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honeyedhoseok · 5 years

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Stitch | The V2 Series

Genre | Angst (literally only angst in this part), Taehyung x reader, friends->lovers->friends? au, The V2 Series

Word Count | 5.1K

Summary | “I’ve been an anchor that’s pulling on you / Stopping and stalling is all that I do / You were so bright but I painted you blue” It’s been exactly 58 days (and counting) since you last spoke to Taehyung. After weeks under your new facade, all it takes is a simple Instagram post to send you spiraling. [Takes place after the present-day argument between Taehyung and Y/N in Forever, Fire Burning Blue !]

Warnings | Mentions symptoms of depression, sadness, and anxiety. Language.

A/N | Side Warning: Taehyung might break reader hearts by the end of this chapter. But I’m really excited to see what you all think!! Enjoy <3

Read the other parts of The V2 Series HERE!

It’s been exactly 58 days since you’ve talked to Taehyung.

The only reason you are reminded of the number is because one of the last pictures in your phone is from the day before your argument. You two are posing with the pizza in his bed—you, with your slice covering half your face as you try not to laugh too hard at Taehyung, who had just taken a bite and slapped hot cheese on his chin.

The picture is blurry because as soon as it happened, Taehyung yelled out in pain and almost dropped his slice—so his body is a moving whirl of colors in the picture, not exactly a part of the fun that was supposed to be conveyed, while you sit there posing, perfectly content with your own piece of pizza.

You suppose it’s a good representation of how things felt in the last fleeting moments between the two of you.

You can’t delete it. Every time your thumb hovers over the trash can icon in the corner of the picture, the hurt in your chest comes back—an aching that you cannot even begin to describe, much less figure out how to get over it—and you end up exiting out of the photo app, saving the dilemma of deleting it for yet another time.

To say the least, you miss him.

To say the most, you miss him so much it feels like you’re not exactly you anymore. You miss him so much you haven’t slept well in two months. You miss him so much that nothing seems enjoyable anymore—going to work, hanging out with friends, getting dressed for a night out, going to school. Hell, even eating has become a monotony to you because nothing tastes as good, and you find yourself leaving more and more food on your plate each time you push your chair back from the table.

Despite all of this, you are doing well. You are doing well on the outside because you refuse to let anyone know the raging storm of emotions that are happening on the inside. In reality, you can’t let anyone know.

You don’t hang out with your friends as much, but you do go to work—bar tending on the weekends when you don’t have school—and you make drinks and you talk with the customers and you put on a fake smile for all the dirty old men who flirt with you after they order their third, fourth, and fifth beer.

You spend a lot of time with Hongbin, trying hard to devote all the time and energy that you didn’t have before to showing him that you now undoubtedly care for him like no other person on earth.

You are living a lie. But it’s okay because you hope one day it will merge itself into the truth if you just keep pretending long enough.

Another week passes by under your new facade.

You are sitting in the living room with Hongbin, eyes glazing over some sitcom on the television that he insisted on watching each night after dinner, when your phone lights up on the table in front of you.

You pick it up, eyes still trained on the TV, letting out a small giggle at the antics of one of the characters. When your gaze finally drops down to the lit-up screen with the notification sitting in the middle, your stomach drops at the tiny words alerting you of the one person you’ve been trying to forget.

tvehyung posted to their story for the first time in a while

You read it over a few times, trying to decide if you should even indulge in looking at his social media. The two of you hadn’t deleted each other on anything—you were still friends on Snapchat, Twitter, and Facebook, as well—you just weren’t talking or acknowledging each other’s presence.

Taehyung’s social media accounts had been inactive for the whole two-month silence. What could he have posted, suddenly?

You shift the blanket covering your legs over to Hongbin, untangling yourself from his embrace to walk to the bathroom; he hadn’t noticed the stiffening of your body when you looked at your phone, which you were grateful for. If you were going to break the personal limitations set for yourself, the least you could do is allow yourself to do it in private.

You close the door behind you with a soft click, choosing to sink down onto the fluffy, white rug in front of the bathroom cabinets rather than perch on the closed toilet lid or the side of the tub. Your hands grip your phone with sweaty urgency as you finally click on the notification, holding your breath while your screen pulls up Taehyung’s Instagram story.

It’s just a picture of him at a café, clearly taken earlier that day—a coffee sits in front of him and in the corner is a geotag for the place. It’s nothing special and so you let out the breath, feeling triumphant in overcoming an obstacle—what obstacle you aren’t sure, but you know the feeling of relief that flows through your veins is one you welcome.

However, you make the grave mistake of clicking on his profile afterward—suspecting that you are going to see the same pictures he’d previously posted and hadn’t updated in months.

You are extremely mistaken.

Sitting—beautifully, you might add—in the top left corner of his feed is a new selfie that has your shaky fingers clicking on instantly, your eyes drinking in the photo and caption. At first you are excited—it’s Taehyung in all his handsome glory, staring with mild disinterest in the camera—but the caption is what gets you.

“Han Yeseul?” you breathe out, your stomach knotting at the just the sound of the syllables all together, at the images they send flashing through your brain, at what they mean for your quickly-crumbling facade.

You click on her name and have to close your eyes for a second to stop the rolling nausea that floods your system; her profile contains, in a neat row at the very top, three pictures of Taehyung with his new petunia-colored hair—all posted within the last week.

He is walking in front of her in one—stylish as ever in a chic button down and black trousers, his overcoat thrown over his shoulder.

He is smiling in the next, happy as hell as he sits across from her at fancy restaurant downtown.

He is brushing his teeth in the most recent, looking messy and pretty from having just woken up—with Yeseul obviously in the same state behind the camera lens from the early morning time stamp on the picture.

Each caption is vague, but they don’t need to say anymore—the pictures do enough to justify the situation at hand.

Taehyung is not mourning your separation by not sleeping, not eating, not feeling; no, Taehyung is living. Unlike you, Taehyung is moving on.

Specifically, to another girl.

You press a hand over your trembling lips, tossing your phone to the side in the bathroom as you scramble toward the toilet, gripping the edges as you release the jittery contents of your stomach into the porcelain bowl.

It’s about a week later after seeing the picture that Yeonwoo wakes you up by pounding incessantly on your apartment door.

You groan, rolling out of bed and rubbing sleep out of your eyes as you stumble towards the sound, thinking of all the cuss words possible to spew at her when you finally open it—

“What?” you snap, squinting at her through the lines of your screen door. “What is it?”

“Why aren’t you answering your phone?” she asks, shoulders slumping. “I’ve been calling you all morning.”

“I was sleeping!” you exclaim, opening the door to let her in.

“Y/N it’s 2 p.m.,” she responds, looking at you wearily. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you grumble. “It’s my day off—I had two double shifts at the bar.”

Yeonwoo walks into the kitchen, setting her purse down on the table.

“Well, I don’t know if you remember or not, since I haven’t heard from you since I asked—” She presses the button on your coffee maker and pulls two mugs down from the cabinet, “—but I asked you to ride to town with me to get stuff for the party this weekend.”

You slump down at the table, still halfway out of it from the rude awakening you’d received just a few short moments ago.

“A party?” you croak. “Who is throwing a party?”

“I am,” she says, sighing. “We talked about this.”

“Right, right,” you say, waving a hand in the air dismissively. “Listen, Yeonwoo. I forgot and I’m tired, I really don’t feel like walking around in town—”

“Y/N, please!” she says, clasping her hands together. “You promised you would because Hyejin can’t!”

Your eyes glaze over her pouty face, taking in the shiny lip gloss swiped across her poked-out bottom lip and the lashes that graze her eyebrows as she widens her doe-like eyes.

“Please,” she says again. “I’ll wait for you to get dressed—I’ll have a cup of coffee and watch TV so you can shower!”

You groan, running a hand through your hair—it gets caught in one of the knots caused by your incessant tossing and turning in bed and you drop it back to the table, ignoring the twitch of Yeonwoo’s mouth at the action.

You know that you should go out and do something—you haven’t been out of the house in God-knows how long, which is why Hongbin wasn’t around today. It was his day off as well, but he was out with some guy friends from work. Asking you to do something the night before had ended terribly—you two got into an argument and he’d slept on the couch. He’d obviously gotten up and dressed while you were still snoozing happily in bed.

You’d also asked him to stop the get-togethers at your apartment every other weekend; you didn’t want to have to deal with the possibility of him inviting Taehyung—just the thought of that situation made anxiety twist in your stomach.

You knew you were being ridiculous, but you couldn’t bring yourself to snap out of it. You just wanted to be left alone to wallow in whatever self-pity phase you were going through until you could get over it yourself—not because someone else wanted you to or needed you to.

“Hyejin and I are really starting to worry about you,” Yeonwoo adds on quietly, gaze dropping from yours. “You know you can talk to us if something is bothering you, right?”

You nod, fixating your gaze somewhere out the window in the kitchen. “I’m fine,” you repeat dryly.

“We even tried to ask Tae, because we thought you were mad at us or something—”

“You talked to Taehyung?” you say, your eyes immediately finding hers again. She looks surprised at the urgency in your tone, but she nods.

“Yeah, he said you just needed some time alone—and so we’ve been trying to give you that but, we miss you, Y/N.”

Your lips press together in a hard line. So far, Taehyung had been very adamant about keeping the fact that you two weren’t talking under wraps. Even in the face of your best friends, he was still acting like everything was perfectly fine between you two, and not like you hadn’t talked in over two months.

“Is everything okay at work?” Yeonwoo asks lightly. “Maybe you should take some time off, I know it’s hard to juggle that and your night classes sometimes—”

“I really don’t need anyone else suggesting what I need to do for myself,” you snap, rising from your chair. “Hongbin does enough of that for everyone. I know what I can handle.”

Yeonwoo presses her lips together in a tight line, nodding. “Okay.”

“I’m going to take a shower,” you say, returning to your bedroom quickly before the hurt in her eyes can make you feel any worse than you already do.

Yeonwoo talks animatedly in the front seat as you drive downtown, catching you up on all the things you’d missed in the group chat with her and Hyejin during the weeks before.

You felt bad for silencing their messages, but it was annoying to see their constant stream of texts when you had nothing to say—you hoped that if you stopped reading and replying, they’d get the hint and take their chats into a separate group; thankfully, they did in the end. The chat had been silent for days, which is when you supposed they asked Taehyung about your current distanced disposition.

You do more listening and making small agreement noises than talking during the ride, letting your eyes drift over to the scenery passing by in a blur by the window until you start seeing the familiar store fronts of downtown.

“Do you mind if we eat something first?” Yeonwoo suggests, looking over at you with caution, as if at any moment you could bite her head off for the second time that day at a suggestion she made.

You nod in silence, deciding to let her have this one thing. You were a little hungry, so you could do this for her.

“Something small,” you suggest quietly, and that’s enough to sate Yeonwoo. She straightens her back, placing her hands higher on the wheel and gives a quick flash of a grin your way.

“Great,” she says. “There’s this café downtown I wanted to show you.”

You don’t ask which one. You don’t want to start Yeonwoo on a rant again. Instead, you lean back in your seat, allowing your head to press against the backing and close your eyes. She picks up on your obvious dislike for the conversation she was trying to carry on and quiets down, turning the radio up a few notches and singing softly to a song.

The café is one that you’ve never been to before, but your curiosity immediately heightens as you get out of the car, eyes tracing the name hovering above the door that sparks recognition in your brain.

Café Du Monde.

It seems so familiar, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on when or where you’d heard it before. Yeonwoo is already out of the car, pushing the door open to the café and holding it for you. She looks back over her shoulder, eyebrows furrowing at the troubled look on your face.

“What’s wrong?” she says. “I promise the bagels here are really good!”

“It’s nothing,” you say quickly, speeding up to catch up with her. You follow her inside, taking in the quaint atmosphere of the coffee shop—everything is wooden and modern, and strings of white, holiday lights line the walls; Yeonwoo watches you, trying to gauge your reaction.

Your eyes finally meet hers and you smile at her. “It’s really cute.”

“Isn’t it?” she says, bouncing on her toes a little. “They sell real macchiato here—like the espresso shot, not the sixteen-ounce version in a cup you get from Starbucks. And I heard the chai latte and the hot chocolate are really good, although, I’ve never tried it, but I heard from Mina that—”

You’re half-listening, half-not because you’re gazing at the menu behind the bar, looking at all the different flavors you could get in your coffee. The bell above the shop door tinkles again as the door is pushed back open, and your eyes graze over to the newcomer in the shop.

Your heart sinks.

The door swings shut behind the customer, and reality comes crashing down on you all at once. Café Du Monde—it’s the same cafe that Taehyung had posted about on his Instagram a few days before. But the thought doesn’t reach you until you’re swinging your gaze over, landing on the countenance of a gorgeous, five-foot-ten man that you know better than anyone else on the planet.

But your stomach doesn’t ignite in delight like it normally would, because when Taehyung’s eyes find yours, the look is empty—unfeeling and void of all the emotions you’ve seen it hold for you before. He doesn’t acknowledge your presence in the slightest, and instead, gets in line a few customers behind you and Yeonwoo.

You eyes want to follow his retreating figure but you whip your gaze back towards the menu, trying to calm the hammering in your chest as Yeonwoo steps up to the counter—completely oblivious to the situation at hand unfolding just a few inches behind her. You feel like you’re vibrating, unable to control the unrelenting tremors of your fingers as you search around your wallet for your debit card.

“I’ll just take a coffee, black,” you say quickly when it’s your turn, slapping your debit card on the counter and sinking your teeth into your lip to stop it from trembling. The barista takes their time, swiping your card and whipping around what looks like an iPad on a stand for you to tip and sign.

Yeonwoo is already seated at a table near the front of the shop, and you walk over slowly with your mug, avoiding looking up until you are settled in front of her. She nods disapprovingly at your choice.

“I thought you were going to get something,” she says—emphasizing that something meant a drink along the lines of the sugary, whipped concoction she was clutching in her own hands. “But maybe their classic roast is good?”

“I don’t think my stomach can handle that right now,” you confess, giving her a small smile.

Yeonwoo hums, eyes tracing your figure with curiosity. “You look so thin these days. Are you dieting?”

“What? No.” you answer, half-listening. “I like eating.”

You break, and glance back quickly over your shoulder at the line to the cash register. Taehyung is at the counter now, giving his order to the cashier in a calm tone. The murmurs of his honey voice float over to where you and Yeonwoo are sitting, weighing heavy on your heart. When you turn back around, she is looking past you at the line as well, and your heart beat stutters when her eyes light up in recognition.

“Isn’t that Taehyung?” she says, sitting up a little in her seat. “Hey, Tae—”

“Yeonwoo, uh, maybe we shouldn’t—he’s like—” you stutter out but it’s too late.

“Taehyung!” she calls again. He turns around with his drink in hand, raising his eyebrows at Yeonwoo as if he didn’t see her—or you—at all when he first came in. “Come here!”

You grip the sides of your steaming cup, focusing in on the feeling of hot ceramic burning your palms as you hear Taehyung’s soft footfalls come closer. He stops at the edge of your table, and you peek a glance at his navy slacks as you slowly bring your cup up to your mouth, stalling for the inevitable moment you know is coming very, very soon.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” Yeonwoo says, smiling at him. “Isn’t this place awesome?”

He nods. “I’m just meeting a friend here.”

“Oh, cool,” Yeonwoo says, and you meet her eyes over the table. She raises an eyebrow at you but continues. “What’d you get to drink?”

Could she tell how uncomfortable you were? Was it suddenly louder in the cafe? Hotter? Could she see the literal static buzzing between your ears from being in the same room, much less, the same personal space as Taehyung for the first time in over two months?

“I got a Black and Tan,” Taehyung says.

He laughs a little when Yeonwoo makes a face. The sound makes you feel breathless.

“What? Is that not good?” he asks. “That’s what I’ve been getting since they opened! The barista recommended.”

Yeonwoo shakes her head in disappointment. “You and Y/N are so similar,” she says. “She just got black coffee.”

“Oh yeah?” Taehyung says.

You can feel it coming before it happens. You stiffen in your seat, muscles contracting as if bracing yourself for the hit that is Taehyung’s gaze finally falling on you. The first words that he’s spoken to you in two months come out slowly, as if you can see every movement of his lips and tongue in slow motion as he says:

“You’re not much of a coffee drinker.” His face stays passive, unemotional. “I’m surprised you’re here.”

You press your lips together, giving the smallest shrug you can muster at his comment. It’s true, of course; what you had in front of you was absolutely disgusting, but it’s contents void of any real flavor was soothing and easy to swallow—especially now to your particularly parched throat. The comment feels just the slightest bit sinister, as if Taehyung was annoyed by your presence at a place you weren’t normally a fan of. As if you were intruding on his own personal time away from you.

Your quickly eyes drop from his, embarrassed.

Luckily, Yeonwoo reels his sharpened gaze back to her. “Who are you meeting?” she asks. “Would you guys want to sit with us for a bit?”

The thought of being there any longer was starting to become unbearable to you, so you pipe up quickly, “Well, we were just heading out, right? Didn’t you want to go shopping, for the party?”

Yeonwoo’s brow crinkles at the urgency in your tone, but there’s little you can do to hide it. You hope for once she understands and asks questions later—when you were both away from Taehyung.

“Party?” Taehyung asks, taking a cautious sip of the hot drink in his hands.

“Yeah, next Saturday at my house,” Yeonwoo chirps, grinning. It falls quickly and she looks back and forth between you and Taehyung. “Y/N didn’t tell you?”

“I’ve been busy,” Taehyung covers—cool and collected as always. “I must’ve forgotten, sorry. I’ll be there, though.”

“Great!”

Yeonwoo pulls her purse strap up on her shoulder, using her other hand to grab onto her drink as she stands up from the table. You do the same in a more hurried fashion, keeping your eyes down. You feel like a kicked puppy, but you can’t quite put your finger on why. You want to be angry, more confident, more assertive in the situation that was unfolding between you and Taehyung. Instead, seeing him made you feel worse. It reminded you that this whole thing was happening because of you—because you were greedy and selfish and completely deserving of his steely stare and the feeling of tucking your tail between your legs and running like a coward away from it.

Just as you are saying your goodbyes—or, rather, Yeonwoo is saying them for the both of you—the doorbell to Cafe Du Monde chimes again, alerting the entrance of another customer. As you are shuffling past the newcomer toward the exit, you hear Taehyung call out in his honeyed baritone, “Yeseul! I got us a seat over here.”

Yeseul. Han Yeseul.

Your head whips around over your shoulder and you see her petite frame walking towards Taehyung. It’s not her presence that bothers you the most, because it’s Taehyung’s face that you have the clear view of. His countenance has changed—he is smiling broadly as she bends down to land a small kiss on his cheek before sliding into the booth across from him, sunbeams practically radiating between the spaces of his teeth as he looks at her.

You press your trembling lips together, letting go of the cafe door and letting it slam with a bang! behind you on accident. But you can’t be bothered with the embarrassment that comes with it—there’s already too much weighing on your heart from your previous conversation, mixed with grief, shame, unsettledness, and just the tiniest dash of jealousy.

In reality, it’s more jealousy than you would ever be willing to admit.

Your body feels unable to carry the weight of your withheld feelings anymore, and so, when you slide into the passenger seat of Yeonwoo’s town car, the first tear rolls down your nose and drips off onto the lid of the coffee cup in your hand.

“Was it just me, or was Tae acting kind of weird?” Yeonwoo asks, pulling her mirror down to check her hair and reapply her lip gloss.

Another tear follows, creating a bigger puddle on the plastic. Followed by another. And another.

“Is anyone really too busy to remember the date of something?” she asks, frowning at her own reflection. “Well, I mean, I guess you were today. But that’s an exception—” She giggles a little and finally looks over at you. “At least he corrected himself, rig—oh my god, Y/N. What’s wrong?”

You shake your head, sniffling and wiping away the tears harshly. You don’t speak for the sake of keeping your lips pressed tightly together, hiding the sob that’s forcing its way up your throat.

“Don’t lie to me,” Yeonwoo presses, reaching out to put a hand on your back. “Something has you like this. Talk to me.”

“I—” you pause, feeling the tears flow down your cheeks as you search for what to say.

It didn’t make sense why this was bothering you so much. It wasn’t just meeting Taehyung in the cafe, it was the feelings you’d been battling with for two the months. The loneliness and bitterness and emptiness you felt without him. And you certainly couldn’t relay that information to Yeonwoo—not yet, anyways.

“Tae and I—we’re—” You pause to sniffle again and Yeonwoo’s eyes widen.

“I knew it!” she says. “You two were being too weird back there. I knew something was going on!”

“What?” you say, lifting your head up and looking her fully in the face.

Suddenly your friend seems to have stumbled across a discovery that had been brewing underneath the surface of her thoughts for a while, the way her eyes search yours both pensive and knowing at the same time.

“No,” you say, “We’re just—we had a fight. A bad one.” You wipe at your eyes with a tissue that Yeonwoo finally hands you from her purse, and she nods cautiously, encouraging you to go on. “It’s all my fault and because, you know how I am—I don’t know how to make it better, Yeonwoo.”

“Oh,” Yeonwoo exhales. The sound is both one of relief and of pity. “Oh, Y/N. It’s Taehyung. You guys have been friends for so long, don’t you think he just needs a little time to get over it?”

You blow your nose into the tissue, shaking your head. The tears are constant now, all your feelings rushing over the brim of your eyelids in the form of fat, hot droplets that drip off your chin and onto your shirt and jeans. The way Yeonwoo is gauging your reactions to her questions makes you fidget in your seat—did she somehow know? That was impossible, right?

“What did you guys fight about?”

“Yeseul,” you answer honestly.

“Yeseul? Who is that?” Yeonwoo asks, before her mouth drops open, “Her? The girl that just walked in the cafe to sit with him?”

You nod. “He’s kind of busying himself with her lately—which I understand, I left Taehyung to spend time with Hongbin before, too—but, I don’t know. I just—”

“Miss him?” Yeonwoo finishes. “Aw, Y/N.” She reaches across the middle console in her car, pulling you in for the awkwardest of hugs she can manage with both of your seatbelts on. “Don’t worry, okay? It’s going to get better. Taehyung just needs some time, but maybe you should try to talk to him. I’m sure he doesn’t know it’s bothering you like this.”

The understatement of the year, you think. But you accept her hug, pressing your face into the soft material of her top and hoping you don’t pull away to see the black streak of your smudged mascara.

“Do you want me to uninvite him from the party?” she asks when she pulls away, keeping you at arm's length. Her brows furrow over her innocent eyes, making her look comically mad in a way that makes you want to smile. “I can go back in there right now. I’ll tell him to keep his ass away from my house—”

“No,” you say quickly, shaking your head. “No, Yeonwoo, really. It’s fine.”

“Are you sure?” she says. “I know you love him and all, but I can go take back my invitation if it means saving you some awkwardness next weekend.”

You try not to let her choice of words bother you. She studies you for a minute—taking in the redness of your face and nose, the glassiness of eyes fresh from crying, the way your lips still tremble a little when you’re not talking, the tightness of the grip you have on the crumpled tissue in your left hand.

“I’m good,” you say. “Really. I promise.”

Yeonwoo continues to look at you and for a second, it scares the shit out of you—as if she’s seeing right through your facade and down to the real problem: you didn’t just love Taehyung; You were in love with Taehyung and had no fucking clue what to do about it.

Yeonwoo’s mouth opens and closes, and you’re so sure she’s about to call you out that your heartbeat triples in your chest, hammering a steading rhythm that you hear in your ears, almost drowning out what she does finally say.

“Fine.” She presses her lips together. “I won’t go yell at him today. But he’s a real jerk if he can’t tell that his attitude isn’t making this any better.”

You sigh in relief, settling back into your seat as Yeonwoo puts the car in reverse and backs out of her parking spot.

It was starting to look like you didn’t give anyone enough credit for perceptiveness—the faint adrenaline rush receding from your veins was evidence enough that you needed to be more careful when showing your emotions, and not just when Taehyung was around. The realization has you second guessing every interaction you and Taehyung have ever had in front of your friends, expecting them to brush it off as two people who were extremely close from years of friendship.

You give Cafe Du Monde one final glance before you pull away, delivering the TKO punch to your gut for the day. At a seat by the window, you see through the clear glass window where Taehyung and Yeseul sit—laughing, happy, oblivious, and full of life and love as they chat with each other.

#taehyung x reader #bts x reader #taehyung angst #bts scenarios #bts angst #kim taehyung angst #kim taehyung #bts taehyung #honeyedhoseok #the v2 series #stitch #i said sunday #it's currently sunday at 12:24 am #is that okay?#:)

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finding-jericho-blog · 6 years

Text

Same Difference

characters: RK900(dbh) x human fem!reader

warning(s): Graphic language

word count: 2,124 words

Part Two

A/N: So.. I wanted to write a RK900 fic, but I wanted to write him how I personally headcanon him, not as the evil killing machine everyone imagines him as. There will be more to come, promise! Cx

When you walked into the precinct that morning, the sheer amount of whispers alone should have alerted you to the fact that something was awry, but you’d had such a horrible night of sleep that you only rubbed your bleary eyes as you walked past the front desk. You felt like shit, and you probably looked like it, too, but the reason for your recent spout of insomnia couldn’t be chalked up to you idly scrolling through your social media instead of actually trying to sleep this time; it was something you tried not to think about. The whole precinct tried not to think about it, really, but you and your old, grizzly uncle had been the ones closest to the incident and every day, you were finding a little bit harder for you to cope with it.

Lost in your train of thought, the gate whooshing open to offer you entrance seemed to rouse you, and you huffed a slow, deep sigh through your nostrils as the glass door slid open. Your feet carried you through the door and into the hall, and it was only then that you began to wonder why the room was so.. quiet. Eerily so. Usually, if there wasn’t a briefing going on, the floor was filled with laughter and polite conversation as officers carried out the least enjoyable part of their jobs; the desk work. Nobody liked it, but the paperwork needed to be done, so they tried to make it as pleasant as possible. All except your uncle, really; he kept to himself unless you were there to keep him company. Even then, sometimes neither of you really spoke, content enough to fall into a comfortable silence.

You didn’t work here; god no, you weren’t sure you could ever see yourself ever being a legitimate cop. You supposed you were an honorary ‘member of the force’, merely by extension of Hank. They celebrated your birthday, they sent you cards when you were sick, they came to your aid even when they were off duty. After.. Cole died, you started coming to the precinct to check on your uncle, since he refused to answer anyone’s calls and no one else in your family bothered to check on him. After a while, the rest of your family moved on, deciding that Hank would ‘come around eventually’ and that it was apparently more trouble than it was worth to continue making sure he knew that he wasn’t alone. That was three years ago, and ever since then, it’d been you and Hank against the world. Spending most of your days with Hank at the precinct was second nature now, and you couldn’t imagine spending your time any other way. Besides, it had taught you a thing or two about self defense and you had to admit, you felt your safest surrounded by your large ‘family’ of police officers.

Or, you had.

When you turned the corner into the main room, you abruptly slammed into something, which you soon realized was someone. While the other figure remained wholly unaffected, you stumbled backwards with an audible ‘oof’, but thankfully, whoever it was that you had ran into reached out to steady you by the shoulders. “Sorry,” You uttered out embarrassedly. “I wasn’t watching where I was-” As your eyes darted upwards, they met an unfamiliar pair of cool grey eyes belonging to a very familiar face.

Almost by instinct, your wretched away from his grasp, a look of horror finding residency on your features. “Connor?!” The name ripped out of your throat like a gasp, falling from your lips into the floor’s dead air. No.. no, it couldn’t be, they’d told you he’d been decommissioned, that he had been too much of a liability, that you and Hank were safe from him now!

“My apologies,” a too familiar of a voice mused, lips pressed into a firm, thin line. “but I am the replacement RK900 model sent by CyberLife.”

His words did nothing to soothe you.

Shaking your head, you backed away, but the RK900 simply watched you with his arms at his sides, making no moves to approach you or otherwise communicate with you. Swallowing your fear, you brushed past him and practically sprinted in the direction of Hank’s desk, and you found your uncle with his head in his arms, leaning over his desk. He only lifted his head when he heard your footfalls approaching him, and he looked at you with an expression you could only describe as one of exasperation. “Shit.. I was hoping you wouldn’t come in today–“

“Hank,” you hissed within a whisper, overlooking his previous statement. “did you see–“

“I did,” he cut you off, turning back to the paperwork sprawled haphazardly across his desk. “motherfuckers didn’t learn their lesson with the last one, I guess. They just keep pumping the fuckers out like shitty hot dogs.” Although you might have laughed at his statement, you were too on edge to find any amusement in the comparison; your racing heart pounded so hard in your ears that you feared Hank may hear it from where he was sitting. How could they just.. make another and put him back on the mission after what the last one had done?

Your eyebrows knitted together as you peered over your shoulder; the android was no longer where you’d left him, presumably carrying on with whatever task he’d been given before you’d run into him. Slowly, your gaze was drawn back to Hank, and, very softly now, you spoke. “… Fowler didn’t assign him to you, did he?”

Silence.

“For fuck sake,” you spat, your eyes snapping towards the captain in question’s office; despite being behind a wall of glass and being unable to hear a word either of you were saying, Captain Fowler’s eyes were already on you, and he looked away almost shamefully when your eyes met. “I’m going to talk to him.” You announced, moving to take a step in his direction, but Hank’s sudden grasp on your wrist kept you in place.

“Don’t bother, kid, I already gave that asshole a piece of my mind, he ain’t budging.”

Ignoring Hank’s request, you slipped your wrist out of his hold and marched right up the steps, swinging the door to his office open and storming inside in one fell swoop; Fowler couldn’t even look at you as you approached him, but you heard him mutter something a bit like ‘here we go’ under his breath as you came to stand over him at his desk. Despite the tensity of the silence, you didn’t speak a word, not until his dark eyes finally darted up to meet yours in uncertainty.

“What.. the fuck.”

“Listen, [Y/N], I–“

“No, you listen to me, Jeffrey.” you pressed your palms into the wood grain of his desk as you leaned over it, your gaze unwavering. “I don’t know what your game is here, but if you really think this is a good idea, then you need to have your head checked. I mean, honestly? After what happened last time?”

“CyberLife admitted that the android they last sent was... faulty, but they have assured me personally that this one is perfectly safe.” Although his voice was wholly even, his gaze darted between you, his monitors, the papers stacked neatly on his desk, and everywhere in between as he said this; he wasn’t certain of the validity of the words he was speaking, and you both knew it. “Having worked with the last one, Hank is the most qualified out of everyone to handle working with it.”

You wanted to scream. You wanted to yell at Jeffery and tell him how shitty of a person he was to be dumping this on your uncle, and by extension, you, especially after everything you’d both been through with the last CyberLife android. It felt like a raging wildfire roaring through your chest, like it would overtake you at any given second. But instead, you quietly straightened your posture, your shoulders slumping as his eyes finally met yours again. “Jeffery..” you quite nearly whispered, shaking your head. “.. He nearly nearly killed us. Please, I don’t.. I don’t think Hank can handle much more. Is that what you want? You want Hank to finally have a breakdown? If you want him gone, please, just fire him. Assign the android to Gavin for all I care, just leave my uncle out of it. Please.”

Captain Fowler was silent; despite looking genuinely regretful for assigning the new prototype to Hank, he still shook his head and turned away from you. “I’m sorry, [y/n/h]. My decision is final.”

Disbelief washed over you like a tidal wave. You honestly couldn’t fathom how Fowler could do this a second time. The first time, he had said that he hoped working with Connor would finally help Hank get back to being the cop he’d once been, but now, there was no excuse, not a good one at least. You found yourself shaking your head once more, turning to retreat back towards the door of his office; you paused, though, just before you opened the door. “Whatever happens..” you said, not even bothering to look at Fowler; you knew he was listening. “is on your hands. I hope you remember that.” With that, you slipped out of the office, trudging down the steps in defeat. When you returned to Hank, his nose was buried in his work, which was unlike him; he never bothered to work so diligently on paperwork, often leaving it to the very last possible second. Slowly, your [y/e/c/] eyes drifted past him to the adjoining desk to find the eerily familiar form of the RK900 sitting at the desk; the desk Connor used to sit at. The desk you use to sit at together.

The new model’s eyes were closed and his LED was a shimmering gold; he must be in the garden, Connor had told you about it once. Wincing at the sudden onslaught of painful memories, you maneuvered to sit on top of Hank’s desk, your legs dangling off the side as you both clearly struggled to ignore the android. You felt the weight of everyone’s eyes as they passed, and you knew most of them felt sympathy for you and your uncle, but they said nothing as they passed you by. What could they say, really? Sorry the captain is throwing you under the bus, again?

Despite your best efforts, your eyes eventually shifted back up towards the android in question, taking in his strange appearance. He sat perfectly still in the way only an android could, his hands resting in his lap in a stiff, tense fashion that continued to put you in mind of Connor. Aside from the obvious change of clothes and the stark difference in eye color, this RK900 looked almost identical to Connor, right down to every freckle, and even that unruly tuft of hair that made him seem a little less perfect, a little more.. human.

You hated how much he looked like him.

Suddenly, the RK900’s eyes snapped open and met yours, and you felt your breath catch in your chest as you quickly averted your gaze. Connor had nearly killed you, simply because you’d been in the way of his mission, and yet, part of you still loved him, grieved him, even. You hated him with every fiber of your being for what he’d put you and your uncle through, for the lies he told and the utter betrayal he’d so matter-of-factly admitted to.

“I only ever told you what you wanted to hear,” you could still hear his pleasant voice utter too softly, too sweetly for his hand being around your throat like that. “I had to get along with you, whatever made my mission easier. It was easy to win you over, and once you trusted me, Lieutenant Anderson would inevitably follow.”

“You lied!” you had sobbed out, fingers clutching at the fabric of his sleeve. “Everything was a lie! How could you!”

“It was nothing personal,” he had sounded so sad when he said that.. like he really regretted what he was about to do. “it was all for the greater good, and for the record, I think I would have enjoyed our time together, if I was capable of such. But now, you’re in my way.”

Every word he’d spoken, every perceived spark of emotion that he had displayed as he admitted his doubts as to whether or not he was just a machine, every.. affectionate moment you’d shared.. it had all been a clever lie, and you’d fallen for those sad eyes once before.

You weren’t going to again.

Taglist;

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