cups the back of my neck and brings his mouth down to mine. It was even better than the first time, as he made me putty in his hands.

“What if it’s me?” he whispers against my lips.

I pull away and knit my brows, “what?”

He laughs freely, “sorry. You were just going on about that shit about the moon and I was here next to you thinking how much I care for you and I don’t think you know it. Like, I’m right fuckin’ here.”

I’m not sure if my concept of care is the same as his, if he thinks it like I think of it. But, I can’t complain when he’s here pouring his heart out to me after everything.

“I… don’t know what to say, other than I care about you too, a lot. I just didn’t expect to find it in you tonight.“

He quiets down, “it’s okay. We don’t need to talk about it right now. I just wanted you to know that if you can’t find whatever you’re looking for, it’s because you already have it, it’s me.”

And there he goes again, turning into a cocky little tease.

“Yeah, I’m done talking,” I pretend to roll my eyes.

Big mistake, because he plays along and doesn’t lose the smirk off his face, “are you, now? I’ll spare you talking, if you let me.”

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

And then, kind of to my surprise, he pulls me in for endless kisses. I don’t know what I expected, but it caught me off guard how brave he is all of a sudden with his words, his hands, his lips, all of it. But, I like it, the confidence.

In the end he grabs our glasses and the empty bottle and asked if we should go back up since it was getting chilly. I agreed, because it was and I was dressed fairly lightly, no matter how bad I wanted to stay here with him. Those were one of the few words we exchanged as we made our way back upstairs. We left the pool just like we had come, as friends and nothing more, I guess. On the outside we appear normal, you would never guess there is something wrong, but on the inside we both know we had taken some damage. Repairing that would cost us facing things and questions that we are not ready to see just yet. Only time will tell the answers, I think.

He opened the front door and we were immediately engulfed by the warm air. It was dark in the apartment, until he switched on the lights, creating a dim atmosphere for us. I don’t know what is happening next, am I supposed to just go home now?

“I have another question for you,” he told me in the kitchen, setting our glasses down, “you remember that piano I have? I wanna show you something.”

Oh God, how much more can I take for one night?

Nonetheless, I nodded, “yeah, sure, but you don’t have to impress me anymore.”

I think he has done enough tonight to show me how he feels. I do regret saying that when I see him grin at me over his shoulder, like he is back to his usual self again that lives for teasing me, “what, like you’re fuckin’ hopelessly in love with me already? This is it, like—you want my last name now or later?”

I try to act as unfazed by his comment as I possibly can as I follow him into his room and then there he is, anxiously messing with his piano, while I just stand and watch. He didn’t have me waiting for too long when he spoke again, “I can do better than the last time you heard me playing this bad boy.”

I played the memory of him singing to me on the phone back in my mind and laughed.

“Okay, if you insist,” I told him, leaning back against the wall, letting him do his thing.

“Yeah,” he agrees, “I don’t know what this will make me sound like, but I learned something that I think you will like and appreciate. You will, right?”

“Sure. It sounds like you’re hopelessly in love.”

I should know he is always one step ahead of me and that I can’t win, because he grins again as his eyes shift back to me, “there is hope. You’re still here.”

What is he doing to me?

Instead of more words, he let the music speak for itself and started playing. It didn’t take me long to recognise the song; You Belong With Me. Now, this makes it feel like he’s playing along to whatever joke this is, but as I stand there and watch him, I notice how much more serious he sounds. Of course I don’t dare to look at his face, I’m scared I might see through him, see his heart and soul and subconscious thoughts, see something that will change my mind about us, that maybe he is wishing non-existing things into existence, like us. Maybe this means more to him that I think it does. When I think I have him figured out, I realise I don’t. But I can’t exactly figure out myself either right now.

One thing I think I know for sure right now is that I feel something for him that I haven’t before. It’s when I see him like this, like he’s in his element, like music is the language he has wanted to speak to me all along. This is a total new side of him I have not had the pleasure of seeing before. I wonder if I’m really this special to him that he would do this, do something that most people would consider even romantic.

And… it’s kind of even attractive how he plays.

“That was nice...”

“Yeah? Just ‘nice’?”

“You know what I mean,” I try to divert my gaze when I feel my face flush.

“Hm, tell me,” he rolls over to me in his chair and looks up at me. So many times I have seen those eyes, but now he stares at me so intensely I can almost see all the worlds and all the lives he has lived before. Maybe I knew him in another life and that’s why things are unfolding like they are right now, everything all at once.

“Fine! I think it was kind of… cute, and… I don’t know where all of that came from, but I think it made me think that maybe you were right. That you do things to me that no one else can.”

Wow, look at me being confident and speaking my mind. Never happens.

“‘Really now?” he smiles smugly, raising his eyebrows, ”fuckin’ finally. And you… you think I was cute too, huh? Just ‘cute?”

I sigh out loud, “fine. It was hot, okay?”

I think I went too far. I think that was too much. Maybe I have had too much to drink again. But no, I do know how I feel.

His smirk doesn’t falter, and it’s my time to yelp when he suddenly makes the move to pull me on his lap. This is a whole new sensation. And what happened then? We got greedy again with our mouths and hands and each other. Endless sweet touches and kisses, as I stay seated on his lap. It was innocent as we still got used to the feeling of feeling each other this close.

We soon wrap up the night and I decide it’s time for me to go home and I actually couldn’t wait to be alone with my thoughts. I have a lot to think over, or maybe I’ll just fall into daydreams about him and this night instead. Tonight’s moment are going to be the rest of my life’s memories, and I can revisit those memories whenever I want to. He walks me to the door, we don’t really talk about what happened or what will happen next, instead he just settles for pulling me into a hug. His grip on me, that’s tighter than ever before, tells me everything I need to know, that he doesn’t want this to end here.

All he asks me as I’m about to walk out is “will we do this again?”, holding onto my arm, not willing to let me slip away before I can answer his burning question, whatever he means by ‘this’.

I just grin, “maybe.”

I still want to play a little hard to get after all this time, see what his intensions are and if he will keep fighting for me and my time. Now, I don’t actually mean any harm by that and I definitely want this to happen again, I just still feel like I have to preserve some self-respect and not be an easy target. Then I walk off.

The following week brings that painful tension between us and all I can think about is if we made a mistake at the pool and if I’m his brand-new regret. I’m trying to keep that thought out of my head, but it’s hard, because when it comes to work and talking with him, there’s so much tension there that I’m just dreading the moment when the heat turns up and it all sets on fire. I don’t know what will be left of us once that happens.

It wasn’t until a few more weeks had passed until it really settled in my chest, this hollow feeling, when something unexpected happens: he starts giving me the silent treatment. Something I never expected him to do, and unfortunately, I’m think I’m partly to blame. The night at the pool made things weird. If I think hard enough back to that night, it almost feels like a movie how he made the first move and unveiled both of ours wants for each other, but it ends as soon as I open my eyes and face the reality where he flipped the script and fleed. He had made me feel like I was flying that night, now I’m flying and getting motion sick.

I try texting him;

“Is everything okay? I need to talk to you.” 9:35 PM

He doesn’t respond. I wonder if he’s sleeping soundly meanwhile I’m staying up all night.

Eventually I’m so tired I just fall asleep, my phone next to my head.

No text from him in the morning, or the morning after that.

I keep trying with a different approach;

“Pretty bored today, what are you up to? Unless you want me to get a head start and work on that stuff today already? Or unless you are up for some chatting :)?” 11:39 AM

To my surprise, he replies, but it’s not the side of him I was hoping would to come to the phone;

“No” 11:52 AM

If I’m not careful, I will get cut by the sharp edges of his tone even when there’s no reason for it. Maybe he doesn’t mean it like that, maybe he’s stressed and unintentionally took it out on me. I read the text again like a chant and wear it like a warning label. I didn’t know it would get to me like this, but I feel like I need to write it on me to warn people like him to watch their temper around me.

I text him one final thing before getting on with my day, even though I have a peculiar feeling he won’t reply;

“Okay. Let me know when you’re free to talk!” 11:55 AM

I was right, for the rest of the day and night, he’s silent.

If I thought one day of his silence was loud, nothing could have prepared me for Alex disappearing from my life for a whole week and then two. He had brought us back to life just to leave like a ghost halfway through the good part of our story. It doesn’t make sense. Reality hurts too bad right now, I wish I could leave like he did.

It was a text after another that I kept sending him, not even expecting a reply anymore but I still do it;

“Are you ok?” 7:52 PM

I wish I didn’t care so much, but I do. I thought we were getting along just fine, more than fine. That’s why it hurts.

My friend does keep me in check from that day on and blows up my phone with happy texts constantly, like they know somehow that I need a friend right now. Those are the only texts I seem to receive these days, so it was a real shocker when one day my phone buzzed with a text from Alex;

“Can we meet? Maybe by the park?” 1:15 PM

Oddly enough, I know the park he means. It’s the one next to where he lives that you can partly see from the living room window, the one I always walk past whenever I’m on my way to his. I think it’s the real oasis of this city, somewhere where the birds never stop singing and it’s always evergreen. I think that will change today. I’m never going to see that park in the same light again. I hope I’m wrong.

I throw on some clothes and then I’m out the door.

When I arrive at the park, he’s already there. Whatever it is that he wants to tell me, he must want to get it over with fast. When he looks like he doesn’t even want to look at me, I look at the sky and wish there’s an alternate universe somewhere up there where this is not happening, where everything is still okay.

I sit there next to him, nearly not as close as I used to would. The park looks ethereal as always, especially on a summer day like this it’s like a paradise, but you know what they say; even the sun sets in paradise.

He sits there next to me in heavy silence, before taking a deep breath and telling me with his head in his hands, “listen, this whole thing—I’ve had fun, but…”

I’m just waiting for him to say it, that this was all a mistake.

He finally continues, “I’m just thinking about shit and turning shit over in my head. I like what has happened so far, but there’s just no dating—or being with someone like you. It’s so much more complicated than that.”

He said the d-word. Fuck. He’s braver than me.

I don’t dare to interrupt when he keeps going, “I mean, you’re amazing, but it’s like—that’s the thing; you deserve someone that’s sure of what they want and don’t leave you hanging. For me, it’s like, I date or I don’t; I don’t do anything in between. And right now, I’m not sure what I want. You with me?”

He checks in with me and I just nod. I think I understand and I think I’m the same. Neither of us are cut out for casual dating, it has to be the real thing or nothing. And making the decision if we are ready for the real thing, I don’t know if we, or I, can make that decision right now after all. He also keeps dropping this d-word like it’s nothing. I guess this is the calm before the storm.

“And—yeah, there’s not just dating, or committing to someone like you. People like you are so deserving of things I’m not sure I can give you. Maybe that’s just my insecurities talking, but I mean this as wholeheartedly as I can and hope you remember it. You deserve someone who deserves you, as simple as that, and I don’t know if I do right now, or ever.”

Wow, he really dug to the bottom of his feelings and found some gold there, and even shared some of it with me.

I finally find my voice and some words to make sense of it all, “that’s—I’m very glad you told me that. I agree, there’s no telling who really deserves something the most, but I know you deserve good things too and I feel… very overwhelmed, but happy to know you see me as one of those. No matter what happens next, I think things have already changed between us, and maybe that means that the worst part is over, but I guess all we can do is keep going like before and see where we end up?”

He nods and croaks out, “yeah. That would be great. I need to get my own shit together first, like I don’t wanna be one of those fuckin’ people when I say this, but it’s not you. It’s me. I just want to be the best for you, but for now, I can only be your friend. Just like before.”

I’m glad we had this conversation after all, but still feel a little pang in my chest when we agree on staying like we were before, like there is no promise or guarantee we will ever make it as anything more. It’s better than nothing though. Now we just need time. Time for if nothing else, the sun setting in our paradise.

There’s nothing that time and sleep can’t fix. Just a few days ago when I had the talk with Alex, I felt almost explosive, like if someone would have said the wrong things or made me upset in any way, I would have just exploded and spilled my feelings all over the place. There was more for me to process that I was able to take, but now I feel fine. We had a mature conversation, and I have a clearer vision of his feelings now. No more second guessing or doubting, or getting mad over literally nothing.

Work feels fine again, because at least that awkward tension is mostly gone, but we don’t talk as freely as we used to. That’s what happens when you’re not careful and spill your cup of romance all over your work.

I still nevertheless happily tell my friend about it over coffee. I didn’t mean to talk about it right there, in broad daylight, in a crowded cafe, but I did.

“So,” I tell them, “we did make up—I mean, there was no bad blood to begin with. I was just being dramatic, like you told me.”

“Yeahhh, I told you! I knew it,” they rolled their eyes at me from across the table, “no need to get all fired up if someone just—what did he tell you? Why did he do it? He was just busy, or?”

“Yeah, pretty much. He was just... busy. Yeah,” I have never sounded more shady.

I know I still can’t blow my cover. This thing will be kept tightly under wraps until it feels right to discuss it with other people. I’m also that good of a person that I want his approval to share anything.

As I feared, my friend doubts me, “really? Is that really all? What are you not telling me?”

Digging a deeper hole for myself, I stutter, “yep! I just—I was really expecting there to be something, so I was just surprised that—you know, it wasn’t something I did. You know me, I’m paranoid like that, I don’t exactly like that about myself either.”

I was hoping this conversation would shift to something else, like my insecurities, literally anything else than this. A part of me feels bad for the lies I keep feeding them, but I know I’m doing this for the right reasons.

They squinted their eyes at me, “that’s weird, you’re being weird. I know you and I know you’re being weird like now. Since when we don’t tell each other everything?”

I don’t like how sad they sound all of a sudden.

“I am telling you everything, as always,” I try to comfort them, “it’s just weird for me to talk about him, because you know—he’s him. I just still feel weird about it that I get to know him like this.”

That seemed to ease their mind, as I witnessed a slight smile creep back into their face, “okay, okay, I believe you.”

As summer starts nearing its’ end, I feel like it’s also the end of other things too. Like the thing between me and Alex. We haven’t really hung out or even talked, and on top of that, I heard the news that it’s safe to travel again and that he’s going back home to Mexico for at least the rest of the summer, maybe even for longer. He didn’t tell me how long he will be gone for, but I know how his tone works and that there was something he didn’t tell me. Meanwhile I knew I will miss him terribly, but didn’t dare to tell him that either, considering the circumstances.

And so, he leaves in silence and I let him. I get to keep my job and talk to him about work matters, but anything other than that, nothing.

I miss him bad and fear that by the time he comes back there is going to be nothing left of us. He lives in a whole new world now, or that’s what it feels like. It feels like he is lightyears away.

“So, what do you want to do on Saturday?” my friend asks me as we pick out what to eat from the menu.

“Why?”

“Your birthday, dummy! You forgot your own birthday?”

“Of course I didn’t,” I scoff back.

They just sip their drink and devilishly smirk at me from behind the glass, “sure. Anyway, we could go shopping for some props, since we’re here at the mall. Do you know who’s coming yet?”

I scratch my head, “not really.”

Truthfully, there’s only one person I hope to see there, but it will not happen since he’s not here. I wonder what he is doing right now, wherever he is.

It’s the weekend, — and more importantly, it’s my birthday today— , but I’m just feeling blue. I’m throwing a party tonight and invited all of my friends that are in town, and in conclusion, they are coming over any minute now and I need to feel better ASAP before I become a buzzkill. I could lie and tell to myself that I don’t know the reason behind my heavy heart, but I know. Me and Alex haven’t really talked lately. I doubt he even knows it’s my birthday, or if he knows I wonder if he cares. It just sucks things have went south between us.

Soon my friends are walking in through the door one by one, holding small gifts or flowers and hugging me, wishing me a happy birthday. They don’t know that the best gift would be if Alex was here, as ungrateful as that sounds. The music is blasting through the speakers, but it’s not as loud as the thoughts in my head. This is going to be a long, miserable night if I don’t get it together.

We take a bunch pictures to post online and show everyone how much fun we are having. For me, it all feels like a facade. That’s how social media usually makes me feel, but now it feels like a whole cliché how I’m acting all happy, but inside I’m in shreds. If things were any different, would Alex be here right now? Possibly. That breaks my heart.

The night goes on and I keep discreetly checking the door and my phone every now and then. I still don’t seem to understand that he won’t be here. One day he maybe will, if I don’t overthink myself to death by then.

We poured more drinks and even set up a little party game section in the living room, moving the furniture for more space to move and dance around. The more fun we had, the more ungrateful I felt for wanting more from this night, because at least I have my real friends right here with me. How could I ever wish for more? Who else could I count on if not them? I might feel lonely without Alex, but I would be lost if it wasn’t for the people here. There’s a difference and that tells me everything I need to know.

I can definitely have fun tonight. I can stop holding out my hand for someone who has no intention of taking it if I want to.

I poured myself another drink and to make up for my lack of gratitude so far, I went to turn the music up and got cheers from everyone as response. I do miss him, but I know now it will pass.

It was fine until it got to the point of the night when I have had enough to drink to start to feel emotional or sentimental or both and cursing myself for it. A moment when I just want to text someone something risky, especially Alex. It’s a stupid idea, a bad idea even, and just not worth it for me to be so forward on the phone now and then later flinch at the silence he will give me in return.

I still do the bad thing. I go to the bathroom and before I step out again, I type a quick text to him,

“I wish you could be for my birthday tonight :( It’s fun, but would be more fun with you here. 10:55 PM

Now I feel stupid as I stand and watch the text being delivered to him, knowing it’s too late to undo the damage. Way to make him feel guilty for not being here and making a fool out of myself in the process too. I know I’m better than this and I don’t like the sides he’s seeing of me right now.

I exit the bathroom and my friends tell me we should move this party to a bar. I agree, I have neighbours after all and it’s now past 11 PM, meaning we have to quiet down. And so the music stops and tables are being cleared and the lights are being switched off as we leave, but the night is not over for us yet.

It’s a struggle for us to get a ride this late on a weekend, but we eventually manage to get a cab.

As we all finally squeeze in the car, I check my phone. My heart unpleasantly makes a drop to the pit of my stomach like I was on a roller coaster of life when I see a text from Alex;

“Happy Birthday” and a stupid meme attached to it that immediately makes me smile.

It’s just like the old times happening all over again, like someone rewinded the story of us, when we were able to joke around like this with each other. It feels nice to do it again. Maybe I can finally take my heart down from the shelf I had reserved for him and accept that there is just friendship after everything we’ve been through.

I was looking out the window, watching the city lights and busy streets pass us by, while listening to the song on the radio and my friends conversing about what they will order at the bar. Things might not be as good as they used to be with Alex, but at least he’s still somewhere out there for me.

I lock my phone and put it away in my bag for good. We will be okay again. Or that’s how I’m trying to distract myself from thinking too much, because I know deep down I miss him bad.

At the bar, it’s jolly. I’m bubbly like the bubbles in our drinks. There’s no reason to be sad anymore, as long as I remember to forget. We dance the night away, we take more pictures, and buy all the fancy drinks. I know it’s a one-way ticket to temporary happiness, but I’m planning on staying for as long as I can.

I get up to go and order another drink, and my friend comes along to tug at my clothes. I figure they are just too drunk to support themselves, until I notice their eyes wide as a deer’s in headlights and they shriek in my ear, “oh my God, I think I just saw him!”

“Who?” I cringe at their volume.

They stammer and wave their hands frustratedly, already having trouble expressing themselves due to being under the influence, “Alex!”

My heart sinks.

“He’s not here, he’s home! We’re literally not even in the same country right now,” I try to get them to calm down, before someone else intervenes. I understand that this isn’t a good look on us here, them all over the place, freaking out.

“You ordering?” the bartender asks, seemingly bored of waiting around.

I tell him to hold off a minute and instead escort my friend back to our table. What kind of a sick joke was that anyway?

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—it looked just like him!” my friend still slurs their apologies to me.

“Okay, I believe you. It’s okay,” I coo at them when they look at the verge of tears. What have I started? My brain being occupied with the endless trail of thoughts of Alex all night seems to be contagious. Are we all going crazy? Is this fun anymore?

I don’t know if I even believe them, though. I’m curious who it was, I could imagine it’s someone that does not look like Alex the slightest. You know, when you have had too much to drink, anything can look like anything. I admit, the thought of it makes me want to laugh. It’s kind of funny in the end.

“Hey!” someone storms up in front of me.

What now? Oh no, are we in trouble? Was that scene we made too much?

I look up and squint, just to be met with eyes I know I have looked into before. I almost jump out of my skin when they splay a hand across my back.

“I found you! I actually found you!” they giggle.

And that’s definitely the same laugh I have had the pleasure of hearing before.

Alex?!

I swear I almost fell forward from shock, “what? How… How?”

Alex places his arm on mine now and leans in to talk quietly to me, as if he doesn’t want me to miss a word, “what does it look like? Okay, I know it looks bad, but…”

I waited for him to say something and still look at him like he is a shooting star passing me by, which seems to amuse him.

“I flew back, to... see you, I guess? Yeah. I have to go back home tomorrow, or so, but then I’ll be back again, okay?”

None of this is actually making sense like it should. He came all the way here, just for a day, to attend my birthday party? He flew all those hours to see me and has to do it all over again tomorrow?

I’m here standing in place, his hand steadying me. It’s like the world has stopped for us, and it’s just waiting for me to make a choice, make a move, say a word, for things to start moving again.

I know he’s touching me, but I almost don’t feel it. I can see he’s desperately waiting and begging me with his doe eyes to do something, but I can’t quite acknowledge it. Did he make the right choice by showing up here? Just when I felt like I was content leaving things between us unfinished, to never write that chapter, he’s bringing everything back.

I know whatever I feel and whatever my choice will be is real, when tears pool in my eyes, that he seems to notice even in the dim lighting, because he starts to move his hand and rub my back again soothingly.

“W-what changed?” I finally ask him, when I got myself together. Except that I’m now crying, great.

He looks surprised that I want to have this talk right here, right now, but then tells me “I wanted to see you, and I want to see what life could be with you. You know, if we take the next step.”

In spite of everything, in this moment, I feel it in my soul and heart that I need him in my life, in any way it works out, but even better if it’s in a way we haven’t explored before. Or is it?

“Don’t overthink it,” he reassures me, as he can sense the distress I’m in, “let’s make the most out of these few days and see what happens.”

I nod, “that sounds... perfect.”

He laughs lightly, and pulls me finally in a tighter hug and sways us back and forth. I could spend the rest of my night here.

My friends are quiet behind us, trying to mind their own business’s, but of course they are curious too, looking at us and then looking away when I try to catch their eyes. I don’t even want to know how dramatic I look, with tears rolling down my chin, pouting my lips.

I guess I have to introduce Alex to them now, kind of. I’m sure they already know him.

He stands there right by my side as my friends pipe up their “hi”, making sure to say hello to everyone back.

I can’t help myself, but only look at him with stars in my eyes. How charming he is towards everyone, not losing that smile on his pretty face even for one second and raising his eyebrows in surprise every time he tries to memorize a new name. It’s kind of an… attractive look. I should stop.

None of my friends still have no idea that there is something going on between us. To them, we are just friends, good friends. But just between me and Alex, we both know now there is something more brewing.

I’ll tell them in my own time. Nothing gets out, until I’m ready for them to know. And this bar doesn’t seem like the ideal place to drop such scoop. I’m sure we all want to be sober for that conversation, too.

“Sorry, I have to go and lock my car doors. I got out in a rush when I was looking for you and feel like I’m getting robbed right fuckin’ now as we speak,” he whispers to me and laughs.

I smile at him, until my smile falls, “your car? I mean, yeah, of course, but how did you even find me? How did you knew I was here? How did you knew to drive here, out of all places?”

He just mysteriously grins from ear to ear, “so many questions, but how could I not know? That’s all you’ve been posting and I can still see your Snapchat location, you know? I knew it would come in handy one day.”

It dawns on me, “oh, right.”

I never even thought of that possibility. He’s a hundred steps ahead of me in thinking. Props to him.

I let him go and as he disappears for a minute, it’s already enough time for me to start missing him. I lived all this time without him, and now even a second is too long without him. Love is impatient. I want him only to myself. Love is selfish. I’m talking about love like it’s been here the whole time. Love is blind.

I want to cry again. I’m not sure if they are happy tears this time. I’m happy, because he’s here, but it also fills me with a heavy feeling, because I can’t exactly celebrate and smother him with love here in public like I want to. I need to be careful of every word and action with him in front of my friends. Hearts aren’t meant for cages and chains, and that’s what mine feels like right now, locked up and tortured. Misused. Might as well not have one.

No one at the table says anything. I guess they are either still drunk and ready to go home, or just flabbergasted. I’m both. Mostly the latter. I feel almost completely sobered up.

Before I can hold myself back, I tear up again. I’ll just blame this on the drinks, or him, or me, or my friends. All of it is overwhelming.

My said friends immediately gather around me to comfort me and in chorus ask me what’s wrong. I almost want to say everything is wrong, but that’s not true.

“Are you just going to make yourself cry more and not tell us what’s happening?” they push me to talk and huddle around. It makes me crack.

I choke out and sniffle, speaking no matter how much my voice breaks, “he’s just so great, you guys, like… you see him now and he’s so kind and amazing, right? But once you actually get to know him like I do, he’s incredible.”

I can’t pick my head up anymore from where it’s buried in my hands, but I can tell by the loud silence that there’s confusion in the air, until my friend snaps back to reality and is the first to ask me what I’m sure everyone else is thinking, “but… this is a good thing, right? Happy tears?”

Others agree to the question, waiting to hear the confirmation of their conclusions from me. Safe to say, they are surprised at my outburst, but still supportive.

I hiccup, “I guess...”

Now I just feel like leaving it at that, if they can’t figure it out themselves that I’m not happy with the way things are. I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I got some of it off my chest and that’s it. No more spoilers.

“You’ve cried a lot tonight, on your birthday too! Are you sure you’re okay?” another friend asks.

I settle for silence and silent weeping for a little longer, until I croak out, “I feel like I have never felt like this about anything, or anyone, before like I feel about him. There’s so much emotion, as you can tell. And I—we—there are some feelings involved, has been for a while now. I like him, he likes me. He wants to try to—I don’t know—see if we could be more than friends. That’s why he came here tonight.”

Shit. Before I can stop myself, I have spilled the secret. This is bad. I can still feel my cheeks burning under the stream of tears and I don’t see an end to it. I have to get it together though, before Alex gets back. Which should be any second now, by the way.

I don’t even know if he’s okay with this information being out. I don’t even know if that’s true. What if it doesn’t work out in the end and he leaves the country again as just a friend?

I try to wipe my eyes before he comes back.

“It’s okay! I mean, wow, I never saw this coming, and judging by your reaction, you didn’t either, but sometimes it just happens like that, when you least expect it,” my friends are immediately there for me.

“I’m sorry I kept this from you, it’s just really scary for me that you guys know now. And it’s a big deal.”

When Alex finally, or at a perfect time, comes back when I look decent again, everyone fortunately acts the same as before. I don’t think he even notices that I’ve been shedding tears again. In any other situation I’d feel hurt, but now it’s for the better. At least I don’t think he notices, when he smiles at me and makes the move to put his arm around me to be cute, but holds himself back and instead asks me if I’m okay.

We stay for one more round of drinks and I comprehend that he hasn’t wished me a happy birthday yet. Maybe there’s a time and place for that later.

When the night actually comes to an end and everyone has an assigned ride home, Alex gets close to me again and asks me, “so, uh—do you want me to drop you off at home?”

“Yeah. I’d like that.”

He gentlemanly opens the car door for me and waits for me to climb in, until getting in from his side. Before he even considers driving off, he looks at me and daringly caresses my cheek with his soft fingertips, “hey. Happy birthday. I didn’t tell you yet and—”

He checks the time.

“—it’s past midnight, but fuck it. It’s still your birthday, don’t listen to the clock.”

We laugh in the dark car and I give him my most sincere thank you.

“So, about your present…”

I examine his face, and how it turns smug, and tell him, “a present? I think you coming here was enough. What could be better than that?”

I’m surprised when he still doesn’t start the car, but pulls his hand back a little bit just to use his thumb to swipe it slowly across my lower lip and murmurs, “no, no, nothing like that. There’s really only one more thing that I could give you.”

“What is it?”

Alex tilts my chin up, his eyes not leaving my lips, “I think you know. Do you trust me?”

Oh… I think I do know what he means.

I gulp as he gets closer, “I do.”

This is not the first time we kiss, but it’s the first time we do it when we know the feeling is mutual and this could become a recurring thing. As our lips mash and do their thing together, his warm fingertips slips under my the hem of my shirt just a little, to test the waters. I let him twiddle with the material and claim every inch of my skin.

“What time will I see you tomorrow?” I mumble drunkenly against his greedy lips. Not on the drinks at the bar, but drunk on love, or whatever it is. It’s more than lust what we feel.

He retreats himself and the moment is gone, “what makes you think we’ll see each other again?”

I look at him confused.

He fiddles with my hands that he has draped over his lap and continues, “what if we never say goodbye tonight? If… you want to stay the night at mine?”

What’s the worst that could happen, why not? Now that things between us are finally moving, I don’t want them to stop.

I agree and his delicious, cherry-red lips curl into a smile, while an awed look swims in his pupils. He looks as gone as I feel.

He finally reaches out to turn the engine key and the car purrs to life. I lean my head against the window and watch the sleeping city pass by. The empty streets void of people while we cruise is like a vision of a dream, like it’s just us two in the world tonight. Speaking of, in what world did today happen? This doesn’t feel like the same world I used to struggle in, living feels and comes as easy as breathing now with him.

We drive and drive, until the scenario changes to something I recognize. We must be close to his apartment. From here I can see the park bench where we had that talk a while ago, when we agreed on staying as friends and he kind of broke my heart for the first time when he told me he needed time, and there was no certainty of anything. The place sparks up unpleasant memories in me.

He seems to notice it too and taunts me, “you want to sit there? Reminisce with me a little bit?”

“If you do that I’ll break up with you!” slips out of my mouth. My big, stupid mouth. Can’t take my big, stupid mouth anywhere these days. Never in a million years I should have said that.

“I mean… I don’t know what I mean,” I finally admit when he’s fallen silent. I really don’t know. We never said the D-word, dating, again since that day at the park, ironically. Not until now. We haven’t even established that, there’s no label on us that says we are exclusive. That’s a talk for another day.

Alex finally opens his mouth and laughs, “I think you do. I know what that meant. You will break up with me.”

As he recalls those words back to me, I cringe so hard at myself.

“No, seriously. I didn’t mean it like that,” I try to save face. Just when we agreed to take these few days slow, I go and announce it to him that in my head we are a couple. Leave it to me to mess up this bad.

“I mean,” he seems to be enjoying putting me on the spot like this, “I don’t know how many ways there are to break up with someone.”

I sink into the seat, trying to be hide in plain sight. I hope he would let it go, but I know he won’t. Especially when he lays his hand on my thigh while driving with the other. Now we must look like a couple. A couple of pining people, if nothing else.

“Now you want to get shy?” he asks, “would you still feel as shy if I said I kind of don’t want to wait anymore either?”

“With what?”

He doesn’t even hesitate to speak and also doesn’t let go of me, but still holds my thigh in place, “fuck it, let’s make it official. I mean, correct me if I’m wrong, but you want me as much as I want you. I want you in a way that allows us to be together. So, what do you say?“

My face gets hot. It’s what he does to me when he’s this blunt.

“I would love that,” I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding in. I have a feeling these four words will be the most important ones I will ever say.

He smirks, “great! Uh—I would love to make this more romantic and shit, but…”

“You did this, technically, on my birthday, so I think it’s pretty romantic and great already. And I think it’s kind of us to just be spontaneous. It was perfect.”

He parks the car, “with the way you’re throwing all this praise my way, are you sure you can wait until we’re out of the car before you jump my bones?”

I try to duck my head down to hide my face, but he leans in and presses a single, seductive peck on the side of my jaw, before winking at me and exiting the car, before hurrying to my side to open the door for me. I am definitely falling.

“So, that’s how we got here,” I tell his friends in the kitchen, the luminous afternoon glow radiating through the window, illuminating our faces. Ever since the night when we—in his words, made it official—things have gone great. He had to leave the day after, but then eventually came back home from Mexico and told me he’s here to stay. So, life is sweet. It’s all like a dream, but the only difference is that I’m awake.

What it comes to his friends: Karl, Punz and Foolish especially, the night I blacked out wasn’t thankfully the first and the last time I saw them. I had another chance of redeeming myself. We’ve hung out as a group a few times, like we are currently doing, and they are dying to know how exactly did we end up here.

And, I am glad to tell them. Over and over again, as many times as they want to listen.

I get up to walk to the fridge to fetch a drink, and notice Alex standing in the kitchen, preparing me a snack I didn’t ask for, but know I need. He’s sweet like that, making sure I eat and offers to make me something whenever he can tell I don’t have the energy to make it myself. It’s scary, how well he knows me already, but I can say the same about him. I think that’s how you know you have found your person.

Alex purposely gently nudges and bumps me, just as I walk past him, “oh! Woah! Is this like our love story? Like in the old days?”

It takes me back to when we used to do that.

I understand now that the wait is over why it had to happen. It was painfully awkward to even look at him afterwards, but I would do it all over again if it meant that we would still have our happy ending.

“Oh, shut up!” I scold him through my smile and in return, push him back with my hand.

He grabs the hand I’m holding out and pulls my whole body against his instead and tells me he will never stop, pulling me into a kiss to seal the deal. He belongs with me, and there's never a day when he doesn't make me feel the same.

THE END.

#mcyt x reader #quackity x reader #quackity fluff #quackity imagines #reader x quackity #dream smp x reader #mcyt x you #mcyt fanfiction

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just-a-torn-up-masterpiece · 1 year

Text

the principal's favourite

masterlist

ava coleman x fem!reader

warnings: fluff, my poor attempt at humour ig? it was funny in my head :(, kissing, implied smut

word count: 1895

a/n: this is my first abbott fic so i'm still trying to get into the flow of writing for the characters

Though Gregory was beyond relieved that Ava’s flirtatious attention was finally directed elsewhere, he accompanied the rest of the staff with the shock at the sudden change in behaviour. It started on your first day at Abbott, a couple of nearing laughs in the hallway before the two of you entered the breakroom.

Glances were exchanged throughout the room at the way Ava’s hand touched your arm and you thanked her for giving you the tour of the school. The way she smiled at you was different to any smile they’d ever seen her direct towards a colleague; it was soft and genuine and for once her attention was focused on you rather than mocking quips towards Janine.

“Oh, Janine, I didn’t see you there. Back from The Shire already?” She laughed and you bit back an amused smile as you took the hand offered to you.

“Hi, I’m Janine, it’s great to meet you.” She spoke, ignoring the comment from the woman beside you.

It didn’t go totally unnoticed when Ava lingered as you had your introductions with the rest of the staff, rather than escaping to her office she sat beside you at the table not saying much but hanging on your every word. Melissa and Barbara shared a look at the way she laughed at something you said, a raise of eyebrows in silent communication.

“I can show you to your classroom if you want - it’s across from mine so we’re neighbours. We can-”

“Janine, she doesn’t want you breathing all over her with your nasty excited toddler breath.” Ava grimaced as she stood from her seat and gestured for you to do the same. “I’ll show her. I can probably give you some tips to avoid an invite to a playdate or something.” She added to you in a whisper loud enough to be heard.

You threw an apologetic smile to Janine as you left.

“Okay, what the hell was that?” Melissa spoke as soon as you were out of earshot.

“Lord help that girl if Ava’s taken a liking to her.” Barbara answered. “We saw what happened to Gregory.”

–

“Good morning, Ava.” Janine greeted with a grin as she bounced into the breakroom on an early Monday morning, expecting little of a response.

“Morning.” She responded without looking up, instead focussing on the mugs in front of her with a quick glance towards the doorway. Nobody said anything about her greeting, wary of causing her to backtrack and Janine was more than pleased.

There’d been hushed conversations on the woman’s change over the past few weeks. Less of her energy was directed towards witty insults, her eyes chose to look at you instead of her phone and she sat talking with you at lunch.

When Principal errands needed to be done she’d actually begun to complete them, even going so far as to bring her laptop with her to work on tasks beside you.

You weren’t aware of the strangeness of her behaviour, how it had changed because of you and nobody had dared say anything. She was finally doing her job beyond sufficiently, they didn’t want to risk spoiling it.

“Morning, everyone.” You spoke when you walked in and suddenly Ava’s eyes were on you, no longer ignoring the others in favour of her phone that she slipped into her pocket.

“I didn’t even realise you weren’t here.” She spoke to which you scoffed, a sound that was mirrored by a few others in the room.

“Sure.” You uttered with a roll of your eyes as you walked over to the coffee machine. “So this mug you’re nudging towards me isn’t mine? You didn’t make me a drink and wait patiently for me to get here?” You teased her.

You were the only one that could make her stumble over her words the way she did, she’d never thought it would happen, that somebody could fluster her. But for the first time, she’d met her match and it often served as entertainment for the rest of the staff.

“I just accidentally made two.” She shrugged with a laugh as though you’d said something foolish. “Anyway, it’s your first day with your double class and I have a meeting to get to. And by meeting I mean an under desk foot massage.” She spoke as she poured the sugar you handed her into her cup. “You best be waiting under my desk by the time I get there, Gregory, or you’re fired.”

You didn’t hear the exasperated whisperings between Melissa and Barbara, the comments on her reverting back to the comments about Gregory. But you had made her realise that perhaps what she was harbouring was more than a workplace crush and rather some genuine feelings.

She’d made your coffee just as you like it and you sipped it as you stressed about the day ahead. Just like Melissa, you’d been given an extra class to teach but unlike her, you’re still waiting on a teacher’s aide.

So by the time your lunch break came around you were slumped over with your head in your hands and your fingertips massaging your temples in hopes it’d will away the throbbing in your skull.

“Oh, hon, I can lend you Ashley for the afternoon. We can have shared custody.” Melissa softly spoke when she took a seat at your table.

“I can try and figure something out, I don’t wanna leave you without help.”

“Maybe Ava will hurry along the search for an aide,” Barbara answered but you missed the smirk that pulled at her lips. “Considering the soft spot she has for you.”

“What do you mean?”

“You can’t be that dense, ya gagootz.” Melissa chuckled. “She’s like a totally different person when you’re around.”

“She actually does her job, for one.”

“Mhm, and Gregory isn’t being harassed quite as much.”

“I am,” Janine interjected, “But it’s fine. I’m totally fine with it, y’know I’m probably starting to like it now, actually.”

“So what the hell did she used to do?”

“Pretty much anything the principal shouldn’t be doing-”

“What’s going on in here? Some kind of boring, silent, convention?” Ava commented when she strutted her way in, noticing the way the room was hushed. “Oh, is it a silent disco situation? I hope Barb’s not in charge, I don’t think I can sexy dance to gospel.”

“This one has a headache.” Melissa answered with a nod of her head in your direction, easily noticing the way the woman’s expression softened at the slight pout on your lips.

“If only there was something the Lord could do to help, huh Barbara?” Janine added with a poke of her elbow into the woman’s side. You laughed lightly at the scowl she received though she reluctantly went along with the comment.

“He works in mysterious ways, Miss Teagues. I’m sure some help is on its way.”

“Actually, an aide is starting next week. So I suppose God did do her job.” Ava bragged with a flick of her hair.

“That’s still a week of what I can only describe as the inner circle of hell.” You groaned.

“I’ll help.”

“You’ll what?” A chorus of three sounded out, watching her roll her eyes.

“I’ll be your assistant - for a week only.”

“Ava Coleman, you’re the best.” You grinned, hopping up from your seat to pull her into an appreciative hug. The feeling washed over her, the feeling of your arms wrapped around her body and her hands on your back. She smiled at your closeness only snapping her eyes open to scowl at the table of people behind you.

When you asked her to come with you to prepare your classroom for the rest of the day she followed willingly.

“What is it that the kids say these days?” Barbara asked. “Whipped?”

–

The two of you worked well together, you could bounce off one another with jokes and comments to amuse the children and you seemed to be the perfect pair to teach without much of a struggle.

What had been an overwhelmingly loud heap of chaos this morning was transformed into an enjoyable afternoon, you even worked on a colouring page together at your desk. Of course she was adamant her side was the superior one, mocking the way you’d accidentally coloured outside of the lines a couple of times.

Though you’d only smile the following day when you’d see it pinned to her office wall.

“Thank you for today, Ava.” You smiled, she’d stayed behind after all the children had been dismissed home to help you tidy up.

“I actually had fun. I was kinda planning on scheduling fake meetings for the rest of the week to avoid it.”

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t. I think we’re a good team. And I don’t mind being in charge of you for a week.”

“Don’t get used to it.” She scoffed, stepping towards where you’d perched on the edge of your desk. ��Best believe it won’t be happening once the week is over.”

You swallowed thickly at how close she was, at the way her voice lowered and her hand lay on your knee.

“I can’t tell if you’re picking up what I’m putting down. Usually people are lining up for my attention - as they should be - so it’s hard to know if you’re somehow immune to all this.”

“I’m definitely not immune.” You murmured sheepishly, suddenly wishing you could exude the same confidence as her. A hand on your cheek stopped you from hiding your face, softer than you could’ve hoped with a thumb swiping over your bottom lip.

“Obviously. I was just trying to be humble.”

You laughed at her words, so perfectly Ava, and pulled her closer with a hand on her waist. She caught herself with a hand on the desk beside you; you felt her breath against your lips, air tense and thick with the delicate scent of her perfume wrapping around you before you closed the space between you.

She wasn’t gentle with the way she kissed you, claiming your lips with hers in the way she’d wished to for too long now. You could taste the apple juice on her tongue, the carton she’d taken when you passed them around the class, and you could feel the softness of her lipstick you knew would be left behind.

Her tongue pushed against yours while her hands held tightly onto your thighs, standing between your legs with your fingers tangled in the material of her dress where they clung onto her back. One hand dared to creep further up your thigh, sneaking beneath your shirt to rest her palm on the bare skin of your waist. The way you sighed at the feeling of the goosebumps she ignited made her ravenous for you, too hungry for your classroom.

When she pulled away your breath was heavy and her eyes were dark and lusting, surging forwards just for a few more pecks, however many she could fit in without running out of breath.

“Meet me at my car?” She breathed. “It’s the nice one in the parking lot.” She emphasised and you could only nod with a huff of a laugh. She planted one last peck to your lips before you parted ways to collect your things and she was waiting eagerly in the driver’s seat a few minutes later.

#ava coleman x reader #ava coleman #abbott elementary #abbott elementary fanfic #melissa schemmenti #barbara howard

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alloftheimaginesblog · 10 months

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an old friend, a new start part iii {r. lupin}

plot: Fourteen years after graduating Hogwarts, you’re offered a job to be the new Muggle Music Professor. Funnily enough, your old friend, Remus Lupin, is also offered a new job at Hogwarts that year.

in this chapter: remus tries to make amends

character: remus lupin x female reader

PART ONE, PART TWO

Days had passed since the full moon - since you had confided your feelings in Remus and he had rejected you - and you had been hiding away in your office for the last two days. To be perfectly truthful, you were hideously embarrassed. You had put your heart on the line and Remus had crushed it far too easily.

At first, you'd been angry. You'd been so angry, hating how cowardly he was, hating how Snape had been right about him, hating that he didn't mirror your feelings. Soon, that anger turned to shame. Then shame turned to sadness. Had you just lost your best friend? Had you just thrown your oldest friendship away? Sadness turned to quiet denial. Maybe Remus was right. Maybe you had let yourself get carried away in a childhood crush and being here, being back in Hogwarts with him... Maybe he was right.

You didn't really know where to go from here. You didn't know if you could show your face in front of Snape or even worse, Remus. What would you say? Oh hi Remus, yeah I'm just fantastic after I poured my heart out to you and you just tore up my heart like it was paper! I'm great. You wondered if he would even speak to you. The things he'd said... You'd put it down as false words but the more you repeated his words in your head the more you started to believe them.

"We are colleagues. Nothing more."

Was he right?

It was on Monday morning that you had to be a little bit braver, you had classes after all. You went down for breakfast at 6.30am on the dot. You'd even went so far as to bring a small basket. Not wanting to risk an awkward run in, you thought it best to fill your basket and take it back to your class to eat before lessons began.

You hadn't been counting on Remus already being in the Great Hall though.

Your heart skipped a beat. There were a few handfuls of students but as for adults it was just you and Remus. You avoided his gaze as you walked towards the teachers table, jaw clenched as you tried you absolute hardest to be nonchalant but from the way your eyes darted to him every few steps and your racing heart, it was obvious that you weren't doing as good a job as you wanted. No, he wasn't right and how dare he convince you that he was! You weren't just colleagues. Anger bubbled in your stomach as you drew closer and closer to him.

"Good morning, Professor Lupin," you said tightly with a forced smile as you began to pluck some breakfast pastries from the teacher's table and put them in your basket.

As much as you tried to hide it, he noticed the tremble of nervousness in your hand and the feathering in your clenched jaw. Lupin's heart ached, "(y/n)..." The sound of his voice made you tense up, frozen in place as your heart thudded in your chest, "I- We need to talk. I-" He swallowed, "I didn't mean what I said."

There was the anger again. You scoffed, "Well you said it, didn't you? Must've been some truth behind it."

Your anger was to be expected. Remus was actually surprised that you hadn't hexed him, "Please let me explain, come we'll take breakfast and go to my classroom and I'll explain. Please."

"Oh I hardly think that's appropriate for colleagues, Professor Lupin," your voice dripped with venom like a snake puncturing right through to his heart, "we wouldn't want anyone to get the wrong impression or have them think that we're acting like children, now would we?"

You didn't give him a chance to explain as you turned on your heels and sped away, the croissant in your hand squished and crumbling due to your anger. You shoved it in your basket then shoved right past Snape who had witnessed from afar your tense exchange with Remus. He had a smirk which screamed 'I told you so' but you pushed past and hurried back to your class.

Remus watched you go and released a long breath, "Oh, Prongs," he whispered hopelessly, "how do I fix this?" He knew that if James were here, he would've sorted him out but alone... Remus had no idea what to do. Would he really rather lose you completely as opposed to letting you in?

Severus breezed past him, "I see that went well," he muttered as he sat a few seats down from Remus who turned on him with narrowed eyes, "Your other half seems rather upset with you Remus... Something wrong?"

"What do you know?"

Severus shrugged but the smirk on his face said it all, "I know only that you are a coward. I told Professor (y/l/n) that too but obviously, she didn't heed my advice." Remus growled and without another word, he stood abruptly and stormed out of the Great Hall.

Severus smiled as he took a sip of his tea.

For the next week, all you felt was anger. You were so unbelievably annoyed at him. You couldn't understand why or how he could say such horrible things to you. You were his best friend and all of a sudden because he got a little uncomfortable with adult feelings he had just pushed you away? It just didn't make sense to you.

Of course, you'd told Minerva all about over a cup of chamomile tea as she could tell you needed all the calming remedies you could get, "So how long has it been since you spoke to him?"

"A week."

"And you've not heard his side of the story?"

You frowned, "His side?!" You exclaimed, "Minerva, come on!"

Minerva rolled her eyes, "I think, my dear, what you need is some tough love." You blinked, "Yes, what he did was wrong and hurtful and your anger is certainly justified-"

"Thank you."

"But-"

"But?!"

Minerva gave you a pointed look which you knew to be a warning to stop interrupting her, "But," she continued, "have you ever considered his perspective of things?" You were silent and she smirked slightly, "He lost everyone he cared about, including you when your friendship fizzled. He had no one after that. He barely got by and he didn't form any sort of relationship or friendship with anyone else. For twelve years, whilst you lived your life probably experienced love and lots of friendships am I right?-" you gave a small nod, "he didn't. So how hard do you think it would be for you if after twelve years of pure isolation you were thrust back together with a former friend? Despite how he feels, this is all so new again to him, it's a new and unnatural and..." She trailed off, expecting you to finish the sentence.

Your facial expression had softened significantly and McGonagall sat back in her chair taking a long sip of tea as she smiled triumphantly, "He's scared."

McGonagall hummed as she swallowed her tea, "Wouldn't you be?" Her voice was soft, "So yes, while he is indeed in the wrong for saying those things to you, it came from a place of fear not hatred. He's protecting himself and protecting you... I think he deserves to say his piece to you, do you not agree?"

You sighed, "Yeah... I... I hadn't thought about that." It was true, you'd been wrapped in your bubble of anger, furious that he did this but not trying to understand why, "You're right, Minerva. I need to go talk to him. Talk not shout."

As you left Minerva's office, your stomach flipped uncomfortably. You hated being wrong, you hated having to swallow your pride it just wasn't a pleasant experience. You checked your watch for the time and realised that Lupin would be teaching his third years soon so you hurried along and up various staircases to get to his classroom. You didn't know what you were going to say but you knew that you were going to listen.

Remus was inside his classroom shuffling through various essays his students had written him when you knocked on his door. He didn't hide his surprise at all, "(y/n)," he said, voice quiet, "What are you doing here?" He truly thought that you would never speak to him again.

"I wanted to apologise for-"

He cut you off, "You have nothing to apologise for. I was so out of order and so monstrous to you. I apologise. I am so deeply, truly sorry. I never meant it." He was being sincere, you could tell by his eyes, "I-" he had so much that he wanted to say but the clock chimed and he knew students would be arriving soon. He cursed which made you smile slightly, "I've got a lesson just now," he thought for a second then suggested, "why don't you stay for it? It's just my third years and we're just going to be fighting a Boggart." He gestured over to the wardrobe that stood in the middle of the class, "It shouldn't take too long. We can speak afterwards-" because I have so much I want to tell you, he thought.

You nodded, "Okay," you agreed quietly.

As students began to filter in, you smiled as various greeted you. Harry, Hermione and Ron all seemed positively happy that you were here. You let Remus tell his class what they'd be doing, teaching them how to use the Riddikulus spell to change the Boggart. You were perched on a stool to the side of the class, watching him with curious eyes. He was a natural at this. He was so good at teaching, at holding the attention of the young students. He was so clever and he was using that for good; to teach and help students learn. You caught yourself smiling like a schoolgirl at him and quickly forced yourself to remain straight faced but as you looked at the students you saw Hermione look at you with a knowing smile.

"Okay, ready and-" Remus opened the wardrobe door brandishing... Snape?

Your head whipped to who's Boggart it was and you understood. Poor Neville Longbottom. You'd heard first hand how cruel Snape could be to the quiet boy so his fear was understood. Neville used the Riddikulus to transform Snape's robes into his grandmother's clothing. It was you who gave the loudest laugh in that classroom. Neville grinned at you. Ron Weasley was up next turning a spider to a spider on skates. The class continued until it got to Harry and you stood up realising what his worst fear could be. Would it be Voldemort? If so, that wasn't something you wished the class would see. The Boggart twisted to become a large dark Dementor, floating towards him, its bony fingers extended to him. It truly was a wretched thing. Harry blanched and you moved forwards-

But Remus was quicker.

He slid in front of Harry with ease and the Dementor twisted and transformed into...

The whole class gasped.

It was you. You on the ground dead beneath a large white full moon. Your hand covered your mouth, breath trembling beneath them as your heart thudded in your chest. You dying was Remus's worst fear. You put the puzzle together Remus's true worst fear was killing you on a full moon. He did care for you.

Remus snapped a loud, "Riddikulus!" and the moon blew up like a balloon, your image fading from view, and then began to release all of the air from it, flying around the room until Remus used his wand to throw it back inside the wardrobe. You were still staring at the space where your body had been lying. Remus's cheeks were scarlet as he quickly muttered a dismissal to his students but they were unmoving and when you looked at them, you found them all staring back at you. They were all shocked minus one Hermione Granger who was smiling.

"I said class dismissed!" Remus exclaimed, "Out with you all, go!" There was a tenseness to his voice that rarely appeared so upon hearing it, the class scampered. The whispers and murmurs were loud as they all left and then, there was silence.

Remus had his back turned to you, breathing deeply, and you could see that his ears were still scarlet. For a moment, neither of you moved. It was you who broke the silence by stepping forwards and saying quietly, "We'll be the talk of the school now..." It was a pathetic attempt at a joke.

Remus swallowed, "I suppose you might believe that I truly didn't mean anything I said that night now."

"I always knew," you said, "I just didn't understand why you said then in the first place but I do now."

His shoulders sagged and he turned to you, cheeks still a rosy pink, "And what do you think?" He eyed you curiously.

"You're scared. I thought it before I entered this class and now I know it to be true. You're scared to let me in... You're scared in case you hurt me." He gave a barely noticeable nod. You were right, "I understand how isolated you've been over the last twelve years and I know that it's hard to trust other people and yourself. I know how difficult it is to open yourself up to the possibility of getting hurt or in your case, getting someone else hurt but... I trust you, Remus. I always have. Do you think you could trust yourself too?"

"It's not quite as easy as that, (y/n)."

"Remus..." You wanted so desperately to cry but that would achieve nothing so instead, you swallowed the lump in your throat and tried to tell him just how much you cared for him, "who was the one person you confided being a wolf to? The rest of the boys figured it out themselves but you... you told me. Why was that? Why for six months was I the only one who knew?"

"I have something to tell you; something that kills me every day of my life. I'm so ashamed of it and I swore to never tell anyone but- but I feel safe with you. I trust you and I trust that you won't judge me as harshly as others might. You're the one person I truly trust, (y/n)."

Remus faltered, "Because... You were and you remain the one person I trust so wholly and completely." It was the truth.

"You've noticed that I get sick every month. I disappear for a few days and come back a very pale, exhausted version of myself... You always ask why, always concerned about me and I brush it off. There's a reason for that. There's a reason for it all."

A small smile pulled your lips upwards, "You know I trust you the same, too. I've never thought for a moment that you were a monster." Remus looked down, "You have never been a monster and you never will be, despite your condition and flaws and all. You're Remus. You're my Remus." You stepped closed to him and gently, so gently, your fingertips traced the long scar over his face, "My beautiful, silly Remus."

"I'm a werewolf, (y/n)." He couldn't look at you and instead focused on his hands which were clenched together in his lap, "That's what the scars are. I was attacked when I was younger and... every month, I turn."

You could see his jaw clench, the muscles feathering, as he swallowed hard, "Why won't you let yourself be happy, Rem?" You whispered. The way you looked up at him, doe eyed and lips pink and plump.

His eyes were closed, his heart hammering in his chest, as he waited for you to say something but all he heard was a shuffling sound. His heart sank thinking that you'd gotten up and left but he gasped when he felt your hands slide over and into his, slowly prying his fists open to hold his trembling hands.

To be honest, he didn't actually know why this was a hurdle that he couldn't get over. He didn't know why he found it so impossible to let the one person he loved into his life. He had a good reason to but you were here, offering your love to him... so why did he not want it?

"I trust you, Remus Lupin. I trust you first and forever."

A pained expression flashed over Remus's face. He was torn. Despite not meaning any of what he said because you weren't just colleagues, you were more, you had always been more. Remus Lupin was in love with you and he always had been but was he ready to admit that to you? Was he ready to fully admit it to himself? He didn't trust himself, didn't trust his condition and Remus thought so lowly of himself that he didn't understand how someone, especially someone like you, could love him. For the last twelve years, he hadn't let anyone else in. He hadn't trusted anyone, not even himself. He had long since forgotten what it was like to let someone in - fully in - and it terrified him. Remus's mouth opened as though he were going to tell you and god, as he stared into your eyes he really wanted to tell you but there was something in the way. Himself.

"(y/n)..." The way he spoke, the tone alone told you the answer. Quickly, you straightened and stepped back as your own walls built right back up, "I... I don't know what to say."

You forced a smile, shaking your head, "You don't have to say anything, Rem. It's fine." Your voice was too light, too breezy for the heaviness of the conversation.

Remus stepped closer but you stepped away immediately. You were pulling away from him, "I'm just- I'm not ready." It was the truth, he simply just wasn't ready yet and it broke your heart.

"I know," you nodded, giving him another smile yet this one was sad, "it's okay, seriously. I- Just- do you believe me when I say that I trust you and when I tell you that I- that I love you?"

Remus blinked, "I... I know that you care and you trust me somewhat but I don't think you realise the full potential of my-"

"Can I have a go?" You asked, sweeping past him as you gestured to the wardrobe which held the Boggart. Remus gave a confused nod. You opened the door and stepped back, allowing the Boggart the space to transform into... Remus Lupin dead on the floor. Remus took a deep breath, "It's been my boggart since we were in fourth year," you told him as you stared at the lifeless image of him on the floor. You swallowed hard, "it was during your transformation that we had the lesson. I threatened to hex the boys if they dared to tell you... Riddikulus!" The Boggart was forced back into the wardrobe.

"Why... Why did you show me?" Remus's voice was small.

You cleared your throat, "Because I need you to know how deeply I care about you. I need you to know that there is still one person alive on this Earth who thinks the world of you and always has. I need you to know that there is hope still left for you despite the loneliness. I'm not begging you to be with me, that's your choice and I'll respect it... I just need you to know that I am here and I am all in if you are. I..." You couldn't find the words and you desperately needed to prove to him that you were speaking the truth so you did the only thing you could think to do.

You kissed him.

It was soft and only lasted a second or two but it got the message across. With trembling hands, you pulled back and straightened your robes. Judging from the way a red hue crept up Remus's neck to his face and ears, you presumed the message got across. You whispered a goodbye before you left the classroom, heart racing and head spinning. It was your last chance to prove to him that you loved him, that you cared enough to have him flaws and all.

Remus sank into a chair after you'd gone, eyes focused on the spot where the Boggart had transformed into his dead body as his fingertips brushed his lips gently.

The handful of times that you'd seen Remus in the following week, the atmosphere was rather tense and awkward. Despite the two of you agreeing to just be friends, there always seemed to be an elephant in the room; unspoken words always on the tip of your tongue. So honestly, the two of you had been avoiding each other just a little bit.

That was, until, Harry Potter asked Remus if he could learn more about his parents again.

"Can I have another look at the photos you have, Professor?" Harry asked you as he sat forwards on his seat.

You already had it looked out, it was in your desk drawer so you pulled it out and handed it to him. For a few minutes, there was silence as Harry looked through the photo album. You evaded your eyes from the photo of you and Remus as Harry flicked by it. Remus glanced over at you, taking notice that your eyes were set on staring out of the window and not at anything that reminded you of him. His heart panged. It was all his fault and he just wanted to make everything okay again.

"What was he like?" Harry asked curiously.

"Your father was-"

The boy cut Remus off, "No, not my dad... Black. Sirius Black. What was he like before he went dark?"

It was you who answered. Remus was rather shocked by the question, unable to answer or even comprehend an answer, "Harry, I don't want to upset you or make you feel a certain type of way because when we were at Hogwarts, Sirius and your father were the absolute best of friends. I think hearing the good things about Sirius might upset you more than you realise."

Harry frowned, "I just..." He shook his head, "I don't understand how his supposed best friend could betray them, it just doesn't make sense to me."

"Nor us," Remus agreed softly, "Believe me, Harry, I've gone over it again and again in my head. I've thought of our seven years at Hogwarts searching for the slightest glimmer of darkness but... I've never found any."

Harry looked to you, hopeful that you could give him something but you shook your head, "For twelve years, Harry, I've been trying to figure it out."

Harry thought for a moment before sighing, "Well, what was he like anyway?" You asked if he was sure to which he nodded.

"He was the thing that kept us all together, I think. From the word 'go' him and James were the best of friends, thick as thieves. If there was trouble, oh you just knew it started with James and Sirius and ended with me and Remus cleaning up the pieces with Peter running behind us." Remus smiled slightly at your words, "I am so sorry that I can't give you the answer as to why he turned bad, Harry."

"Do you hate him?" Harry asked all of a sudden, "I hate him. I hate him for how he betrayed them. And all the while being my godfather!"

Your eyes widened, "Who told you that?"

Remus frowned at the boy who realised that he'd said too much and slunk back into his seat, "I overheard Professor McGonagall and Fudge talking about it." Harry admitted, "It's true then?"

Remus nodded, "Yes... Sirius Black is your godfather, Harry, and that's why Dementors are here and why Dumbledore's inflicted a strict curfew. They think Black's back to kill you, finish the Potter bloodline once and for all."

He repeated the question, eyes boring into yours for some reason, "Professor (y/n), do you hate him?"

Your stomach flipped uncomfortably. This was something you'd wrestled with for years, "I love the version of Sirius that I knew. The boy who could always make me laugh, who was fiercely protective of his friends - he hexed the first boy who broke my heart you know - the boy who would pull me up to dance around the Common Room. He was brilliant. I love those memories I have of him... But the Sirius Black that I knew would never do what he did to James, Lily, Peter and yourself. That's... That's not my Sirius Black. I don't know what happened to my - our Sirius," you gave Remus a look, "but I hate what he became. I hate that he did that to his best friends. I hate him for what he did, yes."

Harry seemed satisfied with your answer, "Can I hang onto this for a while?" He asked, referring to the photo album, "I don't have many photos or anything of them and it would be-"

"Of course," you said with a soft smile, "I heard what happened at your Quidditch match on Saturday, how are you feeling?" You hadn't attended the match but it was the talk of the school. There had been a Dementor on the Quidditch pitch and it had caused Harry to fall from his broom. Dumbledore had made sure he landed safely but it didn't mean he was completely unhurt.

Harry nodded, "I'm alright. I just... I don't know why Dementors affect me so much. I wish there was a way to stop them."

Remus opened his mouth and you looked to him with a smile, "Well, Harry, there is a spell that casts them away," Remus said softly, "and I would be more than happy to teach you it."

Harry beamed, "Really?"

"He's the best teacher for it," you said to Harry with a warm smile.

"It's not the easiest of spells to conjure so it will take a lot of practice." Harry agreed eagerly with everything Remus was telling him, "And I think it best to not tell anyone about learning it, you know how people can be, I think we keep it between us." Again, Harry nodded, "Why don't you come to my office tomorrow after your last class before dinner, we can practice then?"

"Thank you, Professor."

Harry asked a few more questions about parents, things that no one else would be able to tell him. What was my dad's favourite subject? Did my mum get good grades? What was the wedding like? Was my dad good at Quidditch? What did they want to work as? And after another twenty minutes, you bid goodnight to Harry who scampered off clutching the photo album with everything he had.

Remus hovered in your office as you washed the teacups in the kitchen next door. He noticed you had another photo album laying on the table. Curiously, he picked it up and started to flick through it. It was photos of your life after Hogwarts, after James and Lily's deaths, after Peter's death and Sirius's imprisonment... after him. There were various faces, none of which he knew or recognised, but he with every turn of the page his curiosity only grew larger. Photos of you posing at monuments, photos of you laughing with a dark haired woman and blonde woman, photos of you drinking Firewhisky and then he stopped turning when he hit the next section, photos of you with a dark haired very handsome man. There were lots of photos of you and him. Photos where he smiled at you, eyes full of love, photos of you laughing with him, head thrown back as you grinned at the sky, photos of the two of you dancing in the moonlight... a photo of you kissing him and pulling away to grin at the camera. It hurt him knowing how much of a good life you had that he wasn't a part of. He didn't know why it hurt so much to see you happy, to see you living; to see you in love. But my god, it felt like his insides were being torn out through his chest. He hadn't been a part of your life for so long and it hurt knowing that. It hurt knowing that for a decade, you had moved on. You had loved.

You walked through from the kitchen and back to your office where you saw him, photo album in his hands. You raised your eyebrows, surprised that he was going through it but not upset or annoyed. You walked over, seeing the photos he was on, "That was from a rather... odd time in my life."

Remus looked up slightly startled, "Sorry, I didn't mean to-"

You shook your head, sitting on the edge of the desk beside him, "That's Ren," you said, pointing at the man who you had seemed so happy with, "I met him through..." you flipped a few pages back and pointed at the dark haired girl in your photos, "Rei. I met her about two years after we lost contact. I had gone travelling around the world to try and force myself to forget about James and Lily. I met Rei and Grace the other girl in the photo. The three of us travelled together for a few months and then Ren joined us, he's Rei's twin brother. They were all Muggles, never knew anything about wizards or magic and I never told them."

Remus's jaw clenched. Somehow knowing his name, personifying him made him feel so much worse.

"Our relationship developed really quickly. He was going back home in two months so the two of us wanted to experience as much as we could together. It all happened very quickly, very heavy... He asked me to come back home with him, move with him, told me that he loved me, he wanted to marry me."

"And- And you didn't want to?"

You shook your head, "I was running from my past. I was caught up in this dream. When he told me that he loved me, the illusion shattered." Remus asked what you meant, "For two years, I jumped from thing to thing to distract myself from the loss of our friends and that's what I'd been doing. Travelling with barely any money, taking up odd jobs here and there to make enough to get me to a new city, making random friends and travelling with them for a while. When I met Ren, he was... fun. He was safe, you know? He made me feel good about myself but... I was using him to forget about everything else in my life. I had lied about everything, who I was, where I came from, what I did for a living... The only true thing I told him was my name. The next day, I came home. Moved back in with my parents. Got a job in a pub and tried to heal."

Remus's face softened.

"It took a while for me to save up enough to move out. I worked in the pub and did tutoring for all sorts of instruments on the side. Took years for me to have a decent night's sleep without dreaming about Sirius, James and Lily..." You plucked another photo album from your desk, "This album was the subsequent years until now." You flicked through it, "I tried to focus on finding joy again." You pointed to a picture, "Bought a shop, turned it into a music shop. Tutoring on the side still, offerings lessons in-shop as well."

Remus was fascinated. He wasn't jealous or angry now knowing the real story of what happened with Ren, now he was just curious.

"Built that up. Still have it, I have someone running it for me just now whilst I'm here. When I saw the advertisement for a Muggle Music teacher here... I jumped at the chance. I'm sure you did the same. I had removed myself from the Wizarding World pretty much because again it was all too painful but when I saw the job come back, I thought that coming back would be the final step in my healing journey."

"And has it been?"

You frowned, taking the two photo albums and tucking them away, "I don't think the healing process is ever truly done. Seeing you again, being back in Hogwarts with you again... it's done a lot of good for me, honestly but that doesn't mean it's been easy. Healing isn't linear... might not ever be done healing."

"Do you regret coming back?"

You shook your head, "Not at all. I reconnected with my best friend and I get to spend time with James's son... Absolutely no regrets."

Remus felt rather ashamed that he'd gotten so jealous over looking at your photos with a former lover. It hurt him in ways it shouldn't because you were here, you'd been offering him the chance of happiness and he had rejected you multiple times so truly, he had no right to be jealous over it.

"I..." He frowned, unsure where to start, "After James and Lily, I pulled away from you when I should've clung to you. I was scared, honestly. Scared of losing the last person I loved... I tried to slot into the Muggle world too but it wasn't too kind to me. I couldn't keep steady employment when you know of my condition. After a few months of me steadily phoning in sick for a week at a time every four weeks, I usually ended up being sacked. I barely had enough money for my rent and for food so I had no chance of making Wolfsbane to aid me... My mother had passed but I didn't dare go back home to my father despite how happy he was to see me. I couldn't endanger him so my only choice was to take odd jobs. Jobs that were far below my level of skill and expertise but I had to."

He clicked his tongue, "Sometimes I'd pop into Diagon Alley and would find some Wizards who needed help clearing out a Boggart or things like that so would do that but most of the time it was jobs like cleaning a pub, helping out at a farm, deliveries... Mostly that sort of thing... I had seen the Defence post being advertised each year and it was Dumbledore himself actually who sought me out this year. He convinced me to come... There were a lot of times where I hadn't enough money for the basic necessities. I still don't, as you can see by my clothes and belongings. Everything I own is second hand and in tatters." He felt ashamed again. Shame burned hot on his face and in the pit of his stomach. Poor, penniless Remus his mind taunted, "In twelve years, you seem to have accomplished a lot and I have accomplished very little." Remus continued, "That's part of the reason I cannot be with you. Aside from being a werewolf, I have nothing to my name. I'm poor and I can't give you the life you deserve... that and I could maul you at any full moon." The last part was said with some form of bitter humour.

Your heart ached for him, "Just because you have less that a person does not mean that you are less than them," you reminded him gently, taking his cold hand and grasping it tightly in your own, "Penniless or not, Rem, that's not why I care the way I do about you." For a moment, hope surged inside him warming the coldest cockles of his heart but quickly, he extinguished that hope, sliding his hand from yours. You tried not to let the action hurt you or - at the very lease - try not make it obvious that it did.

The two of you had experienced completely different experiences in the last twelve years. One had gone off, making a better life for themselves and in some respects had been rather successful and the other had suffered, barely skimming by. Yet neither of you were entirely different people. Yes, Remus's face was tired with more lines and a weary look in his eye. He wasn't as brave as he once was, he was isolated but you knew that your Remus was still in there, you would often catch glimpses of him every so often. You were just as outspoken as you once were though you were angrier, less happy. Remus noticed that when you concentrated on something you always frowned whereas before your eyebrows would raise in wonder. Different but not completely. Partly a stranger, partly familiar. It was a weird sort of limbo the two of you were caught in.

Remus swallowed and cleared his throat after a few minutes of silence, "I should go." You let him go and once he was gone, you found yourself closing your eyes, fingertips dancing over your other palm as you tried your hardest to retain the details of how his hand felt in yours.

Remus stood outside your classroom, heart beating like a drum. Remus had always been a very level-headed person, always listening to his head and never to his heart but tonight was different. His mind whirred with ideas, questions, thoughts and fantasies that he couldn't stamp down. The light tendrils of hope that he had thought he extinguished reached out wrapping themselves around his heart and squeezing until it was almost all covered. His head fell back against the door of your classroom as he squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to fight his own compulsion.

"Bugger it to all Hell."

And then in not Remus Lupin fashion, he threw open your classroom door and marched towards your office with determined stomps. He didn't hesitate.

"You hesitate, Moony," James said with a shake of the head, "Every time there's an opportunity to tell Ghost, you hesitate!"

"What's wrong with hesitating?"

"You hesitate and it means you think and your brain is its own worst enemy! Don't hesitate, don't think... just do."

Remus opened your office door and found you were still perched on the edge of the desk, staring intently down at your hands with an unreadable expression. It took until Remus was halfway to you to realise that he was there.

"Rem?" You asked confused as you looked up at him, "What are you-"

Just do.

His hands, steady and warm, planted themselves on your cheeks and you barely had time to register the fact he was holding your face when he was kissing you. It was a bold, brave kiss and fireworks seemed to explode in your stomach. He was here. Your Remus. You melded into his touch, hands finding themselves clasping his shirt, you could feel his chest beneath it, feel his heart beating wildly under your fingers. The kiss was deep and passionate and Remus's body moved into yours, his leg between yours but the need for air was too great and all too soon, Remus had detached his lips from yours leaving you both breathless and rather flushed. His forehead fell to yours, pressing against it gently as you panted and then he pulled away slightly. His pupils were dilated and his skin had a rather healthy rosiness to it.

He opened his mouth and then he... hesitated and he began to think, "Goodnight, (y/n)," he whispered, breath fanning over your face before he completely pulled himself away from you leaving your office and your classroom rather hurriedly. You stayed staring at the place where his face had been, happy and rosy, as your fingers moved to your lips feeling the ghost of his on yours as you tried to comprehend what had just happened.

Remus's face burned scarlet the whole walk two floors down to his classroom and when he got there, he cast the locking charm so that no one could bother him. He went straight to his office and through to the adjoining bedroom where he collapsed onto the bed, hands over his face as he tried to calm his drumming heart.

It took a long time for you to wrap your head around the events of the last few minutes with Remus. Yes, you had kissed him the previous week but this was different. This was Remus kissing you. This was Remus finally allowing himself to feel for you, letting his heart take over for a change. This was entirely different. Your hands shook with excitement as you got dressed for bed and when you finally settled beneath the duvet, your mind reeled with questions of what would be.

Remus stared at the ceiling, unable to sleep, as his mind berated him over and over. He felt stupid. He felt silly for letting his heart take over. With a loud groan, he stood up, dressing back into his outdoor clothes. A walk, he decided firmly, a walk to calm the nerves. Memories of ghosts past continued to creep up on him.

"Moony, you seriously have got to stop thinking!" Sirius hissed to him as he joined the two boys by the fireplace in the Common Room, "You just have to tell her how you feel."

"What if she doesn't feel the same?" Remus asked with a pointed look to James who threw himself back dramatically with his arms in the air in an exasperated show, "I'm-"

"I'll hex you if the next word to leave your mouth is 'dangerous' or 'a monster'," James snarled before his face softened, "Moony, we know for a fact she likes you."

"(y/n)'s bloody told us before you dolt!" Sirius scowled, "You're a Gryffindor, Moony, use some of that lion courage and tell her."

Remus's mind was made up and he slunk into the red armchair, "But I'm not a lion, am I? I'm a wolf."

His two best friends exchanged tired looks, "But if you never tell her, if you never take the chance... Will you ever be truly happy?" It was James who spoke, "Will she ever be truly happy if the boy she adores never makes a move?"

"No, I suppose you're right," Remus said softly, "but... she'd be safe."

tag list: @foodpills@fairyy27@queen-of-disaster-222@moon-witchs-world@poppysavage11@wildtigerlili@lupinandtonks@eury-dice3@qweengigi@magical-spit@jennifer0305 CALLSIGNWIDOW SPIDERMANSOLOSURFAV ROARHAVENSEND RYOIII CHAOSOFMANYFANDOMS BONZA-BEAR FLUFFYBUNNYU REESEEVERHART FANBOYLUVR

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muffinpink02 · 2 months

Text

Bronze Is Better Then Gold

part 2 here

Summary - Ona has transferred to a new police force, she meets her partner, Lucy Bronze. The girls hit it off right away, flirting at every chance they can get. But will Lucy’s past get in the way?

This is an AU story, but its got most of the girls from the lionesses featuring. People seem to like it so thought you guys might too.

Warnings - some suggestive scenes (lets keep it 18 and above) lots of angst, gun violence, smut to come in last chapter (chapter 4)

Ona shivered from the crisp cold morning air. It had just hit the start of October and the signs of autumn were already showing. Even after nearly five years of living in the UK the Spaniard still hadn’t got used to the cold English weather.

She drank the last sip of her coffee, taking in the grey building in front of her. Her new place of work.

She watched as a couple of uniformed police officers walked into the building, talking amongst themselves. She took in a deep breath, trying her best to shake off the first day nerves.

It was her first day at the new firm. She had been personally scouted from the Chief Constable to have a chat. When asked if she wanted to transfer it was an easy yes for Ona. The building was closer to home, it was a day shorter in the working week with Mondays off. And the Chief Constable was well known to be excellent at her job. Her team was one of the best in the city of London. She was definitely someone Ona wanted to be working under.

She dashed her empty coffee cup in a nearby bin and made her way to the buildings reception, where she was greeted by a very overly happy receptionist. Not something that she was used to back in her old firm or in London for that matter.

“Hello, how can I help you today?” The blonde smiled brightly up at Ona.

Ona cleared her throat. “Good morning, I’m Ona Battle, it’s my first day today, I was told to go to reception.”

“Ohh lovely! Welcome! I have all the bits you’ll need.”

Ona smiled at the bubbly blonde. She glanced at her name tag, Esme Morgan.

The blonde grabbed a folder that had lots of paper work inside, she handed it over to Ona.

“Right here’s all the bits you’ll need from me, I’ll take you over to Sarina, the ‘important’ part of the building. I’m Esme by the way. Follow me.”

The blonde was taller than Ona expected her to be, but that wasn’t hard in Ona’s experience, most people in the room were always taller than the Spaniard, unless they were under the age of ten.

“You’ve met Sarina right?” The blonde smiled.

Esme reminded Ona of an excited puppy in the nicest possible way, the girl was full of beans.

“Ahh yes, on video call. She’s really nice.”

“Oh yeah she is, she’s like a mum away from your own mum. Well that’s how I see her.”

Ona smiled, she liked this girl, she wasn’t like your usual Brit, she was genuinely cheery. Not fake cheery, but someone who actually seemed happy.

They walked down a long green corridor, Ona looked over at the pictures on the wall of police officers from across the years, even going back as far as the 18th century.

“We’ve heard such good things about you. I know Sarinas really happy that you joined us.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard good things about this branch. I could never have said no.”

Esme smiled, she had a happy bounce to her as she walked, her cheerful character was almost infectious.

“Ahh that’s great. I hope you like it here, we’ve got a lovely bunch on the team. Do you know who your partner is?”

“Ahh that’s good to hear. Erm I’m going to be working with Gold.”

“Gold? Who’s Gold? I didn’t know we had a gold.” Esme’s face scrunched in confusion.

Ona rattled her brain for the right translation, she was sure it was gold, or was it?

“Oh do you mean Bronze?”

Ona laughed, just slightly embarrassed of her mix up.

“Ahh yes, sorry I haven’t got my elements down.”

Esme smiled widely, Ona couldn’t help but smile back.

“Oh yeah, neither have I, don’t worry about it.” She laughed to herself, turning a corner with Ona following.

“Yeah Bronze is a lovely girl. She’s such a hard worker, one of the hardest workers on the team actually. You’re lucky to have her as your partner.”

Ona smiled, she already liked the sound of her new partner, but she had to try and forget ‘Gold’ and remember Bronze.

But little did Ona know that wouldn’t be hard.

They stopped outside a room with a plaque ingrained with ‘S Weigman’ on the door. Esme knocked a cheery tune.

In a heartbeat she heard a women’s voice coming from inside.

“Come in Esme.”

Esme opened the door motioning for Ona to enter.

“Right, here we are, this is where I leave you. Sarina will take it from here. Good luck today and if you need anything you know where to find me.”

“Thank you Esme, it was lovely to meet you.”

Esme nodded, a happy smile still sitting on her face.

“Oh by the way, Claudia called, she’s had to cancel the 10 o’clock meeting.”

Sarina nodded, smiling fondly at the blonde, it was as if she was looking at a young child.

“Thank you Esme, and thank you for bringing Ona.”

The bubbly blonde nodded and bounced off, waving at everyone she passed in the corridor. Ona couldn’t help but smile again at the brightness that Esme left on her mood.

“Ona! Please come in. It’s so good to finally meet you in person, I can’t tell you how happy I am that you’ve joined us. Come take a seat. Do you want a tea or coffee, a cold drink?”

Ona took a seat in front of Sarinas desk.

“Oh no, I’m okay, I just had a coffee. Thank you.”

Sarina nodded, smiling at the young girl in front of her.

“Okay, well firstly welcome. I know I’ve said it already but I’m so excited to have you on the team. Emma told me how much of a hard worker you are, you’ve accomplished so much at such a young age. It’s incredible. Emma did not let you go easy! But I’m glad you were happy to move to us.”

Ona smiled at her feet, feeling slightly shy at the compliments.

“Ahh thank you. It’s just part of the role, I really enjoy my job. And yes the move felt right, I had been there since I moved to London, so it was nice for a change. I’ve also heard a lot about you and your team. You’re well known how efficient your squad run.”

Sarina smiled and nodded, taking in the girl in front of her.

“So where are you from? That’s not a British accent I can hear.”

Ona laughed. “I’m from Spain, Catalonia. I’ve been in the UK nearly five years.”

“I see, so why police here and not Spain? What made you move here?”

Ona played with her fingers. “I was in the police force back in Spain, I joined when I was 18 but I wanted a change. I love my city but things didn’t work out how I wanted. I’ve always loved the UK and the people. There’s something special about it.”

Sarina nodded again, smiling warmly at the younger girl.

“I can understand, I’m originally from the Netherlands. I came here to study and never left. I then found my now husband and have lived here ever since.”

Ona nodded, smiling at the women. “The UK spoke to both of us.”

Sarina hummed in agreement. “It did indeed. Do you ever go back home much?”

Ona played with her fingers again, feeling a little uncomfortable. She kept her eyes casted down.

“Erm, not really. I went back once but that’s all.”

Sarina noticed the change in the younger women. She didn’t want to push so she changed the subject.

“Well, these next couple of days I just want you to get to know the team and the building and how we work here. I don’t want to throw you right in the deep end, even though I know you can handle it. I like my staff to feel comfortable first. Bronze and the team will be going on a raid next week. You’ll be joining them.”

Ona nodded. “Okay, that sounds good. I’m really looking forward to meeting everyone and getting stuck in.” She smiled at the older women.

“And I want you to know I am always here if you need to talk about anything, from work, to general life. We have our therapist on site that we ask you to at least see once every two weeks but you can go as much as you want.

Ona now understood what Esme meant about Sarina being a mother figure, she could sense a genuine care from the older women but also a firmness to her.

The Spaniard nodded and smiled. “Thank you.”

“Great, I’ll take you on a tour of the building and you can meet the team and meet your partner.”

Sarina showed Ona around the building, stopping off at certain floors that Ona would need in the future.

They then walked into the main office, where it looked like most of the staff worked. Ona suddenly felt a little nervous, she was fine with meeting new people, she was a social butterfly really, but it was always daunting meeting your new work colleagues.

“Nobbs, Stokes, come and meet Ona Battle, it’s her first day and I want you to make sure she settles in.”

Two short women smiled brightly at Ona, both walking towards her.

“Hello, I’m Jordan or Nobbs. It’s nice to meet you.” She reached her hand out to shake Ona’s.

“Hello Jordan, lovely to meet you.”

“I’m Demi or Stokes. Really happy to have you on the team.” The slightly taller woman also holding her hand out for Ona.

Ona smiled, shaking Demis hand.

“Hello Demi. Also lovely to meet you.”

“You’ll be working a lot with DC Nobbs and DC Stokes. They’re some of the best Detective Constables I’ve ever worked with.”

Serina patted Demi on the back. Looking at the girls like a proud mum.

“Yeah, yeah. You say that about everyone.” Demi rolled her eyes, joking with her superior.

“No? Do I? Oh just the good ones then.” Sarina winked at the Spaniard. Causing the group to laugh.

Ona once again could see the pride this woman had for her team, it was refreshing to see. It definitely wasn’t something she was used to in her old firm.

Demi then spoke. “We’ve heard only good things about you Ona.”

A slight tint of pink rushed to Ona’s cheeks.

“I’m scared I’ve got to live up to this reputation now.”

All four of the women laughed.

“Don’t worry. You have Bronze as a partner, she’ll make sure you live up to it.” A new voice entered the chat.

Ona turned around to face a women even taller then Esme. A cup of coffee in hand.

“Don’t try and scare her Scott.” Jordan scolded the older women.

The taller women laughed at her own joke. She stuck her hand out for Ona to take.

“I’m only joking. I’m Scott, it’s good to have you on the team.”

Ona noticed her thick Northern accent, she knew she’d have to listen extra hard when speaking with the tall woman.

“Thank you, it’s great to meet you.” Ona smiled.

“Ona, this is our SFC Jill Scott, one of the best I’ve ever worked with.”

“That’s true.” Jill took a sip of her coffee looking pleased with herself, while the other two girls rolled their eyes at the banter.

“Where is Bronze?” Sarina looked around the room.

“Gym.” In unison all three of the girls replied.

Ona quirked an eye brow at the response

“That girl! I told her to be here to meet Ona.”

“She probably wanted her muscles to look extra big to show off.” Jordan laughed.

“Yeah, like she needs them any bigger.” Jill took another sip of her coffee.

“Jealousy is a shit trait to have Scott.”

Another voice entered the conversation.

“Ahh Luce, you know I’m only joking. I am indeed just jealous.” Jill laughed.

Ona turned around wanting to give the new voice a face.

Wow.

Ona nearly forgot how to breathe, the woman standing in front of her was stunning. She took in the girl in front of her, she had almond shaped eyes, filled with a beautiful intense shade of green. Like Ona she had a face covered in freckles but a lot less dark and less condensed.

Her face was strong and soft at the same time, her jawline was perfectly defined, yet her other features were soft and feminine, she was gorgeous.

Her face was flushed, a thin layer of sweat glistening over her muscular arms and neck. Her dark hair was wet and scraped back, small curls escaping the messy bun, clearly wet from the gym that the girls had mentioned.

Ona was lost for words, the girl was beautiful.

“Ona this is CI Bronze, she’s going to be there for whatever you need, all of the girls will be, but Bronze is your go to girl.”

Lucy couldn’t hold back the smile that appeared on her face, Ona was breathtaking. It was her eyes that Lucy noticed first, she had wide, soft doe eyes, innocent looking eyes. A beautiful chocolate brown surrounded her iris, making her face warm and inviting.

Dark freckles covered her face, another feature Lucy couldn’t help but admire. Her skin was slightly tanned but not bronze, more of a milk colour. Lucy imagined that was because of the English weather.

It was when Ona smiled that Lucy felt her stomach flutter. She thought her face was beautiful and soft before, but her smile made her perfect. She noticed how chiseled her jawline was when she smiled, how perfectly it fit with her features. The girl was utterly beautiful.

Lucy held out her hand for Ona’s to shake.

Ona had to kick her brain into gear to move, she took Lucy’s hand, instantly loving how soft her skin was against hers.

“It’s great to have you on the team Ona, and like Sarina said, I’m here for whatever you need.”

“Thank you, I can’t wait to work with you.”

They held hands for a second longer than the usual handshake would normally last.

The interaction wasn’t missed by the other women, Jordan and Demi eyed up the the older brunette, smiling between each other as Lucy and Ona kept eye contact for a second too long.

“Okay, well. I’ll let Lucy take care of you from here, if you need anything let the girls know, or if you need anything from me you know where I am.”

The older lady smiled warmly at Ona, leaving her with her new co-workers.

“Let me show you your desk, it’s next to mine.”

“Great.” Ona followed.

Lucy walked towards a row of desks with computers and files of paper work neatly piled on each space. But there was one desk with only a computer that Ona assumed was hers.

“This is you. I apologise in advance my desk can get a little messy now and again.”

“Ahh that doesn’t bother me.” Ona couldn’t keep the smile off her face.

“I’ll try keep and keep it tidy though.”

“She won’t Ona, she’s lying.” Jordan poked her head over Lucy’s computer. Hers and Demis desk both opposite their own.

“Shut it Nobbs,”

Jordan smiled cheekily at the older brunette.

“Trust me Ona, give it a week.” Jordan smiled.

Ona laughed at the banter between the girls, she wondered if her and Lucy would ever get as close.

“Ignore her. I’m going to quickly head for the showers. I know you’ve got all that paper work to go through, so you can just chill here. Kitchen is just over there, help yourself to a drink. Once I’m back I’ll go through some bits with you.” Lucy smiled at the younger girl.

“Sure, sounds good. Enjoy your shower.” Ona had to stop herself from thinking too hard about Lucy in the shower. She looked around the room, noticing other people at their desks working, she was going to have to try and remember a lot of names today.

She started to read through her paper work, it was mostly rules and work conducts she had to read and agree to.

Eight pages in to her paper work she felt Lucy hover over her.

“God I hate all of this, it’s so boring, but I get it, it has to be done.” Lucy rolled her eyes.

Ona smiled, she agreed but she wasn’t going to make it obvious. “Ahh yeah, I know. Nearly done though.”

Lucy nodded. “Do you fancy a tea or coffee? I’m going to make one.”

“Coffee please.” - “Tea for me.” Jordan and Demi loudly put their order in.

Lucy rolled her eyes. “I wasn’t asking you!”

“Don’t be like that, you’re going anyways.” Demi shouted back.

“Fine. Ona?” Lucy started to get up.

“Erm, tea please? With two sugars please.” Ona smiled.

Lucy had to hold herself back from saying the ‘you’re sweet enough’ line.

“No problem.” Lucy made her way to the kitchen.

Ona smiled as she read on with her paper work.

Ona drank her tea that Lucy made, listening to the brunette talk about what investigations the team was working on.

“But don’t stress too much, I’ll have you sitting in the catch up on Friday, so you can get an idea. I’ll send over some bits so you can read them in your own time. I know the first day can be a lot.”

If Ona was honest she was more than grateful for the slow introduction to the work. She was finding it hard to concentrate with Lucy. She’d never been one for distractions with work, but she was having to listen extra carefully to Lucy, instead of watching her lips, wondering what they would feel like against her own.

Ona nodded. “Yeah that’s great. I’ll go over that tonight, thank you Lucy.”

“Great. It’s nearly lunch, Sarina has insisted we go for lunch together to get to know each other. Partners and all that. But don’t feel like you hav-.”

“Yes!” Ona internally winced at her own eagerness

Lucy chuckled.

“I mean yeah, that’s sounds great. It’s a good idea.”

“Cool, do you like pizza?”

“I love pizza.”

“Oi, don’t try and par us off, we was CC’d on that email too.” Jordan’s head pocked over the computer.

Lucy rolled her eyes once again at her friend.

——————-

The conversation between the girls came naturally, they spoke about why they got into the police force, and some of their hardest cases.

Ona explained that she fell in love with London, and how she always wanted to be a police officer when she was young. She kept some bits brief, not wanting to get into certain bits of her life.

She noticed those greens eyes watching her throughout the meal, every time she caught her, the older brunette would dart her eyes to something or someone else, but she was caught every time.

*********

By the end of the day Ona was tired, she’d already not slept great the night before down to nerves. She had met everyone else in the office after lunch, so by five she was yawning.

Lucy was on her computer sending Ona some notes to read.

“Right, don’t stress about reading this tonight. It’s been a long day.”

“But don’t be tired on Friday, we’re going to The Rose and Crown. And it’s the rules, you have to come.” Jill had come up behind Ona.

“Well it doesn’t sound like I have a choice, you can buy my first drink.” Ona smiled, getting used to the girls banter.

All the girls laughed, Jill put her hand on Ona shoulder giving her a squeeze.

“I like this one.”

Lucy was watching Ona, a bright smile on her face, Ona felt her heart beat just a little faster.

——————-

By day two Ona was obsessed with Lucy’s laugh, the girl had a serious nature to her, but once Ona made her laugh she couldn’t stop. She wanted to hear that beautiful sound whenever she could. It was a good thing Lucy actually seemed to find her funny. Ona felt a rush of excitement go through her, even at a glimpse of Lucy’s beautiful smile, the girl did have a beautiful smile.

By day three Lucy had to physically stop herself from staring at Ona. The younger girl would be doing the simplest of tasks and Lucy seemed to find it fascinating. She watched the Spaniard making them tea in the kitchen, talking and laughing with others in the office. Lucy maybe even getting a little jealous when someone made the shorter girl laugh hard.

Ona may have noticed the eyes on her and was loving every second of it. Making sure to laugh a little harder at something someone would say.

By day end of day there neither girl could keep the other out of their head. Lucy thought about Ona as she made dinner at home, wondering if Ona would like her cooking. Meanwhile Ona got comfy on her sofa to watch a film, wondering what it would be like to have Lucy cozied up next to her.

By Friday morning, Ona thought about Lucy as she ate her porridge, wondering what her morning routine looked like. As Lucy finished her workout in the gym she wondered if Ona was a morning person. She wondered what it would be like to wake up next to a groggy Ona. The thought made her body heat up.

———————

“We have eyes on Harvey Smith aka ‘Bugz’ and Frank Smith aka ‘Slims’. We know the brothers are highly dangerous to the public. We believe Slims is the brains behind most of the drug operations and Bugz is mostly muscles for Slims. On Wednesday at seven hundred hours, our teams will raid the location that we suspect they will be. We’ll have Scott and her team ready with arms. Carter will have the K9s unit, Bright and Greenwood will have their teams ready on site.”

Lucy looked over at her team.

“Any questions?”

Everyone shook their heads, and Ona wasn’t surprised. Lucy was clear with her instructions, she’d gone through many different stages of the plan. Ona understood why she was in this role.

“If you have any please come to me.”

Lucy looked her watch. “It’s 4.45 and Friday let’s call it a day.”

The room hummed in agreement, light chatter broke out as people started to leave the room.

Ona went to her desk to grab her bag and jacket, she felt a pair of hands on her shoulders.

“Ready for the pub?”

Lucy’s voice filtered into her ears, Ona nearly shivered at how close the brunette was.

“Sii. I’m ready.”

“Great. Nobbs, Stokes, Scott, let’s go.”

—————-

Most of the staff from the office were at the pub, clearly a favourite of theirs. They made their way upstairs to a booth next to a fire place, Ona instantly felt the warmth from the fire kissing her cheeks.

“Right, I’ll get first round who wants what?” Lucy stayed standing.

The girls gave in their orders. Before Ona could offer to help with the drinks and also just have an excuse to be with Lucy, Jill got in there first.

“Right come on then, I’ll help ya.”

At the bar Lucy gave in the orders. She knew Jill wanted to say something as the Geordie had never offered to help anyone with the drinks since working with her.

“Go on then, what do you have to say?” Lucy looked hard at the taller women.

Jill smiled smugly. “Nothing gets past you.”

Lucy hummed.

“Just noticed you’ve been a lot more chirpier around the office. A lot more happy. Started since our new Detective Inspector started.”

Lucy felt the knot in her stomach, was she that obvious? Did Ona notice? Who else noticed? Either way Lucy wasn’t going to fess up.

“You chat shit Scott.”

Jill laughed loudly.

“You know I don’t. Come on it’s okay, no harm in it. Just happy to see you happy to be honest. It’s been a while since I’ve seen that smile on your face.”

Lucy knew what Jill really meant when she said that. She could tell the older women said it with her own hint of sadness to her voice. If she was being honest, it was the first time this year she had felt a little happier. And it was all because of the short Spanish girl sitting upstairs.

“So Ona are you seeing anyone at the moment?” Jordan asked.

“No, I’m not seeing anyone. I’m a single, how do you say? Dingle?”

The girls laughed. “Pringle, a single Pringle.” Demi corrected.

Ona laughed. “Ahh that’s it. Single Pringle. What about you guys?”

“Demi here’s engaged, with a baby.” Jordan smiled.

“Ahh that’s lovely.” Ona smiled.

“And Jordan has a little thing going on with a blonde in the HR team.”

“Oi, shut up.” Jordan looked panicked.

“Oh come on Jordan, everyone knows. You guys really aren’t subtle.” Demi laughed at her friend.

“Who’s not subtle?” Lucy placed the tray full of drinks on the table, sceptically looking at her friends.

“Just Jordan and Leah.”

Lucy let out a breath she didn’t realise she was holding.

“Oh yeah, you guys aren’t subtle.”

“You can talk.” Jordan muttered.

Ona didn’t miss the daggers Lucy shot at Jordan.

The evening was full of laughter, Ona couldn’t help but feel a little sense of relief that these were her colleagues. They instantly made her feel like she was part of the team, it felt like she had been there longer than four days, it felt like she’d known these girls in another lifetime.

The pub bell rang.

“Last orders!” A bar girl shouted.

“One more for the road?” Lucy looked around the table.

“Not me, I’m at a coffee tour tomorrow.” Jill sipped on her pint.

“Yeah me too. I’m a plus one for a 2 year olds birthday party tomorrow.” Demi slumped in her seat.

“Yeah I’ve got to head off. I’m meeting a friend tomorrow.” Jordan cleared her throat.

“Yeah ‘friend’.” Demi laughed.

“I’ll stay for another.” Ona looked at Lucy.

Lucy had to hold back the excitement that bubbled up in her chest. Herself and Ona hadn’t really gotten any one on one time since the girl joined the team.

“Finally! Someone who isn’t a lightweight. Same again?” Lucy looked at Ona.

“It’s my turn. I’ll get this.” Ona shot up, going down to the bar before Lucy could argue.

Once the Spaniard was gone all three of the girls looked at Lucy, smirks on their faces.

“What?” Lucy looked at her friends.

“Oh come off it Luce, you like the girl.” Jordan nudged Lucy’s arm.

“What? No I don’t.” The brunette tried to defend herself.

She looked at Jill, hoping for some back up.

“I’m staying out of it. I’ve already said enough.“ She shook her head putting her coat on.

“Come on Bronzey. You can tell just by the way you look at her.” Demi laughed.

The smirk that creeped on her lips gave her feelings away.

“Is it that obvious?”

All three girls smiled happily at the brunette.

“Awww our girls got a crush.” Jordan grabbed the back of Lucy’s neck, making the girl duck her head.

“Get off.” She laughed.

“She’s single.” Demi quirked.

“Yeah but I don’t even know if she’s into girls.”

All three of the girls laughed hard then.

“Come on Luce, I thought you was a detective. The girl looks at you like you’re the best thing since sliced bread. I think this its a mutual feeling.” Jill lightly chuckled.

Lucy scoffed. “I doubt that.”

Before the girls could harass Lucy anymore Ona returned.

“Right I’m off. I hope you’ve enjoyed your first week Ona. The real work starts on Wednesday.” Jill winked.

“Sii, I’m looking forward to it. And thank you girls for making me feel so welcome. I appreciate it.” Ona smiled at the girls.

“It’s been a pleasure Ona.” Jordan smiled.

“Yeah, you fit in so well Ona, so glad we got you on our team.” Demi grabbed Ona’s shoulder.

“Look after her Bronze.” Jill pointed at the older brunette.

“Oh, she will.” Jordan winked at Lucy.

Ona didn’t miss the comment, or the way Lucy’s face went a shade of pink. Before Lucy could think of a come back the girls were gone.

Suddenly the room became quiet and the air between, Lucy and Ona felt thick. It was the first time Lucy had felt nervous, they had never been alone before, with no one sticking their nose into their conversations.

Ona was buzzing, don’t get her wrong, she loved getting to know her other colleges, loved being a part of the team but she had wanted some alone time with Lucy since she met her.

The fire made a loud cracking noise, the pub still had a few people nursing their drinks.

Lucy had forgotten all words, she hadn’t been able to think about nothing else since this girl came into her life only four days ago, and now her mind had gone blank.

After ten seconds of silence that actually felt like hours, finally Lucy’s brain woke up.

“So speaking about first weeks, how has yours been?”

Ona took a sip of her new drink, smiling.

“It’s been amazing. Everyone has been so friendly, so welcoming. It’s been great.”

Lucy nodded, smiling. She was happy to hear Ona was feeling welcome, she understood it was hard to start a new job anywhere.

“You especially have made me feel so welcome, I’m really happy that you’re my partner Lucy.”

Ona’s smile was shy, she looked at Lucy with those big beautiful brown eyes.

Lucy’s face had definitely changed in colour, she couldn’t hold back the dorky smile that plastered her face.

“I’m glad I have.”

Lucy smiled with her brilliant teeth.

“And yeah, you’re not too bad yourself. Definitely need to get you better at making tea, then you’ll be perfect.” She smiled cheekly at Ona.

Ona laughed hard. “Aye it’s not that bad!”

Lucy drank her drink, looking around making a point to not look at Ona.

“You’ll have to teach me.” Ona didn’t mean to sound sexy, but Lucy couldn’t help but think her voice got an octave lower.

Lucy pointed between herself and Ona. “If this is gong to work, then yeah, I’ll teach you.”

“Fine.” Ona smiled.

“Good.”

“Great.”

“Perfect.”

“No puedo esperar.” (I can’t wait)

Ona definitely lowered her voice that time. Lucy felt the heat rise up in her cheeks. Lucy laughed trying to gain her nerve back. She tried to change the subject before her face went any redder.

“Are you going back to Spain for Christmas?”

Ona’s smile dropped, she hadn’t told anyone the real reason for leaving Spain. It wasn’t because she was ashamed, it was just still a hard thing for her to digest. But if she could tell anyone Lucy would be the best person.

“No, I, ……. my parents don’t talk to me because I am gay.”

Lucy’s own smile dropped. She could see the sadness in Ona’s eyes, it broke her heart.

“Oh, Ona. I’m so sorry. When did they do that?”

“It happened when I was 19. They found out and kicked me out of my home. They blocked me and never spoke to me again. So I moved here. I wanted to move here at some point anyways, but it was sooner than I’d have liked.”

Lucy could feel her own tears well in her eyes.

“Have you spoken to them since?”

Ona looked down at her drink.

“After a year of living here I went back to Spain, to see if they would speak to me. But when I got to my home my mum closed the door on my face. I tried to reach out in many ways but they won’t talk to me.”

Lucy couldn’t believe how anyone could purposefully hurt the girl in front of her, let alone her own parents. It made her angry but Ona didn’t need that kind of response. She reached out her hand, gently grabbing Ona’s.

“I know we haven’t known each other that long but I am here if you ever wanna talk. Or if you ever just want an ear, I’m all yours.”

Ona smiled at Lucy, she heard everything she had said but mostly ‘I’m yours’ stood out most to her. “Thank you Lucy. I appreciate it.”

Lucy squeezed Ona’s hand, not ever wanting to let go, her hand felt so small and delicate in her own.

“Hi guys we’re closing up now.” The girl from behind the bar shouted loudly.

The last thing she wanted to do was leave Ona now. She wanted to do nothing else then scoop the girl up and hug her until she could smile again, even then Lucy wouldn’t want to let go.

“I guess we better leave.” Ona smiled sadly.

“You hungry?”

Ona nodded. “Starving.”

“Do you like chips?”

Ona nodded again, gaining back a smile.

“Right, come on then. I know the best place.”

——————-

“Okay don’t tell no one but I prefer curry sauce with my chips, and as a northerner that’s a bit of a crime. The northerners prefer gravy, I like both but the curry sauce just tastes so good.”

“I don’t think I’ve had it with chips before.”

“What? Okay, I’m about to blow your mind Battle.”

Ona laughed hard, she loved this excited version of Lucy, it probably was the fact that they were both tipsy and not in the office but it was nice to see the girl relaxed.

They left the chippy with their precious chips in hand.

“There’s a bench nearby if you want to eat there?”

“Yes, let’s do that. I want to give my full attention to your curry sauce.” Ona giggled.

“Thats what I like to hear. It’s just five minutes from here. It’s worth the walk.”

Ona followed Lucy down the coberrly streets of London. She watched as some business men stumbled into a black cab as they passed a posh looking restaurant.

They came to a busy road, with a few more pubs and bars lining the street. She felt Lucy link her arm into hers as she guided them easily through the crowds. Her heart skipped three beats from the simple gesture, just like it did in the pub when Lucy took her hand.

“Just down here.”

They got to a dark stair case leading down, Ona followed the older women, she would follow her anywhere at this point, no questions asked.

And as they got down the steps she saw why Lucy brought her here.

It was the perfect skylight of London. Ona had lived in London for nearly 5 years. She had seen the skylight in many different ways. Different times of the day, different seasons, different angles but this was the prettiest she’d ever seen it.

“Wow! It’s beautiful.”

“Yeah.” Lucy was looking at Ona. Agreeing with both views.

“I come here sometimes when I need to think. Or just needing some time alone. Come sit.”

They sat on the bench facing the Thames, the lights of London lighting up the sky.

“Right, get your chip and dip.”

Lucy held out the curry sauce.

Ona dipped a thick chip in the sauce, she already liked the smell of it, so she hoped she’d like it. And she did, she loved it.

“Oh wow, that’s so good.” She dipped another chip.

“Yes! I knew you’d like it. Get in.”

Lucy dipped her own chip then, a satisfactory smile on her face.

Ona watched the girl, smiling at her. There was something about Lucy, something that seemed like a comfort that she had known before, a comfort she hadn’t felt in years.

The girls spoke about random things, laughing at the one another as they ate their chips.

Once they had finished their food a comfortable silence settled between them.

Until Ona yawned.

“Yeah, it’s late. Where are you from here? We can maybe share an Uber” Lucy picked up her phone.

“I’m in Battersea.”

Lucy’s eyes brightened. “I’m in Wandsworth. Nearly neighbours.”

Ona loved the thought of them being so close. She couldn’t help but wonder if Lucy would ever meet up with her on a weekend.

Ona gave Lucy her address for the Uber.

“Cool, they’ll be here in two minutes.”

They walked to the pick up destination, both suddenly quiet. It felt like neither girl wanted the night to end.

The Uber picked them up, both girls jumping in the back. It was at least a 20 minute drive to get home, so Ona grabbed the aux cord.

She put on Rosalía - BESO. Lucy turned to her smiling. The older brunette began to sing perfect Spanish like it was nothing. Ona’s mouth fell open in complete surprise.

“What? You can speak Spanish?”

Lucy laughed at the girls shock. “Yeah a little bit.”

She didn’t know why but it turned Ona on to know Lucy could speak Spanish, not just Spanish but Catalonian, it was hot.

The girls sang mostly to Rosalia all the way. Lucy was first the be dropped off. She turned to Ona.

“Night Ona. I’ll see you Tuesday.”

“Lucy wait, I should have your number.”

“Oh yeah, you should. Pass it here.”

Ona handed her phone and Lucy put her number in it, she called her phone to save Ona’s.

“Text me when you’re in please.”

“I will.” Ona smiled at the older women.

Lucy slid out the car and walked towards her home. Ona and the Uber driver watched as she walked into her house.

As soon as Ona got in she texted Lucy to tell her she was home.

Ona - Hola! I’m home. I owe you for the ride x

Lucy replied instantly .

Lucy - don’t worry about it x

Lucy - actually you can pay me back by making better teas 🤔 x

Ona - Fine! I’ll do better! I’ll make your tea better then you do for yourself 💪 x

Lucy laughed to herself.

Lucy - hmmm bit confident, we’ll see x

Ona - got to be confident in yourself 💅🏼 thank you for a good night Lucy, I really enjoyed myself xx

Lucy - you’re right! And you’re welcome, I really enjoyed myself too. And always here if you need a chat xx

Ona - thank you Lucy ❤️ good night xx

Lucy - good night xx

#woso soccer #women’s football #woso #woso community #lucy bronze #woso fanfics #ona batlle #alternate universe #woso couples #woso imagine

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sacredthefran · 1 year

Text

Cream & Sugar

Pairing: Jake Kiszka + Female Reader Warnings: Sugar Daddy, Some Drinking, Oral Sex (M receiving). 18+. Minors DNI Word Count : 10.2k Authors Notes: The recent pics of Jake have been giving me sugar daddy vibes. This is my first smut. I’m scared. I’m thinking about making this a series but I’m not 100% sure yet Enjoy :)

Part 2 (x)

Tick tock.Tick Tock. You glanced at the clock on the far wall from your cubicle. Just two more hours, you kept repeating to yourself. See, your job wasn’t horrible, it’s just been a hell of a day. Monday’s, gotta love them, right? You woke up late, your car wouldn’t start, spilled coffee all over your favorite blouse and heels. But the thing that really topped your morning off? Receiving a letter stating that you had a week and some spare days to pay your rent up to date or you were going to be homeless. To be fair, your landlord has been an angel for the past couple of months. Your payments have been consecutively late or you just haven’t paid for a couple of months. You guessed they decided that enough was enough. As close to homelessness as you were, none of your friends or family would let that happen, they would take you under their wing in a heartbeat. But the last thing you needed right now was your father giving you the lecture of a lifetime.

“Now y/n, you know damn well that if you were falling behind on bills that you could’ve told us. We have no problem helping you out.”

Your mother and father still viewed you as their little girl– constantly ignoring the fact that you were a grown twenty-five year old college graduate and one of the only women actually holding a position other than “secretary” at your law firm. Granted you were just an intern, still-it felt like a huge accomplishment. American Justice wasn’t the biggest firm in Chicago. None of the lawyers here have yet to receive a big case or have any big name clients. Slowly but surely, American Justice was starting to gain more attention. But, that didn’t really matter to you. You were willing to do anything it takes to make a name for yourself.

“Hey, fuck face. Come take a smoke with me.”

Oh Beth, she always had a way of making a grand entrance. With a swift roll of your eyes, you grabbed your pack of Marlboro Menthol Ice and headed towards her.

“You okay? You’re looking a little stressed. All that stress is going to make you need botox.”

You turned to her with a quizzical look.

She backtracked, “Not that you need it right now, but you keep furrowing your eyebrows. Those wrinkles are going to catch up to you sooner than you realize.”

Grabbing Beth's arm you started a brisk walk towards the doors, “Yeah, yeah. You got a lighter or am I going to have to ask one of the pricks upstairs?”

“You know I always have a lighter.”

You inhaled the nicotine and exhaled the stress. Silently hoping that all the comments about your stress were over. It turns out Beth wasn’t finished with that conversation quite yet. After taking a long drag - she speaks her mind once again.

“C’mon y/n out with it, I can tell that something is going on with you. Lie all you want but I know when something is eating you up. What is it? Guy issues? I thought you kicked the last guy to the curb. Or were you lying to me about that? You better not have been. Wait, I know exactly what it is!” She exclaimed. “It’s money issues isn’t it?”

Dammit, she was always so good at reading you. While being at the ripe age of thirty-six, Beth has experienced some things. She has a habit of telling people bits and pieces, but never the full story.

“Okay, okay. If I tell you, you have to promise not to tell anyone. I mean anyone.” You looked at Beth with hope that she would promise you to keep her lips sealed.

“Damn kid, did you kill someone or something?” Beth chuckled, but it dropped the minute she saw how serious you were. “Cross my heart and hope to die, I won’t say anything”.

You took a deep breath and mumbled.

“Huh? You know I’m old, I can't hear you.” Beth spoke.

“I’m so far behind on all my bills! I'm going to be homeless in a week if I don’t pay my rent. I can’t be homeless, I can’t move back in with my family. I can’t do it Beth, I just can’t do it.” You finally lifted your eyes to meet Beth’s.

“Hey, it’s going to be okay, you can always just move in with me and my family.”

As much as you loved Beth, it wasn’t ideal. She had a nice little townhouse filled with her husband and three kids. You loved kids– actually, you absolutely adored them. You couldn’t wait to have your own, but you just didn’t want to deal with them in your twenties.

“Beth you know I love you, but I can’t do that.”

Beth started chuckling “Oh, I know. I wouldn’t want you to deal with those little crotch gremlins. They make me want to rip my hair out and I’m their mother. I can only imagine what they’ll do to you.” She always had a way of making you laugh when you wanted to cry. It just wasn’t working this time.

“Beth……I’m serious. What the hell am I going to do? I’m scared.” You felt teardrops starting to leak out of your eyes.

“It’s easy. Just become an escort,” Beth shrugged her shoulders as if she was just mentioning what she wanted for lunch.

“I’m sorry, what the fuck did you just say to me?” You huffed.

“Easy tiger, maybe not an escort but a sugar baby.”

Beth must be out of her mind.

“Look, I know it's not an ideal situation for you. Trust me, there are good men out there who just don’t have time to date, they just want someone to talk to. Maybe occasionally fuck, and they just so happen to pay you for your time.”

You looked at her with so many questions in mind. “How do you know so much about being a sugar baby?”

Beth started chuckling once again. “Wipe that stank look off your face. I used to be one. I did it for two years before I started law school. I was able to make enough money to put myself through school and I didn’t have to work. I know it sounds crazy, honestly, you should just try it. I’ve been out of the game for a long time, but I’ve kept in contact with one of the girls, Deandra. She’s still in the business and I bet that she would help you out.”

Beth kept on rambling.

“Matter of fact, she asked me if I would be interested in this one guy, but obviously I turned it down because I have Dean now. I can send you this guy’s number. That’s all she supplied me with. Deandra does a background check on any guy that comes across her radar - weeds out the bad ones and handpicks all the ones that seem promising. He’s too young for her to deal with. You know what? Y/n you don’t have a choice in the matter, I’m sending his info over tonight.”

She put her hand up quickly before you could retort. “Do not try to fight me on this. You won't win.”

With a roll of your eyes you and Beth hooked arms and headed back inside, you to your desk and her to her office. She’s crazy, you thought. Glancing at the clock, you sighed happily knowing you only had one hour and forty-five minutes left.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A couple of hours later and just a little tipsy off of some Cabernet, you were finally taking a relaxing bubble bath. Probably the last bubble bath in this apartment, that thought kept replaying in your head. A flash of light caught your attention, looking over onto the floor you noticed it was text from Beth. Realizing that she actually did it, she actually sent you the contact information for this man. At least she gave you a name this time ; Jake. Jake, okay that’s not an old man’s name. Maybe you could do this, maybe you could go on a couple of dates with him, listen to him bitch about how hard his life is and make a couple of thousand. Fuck it, what’s the worst that could happen? After downing the rest of the blood red liquid, you managed to draft up a text. Even after the three glasses of liquid-courage, you still felt yourself having trouble finding the right words to say. Here goes nothing.

Y/n- Hello, I’m not really sure how to go about this…. but I’m y/n. I got your number from Deandra. She mentioned to me that you were looking for a special type of arrangement.

After sending that text, you decided you weren’t going to sit around and wait for a response. He probably won’t respond anyway, he’s probably going to wonder about why Deandra pawn off his info to someone else. You decided to put your phone on airplane mode until you were finished with your nighttime routine. However, it was almost as if Jake knew that you were planning on not waiting around for his text..

Jake- Y/n, what a pleasure it is to finally hear from you. I was wondering when you were going to message me. Deandra informed me Beth had a gorgeous woman that would reach out to me

Fuck. How in the hell were you supposed to respond to that? Maybe you need another glass of wine.

Y/n- Charming. I wanted to text you and see what kind of a deal we could make. Or how this whole process goes. Sorry. I’m just new to this whole type of arrangement.

Great, now he’s going to know that you’re inexperienced. Way to go y/n. The time seemed to tick by at the speed of molasses. Finally, your phone dinged with the familiar text notification.

Jake- No need to apologize. Deandra already mentioned to me that you wouldn’t know how to go about this whole situation. You’re a smart girl, we’ll figure it out. Besides, everyone has to start out somewhere. I think that we should ease into this relationship. Since you’re new to it. I don’t want to scare you off before I get to experience the lovely y/n in action. Matter of fact, how about we meet Friday night for dinner?

Breathe in, breathe out y/n. It’s just a simple dinner. You can do this, just pretend you’re meeting up with an old friend. It’ll be easy.

You- That sounds perfect. What restaurant do you have in mind? What time would you like for me to meet you there?

Jake- Don’t worry about the restaurant. I’ll make a reservation. I will have a driver come pick you up. His name is Taylor. He will be there precisely at 5. Sharp. Make sure you are ready to go. Please make sure that you are wearing a green dress. I think that it compliments your skin tone well. I look forward to seeing you.

You- 1)How do you know what the hell I look like? 2) How do you know where I live? 3) I don’t wear green, I prefer purple.

Jake- Like I stated before, make sure the dress is green. I don’t do well with people disobeying me. Don’t worry about how I know those details, I know a lot of people in this city. It’s late, you need to go to bed. Have a goodnight Ms.y/l/n.

What the hell am I doing?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next couple of days seemed to fly by. Jake texted you off and on that week. It seemed as if he was excited to see you, but you didn’t want to get ahead of yourself. Tuesday morning you were met with Beth’s beaming face proclaiming that she wanted to know all of the details. Who are you to refuse Beth? It felt nice just to get it out of your system and express all your worries. Of course, the biggest worry was that this man already knew your last name and where you live.

“Oh, that’s easy. I had Deandra tell him your full name and I guess he did his own research to figure out your address”.

Beth then proceeded to tell you that this was normal in the industry, especially as someone of his status. Having little to no details about Jake, you decided to trust Beth’s judgment. She kept promising that he was a good man all throughout the week. Almost like a broken record. Every time you would ask for more information about Jake she would shut you down. Apparently he was the type of guy who wanted to keep all his details private until a deal was made. Cause that’s not sketchy at all.

Wednesday came and went. Thursday morning you walked into work to see a bouquet of flowers on your desk. Attached to them was a little note “I hope that this finds you well, in the envelope there’s a couple of hundreds. Like I stated before, I'm expecting you in green. Wouldn’t want for you to receive a punishment during our first meeting. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow - Jake” .

There was no way this was actually happening. Peaking into the envelope, reality started to hit you. You were actually going to meet this mystery man and let him pay your way through life for the next couple of months. Your inner feminist was screaming at you, it told you to run–preferably away from this whole situation. Your conscience was begging you to just forget about this and go back to your parents. Deciding against your better judgment, you ended up taking Beth out shopping to find a little green number that would drive this man crazy.

“That’s it!” Beth proclaimed. You did a final look in the mirror acknowledging Beth's statement.

After going to countless stores; trying on every green dress possible. You finally opted for something short and lacey. Usually you want to cover every part of your body, but if you were going to commit to this sugar baby bit, why not buy something that is guaranteed to keep all of his attention on you? The dress came just below your fingertips, thank God for dresses that cinch around the waist, it accentuated your hourglass figure. Every curve on your body was looking right and let’s not forget how the cups in the dress were pure lace. Looks like there was no way for you to wear a bra, fuck it.

Friday morning came faster than you could imagine. Maybe it was the nerves or maybe it was the fact that you wanted to make sure you looked perfect for Jake tonight, after all, your life was betting on how dinner would go. It’s been a while since you had to dress for male validation. You were putting on your shoes when a knock on the door startled you.

Looking out of the peephole, you noticed a man standing on the other side of the door seemingly to look directly in your eyes through the small glass circle. “Uh hello?” You opened the door with a shaky breath.

“I work for Mr. Kiszka. I’m Taylor. I’m going to be your driver for the night. I was given specific orders to be at the restaurant by five-thirty ma’am. Let's get a move on. Mr. Kiszka doesn’t take too kindly to people wasting his time. I’m sure he’s mentioned that to you before”.

No. Fucking. Way. It can’t be. There’s no way that Jake is Jacob Kiszka. He was one of the most notorious lawyers on the scene right now. Jake was a practicing lawyer at New Horizons Family Law. It was the biggest firm in Chicago. Jacob Kiszka was a force to be reckoned with, he rarely lost a case. Word on the street was that his clients were actually a part of organized crime, instead of “family law”. Standing in your doorway, you prayed that you wouldn’t stick your foot in your mouth and ask him about his clients tonight. You figured that it would scare Jake away more than anything. You were pulled away from your overthinking to Taylor clearing his throat and pointing at his watch.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Much to Taylor’s dismay, you actually arrived at five thirty-five. Exiting the car you came to the realization that you have no clue if you should wait out front for Jake or if you should already be seated when he gets here. Turning to Taylor you asked him what option would be best, with a huff and puff he told you to go to the host and tell them you’re with Mr. Kiszka. No questions would be asked.

Following his directions, you were shocked at how fast the host was scurrying to get you to a table.

He led you past all the tables in the restaurant, noticing the look of fear in your eyes, he mumbled “Mr. Kiszka is one of our high profile guests. He likes to have all of his meetings in a private room.”

It was all starting to click with you. Jacob Kiszka is the man that you have been texting all week leading up to this moment. Once you finally were seated, the host froze as the door on the left was whipped open. Something was telling you that he wasn’t supposed to be here when Jake arrived..

Oh. My. God. All your suspicions from earlier were true. Standing in the doorway was Jake Kiszka. Before you could get a good look at him the host ran out of the room mumbling a quick “I’m sorry”.

Slowly making his way over to you, you were observing as many details as you could. The first thing you noticed was his hair was pulled back, giving you a perfect view of his angelic face, he was wearing black dress pants with a white shirt unbuttoned all the way down to the beginning of his torso. He wore a golden pendant that rested gently in the middle of his chest, you just wanted to reach out and touch him. He didn’t seem real. Once your eyes finally met his, Jake gave you a smirk. Hopefully he didn’t see you looking at him like an art collector finding an undiscovered Davinci.

“Well, I hope you’re done checking me out. I’m ready to have a seat now,” Jake said smugly.

“Oh, of course. Have a seat. I’m y/n. It’s nice to meet you.” Not only did Jake call you out for ogling him, his smile grew tenfold when he realized how rosy your cheeks were getting under his gaze.

“I know who you are and you know who I am. I think we can skip past all this small talk and actually start to get to know each other. I also wanted to apologize for being late. I had a meeting with my client run over. But, I guess that doesn’t really matter since you were late too.” Jake replied with a smug grin.

“I, uh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be late. I couldn’t find my shoes,” you stuttered nervously.

“So you want to start our relationship off on a bad note?”

You gave him a quizzical look.

“Taylor told me that you were ready to go but you just couldn’t stop daydreaming about me. So much so that it made you late. I don’t do well with people who are late. I expect proper punctuality from now on. It’s okay, I'll let it slip this time. By the way I noticed that you followed my request and wore green. Good Girl.”

You’d hate to admit it, but those two little words had you squeezing your thighs together. No one could blame you for that. This man practically dripped sex. It’s like he knew what he was doing to you.

“Tell me princess, or do you prefer y/n?”

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you finally met his gaze. “Princess works for me.”

Jake grinned at your acknowledgement of your pet name already. “Do I live up to your expectations? Or should I pack it up and send you on your merry way?” He already knew the answer to that question, he just wanted the confirmation from you that you were attracted to him and willing to do anything that he wanted.

“No, you definitely meet my expectations.” Fuck, that wasn’t supposed to come out. Good Job y/n. Now he’s going to think you’re desperate. Jake kept beaming at you, he really was as cheeky as all the rumors stated him to be. As he was about to answer, a waitress came through the door. Saved by the bell.

“Sorry to interrupt, I was wondering if you guys were ready to order?” She offered both of you a smile.

Without breaking your eye contact Jake responded, “We’ll have a bottle of Cuvee Indigene and the chefs special. Thank you.”

You looked at him with an open mouth.

“What?” He looked at you confused.

“Cuvee Indigene? That’s an expensive bottle, I don’t want you to feel like you have to impress me.” You stated matter of factly.

Jake interrupted you by sucking his teeth. “I’m not trying to impress you, I know you like Chardonnay, so why not get you top of the line? I’m about to wire some money into your bank account so I wouldn’t be worrying about how expensive the bottle is if I were you. Also, close your mouth unless that’s an invitation for me to put something in it."

If it wasn’t possible before, your jaw was practically on the floor. Who the fuck does he think he is? Your inner feminist wanted to smack the hell out of him. But as much as you didn’t want to admit it, he was making you feel things that you weren’t supposed to. Judging by how dark your eyes got, Jake could sense it too.

Little to your knowledge, Jake was trying to see how turned on he could get you and how far he could push his limits.

Once again, the door to your left opened and you could hear the noise from the outside. Something to distract you away from this awkward conversation. You noticed in her hand that she had the bottle of wine and two glasses in her hand. Thank you, Jesus. As she went to pour some wine in your glass Jake waved her off and insisted on doing it himself.

“Now, now. What kind of gentleman would I be if I didn’t take care of my girl?”

My girl. You barely know this man and he's already staking his claim. Taking the wine glass in your hand, you reached it out towards him to fill up. Even though there was clearly a power imbalance in between you two, you still wanted to make it known to him that you weren’t some run-of-the-mill sugar baby. You actually would let him boss you around and ruin you, but you didn’t want him to know that yet. You had to keep some semblance of composure.

“Relax Princess, no need to start getting hostile. I just want to show you what it’s like to have someone take care of you.”

Aaaand there the cheekiness is again. He kept filling your glass until it was a half inch from the top.

“Drink up, we have a long night ahead of us.”

Yes, Sir.

Once again the room was filled with silence, it was like neither of you knew what to say to each other. It didn’t feel like it was the proper atmosphere for you to ask him what his favorite movie or color was. Think y/n. Think. You were sweating bullets thinking about what he was implying with “long night”.

If you knew anything about Jake, you would be able to tell that he felt like he stuck his foot in his mouth. He didn’t want to come off too cocky, Jake was attracted to you and wanted to make you aware of it, but he wasn’t sure how to do so. Just as Jake parted his lips to speak, he was interrupted by the waitress coming back into the room.

“Sorry, to interrupt you guys again, but the food is ready.” She glanced at the couple with a nervous smile. You felt bad for the poor girl. You could pick up that Jake’s demeanor made her nervous. As she set down the dishes, he kept a stone cold stare at the back of her head. You waited until she left and then cleared your throat.

“Mr. Kiszka, what are these dishes exactly?”

“Please, call me Jake. Have you ever had French before?”

You quickly shook your head no.

“Why didn’t you tell me when I suggested French? And this dish is called Bouillabaisse. The chef is a personal friend of mine, I made sure that he used Cod instead of Sea Bass, it tastes better.”

You kept your gaze down.

“If you don't like it, I’m sure I can speak to him and have him make you something different.”

When you finally looked up at him, he was biting his lip–staring at you intently.

“No, no. I’m good with it. I didn’t even try it, I was just wondering what it was.” After you stated that, you quickly took a bite to ease his nerves. Damn y/n, you barely know this man and you’re already aiming for his approval.

Jake smiled at this and kept making small talk over the course.

“So what’s the main reason why you wanted to be a sugar baby, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Well, it looks like that was the end of the small talk. You gulped down the remainder of the first wine glass and started motioning for him to fill it up again.

“Do you want the real reason or do you want me to give you some bullshit excuse?”

Jake was in the motion of filling up your glass and looked you dead in the eyes. “I always want the truth, if we are going into this type of relationship I need you to be a hundred percent honest with me. At all times. Do I make myself clear?”

Clear as crystal.

“Does the same apply to you?” You asked him in a venom-ridden voice.

“Of course it does. I know you don’t know how these types of situations work, but I like to run all my relationships based on honesty and trust. If you don’t have trust with your partner, then there isn’t a relationship. That applies to business and personal. You should know that, being a lawyer and all.”

So Beth wasn’t lying. Someone of his status does their research. Well, there goes the thought about being able to lie about why you needed the money. You finally pulled your gaze away from the floor and made eye contact.

“I don’t come from a wealthy family, as much as my parents say they would love to help me, they wouldn’t be able to handle it. If they paid my rent and the bills that I'm behind on, that would put them in the hole. I can’t do that to them. As you know I’m a lawyer, well not yet, technically. I passed my bar but American Justice wont let me practice yet. They want to keep me as an intern. So obviously, they’re not paying me enough. Ever since this damn pandemic, I haven’t been able to support myself. Everything is just starting to add up. Monday I got a letter threatening to evict me if I couldn’t pay the past two months rent by next Thursday. Frankly, I’m just scared. I don’t want to come across as a failure to my parents.”

Jake interrupted your rambling “How would you be a failure?”

You looked at him like he had three heads, “How wouldn’t I? I left for school telling them that I was going to be somebody. I can’t show up on their doorstep years later begging for a place to stay.” You could feel the tears starting to well up in your eyes. Jake noticed this, in an attempt to stop you from crying he reached across the table and rubbed your arm.

“American Justice just wants to keep you as an intern?” You slowly nodded your head at him. “Have you thought about applying to different firms?”

“Of course I have. You don’t think I’ve done that already?” You huffed back at him.

“First off, watch your tone when speaking to me. I’m just trying to help you. After all, this whole arrangement is about me helping you. If you don’t like the way I speak then feel free to leave. The door is right there, princess. Nothing’s holding you here.”

Except the fact that you needed his money.

After realizing that you weren’t attempting to flee the scene, Jake cleared his throat. “I read over your essays from law school. Specifically your thesis about Women's Rights. I’m friends with Roxanne from Sisterhood Movement. Have you tried there? Roxanne would take you under her wing. She would help you build your cases. Roxy is all about empowering women.”

Jake was studying your face. He couldn’t make out your expression.

Looking down at the table, you took a deep breath. “I can’t apply to Sisterhood Movement. Are you kidding me?”

“Why can’t you?” He countered back.

“They’re all powerful names over there. They take on the most high profile cases. I don’t mean just the cases in Chicago, I’m talking about the cases that they take all across the States. As much as I love Roxanne’s work, I don’t want to go over there and ruin everything she’s worked for. I’m just not ready to take on cases of discrimination and sexual harassment yet. I just can’t do it, Jake” God, you sound so insecure right now. Pull it together.

Jake could see the tears forming in your eyes again. He understood that he had to wait until he knew you a little bit better before he could keep pressing the issue with you. “Okay, okay. I won’t keep pestering you about it.”

After that statement, you felt like you could look him in the eyes once more.

“Thank you.”

He smiled weakly at you. “Of course. Now, is there anything that you want to ask me?”

Well there is one thing.

“Out with it. You’re biting your lip. If you’ve got something to ask then just ask.”

You weren’t sure if it was the wine or your nerves but you quickly blurted out “Are you actually a defense attorney for the mafia or is that just a rumor?”.

His eyes turned ice cold at that moment.

“I don’t think that’s anything for you to know. You should know that I do not disclose my clients information. If you were worried about me being connected to the mob, you wouldn’t be sitting here right now, would you?” You hated the fact that warmth started to flood all over your body.

He sensed a change in your breathing pattern. “Now, anything logical you want to ask me? Or do you want to keep sticking your foot in your mouth?” Your jaw dropped open again.

“Princess, I thought I told you earlier to keep your mouth closed. You’re practically begging for me to put something in there.”

Instead of replying to that comment you decided to lean forward just enough that he could see your cleavage. Two can play this game.

Innocently, you traced the rim of the glass. “Mr. Kiszka, I didn’t mean to offend you. I was just asking a simple question.”

Jake could feel himself harden. He wanted nothing more than to bend you over the table at that moment. Jake wasn’t dumb, he knew what you were trying to do to him. “You should really finish your wine right now,”

You tilted your head and in the most innocent voice you could respond, “And why is that Mr. Kiska?” Sitting back you smiled sweetly at him. It was at this moment that Jake registered you weren’t wearing a bra. Your nipples were peaking out of the lace at him, begging to be touched.

“Because, if we're going to continue this conversation, I want to be in the privacy of my own home. Plus, I want to play with my new toy.”

You were positive that your cheeks were painted red at the mere thought of him referring to you as a toy. Without hesitation, you gulped down your wine and smiled at him. “Good Girl,” Jake reached his hand out towards you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jake Kiszka wasn’t a man to waste his time with words, when his actions could do the talking. The whole car ride back to his penthouse, he kept inching his hand further up your leg while driving. Which is kind of ironic to you because he sent you a driver but he preferred to drive himself.

You weren’t sure if it was the wine talking or your subconscious, but you could feel the sexual tension. You could practically cut it with a knife. Unbeknownst to you, Jake was feeling the same way.

Once arriving at his place, he dismissed you from following him into the kitchen and instructed you to “sit still and look pretty” on the couch. After five painfully long minutes he came back into the room with two glasses filled with an amber liquid. Offering you the glass, you winced as you smelled it. Jake chuckled, “Not a fan of Bourbon? This is Guadalupe. It’s good, take a sip.”

Jake then proceeded to raise the glass to your lips and tilt your head back. Opening up your lips, you realized that you were ready to swallow whatever this man would give you. Jake soon realized this was a mistake as you started coughing up a lung after taking a pull of amber down your throat.

“You good over there?” Jake gave you a wicked grin.

“Uh, yeah I’m okay. I'm just more of a wine drinker.” You replied shyly.

“Noted, I'll be more careful next time when I make you swallow something”.

You were sure that your eyes were the size of golf balls. Acting like he casually just asked about the weather, Jake circled back to the conversation at the restaurant. “So anything else you want to ask me?”

Taking another small sip of bourbon, you found the courage to speak again. “Why are you a sugar daddy?” Peaking over the glass at him, you noticed Jake furrowed his eyebrows. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m just curious. You're Jake Kiszka. You could get any woman you want. I know women throw themselves at you all the time.”

Interrupting you, Jake sighed from his spot. “You’re right. I probably could have any woman I want. I always sucked at dating. Just never had the time to give to someone. To be honest, I frankly don’t have the time right now. I basically only have the time for a casual dinner and a quick fuck. A couple of my friends do this and suggested it to me. I have the funds to give to a pretty lady. So why not try it?”.

It was surprising that he even gave you the answer that he did. Jake didn’t seem like the type to open up to people even a little bit.

“A quick fuck? That’s what I’m here for?” You stood up, you knew you were here for his money, but he didn’t have to talk to you like you were nothing. Like you weren’t a person. Fuck That.

“Sit back down. You and I both know that you’re not going anywhere.” Swallowing your pride you took the spot next to him on the black leather couch. You hated that he was right.

“Obviously it’s not going to be quick. I have stamina. Did you miss the part where I said casual dinner too?” Jake was chuckling. “I didn’t think I had to go into details. There is going to be communication between us. You will be taken care of y/n, as long as I’m taken care of. At any moment you can walk away from this. If you're uncomfortable we can just forget that this meeting ever happened. Anytime you feel uncomfortable, you tell me to stop and I will. No questions asked. Now, are you okay with this?”

You shook your head yes.

“Y/n, I need to hear it.”

“Yes, I understand.” you breathed out, shakily.

Jake beamed at you. “I’m assuming that this is the time where we talk about your payment? I was thinking of a weekly allowance of $1,500 to start, then if you’re a good girl for me we can up it. I’ll make sure to wire you the money on Monday.”

You nodded along, “Jake, I'm grateful for this, don't get me wrong. But is there any way I can get an advance? $1,500 isn’t going to pay my past due rent.” You felt embarrassed even asking him this. He knew you needed money, but you didn’t want him to see you grovel for it.

Jake then picked something up off the table. As he got closer to you, you recognized that it was a check. “I knew that you were going to bring up the rent situation, so I went ahead, called your apartment manager and wrote you a check for the next two months. I already paid your past two.”

You were shocked to say the least. You couldn’t help it but your jaw dropped at the thought of how much money that is, even though it's probably spare change for him.

“You must really want me to put something in your mouth, princess. All you have to do is ask.” Jesus. This man is going to be the death of you.

“Anyway, I know we talked about the weekly allowances, but there’s some other things involved as well. Of course I have benefits, galas and public appearances to keep up, you will be attending them with me. No excuses, obviously with that comes all the shopping that you could want. I need you to be dressed to the nines when we go out. It comes with the territory. I’m sure you understand. Think this is something that you can do?”

You nodded along with what he was saying. “Yes, Jake. I’m positive I’ll be able to handle all of this. Are you sure I’m the one that you want? Don’t you want to shop around a little and see what other options are out there?”.

He looked at you like you were crazy for even suggesting the thought. “No, I’m sure that I want to do this with you. The minute I saw your picture, I knew I wanted you and wouldn’t stop until you agreed to this deal.”

This man was persistent, maybe it was a trait that he formed being a lawyer. It didn’t matter, you couldn’t get over the fact that he saw a picture of you before you locked eyes at the restaurant.

“How did you get a picture of me?” You quizzed him as he finally took a seat next to you.

“I have connections, don’t worry about it. '' He was looking deep into your eyes while licking his lips. You couldn’t help but drop your gaze to the spot that he just wet.

“You know, it’s okay to go after what you want y/n,” leaning into you. He was giving you the option to lean into the kiss or pull back.

“I don’t know, I’m just a little nervous,” Jake seemed to smile at the small confession.

“Nothing to be nervous about, darling. It’s human nature.”

That right there sealed the deal, you closed the gap between you. Your lips melted together, it was like he was made for kissing you. Just as you were about to pull away to admire the man in front of you, you felt a hand making its way to the nape of your neck. It wasn’t aggressive, he was just holding you into place, giving you the option to stop if you wanted. Jake noticed that you weren’t pulling away. He took this as a sign to deepen the kiss, there was only one problem here. You were fighting him for dominance.

Jake broke the kiss and pulled you to straddle him. “Stop trying to take control.”

Pressing his forehead against yours, he gave you a lustful look. With a simple nod of your head, you felt yourself losing control. He took your nod as reassurance to continue, and you watched as he moved closer. His hands grabbed your thighs as he lifted himself up towards your face, capturing your lips again. From your outer thigh, his hands began to travel upwards until you could feel the heat of his palms drag up your waist, then the small of your back. You melted with his touch, feeling yourself lean deeper into the kiss. Your skin tingled as he reached your breasts, protected only by the lace cups of the dress. You could feel your cheeks reddening as you followed his lead. Fuck, he just brushed against your nipple. You jolted at the sudden sensation, and he sensed you were feeling it. He swiped his thumb against the other one. While you were distracted, he moved his mouth lower, to the crook of your neck–kissing a trail all the way to your shoulder. His breath was hot on your skin and you moaned at even the slightest of touches. Was it the wine from dinner? The bourbon? Was it him and his obsession with being suave? Or was it the way he kept looking at you with lust filled eyes?

“I like you best when you’re at my mercy,” he said before closing his mouth around the lace that covered your nipple.

The first thing you felt was the heat, then the pressure–and finally, the pleasure. And you wanted more. Instead, Jake lifted his head. You opened your eyes, suddenly realizing that they were closed all this time. You met his gaze, wanting to open your mouth, hoping he’d say something about filling it again. But you didn’t. Instead you wet your lips.

“Show me why I should pay your rent,” he whispered in your ear, oozing with lust.

“Wha-what do you mean?” you stuttered nervously.

“I want you to show me why I’m spending my money on you. Show me I made the right choice to choose you out of all others.” As he was distracting you with his rugged voice, Jake was sneaking his hand underneath your dress to feel the puddle of warmth that was forming between your legs. “Damn, princess. All this for me?” he licked your ear and then blew on it.

“Yes Jake, it’s all for you”.

You felt a sharp stinging pain on your ass and when you went to lift up off his lap, he pulled you back down in a sharp motion. You could feel his cock struggling against his pants.

“Looks like I’m not the only one enjoying myself,” finally, it was your moment to tease him.

“I would enjoy myself more if you would take my cock out of my pants and show me how much you want it,” he growled out.

You could feel yourself looking down at him with hooded eyes. It was at this moment you knew that you were always going to be at his mercy. This man knew how to turn you into putty.

Instead of giving into Jake, you decided to tease him a little bit more. Grinding down on him and reaching down to pull your dress over your head. You felt strong hands grabbing your wrists.

“Nuh-uh, only I get to take off your clothes, you do as you're told.”

You moved back and forth on him a little bit harder. Leaning forward, you whispered into his ear, “But I thought you wanted me to show you why you’re paying my rent.”

Jake paused for a minute, before deciding to grab onto your waist and flip you around. He realized that having you on top made you feel like you were in charge - you never were going to be when he was around.

“Is that back sass I hear? That won't get you far with me, darling.” He was staring you down like a hunter stalking his prey.

“Darling? I thought my name was y/n?” You replied coyly.

“Keep talking and I’ll have no choice but to punish you.”

You involuntarily felt your pussy clench. Jake could feel it too, his cock was nestled right in between your folds with just a thin layer of lace separating the most intimate parts of yourselves. “Oh, it seems like you like that idea,” he smirked.

You moaned in response, there was no way to keep you quiet. Just with Jake’s talk alone, you were ready to orgasm right then and there.

“But I don’t want to fuck you yet, I want to see how badly you want me.” You're doing the best you can to keep your composure- well, what was left of it anyway.

“I want you, I want you to fill me up, I want you inside of me,” You mumbled into his neck.

“Princess, you really don’t listen do you? We’re going to have so much fun with all the lessons you need to learn. I said I’m not going to fuck you. Trust me I want nothing more than to feel this tight little pussy around my cock, but I don’t think you’re ready for that yet.”

Your body felt like it was on fire. It was like Jake was just casually asking you what you wanted to eat, all of this just seemed to roll off his tongue. Before you could stop yourself you found the words slipping past your lips “Can I put your cock in my mouth?”.

“You know that’s not how you ask for what you want.” he reapplied smugly. ”Beg for it.”

“Ja-” A quick swat on your thigh stopped you. “Sir?”

Jake shook his head, “You’re getting closer, but that's not what you should call me, princess.”

You had one guess left in your mind. “Daddy?”

Jake didn’t think it was possible for him to get harder, but hearing your sweet innocent voice and doe eyes peering up at him, he couldn’t hold himself together. “Daddy, can I please suck your cock?”

“You want Daddy’s cock in your mouth?”

Instead of answering him, you pushed on his shoulder, flipping both of you around and then pinning his shoulders to the couch. Jake didn’t fight you on this, he wanted your mouth on him just as much as you wanted him to fill your pussy. He wanted you to feel like you had a little control–for now–it gave you confidence.

“Go ahead baby, take it out. Show Daddy how much you want his cock.”

With shaky hands, you undid his belt and started to pull his boxers down. Jake could feel you starting to hesitate. He gently put his hands over yours and helped you pull down the fabric- freeing his cock. You couldn’t help but shiver at the thought of his cock going into your mouth and eventually your pussy.

“Aw, is my princess speechless? Don't worry, it’ll fit in all the holes you want. Right now we’re just gonna focus on putting it in the back of your throat. Then we'll focus on it fitting in that sweet cunt of yours. I can just tell it's a ripe pink and I bet right now it's just aching for my touch. Isn’t it? You want me to rub on that sweet little clit to give you some relief?”

You couldn’t hold back the little whine that escaped your throat. “You like the sound of that huh? Daddy touching you? Just wait until I put my tongue in your pussy. Oh baby, I can tell that you’re going to taste divine.”

At this point you were melting into him, you started to move your hands in a twisting motion, hoping to bring Jake as much pleasure as he was giving you with these filthy little thoughts spilling out.

“Sorry, it’s not going to happen, it’s all about you putting my cock into that sweet little mouth of yours.”

Jake didn’t give you any time to respond to that, he lifted up three fingers to your mouth, urging you to open up and let them in. You did as he asked and wrapped your mouth around his fingers, but Jake noticed something, you were so nervous that your mouth was dry. Pushing you down onto your knees, looking at you with lust blown eyes he pulled your hair, forcing your head to tilt back.

“Open your mouth now.”

“Why?”

Jake gave you a stern look. “Trust Me. Open. Now. “

Sitting in front of him, you watched in amusement as he took a sip of the amber liquid. Making eye contact with you one more time, he leaned forward and spit the liquid directly in your mouth.

“Swallow.”

Starting to gag a little on the taste, Jake chuckled. “Princess, that wasn’t even a lot to swallow, we’re really going to have to work on that, aren’t we?” After watching you swallow he grabbed your jaw, “Ready for more?”

Nodding your head wasn’t going to work–Jake had you in a grip that wouldn’t allow you to move. “Yes, Daddy.”

“Good Girl. Now open up for me again.”

Per his request you opened it up again. “Wider princess. C’mon. My cock wont fit in that tiny little opening.”

Fuck. You were drooling for him. Jake didn’t come this far with you to not have you put your mouth on his throbbing cock.

“That’s my good girl. You’re listening to Daddy so good.” Jake looked like he was debating on doing something. After a moment of contemplating, you watched in fascination :as a solid string of spit left his mouth and fell on your tongue. He dipped his fingers back into your mouth and spread the fluid all around your mouth.

“Don’t close your mouth yet, it’s not wet enough” He spit back into your mouth with a firm: “Don’t you dare swallow.” You didn’t want to disobey him, you wanted to do everything that he said, word for word.

“Good Girl, keep your mouth open, we’re not done yet.” Jake then directed your head towards his cock.

You caught a second glimpse at it and just had to admire it. It was long, thick and had the perfect pink tint. His mushroom tip leaking precum- begging to be tasted. Jake didn’t stop until his cock was right in front of your mouth, with a hand wrapped around his base, he gently eased it in. He kept going until he hit that little sweet spot in the back of your throat that makes you gag. Jake finally let out a groan as he felt you wrap your lips around him.

The groan that Jake left out was unholy. It sent a shock all the way down to your core. Once your mouth got used to the feeling of his cock stretching you out, you slowly started to bob your head up and down. In need of a breather, you released Jake out of your mouth with a solid ‘pop’. After sitting back for a couple of seconds, you dropped a thick bead of spit on his head, while using your left hand in a twisting motion, staring at Jake’s face. You started at the base and worked your way to his tip, getting a good feel of every single little detail of his throbbing cock. From how thick it was, how you needed to use two hands, and last but not least, the way he would twitch when you touched the underside of his head right where a prominent vein is. His mouth was opened in pure bliss while he was looking down his nose at you. God, you wished you could see Jake like this everyday.

He had had enough of your admiration and was starting to yearn for the feeling of your mouth again. Jake ran his fingers through your hair again and yanked you upwards. Chest to chest; forehead to forehead. Feverishly, your neck was whipped to the side and you felt the presence of hot air hitting your ear.

“I think that's enough princess. My cock is missing your mouth already. Show it how much you love it. I want you to suck me dry, I want to cum in the back of your throat and I’m not stopping until I do. Do you understand?”

Not wanting to waste anymore time, you quickly nodded and tried to free your hair out of his grip. Jake didn’t budge. “Do you understand?” You nodded again.

Jake wasn’t taking that as a response. “I need a verbal answer princess, before we go any further”. Locking eyes with him you said, “Yes Daddy. I want to make you feel good.”

With a quick groan, Jake let go of your hair and pushed you back down so your face was right at his cock. You wanted to be a good girl for Jake, hell, you wanted nothing more in life than to hear those filthy noises coming out of his mouth. Taking his cock into your hand again, you sunk your mouth onto him slowly. Taking him inch by inch. As much as Jake wanted you to go fast, you were going to take your time. You wanted to work his cock like your life depended on it, after all, it did. You were taking your time with him, as he was filling your throat back up, you kept swallowing around every inch. Once your plump lips reached the bottom of his cock, tears started to form in your eyes. Jake could sense that you wanted to move your mouth off of him again, so he put his hand on the nape of your neck holding you there.

Looking up at Jake through your tears, you saw him smirking. “Oh, is my baby starting to gag on Daddy’s cock? You want to take it out for a second?” You moaned around him. The vibration from that alone had Jake ready to shoot his cum down the back of your throat, he just had to hold on for a little bit longer.

“That's too bad princess. You’re going to keep my cock in your mouth for as long as I want. Here let me move your hair out of the way.”

Doing as he said, Jake took the elastic band that he keeps around his middle finger and moved all your hair back. Jake wanted to enjoy the show, he wanted to see all of you, trying to take every inch of him. But those watering eyes were doing something to him, your eyes looked so clear and filled with lust. Grabbing the base of your ponytail, he decided to start moving your head up and down. The sound of you gurgling around his cock was deafening. While Jake was busy with not trying to blow his load prematurely, you successfully snuck your hand down into your underwear in search of some type of relief.

You dove your fingers through your folds hoping to gather some moisture. When you finally gathered enough, you reached up to circle your clit a couple of times. Silly you for thinking that you could get away with doing this in front of Jake Kiszka. After the third swirl on your clit he noticed that your moans were starting to change octaves. He quickly opened his eyes and realized what you were doing. He snatched your hand out of your underwear in an instant.

“I don’t think so princess, this is about me getting off tonight not you,” Jake growled out.

You looked back up at Jake with tear glossed eyes. This only made Jake yearn for you even more. You pulled your hand gently out of his grip and cupped his balls lightly. With a slight movement of your fingers, you felt him start to twitch. “C’mon baby, just like that,” he sputtered out as he started to feel the pleasure really begin to take over his body. Moving your head wasn’t enough for Jake.

Holding your head steady, he started bucking his hips off the couch. With every buck your nose was touching his pelvic bone; breathing in the woodsy smell of this man deeply. The more you tried to move your head back the more force would be pushed onto the back of your head to keep you still. Jake could feel your throat start to tighten up and try to push him out.

“Keep that throat relaxed for Daddy baby. He’s almost there.”

The mixed noises of your gags and the praises that Jake kept slipping out were taking over the atmosphere. You could tell that he was close to his peak. His thrusts were becoming sloppy, the sweat was starting to roll off his torso and drip down to his pelvic area. Jake’s breath was becoming unsteady, every other moan kept getting hitched in the back of his throat. You went into overdrive at the mere thought of his release coming, with every thrust towards the back of your throat, you were sticking your tongue out in search for his balls when you reach the base.

Jake finally felt the tip of your tongue grazing that soft spot on top of his balls. A deep guttural moan spilled out of him. “C’mon princess, just a little bit longer. Daddy’s gonna give you his special little treat.”

As soon as those words fell from Jake's lips, you hollowed your cheeks as much as you could and put all your effort into just breathing in Jake. Placing your hands on both thighs, you let him take full control over your mouth. You could tell that Jake was ready to come any second, the tip of his cock kept swelling up in size. Jake was in a frenzy he couldn't stop. The thing that pushed him over the edge was you looking up at him one last time. He pushed himself all the way into the back of your throat, let out a loud groan and emptied his load down your throat.

“Stay right there Princess. Don’t swallow yet. I’m going to take myself out of your mouth now, I want to see it in there.”

Jake slowly slid his cock out of your mouth. Looking down at you to make sure that you were listening to him and not swallowing anything. He pulled you up to his height with a single hand around your throat.

“Open up princess, let me see.”

As you slowly opened your mouth, Jake slid two of his fingers in there and pulled them out. He was mesmerized looking at the cum threading through his fingers.

“Look up at me” he jerked your head up with a hand under your chin. “Now you can swallow,” he closed your mouth with the force of two fingers pushing your jaw up. Jake beamed at you as he watched your throat move up and down, proving to him how much of a good girl you can be for him.

Jake took your hand and led the way to his bedroom. He finally found his own little sugar baby, there was no way that he was going to let you get away that easy.

“Hey Jake?” you spoke up.

“You okay? What's up?” He turned around to face you.

“Nothing, I just wanted to know if I could use the bathroom?”

Jake gave a jerk of his head towards the door on the right, without speaking another word you headed in that direction. After opening the door, you startled yourself. Looking at the reflection in the mirror you couldn’t recognize yourself. Mascara was running down your cheeks, lips swollen and your hair looked crazy. Jake was kind enough to move it back from your face, but he seemed to pull out over half of it when he was holding you down to his pelvis area. Fuck, these knots are going to be a bitch to get out. Running your fingers through your hair, you peeked into the bedroom once again in search of Jake. With no luck you called out for him. He came out of his closet with a pair of sweats and an oversized t-shirt.

“Here. Change into these, it’s late. Taylor will drive you home in the morning.” Glancing from the clothes in his hands back up to his face you didn’t quite understand.

“What are these for?” Jake looked a little bit taken back at your comment.

“Like I said, change into them. There’s makeup wipes in the one drawer. You don’t have to stay here. You can stay in the guest room if you want. Once again, it’s late. Taylor will drive you home in the morning.”

At this point Jake was shoving the clothes into your hands, he didn’t give you any room to protest. Once you closed the door you slid down it and just kept thinking to yourself.

What The Fuck Did I Just Get Myself Into.

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