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ahundredtimesover · 2 days

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I Want You to Stay (12) | JJK

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: boss!JK x assistant!reader; idiot strangers to lovers; slow slow burn; k-drama feels; angst, drama, fluff, smut

Chapter (Series) Warnings: foul/explicit language; alcohol consumption & passing out, unhealthy coping mechanisms; family drama; minor injuries; power dynamics (JK starts off as a jerk); work-related anxiety, feelings of helplessness, insecurities; mentions of childhood traumatic experiences, nightmares; sexual harassment, attempted assault; mention of past experience of domestic violence (PLS PLS BE CAREFUL WHEN READING); arts, business/property devt, and book talk that’s probably inaccurate; commitment issues & emotionally constipated characters; cold and detached JK; sexual content (18+)

Chapter Word count: 24.7k

Series Masterlist

Status: Ongoing

Series summary: Working for Jungkook isn’t the same as working for Hoseok. For starters, Jungkook doesn’t smile, he doesn’t appreciate you, and he gives you too much work. It doesn’t help that he’s incredibly handsome and has women at his beck and call. But as the tension grows, it becomes impossible to resist him. You’ve dedicated yourself to your job for 8 years so when you finally decide to put yourself first, he asks you to reconsider. And while you know that leaving is difficult, you learn that when it comes to Jungkook, staying is always so much harder.

Playlist 🎶: on the way home

A/N: Hiii so this took a while but thank for being patient and showing so much love! This might sting a bit but I hope you enjoy it. We're close to the end so don't lose hope! 🤭🤭

And as always, my biggest thanks to @wonwoonlight 🥰

PS. If I can’t tag you, pls fix your settings!

There’s a kind of pain you don’t want to experience, one of a broken heart caused by someone you’ve given your all to. This doesn’t feel like that, but it’s close.

It’s so damn close that you feel your chest tightening, the unfamiliar feeling of loss of a person you never even had overwhelming you. You press your palms on your ears to block the sound of your heart breaking, but even that doesn’t do anything.

You let go, your fingers now shaking as you type away. Jungkook has asked you to send him your resignation letter so he can forward it to HR for documentation. It’s like saying goodbye to him all over again, and it doesn’t hurt any less.

This is all on you though, you remind yourself. Wanting him was wrong in the first place - he’s your boss, the man who pays you, who needs you so he could do his job, so you could make his life easier. But he’s also the son of the man that your family is indebted to; a man who, in a lot of ways, shaped the way you approach life and determine what you want out of it. Jungkook stands as a reminder of who you are and where you came from, of the childhood you had, and the decisions you made to get to where you are now. You let your guard down and let him in, and you let yourself fall for a man whose own past was always going to intertwine with yours.

You don’t know what you were thinking, kissing him and believing that things would fall into place. That was the thing - he kissed you and you kissed him back, a moment of weakness that you had no business having, as if almost doing it the first time wasn’t bad enough. You planned on leaving, and you hoped that you’d get to tell him on your own terms, that you’d have time to process your feelings and then explain yourself to him, that you’d be able to process his feelings and see the sincerity in them.

But life doesn’t always play out the way you want to, and you can keep thinking that people would react the way you hope they would but you’re human. You fell into his touch and wanted so much of it that you couldn’t think properly. He asked you to stay - expected it actually, which is the last thing you wanted him to do.

And now you’re left here with a lot of emotions that you don’t know what to do with - all conflicting, all overwhelming, and all seemingly out of your control.

You can’t deny what you feel for Jungkook. The thought that he feels the same should be something you welcome, but with how you both learned about it, and with him now knowing the secret you’ve been keeping, it’s hard to think how you both could move forward without those feelings of doubt, perhaps of distrust. You know enough that those aren’t good starting points for any relationship.

You’re doing what you have to do. Resigning was always the plan, but doing it this way wasn’t. You also didn’t expect you’d be leaving so much more than just a team you enjoy being a part of and a boss you’ve come to admire, a man who’s come to mean a lot of things to you.

And so even if this is the decision you’ll make every single time, it doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt you to be making it. Perhaps it’s now just dawning on you that you’re truly walking away from this job, and that may mean walking away from, too. This is when you realize just how big that loss is gonna be.

Jungkook made you braver. He made you feel understood and less alone. He showed you that beautiful things do exist, that you can capture them so you could hold onto the good memories, and doing that is one way to move on from the things that hurt.

Without realizing it, he’d become the person you were willing to crawl out of your walls for. But just like him, maybe your timing wasn’t right either. No matter how strong the feelings are, something just happens to be more important than being with him - feeling free is one, knowing that you’re able to do this for yourself is another. There’s wanting sincerity, too, on his end and on yours.

You know you need time to sort yourself out, to know what you want outside of all this, but the way he goes on about his business is affecting you more than you expected. He’s essentially giving you two weeks to stay in the office. He’s having Lucas fly in immediately. The implications are breaking you even more - perhaps you’ll be kept out of the projects; maybe you’ll no longer do your morning routines with him.

Perhaps he’s still overwhelmed about everything he knows. And perhaps he’s realizing he doesn’t want that complication in his life anymore. Maybe he doesn’t want to deal with you and the mess you created, given all the stress and pressure he’s under.

Maybe you were that easy to let go, too.

The thought feels like a slap on the face.

But you’re the foolish one who wanted to leave but who also hoped he’d go after you. He didn’t do it last Friday. He’s not going to do that now. You doubt that after your last day, he would do it either.

The tears dance around your eyelids. Everything becomes blurry, and after the first one falls, you stand from your desk and head to the washroom. You give yourself just 10 minutes to silently cry. You hadn’t prepared for this enough, and now the thought of saying goodbye to the team and leaving Jungkook during a big project launch weighs heavily on you.

You calm yourself down, thinking that if you’d chosen to delay it, everything else would be harder - seeing him, being close to him, knowing you both feel the same way but not knowing if that’s enough. Or if it’s real.

You get to be selfish this time and leave for your own reasons. You get to choose which heartbreak you’ll face and for how long you’ll feel it. You get to decide which burdens you’ll carry and what you’re walking away from.

The team will understand. You’ll give your all for the next few weeks you’ll be around and make sure that Lucas guides them well. Hoseok will be supportive. You know that he’ll always encourage you to go where you’re happiest. You just hope he won’t carry any guilt for being one of the reasons why you stayed now that he knows the truth. CEO Jeon might still ask you to wait, or he might just not want to see you again if he knows what really happened with his son, and that’s something you’ll have to learn to deal with as well. You don’t want to think you’re burning bridges with this decision, but you also know that those who truly care would want this for you, too.

But despite all that, the guilt and the sadness don’t go away. You’d once thought you could be happy with Jungkook. He’d given you a peek into a life where you could be, and he’d given you a taste of what it’s like to feel that all-consuming desire for someone. You don’t know if you’ll have that or feel that again for another person, but you at least now know what you’re searching for.

Maybe you’ll get over yourself and find the words to tell him what you feel or hope for both of you. Maybe you’ll find your way back to each other someday. You might also have to face the possibility that this decision is what pulls you apart for good, and the thought breaks your heart again.

You take a deep breath and close your eyes. You think of the comfort of your morning routines and the shared silence. You think about the warmth you felt from all the food he’d sent when you were sick and injured. You think about that night you felt brave because he’d been with you when you were scared. You think about the tranquility of being in his presence as you gazed at the mountains and felt free being outdoors. You think about feeling understood during the times when you’d been honest and so had he.

These are the good memories he gave you, the ones you’ll hold onto as you go through all this. You wonder if he keeps them in a nook in his heart the way you do, and if he’ll hold onto them as well as you walk away from him and from what you could’ve been.

The thoughts are enough to suspend your sadness for a while. You fix yourself up and while it wasn’t a big cry, your slightly swollen eyes could still give you away. You decide it’s not much of a problem. Until, of course, when you make it back to your desk, about to sit down to resume your tasks, and Jungkook opens his door and locks eyes with you.

There’s a moment where you hold each other’s gazes, and you see his face fall a little, softening briefly before he looks away, the seriousness coming back again. He attempts to say something but he stops, looking down at the papers he’s holding instead and asks you to photocopy them for distribution to the team.

You nod in confirmation, and as you’re about to walk out, Hoseok shows up.

“Are you free?” He asks Jungkook. “I need to run some things with you.”

“Sure,” Jungkook replies, glancing at you before walking back to his room.

Hoseok finally turns to you and sees your glassy eyes. His face falls, unsure how to comfort you during this time. He was never sure how to do that before, and he feels heavier thinking that so many times when you still worked for him, you probably wanted to quit but couldn’t. And that maybe his claims of needing you around to help him helped keep you here, in a place that wasn’t giving you that joy and satisfaction that you deserve.

“___,” he calls out. “I got the notice. How are you feeling?”

“Well, I see that word travels fast,” you giggle, an attempt to avoid a somber conversation. You also don’t know how to explain whatever it is you’re feeling so it’s not something you’re keen on addressing.

“HR was actually the one that informed me and uncle,” he explains. “Losing you is a big deal so they thought to let us know right away. And I only mean that because you’re an integral part of this company. And you… you matter to my family. You matter to me, and I know you matter to him.”

Hoseok gestures towards Jungkook’s direction, prompting you to look away. The man in front of you sighs and apologizes, adding that you’ve come to mean so much to the people he cares for, including his wife.

“You welcomed me to your family, Hoseok,” you respond. “You and A-yeong treated me like one and I always will be. But none of the sadness yet. I’ll still be here for the next month.”

“I’ll take my time in saying goodbye then,” he says, his genuine smile serving as the comfort you badly need. “And I hope it’s not for good.”

“Not to you,” you assure him. “I’m not that easy to get rid of.”

“Good,” he says, his eyes softening in understanding and acceptance. “I’ll just meet with Jungkook. I’ll catch up with you soon, okay?”

“Okay,” you say. “And uh, thank you.”

Your smile holds in it a lot of emotions for the man who’s become your friend all these years. And you know that whatever happens with Jungkook, Hoseok will always be a person you’ll treasure.

You walk out while he enters the room and closes the door.

Jungkook’s eyebrows are scrunched as he gives instructions over the phone while also typing on his desktop. Hoseok can sense the stress and tension all over his cousin, and he hopes that especially with this, the younger man finds it in him to talk about what he’s feeling. There’s fear that he’ll keep it all to himself again, and in doing so, he might just push you away even more.

“Hey, how are you holding up?” Hoseok asks after the call ends.

“I don’t really want to talk about it,” Jungkook huffs.

There’s a beat of silence before Hoseok speaks again. “So, you already have a replacement for ___, huh?” He says, having just heard Jungkook’s conversation about Lucas’ work visa requirements over the phone. “Isn’t that too fast?”

“The Arts Center launch is in a couple of weeks. I can’t have delays,” Jungkook explains. “Sending Lucas here will require less time than looking for a new assistant. He’s familiar with the project and he’s used to working for me so he can take over with the preparations. I’ve received father’s approval for his transfer.”

“What about ___, then?”

“What about her?” Jungkook asks bitterly. “She’s resigned. I’ll have her focus on turning everything over and documenting key projects and practices. She has vacation leaves to use up for the last month she’s here.”

“Just like that?” Hoseok questions. “She resigns today and then you’ve gotten everything sorted out for her departure, just like that? As if you can’t wait for her to leave?”

“She wanted this,” Jungkook counters. “You heard what Mr. Ri said. She’s been wanting to do this for years, and I’m just making sure she’s not bothered by what she’s leaving behind. Having Lucas here will assure her that the team will continue to function and that she’s not delaying anything by deciding to leave. She doesn’t have to worry about anything.”

And it’s the truth. Hearing what you went through and that you’d thought of resigning several times before makes Jungkook think that you haven’t been happy here for a long while. He’s unsure if you’d always planned on leaving before the Arts Center launch, or if what happened last Friday prompted you to do this now. But still, it seemed so easy for you to make the decision, as if you can’t wait to leave him, as if being around him hurts you that much, as if you know that whatever it is you’re looking for isn’t here.

Jungkook spent all of last weekend replaying that night in his mind - from the way you pulled him close to you and to the way his heart broke when you pulled away. He doesn’t know what you want from him. You kissed him as if you wanted him. He felt your desire as your hands danced around his chest, as you moaned against his lips, as you thrusted against him like you wanted more, and he would’ve given it all to you, he would’ve given you everything, but the words he’d never told anyone slipped from his mouth and somehow, that’s what made you create that distance.

Perhaps it’s what made you not want to stay.

But he wouldn’t have known because he didn’t ask. At the thought of you no longer being by his side, he faltered. At the thought of losing the routine you’ve both created and the comfort you’ve been giving him everyday, he caved in. He lost all sense and just wanted to keep you. He’d disregarded every rule, crossed every boundary he created, and thought of nothing else but to be with you. He made the mistake of not thinking about you, the person he wants.

He naively believed that your expression of desire meant that nothing else mattered - you’d be with him regardless. But he realized that maybe he doesn’t know you at all. He would’ve risked everything but maybe you wouldn’t. You make him happy and that’s all he cares about but maybe he’s not enough for you. He’d do anything to be with you everyday but maybe that’s not what you want.

The thought that that moment made you realize that maybe, he’s not what you wanted after all creates another crack in his heart. That cold, stubborn heart of his hasn’t felt much in years but it betrayed him this time. It called out for you and he��s afraid to find out that it still will, after everything.

“Have you spoken to her?” Hoseok pulls him out of his thoughts.

“Yeah,” Jungkook replies. “I gave her my recommendation letter, told her about Lucas replacing her, and that she still has leaves to take.”

“I meant about both of you,” Hoseok clarifies. “About what you both feel, about what that means and what happens after that.”

“What is there to talk about?” Jungkook groans. “She left me that night. I come here today with a resignation letter on my desk. She doesn’t want anything to do with me.”

“That doesn’t mean she doesn’t want you,” Hoseok says.

“It doesn’t mean she does,” Jungkook counters. “Clearly, her happiness outside of this company is her priority. And it should be. She doesn’t have a reason to stay here anymore.”

“And what if that happiness could include you? Did you even think about that?”

“Then she could’ve said that if she wanted to. It was her decision, it was her call.”

“You think it’s that easy to say that? Then why don’t you go ahead and tell her what you feel and want?”

“I did!” Jungkook almost yells now, thankful for the thick walls of this room. “And she pulled away! She said she couldn’t do this, that she couldn’t do this with me. That tells me everything I need to know, Hoseok. Whatever she feels for me isn’t that strong. I was stupid to believe an overheard conversation. I heard that she liked me and I thought, all I had to do was tell her that I felt the same way. But it wasn’t enough. I asked her to stay and she said she couldn’t. I don’t matter to her. Not in the way that she matters to me.”

“Why did she cry, then?” Hoseok asks. “Did you notice that?”

Of course Jungkook did. He’s seen you cry a few times, a sight he never wants to see again, and seeing your puffy eyes earlier made him want to just forget everything and hug you so he could help make the hurt go away. It’s something he’s wanted to do before and there’s a reason why he never did. Today, he knew that doing so would make it harder for him. So all he could do was look away.

“She wouldn’t be that upset if all this didn’t matter to her. If you didn’t matter that much to her,” Hoseok adds.

“This job mattered to her, too. You and I know how she works. Maybe there’s guilt or worry that she’s leaving at this critical time, which is why I’m trying to make the transition easy,” Jungkook reasons. “She’s leaving a lot of things and people behind and that could be hard for anyone. She’s crucial to the team but I don’t want there to be anything else that would hold her back. Not anymore.”

“But all these arrangements… it’s as if it’s so easy to replace her,” Hoseok sighs. “Are you even giving yourself time to just process all of this?”

“And then what? Give myself time to realize again that I can’t do this without her? I already know that I can’t, I can’t replace her, not in any way but I…” Jungkook heaves. “I can’t give in to those feelings and end up asking her to reconsider her decision. She has a life to live outside of this but this is mine. I have a project to launch, a name to uphold…”

A broken heart to live with, he doesn’t say.

“I don’t know what else to do but this,” he adds, his head bowing down as he pinches the corners of his eyes. He’s just trying to deal with losing you in more than one way, and trying to maintain whatever professionalism he has left after everything.

Hoseok sighs as he watches his cousin stop himself from falling apart. It’s true that everything feels so sudden. Perhaps for you, the best decision you could make after what happened last Friday is to leave and he wouldn’t fault you for that, especially after what you gave up to be here. And maybe Jungkook is just trying to deal with that pain of losing you as his assistant and the possibility of more in the way that he knows how - distance, detachment. It’s how the younger man has always chosen to deal with things he can’t control, and as someone who’s seen him try to move on from his own past, it’s hard for Hoseok to stand by and watch Jungkook hurt this way when he knows that you care about him, too.

It wasn’t always obvious, but at one point, Hoseok started to notice things; he just never questioned them. You were always competent. When you were his assistant, you paid attention to every detail and made sure that he was always at his best. But this past year, Hoseok had seen you pay attention to Jungkook in a more meaningful way. He’d seen you care for the younger man, showed him kindness that no one’s bothered to do before. And that’s done so much for him as he learned to open himself up, to allow himself to feel a different kind of vulnerability, to feel like he could be himself again, and that he’ll be accepted for all the scared and flawed parts of him.

All Hoseok can do is at least help his cousin be honest about what he feels and help him not lose you completely. But much as he wants to figure this out with Jungkook, life continues, and right now, there are some executive decisions both men have to make. So he redirects the conversation, and it’s half an hour later when they come up with a policy statement that they send to CEO Jeon as instructed.

That’s at least one other important thing that Jungkook can tick off his list. He’s determined to just focus on all work matters for today, hoping that would keep his mind off of you.

But that’s impossible when you still have a role to play in his life, as you enter his room after Hoseok exits, avoiding the older man’s worried gaze. You glance at Jungkook just once, placing a folder of documents on his desk for his signature.

He’s past the second of a dozen pages when he speaks, his eyes glued to the papers, not wanting to look at your face.

“I intend on telling the team about your resignation during tomorrow’s meeting,” he says. “I’ll release the company-wide announcement on Wednesday, followed by an email to other partners and contacts. The Arts Center launch is happening in a few weeks and we can’t have delays, so I’ll be endorsing Lucas soon after.”

“I understand, Mr. Jeon,” you say, trying to stabilize your voice. “If you need me to draft anything—”

“There’s no need, I will do that.”

“That’s noted, sir.”

You remain standing in front of him, watching him go through each page and feeling like you could burst any moment. Somehow he seems like that man you met almost a year ago - focused yet detached, close but so far away.

“You’re also no longer required to come to my apartment every morning,” he continues. “I’ll only need you to come on Thursday so you could give Lucas your access and brief him about the building and where things are. Mr. Ri could still drive you to work until your last day.”

“That service was extended to me for the purpose of assisting you every morning, Mr. Jeon,” you say, your voice sounding firm this time. “That is no longer necessary.”

You see him stop his movements for a second before he resumes and nods in acknowledgment of your statement.

As you watch him sign the last few pages, you allow yourself a brief moment to wish that you’d just left much sooner, during a time when he wasn’t around so you didn’t have to feel this agonizing pain of him slowly slipping away. Everytime you remind yourself that you made this decision, you’re pulled back by the thought that leaving didn’t have to mean that you’d lose him completely.

But with the way he acts now, with how he’s distancing himself from you and everything you shared, you’re starting to think that maybe he’s decided on this, too - that this is goodbye and that there’s nothing for both of you after this. It’s a hard pill to swallow but one you suppose you should - this was your call and you didn’t give him a choice in the matter. Perhaps this is his way of dealing with your departure as well. That’s something you can’t fault him for doing.

That leaves you with no choice but to deal with the pain, too. You don’t know exactly how. You’ve never really gone through this before. All your breakups didn’t hurt like this, probably because you knew from the beginning that they would end anyway, that you wouldn’t care more than you planned.

But Jungkook is different. You didn’t expect him to be the one you’d care for, that you’d yearn for, that you’d want with all of you. But you watch on as he slips right through your fingers, and whatever hope you had of finding your way back to him in the future withers away. This is how you lose him, and you’ll try hard to keep only the good memories with you.

He finishes signing the papers then he hands them over to you, his eyes only briefly meeting yours. He turns towards his desktop but he speaks again.

“HR requires me to have an exit interview with you,” he says. “But due to our personal circumstances, I don’t think that’s appropriate. I’ve asked Hoseok to conduct it instead. You may just schedule it with him within the next week. You’ll also be provided with a list of all the things you need to submit for your clearance. Just let me know what you need from me and I’ll work on it right away.”

It takes a while for you to respond, as you notice him slowly look your way.

“Understood, sir,” you manage to say, so softly like a breath, even you could barely hear yourself.

But the words come out, almost emotionless now as you just take in all his instructions. You gave him your letter only a few hours ago and now he’s got everything organized for your departure, almost as if he wants the complication, that is you, dealt with immediately.

You’ve disrupted his routine and messed up a lot of his plans. He’s always said he hates change, and you’ve caused one of the biggest ones he’s ever had to deal with. You don’t blame him for not wanting to do anything with you anymore.

You nod and head out, knowing that you’re slowly losing your place in his life, even as his assistant. He doesn’t call for you the rest of the day, even for coffee. You’re tempted to knock on his door and ask if there’s anything else he needs for you to do before you clock out, but you decide against it, slowly feeling like you’re no longer welcome.

You mindlessly walk out the building and down the street, feeling the weight of everything drag you down. You’d thought that finally doing this would make you feel liberated, like you’d be relieved of your burdens and even of a secret that you no longer have to keep. But as the minutes pass by, everything is just getting heavier and heavier. Your heart doesn’t loosen up, either.

And as you stare at the barely eaten sujebi from your favorite noodle house and the piece of choco pie that you bought from the convenience store that you now have no appetite to eat, you feel yourself falling apart. You don’t know what you were expecting but it wasn’t this. You hated doubting Jungkook’s sincerity about what he felt but now you’re faced with his seeming apathy. It makes you wonder once more if he really felt anything for you, or if he just mistook his practical need for you as something more.

Maybe you’ll never know. At this point, he’s just your boss who’s running a company and preparing to launch the biggest project of his life. All you can do is respect that and support him the best way you know how. If it’s distance he wants, then it’s what you’ll give. You suppose it’s the most you could do for him after making the decision to walk away.

Sitting in the meeting room the next day with the management support team chatting around you is a little unnerving. You try to engage with them and put on a smile that doesn’t feel real. The nervousness and guilt slowly creep in, especially when Jungkook arrives and orders for the meeting to begin.

“Before we start, I’d just like to make an important announcement,” he says, quieting everyone down as he sounds serious. “Ms. Cho has tendered her resignation and will be leaving the company in a month. I wanted to tell the team immediately so we could all work on the necessary adjustments. Lucas, my assistant during my time in Singapore, will be replacing her. I made this decision with the approval of the CEO to ensure a smooth transition. His first day will be on Thursday.”

In the silence, you look up, afraid of how the team is taking it. Manager Lee and Chin-sun have a mix of sadness and acceptance on their faces. Yohan has his head bowed down. And Do-hyun sits there, silently crying.

“Do you… do you not like us anymore?” She mumbles through her sniffles.

“Of course I do,” you say, your eyes softening. “It’s not about that.”

“Then what is it?” She asks. “Why… why are you leaving us? Why are you leaving Mr. Jeon?”

“I…” you start, looking at him for approval, and he nods as if to say that you’re free to say whatever you want to say. “I’ve been here for a while. This job is all I know and the years just flew right by. I feel like a new environment and a change of pace would do me good.”

Chin-sun turns to you, her look of understanding giving you the comfort that you need. She told you once that you deserve to live a life outside of work, that you need to find yourself and what makes you happy, and that she knows what that could mean. You’ve always looked up to her and how she’s handled everything in her life with such grace, and seeing her give you that nod of encouragement tells you that she gets it, and that despite the doubt that’s slowly crept in, she’s that hand on your shoulder, saying that you’re doing the right thing.

“Do you have to go this soon?” Do-hyun asks, her voice so unusually soft that it makes you feel like crying, too.

“I had initially planned on resigning after the Arts Center launch,” you say, the words hitting Jungkook as you see the way he clenches his jaw. “But the company I’ll be moving to requested for my start to be in two months. It’s too good of an opportunity to pass up on, so I decided to leave early.”

It’s not a complete lie. You had emailed Namjoon last night and inquired if the production officer position is still open. He responded right away to say that it is, and that he’s been hoping for you to officially apply, so you did. He insisted that based on your resume and your mindset and approach to work that he’s picked up from your conversations, the role is meant to be yours. He scheduled an interview in the next two weeks during your forced leave - for formalities’ sake, he told you - and you can start next quarter.

“I’m just… I’m just really sorry that I’m leaving in the midst of all the preparations,” you add, your nails sinking in your skin once more as you try to deal with guilt. “Things just happened so fast and I had to make decisions right away.”

“We’re gonna be okay,” Chin-sun assures you now. “You and Mr. Jeon trained us well. You, especially. We’ve been working together for over four years and I may have been in this longer but I’ve learned so much from you, ___. This breaks my heart more than you know but I’m proud of you, and I’m happy for you. I can at least say on behalf of the team that we don’t want this decision to burden you. You’ve held the fort for everyone for so long, you deserve to pursue whatever makes you happy.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, feeling the words getting caught in your throat as you try to keep yourself from breaking down.

Chin-sun isn’t always this sentimental, so you know it means just as much to her that she’s able to say these things to you.

“I agree with her,” Manager Lee says. “It’s gonna be different and definitely hard but the team will manage. You’ve given this company so much, and I know that wherever you’ll go, they’ll be so lucky to have you. Just… just don’t forget about us, okay?”

“Never,” you assure the team this time.

“Remember when I was being stubborn and didn’t want to go to the hospital when I was sick?” Yohan speaks up, looking at you now with glassy eyes. “You took half the day off so you could drag me there and then visited me everyday after work when I was confined for a week. The doctor said things would’ve been worse if I’d gone there even just a day late.”

You remember that incident clearly. It was the month before Jungkook arrived. The entire team was busy preparing everything but you noticed that Yohan looked unwell, and you insisted on taking him to the hospital so he could get checked and you’re glad you did. You can’t imagine how things would’ve turned out if you hadn’t.

“I was trying hard to keep it in because I didn’t want to be a burden,” he continues. “But you noticed, you always do. And I’ll always be thankful. Chin-sun may be my wise auntie but you’re my ever dependable older sister and I’ll miss you so much. No one can calm me down the way you do, and no one will tell me and Do-hyun off when we’re being whiney or ungrateful. I just hope that whatever you do brings you all the peace and happiness you deserve.”

At his words, Do-hyun sobs. Covering her face, she mumbles onto her palms, muffling her words that you can’t understand. She briefly looks up at you, pouting as she catches her breath, and then she cries again. Even when she’s being emotional, her child-like way of showing it is every bit endearing.

You remember the first time you met her, a brilliant fresh graduate with so much passion and energy. She was a little too bubbly for you at the beginning. She was always curious and lacked filter most of the time. But you got to know her genuine heart, one that often sought you, that wanted to get your approval, that hoped you’d return the affection she always gave you. She was like that bratty little sister that you enjoyed looking after, and seeing her be affected this way is affecting you more than you expected. You can’t make out what she’s saying, but you’re pretty sure that they’d make you cry either way.

And that’s what you’re trying hard not to do, as you bite your lips to stop them from shaking, hoping you won’t break down in front of them, especially in front of Jungkook.

Chin-sun comforts Do-hyun who’s calming down a bit now. Manager Lee and Yohan wipe their eyes. It’s a little too quiet, and you know they’re waiting for you to say something, too. Wanting to return their honesty, you start, trying to find the words that would capture everything you feel.

“You all know how much of myself I give to this job,” you start, your lips trembling as you try to get it together. “And from the beginning, I thought I would just come to work, do what I have to do, go home, and do it all over again. It’s the corporate world and we’re just trying to survive. You were all supposed to be just colleagues, people I had to just tolerate but that’s clearly not what happened. Without meaning to, you’ve all become such a big part of my life, more than I can ever express.”

You glance at Jungkook, hoping that he knows it includes him, but you see him clench his jaw and look away, and at this point, you don’t expect him to believe anything else you say, no matter how much you mean them.

“I know I’ve never been good at accepting and especially returning your affection,” you continue. “I’ve missed out on a lot of post-work dinners and weekend get-togethers. I’ve just, uh, I’ve just never been good at mixing work with my personal life. But even then, you never took it against me. You keep up with all versions of me, you encourage me when things get hard, and you never fail to let me know that I’m doing a good job. And that’s done so much for me more than you know.”

You take in deep breaths as you feel your tears dance around your eyes, and you blink to let them fall then quickly wipe them away.

“We’ve gone through so much together and I’ll always treasure all those moments and everything we shared,” you manage to say. “Leaving doesn’t change anything. At least, I hope it doesn’t.”

“Not to us,” Chin-sun assures you. “You’ll always be a part of this team.”

You mirror her smile, hoping your gratitude gets across.

The clearing of throat catches everyone’s attention, and you turn to Jungkook, remembering that you’re all gathered today for a meeting, and not some sentimental goodbye that’s turned into a cry-fest. You doubt he’d want to be around for this, so you apologize and say that he can continue on with the agenda.

“It slipped my mind that I have a call with one of the artists that Mr. Saito introduced me to,” Jungkook answers, looking at his phone then turning back to the team. “It’s in 10 minutes. We can resume tomorrow morning. It’s close to lunch anyway so you can all have your break.”

The whole team nods in acknowledgement. Except for you. He doesn’t have any scheduled calls today, as he was adamant on having this meeting done as soon as possible. He would have remembered if that call was that important and if it wasn’t, you know he wouldn’t have rescheduled this because making all the arrangements for your departure seems to be his top priority.

You suspend the thought, knowing that dwelling on how much he’s distancing himself from you will take away from the moment you shared with your team. Right now, they’re who matter. Jungkook had always insisted he wasn’t part of it, and you always disagreed. But with him stepping away, maybe he’s right.

He steps out, and with him no longer in the room, Do-hyun takes the opportunity to hug you. It’s not something you always return but today, it’s everything you need, as her warmth gives you the comfort you’ve been badly craving since last Friday. All you had was your pillow and that didn’t really do much. With Do-hyun wrapping you in her arms, you’re able to breathe, and she holds you tightly as you silently cry, as if she knows just how much it means to you to have a shoulder to cry on this time.

“Yah! Don’t cry,” she says in that mocking tone to tease you when you pull away.

Everyone laughs and you shake your head in embarrassment. “I didn’t expect to cry this much.”

“Chin-sun started it,” Yohan says, earning him a nudge and a playful glare.

“I just knew it mattered that you knew that it was okay,” she says, prompting you to look at her. “We may be crying and going on about missing you and things not being the same but… what you leave behind doesn’t make your decision any less valid, or even wrong. Only you would know what doing this could do for you, and there’s absolutely nothing to be sorry for.”

You mumble your thanks again, feeling a bit of weight off your shoulders with the assurance that the team will be alright without you.

Outside, Jungkook looks on as everyone gathers around you, hugging you and wiping your tears, something he held himself back from doing.

There’s no call to be had. He’d intended for today’s meeting to be about discussing the plans moving forward, the added responsibilities that each member would have as Lucas adjusts, and how they could help in his transition. Jungkook didn’t expect for it to turn out the way it did, with each person expressing their gratitude to you, comforting you, and sharing stories that show just how much you matter to them.

This is who you are - someone loved by the people around her, despite the distance she keeps. There’s just always been this warmth about you that’s reflected in your ability to notice things, in your stubbornness, and in the way that you make every person feel cared for. It’s something he always admired about you. It’s also what he likes the most about you, and for all that you are, all that warmth and comfort that you deserve aren’t things he can give. Not when he’s trying to keep his own distance, not when he’s trying to keep himself together, and not when he’s trying not to hold you back any more than he already did.

In a way, he’s glad that the team was able to express themselves to you. He likes to think that their words at least relieved you of whatever guilt you were feeling about leaving, something he’s also unable to do. They were able to assure you that they understand and only wish for your happiness. On his end, he’s ensuring that you don’t have to worry about all the work you’ll leave behind. It’s his way of telling you that it’s okay.

Jungkook steps away when he hears you start to pack up. He walks back to his room and hears the team’s plans of grabbing lunch at the dining hall then eating it at the floor’s outdoor space. Do-hyun tells you to ask him to join everyone, and Jungkook hates that he’d have to turn the invitation down. He does so by pretending to still be on a call when you peek into his room, and at this point, he’s unable to read your face.

He can’t think that you were hoping he’d join you, as he can’t feed the illusion that you still want him after everything. He’ll just believe that it was relief he saw in your eyes and that just like him, you’re creating distance because that makes it easier for both of you.

But the truth is, it doesn’t, as an hour goes by and he spends it zoning out in the midst of sending emails and coordinating with Lucas about his move. Jungkook catches sight of you from his window, seated with your chair turned around, facing the shelves. He’d seen you do that a few times - in the midst of a busy day, or that very first time after he’d gotten mad at you. He wonders what it’s about now.

Maybe it’s your decision still weighing heavy on you, or that you still have so much to do for turnover. Whatever it is, Jungkook fights the urge to go out there and ask you, to tell you that you could take a break if it’ll help. Or to hug you if that’s what you need.

At this moment, he lets himself wish that the world would just suspend for a while and he could do all that without any consequences. He wishes you’re both in some alternative universe where you’re still you and he’s still him but without the baggage, without the secrets, without the intertwined past. He wishes he could just be with you without any of the burden nor the doubts, and you could just go on and be honest with what you both want, and feel what you feel with no reservations, and that all that would be enough.

There’s so much he wants to do for you but he can’t let himself be weak this time. You made your decision and he won’t hold you back. What he’ll do is try to make things easy for you, although the sullenness in your eyes - that he briefly sees when you turn around to face your desk - tells him that it doesn’t seem like it’s working.

But detachment is all he knows when it comes to things he can’t control. He can’t control you with the decision you made. He can't control how he’s taking it. And even after all that, he still can’t control the way he feels or the way his heart breaks seeing you like this.

“Hey, is everything okay?”

You look up from your desktop to a pair of questioning eyes, and you fumble for your tea and ask why he’s asking.

“Just curious,” Yoongi shrugs. “Jungkook’s been cross-copying Lucas in some of our emails and I don’t recall that ever happening before.”

You glance at your screen, seeing the messages that have the said man now looped in, all just today.

“Uh, yeah. Jungkook’s including him in the communications already,” you answer. “I… I tendered my resignation yesterday, Yoongi. I leave in a month.”

You knew that Yoongi would always be supportive. So many times before, he’d asked you how you imagined your life to be and what you were going to do once you thought your time in the company was over. He’d talked about his own plans, too, like opening up his own architectural firm in Daegu because that was always going to be his home. You knew that when the time came, he’d be proud of you because it would be your decision, and the look on his face right now tells you that he is.

“You finally did it,” he smiles. “How does it feel?”

“A lot of things,” you sigh, not wanting to give too much away. Not here at least. “There’s just a lot to think about. Maybe when I take one of my remaining leaves, it’ll finally sink in.”

“And how’s Jungkook taking it?”

You’re about to answer, trying to formulate in your head how you can explain how Jungkook has been. But it’s that moment when said man opens his door with papers in hand, his eyes flitting from Yoongi to you. You ask him if there’s anything he needs but he shakes his head and says he can handle it before closing the door. You stare at it for a while, hoping he’d come back out and say that he does need you to do something, but he doesn’t.

“I guess not well,” Yoongi points out, prompting you to return your gaze to him.

“He is, actually,” you counter. “He accepted my resignation with no questions asked, gave me a recommendation letter, organized everything for my replacement, told me to take my remaining leaves… he hasn’t given me more workload than I expected. He just wants me to focus on turning things over.”

“And that’s ‘taking it well’ for you?” Yoongi cocks an eyebrow.

“Well, he hates change. The last time that happened and he got shipped to Seoul but couldn’t bring his old assistant with him, he acted out. We both know how that went,” you say. “And now I’m causing another big change. We had a routine going. The Arts Center opens in less than two months. And then I decided to leave. He could be letting out his anger and frustration on me but he isn’t.”

“Hmm,” Yoongi hums.

After knowing you for 10 years, he’s come to realize that you have your ways of coping with things. So does Jungkook.

“I think I know what he’s doing,” he continues, earning him a questioning look from you. “He’s distancing himself. How else does he deal with anything that hurts or terrifies him? He’s losing you, ___. Even just from a professional standpoint, that’s a lot for him. On a personal level, even more.”

You look away, not wanting to think about the implications of Yoongi’s last statement. He picks it up, knowing that it’s probably hard for you to talk about right now.

“You may not agree, but you’re important to him,” he adds. “If you think this is easy for him, I’m telling you now that it isn’t. You know him. He’s… he’s not good at expressing how he feels. He just shuts everyone out. It’s his default. Even if the person he’s pushing away is probably the one he needs the most.”

“It’s more complicated than that,” you sigh.

You relate with Yoongi’s statement though. You pushed Jungkook away when all you wanted was to have him close. You decided to leave the company even though you hoped you could be with him. You may mean a lot to each other but it also doesn’t mean it’s enough.

“Is it really?” He questions.

When you really think about it, it shouldn’t. Jungkook likes you. You like him. For two people who are used to being on their own, finding comfort and strength in each other and then wanting that to last is simple. But how you both got here isn’t. You kept a secret from him that may have tainted his trust in you. He pursued you in a way that made you doubt his sincerity. You’re unsure how both of you could navigate all that, especially given the way you are.

Your silence prompts Yoongi to say that you don’t have to tell him anything, but that he’s there should you need anyone to talk to. He leaves, and suddenly, the silence is too loud.

The rest of the afternoon feels too long, with time ticking by so slowly. You always liked how your desk was separated from everyone else, as it gives you the peace and quiet you need to focus on your tasks. You’re also accessible to the VP, which makes everything easier and more efficient. But now, you hate it. There’s no sound but your thoughts ringing at you that you hear. And there’s no Jungkook calling for you to give you things to do.

Not speaking to him nor seeing him makes your day incomplete. You used to enjoy your shared moments, like when you’d enter his room with his cup of coffee and you’d remind him to take a break. All those times when you’d make him sign documents, with him groaning at something he’s frustrated about and then telling you what you can do after you ask if you can help him with something. Those instances where he’d look through portfolios on your shelf and do small talk with you, and those times you thought he just needed a break or a friendly smile or a hum of encouragement.

It’s only been the second day but there’s none of those now, and you don’t have anyone to blame but yourself. You let yourself be selfish for once by resigning. But you feel even more selfish by wishing he didn’t act so unaffected, that he’d still ask for you after what you’re putting him through.

You clock out at 6, initially considering letting Jungkook know but then deciding against it, knowing that his nonchalance will just cause a crack in your heart. The rest of your evening feels lonely even with your variety TV show on, so does your commute to work the next morning that you now have to get used to. It didn’t feel right to still have Mr. Ri drive for you, even though he messaged and insisted that he still could.

It’s Wednesday, and there’s something about the middle of the week that makes you feel uneasy - the week is halfway done; it feels like it flew by but it also can’t end fast enough. There are documents on your desk for review and some emails that you need to get to, but Mrs. Myung calling to say that CEO Jeon wants to see you is what does your head in. You suppose he’d want to speak with you at one point; you just weren’t prepared for it to be today.

The CEO’s office is like a personal museum, with photos and blueprints framed on the walls and miniature replicas of some of the company’s earliest infrastructure being displayed in the large room. The view of the city is stunning from all angles, and you can only imagine how much creativity it inspires. You’re still unsure how he thinks about you, but you bow shyly once he greets you and you take your seat when he asks you to.

“Jungkook said he’ll be announcing your resignation today,” the man says. “It seems that he has everything organized already and ready for your departure.”

“He has, Mr. Jeon,” you confirm. “I feel quite bad that I’m not helping him with the arrangements. He, uh, he seems to have wanted to handle all of it all on his own.”

“Well, he’s pressed for time. He had to make quick decisions with the Arts Center opening in a few weeks.”

“I… I apologize for leaving at such a critical time,” you say, bowing your head in shame once more. “I—”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” he shakes his head. “You made a decision that was best for you. I guess I was just in denial that you’d do it so soon, or at least before the Center is revealed. You’ve worked hard on that, too. I’m sure it’s difficult for you to let that go as well.”

You look up and see the gentleness in his eyes, the same ones that looked at you the first time you met him - in this room, over 20 years ago. He was a stranger to you, but he was kind. There wasn’t much you remember from that day nor that period, but you’ll always remember the soft way he greeted you and introduced himself.

You look back at the years after that. He didn’t reach out much but you still felt him looking out for you and your mom. When you entered the company as an intern, he had that look of recognition, and then of pride.

Working here all these years, you’ve seen him be the critical, perfectionist, and passionate man that he is. People stopped what they were doing when he entered the room, they listened when he spoke, he commanded fear and respect, but you’ve seen his moments of tenderness and empathy, too. This is a man who commits himself to everything he does, something his son took after him. It’s probably why with his years of experience, he knows that for you, walking away from the project you poured your soul into is just as hard.

“It’s a sad parting, I would say. But I know it will turn out just as beautiful as your son had hoped. He really put his everything into that and I’m glad I got to see it almost completed,” you say, having visited the site not long ago. “Though I’ll no longer be here when the rest of the world sees it, I know it’ll give him that satisfaction and pride that he managed to bring to life all that he envisioned.”

“I don’t know about satisfaction and pride if you’re not around,” Mr. Jeon hums. “You’re leaving a big hole in his life, ___. And I don’t mean that just professionally.”

You turn away, unsure if you’re ready to address your feelings for Jungkook in front of his father.

“Looking back now, I was being selfish to you all these years,” he continues. “You had a hard time when you first started and that all happened under my watch. I encouraged you to apply for that EA position because I knew that Hoseok would choose you by your own merit, and he would treat you well. He would train and mentor you and I selfishly hoped that my family would be redeemed in your eyes. And Jungkook… he… he reminded me of myself when I was younger. And you had the spirit of your mother,” he adds, his eyes softening at the mention of her. “You had her heart and I hoped… I hoped that whatever gentleness you’d show my son would allow him to heal a little. It was unfair of me to give you that responsibility, especially given how he treated you at the beginning. I’m so sorry, ___. I feel like I was holding you back and I never intended that.”

“Please don’t apologize, Mr. Jeon,” you insist, your eyes blurring a little with his honesty. “I still made the decision to stay every time. Even when it was hard. I… I wanted to show my gratitude to your family for what you’ve done for us. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to pay you back.”

“None of that,” he shakes his head. “It wasn’t just about absolving myself of the guilt for what your mom had to go through because of me, which was bad enough in the first place. But I… I knew it was the only way I could thank her, that I could apologize. If there was a way I could help both of you rebuild your lives, I would.”

“And you did,” you assure him. “We were safe. We made good memories in Busan. We now have a good home back in Daegu. I got to study and build myself and experience all these things. And I… I got to meet your son. And I got to see his heart. And I’ll always keep that with me, regardless of how things turned out.”

“Does this mean that you and him aren’t… uh—”

“It was unprofessional to cross the line, Mr. Jeon,” you bow your head. “I’m so sorry that happened.”

“I’m not angry. I guess I should’ve expected it. I’d accept my wife calling me a matchmaker if only it was true,” he laughs dryly. “Jungkook cares about you. And I know that you care about him. You’ve resigned now. You’re… you’re free.”

“I didn’t decide to leave so I could be with him, sir. I mean, that wasn’t the primary intention,” you try to explain. “I… I always knew I would, but doing this soon is because I’m unsure how to continue with my role given what happened. I hope I’ve clarified that.”

“Is this it, then? Is this goodbye for you and him?”

“I… I still hope I’ll see him one day, perhaps when we’ve forgiven each other, when we’ve come to understand the decisions that we made, and once we’ve come to terms with them,” you say. “I’m unsure when that would be. But I hope I’ll have the chance to congratulate him and to tell him I’m happy for him.”

“Goodbyes aren’t always for good,” Mr. Jeon says. “I’d like to believe that we cross paths with people for a reason, that we lose them for a reason, and that we find them again for a reason.”

“That’s not such a bad thought,” you smile. “I suppose that every person I lost for good was for a reason. If I find my way back to Jungkook… it should be for a good reason, too.”

“Of course. And I also mean that for us,” he smiles back. “Please don’t become a stranger. You mean a lot to our family, ___. How your mother helped me and how you helped our son will not be forgotten. Thank you.”

“Likewise, sir. You and Mrs. Jeon have helped us so much. Even Mr. Ri. I… I owe a lot to him as well.”

“You should already know he has a soft spot for you. That man treats you like family.”

You smile to yourself, thinking of how Mr. Ri has looked out for you all these years. He sacrificed a lot, too, and that feeling of safety that he gave you and your mother changed everything for you, even if it took everything from him. But he never wavered, as he made sure to visit you regularly when you were growing up. You suppose he had to hold back once you started working for the company and especially for Jungkook, given the secret you both kept, but Mr. Ri has been showing that same care to you now that the truth is out.

“Did… did you know about him and my mom?” You wonder.

“I did,” Mr. Jeon nods. “It was hard not to. Byung-hun was always serious and expressionless but his eyes always softened whenever she was around. She’s why he even smiled. But… decisions had to be made. I’ll always be sorry for what could’ve been.”

“It’s a love that lives on, though,” you say. “He’s been such a big help to me these past few days.”

“That’s good. You can always count on him. He’ll do anything for you, you should know that. It’s how he keeps their memories alive.”

It’s a nice thought, as you let the older man’s words settle. Love may not always be returned but the beauty is in how it’s expressed, in that it’s received regardless, and that it’s remembered.

You didn’t expect for the talk with CEO Jeon to be as emotional and uplifting as it was. You suppose that all these years, you both were just trying to make it up to each other, to compensate for something that was given and for something that was taken away. Maybe he needed this closure, too, for him to know that you’ve always forgiven him, and that after everything, you’re grateful for what his family has done for you.

Letting out a sigh of relief that at least he’s not angry at you, you return to your tasks. You organize some documents then enter Jungkook’s room to request his signature, immediately spotting some of those he’d already signed from yesterday.

You avoid his eyes again, and you only hope he doesn’t see the sadness in yours when you hear the conversation he’s currently having.

“Is the apartment okay?” He says on the phone.

It’s Lucas, you assume. He’s scheduled to arrive today and is probably settling down first.

“Yeah, just take your time. But don’t forget to be at my penthouse tomorrow,” Jungkook continues. “Ms. Cho will be there to brief you. I’ll see you at 7:00.”

He puts the phone down and retrieves the folder with all the files you set on his desk while you review the ones he just signed. Moments like this used to be spent on friendly banter or some questions on his end, but there’s none of that now. There’s just the sound of the pen gliding on the sheet and the flipping of pages filling the tense-filled air in the room. He hands you back the folder and you’re forced to look at him to say your thanks.

“Please be at my apartment tomorrow at 7. Mr. Ri can take you there, I’m sure he’ll insist,” Jungkook says.

“Yes. Mr. Jeon,” you reply, your eyes focused on his desk.

“And prepare the conference room for the postponed team meeting. We start in 15 minutes.”

You confirm his instructions and quickly head out. You gather everyone - and receive another hug from Do-hyun that you hadn’t realized you’ve been needing so much - then proceed to the room as instructed.

Emotions are managed this time, with no more tearful goodbyes and sentimental speeches unlike the day before. Jungkook gets straight to the point by laying out the plans for Lucas’ onboarding and the division of tasks for the Arts Center opening. You’re primarily assigned to handle the former, as you’ll be turning over all of your responsibilities to him, including all documents, schedules, and contacts. Your facilitative role for the major project is divided between the rest of the team, and as you add the growing list of deliverables and other things you’re in charge of, you’re reminded just how hard you’ve been working for this, too.

CEO Jeon was right. You’re not just walking away from your job; you’re walking away from something that you’ve started to believe in and be passionate about yourself. In a way, Jungkook gave that to you, and you’ll always be grateful that he let you be a part of it.

The melancholic feeling stays with you for the rest of the day. You find yourself lingering on people and things and moments, as if capturing them so you can keep them in your memory.

You do that, too, during lunchtime with the team as you laugh at the stories and incidents you recall that only all of you know. You do it while replying to the dozens of messages you receive after the announcement, with some of the other assistants calling you and expressing their sadness. You do it as well when you email Jungkook another memo he has asked you to draft. And then again when you peek through the window while he’s busy working on perhaps some other design, the image of him focused being etched in your mind until you sleep that night.

You have to let go, you tell yourself; that was the point of resigning. You’re free, like what CEO Jeon said. While you never likened being in this company to a prison, there’s something liberating about stepping back from what you’ve known for years and realizing that you enjoyed it, too, that it gave you a certain kind of happiness and satisfaction, and a special feeling that only you could have.

Jungkook was someone who gave you all that as well, even if it was all fleeting. But then again, you don’t think anything really is. The things and people and emotions and moments you encounter all stay with you in one way or another. For that instance, you had them and they had you. Perhaps that’s the beauty of it - they may not stay but they will always linger.

You enter the car the next morning with the scent of freshly baked pastry. Your eyes light up when you see the iced coffee, prompting Mr. Ri to let out a soft laugh and say that he picked them up on the way for you.

“Jungkook’s got a packed day so I doubt he’d have time for breakfast and I assumed that meant you, too,” he adds.

“Not really,” you sigh. “He’s keeping me to just turnover duties for my last weeks here. I doubt I’d be that busy. But breakfast is good. I woke up late so I managed to only grab some fruits.”

“I think he just doesn’t want you to be stressed. Saying goodbye is hard enough.”

“I suppose… I guess I just hoped things would slow down a bit. But then again, I’m the one who abruptly resigned,” you say. “No one was afforded time to process things, including me.”

“It will sink in soon enough,” he hums. “Especially once you see how things change.”

“They have,” you whisper, the sullenness in your eyes letting the other man know just how much. “And I have no right to wish they didn’t, at least not this fast.”

“Oh, ___,” Mr. Ri turns to you with a sad smile. You can’t imagine him being the cold and stoic man that CEO Jeon had described, one who only softened when your mother was around. “You do. Standing by our decisions means that we accept whatever the consequences are, not that we can’t wish they were different. I’m pretty sure Jungkook feels that way, too. He’s dealing with you leaving, but it doesn’t mean he wishes you had to. And maybe… deep in your heart, you wished that not staying in the company didn’t have to mean not being with him.”

It’s a thought you’ve had for a long time, but one you don’t want to acknowledge. There’s a lot of things you’re still scared to face, including just how much you want him. You’re afraid to break, to want to take it all back, and to realize just how much you’re losing by letting all this go.

And like the family he’s come to be, Mr. Ri reminds you that this pain you’re feeling is part of the process of finding the happiness you’ve been yearning for.

“Sometimes we have to lose things for something so much better,” he comforts. “‘Better’ could be a person or a state of mind. In your case, I think it’s discovering that kind of strength you didn’t know you had; it’s that freedom that you wouldn’t have otherwise felt even if you got together with Jungkook. For as long as you’re in the company, you’ll always feel burdened and that something’s missing at the same time. You always needed this. And I should’ve encouraged you to be braver a long time ago.”

“Then I wouldn’t have met him,” you say immediately, the thought breaking you, even if you tried to convince yourself it was better that you didn’t. “He and I have pasts that intertwine and if we never met then there… there would be nothing of him I’d carry, there’d be no trace of him in me.”

But you did meet. And now there’s Jungkook in you - in your bravery, in your strength, in your silence. He’s in your appreciation for art and design and love for disposable cameras and capturing good memories. You carry him with you, and the thought makes things hurt a little less. Maybe all that is why you got the courage to walk away in the first place. Maybe those could push you to find him again, too.

You’re deep in your head that you don’t realize you’re already at Jungkook’s building until Mr. Ri is calling your name. You exit, and right at the entrance, you see a well-dressed man with a bright yellow helmet on one hand and a scooter on the other, his smile brightening his whole face as he greets you. He’s Lucas, he says, and you’d almost forgotten the purpose of why you’re back here after almost a week.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Ms. Cho. Although I wish it were for happier reasons,” he says, his face softening.

“It’s happy enough,” you smile. “You’re living abroad like you said you wanted to, and this is career advancement for you. They’re all good things.”

“I suppose so. Although I didn’t really get to prepare myself much. I’m quite nervous, if I’m being honest.”

You pass over your access cards to him and let him go through the building’s security process. It’s another way you’re letting go of Jungkook, you think, and there’s more of that melancholic feeling, as memories of all your mornings here fly through your mind.

“You’ve been with Mr. Jeon longer than I have, Lucas. You know how he works,” you tell him. “Sure, there are added responsibilities as the Vice President’s EA but you’ll learn them through experience. You have the skills good enough to be his assistant in the first place. And he’s… he’s good at what he does. He’s good to people. Those should make things easier for you.”

“Hmm that’s true,” he replies, as you both head towards the elevator. “He seems a lot calmer than I’m used to. And more poised. And— I don’t know if I can say this but, more considerate, I suppose. He made sure everything was organized for my move. He checked on me when I arrived. He even got me a scooter because my old one was a bit rusty already.”

You smile to yourself. They’re simple things, and it makes you think that maybe Jungkook used to not show much care to his staff. Lucas doesn’t seem to hold resentment of any kind, so you suppose Jungkook just gave or did the bare minimum. If your relationship with him somehow influenced this kinder and perhaps softer version of him, then meeting you wasn’t so bad for him either.

Lucas rambles a little as he talks about being anxious working with all the bosses, and you wish there was a way that you could ease his worries. You understand it. You were in his shoes once, and you hope that your mentorship of him during this turnover period will be enough.

“All that to say that I have large shoes to fill,” he adds. “And I just don’t want to disappoint him.”

“And you won’t,” you assure the younger man as you reach Jungkook’s floor. “You’re gonna be fine and the team is gonna support you. So will he, so you just do what you can and things will fall into place.”

Lucas sighs in relief and smiles. It’s the most you can do for now and you hope at least for today, it’s enough.

You enter Jungkook’s apartment and a feeling of sadness rushes through you. Everything looks the same and it’s much too quiet than you’re used to.

You tell Lucas what you normally do and he says that Jungkook’s doing away with breakfast.

“He knows I fast so we never really had meals in the morning,” Lucas says. “But it’s nice you got to prepare them for him. He was always too busy and didn’t realize he hadn't had anything to eat until past lunch time.”

You nod, realizing that you probably created that routine you both had. Jungkook used to just always go straight to business but at least with you, he was able to slow down a little and enjoy a meal. You’d come to like those moments, you smile to yourself. He felt a little more human to you then.

You go through Jungkook’s usual schedule and give Lucas a list of numbers to call, like his house cleaner and cook. There are other routines you share, and the young man starts to take note, as some of them are new due to Jungkook’s role.

It’s not long after when the man himself shows up, walking into the kitchen donned in a dark blue suit. You reflexively take a step forward, ready to fix his crooked tie, but then you realize that this is one routine you’ve stopped doing for a while, so you put your hand down and bow to him in greeting.

Jungkook just nods at you and then asks Lucas how the move was and if everything’s okay. The young man answers accordingly, with just enough information to not prolong the conversation.

“It’s gonna be a hectic couple of weeks so it’s good you’ve settled in,” Jungkook says. “Have you gone through the building’s security process? Do you have access to my apartment now?”

“Yes, sir. Ms. Cho has briefed me about all of that,” Lucas says.

“Good,” Jungkook nods. “I’ll just grab my things and we can go. We’ll run through yesterday’s meeting and my schedule for the remainder of the week in the car.”

He walks towards his study to get his bag while you and Lucas stay behind.

“Aren’t you gonna fix his tie?” You whisper to the man next to you.

“Why, what’s wrong with it?” Lucas asks, turning to Jungkook and looks intently at his outfit.

“The knot is slightly to the right,” you point out.

Lucas takes a few seconds to answer before he nods in agreement. “I don’t really fix it but I could tell him.”

You’re all in the elevator and with Lucas looking a bit antsy, Jungkook asks him what’s wrong.

“Your… your tie is slightly to the right, sir,” Lucas says.

It prompts Jungkook to face the mirror, adjusting it himself numerous times until he figures it out. Turning around, with his eyes flitting to you, he asks, “is this alright?”

You nod, feeling the distance once again.

Jungkook used to look at you in a way that always seemed to be more during this shared moment, with words and feelings unsaid, and you realize that so did you. It’s such a simple thing - fixing his suit, but it’s seconds where it’s all quiet and it’s just your breaths sharing space, your glances meeting, maybe your hearts beating a little too fast, a little too loud.

But there’s none of that now. There’s just distance and it’ll get farther as time passes by, especially once all three of you make it to the car and you know, next to him is no longer the place you should be. You take the passenger seat, feeling unfamiliar when you hear his voice right behind you.

Jungkook goes on about Lucas’ new role to include preparing his clothes for the week, which means styling him accordingly. It’s a task the younger man says makes him nervous, but Jungkook assures him.

“Just make sure the clothes match and that I don’t look ridiculous. And that, uh, my tie isn’t crooked.”

Lucas chuckles and says he’s up for the challenge before the conversation switches to the meetings today and tomorrow. Jungkook asks you questions and you fill in some other details. You’re not as on top of his schedule as you used to be, and he instructs that for the meetings after the turnover to Lucas, you’ll no longer be required to attend. You have leaves to take, Jungkook reminds you, and given that you’re set to start work elsewhere soon, having some time off would be good.

“All noted, sir,” you say, and despite how you feel, you also agree.

You arrive at the office and Lucas is promptly introduced to the team. He’s received well, as he’s able to match the young ones’ energy and you see the respect he has for the rest, including you. You already know he’s going to do well, and you make a mental note to tell Bitna and Mrs. Myung to look after him as well, the same thing you told Mr. Ri to do.

While Lucas fixes his documents with HR, you decide to bring Jungkook a cup of coffee and some biscuits, unsure if he’s had any breakfast yet. He promptly looks up from his desk when you enter, nodding in acknowledgement when you place them on his desk.

“Lucas is a fast learner and he’s good with people,” Jungkook says, surprising you, as you hadn’t expected him to start a conversation. “He just needs to work on being a leader and holding the team together. You’re… you’re very good at that. I know it’s a short time but I hope it’s something you could teach him.”

It takes a while for you to respond. Even if his tone is not the soft one you’ve gotten used to, his words still hold warmth in them - towards Lucas. And towards you.

“I… I will, sir. And if it means anything, I think he’ll do well. He’s got good people looking out for him, including you.”

You want to return his kind words, but you also want to remind him that despite how you both started, he stood by your side and guided you. And that helped you be even more confident and capable in what you do. You hope it’s something you’re able to tell him, in a more truthful and vulnerable way he deserves, but there’s no place for that now. Yet the way he nods tells you that maybe he knows, and as you hold his gaze for a little longer than usual, you hope you’re also able to say a bit more.

That you miss your mornings together. That days don’t feel the same without his soft laughter. That you’ve almost forgotten how his smile looks like. That there’s so much of him you want to keep even though you shouldn’t. That you hope he wishes, just like you, that you’d find your way back to him someday even if right now, you have to do this.

The knock on the door signals that your shared moment has passed and you’re unsure if any of that reached him. Maybe not, as he turns away and just nods.

Lucas enters, and you remind him of that building tour you said you’d give. He’s been to the office three times but only in the conference hall, so you decide to take him around before that meeting with the design department in an hour. Do-hyun will cover for both of you while you’re away, so Jungkook tells you to advise her that he won’t be taking any calls or visitors in the meantime.

You nod, and Jungkook watches you walk out the door as he keeps himself steady like always, holding himself back from wanting you to stay a little longer, from asking how you’re doing, from taking you in his arms like he’s been wanting to do for days.

It’s hard having to act like it doesn’t affect him, like it doesn’t break his heart seeing the sadness in your eyes with how he’s taking your departure. While that overheard conversation told him that you planned on leaving, he wasn’t ready for you to do it so soon. Perhaps he should’ve expected it - you both kissed and he went ahead and said the words he’d never said before, and that’s what caused you to push him away and decide that you didn’t want anything to do with him despite how you feel.

He doesn’t know if you ever planned on telling him the truth about who you are. He doesn’t know what your plans have always been and what they are now. He doesn’t know what you’re feeling and how you’re dealing with all these goodbyes. He supposes if he’d asked first, maybe things would have turned out differently, and you wouldn’t be leaving this way. Maybe he wouldn’t be hating himself for detaching so quickly and so certainly, as if he isn’t missing everything about you, as if he isn’t wishing that he could just hold you in his arms and have you stay there.

It took everything in him not to fall apart when he saw your resignation letter. You’d been so certain and after what he learned, he didn’t want to hold you back anymore. He hoped you’d at least want to talk about what you felt, or perhaps assure him that leaving the company doesn’t mean leaving him for good. He kissed you and you kissed him back. And he can’t wrap his head around how you could do that and then so easily decide that being with him isn’t what you want.

It’s all too much, and the only thing he knows he could do for you is make the departure less difficult by making sure that you have nothing to worry about what you’re leaving behind. He made the executive decision to get Lucas, and it wasn’t hard getting his father’s approval this time around. Jungkook organized the whole move and all other turnover matters so that you wouldn’t be bothered by them. He recommended that you take your remaining leaves so you’d get some rest before you move on to your next job, wherever that is. He didn’t want you to be burdened by the extra tasks you have to do for him, including going to his apartment every morning.

But disengaging with you, distancing himself… those are for his benefit. And for you, too, as he doesn’t want to linger and then be foolish by asking you to reconsider, or telling you that he still wants you, that he meant everything he said about what he feels, and that he wishes you’d assure him of your sincerity and tell him you want him just as much. Acting unaffected is the only way that he can maintain that sense of control, the one he lost when he decided to be honest with you and give in to his desires.

He knows it’s not ideal but he doesn’t know how else to give you the freedom you deserve while wanting you next to him. A part of him holds onto the hope that you want that, too - to unburden yourself while being with him. He’d seen the sadness in your eyes these past days and he wants to think it’s because of the distance he’s creating, or because you miss him, too. He’s noticed your glances and lingering looks, he’d seen you stop yourself from fixing his tie this morning, and there’s a softness in your voice that’s different from how it usually is.

But much as he has a lot to say, he also doesn’t know how to. He’s afraid that if he tries, you’ll push him away again, maybe further this time that he won’t know how to get you back. He’s afraid that you’ll look at him differently, that you’d think he doesn’t care about what you want, or that you’ll realize that it’s just not going to work. He doesn’t like what’s happening but he doesn’t think he’s ready for what would happen if he does anything else.

So he stays where he is, close enough to see you, but not enough to feel your presence. Every second that he’s without you, he feels himself slipping away. He wants to give in but he knows he can’t, so he decides to do the only thing he knows - pull back, distance himself, disengage.

He tells himself to just focus on the tasks at hand, that there are a lot more things that require his full attention, and it helps somehow. He presides over the meetings with the design team and then with marketing with few distractions. He sees you from his periphery taking minutes just as Lucas does, but Jungkook doesn’t comment on it. He just goes from one meeting to the next, one call to another one, and one email to a dozen more.

The day is almost over before he knows it, as the knock on the door pulls him away from the budget report he’s reviewing. It’s a little disorienting seeing Lucas once it opens. That used to be you - asking if there’s anything else he needs before you head home. And Jungkook would often take a while to answer just to keep you a little longer before letting you go, even if he’s assured that he’ll see you again in the morning - in his kitchen preparing him a meal, the start of a routine that’s become the best part of his day.

But it’s not you standing by his doorway now. And it won’t be you who’ll be in his penthouse in the morning. You won’t be asking if he got to rest well. You won’t be standing close to him as you fix his outfit, your eyes focused on the creases of his top while his eyes are focused on you. You won’t surprise him with fried rice or fancy-looking eggs on toast while you sneak glances at him to see if he enjoyed it, which he always does. You won’t be there to tease or bicker with him, and he won’t see your warm smile whenever he laughs or teases back.

He doesn’t know how he survived the week without all of that. He knows he’ll have to learn how to get through everyday with that big, empty space you’re leaving. And he’s terrified that he’ll get used to it; the last thing he wants is to forget how it felt when you were still around.

“Mr. Jeon?” Lucas calls out again, pulling Jungkook out of his thoughts. “I’m heading home. What time did you want me to be at your penthouse tomorrow morning?”

It’s silly but Jungkook feels protective of his mornings with you. If he’ll no longer have it, then he’ll just live in the memory by himself. So he tells Lucas to be at his place at 7:30 AM, right before they leave.

“Understood, sir. I’ll see you then.”

Jungkook bids him goodbye and returns to his task, but he’s too distracted by the silence so he decides to go home. He enters the car, feeling the tiredness weigh his body down - not only does he stay up to work, he also wakes up early to do his workout. It’s only been a week but it’s catching up to him, and the deep sigh he releases catches Mr. Ri’s attention.

“You should get proper rest,” the older man advises. “You’re gonna get sick at the rate you’re going.”

“I’m fine,” Jungkook huffs. “I’ll rest when I’m dead.”

“I should ask ___ to tell you to slow down. She knows how to make you listen, doesn’t she?”

“That’s not necessary,” Jungkook sighs, even if he knows it’s the truth.

You had a calming way of telling him to take a pause, and he always listened because it’s you.

“Then you better listen to me,” Mr. Ri says, eyeing him from the rearview mirror. “You need to be at your best these next few weeks and you won’t be if you push yourself too hard. You have a team that has your back. It’s all going to work out.”

“That’s exactly what she would say,” Jungkook shakes his head, suddenly hearing your voice in his head.

“I know. And I bet you that she’d say it even more if she sees how you are now. You need to rest, Jungkook. I mean it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says in submission, deciding that he’ll just buy food on the way home and then call it a night. But the mention of your name has his mind going to you again. “Did… did she eat breakfast?” Jungkook asks.

“She did, and she liked it,” Mr. Ri responds. “You know, she still would’ve eaten it even if I said that you asked me to get those pastries for her. It wouldn’t have made a difference.”

“It would have. She’ll know it was from me.”

“And? Just because she’s leaving, it doesn’t mean you have to stop showing her that you care. And it doesn’t mean that she stopped caring, either.”

At Jungkook’s silence, the older man continues.

“Why do you do that? Why hide behind your pain? Why make excuses for what you feel about her? You think it’s easier that way?” he presses. “You think it helps you and her when you act like it doesn’t affect you?”

“She pushed me away, okay? What do you expect me to feel?”

“But she still cares about you, at least acknowledge that.”

“But I want her to want me,” Jungkook raises his voice, surprising himself with the burst of emotion he didn’t expect. “I don’t just want her to care. I… I want her to be with me. But she has a life to live beyond all this, and I don’t think she wants me to be a part of that.”

Mr. Ri turns to Jungkook with sad eyes, unable to say anything else. He doesn’t know what kind of comfort the younger man needs. It starts and ends with you, it seems, and perhaps that’s expected. After Jungkook’s breakup with Chaerin, he kept his heart guarded and didn’t bother to let anyone have a peek. All encounters were shallow, all attempts at getting him to share himself were futile. Until you. And now that he’s shared a little bit of himself, with you turning away from it, he feels exposed and bare, and he has to build his walls back up again.

Mr. Ri gets to witness it this time, and his heart breaks for the younger man, too. Having heard both sides, he knows that Jungkook respects your decision and wants to be with you. Those can coexist. He also knows that you want to be free from the ties that bind you to this family and want to be with him. Those can coexist as well. But he knows, more than anyone, that you’ll both have to make a decision, and you’ll both have to learn to do that.

“I can’t tell you what to do, Jungkook. And I can’t tell her, either,” the older man sighs. “You’ll have to figure things out on your own and decide what you want to do because that’s the only way you’ll get to stand by your choices.”

It’s a piece of advice that Jungkook should follow, even if all he wants is for someone to tell him what to do. But perhaps that’s also hard if he can’t make sense of everything that he feels. And it’s both of you suffering at the end of it.

He stays quiet for the rest of the ride, wanting to just shut out his thoughts even if there are hundreds of them swimming in his mind. When Mr. Ri asks him where he wants to grab his dinner, Jungkook can’t decide and ends up going to a convenience store instead. He sighs to himself as he realizes the memories that’ll come up by being here; he wants to escape thoughts of you, but he still ends up thinking about you whatever he does, as if his mind and body gravitate towards you without realizing it.

He buys instant noodles and some snacks. He munches on choco pie during the ride back to his penthouse and remembers the way you smiled when you ate it that night when he stayed with you. It’s an image he keeps until he falls asleep, and there’s that empty feeling again when he wakes up in the morning.

Lucas arrives that Friday as instructed and they leave for the office right away. They talk about the Arts Center and the schedule for the day, and they arrive at the building at the same time that you do.

It’s a little tense sharing the elevator with you this time, especially as he formally greets you as if he wasn’t torturing himself with the thought of you all night. But you smile and act cordial, choosing to let the silence engulf all three of you and just deal with it.

There are virtual meetings he has to attend, and Jungkook multitasks while reviewing some reports that are on his desk. There are some things he knows he needs to sign, so he calls your phone and asks them where they are.

You walk inside his room with a folder of documents and promotional materials for his approval, setting them on his desk and explaining that Lucas was going to bring them in after he was done speaking with HR.

You watch as Jungkook, with scrunched eyebrows, goes through each sheet of paper. There’s so much tension on his face and his entire body, and you wonder if he’s been resting properly. Perhaps not, as you see the dark circles under his eyes.

“You don’t have to wait for Lucas to give these to me,” Jungkook says. “You still have that responsibility. You’re still my assistant.”

There’s no anger in his voice but you can’t help but feel defensive. He’s instructed you to focus on turning over files and functions, after all.

“Am I?” You find the courage to question him. “You’ve made yourself perfectly clear on what I’m only here for.”

Jungkook is taken aback by your words, not expecting you to say them with a mix of sadness and bitterness. But he answers back, unable to control himself this time.

“And you’ve made yourself perfectly clear on what you want. And what you don’t want,” he says, more bitterly than he intended.

Your face falls, and he hates himself for making you feel like this, so he backtracks.

“I’m just… trying to make things easier for you,” he reasons, glancing at you before returning his gaze to the papers. “There are lots of things to turn over and I prefer that you just focus on them. I need Lucas to know what to do because you always did, and that’s a big loss for the team. It’s not my intention to undermine you or… make you feel like I’m replacing you. I know I won’t be able to,” he says boldly. “You’re leaving and I’m just trying to deal with it the best way I know how.”

You look at him and see the mix of frustration and sadness on his face. This is all on you, and you hate that you don’t know what to do about it. So you accept his words in submission.

“I understand, sir,” you say, almost like a whisper. “I’m… I’m sorry.”

You bow then head out, leaving Jungkook rooted in his seat like always, knowing that a second more and he would’ve called you back, even if he doesn’t know what he’d say, just so he could be around you a few seconds longer.

But he lets you go. Whatever he wants to say won’t make it out anyway.

Jungkook gets through the rest of the day constantly distracted, always half-hoping it’s you when there’s a knock on the door, or glancing at your direction from his seat, expecting you’d be meeting his eyes. But it’s never you on the other side and you don’t look his way, and before he knows it, Lucas is saying goodbye and then Hoseok is calling to tell him to go home already.

Jungkook tries, though. He finishes half a bottle of whiskey and then sleeps through mid-morning. He doesn’t really know what to do with the time he has and he hates that he has so much of it.

For the first time, he forces himself not to think about the Arts Center, so he decides to sketch some designs for the various residential projects he has in the pipeline. Some are still in their early stages but that Scandinavian-inspired building that he’s been visiting various properties for is still being conceptualized. He doesn’t want to rush, believing that the right design will come, and he hopes that by going through the photos from his trip with Hoseok and A-yeong to Europe last year, he’ll have that extra nudge or perhaps, a burst of inspiration.

The buildings are intricate and majestic, but it’s the little cafes that catch his attention, the fountains in the gardens, and the faraway shots he took of Hoseok and A-yeong as they laughed and danced about. There’s something captivating about the everyday moments, and when he clicks on the photo of the sky, he’s reminded that all those times, he was thinking of you - that clarity, the stability, the comfort. Jungkook always has a lot of things going on in his head but you’ve become that person who makes him stop and look around, who makes him see the beauty in things, who makes him want them for himself this time.

There are some images that float through his mind for the project - large windows, spacious courtyards, open living spaces, muted palettes, tree-lined streets - but with all the comfort and beauty that those bring, his thoughts still shift to you. He remembers how you looked against the mountains during the team building, how the sun made you glow even more, how you looked at peace by the stream, and all he can think about is the sadness that comes with knowing they’re all just memories - still images in his mind that haunt him of what could’ve been.

Jungkook decides to switch strategies an hour later, the emptiness of his penthouse adding to the emptiness he feels inside. Thinking that a change of scenery is what he needs, he puts on his tracks and hoodie and heads out for a run. There’s no destination in mind. He’ll just jog around town, stop if he feels like it, and then head on out again until the thought of you fades from his mind.

He knows he’s not fooling anyone; he’ll probably still be thinking about you. But at least for those hours where he’s distracted by the sounds of the cars and the people in the streets, there’s less of you in there.

It’s quite sunny out. It’s mid-afternoon and he likes the feel of the sweat in his body, the heat contrasting the occasional burst of wind. He stops by a garden, then a convenience store for a drink, then runs up a trail to get a view of the city. The sun starts to set and Jungkook takes it slow. With his hands in his pockets, he leisurely walks to a nearby neighborhood that he hasn’t been to before.

He appreciates the calmness this time and thinks that maybe spending his weekends like this every once in a while isn’t so bad. But he thinks of other ways he could spend it and with whom. Finding new restaurants to eat at and places to explore with you flash through his mind. So does watching your variety shows with you on the couch or some local film like what you enjoy doing on your own.

Jungkook doesn’t fight against it this time. He realizes that the more he resists it, the angrier he’ll be, and he doesn’t want to feel that anymore. He wasn’t mad at you, he was mad at the situation. He was mad at himself for waiting too long, for not handling things properly, for not talking to you about it… for not being honest about what he really wanted early on. He’s trying not to be selfish by letting you walk away, but maybe that’s selfish, too, if all he’s focused on is how he deals with it, without considering how it’s also affecting you.

He sighs to himself. He’s feeling so much, and this hasn’t happened in a long time. He wasn’t good at this then, and it seems that he hasn’t learned; he doesn’t know how to express what he feels even now.

The sound of children’s laughter catches his attention, and Jungkook turns to his left and finds himself outside of the neighborhood park. The playground is hidden behind large trees, and as if by some serendipitous occurrence, he walks inside and finds a bench to sit on. It’s where he stays as he watches the last remaining child leave the swing and head home.

Silence envelopes him now. He remembers his childhood - how he disliked playing in the nearby playground because he was always teased for being the shy and quiet kid, how his brother laughed along, and how his father constructed one for him so he could enjoy it for once. His brother never joined him, choosing to stay in the treehouse built for him on the other side of their property, and Jungkook liked it that way.

He would climb up the small rock wall and then slide down the slide. He’d swing himself as high as he could, giggling loudly because of the ticklish feeling in his stomach and no one would hear him. He’d look through the telescope and gaze at the stars in the evening. On some afternoons, he’d sit on the little bench and just draw cars and buildings and houses on his sketch pad, just like he’d seen his father do. Out there, he felt like he could be anyone. He could do anything and feel anything and not be afraid. No one was going to hurt him. Nothing would make him feel unwanted - not the birds, not the butterflies, not the bees that he’d watch from afar.

His old man may have always been busy but he built that playground for him without Jungkook asking him to. They were words that his father couldn’t say, apologies that he couldn’t voice out, a desire for more time that he couldn’t express or maybe even commit to, which is why they remained unspoken.

After the incident at the cabin when Jungkook felt abandoned, he stopped playing. He stopped going outside, afraid of the open air, of the possibility that the rain would come, of his father joining him in a space that used to be one where no one could disappoint him.

Time passed and the apologies were still unspoken. The emotions were kept hidden, the desire left unsaid. But they remained. Jungkook knew because his father kept that playground in its spot despite the renovations done in the estate over the years. He maintained them, too, making sure that he seals them regularly, that he repairs damages, that he paints them once the color has started to fade.

Jungkook knew this because every time he visited their home, he always spent some time there. And he saw that the playground always looked the way it did when he first saw it over 20 years ago. He was there last week, and he remembers that in the midst of his outburst, being there calmed him down.

Despite all the painful memories in between, and even if he’d outgrown it already, the safety was still there. It held memories, it felt like freedom, it held that child-like belief that he could do and be anything and he could be happy.

And as Jungkook watches the sky turn dark, the calmness overtakes him. Any playground elicits that kind of feeling, and he hears the apologies, he feels the emotions, he understands the desire.

He realizes that he’s very much like his father, just as you and Mr. Ri and Hoseok have told him. Because much as the old man is good at many things, expressing how he feels is one thing he struggles with. That’s why he builds things. He builds homes for his wife and a treehouse and playground for his sons.

And like some epiphany, Jungkook realizes that he may not be able to express what he feels, but he may be able to show you. The words may never be enough, even as they remain unsaid, but he can at least give you a space that matters to you, a place just like his playground that you could go to to feel safe, where you could be anyone, where you could do anything and feel anything and not be afraid.

It will be a place where no one can hurt you, not even him, and where you’ll always be wanted - by the characters in your picture books, and the birds and butterflies and bees that you’ll color. You may have outgrown them, but he knows that the memories of your childhood will remind you that there’s a place for you, in his heart especially.

His mind starts to race, with designs and details flashing through his mind. He rushes home and starts working, and he doesn’t leave his study until 3 in the morning. But he’s satisfied, and he spends the next day making calls and other arrangements, ensuring that the plans are set for dissemination to the team.

It’s a monumental task for the time that he has. The Arts Center opening isn’t far from now. He’ll probably earn the ire of everyone involved, including his father, but Jungkook will just have to deal with all that.

Right now, what matters is that he gets to do this to show you how he feels. He doesn’t know when you’ll see it, if you’ll decide to go when it opens in a few weeks, but he hopes that when you do, you’ll know that you made him feel something that he hasn’t in a long time, and he hopes that if he no longer gives you that feeling of comfort and safety that he’s been giving, then there’s a place that he built so you’d feel all those again.

You sit on your desk that Monday morning and try to act as if all your contrasting emotions aren’t weighing heavily on you.

Being with your friends over the weekend helped, as you took the train to meet them this time and told them everything that’s happened. You apologized for not telling them right away, but they knew that it was important for you to feel everything on your own first and try to figure it out. You said you really hadn’t - deciding to leave seemed so simple but the feelings and the truth complicated them, and now you’re left with a broken heart and the belief that Jungkook won’t forgive you, that he won’t want you anymore, that he'll just let you walk away without any closure.

Soomin and Jimin just held you and listened. They knew from the start it would be difficult. Your past wasn’t something you talked about so easily, and it took you years to even tell them your story, how you ended up in Busan and why you had to return to Daegu because it was already safe for you to go back home. There was no judgment, only support, even when you decided to enter the company and work for the people that you felt you owed your life to.

Their resentment towards Jungkook stemmed from how he treated you at the beginning; they knew that yours was the same. But they never questioned your sincerity when it came to how you felt - you’re never like this, they said. It takes a lot for you to let someone in and ties to his family isn’t enough for that. If anything, that’s what told them it was real - you would’ve tried hard to control the feelings but you still gave in, and for you to think he was worth that even for the briefest moment means he probably was.

Their perspective affirmed you in a way. This wasn’t just some silly crush on your boss, but this also wasn’t something you could just easily forget or get over. Your happiness always comes first, and it may look like a life with him in it, but it doesn’t mean he gets to be part of it right now. It’s also possible it’s one without him, and if it is, then you’re just going to have to learn to accept that.

You sigh to yourself. You’re in no better place than you were last week, but at least you have less days left in being here. But then again, that also just means the closer you are to really saying goodbye.

You go through your checklist of things to turn over and do before you leave, and while you’re halfway through, putting together event and project portfolios and documenting best practices still takes a lot of time.

You’re about to begin your first task of the day when you hear rushed footsteps. Lucas scurries over to your side to leave his things then grabs some folders.

“Hey, is everything okay?” You ask the visibly stressed man next to you.

“Uh, yeah,” he responds. “Mr. Jeon called for a meeting about the Arts Center and there are changes. He wants to add something.”

“At this stage?” You ask worriedly.

“Yeah. It seems like it’s quite a bit of work. I’m… I’m freaking out because this is a really big project and —I”

“Won’t disappoint him, I’m sure of it,” you try to comfort him. “You’ll be fine, Lucas. Just take a breath and take it one step at a time. I’ll be right here.”

You smile at him warmly, hoping that the bit of encouragement would help. The opening is a few weeks from now. At this point, focus should just be on finishing touches, finalizing government certifications, and promotion, but with how Lucas seems a bit rattled, the changes might indeed be a bit overwhelming.

He excuses himself to prepare the conference room and get the team then leaves, and as you’re about to follow him, Jungkook exits his office then stands by the hallway.

“Ms. Cho,” he calls out, prompting you to stay in your place. “There is no need for you to attend the meetings about the Arts Center.”

You’re taken aback by his statement but you recover.

“But… it’s opening in a few weeks, sir. There’s lots to do, and Lucas just said there are changes,” you counter. “If there’s anything I can do to help, you know I would.”

“I know that,” he says. “And I’m saying that there’s no need this time. The team can manage. You’ve taught them well.”

“But—”

“You’ve tendered your resignation, Ms. Cho,” he reminds you, his tone a little softer than it’s been recently. “Your remaining days here are meant for turnover and mentoring Lucas in his general functions, and not to take on added or continuing responsibilities.”

He may have a point, but it doesn’t take away from your sadness over no longer knowing how the preparations are going. You’ve become invested in the Arts Center this past year, too, and while you knew you had to let that go as well, it doesn’t mean it’s easy.

“Understood, sir,” you concede, bowing your head down in submission. “I’ll continue with my reports, then.”

He just nods, and you don’t miss the tinge of apology in his eyes. He leaves, and you’re left alone again; you think that’s how you’ve been feeling all this time.

You get on with your task, and it’s not long after when Hoseok enters, his bright smile only doing little to raise your spirits.

“Hey, ___,” he greets. “How are you holding up?”

“Just fine,” you try to smile. “Are you looking for Jungkook? He’s not here right now. He’s meeting the team about the Arts Center and if you’re wondering why I’m not there, it’s because he didn’t want me to be. First he replaces me, and then he excludes me and I just feel so… I…”

“Seems like you’re less than fine,” Hoseok says sullenly. “I’m so sorry, ___. I know this has been hard for you. For both of you.”

You know it is. But you suppose that you and Jungkook deal with difficulties differently.

“You… you understand why I had to do this, right?” You ask.

“I do,” he affirms, his eyes softening even further. “And so does Jungkook. And that’s the hard part. He doesn’t want you to go but he knows you have to do this for yourself. I guess… Your decisiveness hurt him. And with what I’m seeing now, I guess his acceptance hurt you, too.”

“I… I’m such a mess. Maybe I deserve all this,” you sigh. “How could I kiss him, push him away, leave him, want him, but can’t bring myself to be with him?”

“Because you’re human and could want things that you’re afraid of? Because it’s possible to want to find yourself while also being next to someone else yet still think it’s not enough?” Hoseok says. “It’s normal to feel all this, ___. But figuring things out also takes time. Don’t be too hard on yourself, okay? Not knowing what to do now is understandable.”

“I… I only have a few weeks left here,” you say softly. “Maybe this is how he wants this all to end.”

“What about you? Is this how you want it to end?”

“I don’t know, but maybe it’s easier,” you try to convince yourself. “It’s easier to walk away when I know I’m not wanted. Maybe that’s what I made him feel, and I can’t blame him if that’s what he wants me to feel in return.”

“Oh, ___,” Hoseok shakes his head, knowing it’s not the truth. “You and Jungkook just need to talk. Then you’d know you want the same things.”

“Maybe… but we’re not good at that. And it doesn’t mean we want the same things at the same time,” you reason.

“So it’s about timing, then?”

“I guess. But we’re not good at that either,” you laugh dryly at the absurdity of it. “Look, even without all this, he already has a lot of things in his mind. The biggest project of his life is about to be unveiled soon and I… I have a life to live after this. I’m doing what I should’ve done years ago and the least I could do for myself is stand by the decision I made. I know I’d regret it if I stayed. I don’t want to regret the way I walked away.”

It’s a thought you’re slowly coming to, as you look back at how the week has been. You’ve been receiving nothing but praise and encouragement from your colleagues. You’ve been getting emails from various companies that want to recruit you after you put your resume through an online job site. There are so many possibilities now that you’ve put one foot out the door, and while you know of the possibilities you’re also leaving behind, you know deep down that you would’ve regretted it if you stayed, and you don’t want to tie that decision to Jungkook and end up resenting him for it.

The only thing that’s been keeping you down is what that decision is doing to you and Jungkook. It’s one you hope you’re able to fix, or at least mend enough that you’ll only have the good memories with you, and that so would he.

“I’m just really sorry,” Hoseok says, knowing that much as he’d like to help you and his cousin sort things out, it’s difficult when neither of you are unable to sort out your own feelings. “But I’m not just here to talk about that. I… I wanted to give you this.”

Hoseok hands you a sealed envelope and you look at him curiously.

“I know Jungkook gave you his recommendation letter, but I thought another one won’t hurt,” he smiles, letting you feel the warmth of it.

You know that companies usually just call for references, but a letter like this - especially from a well-known corporation’s top executive - gives you an advantage that others don’t have. You suppose that when you received one from Jungkook, it was a show of support. You have no doubt that with Hoseok, it’s him telling you that he’ll always have your back, wherever you may be.

“Oh, Hoseok,” you say, feeling all the emotions come at once.

It’s insane to think that almost a year ago, you were in this same spot with him encouraging and assuring you that he’ll always be around. Back then, you were anxious about being led by someone new who you knew was nothing like the man you admired. And now you’re here again, and Hoseok is giving you that same comfort that he always has, and the thought that you won’t even be in the same building as him is causing a crack in your heart. You hope one day, you’ll be able to fully express just how much his kindness has given you hope and so much to look forward to.

“Thank you,” you smile through your glassy eyes. “You… you’ve taught me so much. I hope you know that much of the confidence I have now is because of you. I’m terrified of this new journey but I’m confident that I’ll do well. You believed in me first and I’ll never forget that.”

“Being a good leader is something I learned to become because of you, ___. And because of the team. I admire you for so many things, and I’m pretty sure that wherever you choose to go, the company will be so lucky to have you.”

“I hope so,” you remark, knowing that’s another thing you have to deal with. “I… I have a few options. A few companies have reached out but there’s a publishing house that I’m leaning towards. I met the editor some time ago and that encounter just stuck with me and I feel like that kind of environment would suit me.”

“That’s great to know,” he says excitedly. “I can’t wait to hear about it. A-yeong and I will take you out to dinner once things have settled down, okay?”

“That would be great. I can’t wait for that, too.”

Hoseok bids you goodbye, leaving you alone with your thoughts for the next two hours. Whatever changes are happening with the Arts Center must be big, as it’s taking the team this long to iron things out.

It’s close to lunch time when the meeting ends. Jungkook walks in while on a call, while Lucas sits next to you looking a little stressed.

“Everything alright?” You ask.

“Yeah. There are just last minute changes but Mr. Jeon’s on top of it,” Lucas says. “He just wants us to make sure we’re on top of the other things and I’m honestly still familiarizing myself with the details of the Arts Center. I’m just nervous I’m gonna miss something.”

“Hey, that’s what I’m here for,” you assure him. “I know you were just thrust into this at such a critical time where you don’t have much leeway to adjust and that’s on me and I’m sorry. But that’s also why I’m gonna make sure that I’ll help you as much as I can.”

“Thanks, I need that,” Lucas sighs. “I can’t help but think that a year ago, I was almost supposed to be here. I mean, we can talk about it now. Mr. Jeon said he planned on taking me with him because he doesn’t want a new assistant that he has to get used to, you know? I always knew he hated change and I was the one thing that was familiar but it didn’t work out. Even I knew it wasn’t gonna happen - CEO Jeon approves these appointments and the EA of the VP needs to be familiar with the company culture and process and I wasn’t. I wasn’t really upset but I let myself think of living in Seoul for a short while and it seemed exciting. But things happen for a reason, and I think if I had to adjust then while helping Mr. Jeon with this project, I probably would’ve caved in and quit.”

Lucas turns to you with a smile. “What I mean to say is that, I admire you so much for being able to manage all this. And I know I have incredibly big shoes to fill and I think I’m more terrified about that, but I’m really thankful that you’re there to guide me, ___. Whatever tip and strategy and cheat sheet you can provide will be much appreciated.”

“Of course,” you assure him. “I’ve got spreadsheets and checklists and profiles and guidelines to turn over to you. And I’m always a call away, okay?”

He nods in gratitude, and you tell him that you both have time to sort through all those and that you’ll be finished in time for your last day. You agree on having lunch together so you could talk about the Board members and the other executives, and he says he has to see Jungkook first to get his signatures for some documents.

“Oh, can you, uh, can you give this to him, too?” You ask, passing him your leave request. It was during your time alone when you decided when to take them, knowing that you’re gonna slowly have to get used to being away from this place as well.

Lucas takes it then returns shortly after with your signed form. There’s relief in knowing you get to organize your life somehow. There are interviews to attend and a lot of your things to fix. There are feelings to make sense of, too.

And as you and Lucas talk about his move and the worry and excitement he feels, you think that you’ve got to stop thinking of goodbyes. There’s a life for you out there, and if by some way you find Jungkook in there, too, then at least you’d know you chose him, and that if he’d forgiven you then, then you’re assured that he’s chosen you, too.

You spend the entirety of Tuesday orienting Lucas about your spreadsheets and other files, and you both come up with a system that suits his style of work. Jungkook was out the whole day, and though you suppress the feeling of missing him, it’s one that haunts you until you lay in your bed that night.

You take the rest of the week off. You spend Wednesday cleaning your apartment and then having dinner with the elderly couple next door who amuse you with their love story and memories of their youth.

You meet Namjoon on Thursday for that official interview he’s been waiting for. You can’t help but envision yourself in the office with the dynamism of the teams and the laid-back feel of the entire space. You’d commit yourself right then and there if it didn’t make you look that desperate, but it’s Namjoon who encourages you to go to the other interviews you have lined up.

It’s a risk, he says; he might lose you if another more appealing company states their case. But he wants you to choose them without regrets; he wants you to choose them because you’ve seen what’s out there and decided that they’re who you want and who you see yourself being happy in. You don’t miss his slightly nervous face when you agree, but you suppose that if you’re going to do this now, might as well do it right.

You go to two other interviews that Friday, and while trying out events management was always in the back of your mind, it’s nice to see just how the job and the tasks excite you.

It’s the first time you’re feeling like you actually have options. Back then, even if there were other opportunities, you chose working for the Jeons because of a debt you felt you had to pay. You limited your own choices, but now, you feel what it’s like to take control of your own life, and it’s liberating to not have any baggage with you this time around.

Jimin and Soomin pay you a visit that weekend. They drive you around, thinking that the beauty of spring would inspire you even more. It’s fitting, they say, as you start a new phase in your life while the flowers bloom and greet you. But as you pass by a park and see the colors of the sky and buy some convenience store snacks on the way home, you can’t help but think of Jungkook.

Missing him feels a little odd. You didn’t know what it felt like until his trip at the end of last year, but you always knew he was gonna come back. This time, you’re unsure of when you’ll see him again. You spent time with him in a work environment, so being away from him and doing everyday things shouldn’t even affect you this much. But you suppose it’s the idea of what could have been that you miss, even if you don’t really know what that’s like.

You spend Monday and Tuesday the next week the same way. There’s just one executive meeting each day that you attend to assess how Lucas manages it, but other than that, you barely see Jungkook in the office. He stays in his room all morning then heads out in the afternoon, and you leave before he could even make it back. It reminds you that you truly left him at a critical time. You don’t know if he’s eating well, if he’s getting proper rest, if he’s tending a bruised knuckle or dealing with a headache. You don’t know if the stress is getting to him, if the anxiety is slowly building up, or if it’s just excitement he feels and that he can’t wait for everything to come together.

You hope for his sake, it’s the latter. You want nothing more than to assure him that things will turn out the way he wants, that the intended audience will love the Arts Center, and that he’s already achieved so much with just this. You hope he’s proud of himself the way you are, and that he knows that if there’s anything he leaves you with, it’s your own pride that you got to be part of something beautiful, and it’s that search for connection and intimacy and meaning that got you yearning for those things, too.

You take the rest of the week off again. You run errands one day, go to an interview the next, and then walk around town the day after. It feels like you’re back to that state of being alone but not feeling lonely; there’s just that added sense of freedom this time.

You’re not stressed about work. Time isn’t flying too fast. You don’t feel like you’re rushing, going from one task to another for the sake of it. You have space to think and feel. Even at such a short period of time, you’re learning what things excite you and what you want to explore. And that’s liberating, now that you’re able to pull yourself out of the routine that contained you for years, one that made you believe it was all you had and all you deserved. You think that this isn't so bad, and the constant sadness you feel slowly fades away as the days pass.

But then you return to work on Monday - your final week - and the illusion breaks.

Lucas has to meet with the marketing department, so he asks you to prepare Jungkook’s coffee in the morning. You feel quite sentimental doing it, as you know that there probably won’t be a next time.

You knock on the door, and when he asks you to come in, you suddenly feel anxious. You place the cup on his desk, making sure you put the biscuits like you always do.

Jungkook senses when you step back, lingering like you’ve been doing the few times you’ve done it. You used to do it because you expected he’d have something to ask you whenever you entered his room. But recently, he feels it’s you just waiting - for him to say something, perhaps, or for you to find the courage to speak up.

But you never do. And he never says what he really wants to.

“It’s your last week, Ms. Cho,” he states, focusing on his iPad screen so as not to torture himself with the sight of you. “How’s your clearance going?”

“Uh, it is, Mr. Jeon,” you reply. “Finance and HR have cleared me. IT and security will clear me on my last day. And I’ll submit to you my final deliverables on Wednesday. You can sign off my form then.”

He nods, and you torture yourself by standing by even if he doesn’t seem to have anything else to say. You’re about to excuse himself when he speaks again.

“Please free up your Friday evening. We’ll have a team send-off dinner for you.”

“I, uh. Understood, sir. Thank you.”

He nods once more, and it’s your signal to leave. He’s never felt so far away, but you suppose it’s the kind of distance you need.

You walk back to your seat, the reality of your last week hitting you, especially when you find Do-hyun and Yohan by your desk, looking somber as they reach out for a hug. You return it, with Do-hyun pointing it out, and she frowns when you say that you’ll be without it for a long time.

“Is everything alright?” You ask them.

“Yes,” they respond in unison.

“We just want to spend as much time with you as we can,” Yohan states. “I know we’ve all been busy but… it’s your last week. So let’s have lunch today, and any other day when you’re free. Please?”

“Of course,” you say. “Food hall today?”

They nod excitedly, and you spend your lunch time at the outdoor space, laughing about, with Lucas slowly but surely finding his place within the team.

That afternoon, Yoongi drops by and says he has lots of things going on because of the changes Jungkook is making, but he’ll meet you when you want to. He reminds you that he’s there when you need him; he’ll turn down the other man if it comes down to it. But he’ll drop by everyday until your last day, he says; he doesn’t want to feel like he didn't see you enough.

You assure him that he’s the one person you’d definitely meet up with outside of work, and so there’s no limit when it comes to him.

On Tuesday, you have lunch with some people from the marketing department whom you’ve gotten close to these past months, and on Wednesday, Bitna and the other assistants take you out to dinner.

CEO Jeon and Hoseok take you out to lunch on Thursday, stating that they wanted to check in and ask what your plans are. They assure you that they’re there should you need support in any way; the company is likewise always going to have a place for you. And with the sincerity in their eyes and their hope of you finding your place and your happiness, you know they mean well. So you take that time to ask for advice, too.

It ends in laughter, as you recall your early days at the company and the mishaps with Hoseok. You talk about some of the issues you’ve been privy to and some details about your life that they missed. Talking with them feels comfortable now that there’s an acknowledgment of your ties to their family. You can tell that despite of and after everything, CEO Jeon truly cares for you and your mother, and that he’ll be eternally sorry yet grateful to both of you.

You’re thankful that they don’t mention Jungkook. You wouldn’t know how to react if they did, especially since you’ve barely seen him all week. Missing him has become natural that you’ve just accepted it, including the fact that you can’t do anything about it. Maybe you’ll always be too scared to let him know, too.

It’s Friday before you know it. You manage to get everything done on time, and Jungkook calls you to his office that morning to return your signed clearance form. You hate how you’re both back to this tense dynamic whenever you enter his room - lingering looks, clenched jaws, deafening silence… and words you want to say and hear but know you never would. You’re both not built for that, you think; there’s always so much to feel but not enough courage to face them.

This room holds so many memories - when he got mad, when you stood up to him, when he said he needed your help, when he kissed you and you kissed him back… when you pushed him away.

But this isn’t where you say goodbye. There’s still that team dinner tonight and you hope you get to leave him with a proper farewell and a sincere expression of thanks for all that he’s taught you. You want to wish him good luck on the Arts Center opening. You want to tell him that you believe he’ll keep doing great things, you want to remind him to take proper rest, to take his breaks seriously, and to enjoy all that’s ahead of him.

So you settle for a smile, as genuine as you can make it, before heading out and closing the door behind you.

You return to your desk and go over some other things with Lucas that he needs clarifications on. You both spend lunch with the team and then resume your final turnover.

It’s shortly after 3 PM when Jungkook comes out of his room with his bag in hand, and he instructs Lucas to get some blueprints from Chin-sun before they both leave to go to the Arts Center for a visit. The man next to you gets up and tells you he’ll see you at dinner, leaving you and Jungkook alone this time.

It’s that lingering look again and he stays rooted in his spot, his eyes getting more distant as the seconds pass.

“I wish you well, ___,” he says, the use of your name with words that seem like goodbye causing a crack in your heart. “Good luck. And thank you.”

He doesn’t wait for a response as he leaves right after, and you’re left with your heart in your hands, one that keeps calling his name. You think it will continue to do that after all this.

You spend the rest of the afternoon packing your things and entertaining all those who drop by to say goodbye. Yoongi messages to say he’s out on a project site but that he’ll see you soon, and it’s something you look forward to after things have settled down.

You find yourself in a private room at a nice restaurant with the team not long after. You can order anything, you’re told, and Do-hyun and Yohan don’t hesitate on choosing the dishes that they wouldn’t have been able to eat if it wasn’t for their boss paying for this meal.

“Shouldn’t we wait for Lucas and Mr. Jeon?” You ask, looking around and feeling incomplete.

“This dinner is for you, and you’re here,” Do-hyun points out. “But I guess we can wait.”

You settle for some appetizers and get to talking. They’re less sentimental than they were a few weeks ago. They say they’ve made peace with everything and are just happy that you’re able to take a break and have time for yourself before going back to the grind. It’s all talk and laughter, and when Lucas arrives, everybody cheers because then, you can all have your food served.

“Where’s Mr. Jeon?” Do-hyun asks before you do.

“He’s at the Arts Center dealing with the laborers and the design team,” Lucas says regrettably. “Seems like there’s too much work and he can’t make it to dinner. I doubt he even eats at this point. He’s there every afternoon and doesn’t leave until late at night.”

“Is everything alright?” You ask, a mix of worry and sadness at how much he’s pushing himself, and that he didn’t even have the heart to see you one last time.

Perhaps that short exchange earlier was his final goodbye, you think. And now you wouldn’t even be able to say yours.

“Yeah, you know how he is when he focuses on something,” Lucas sighs. “He just locks in and doesn’t care about anything else. He’s always been like that and I guess that hasn’t changed. But he did say he wants us to enjoy tonight, so order anything you want and he’ll take care of it.”

You mask the disappointment by laughing through Do-hyun and Yohan arguing about the best way to attack the menu, but you can’t help the way your eyes flit to the door every time it opens, hoping Jungkook would walk through it. But it’s never him.

Mr. Ri walks in right as the main dishes are served, and you look at him in question. He returns your dejected look with a shake of his head, as if he knows what you're thinking.

You suppose that this is how Jungkook wanted to end things - by not showing up, by leaving the wound uncovered. You didn’t realize it would hurt like this.

Maybe you deserve it. Maybe you don’t. But with the empty seat on the table reminding you of the man who chose to not give you a final goodbye because you’d done yours so certainly, you’re starting to think that it doesn’t really matter. He gets to choose how he deals with this, like he said. And you have no choice but to do the same.

You try your hardest to keep up with the team’s energy. They’re at least no longer crying, although you wish they were so you’d have a reason to cry yourself, because that’s what you’re trying hard not to do. It’s probably because of the sadness at knowing that you won’t experience this with them anymore; you won’t share the laughter and the stories that you used to. Everything is sinking in already, and it’s reality hitting you that you’re really going to start a new journey soon, and that you had to let go of someone incredibly important for that to happen.

The Jungkook-shaped hole in your life will probably get bigger as the days pass, but that’s just another thing missing that you’ll have to find substitutes for, just like you do for everything else.

You manage to get through dinner with dry eyes, even when you’re presented with farewell gifts. Lucas hands you a large box - a present from the VP’s Office, he says, and you smile in awe when you see a coffee pod maker that’s a similar version to the one you have at the pantry.

“You won’t be going around making other people’s coffee anymore,” Manager Lee says. “So this is for your home. You’ll be on-the-go and busy but at least you’ll have this. It’s also so you’ll always remember us.”

“It’s also how I started,” you point out, recalling your internship days at the company. “But this is great. Please uh, please thank Mr. Jeon for me.”

“And this is from us,” Do-hyun smiles, handing you another box. “Like, this is from our own pockets. And we thought of every single thing in there so don’t forget about us. Ever.”

You open it and find a lot of the things that they know you can’t live without - a tumbler, a mug, notebooks, colored pens and highlighters, post-its, little jars of snacks and candies. There are also self-care items like scented candles and essential oils. In a little bag, there are two disposable cameras and vouchers to your local theater.

And underneath all of those is a complete photo of your team, the one taken during your team building not long ago. Everyone looks refreshed and carefree. Including you. And then there’s Jungkook next to you, hands in his pockets and sporting what you know is a genuine smile. It’s a good reminder of your time together, and despite everything, you’re glad you have something to always keep close to you.

You return their hugs, each one carrying so much care and warmth that you missed out on because you were never one to accept them, to ask for them. You finally say goodbye and make a promise that you’ll catch up with them one of these days, one you know you’ll keep.

You all walk out. Mr. Ri helps you with your things then leads you towards the car.

“Last one for old time’s sake,” he smiles at you. “And it’s late. Let me drive you home.”

You don’t resist, knowing that as someone who’s looked after you for so many years, never faltering in his commitment to your mother or you, you’re truly going to miss him.

Sitting on the passenger seat, you look out the window and try to amuse yourself with the scenes outside. There are cars passing by and people trying to get home, probably grateful that another week is over. You wonder how many of them are nursing broken hearts, or are running away from something, or are hoping someone they pushed away comes back.

The tears are falling before you know it, and as you try to hold in your sniffles, you see Mr. Ri from your periphery glance at you before turning on the radio, gradually making the music louder so as to drown out your sounds. That continues for a while until the streets start to look familiar. Somehow, you dread going home - being alone at a time like this feels a little too much, but maybe you deserve that, too.

You arrive at your apartment, and Mr. Ri helps you in bringing all your stuff inside. He stays by the door and his soft eyes prompt you to speak.

“I thought he’d come,” you whisper. “I thought I’d see him one last time. He… he couldn’t even say goodbye.”

“You know it’s not always easy for people to do that,” he says. “Letting you go was hard enough. What if he says something that would push you even farther away?”

“I can’t be any farther than I am right now,” you sigh. “But we did this to each other. I didn’t want to stay and he… just let me walk away. I hurt him but everything else after hurt me, too. And I… I wish it didn’t. I—”

You’re unable to speak as you cry once more, all the conflicting emotions suffocating you from within. And all Mr. Ri can do is wipe your tears with his handkerchief and hope that could stop them somehow.

“This hurts me,” he utters the words so softly and so heavy with emotion. “It’s like watching my daughter get her heart broken.”

It’s what makes you smile, and you take the piece of cloth from him and dry your eyes.

“I could’ve been,” you say, knowing that he wanted a family at one point.

“That’s true. But most times I think that I would’ve been too burdened by what I’ve done that I wouldn’t have been able to love your mother the way she deserves,” he reasons. “And I’ll always think that I let her go so that she could find someone like Min-woo who’d love her without reservations, who’d be able to give her a life that she’d always dreamed to have and to give you.”

Mr. Ri recalls his own decisions and the heartbreaks that followed right after. They conflicted him, too, but in life, knowing what you want doesn’t always mean you get to express it the way you want to. Sometimes doing it makes it harder for everyone involved, and that’s what he thinks is what’s happening with you and Jungkook, too.

“I think it’s what Jungkook has learned,” he continues. “He has to let you go so you could find whatever happiness it is that you couldn’t find where you are. And as for you, you have to know that letting someone go right now doesn’t mean you can’t ever have them again. You just have to stop thinking you don’t deserve to want it.”

You take his words to heart as you bid him goodbye, and they stay in your head as you force yourself to sleep later that night.

You don’t know what kind of happiness you’re searching for. You don’t even know what happiness could truly be like with Jungkook, and the thought that maybe you’ll never know starts to scare you. It’s one you think you’d like to one day experience. But how could you when you pushed him away? Is it even something you could still want, given what you’ve done? Is it something he’d want to know as well? In the midst of the mess you created, could it still happen?

You’re reminded of what CEO Jeon had said not long ago, and you try to comfort yourself with it. You crossed paths with Jungkook for a reason. You’ve started to believe that you’re losing him for a reason. You just have to trust that if it’s meant to be, you’ll find him again for a reason as well.

You just hope that when you do, he’ll take you back again, ask you to stay, and you’ll be able to tell him with your whole heart that you will. And that it’s something you won’t ever regret.

Series Masterlist

Permanent Taglist:

@sherlynxx @di0rgguk @thequeen-kat @fan-ati--c @cravingforhotchocolate @adoraminie @weasleyswizarding-wheezes @gukssunshine @kookxin @petuliii @yoursthv @libra04 @fancycollectormoon @twixxxpie @ignoretheskies @ohmydarlin-g @bids97 @minyoongiboongi @main-bangtansmauyeondan @investedreader @petalsofink @stopeatread @craftymoonchaos @alpacaparkaseok @coletaehyung @boyfriendtaekook @moonchild1 @keshiadeija @nesha227 @src-9 @almatiarau @roseda

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@xhazmania @ash07128 @rinkud @junecat18 @peachytokki @baechugff @coralmusicblaze @jalexad @pamzn @hoseoksluv89 @familiarlikemymirror3 @kookies-n-spice @hyuneyeon @thisartemisnevermisses @jk97bam @nadzzzblog @xyarinx @megnugget98 @shameless-army @jkslvsnella @lvr2seok @nayashalouiseburrows

#jungkook fic #jungkook x reader #jungkook x oc #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x you #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook angst #jungkook series #bts jungkook #jeon jungkook #boss jungkook

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tofixtheshadows · 3 days

Text

You guys really need to stop and consider the ways you're talking about Kabru I am dead fucking serious. Like I know that flattening characters is just what fandom does to a certain extent, but Kabru's actual personality is getting lost to the fandom hivemind insisting that he's aggressive/cruel/sociopathic/hateful, and these are particularly concerning takes to see leveled at the only brown character in the main cast day after day. "My poor sweet golden child Laios needs to be protected from this scary brown man" is not a good look! Like, it's very telling that the bulk of the hate and bad faith readings are reserved for Toshiro and Kabru. Everyone else's flaws get to be discussed and validated and forgiven (or erased), meanwhile people are straight making up things to be mad about with Toshiro and Kabru but patting themselves on the back for being smart.

The worst part is how undeserved it all is. I'm trying to lay off anime-onlys because we're still kind of in the red herring stage of getting to know Kabru, but I would still like to gently suggest that even if you think Kabru is up to something, you don't gave to get in the tags of every fan creator's post and bring up how you hate him or You Can Tell he's totally evil. Sometimes I think Kabru's blue eyes give people license to say things about his appearance that they know would sound completely racist otherwise, but referring to his blue eyes acts as a get-out-of-racism free card. The jokes about the dog with brown contacts are getting old, by the way.

For people who have read the manga, it's disappointing. Kabru is one of the most complex and important characters in the story, and if you base your interpretation of him and all your fandom interactions on shallow first impressions you are completely missing out.

I know part of this is because Dungeon Meshi is a comedy, but the story also wants to be taken seriously. For example, it's admittedly really funny when Chilchuck calls Laios "sick in the head", but that doesn't change the fact that the way Chilchuck casually belittles Laios caused him to hide the fact that he was "hallucinating" from his friends for weeks. Those feelings matter.

Like, this

is funny.

But this?

Is not. This is just a very clear example of a brown boy with PTSD. As someone else with PTSD, just looking at this fucking sucks, man.

The only reason why Kabru thinks about killing Laios is because he is in the middle of a flashback. He's struggling through a panic attack. If he truly wanted to kill Laios because he's violent or because he finds Laios inherently annoying, he wouldn't otherwise talk with Laios normally. Notice how he doesn't act this way at any other point in the story- it's just because he's triggered by monsters. Even when he's thinking about his plans to "deal with" Laios later, he's reluctant to actually kill him and only considers it to prevent another tragedy. Despite his deadly skills, Kabru relies far more on "soft" power- insight, persuasion, diplomacy. He's a rare example of a character who absolutely is, or at least can be, manipulative, but seems to use his abilities for good. He's not a pathological liar, he isn't looking down on everyone behind a smile. He's someone who is extremely emotionally intelligent, and he's willing to put aside all his own basic wants and needs to stop the cycle of dungeons devouring humans.

I'm going to cut a potential thesis on his character short and just give some examples of things that fandom should consider about his personality more:

Racism in fandom isn't just about whitewashing in fan art, or using racial slurs. The insidiousness of bad faith readings, reductions to racist tropes, lack of fan content for characters of color, and dismissal of a character's complexity are far more common. You can believe yourself to be completely neutral or even positive about a character and still churn out low-grade bile about them into fandom's collective unconscious. Fandom reflects real life.

And I have been around fandom long enough to see how these behaviors (mostly from my fellow white fans) affect fans of color, how it makes a fandom feel hostile and unwelcome to them. It's fun to make jokes and memes, I'm absolutely not saying that everything needs to be a deeply nuanced take, but we need to be careful that it doesn't veer into toxicity. Please think about how our contributions to fandom come across, and what sort of vibes they cultivate in this communal space.

#Dungeon Meshi #Kabru #Kabru of Utaya #Dungeon Meshi meta #I'm putting it in the tag. I'm making you look at it.#if you come into my inbox to bitch about this just know that people used to send me b*heading videos in there for similar racist reasons #so I will not be impressed #I'm in a fucking time loop someone get me out!!!!#musings with Dea

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corrodedbisexual · 2 days

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Eddie is constantly bouncing between jobs and rage quitting every 6 months on average. Steve, however, somehow gets lucky with a job in computer sales. With the industry in a booming rise, he makes a pretty decent income to support them both whenever Eddie's out of a job. Best part is, even though his charming voice and smile certainly help make sales, he doesn't feel like he's one of those scammers pushing all kinds of crap people don't need. Computers are objectively useful.

This goes on until their mid 30s and Steve saves up enough to open his own small tech store. He very hesitantly starts involving his recently unemployed (again) boyfriend in some mundane tasks (upon Eddie's own initiative saying he wants to help) and quickly learns that all of Eddie's previous bosses were morons. Eddie's meticulous and a quick learner with every single task. All he needs is not to have a boss who's a total jackass to him, and a bit of freedom to just... be himself.

Eddie does everything with mild enthusiasm; mild, because it's still work, ugh; enthusiasm, because it's his BOYFRIEND finally being free to do his own thing instead of working for The Man, woohoo, go Stevie! Eddie doesn't need to wear a stupid uniform or put his hair up, can play music in his headphones doing inventory, answers the phones in his special flirty manner, and Steve doesn't have a problem with any of that. He actually listens to Eddie's bitching and recognizes the helpful suggestions to improve things in the middle of all that, instead of telling him to shut up and do his damn job.

Working together can often be the perfect storm to ruin a relationship, but despite becoming Eddie's de-facto boss, Steve never treats him differently. It's never orders, always "Eddie can you [do this and that]?". It's soft smiles and a quiet "thanks, babe", and if no one's around, a kiss on Eddie's cheek when he gets something done. It's a calm explanation instead of yelling if he messes up.

Steve hands Eddie a handful of cash at the end of each week, despite Eddie's comments that it's a bit ridiculous to pay him at all, since he'd been practically living out of Steve's pocket for months at a time, and Steve has been single-handedly paying the rent for their joint apartment. Steve insists though, and Eddie has to admit that it's nice to always have cash in his pocket now.

Eddie learns more and more of everything that's needed to run the store, to the point that he spends a week handling everything alone when Steve's sick with the flu, but it's still a shock when several months later Steve shows him the paperwork in which he writes Eddie in as full partner. Eddie tries to protest, but Steve won't have it; he says he never could have survived all these months of start-up chaos without Eddie, and he fully deserves this. He's been giving Eddie half the store profits for months anyway, time to just make it official.

#steddie #random blurb from the stuad discord #misha-bawlins fanfic

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rhyming-fellowship · 2 days

Text

Listen I get the Charles/Edwin of it all but imagine a world where Edwin stays with the Cat King and people roll up looking for the Cat King and find a posh British teenager sitting on that chair calmly stroking a cat in his lap and it's like, okay. Sure. They can buy the Cat King being British. Kinda weird he's being British in a small town in the United States, but like, whatever, weirder things have happened. And so they start their negotiations or whatever they're there for and they're fully addressing Edwin who has a smug little smirk the whole time until he interrupts them to say, actually, he's not the Cat King. And then the previously ignored cat leaps off his lap and transforms right in front of them into the real Cat King.

Are you seeing the vision? Are you seeing it?

#i just think it would be neat #dead boy detectives #dead boy detective agency #edwin payne #the cat king #catwin

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5sospenguinqueen · 2 days

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Love To Hate | Daniel Ricciardo x Gasly! Reader

Summary: Daniel Ricciardo is known for bickering with Pierre Gasly's older sister online. The fans love it but they suspect there might be something more behind it.

Warnings: Swearing. One sexual innuendo. Female reader.

Takes place in the 2022 season so Daniel is with McLaren.

Main Masterlist

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mclaren just posted

liked by oscarpiastri, alex_albon and others

mclaren spot the difference #MonacoGP tagged: landonorris, danielricciardo

2,446 comments

YourUserName the one on the left can actually drive

→ User 1 wtf does she know about f1

→ User 2 um, her baby brother is a GP winner so…

danielricciardo @ YourUserName coming from the woman who failed her driving test twice

→ YourUserName @ pierregasly you weren’t supposed to tell your little racing friends that!

→ pierregasly do not drag me into this nonsense.

landonorris @ YourUserName thanks pookie

→ danielricciardo more like pukie

→ YourUserName you’re just mad that he gets bitches and you don’t

→ danielricciardo okay, cradle snatcher

User 3 mom and dad are fighting again

danielricciardo here’s to a good weekend 💪

→ YourUserName ass licker

→ danielricciardo you wish.

→ maxverstappen1 can you guys not do your foreplay privately

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YourUserName just posted

liked by arthur_leclerc, lilymhe and others

YourUserName soaking up the sun before the madness resumes (01/06/2022) 🌻

2,488 comments

danielricciardo i need to bleach my eyes. please cover you up before you mentally scar someone else.

→ User 5 he says like his jaw didn’t drop when this came across his timeline

User 6 how to become y/n gasly

→ YourUserName have an annoying brother and endure his equally insufferable friends

lilymhe the only reason i’m still with Alex is so i have an excuse to spend time with you in the paddock

→ YourUserName we could get married and then you could see me all the time??

→ alex_albon it’s a good thing I’m used to this or i might cry

→ georgerussle63 don’t lie. i can hear you sobbing from my hotel room.

MaleFriend wow 🥵 → danielricciardo try harder (comment deleted)

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PierreGASLY you’re both certified yappers. it’s why the two of you together is a nightmare

User 7 hmm, okay but why were you two together in the first place if you hate each other…

→ danielricciardo I was bullying her

→ YourUserName pierre ditched me to talk to a pretty girl and Daniel was making fun of the fact that I got lost

→ LandoNorris i wouldn’t have left you… just saying 👀

→ YourUserName i’m 10 years old than you, boo.

→ LandoNorris age is just a number

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danielricciardo just posted

liked by mclaren, scottyjames31 and others

danielricciardo preferred mode of transport... fast

6,443 comments

YourUserName title of your sex tape “i'm in love with my car”

YourUserName someone’s clearly compensating for something

→ danielricciardo omg why are you so obsessed with me. Get out of my comments, stalker

→ YourUserName let’s not forget you stalked me first

→ danielricciardo where’s your proof

→ pierregasly here. you begged me for her instagram until i gave in

→ danielricciardo and then i realised what a bitch she was

→ YourUserName just ‘cause i wouldn’t blow you

→ pierregasly i need you to delete this

User 1 this man is so fine

User 2 i’d like to ride

→ YourUserName you’d have more fun with the car

→ User 2 omg hi queen

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liked by charles_leclerc, francisca.cgomes and others

YourUserName last race of the season today. just wanted to say a big ‘well done’ to my baby bro. so proud of all you achieved this season and i know you’ll go on to kill it next year! 🍾 #AbuDhabiGP

3,323 comments

YourUserName yes, i know one pic has daniel. no, it’s not an announcement of our friendship. i just like how scared pear looks

User 8 i have never been more attracted to a frenchman before

danielricciardo and who is that handsome man

→ YourUserName there is not a single handsome man in this post; charles was sulking out of the frame

→ pierregasly 1) i am very handsome, 2) stay away from charles, he’s too nice for you

→ danielricciardo and too pretty

→ charles_leclerc stop it or i will fall in love with all of you

→ YourUserName @ pierregasly i’ll stop if you promise to get rid of daniel so i don’t have to see him again

→ danielricciardo and deny you of my bakery 🍑

→ User 9 it's cake, honey, but you tried

User 10 anyone catch the camera panning to y/n when daniel’s car spun out in qualifying

→ User 11 talk about delulu

→ User 12 because he almost crashed into her brother so obvi they would show her

pierregasly just posted

liked by francisca.cgomes, yukitsunoda0511 and others

pierregasly a huge thank you to my support system. je t'aime grande soeur 🌸 (she forced me to post this, please send help)

5,222 comments

YourUserName you’re such a liar! you were legit crying to me last night about how nice it is that i still come to all your races and then said you wanted the world to know

→ pierregasly don’t expose me!

→ landonorris come sit in my car instead. rub a little luck on it

→ User 12 never beating the no rizz allegations

danielricciardo @ landonorris probably best she doesn't, she’s clearly a curse, mate

→ YourUserName and how many races did you win this season?

→ danielricciardo i hope pierre pushes you off the plane tomorrow

→ YourUserName i hope you get run over in the pits

alphatauri we love having you in the garage

User 1 agreed. her hair looked so pretty today and he ruined it

User 2 only for him to then completely forget what he was saying when he realised she was wearing a white shirt? yes! it’s been playing in my head

→ User 3 can’t say i blame him. i too was no better than a man 👀

User 4 but the way he covered her body with his the second he realised to stop the camera focusing on her see-through top

→ User 5 and then gave her one of his shirts because she was walking around in a mclaren top until pierre yanked her into the alphatauri garage

→ User 6 guys, this is bare minimum. him being hot doesn’t make this extra chivalrous

User 7 another angle of that video showed it was an accident. he can be seen saying sorry a billion times and after that, they put a border around the fountain

YourUserName posted a new story

danielricciardo reposted your story

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YourUserName just posted

liked by carlossainz55, georgerussell63 and others

YourUserName happy 4 year anniversary to my professional car crasher tagged: danielricciardo

7,114 comments

User 1 i knew it! they all called me crazy

danielricciardo delete this. you said you would be a nice. i’m a champion! how many trophies do you have, huh

→ YourUserName depends on how many i steal from the trophy case in our living room (plus, those are replicas)

→ User 2 our?!?!

charles_leclerc but i thought you loved me?

→ YourUserName i do, citrouille. but, daniel and pierre are keeping us apart.

User 3 4 years? this means they were together when he was still at red bull! what did you think about him leaving?

→ YourUserName i'm not allowed to talk about that

landonorris congratulations, mum and dad

→ alex_albon congratulations, mum and dad

→ georgerussell63 congratulations, mum and dad

→ YourUserName i didn’t sign up for this responsibility

→ danielricciardo they’re a package deal, babe. they come with me

maxverstappen1 oh, thank god. It was so hard keeping this to myself in interviews

danielricciardo just posted

liked by maxverstappen1, kellypiquet and others

danielricciardo contrary to popular belief, pierre is not my favourite gasly

6,998 comments

YourUserName aww, mon coeur, you actually used nice photos

→ danielricciardo don’t speak french to me, you know it turns me on

→ maxverstappen1 i miss when you publicly hated each other

pierregasly you take that back!

pierregasly that’s it. you’re off the Christmas card list

francisca.cgomes wonderful, daniel, now he’s sulking

→ YourUserName you get used to it. they may seem cool but all f1 drivers are essentially big crybabies

→ danielricciardo hey!

→ charles_leclerc hey!

→ pierregasly hey!

→ alex_albon hey!

→ landonorris hey!

→ carlossainz55 hey!

→ georgerussell63 true

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Please request if you have any ideas you'd like to see, and I'll do my best to bring them to life <3

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caxde · 3 days

Text

lovingsomeone | steddie x reader

summary: Eddie's got a crush on you, Steve's got a crush on you, and you're not sure who you like. A school dance and a summer party help you figure things out. (9.3k)(srry i got carried away)

warnings: smut! 18+ mdni use of alcohol and weed, afab reader, p in v sex, masturbation, oral sex and overall teenage horniness. Steve being overconfident and Eddie being a nervous wreck.

a/n: I did a first part to it answering a request and kept writing, so i put it all together! enjoy<3 english is not my first language!

“So, will you actually say something to her this time?” Robin teased Eddie for the hundredth time.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He snapped back, shaking his head as he overly enunciated every word, trying desperately to not blush at the thought of you.

“Sure you don’t.” She breathed out, pushing her head back.

Robin had always been preceptive, even more so when it came to her best friends. Maybe that’s why Robin had no problem when it came time to figure out what was going on.

She was the first -and maybe only one- to catch Eddie’s lips opening, the clenched fists, the way he always tried to make you laugh or how he looked fastly over at you everytime something funny happened, just so he could see you smile.

It wasn’t long after when she clocked Steve doing something similar. Steve would always fix his hair before talking to you, he took a step closer than he had to when he was talking to you, his hand lingered when he passed something to you. Most importantly, Steve was a big flirt, and Robin could tell it was working.

She still was unsure about you.

She had caught you looking at Eddie when he was deep into a story, your eyelids half closed, as if you were daydreaming about him, and she was sure she had seen you bite your lower lip after looking at his neck.

But today you had called Steve an idiot with a dumb smile, a playful touch to his chest that had left your cheeks with a pinkish hue, only made worse when Steve grabbed your hand so he could make you twirl to the sound of the music emanating from his car before he left when he dropped you both off.

Robin was now sitting outside the car park, with an Eddie who was lost into you.

Eddie couldn’t keep his eyes off of you, and the way your hair moved as you walked closer to them.

“You’re doing okay?” She asked with an eyebrow raised, as she schotched over so you’d sit next to her as you always did.

Eddie didn’t even look up, he just grabbed the chocolate bar he had in his pocket, for exactly that reason, handing it over to you.

“You don’t have to.” Your voice came out all shy, a soft smile as you looked at the colorufull wrapper that laid right in his hands.

“I know.” Eddie muttered, nodding his head at you, the usual grin he had only for you appearing on his face.

“Thanks Eds.” You managed to say, grabbing it and biting it.

Robin rolled her eyes as soon as she saw Eddie focusing on the way your lips opened, stifling a laugh as she shook her head. Both of you are oblivious to the way the other feels.

“Are we still going to the dance tonight?” You asked, breaking the small moment of silence that had formed.

“Is it tonight?” Eddie asked, his usual teasing tone in his voice every time this topic came up.

“Yes…” You squinted your eyes at him, knowing he’d smile as soon as he saw you.

“Yeah, we’ll be here.” Robin confirmed, standing up from the little curbside she had settled into. “Can you give me a ride, Eds?” She asked, tussing her hair in the middle of the question.

“Uh, sure. D’you need a ride, dove?” Eddie was embarrassed as soon as he muttered the nickname he tried, recomforted by the way you seemed to be pleased by it.

“I think Steve’s picking me up.” You felt a bit guilty saying it, made worse by Eddie pressing his lips together, followed by a short nod as he went to find his van.

“Okay, what’s the deal?” Robin had had enough of playing detective. She needed to know what was going through your mind.

“What do you mean?” You scrunch your nose, not really wanting to know if she was asking what you thought she meant.

“Oh come on! Eddie’s got a crush on you, Steve has a crush on you, you..?” She left the question open, wanting you to finish it with an answer, instead you got all flustered, standing up straight in a fast motion, trying to make sense of what she had just said.

“Eddie doesn’t have a crush on me! Neither does Steve, he’s just being nice… And I just, they’re both…”

“Hot?”

“Shut up…” You punched her on her shoulder, a giggle escaping both of your lips. “They both treat me so well, and they’re kind and yeah… they’re hot.”

Robin couldn’t help but laugh, and neither could you, it only made it worse when Robin suggested that if you played your cards right, you might see Paris.

It continued until Steve’s car stopped next to you.

Steve stepped out, fixing his hair in a movement that made you wish you could be the one fixing it. His other hand held a small gathering of wild flowers, with pink carnations sticking out of them. Robin's mouth opened wide, as she saw how Steve moved closer to you, looking nervous.

“Hi.” You chirped, as soon as he stood right in front of you, his feet almost touching yours.

“Hi.” He stuttered a bit, his nervous energy made evident. He gave a quick glance at Robin, who just nodded, stepping back a bit. “I uh… I know this might be cheesy but, these are for you–” He stopped talking when your fingers brushed his, the same feeling he always had invading your body. An electricity, a warmness that was hard to explain.

“They are lovely… Why…?” The sweetest tone that could be heard as a melody came out of your lips, and Steve could live in it for an eternity.

“I… I kinnda wanna take you to the dance, if you’re okay with it.” He begged, a faint trace on it on his tone, as he stepped a bit closer, your feet between his opened legs. His eyes locked into yours, you were a goner as soon as you looked at him and the way his lips curved a bit more on the right than they did on the left.

“Like a date?” You echoed, a glimpse of hope evident enough that his teeth were now showing when he smiled as he nodded. “I’d love to.”

Steve caressed your cheek as he reached to hold your hand, walking you to his car as he opened the door for you, he was still going to drive you home.

Unlucky for Eddie, he had seen the whole thing, and Robin said nothing, just waited for him to start the car.

You and Robin were supposed to get picked up by Steve, who was supposed to pick Eddie up.

It did happen, only that the tension in the car between both boys could be felt, even from outside and with the windows rolled up.

No music was playing on the radio, Steve was grabbing the steering wheel a bit harder than he needed to -his knuckles turning white- whilst Eddie kept playing with his index finger, one swipe left, two swipes right.

Eddie wanted to talk, to ask Steve is he was serious about it, but the smell of aftershave was intoxicating enough to confirm he was.

As soon as the car stopped, Eddie looked at the wooden doors of Robin’s house, and the way Steve walked them up with such confidence -even if he was just faking it, he was nervous about it all going well, so much so he hadn’t even realised he drove over with no music on- he left a knock on the door, for it to open shortly after.

You were truly breathtaking.

Red had never looked that good. The dress hugged your chest, a flowy skirt dropping from your waist, your arms decorated with the same red colour as what looked like a scarf fell from them. Your hair was out of your face, your eyes shined a bit more, your lips looked pinker, juicier. He was losing his mind.

It only hurt a bit more when he realised he had his hand out, waiting for yours to fit in it, but you moved past him, accepting Steve’s instead, as he twirled you around, praising you, telling you just how good you looked. A shower of compliments Eddie was also thinking, but couldn’t articulate. He just stared at the floor, only looking up when he felt Robin’s touch on his shoulder, a look of compassion held between the both of them.

Nobody would blame you, or the hyperfixation you had all of a sudden with the way Steve’s neck looked, the red tie wrapping around it, contrasting with the white shirt. What was worse, you had never realised just how many moles and freckles Steve’s skin had, the one that laid where his jaw met his neck was particularly driving you insane. You danced the night away, mostly it was the four of you in a little circle, chatting and drinking whatever was inside the punch. Steve’s hands only found your waist when a slow song played. His thumbs grabbed you a bit too hard, in a way that he knew immediately why you bit your lower lip, and in response your hands were behind his neck, your nails tracing a patron in his skin, tugging his hair slightly. He grinned, chuckled and made you laugh, his eyes shining, looking at yours. You had never seen such beauty in brown until now.

Maybe you did like Steve, and maybe he did like you.

Eddie went outside. As soon as he saw you biting your lip, his hands on your waist, yours in his hair, he needed some air.

He wished it were him. He wasn’t as fancy as Steve was, he had a white shirt under his uncle's old muted brown shirt. He struggled to remember in which pocket he put the Marlboro's away. He had been fidgeting with his lighter for a while, needing, craving a moment of silence.

He was almost done smoking as he felt sorry for himself, when he heard the doors opening, the sudden music became clear for those brief seconds.

He turned around, seeing you walking towards him with the biggest smile he had seen in your face for a while.

For a brief moment, he forgot he was hurt.

“You do look beautiful Moon” You told him as soon as you reached him, your body next to his, snatching the half smoked cigarette that he had in between his fingers.

He scoffed, turning his whole body to look at you, he saw the way you smiled up at him, you were being sincere which was only just as hurting as you dancing with him had been.

“Beautiful?” He questioned, a slight teasing on his tone as he inched closer, breathing in the smoke you let out, stealing the cigarette back.

“Yeah, beautiful handsome Eddie.” You uttered, the faint smell of alcohol left your mouth, Eddie scrunch his nose.

“You’re drunk?”

“No, only had one drink. But you’ve been moody, I miss you in there.” You chirped back, your usual playful tone didn’t make him smile, not even grin. You got worried right there and then. Your hand reaching for his, trying to pull him back into the party.

“I’m sure you’ll have a great time.” He implied, nodding at Steve who was just now opening the door, looking for you with a lovesick grin on his face.

“What’s going on?” You weren’t sure what you had done to leave him in such a state, he seemed hurt, his words colder than they had even been.

“Nothing.” Eddie lied, you hated lies.

Something in you clicked, as you saw the way Steve smiled you, a contradiction to Eddie’s pursed lips as his jawline looked sharper than it ever did.

Robin’s words echoed in your head Eddie’s got a crush on you, Steve’s got a crush on you.

“Well, next time have the courage to ask me out before someone else does…” You snapped back, your arms crossing over your chest, a protective stance taking hold of you as you stepped back.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He shook his head, his hair brushing against his face, an apologetic look on his eyes that made you want to cry.

“It means don’t just suppose nobody will want me, am I supposed to wait for you forever?”

Eddie couldn’t quite believe that declaration, knowing now you might also have some feeling for him, but he was a little too late. You sniffled your nose, shaking your head, your hair flowing everywhere. “Forget it.” You declared, leaving the little bubble you were in.

You walked over to Steve, and he just looked at you, the smile he had turned as soon as he saw the way your eyes were crystalizing, menacing with tears. He cupped your cheeks with his hands.

You gave in, your body hitting his, Eddie just saw the way your shoulders moved up and down.

You were crying now.

“Honey…” Steve begged as he took you in his arms. “Do you want to leave?”

“I’m sorry.” You whispered back, feeling warmer in his arms, the coldness of Eddie’s words brushing away with the closeness of Steve’s body.

“Don’t be. We can go anywhere you want. As long as I’m with you I’m happy.” He blurted, his eyes looking at yours, his thumbs brushing out the tear that came out of them.

“Are you sure?”

“‘curse I am.” He added, a smile returning to his lips, before he kissed the crown of your head. “I can also drop you off.” He offered, you shook you head.

“I don’t wanna be alone.” You answered, your voice still barely above a whisper.

“That’s fine, you wanna go for a walk?” He replayed instead, taking your hand, intertwining your fingers with his.

As soon as you nodded he started walking. He didn’t push for you to talk, he didn’t try to make assumptions, but of course he did.

The last he had seen was you talking with Eddie. Steve had always thought that Eddie was beautiful, he had a magnetic pull with people that was hard to explain, and he also knew that Eddie was sharp with his words. So he gave you enough time to gather your thoughts.

“I do like you…” You confessed, your tone remaining low and soft as you spoke, looking at the ground, not confident enough to look at him right now.

“I like you too.” He gleamed with pride, though he thought that much was obvious.

“I… I figured that out with the flowers.” You recalled, as a shiver from the cold air made you shake a bit.

Steve wasted no second, his tuxedo jacket laying on your shoulders now.

“The flowers gave me away?” He teased, a short chuckle in the back of his throat. “It wasn’t my constant offer to drive you anywhere?” He admitted with a defeated laugh.

“I thought you were being nice.” You admitted, still not looking at him, much more interested in the way your shoe made contact with the ground beneath your feet.

“I was. I also have this crush on you.” The word sended shivers down your spine.

“Robin says Eddie also has a crush on me.” That when you looked up, seeing a defeated nod from Steve only confirmed it. “I… I don’t know what to do.”

“I don’t wanna tell you what to do, but… while you figure it out, can I defend my case?” He pleaded, his waist bumping into yours, his finger under your chin. He was being brave, he was finally taking his chance.

As soon as you nodded, and your lips parted, your eyes darting between his eyes and his lips, a neediness that became clear as you realised what was about to happen, Steve got closer. Close enough to breathe the same air as you, his mouth a whisper away from yours, enjoying that tension that had formulated in the air. He was enjoying that bit of power, feeling how bad you wanted him. You were the one to finally close the distance, and he was ecstatic about it. He took his time, his lips moving gracefully against yours, your hands tugging the back of his neck, one of his was lost in the space between your neck and your jawline, applying a pressure that made you moan against his lips, thought maybe that was due to the way his other hand was grabbing your waist, his fingers would leave a mark, that much was clear.

As soon as you break off the kiss, the lovesick smile on both of your faces was evident.

“That was…” He muttered, left speechless by your kisses, needing more of them.

“You are a good kisser.” You slightly teased him back, recalling the rumors about him in a joyful manner.

He kissed you a lot more after that, having to stop walking in the middle of the road as you went to find his car.

Robin saw it, and decided it was best if she kept her mouth shut this time, but she did overhear the last thing Steve whispered to you before going back into the car. “I don’t mind sharing, you can figure out whatever you need, honey.”

She already saw the headache coming, and really regretted that Eddie didn’t see the way your cheeks flustered at the idea of being with him for a while.

2.9

“Babe, can you help me?” You cried out, the sun hitting you a bit too hard, you started to feel your skin burning if you weren’t careful.

“Sure, be with you in a second.” Steve adds, gleaming at the sound of your voice calling him such a pretty nickname. Him and Robin were a bit busy, stacking the small cooler with every kind of beer and seltzer they could name, topping it with ice so it would stay cold during the hot summer’s day. The first of many to come.

The pool had been officially opened, and with that, the usual invasion of the Harrington household started. This year however, Steve decided to throw a little party, so it wouldn’t be a surprise gathering at his house.

Robin still hadn’t said anything about what she heard at prom, and she intended to keep it that way, she was having fun watching, as you struggled to operate.

Steve came over, sitting behind you, a little kiss on your shoulder letting you know he was all yours for now. You passed him the sunscreen, it smelt like coconut and vanilla, as he spread it on your back and shoulders, he took the opportunity to be a bit more handsy than he needed to. He started massaging your back, knowing the effect it had on you, as he heard the stifled groan on the back of your throat, quiet enough that he’d be the only one to hear it. Once he reached the lower part of your back, he spent way too much time in it, tracing patterns that had no meaning besides getting your body closer, and closer to his crotch, moving you a bit so you’d feel the way it grew against your butt cheeks. You looked back at him, over your shoulder, to see him smiling, that stupid smile that let you know just how much he wanted you, now and everyday. You shook your head, laying on his chest with enough mischievousness to let your cheeks hold his bulge between them, you felt him breathe out in a needy manner, right against your cheek. He gave you a kiss on your lips, his hand now caressing your stomach, fully visible thanks to the white bikini you chose to wear.

“Not while we have company, Harrington.” You whispered into his ear once his lips parted from yours. He groaned, deciding to just hold you tightly, his head buried where your neck met your shoulder, leaving wet kisses in that spot he knew you liked.

“I told you… I don’t mind sharing.” He recalled the conversation you had about your curly haired friend he knew you had a crush on, even if you evidently liked him.

“Shush.” You dismissed him, holding his face near yours, a kiss left on his lips, as you bit his lower one. “Let’s just stay here until the others come?” You pleaded, not wanting to think about it, not really ready to think about Eddie coming here right now.

He answered with another kiss against your sun kissed skin, decidedly staying like this. Enjoying each other’s presence, soft touches and caresses.

The last few weeks with Steve had been amazing, but Eddie had grown cold as soon as he heard that you seemingly had made your choice, even if you were far from it.

Steve's words didn’t help.

In your mind, Steve seemed excited with the idea of you making out, or whatever it was with his friend, as long as you kept doing it with him. It was a dangling temptation, a dream, a forbidden fruit that had all of a sudden become edible.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed, you just knew Steve’s fingers were too busy tracing little drawings on your lower stomach, dangerously close to the edge of the thong that was part of your two piece. When all of a sudden your eyes opened from the noise that was coming out of the house. Eddie had arrived, accompanied by Nancy and Jonathan. The couple came out first.

“Hey lovebugs!” Nancy screamed, her usual upbeat tone making Steve open his eyes, he waved back, you did the same movement, which made her chuckle.

Eddie followed them closely, even in such warm weather, he still had his blue jeans on, only this time his white tank top let his arms out on the sun, you got lost in him for just a second.

Eddie avoided your stare, got lost in your body instead. Robin clocked the way he swallowed, his muscles in his neck tensing as he tried not to look too much. It was hard, since he knew he could be the one holding you as near as he desired.

Jonathan grabbed two beers, and offered one to Eddie, he felt compassion for him, just like Robin, he was used to being observant, and had known about Eddie’s feelings for a while, and he had been in the same situation, only he had a bit more luck.

The moment came where you decided to finally jump into the water, all of your friends deciding they wanted to stay dry, watching you as you floated in the pool.

You were pretty good at knowing who was staring, even if they had the same coloured eyes, Eddie’s and Steve’s staring felt different. Eddie’s was full of regret, he had wanted to talk to you ever since you left the dance, Steve’s was full of hunger -at least while you looked like that, skin wet, and your hair framing your face in a way he’d call heavenly if asked.- though if you were honest, you felt a trace of desire in Eddie’s eyes everytime yours met.

Robin had enough of that show, and even if she promised to herself she wouldn’t say anything, she needed to talk to someone, so she did.

“Nance, can you help me get some wine?” She asked, a lift of the eyebrow and she understood she needed to speak to her.

“Sure.” She added before following her into the house.

Eddie and Jonathan stayed there, grinding some weed for later. Steve looked at them, and stood up, walking to the edge of the pool, sitting on it, waiting for you to come.

Robin started rumbling as soon as they reached the kitchen.

“I need to tell you something, but you can’t say anything. But if I don’t tell it to someone I’m gonna lose my mind” She was talking in a fast-paced manner that let Nancy know just how much she had been needing to talk.

“Jesus okay. Breathe.” She said, pushing her shoulders down. “Now, shoot.”

“I overhead the new couple at the prom.” She started, waiting for a nod from Nancy so she could continue. “Steve told her that he knows about Eddie’s feelings, and that he’s okay sharing? What does that even mean? Has he ever said something like that to you? Do you think… Maybe Steve wants to…?”

Nancy’s eyes opened wide, at the amount of information and preceding questions she asked, her head working overtime to keep up with her friend.

“He’s okay sharing as in…”

“I think he wants her to make a move or something, so she can know for sure she wants to be with him but that’s just…” She didn’t dare to finish the sentence, not without implying something she’d hate for people to imply about herself.

“Steve really has changed.” Nancy over enunciated, raising her eyebrows as she looked over for the wine. Robin erupted in laughter.

“What do you think I should do?” She implored now, stepping in closer to her, grabbing some glasses for the white wine.

“You? Nothing. I’m sure Eddie’ll catch on soon enough.” She pointed out, as she started to head out. “He’s practically drooling everytime she looks at her.” She joked as Robin chuckled, following her closely.

At the same time, Jonathan looked at Eddie, and how concentrated he was on grinding the weed so he could smoke it. He knew Eddie was feeling a bit overwhelmed, and he knew how much it could help, so he stayed put, waiting for him to finish.

“Look dude, I don’t really know you that much but uh… You’ve got something in your mind.. If you need to uh.. talk it out…” He offered, feeling incredibly embarrassed by that leap he was making, knowing Eddie had the right to blow him off.

He didn’t. He looked up, nodding with a half smile as he mouthed a thanks. He looked over at Steve walking closer to you and the sense of urgency came back.

“Pass me the paper, please?” He babbled, as his hand reached out. Grabbing it and starting to roll what would -hopefully- calm him down. “I just… I fucked it up.” He added, nodding at you, and the way you smiled as soon as you saw Steve.

“Why’d you say that?”

“She told me if she was supposed to wait for me forever, next thing I know, she’s kissing Steve.” He sputtered, a trace of hurt could still be felt on his voice. Jonathan gave him a reassuring touch on his shoulder.

“That’s Steve… Though to be fair… You shouldn’t lose hope.” He recomforted him, looking at Nancy as she came back, a smile on his face.

Talking of Steve he found his way to you. His legs on the water, moving it slightly, the waves hitting your body. You looked over at him, a smile wide on his face.

You swam closer to him, instead of laying against the granite that circled the pool, you let your arms rest on his thigh, looking up at him with dreamy eyes.

“Hi.” You beamed at him, the softness of your tone made him get even more lost into you.

“Hi.” He echoed, one of his hands cupping your cheek, you gave in to the touch. “You should get out, Nancy went to get your favourite wine.” You smiled deeply at him, he really did care for you.

“Going.” You whisper as you find your way to the stairs, pushing your head down one last time, so the hair wouldn’t annoy you.

Eddie caught that. And the way you walked out of the pool was enough for his cock to push against his zipper. He crossed his legs, enjoying the show a bit more, as he lit the joint he had been preparing. He got a bit lost, especially on the way your hair not only framed your face, but your breasts, that seemed to shine as water dropped out of them. It didn’t help that you were wearing white, he was going to lose his mind.

Only this time, Steve caught him, a cheeky grin appearing on his face as he made eye contact with Eddie, who became flustered. Steve just nodded, and mouthed its fine. Eddie had never been more confused.

“We’ve got your wine!” Robin cheered, as she raised a glass to you. You took a good sip of it, the lightness of it invading your mouth, a smile left on your lips.

“Cheers.” You added, taking another taste. “I’ll just go change really quick.”You excused yourself, bending down a bit so you could put your drink down. It was torture for Eddie, who was trying extremely hard not to be too evident, but right now he just felt you were starting to tease him, bending over when that little fabric was covering you.

Maybe you were.

It was intoxicating, knowing that you did have that power over both of them. While Eddie was a bit too lost in your behind, Steve got lost in your chest, even if he was more taken aback with the eye contact you liked to keep. You walked slowly back into the house, up the stairs to the left where Steve’s room was. You grabbed one of his oversized white shirts, and a pair of faded, soft, basketball shorts that were too short on him, yet perfect for you. You found your way to the downstairs bathroom, knowing that you could hang your bikini there until it dries off, and that no one would really know -or care- if you were wearing underwear or not.

You left the door ajar, it would only take a moment.

The top part was changed in a swift movement, so was the down one.

You looked at yourself in the mirror, your hair becoming a tangled mess, it would only get worse if you didn’t brush it off soon. You looked for one, something, anything, unsuccessfully.

The door opened all of a sudden. Eddie was there, an apologetic look on his face.

“Sorry, thought nobody was here.” He pleaded, as he started to close the wooden door.

“It’s fine, I’m just looking for a hairbrush, then I’ll leave.” You tried to explain to him, not really wanting him to leave, fully aware that those were the first words you’ve exchanged.

“You won’t reach it.” Eddie mumbled, walking back in. He closed the door, and opened the cabinet that was higher up, grabbing a little box that had various different combs on it. He grabbed the one that was better for your hair and looked at you. “D’you want me to…?” He gestured with his hands, up and down, a brushing motion.

You nodded, your back now facing him, as you looked at your reflection in the mirror. Eddie looked back at you, your eyes meeting on the reflective surface. He pursed his lips, the high made everything feel ten times more intense. It was intoxicating enough being near you, getting to be this close to you made it hard for him to concentrate.

You kept looking at him, and every move he made, the tension that was getting created in that little space growing larger and larger. A sense of electricity, of magnetism pulling you in closer, close enough that your waist touched his. He breathed out loudly, knowing this was getting a bit too much. But the small tugging in his pants only made your lip quiver with more confidence, he wanted this just as much as you did. You got on your tip-toes for a moment, just to go slowly down, your butt graceing his crotch slowly. You could see the way his eyes shut down for that moment, how his mouth opened, how his hands grabbed your hair and the brush harder, trying not to say anything. It was intoxicating. He finished brushing your hair, and he let the comb hit the floor. You made eye contact through the mirror once again, as he breathed in that loud manner again, shaking his head at you, struggling to let something out of his lips.

“Dove… I…” He tried, your hands already on the back of his neck, pushing him in against you, you needed to feel him, as near as you could.

“I do like you.” You confessed in between whispers, your fingers tugging his hair. “I just… I’m confused.” You admitted, your hips had started a little pattern, grinding against his crotch. A needines was beating on your chest, traveling all the way down to where you made contact with him.

“Fuck…” And with that you knew what was coming.

Eddie let out a moan out of hornyness and anger. He had wanted you for so long, he would be an idiot if he didn’t at least give you a kiss.

Just one kiss, he told himself.

His hands grabbed your waist tightly, turning you so you’d finally look at his eyes, not at a mirror, the brown of them almost gone, a hunger you were experiencing just as much as he was. Even if he was dying for more, he started kissing your cheek, a trembling hand grabbing your butt, messaging it, your leg lifting on instinct, pushing his crotch with yours, the feeling of the zipper messing with you, the soft fabric not protecting you much. He kept kissing your neck, and the little zone behind your ear, leaving soft moans every time his mouth left your skin. Once you were drunk on him, he cupped your face with one hand, the other still holding your butt firmly, and finally let your lips touch. You became one in that moment, your waist still moving, your hands scratching his back in an attempt to obtain more. You needed to drink every single drop of him. His hand started teasing at your behind, a smile when he noticed the lack of underwear, and just how sensitive you were. If he pushed the short upwards, the fabric touched you in a way that made you whimper.

It wasn’t fair, you also deserved to play.

Your hands left his back, travelled to his crotch, undoing the belt in a swift movement. The sound of the belt buckle made him snap back.

That was more than one kiss.

“We can’t…” He said, pulling strength from somewhere, he wasn’t sure where.

“Steve doesn’t mind.” You tried to make him understand, unsuccessfully.

“If I was him, I would want you all to myself.”

The sun was setting, Nancy was half asleep into Jonathan’s arms, Robin was a bit too inebriated, laughing at every small detail she saw.

It wasn’t difficult.

When you came out of the bathroom, a flustered Eddie followed you minutes after. Steve looked at you with a puzzled look, and you just nodded.

Now you were sitting between them both.

Jonathan looked at Steve’s grip on your thigh, while your pinky was grabbing Eddie’s. He opened his eyes as soon as he understood. He gave Eddie a quick look, he just nodded in quiet disbelief.

“I think we should go.” Jonathan said in a soft-spoken voice, brushing Nancy’s hair.

“I’m way too wasted to drive.” Eddie muttered in response, a cheap excuse everyone noticed. He wasn’t ready to leave.

Jonathan offered his hand, Eddie’s van keys fell onto his palm.

“Okay then, we’ll go.” He stood up, helping Nancy up, gesturing to Robin to follow him. She looked back at the three of you, she struggled to hide a chuckle.

“Fine… au revouir!” She teased as soon as she looked at you, your cheeks getting that pinkish tone to them again. You hid your face behind your palm, begging she was the only one out of them that understood the stupid joke. The shocked giggle out of Steve’s lips let you know he got it too.

“I’ll walk with you to the door.” Steve added, off-handedly. As soon as he stood up and took a couple of steps, he looked at you over his shoulder, the prettiest smile on his face.

It was a do whatever you need, a i want you to do it, a please do it.

The type of look that drove you insane.

Eddie lit up another spliff, standing up, your eyes looking up at him, all doe-like. If only you could read his mind, he thought.

“I think I’ll go for a swim.” You were unsure if it was an invitation, or if he just needed some space, a moment to think it all well.

Truth be told, Eddie was curious about what you’d do now, once he took his shirt off, careful not to burn anything, smoke still coming out of his mouth, a delightful picture you would keep in your mind for a long time.

You hadn’t seen him shirtless.

It was a sight to see, you thought. You knew he had muscles, you didn’t know his were somehow more defined than Steve’s. His chest was pale, decorated with ink, your fingers suddenly tingling the urge to trace over them, especially the one he had near his hip bone.

Eddie enjoyed seeing you like that, for once you were the one thirsting over his body, your mouth half opened, having trouble taking your eyes off his chest, while yours all of a sudden raised faster. Your breathing quickening.

His back was also well defined, framed by his hair swinging a bit with every step he took, his curls bouncing in an hypnotizing manner.

He sat down on the steps of the swimming pool, his waist submerged in the water. He smiled as soon as he heard your cautious steps approaching him. You sat near him, your body not in the water, only your legs, looking at his side profile. You could draw him from memory alone, you realised. He didn’t say anything, he just looked at you, his usual grin that always made you smile back. He offered the joint to you, you shook your head, a drink still in your hand.

“We’re swimming?” Steve proposed at the sight of you two, already taking his shirt off.

Before any of you could answer, he had already jumped into the water, swimming back in the middle of you, taking the offer of the spliff Eddie had in between his fingers with a shrug.

“I’m not wearing uh…” Your eyes darted nervously at Eddie, and the memory of his fingers discovering it just a few minutes ago. He did the same, his hand twitching as he made eye contact with you.

“I’m sure Eddie won’t care.” He assured, his tone dropping a bit. The husky tone hypnotising you. Steve looked at the curly headed boy waiting for a response. He just scratched his chin, looking back at you, his eyelids half closed. “See, he doesn’t.” He gestured back at him, getting a bit closer to you. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to” He whispered, needing you to know he meant it, the softness of his words made you know he was telling the truth.

As soon as you felt Steve’s hand on your thigh, and how good the water droplets falling from them felt on your skin, you opened your legs, letting him gain access, his hands finding the hem of your shorts rapidly, pulling them down softly.

Eddie was hypnotised by it. The way your legs looked, the look of devotion you had for Steve, how confident you seemed, the shy soft smile in your face as you were enjoying his touch against your skin as the shorts became a faint memory. He looked attentive as Steve’s hands reached the end of your shirt, how his lips kissed your knee, eyes closed, how a soft moan escaped your lips. He felt himself grow, no longer restricted by his jeans. The spliff long forgotten by your side, his full attention in how more parts of you were revealed, as Steve slowly took your shirt off. The first thing he saw was the curvature of your back, your stomach following it closely. When he saw your breasts under the sunset, he realised he had never been as hard. You shook your head as soon as the shirt was off, your hair flowing freely. Your hand caressing Steve’s face, inching closer to him, leaving a sound kiss on his lips. He was trying to repress the urge he had of touching himself, it felt like he was looking at a private show, just for him.

Steve helped you into the water, his hands holding tightly onto your waist, pulling you in slowly. Enjoying the sound you made as water hitted your full body. He had only eyes for you. His nose touched yours, asking for permission to kiss you once again, his bare chest hitting yours, you were the one who broke the distance, pushing into him with the usual care. Steve’s lips were soft, fitted with yours perfectly, you thought.

Eddie couldn’t take it anymore. He had to touch himself. It was pathetic, he thought, you were making out in front of him, and he needed to touch himself, feeling like if he didn’t take it out, it would just start to hurt, so he did. He grabbed the waistband of his swimsuit down, already stroking his dick in a slow movement, when all of a sudden, you made eye contact with him, while you were still kissing Steve. You broke the kiss, yet Steve kept kissing your neck, one of his hands already on the small of your back, pushing your entrance to his erection. You moaned at the sight of him, and Eddie’s movements deepened.

“You wanna kiss her?” Steve asked as soon as he opened his eyes, seeing the way Eddie looked at you, his cock still out. “Come.” He invited him, with a quick shake of his head. “She really wants you to do so, Munson.” That did it for him, that and the fact that you moaned as soon as you heard his last name, though maybe that had more to do with the way Steve’s fingers were teasing you now.

He didn’t really waste that much time, he took off his swimsuit before coming into the water, not caring about anything else but the way your eyes looked at him, needing him. You felt his dick on your stomach, the hardness of it coming into contact with you thanks to the short distance. Eddie’s hands didn’t shake now, he was decided. They held your face, coping your cheeks in the way he had hoped to do so for so long, breaking the distance, as your lips found each other. Your tongues touching, finally, both of you thought, as your hands reached for his body, as did his.

Steve was still enjoying himself, touching you, feeling how you squirm under his touch, your legs shaking a bit as he kept teasing, your clit missing him everytime he messed around.

Eddie couldn’t stop kissing you, he was enjoying it maybe a bit much. He had never tasted something better, and he never wanted to. He wished in between kisses to remember this sensation forever, your hands on his body, fingers buried deep into his skin, begging for more as you moaned into his mouth.

Your hands were dangerously low, but it didn’t matter.

A sharp gasp escaped your lips as you felt Steve’s fingers reaching inside you, moving them slowly, each movement deeper than the last.

“Please.” You begged, looking up at Steve, his hand reaching for your neck, leaving a thigh squeez before he kissed your cheek. “Please.” You whimpered again, looking outside the pool.

Eddie understood, and followed closely. Steve pushed your body up, you were now sitting on the stone that circled the pool, your body slowly hitted the ground, legs hanging from the edge, grabbing Eddie’s hand so you’d have him near, your hand started messing with his pelvic bone, a few brushes, caresses and he was already doing that loud breathing that proved to drive you insane.

Steve didn’t waste no time, grabbing the back of your legs, pushing your body closer to the edge, leaving kisses on your knee, then your upper thigh, the inside of it, everywhere his lips had access to, while his hand got a bit busy feeling you, and the wetness of your entrance.

Eddie brushed your hair behind your ear, before diving in for a kiss, his lips touching yours, just so he could have an excuse to start kissing your neck, hearing you make such pretty noises that close to his ear was something he never thought he would be able to. To be fair, he moaned as soon as your hand wrapped around his dick, starting the slow movement, he smiled in between kisses as you kept it going.

The combination of it all; Eddie moaning your name that close to your ear, your whole body filled with goosebumps, as Steve started kissing your clit, it made you arch your back.

“You’re sensitive today.” Steve teased, as his lips went back to the spot that was driving you mad, one of his fingers starting to make his way inside you, you felt him smile as he heard you moan at that.

“Jesus sweetheart…” Eddie breathed out, a groan escaping the back of his throat, his voice was the lowest you had ever heard. “If you keep touching me like that, making those sounds…” He couldn’t even finish the sentence.

He saw the way you smiled proudly at the praise, your teeth biting your lower lip, while you breathed heavily, he had to kiss you again, that way he knew you’d be moaning into eachothers’ mouths.

Once Steve had three fingers inside you, his movements finding the perfect pace, his mouth all over you, legs shaking while his head was in between he could tell you were close, Eddie’s hands stroking your body helping in that. Speaking of, he looked at him, he could also tell he was trying not to come, not yet. He stopped eating you out, his head resting on your tight.

“You wanna…?” He asked you first, nodding to him. He could tell you did, just by the way your eyes shined as soon as he asked, he had to hide a giggle once he looked at Eddie who was concentrating on something else.

“Edds” You begged, moaning his name. It made him tilt his head backwards a bit, your hand still tightly wrapped around his dick. “Can you fuck me?” He had to bite the inside of his lips so he wouldn't come right then. His hands grabbing your legs, turning your body to him, so your entrance would be at his level was enough confirmation. Before Eddie started, while he was admiring you in all your glory, you looked deep into Steve’s eyes, your hand finally dropping his swimsuit, stroking him. A hunger in your eyes before you asked “Can I?”

He nodded.

Then he looked around, knowing that it would be more comfortable for you if you were on the couch.

“Inside.” He groaned, looking at you first, then turning to Eddie.

Before you knew it, Eddie was sitting on the couch, too much in a hurry to care if it became a bit wet, his hands got lost in your waist, kissing the zone between your belly button and your cunt, your skin reacting to every touch, pulling you in softly, slowly. While Steve was next to you, his hand still touching your clit, getting you warmed up for Eddie, as your hand curved around his cock, stroking it.

You noticed, while Eddie was longer, Steve was wider. Both of them large, though Eddie’s curved a bit, you knew that would be something you’d like, and you were eager to prove it to yourself.

Your free hand touched Eddie’s chin, making him look up at you, his gaze into yours, lowering as you sat on top of him.

You both moaned as he entered you, you made your way down slowly, fully wrapping around him, a sensation you were sure you could never forget. His hand grabbing your waist, guiding you gracefully. You left a quick kiss on his lips, before turning to find Steve.

He waited for you to guide him, he knew just how overstimulating everything must be, as much as he wished for you to do something right now, he waited, patiently, stroking his own erection as he looked at you, and the way you bounced on top of Eddie’s cock.

You pulled him in, his knees on the couch, his body sitting where the head usually rests, his hand petting your hair, you didn’t waste that much time, filling your mouth with him.

“Honey…” He blurted, having trouble articulating words. “You’re taking both of us so well.” He praised, as he started to pull your hair, your head following the movements, effectively mouthfucking you at the pace he wished, a series of profanities falling from his mouth.

“You really are.” Eddie added, his hands pulling you in deeper, your eyes closing out of pure pleasure, as his cock pushed into you, a rhythm you felt right in your stomach.

Eddie couldn’t help himself, he started with just a thigh squeeze, just to end up slapping your ass, the sound of the clapping only turning you on faster. Eddie was so close, his arms wrapped around you, in complete devotion. You took a second, continuing to work on Steve with your hand to kiss Eddie, Steve’s precum still on your throat, but he didn’t care. He needed you there, his forehead against yours, his mouth moaning and half screaming your name.

“I’m not gonna last long.” He said, drunk on you from head to toe.

“I want you…” You started, having to gather some air before continuing, you could feel his dick ripping you deeper every time he reentered, his hand pushing you deeper into him every time you did. “To come, please, Eddie, please.” You ended begging in a whimper, that did it for him.

You kissed him, before your head fell into his shoulder, biting him as you felt the way his muscles flexed around you, his head falling backwards.

“Shit” Eddie groaned as soon as he felt himself come, deep on you, looking deep in your eyes, a smile evident in them. Steve didn’t even think about it before doing it, once he made eye contact with him, his lips were on his, a soft kiss that needed to happen. Eddie’s hands still on the small of your back, Steve’s on the back of your neck.

“Hot.” You whispered, making you all three laugh, breaking the soft tension that was in the air.

You got off, Eddie groaned as he felt you leave, he didn’t want you to ever leave his side. You looked back at Steve, he knew what you wanted, no words needed. He nodded, before kissing you again, his hands pulling you a bit closer to him, before turning you over.

Your stomach laid on the couch cushions, your ass high as he could get it, a sight he loved if he was honest, only this time your head rested on Eddie’s lap, while he brushed your head, Eddie’s brown eyes looking up at Steve, another sight to be seen he thought. He took a moment to take it in, before his hands grabbed your waist, helping them find his way inside you, a moan of pure delight as you felt him. You bite Eddie’s thigh, careful not to moan too loud.

The sight of Steve fucking you, you trying desperately not to scream as he moved slowly, filling you up wider that he had, the small kisses and bites you were leaving on his skin were enough for him to get hard again, and you took that opportunity gladly, your tongue on the tip of his dick, licking tentatively, as you heard him groan at the feeling of you playing with him, his hands on his head, already overstimulated. Steve took that as what it was, and he went in harder, and harder, and harder.

“That’s it, you’re doing so good baby.” He moaned, his fingers turning white as he held you, no doubt leaving a mark on your body.

“Shit…” Eddie moaned again, as your lips opened wider, swallowing him deeper and deeper. “You’re… fuck you’re amazing.” He struggled to say as he whimpered, the praise only making you go in ways he never imagined.

Steve felt how your walls were closing, a clear indication you were getting exactly where he wanted you to be, his nails digging in your skin, in the kind of way he knew drove you insane, your back arched even more, letting him get deeper than he ever had.

“Eddie” Steve said, looking at him, his eyes were half gone once he looked back. “Touch her, she’s close.”

You confirmed as much, whining while your mouth was still filled with Eddie’s cock, your left hand stroking him at the same pace as Steve was fucking you.

As soon as you felt Eddie’s fingers on your clit, the coldness of the rings only making you enjoy it even more, you knew you weren’t gonna last long. Eddie felt it too, you were struggling to concentrate on sucking him off, so he pulled himself out of your mouth, kissing you instead.

“I rather hear you, sweetheart.” He whispered into your ear.

“Keep doing that, please.” You begged at both of them.

They did, somehow with the same rhythm, Eddie’s hand knew exactly how to touch you, while the other one was touching himself. Steve kept fucking you, the sound of your body hitting his was magic, you thought. Symphonies could be written with the way it all sounded, Eddie praising you, guiding you through it, Steve’s groaning your name as he pushed in and out, and you being as loud as you wanted to.

It didn’t take long before Steve felt it, your legs thigting, the sharp intake of your breathing, your hand closing in a fist.

“You can come, honey.” He groaned, as he too felt himself not being able to hold it for much longer.

“Please.” Eddie added, as he too wasn’t gonna last that much more.

You did, your back arched as you felt Steve hit you for a couple more times before the warmness filled you up, leaving every inch of your skin he could find covered with kisses. Eddie came, the cum falling in his stomach and hand.

“Jesus…” Eddie muttered, as he let his body fully relax.

“Yeah…” Steve added, pulling out of you, pulling you in for a hug as soon as his body hitted the couch.

You melted into his arms, nudging Eddie to come closer. He did with a half smile, you enjoyed Steve’s caressing of your skin whilst your fingers got lost into Eddie’s hair.

“Robin’s gonna kill me when I tell her…” Eddie muttered, before realising that he wasn’t sure if you were going to tell people about it.

“What will you tell her?” Steve asked, as if he could read his thoughts. Not in an inquisitive tone, more of a curious one.

“Tell her you went to Paris.” You half joked, a giggle escaping your lips. “She already knows, I’m sure.” You let the two confused men know.

“Does she?” Steve’s curiosity piked, you nodded, leaving a kiss on his chest.

“She said I should visit it right before the dance.” You let them know.

“Well, thanks Robin.” Eddie laughed, intertwining your fingers with yours.

“Are you staying over?” Steve asked at Eddie, you could sense a bit of hopefulness in his tone.

“If you let me.”

“We should go to bed then, comfier.” Steve added, the biggest smile on his face. “Maybe we’ll do this again.” He finished with a kiss on the top of your head.

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erwinsvow · 13 hours

Text

knocked up too young and wearing a glittery diamond ring on your left hand, you had settled nicely into the role of mrs. cameron. it wasn’t tough, not a hard position to play in the slightest—rafe, or rather your husband—made everything nice and easy for you.

it seemed like it was his biggest desire come true, making sure you and his little girl were taken care of. he liked it actually, more than he admitted, knowing the two of you were fast asleep in bed when he left for work in the morning, doing nothing but relaxing throughout the day.

in fact, he had decided the second you had tearfully confessed that you were pregnant that this was the sort of life you were meant for, the kind of life he was going to give you. you were so scared, he can remember it like it was yesterday—your watery eyes and wet cheeks, the way your hands shook when you pulled out the test to show him.

“i-i-i’m so sorry, i, i thought the pills were enough, everyone says it’s enough-” you were stammering and crying your way into exhausation, something he definitely didn’t like.

“s’okay, kid. nothin’ to cry about.” he was formulating his plan already, being proactive in all matters, thinking ahead to marriage licenses and car seats while you stared down at the positive stick in your palm.

“you’re.. you’re not mad, rafe?” the way you look at him, the world stops spinning. why would he be mad?

“hey, s’done,” he says, hands on your shoulders to steady you, bringing you to the edge of the bed to take a seat. he takes the pregnancy test from your hands, looking down at it himself. “it already happened. can’t take it back. no point in cryin’ over it.”

when you look up with even more tears in your eyes, he’s half convinced he’s said the wrong thing—but it doesn’t faze him, he keeps going.

“hey, hey. what, you thought i wouldn’t take care of you? this is my kid too.”

“i know, i just, i thought you wouldn’t be okay.. with it. having it.” that’s the first and only time he got stern with you through this whole pregnancy.

“hey, don’t talk like that. this is our baby. there’s no question ‘bout havin’ it.” you nod up at him, tears drying as you steady yourself, regain a little composure knowing rafe’s not mad about this little accident. “y’okay now?” you nod again. “good, call your parents. tell ‘em we’re getting married soon.”

“wh-rafe!”

but, like how most things were with rafe, he called the shots and you listened. the two of you got married shortly after, before you were even showing. anyone who even attempted to comment on the hastiness of everything shut up the second rafe stared at them.

you’d be a liar to say you didn’t like it, a fool if you didn’t appreciate how rafe was to you.

he stepped up in every way, better than you could have even tried to put together in your imagination. a place was purchased and had slowly started to become home, with a crib that rafe assembled by himself—though it had taken hours and ended up with the instruction papers all crumbled up in a corner—and baby proofed cabinets and sockets. you laugh watching rafe try to install the baby gate on the staircase.

“you know that’s for when they start crawling, right?” you giggle, a hand on your very pregnant belly.

“shut up. m’being proactive. gonna have no time once she actually gets here and we’re runnin’ around changing diapers and makin’ formula and shit.”

you’re only a touch surprised with how well-versed he is with all the baby stuff, though you appreciate it more and more since you’re still a little confused and overwhelmed. he makes it all easy, from the pregnancy cravings he runs around to find for you to the pretty pink walls in the nursery. he even satisfies all your other cravings, like around month six when there was nothing you wanted more than rafe's dick in every position you could think of.

when his daughter actually comes into the world, the two of you are a mess of emotions and thoughts, but there’s only one rafe really cares about. when can he give you another one?

it doesn’t take long for him to start trying again—trying to convince you that the two of you can handle two, that little kids need siblings their age. the baby’s only six months old but he’s convinced it’ll be better to have them all young at the same time rather than waiting—at least that’s the line he feeds you.

“no, rafe, they’re gonna be like irish twins. it’s so embarassing,” you say next to him in bed, staring up at your husband.

“what’s that?”

“when you have two babies that aren’t even a year apart.”

“oh. that’s a thing? good, at least there’s a name for it. i’ll get you a book on it, since that’s what we’re doin’.”

and try as you might, even you can’t resist rafe for long, not when he’s taking such good care of you and just wants to give you another baby with his blue eyes and your pretty hair. you end up in the same position that got you into this whole situation—your knees folded to your chest and eyes rolling back while rafe slams into you.

“don’t worry, baby,” he breathes into your ear, low and quiet since the baby’s sleeping in the other room. “i’ll get y’knocked up again. won’t have to think about a thing in this world except my kids.”

it’s a shame you get pregnant so quickly—rafe was so fun when his only thought revolved around fucking you full of his cum.

“well, s’not gonna be irish twins. too far apart,” rafe says, looking at the photos from the doctor’s appointment.

“no, it’s just regular twins.” you don’t think you’ve ever seen rafe so happy.

#lol <3 this has been in the drafts for SO LONG #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #what should we call her #wifey reader

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munson-blurbs · 2 days

Note

Hehe for since you asked for fluffy smut, what if reader has had a long day at work and Eddie maybe fixes a bubble bath and they take one together, but then it gets a lil frisky

Is this more smut than fluff? Yes. Am I apologizing for it? Nope.

Collab with @corroded-hellfire who is once again the only reason there's any fluff at all.

CW: smut (18+ only, minors DNI), roommate!Eddie, accidental boners, grinding, lots and lots of touching, mention of oral (f) WC: 1.9k

Home might have been a tiny, two-bedroom apartment that perched above the heart of Hawkins, but at the end of a long shift, it’s Heaven.

You kick off your shoes; apparently they’re one of the most supportive brands, according to the other waitresses, but your feet still ache.

The throbbing in your feet is nothing compared to the roaring pain that inflames your lower back. Just pressing the heel of your palms into it makes you wince and groan.

“You okay?” Eddie calls from his room. You hear him fumbling to put away his guitar before you can even reply.

The door swings open and he stands there, posture sagging when he sees how beaten down you look. Whatever makeup you had applied that afternoon had long faded, and the stains on your apron certainly added the finishing touch.

Eddie, meanwhile, is refreshed—infuriatingly so. Today was his day off, and though he put in a lot of work the other six days of the week, you still yearned for the well-restedness that had him bounding over to you.

“Bubble bath?” When you two had first moved in together, he used to try and talk to you about your day. He took it personally when you retreated to your room without glancing in his direction. But now he knew that you talk when you regain your energy. And there’s no shortage of gossip after eight hours at Benny’s.

You nod, offering him as much of a grateful smile as you can muster. “That would be great.” You weren’t sure how you managed to find a great friend like Eddie, but you weren’t about to question it, either.

None of the guys you’d actually dated had ever been so understanding. But Eddie…he managed to always know what you needed.

He offers you one of his signature grins that always brighten your day and heads down the hall to the bathroom. You take off your name tag when the loud gush of the tub faucet reaches your ears and you barely have time to yank your socks off before Eddie’s back in your doorway.

“Your spa awaits,” he says. “I would’ve prepared you some music but I don’t think any of my metal cassettes have the ambiance you’re looking for right now.”

You shake your head as you pass by him and step towards the bathroom door.

“Not really,” you agree. “I’ll let you know if I need it for some inspiration working out or welding or something.”

Eddie huffs a laugh and slips his hands into the back pockets of his black jeans.

“Wasn’t that Flashdance?”

“Yeah, but that music wasn’t my thing,” you admit with a shrug before you step into the bathroom. The door clicks behind you as it closes and you’re immediately shedding the stained, greasy uniform you’ve been dying to ditch all day.

A trail of clothing is left in your wake as you step up to the tub, the bubbles fizzing and giving off a calming jasmine scent. Not wanting to scald your skin as the cherry on top of this already grueling day, you slip your hand into the water to test the temperature. It’s perfect. You don’t know how Eddie does it; he must have the magic touch.

The water, the bubbles, the scent, it’s all too inviting. You lift one leg over the side of the tub and climb in, quickly bringing the other in as well. In your haste to start your relaxation, you slip a bit as you begin to sit down. Instinct has you catching yourself on the sides of the tub almost instantly, but it causes the collection of soap, shampoo, and conditioner bottles to tumble onto the floor in a large heap. You stare at the pile for a moment.

“Ah, I’ll deal with you later,” you decide under your breath and sink further down into the warmth waiting to heal you from your long day.

The bubbles tickle your skin as they gradually make their way higher. They stop around your breasts and the warm water wraps itself around every achy muscle in your body.

Suddenly, the bathroom door busts open, a frazzled Eddie charging in with wide, concerned eyes. He’s only in a Corroded Coffin t-shirt and boxers now, so maybe the loud bang woke him from a nap.

“I-Is everything okay?” he asks as he eyes the pile of bottles on the floor.

“Oh yeah, I just knocked those over when I got in,” you explain.

Eddie breathes a sigh of relief but the moment his eyes land on you, his body tenses up even worse than before. He’s clearly trying not to stare at you—especially your chest—but he’s failing miserably. You look down to find that your roommate has a pretty good view of the tops of your boobs.

When you look back to Eddie, you get a pretty nice view yourself. Since he’s only wearing boxers on his lower half, his boner is quite evident.

A smug sense of satisfaction settles over you, even seeing how uncomfortable Eddie seems to be at getting caught. But you’re not going to tease him or make him feel bad about anything. On the contrary, you’ve thought of yet another way he can help you relax.

“Do you wanna join?” you purr.

When Eddie looks your way you give him the most innocent, wide eyed look you can manage and flutter your lashes a few times.

Worry blooms within you when he doesn’t immediately respond.

Did I overstep? Is he completely freaked out? Oh my god, what if his boner was completely unrelated to me and I just assumed—

His voice, smaller than you’ve ever heard it, interrupts your thoughts. “Mhm, yeah. I mean, if that’s cool with you.”

You nod, watching as he peels off his shirt and tosses it aside, exposing the soft tendrils of hair across his chest. There’s a tattoo on one pec; you want him, need him closer so you can run your tongue over it.

He sheds his boxers next. Though you knew he was big just from seeing the bulge behind the fabric, nothing prepared you to see him fully on display. The reddish-pink tip leaks pre-cum as the shaft bobs in desperate search for the warmth of a body.

“Where should I…” He’s gained a bit of confidence from the way you stare unabashedly at his naked body, but he’s still hesitant to push his luck too far.

Scooting forward, you gesture to the now empty space behind you. Nerves buzz throughout your naked body —now wet in more ways than one.

Eddie swings a leg over the edge of the tub, getting his balance before bringing the other to join. The way he places his hands on your shoulders results in an electricity that you can only hope he feels as well.

His lower body disappears beneath the bubbles and he lets out a relaxed groan. You lean back until your head rests on his chest, his considerable length pressing against your lower back.

“Sweetheart,” he whispers. Whether he means to speak that softly or he can’t manage anything louder, you can’t be sure. “Be careful.”

“Careful?”

He nods, lips grazing the shell of your ear. He’s so close to you, and yet he’s still too far away. “You’re so fucking tempting like this.”

You shift slightly, enough to see the blush in his cheeks that you know isn’t from the steamy bath. “Maybe I want you to be tempted.”

One tattooed arm snakes around your waist, fingers trailing upwards and stopped just shy of your breasts.

“Don’t tease me,” he begs. “Don’t say it if you don’t mean it.”

“I mean it.”

You take his hand and place it on your left breast. He whimpers, and you swear you could climax from the sound alone.

Water sloshes around the tub as he hooks his legs around yours, gathering the stability he needs.

“Fuck…” His hips move as he ruts up against you, desperate for relief. The way he pinches your nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger, starkly contrasts the gentle kisses he leaves on your shoulder blades.

You want him. You need him.

His other hand lays in the water and you guide it between your legs, now spread in anticipation of his touch.

“There?” He asks as he finds your clit, rubbing it when you nod in the affirmative.

Eddie increases his pace, fingers working in tandem to bring you pleasure. You arch your back, exposing your neck for him to bite and suck.

“When we’re done,” he murmurs, “I want you splayed out on the bed for me. I need to see if your pussy is as pretty as I’ve imagined.”

His words awaken something within you. “Y-You imagine me…?” You start, unable to finish your sentence.

Eddie nods. “Every time I jerk off, Sweetheart, I imagine being inside you. How you’d feel around my cock—mmph, fuck.”

“I picture you, too,” you confess. “Your fingers, or your cock, or—”

He raises a brow. “Or?”

“Or your mouth.” The admission spills from your lips.

“Yeah? You want me to eat that pretty little pussy of yours?” Your own desire for him amps up his confidence. He’s impossibly and impressively hard, and you would do anything for him to stretch you out.

You nod. “Please.”

“Okay, Sweetheart. Soon as we’re done here, yeah?” His breath hitches, his rutting becoming sloppier and needier as he nears orgasm.

Bubbly waves crest over the side of the tub, drenching the bathmat and flooding the tile floor, but neither of you care.

“Eds, little more, I’m gonna…”

He follows your every order, your pussy clenching around nothing as he takes care of your clit.

“Wanna make you feel good.” Eddie kisses your shoulder again. “Please let me make you feel good.”

You can only offer a moan as you come, chanting his name over and over. It’s a name you only ever dreamed about chanting so loudly; it was usually relegated to quiet whispers alone in your room.

A new warmth, different from the bathwater, coats your lower back and drips down to your ass when Eddie finishes, the hand on your breast squeezing tight, pain and pleasure intermingling harmoniously.

“Oh my god,” he pants. “That was…”

“Amazing.”

Eddie nods. “So fuckin’ amazing.”

He lifts a bubble-covered hand to your chin, tilting it slightly so he can kiss you. His lips are soft but move with determination, his tongue sliding between yours. You let him in, your fingers playing with the wet tips of his hair.

“Meant what I said about eating you out,” he mumbles into your mouth before stealing another kiss.

Splayed out on the bed. His to ravish. The thought has you lunging for the towel hanging behind the door in an attempt to dry off.

But when you stand, Eddie reaches out his hand and pulls you towards him, now eye-level with your pussy. “Knew she was perfect,” he says with a smirk. “Bet she tastes even better.”

The kiss he presses to your folds nearly buckled your knees.

“You wanna find out?” He nods eagerly, and you giggle. “It might be a little lavender-y from the bath soap, though.”

Eddie shrugs. “Don’t care. Need you.”

And who are you to deny a man his needs?

#eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x you #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson smut #smut #requests

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peachdues · 2 days

Text

COMPASS

bad boy!Sanemi • gang AU • NSFW

A/N: Peach?? Not having any self control when it comes to writing a fic?? It’s more likely than you think.

This was supposed to be a bad boy!Sanemi takes your virginity drabble that spiraled into a meta-analysis of Sanemi’s self hatred that then blew up into a fic with plot. All of those elements are still present but surprise!! Enjoy 24k words of my brain rot.

Inspired by @homo-homini-lupus-est-1701 ‘s wonderful meta analysis of Sanemi’s self hatred and his scars.

CW: 24k • explicit sexual content • MDNI • gang-related violence • mentions of blood and broken bones • mentions of murder/death • loss of virginity • creampie • vaginal fingering • some angst

I have plenty more of this AU written, so if y’all want more, just let me know 🫡

There are three rules to surviving life in the Corps.

The first is simple: once you’re in, you’re in.

Never outwardly confirm or deny rumors; let others talk, but don’t even think about opening your fucking mouth about the things you see or the whispers you hear.

And don’t be stupid enough to think you can cling onto any vestiges of your old life. There’s no splicing your life within the Corps with the one you’d had before. No separation. You’ve whored yourself to their cause, and for better or worse, you’re there until either someone important says otherwise or you end up in a morgue.

This is especially true for someone like Sanemi, so hopelessly entrenched within the organization that he’d allowed himself to be branded at the age of seventeen upon his ascension from rank-and-file street member to full-blown Hashira — the elite of the Corps, just short of the higher-ups who ran it.

The hot sear of iron between his shoulder blades had hurt like hell, but it was a welcome pain. A reminder that he’d not only outlived his father, but had actually made an impact, enough to be noticed and entrusted with more strenuous duties.

Each Hashira is assigned to a particular field. Uzui, silver haired, boisterous and extravagant, deals in bodies — mostly women, but men too, and he runs all of the strip clubs and escort services west of center city. Kocho, a child prodigy in chemistry, leads an intricate narcotics network.

And then there’s Sanemi: the debt collector.

Largely monetary debts — collecting on behalf of loan sharks, gambling debts, or that which is owed to his fellow Hashira, when their customers forget that there are no friends in business.

But the brand seared into his flesh has nothing to do with money — it is a reminder that above all, he is to ensure debts of another kind are paid.

Life debts.

In the three years since his initiation, Sanemi has only had to carry out this oath twice. Both had been scum, responsible for the deaths of innocents.

Their executions had been quick and without fuss — or much mess. A quick trip to an overpass abridging the Wisteria River. A march to the barrier in the dead of night, when no other cars were out and about to see or hear pleading sobs and bargains for their pathetic lives. A bullet to the head would quiet them, and Sanemi would let the rapids below take care of the clean up for him. Job done.

But even though the spray of their brains hadn’t touched him, their blood still stains Sanemi’s hands.

He will never be able to wash them clean.

But this is the life he chose, so Sanemi will endure the consequences — for the sake of his brother, the only living person on earth he gives a damn about. For whom he’ll do anything — be anyone — if it means Genya does not have to pick up a gun and sell himself to the very gang that owns his elder brother.

The second rule is simpler: no patterns. Patterns signal comfort and comfort may as well be a target on your back, begging for someone to come and take their shot (or several).

And finally, the third and arguably the most important rule, is don’t get attached. Keep your circle small so there’s less collateral to be used against you — against the organization that owns you.

This rule applies to both Corps members and civilians alike.

For the longest time, Sanemi Shinazugawa found Rule Three to be the easiest one to follow. He has his brother and no one else. His parents are dead; he has no friends beyond those in the Corps with him, and he knows better than to get overly invested in any of them. His inner circle is as tight as it can get.

But then he’d chosen your bookstore to hide in and that’s when everything falls apart.

“Fuckin’ Christ,” Sanemi mutters, anxious eyes tracking the large hand on his watch as it ticks the seconds by.

They were late.

The job was simple, and well within Sanemi’s capabilities. Maeda, a local dealer in stolen goods, had run up a sizeable bill at one of Uzui’s joints that he’d yet to pay. And while the slippery lech was quick to come sniffing whenever news spread that Iguro, a fellow Hashira, had managed to hijack a semi-truck full of luxury items, he was surprisingly difficult to connect with when it came time for him to pay for company he couldn’t get elsewhere.

He glanced down at his bruised, swollen knuckles and smirked. Sanemi couldn’t say he loved that his worth was measured in the number of bones he could break, or the amount of teeth he could punch out, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t relish the chance to smash the pervert’s face in whenever the opportunity arose. Nor could he deny the rush of satisfaction he’d felt when he’d thrown open the steel door of the Maeda’s small office, crowbar in hand, and watched the snot-nosed pervert piss himself, stumbling over his words as he’d begged for mercy Sanemi hadn’t been hired to give.

The stupid, greasy fuck.

By the time he’d finished, Maeda had been little more than a quivering, helpless lump curled in on himself on the sticky, slate floor. His office had been left in shambles, drawers yanked out and emptied, only to be thrown aside (or cracked over the vermin’s back as he sobbed). But he’d had found the money, right down to the last dollar, just as he knew he would.

And that’s how Sanemi finds himself standing in the alley tucked behind Maeda’s small warehouse, Uzui’s payment split into two rolls that he’d shoved down into boots. All that was left was for the two junior Corps members he’d brought along for watch to bring the car around, and then they’d return to the abandoned factory that served as their headquarters.

Normally, this would have been a solo job, and Sanemi would already be on his bike, speeding off to safety. But he’d received an order to take along two, new Hinoe so they could get experience with higher level jobs.

Conveniently, his instructions had omitted the part the fact that the two lugs were utterly useless, bumbling idiots, contrary to what their recent promotions otherwise suggested.

Because neither of the two juniors are anywhere to be found. Nor is there any sound signaling that his getaway ride is approaching.

Sharp, lavender eyes scan the alley before him, but to his dismay, it remains empty — disquietingly so.

Leave it to a couple of rookies to set his teeth on edge.

Sanemi’s eyes drop down to follow the large hand of his watch as yet another minute ticks by. It’s been six minutes and their window had only allowed for four.

He knows how to be patient when the circumstances call for it, but now is not one of those times.

One minute, he decides, shifting his weight between his feet. They get one more fucking minute and then he splits —

A sudden screech of tires at the opposite end of the alley makes his stomach flip. Sanemi looks up just in time to see his escape car grind to a sharp halt, its rear jolting up as the driver slams on the brakes.

The passenger door flings open, and one of the Hinoe stumbles out, his feet barely connecting with the pavement before the car guns away, the side door flapping open.

The familiar howl of police sirens accompanied by distant shouts is enough for Sanemi to know this simple little debt collection has now gone tits-up.

“Pigs!” The Hinoe who stumbled out of the getaway car calls to him. “Pigs!”

“Shit,” Sanemi growls. No doubt Maeda’s bruised ego sold them out. He should’ve taken the time to smash the asshole’s phone.

He’ll be dealt with later — and with relish. But right now, Sanemi needs to get the fuck away.

Part of following Rule Three means not worrying about your fellow comrades when the cops come. None of them are stupid enough to actually risk talking to law enforcement about the Corps’ operations, but the fewer of them who get caught, the better.

So Sanemi takes off, adrenaline pumping fast and jot in his veins as he hears the swine behind him split off. He can’t be sure, but he can make out two, maybe three pairs of footsteps trailing behind him.

He scowls; shaking one cop is a breeze; having to shake off three is a bitch.

He hurtles over a pile of wooden crates and shoves a stack of delivery pallets over behind him as he runs, darting down random alleys and side streets that he knows will eventually lead him to a safe house.

The backstreet he shoots down is a fork, but only the path straight through will lead him to a rust yard of abandoned warehouses and shipping containers that Sanemi knows like the back of his hand. He could lose them there, could vanish between freights and wait the bastards out, and once clear, he could slip back into the district marking the outer territory of the Silo and get back home.

Iron pumps hotly in his veins. Almost there, almost there —

A car skids to a stop at the end of the middle ting of the alley, police lights flashing and alarms blaring.

No good.

“Fuck.” It isn’t the end of the world, but the blocking of the alley meant he had to reevaluate his escape. While he’s familiar with the path now obstructed by the police cruiser ahead, he hadn’t the chance to fully scope out his only other two options — the side streets to the left and right.

Without much thought, Sanemi darts sharply left and prays to whatever deity is listening that he hasn’t fully fucked himself.

Only one shop remains open; a tiny hole in the wall, tucked in between two old apartment buildings at the end of the street — one that borders the city’s western wing.

It’ll have to do, he decides, especially as the police sirens grow louder with each passing second.

He explodes through the front door, wide eyed and panting. Vaguely, it registers to him that this is a bookshop — a thankfully empty, cluttered bookshop.

But his abrupt arrival does reveal that the shop is not totally empty. There is one other — the store’s lone employee, who startles out of her seat behind the clerk’s counter, nearly knocking over a small cup of coffee.

He regards her for a moment, and she him, with matching expressions of wariness and shock at the presence of the other.

Behind him, the police sirens grow louder; more urgent.

It’s now or never. And, because he’s desperate enough to try, he risks a move he knows better than to take.

“You got someplace I can hide?”

——-

You blink, stunned as you stare at the frantic, pleading man anxiously looking between you and the door behind him.

His name registers dimly in the back of your mind. Here. In your store. And, evidently, on the run, if the distant echoes of police sirens growing steadily closer to your store is any indication.

Sanemi Shinazugawa.

You know him; you’d known him most of your life, even if you’d never spoken to him. You’d gone to the same school in your youth — all thirteen years of it, in fact. He’d been an abrasive loudmouth in the hallways, but a quiet, even polite boy in the classroom.

You know he’s from the Silo — a worn down, derelict part of the City that housed only the poorest residents. A cruel nickname meant to mock the poverty of its population.

But the Silo was also well known for being the epicenter of operations for the notorious group known only as the Corps.

It was the Corps who owned a majority of the City, its reach extending from the Silo, through the West and East wings, and all the way into Midtown. And, as was the case with most leeches, the Corps relied on the most desperate and hungry to carry out its biddings, offering some level of protection and security for the poor souls who needed it most.

Hence, its presence in the Silo.

So you hadn’t been surprised when you’d heard Sanemi had joined the Corps. Most kids from the Silo did; what had surprised you were the rumors that he became a high-rank member by the ripe age of seventeen, before he’d even graduated high school.

You shudder to think what he had to have done — what he’d become — in order to achieve such status and notoriety.

If he’d been anyone else, you wouldn’t have helped; you would’ve screamed, alerted the police to his presence, maybe even outed him as a suspected Hashira.

But you owed him.

Years ago, before either you or your siblings could drive, you all relied on the city bus to get to and from school.

But one afternoon, when you’d had to stay late for a club meeting, your little sister accidentally got on the wrong bus. Rather than being dropped safe and sound a block away from home, she’d ended up in a bad part of town that just so happened to have been the stomping grounds of the scowling delinquent now shoved under your cabinet, contorted between boxes of blank receipt rolls and stacks of returns.

Had anyone else found your sister, there would be no telling what would have happened to her. The Silo was not a place known to be kind to lost little girls.

But it was Sanemi who discovered her, sniffling and red-faced at the dilapidated bus stop. And though he’d been nothing more than a scrawny ten year old, he’d put your sister on his back and carried her not just the six miles back to safe part of town, but the additional two that led right to the front doorstep of your parents’ home.

You’d watched him curiously from the stairs as your parents profusely thanked your sister’s white-haired savior. They’d offered Sanemi dinner, or at least some sort of reward for his efforts, but he’d only waved them off, briskly telling them it was “no big deal.” As though carrying a six-year-old nearly eight miles was par for the course, as far as he was concerned.

His eyes had flitted over to you once during the exchange, briefly lingering before he turned and left, a single hand held up in casual farewell.

You’d been ten at the time. And now, here you are, twenty years old, running a shabby bookstore, and the opportunity to pay him back has finally arrived. The chance to show your gratitude for sparing your sister of a fate he himself, had not been able to escape.

Quickly, you motion him to you and without explanation, you cram him under the clerk’s counter, holding the cabinet door shut with your knee just as the police burst through the store entrance.

There are three of them, and they do not bother announcing themselves to you. Instead, they begin to prowl through your aisles, flashlights out and guns drawn while they comb the quiet corners of the store, searching for signs of anything that did not belong; anything misplaced.

A bead of sweat slides down the back of your neck, but you keep your face and your stance casual. Below the counter you cross your fingers, hoping and praying that the criminal stuffed inside your cabinet isn’t stupid enough to try and shift.

One officer rounds back into the main part of the store and locks in on you, stiff and anxious behind the counter.“You haven’t seen anything suspicious?”

“I’m sorry, sir. I don’t know what you mean.”

The cop grimaces. “You haven’t seen anyone who looks out of place? Maybe seems like they’re running?”

You feign an easy, sweet smile, even as the leg holding the cabinet door shut begins to tremble. “I’m afraid you’re my first customer of the day, sir.”

The officer grumbles under his breath something along the lines of not your customer, but he questions you no further. He only waves to his comrades and the three of them shuffle out through the door, one muttering into the walkie strapped to his shoulder.

Several moments pass, tense and thick. The silence is broken only by the sound of your heart hammering against your sternum. You remain still, fingers curled tight against the counter’s edge listening for any sound signaling the cops have returned, that their stiff departure had been a ruse to lull you into a false sense of security, as they waited for you to reveal your deception.

But all remains quiet. And you cannot stomach the silence any longer.

“They’re gone,” you mutter, finally moving aside to let the cabinet door below you swing open.

There’s a faint thumping and a few, muffled curses as the scar-speckled fugitive unfolds himself and spills free from the under-cabinet.

In a way, Sanemi still resembles the boy of your memories. His eyes and hair have always been distinctive: a shocking contrast of violet framed by thick, dark lashes that do not match the mop of silvery-white atop his head. But it’s the faint scowl he wears as he stands, the tinge of annoyance that tugs at the corners of his mouth, that scrunches his pale eyebrows, that feels familiar.

That expression, a portrait of vague irritation with the world around him, was one you came to know well — at least, at a distance. One that remained constant even as you grew; his default.

However, it is still not nearly as memorable as the shy embarrassment that had turned his cheeks slightly pink, had made him cast his eyes down as your parents showered him with gratitude.

But that earnest bashfulness is nowhere to be found now.

He wears a patterned, short-sleeved button down. Though rumpled and a tad dirty, you suspect the top three buttons were left open intentionally, rather than being the product of whatever scuffle he’d found himself in before he decided to make it your problem.

You try not to linger on the very obvious hint of the well-defined muscles revealed by his open collar. Nor do you let yourself consider the bulging mass of his biceps as he runs a hand through his cornsilk hair.

He has scars he’d not had in your youth — jagged, silvery lines that cut halfway across his cheek and forehead. Yet their presence does not dull his good looks.

A scrawny ten year old no longer; Sanemi Shinazugawa is now tall and roguishly handsome. But his infuriating good looks aside, your debt to him has been repaid; now, he needs to get the fuck away.

“Can’t thank ya enough,” he shoots you a devilish smile as he straightens his shirt. “You really saved my ass —“

“Get out of my store.” You order, your voice hard. “Take your trouble somewhere else and leave me out of it.”

Sanemi’s eyes narrow at your use of the word trouble, but he says nothing. Instead, he only rounds the counter with a loping, infuriating swagger, his hands shoved in his pockets.

“As you wish, Princess,” and you bristle at the sarcasm dropping from the word. He pauses to scan the shelf marked New Releases. “Just need somethin’ for the road.”

He snags a small novel — a fantasy story, judging by the cover - and he tucks it under his arm.

“Later,” he calls, waving a lazy hand over his shoulder.

You stare after him, slack-jawed and incensed. “You have to pay for —“

But the door bangs shut behind him, and Sanemi Shinazugawa disappears into the night.

—-

By the time Sanemi returns to his shabby apartment, it is well after midnight. He’d met up with Uzui and forked over Maeda’s payment. Though, the Corp’s head pimp hadn’t been particularly pleased that his money rolls had been shoved deep down in his boots, his nose wrinkling as Sanemi dropped the crumpled, slightly damp wads of cash into his waiting, magenta-nailed hands.

As it turned out, Maeda hadn’t sold them out. Rather, one of the Hinoe had stupidly gotten into a scuffle with some brash, young teenager and in his anger, pulled his gun on the kid.

Right in front of two, marked cop cars.

One of the idiots had been caught and cuffed, and was now spending his evening locked in the damp, cold jailhouse pending bond. The other — the driver — had managed to escape, though he’d been carted off to Iguro for punishment.

There’s a reason he prefers working alone, he thinks bitterly as he kicks his boots off. He fucking loathes incompetence.

He pulls his gun free from its place in his waistband and sets it gently atop his ratty kitchen table. Sanemi then trudges over to his futon, collapsing heavily on it with a groan. A shit day, he decides, pulling the stack of cash he’d received as his cut for the job free from his pocket, thumbing through it. A shit day with shit juniors.

He shifts against a lump that sits under his ass. Frowning, he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out the book he’d swiped from your store and turns it over in his hands. Surprisingly, it has managed to remain in pristine condition despite its rather unceremonious storage in his pocket.

Your face flashes in his mind, but before he can fully appreciate it, your words echo in his ears.

Take your trouble somewhere else.

Sanemi scowls, tossing the book onto his coffee table, annoyed. The implication underlying your use of trouble and the venom with which you’d spoken it is a thorn in his side he cannot ignore.

You know what — who — he is. In Sanemi’s world, that’s a liability.

Though, in fairness, he can’t really be surprised that you do. Gossip is a free commodity in this town, and it’s a coveted one. It wouldn’t be a stretch to conclude that you’d overheard one of the rumors about him and his ties to the Corps.

What concerns him is he doesn’t know what your connection is, if any, to his world. Maybe you’re really just a girl in a bookshop who paid back a decade-old favor.

Or maybe you’ve got an in with them.

The Corps isn’t the only gang operating within the city; there is another, crueler and far more violent that had arisen west of the Silo.

The Kizuki.

In the last six months, the Kizuki have managed to overtake the Western Wing, nearly expanding their reach into center city.

Their takeover had been swift; practically achieved overnight, following the systematic execution of every known Corps members in the area. And their violence hadn’t been limited to active members; the Kizuki had brutally maimed and murdered anyone tangentially connected to those Corps members.

Neither women nor their children were spared. And now, it seemed the Kizuki had set their sights on the Silo.

There are whispers that they’ve expanded into their operations into the neighborhood adjacent to the one in which the bookstore sits. That alone is enough to make Sanemi suspicious — perhaps you’re in league with them, and you’ll hand him over the moment it’s most convenient for you to do so.

Admittedly, that theory seems doubtful. You’re a bookseller. Not the kind of girl he knows is prone to becoming involved with the seedy underground world of organized crime. And your apparent disdain for him and his trouble only supports that theory.

But that’s an assumption, and in his line of work, assumptions are precarious; risky. Too much so for comfort.

Either way, he doesn’t know, and that uncertainty is a breeding ground for the parasite that is doubt. Toxic enough that were it to take root in his brain, his judgment could be compromised, leading him to mistakes he can’t afford to make.

Sanemi doesn’t tolerate blind spots. He will keep you on his radar until he determines the threat you pose and once he knows its severity, he’ll decide how to proceed.

He eyes the book he’d swiped from your store. He likes reading, though he hasn’t had much time for it lately (or, ever). But, if he’s going to hang around you while trying to identify the threat you pose, he might as well have a strategy for getting you to talk.

Sighing, he grabs the novel from his table and thumbs to the first page as he pads into his kitchen, in search of something to quell the grumble in his stomach.

—

His inquiries into you and your life reveal shockingly little.

You work at a bookstore. Your parents sold off your childhood home and retired to some beach down south. Your siblings are spread out across other cities and don’t visit home often, if ever.

Only you remain, abandoned by your family to fend for yourself in a crumbling city with only a shabby bookshop that sits on the furthest end of an otherwise safe street to keep you busy.

Truthfully, the bookstore probably is more interesting than you, at least on paper. But it’s that dirge of information that piques his interest; makes him look at you more as a mystery worth unraveling.

Besides, the smart thing for him would be to keep a tab on you until he can confirm you are in fact, as boring as you appear.

Or so he tells himself.

The image of a ten-year-old you peering at him from your parents’ stairwell flashes through his mind once more.

He’d felt your gaze burning a hole into his head, and shyly, he’d looked back at you, only to find himself unable to look away. Only your mother’s prodding about him joining your family for dinner had broken your temporary enchantment over him.

The memory of how you’d looked at him — a mixture of curiosity and awe highlighted by a faint blush in your cheeks when he’d met your stare head on — remained fixed in his brain for years after.

And though the two of you never spoke, you always smiled at him whenever you locked eyes in the school hallway or cafeteria. A real, genuine smile.

He wonders if he ever smiled back and finds himself irritated that he can’t remember if he had. He should’ve; especially now when it seems as though he’s unlikely to ever see that gentle, radiant smile again.

Sanemi’s phone pings and all thoughts of you come to a screeching halt. The message that flashes on his screen — instructions, only by way of an address and an amount — chase away the images of you and your sweet smile, like a hand scattering smoke.

With a sigh, Sanemi dials the number for two, lower-ranked Corps members to serve as scouts. With watch secured, he shoves his phone into his pocket and runs a tired hand over his face.

He wonders what will kill him first — whether it will be a bullet or whether it will be because there’s nothing left of him to whore out on the Corp’s behalf.

Ultimately, he knows it doesn’t really matter. He won’t die as himself; as Sanemi, the boy from the Silo who wants a life that’s anything but this. He’ll die only as Shinazugawa the Hashira. He’ll die under the mask he’s forced to wear so often, he wonders if it hasn’t yet bonded with his skin.

But as long as he remains in one piece, he must continue on as a puppet in this this tedious show. So, Sanemi grabs his gun from where he’d placed it on atop the cheap plastic of his kitchen table and he tucks it into his waistband.

And by the time his apartment door slams shut behind him, Sanemi has slipped the mask down over his face, and he is Shinazugawa once more.

—

Two weeks pass before he ends up back in front of your bookstore.

Sanemi doesn’t really remember how he got here. He awoke well before sunrise to his phone chiming with orders that he go collect on a sizeable gambling debt owed by one of Iguro’s regulars, an owner of some pawn shop.

The sun was already high overhead when he finally left the pawn shop, knuckles bruised and arm aching. He’d kicked his bike into gear in a familiar daze, one that always slipped over him after he completed a job. A kind of numb quiet that settled into his bones, a dull static in his brain that did not fade until the tremor in his hands subsided.

That paralysis needs to be broken. Contrary to popular belief, desensitization was not an ideal state of being for someone like him. It made him apathetic and careless to the world around him, and that was little better than painting a giant target on his back, begging his enemies to come and do their worst.

So, when the numbness still lingered by the time his bike roars past a rusted water tower that marks the outer limit of the Silo, Sanemi knows of only one cure. His go-to.

His bike is still hot by the time he lifts his phone to his ear, just outside his shithole of an apartment.

He doesn’t know her by name — only by description, as told by the series of emojis that accompany her number on his phone. But it’s surprisingly easy to charm her, though perhaps that’s because she’s looking for an escape just as much as he is.

Less than ten minutes later, the girl pulls up beside him in the parking lot.

Her hands are already roaming down his chest and playing with the buckle on his belt as Sanemi unlocks his door and pushes her inside.

At some point between the front door and his bedroom, the girl has stripped herself of her outer clothing, leaving her only in her undergarments as she tugs Sanemi down by his neck and into her kiss. She’s licking and nipping at his lips in a way he’s not sure he likes, but he allows it because his cock is painfully hard and throbbing where it strains against his pants.

And, after all, he’s the one desperate for relief.

“I’ve only got ten minutes,” she warns, kicking off her underwear as she falls back onto his bed. Sanemi only smirks as he slides his hand down the length of her leg, gripping her by the ankle and flipping her to her stomach.

He shifts away long enough to quickly wiggle free of his pants. He grabs a condom from his nightstand and rips the foil with his teeth. Fingers toying with the girl’s clit as she moans into his mattress, Sanemi rolls the latex down his cock. Protection secured, he reaches for her again, yanking her by her hips until her backside is flush against him. One hand pushes down between her shoulder blades while the other snakes up her neck, and Sanemi nudges the tip of his cock up against her entrance.

“Don’t worry, darlin’,” he winds the long tresses of her hair around his fist and gives her a sharp tug. “We’ll be done in five.”

—-

Even an hour after he tossed the girl her clothing and not so casually suggested she leave his apartment, Sanemi still feels restless.

He cannot shake the images of the afternoon from his mind, and so, Sanemi resorts to walking.

He does so without thought as to destination or the rapidly setting sun. Sanemi only focuses on the activity itself. One foot in front of the other; pace even and quick, each step accompanied by a flash of that day’s sins.

The crash of a garage door as it slammed back against the wall. Wide eyes that quickly filled with panic at the sight of him and the flash of metal tucked against his hip.

Step.

A plea; a desperate promise to pay, one that he’d heard a thousand times from a thousand different mouths. None of them ever seemed to understand their word wasn’t worth shit when they’d already defaulted on their obligations. Yet still, they begged.

Step.

The breaking of teeth beneath his fists.

Step.

The crush of bone under the iron pipe he’d found discarded on the garage floor. The agonized futility of trying to scoot back and away from him, despite a shattered leg.

Green; the color of the money he’d found stashed in a duffel, the debtor’s desperate attempt to hoard the wealth owed to the Corps.

Step. Step. Step. All the way down the street leading until he finds himself on a distantly familiar stretch of pavement that ends at the bookstore’s front steps.

For a moment, he lingers outside the shop, hesitant. He should turn around; there is no reason for him to be here. His investigation into you is not a priority by any means, especially where whatever poking he has done has revealed so little.

The book he lifted from the New Releases shelf is tucked carefully in his jacket pocket. He doesn’t know why he’s carried it around with him, all this time. Sanemi finished the novel the very night you’d helped hide him from the cops.

He should leave; but then his feet carry him up the walk leading to the store, and he’s pushing the door open.

His arrival is punctuated by a cheerful ring of the old bell nailed above the door. At first, the store appears deserted; but then you pop up from under the counter, surprise coloring your features.

That surprise melts quickly into cold disdain that makes something in his chest flutter as he strolls toward you. With every step, that numb haze of his disperses and instead, Sanemi feels himself returning to normal the closer he brings himself to you.

“This isn’t a library,” you chide when he plops his borrowed novel back down on your counter. “You have to pay for the books here.”

It’s incredible how easily he is able to slip back into the skin of the suave, smug playboy, and your adorable glare only makes him smirk. “I brought it back, didn’t I? Look — didn’t even crack the spine.”

“It doesn’t matter,” you reply coolly, snatching the book up and tossing it on a small cart marked Restock. “That loss came out of my paycheck — which is scant enough.”

That piques his attention. “Didn’t you say this was your store?”

His question makes you turn pink, and you’re quick to put your back to him, pretending to shuffle through new releases waiting to be shelved. “I work here,” you mutter quietly, but when you turn back around, you stick your chin out, defiant. “But I am the only employee, so it is my store, in a sense. The owner doesn’t ever come by.”

You wrinkle your nose. “So yes, lost profits affect me, and me alone, you thief.”

Sanemi cocks his head, his eyes running over you in consideration.

You’re beautiful; he’s always found you cute, even as a kid, but the transition between your teen years and adulthood have been kind. Even if you’re glaring at him like you would a crushed bug stuck to the bottom of your shoe.

But your words strike a chord in him. His job is to collect money from those greedy lowlifes who waste it; who use money to carry out their bad deeds, who use it to fuck over others.

He doesn’t take it from those who need it; from those who are barely scraping. by. Sanemi knows the agony of having to choose between keeping the lights on or feeding a hungry stomach far, far too well.

“Fine, here,” he tosses a random novel on your counter and a crumpled twenty dollar note. You ring him up, eyes flicking up to glare at him every so often as you count out his change.

He only continues to watch you, the heat of his stare ignites an itch under your skin that makes you squirm.

Your restlessness boils over. “What?”

“Nothin,” he shrugs. “Just think it’s interesting that you of all people are still lingering in this shit hole.”

Your head snaps up, your task of totaling out his change forgotten. “I live here, idiot.”

He snorts. “Didn’t you want outta here? Do somethin’ different?” He leans forward, elbows propped on your counter as he rests his chin on his fist.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business.” He’s dancing dangerously close to a sore spot of yours — that you are alone in your hometown, working at a failing bookshop, with no one and nothing to justify your stagnancy.

“This can’t be your dream life.”

You don’t have to answer; you know that. But his line of questioning is puzzling. Because, no matter how casual he manages to keep his tone, his nonchalance is betrayed by his eyes, sharp and inquisitive.

Like he’s waiting to dissect whatever answer you give him.

Sanemi continues. “It’s strange for people not to want for more — to not dream about somethin’ different.”

“And who are you to say I don’t?” You bristle, slamming your cash drawer shut with more force than necessary. “I have a dream of my own. Just because it’s not one you would pick for yourself doesn’t mean it’s wrong.”

He blinks, taken aback. “Woah, woah, I never meant any offense.” He pushes back from the counter. “My bad.”

His response feels genuine but your ego is already bruised. Stiffly, you finish counting out his change and drop it into his waiting palm.

You slide his book across the counter. “Have the day you deserve.”

His surprise morphs into amusement at your iciness. So haughty, he winks. “You too, Princess.”

You turn aside in clear dismissal. He makes a show of taking out his wallet and stuffing his change inside, but your pointed ignorance of him means you don’t see him toss another note on the counter.

He’s already halfway out the door when you call after him, urgent. “Sir, you dropped your —“

“Nah, I didn’t,” he raises his hand in farewell as the bookstore door bangs shut behind him, leaving you to stare open-mouthed after him.

Clutched tightly in your hand is his crisp, one hundred dollar note.

—

His next visit is unplanned, but not in the way that Sanemi avoids routine. It’s unplanned in that he’s annoyed and it’s partially your fault, so that means the onus is on you to fix it.

You’re in the process of double checking delivery logs to ensure all your new inventory has arrived when a large thud against the clerk’s counter startles you.

You frown. It’s him again — all ivory hair and silvery facial scars that somehow are less imposing than the irritated scowl he wears.

“This book was shit,” he scoots the novel across the counter to you with distaste. “I want a refund.”

You level his pout with a frosty glare of your own. Wordlessly, you lean over the counter and tap a single finger against a laminated sign duck-taped to its edge.

Return-exchange only. No refunds.

“But it was shit,” he repeats, as though that will somehow spur you to change a policy you didn’t create. “You let me waste twenty bucks.”

“I did nothing,” you rustle the pages of your delivery log in pointed dismissal. “You’re the one who decided to buy a book before checking it out.”

You glance down at the discarded novel. “Figures,” you scoff. “He’s not even an author. He uses ghost writers and takes all the credit.”

“Woulda been nice if you’d told me that before you let me give him my money.”

You hum idly as you cross off the log’s boxes for new releases. “I suppose I was too stunned that you even knew how to read. Guess I wasn’t really paying attention to your shit choices.”

“Oh?” And you glance up to see Sanemi smirking at you. “The Princess has claws, does she?” He leans against the counter, propping his cheek under a loose fist. “So, what are your recommendations, gorgeous?”

“I’m not your Princess,” you snap imbuing the nickname with as much venom as you can muster. “Call me by my name or call me nothing at all.”

His eyes drop to your name-tag, pinned neatly on the front of your sweater. That insufferable smirk of his only widens. “Alright, alright. What are your recommendations, Y/N?”

The syllables sound rich and honeyed and suddenly, you wish you’d let him stick with Princess, as grating as it was.

Because your name should not sound so sweet, should not roll off his tongue so seamlessly, as it just did.

You’ve never been one to indulge in rumors. But in this city, as economically fractured as it is, gossip is a currency everyone keeps in their back pocket. And though you keep your head down and mind your own business, even you have heard the rumors swirling around town about the eldest Shinazugawa child.

Rumors that he has ascended the ranks of the same Mob that claimed the life of his deadbeat father long before the bastard was shived in the back for a debt he’d owed (their words, never yours).

Rumors that he holds a unique position within the gang, known clandestinely only as the Corps, and that position requires him to do things most won’t speak about.

But the rumor that screeches to the forefront of your mind has nothing to do with his alleged status with the Corps. It’s his reputation as a flirt; a rumored womanizer, through and through, that is a splinter under your skin.

Determined to pick him out, a wicked idea blossoms. “Fine, here.” You stalk purposefully to the section marked Literature. Your finger drags down a line of titles before finally settling on one. You pull it free with a soft grunt, the book sitting thick and heavy in your hand as you dump it into Sanemi’s.

“Read that.”

His eyes flick between its cover and you, incredulous. “This ain’t a book; it’s a brick.”

“It’s a classic,” you counter. “One that examines age-old question of destiny versus free will, generational curses.” Your head cocks to the side, a challenging smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth. “Love and lust.”

His eyebrow raises and you cross your fingers. If he falls for it and ultimately ends up hating the book, then perhaps he’ll decide your taste in reading material is indeed shit, and maybe then he’ll leave you alone.

Sanemi considers you for a moment but then he takes the bait. “If you say so,” he sighs. “But if it’s shit, I’m taking my refund.” And then he leans in close, so close that you can feel the warmth radiating off his body.

His breath is hot against your ear. “Regardless of your shitty little policy.”

You refuse to let him see how much he’s knocked you off-kilter. “So I can expect to be robbed? Will it be at gun or knifepoint? Just so I’m prepared.”

His chuckle, low and dark sends goosebumps skittering down your arms. “Worse,” he promises before he draws back. His grin is wolfish, all teeth and feral hunger. “You’ll owe me a date.”

He looses a low, appreciate whistle as he steps back and takes his eyes over your rigid form. “Though, I might just take you out anyway.”

“You assume I’ll say yes — or are you planning on kidnapping me? I’m sure you’re rather proficient at it, given your occupation.”

Something dark flashes across his face, and it’s enough to make you step back, a sudden fear creeping up the back of your spine.

Stupid, you chastise yourself. You never know when to keep your mouth shut.

But the shadows in his features recede as quickly as they appeared, and Sanemi’s mouth eases back into that same, cocky smile.

“You’ll say yes, Princess. You won’t be able to resist the temptation.”

“Temptation?” You force out a laugh. “And what makes you think I can’t?”

Sanemi’s eyes find your current read, open flipped over on the counter, marking your current page.

It’s a mystery novel. Your third of the month, born of a new hyperfixation on the genre.

You want nothing more than to wipe that smug grin of his clean from his face. He gives an affectionate snake of his head as he turns and makes his way toward the door. “Habits, Y/N. It all comes down to habits.”

You should throw it at his head, but Sanemi exits the store before your hand can find its spine.

——-

Over two weeks pass without so much as a whisper from the enigma that is Sanemi Shinazugawa.

Loath though you are to give him that sort of credit, you cannot deny that he utterly confounds you. He is everything you expected while simultaneously nothing at all what you’d imagined. He is brash and cocky, and he struts around with an insufferable self-importance that can only come from years of being at the top of his game (no matter how he got there).

Yet, he also reads. Enough to have opinions, even decent ones, about certain authors, and he’s open minded enough to accept your recommendation even if it feels as though he has an ulterior motive for doing so.

And, he’d been bothered by the dock in your pay as a result of his mischief; so much so, that he’d slipped you more than enough to make up the loss. That is the action that puzzles you the most, even weeks later. You’d assumed that someone like him, so used to ensnaring people into various schemes, wouldn’t have given two shits if he’d stolen money from some broke girl at a bookstore. After all, his business was all about money — and the lengths some would go to keep it.

Yet he’d paid you back — paid you more than you needed, if you were honest.

Since that day, you’ve had your ears tuned to any mention of his name, any whispers of the mysterious, scarred gang-member who has occupied nearly all the open space in your head. You’ve managed to glean small things here and there. That he’s a Hashira, and Hashira means he’s only one step below what is known ominously as the Master Family — the heads of the entire organization.

That he’s rather feared, even among seasoned Corps members; that he’s known for his swift brutality.

That he’s more than just a flirt; he’s a virile lover. Not picky in the slightest about who warms his bed, though no one has ever been able to pin him down longer than a handful of one-night stands.

You stop poking around after that particular revelation, embarrassed that you now know exactly what makes him so popular.

Apparently, his flexibility pairs well with his near inhuman stamina. And he’s said to be very well-endowed.

It’s more information than you care to know, but you can’t deny that your curiosity lingers.

You brush aside your inquisitiveness as nothing more than a natural side effect of your own inexperience. And you’ll be damned before admitting that your interest in Sanemi Shinazugawa isn’t limited to rumors of how good he is in bed. That, perhaps your curiosity stems from something deeper, from a desire to know if that bad boy persona is authentic or a mere facade, and boy on the stoop still lurks somewhere beneath his mask.

—

“You look like shit.”

You startle up from where you’d been resting your head on your arm, wavering between consciousness and sleep.

You know that gravelly voice before you lay your eyes on him, and your irritation is quick to flicker to life.

Nearly a month has passed since your last encounter, and for a moment, you’d thought you’d been freed from his nuisance. But now, Sanemi stands in your store, wearing a half-amused expression on his stupidly handsome face.

“Is that the only descriptor you know?” You ask miserably, hands working quickly to smooth down your mused hair. “Is everything either shit or not-shit to you?”

Sanemi shrugs. “Pretty much,” and he holds something out to you, waiting. “Here.”

It’s a to-go bag from a cafe two blocks away. One known for their almond croissants, for which you have a particular penchant.

Your stomach grumbles fiercely. You’d foregone eating breakfast when you realized you’d overslept your alarm, and had to rush out of your apartment to ensure you’d be here in time for the weekly delivery truck.

The sweet scent of butter and sugar wafting from the bag makes your mouth water.

But this is Sanemi Shinazugawa, and you should think to know better. “Is it poisoned?”

He rolls his eyes. “If I wanted to drug you, sweetheart, I’d pick a far more convenient way to do it — and one that didn’t involve me getting up at the ass crack of dawn for some overpriced pastries.”

Warily, you accept the paper bag, and Sanemi surprises you again by handing you a to-go cup of coffee. He watches as you, ever the dramatic, sniff tentatively at the lid and frown, apparently dissatisfied that you can discern nothing but the rich, aromatic scent of espresso.

Sanemi takes a deep drink from his own cup. “It’s a thank you. For that book you recommended,” He smirks. “It wasn’t shit. It was good.”

You fish a pastry out of the bag, and nearly drool as you behold its buttery, flaky goodness. “You sound surprised.”

“Maybe I was. Your success rate was only fifty-fifty. I had every right to be skeptical.”

“You’re the one who grabbed that last book,” you take a large bite out of your croissant and you fight to keep yourself from moaning. “That had nothing to do with me.” You swallow thickly before taking a large sip of coffee to wash down the pastry. “So, no date, then?”

The smile he gives you is almost apologetic. “Sorry, beautiful. I don’t actually date.” And you nearly double over at the bewildering taste of disappointment creeping sourly up the back of your throat. “Gotta keep things casual in my world.”

The once-over he gives you is razor-sharp. “And you don’t look like a casual girl.”

You resist the urge to cross your arms. “You seem awfully certain, Shinazugawa.”

“Experience,” he offers easily. “I know casual women.” He turns his head away before quietly adding, “And you ain’t one of ‘em.”

It’s odd; you know of his rather wild reputation among women, and yet he seems almost embarrassed by its acknowledgment. But as you’re slowly learning, Sanemi Shinazugawa is a conundrum you haven’t yet been able to pick apart.

You could throw it in his face; you could spew some barb about his experience, rub your salt right into his obvious wound. You have no reason to spare his feelings, not when he’s been such a consistent pain in your ass.

Your eyes drift to the empty pastry bag and coffee cup before they find him again, and suddenly, you don’t see the swaggering, cocky Corps member with a reputation for being just as dangerous and violent as he is flirtatious.

You see only the boy on your stoop; the one who’d gently removed your sister from her place on his back and handed her back to your tearful, relieved parents.

And it’s because you cannot stop seeing that boy, that you offer before you lose the courage to ask, “So, friends, then?”

Sanemi whips back to you, surprise coloring his features that quickly melts into a smile — a real, genuine smile.

And thus, Sanemi Shinazugawa, ruthless member of the Corps and a ranked Hashira, befriends a girl who runs a bookshop.

—-

In retrospect, Sanemi knows he’s probably fucked himself.

His only intention in visiting your shop after that first day had been to discern what level of threat you posed to him, if any, and to address it accordingly. Befriending you was never his goal. After all, he prided himself on his staunch ability in following the unspoken Rules of the Corps — number Three, in particular.

But he has always interpreted Three has a warning against forming bonds within the Corps. And though he knows it’s good practice to keep his circle outside its operations small as well, he rations he’s entitled to indulge his curiosity in you. He doesn’t have friends, not really. Just Genya, and his little brother lives well over an hour away, enrolled in a school in a far better — far safer — city.

It would be nice to have someone a little closer to home that he could relax around.

Yet, he can’t recall whether Rule Three would bar him from associating you outside work hours. Caution would dictate he shouldn’t, but Sanemi never claimed to be a careful man.

He never visits the same day or at the same time. Rule Two says no patterns, and though he’s steadily blurring the lines of Rule Three with each passing day, he convinces himself that as long as he abides by the first two, he won’t be in as deep shit as he, in theory, could be.

It starts out slow; tentative. Despite what he’d thought otherwise, you’re not nearly as prim and haughty as you’d tried to make him believe.

You’re sweet. Genuine, in a way that’s rare for him to encounter in his world.

Gradually, he begins spending more time with you. At first, your relationship is confined strictly to discussions of books. You swap favorites, debate which author is at the top of their genre, and you occasionally needle each other over your respective guilty pleasure: yours, bodice rippers. His, fairytales.

He spends a great deal of his free time at the bookstore, though he’s never consistent with his visits. You never ask him about it, and for that, he’s grateful. But eventually, your conversation turns to other interests — movies, shows, music — and each new mutual interest only further enamors him with you.

And when you invite him over one day after you close the shop to watch an old movie you’d swiped from the store’s limited collection, he can’t find it in him to tell you no.

The first time he visits your apartment, he is appalled.

For starters, the neighborhood you live in isn’t the safest. It’s not the Silo, by any means, but it’s an area he frequents as part of his job and that fact alone sets him on edge. He knows what kind of people linger here; knows that they tend to borrow cash that ends up in Uzui’s business — another Hashira.

And when he sees the shoebox you live in (a studio, you’d proudly boasted, as though the distraction of exposed brick and industrial piping made up for its shit location and shit security), Sanemi finds himself clutching his proverbial pearls.

He supposes he can see its appeal — you’ve certainly turned it into a home.

You’ve made a small living room out of a single couch, thrifted coffee table, and a faintly stained rug. Your TV is laughably small, but he supposes it gets the job done.

A small kitchen stands to the right of the entryway, and there is a bathroom to the left. You have a wall of closets with folding doors, and the wall directly opposite of him boasts three large, arched windows. Sanemi supposes during the day, they provide enough natural sunlight to negate any need for any overhead lighting, of which you have none. But he can’t tell if they open from the outside, so he resolves to furtively check once you’re distracted.

Your bed stands on the furthest wall, tucked into a corner and laden heavy with colorful pillows and plush throws. Books are stacked everywhere — in shelves, in corners, by plants and furniture. All well-worn and loved, their spines cracked and covers stained.

It’s lively; warm. And it has you written all over it. That alone is enough to slightly endear the place to him.

But it’s still a shit apartment in a shit neighborhood.

Worse, your door is little more than a flimsy piece of wood that latches with a single turn lock — the easiest to break, if someone was determined enough to try. He tells you as much and you roll your eyes, brushing aside his concerns as though he’s not precisely aware of what kind of filth might linger around the corner.

The next day, he brings over a deadbolt, a chain, and a drill. He bats off your indignant protests as he installs it on your door. And, because he’s petty, he forces you to sit through a painfully detailed demonstration of how to properly latch and unlatch the chain once he’s finished.

The weeks blend seamlessly into months, and Sanemi finds himself spending more and more of his free time with you. It doesn’t matter whether you’re working at the bookstore or enjoying a night of brain-rotting entertainment on your shitty little television. He just wants to be near you, and he finds himself unable to stay away.

Four months into your friendship, you start a weekly movie night, though the date is always subject to change. Still, Sanemi finds himself craving more of that precious time with you. The hours spent in your store or at your apartment fill a void in his chest he hadn’t realized he’d been harboring, and it’s a fullness he quickly becomes addicted to.

It is an odd thing, this new ritual (never routine) of his. The alternation between visiting the scum indebted to the Corps, to feel bones crush and snap beneath his hands or the iron of a spare crowbar, or blood griming to his knuckles, only to return to your bookshop or apartment, cheap beer and greasy takeout in hand, isn’t the kind of switch he imagined he’d ever make. But you make taking off his Hashira mask so damn easy, and every time he leaves he finds it more difficult to slip back on.

With each passing day, he learns you more and more. He gathers information like a dragon hoards its jewels, each new tidbit a precious gem that he tucks safely away in a mental box labeled with your name.

He learns that, while he prefers tea, you prefer coffee, but you’re picky about your order. If it’s hot, you want it black or with only the faintest splash of cream. If it’s cold, however, you want every sweet syrup and topping known to man, even though it only makes you crash like a freight train once the sugar high wears off.

He learns you think cooking means pouring yourself a bowl of cereal and calling it a day, and it’s a revelation that makes him have to walk away and collect himself, lest he start lecturing you on the importance of proper nutrition, just as he does with his brother.

In exchange, he opens up about the more sacred aspects of his life — namely, Genya. He confides in you the great pride and adoration he has for his little brother, and admits his deep-seated fear that Genya will somehow be pulled into his violent, hostile world of his. And each time Sanemi begins to feel that anxiety rear its ugly head, threaten to settle into the marrow of his bones and send him into a spiral, you’re always there to pull him back.

Sometimes you ask questions, and Sanemi tries to answer them as best he can. But there are some subjects he can never touch. Never wants to.

He can’t tell you whose blood stains his knuckles or is splattered across his shoes. He can’t tell you where he goes when his phone vibrates late at night or at random during the day. He can’t tell you what his fellow Hashira do; the specialties they oversee.

Sanemi does make a point to assure you there is one sacred creed by which they all abide: no kids. This seems to put you at ease, as though this tepid moral line somehow absolves him of the other shit he’s guilty for.

It’s selfish, this thing he has created with you. He knows that. And his blossoming friendship with you likely breaks more than one of the sacred precepts of the Corps. But you’re the first person he’s met since his initiation who knows what he is and doesn’t cower in fear, and that makes him desperate to cling onto you. You know what an ugly, beastly creature he is, and yet you do not run away from him. Even when you probably should.

So, he makes a promise. He won’t show you the Shinazugawa who belongs to the Corps; a formidable member of the Hashira, known because of the things he can do to others to make sure they pay their debts. What he does to them when they don’t.

With you, he wants to be Sanemi; only Sanemi.

And so it goes, for the better part of a year, the two of you learning one another, pretending the ease you feel in the company of the other is merely the product of two people relieved to find a friend in a city that cautions against such ties, and not something in danger of becoming more.

As though the metamorphosis hasn’t already set in.

—

“You never told me what your dream was, y’know.” Sanemi says one night while you finish up inventory at the store.

“What dream?” You hum as you scan the shelves reserved for non-fiction releases, your lips pressed into a firm line as you run your pen down the entries of your log.

He leans against the bookshelf, arms folded across the considerable mass of his chest. “Your big dream — the one you bit my head off for insulting that one time.”

You look up long enough to roll your eyes at him. “Where’s this coming from?”

“Dunno. Curious.”

“Thought you’re not supposed to ask questions in your line of work.” And you shoot him a sly grin. “You ought to be careful.”

Sanemi snorts but he nudges your foot with his. “I’m serious.”

Your eyes dance back and forth between him and the log before you. There’s no real harm in it, you decide. After all, he’s the only friend you have. “I want my own bookstore.”

“Yeah?” He raises a pale brow and waves his hand vaguely around behind him. “Aren’t you practically running this one? That ain’t enough?”

“I don’t own it, though.” You frown, setting your clipboard down. “I just work here. You’ve seen my paycheck.”

And he had, having found a paystub when he’d gone snooping under your counter. You would’ve been furious at his invasion of your privacy had you not been so mortified at the way he’d stared in horror at the pitiful figure reflecting your earnings after two, grueling weeks of work.

His insistence on bringing you meals at any and every opportunity afterward only compounded your embarrassment.

“I want something that’s mine — that I own.” You continue. “I’ve begged the owner to let me organize author meet-and-greets as a way to promote the store for months, and he always says no. If I owned my own store, I wouldn’t need anyone’s permission.”

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth. “I wouldn’t have to live under anyone’s thumb.”

Something shifts in the way Sanemi watches you, a certain profundity creeping into his eyes.

Your cheeks heat. “I know it sounds stupid —“

“It doesn’t,” Sanemi says earnestly. “Wanting your freedom can never be stupid.”

You soften then, as understanding passes between you. Of course he would know all about that — arguably better than anyone you know.

Sanemi clears his throat. “So, a bookstore?” And he gives you a broad smile as he pulls out his wallet and tosses you a twenty dollar note. “Consider me your first investor.”

—

Sanemi spends the rest of the evening watching you work, fascinated by the way you meticulously organize your store shelves, and count the cash in your register. When it comes time for you to heave boxes of excess inventory to the back storeroom so they can be shipped back to their distributors, Sanemi plucks them from your hands, batting off your protests as he carries them for you.

By the time closing arrives, every new shipment has been unpacked and its contents have been shelved.

You flick off the overhead lights in the main store, relying on the backlight of the exit door to light your way out. You tug on your coat and find him watching you, expectantly. “Are you walking me home?”

“Tch. Don’t I always, when I can?”

You grin and it’s enough to chase away some of the sourness twisting in his gut. He shouldn’t do it, as often as he does. He’s risking enough as it is by constantly redrawing the lines around Rule Three to justify the way he’s beginning to bend the parameters around the rule against patterns. But it’s dark and late, and you don’t have a car, and he’ll be damned if he lets you brave the walk home alone.

Better he’s there to protect you from the dangers he can anticipate and see than to stick to his code and risk your harm from those he cannot.

Thankfully, the journey back to your apartment takes no more than fifteen minutes, even when he stops to thumb free a cigarette from the spare carton he keeps tucked in his jacket. You wrinkle your nose at him in mock-disgust as he lights it, the smoke curling out of his mouth reminiscent of a fire-breathing dragon.

He wouldn’t do it if he knew it truly bothered you. But you’d once shyly confessed you liked the faint smell of tobacco that clung to his jacket, especially in cold air like this. So he only shoots you a wink as he brings it to his lips and takes a long drag.

Besides, he thinks as he looses a slow exhale. He needs something to help him take the edge off; to guide him in making that transition between Hashira and Sanemi.

He escorts you all the way to your front door, the two of you trading quips and jokes. And Sanemi savors how utterly extraordinary something as ordinary as walking you to your door feels. Almost as if he’s ordinary, the way he so desperately wishes he could be.

You fidget with your keys, sliding them into your lock. “Did you finish that series I recommended?”

Sanemi grins. “Last night. I think it was your best suggestion yet.”

You duck your head, a bashful smile spreading across your pretty lips and its sight fills him with a golden warmth.

Your door gives way and you turn back to him. “‘Til next time?”

It was what you always said; you never asked him when you could expect to see him again, and he appreciated it. Appreciated not having to explain himself, when most outside his world would likely demand he try.

“‘Til next time,” he confirms, returning your smile with one of his own.

You hover in your doorway, fingers drumming on the frame, eyes roaming his.

“You never told me yours — what your dream is.”

He should leave. You’re treading in murky waters, ones made dangerous because he almost wants to tell you — tell you the truth, at that.

That he dreams of more. More life. More stability. More everything. He’d settle for anything, really; anything at all.

As long as it was more than this.

But Sanemi only responds with a wry grin. “To wake up in the morning, Princess. That’s all I can ask for.”

———

Sanemi’s answer lingers with you long after you emerge from your shower, warm and toweling your damp hair.

To wake up in the morning, Princess.

He’s full of shit and you know it.

Over the course of the last year, you’ve learned a handful of crucial details that make up Sanemi Shinazugawa.

You’ve learned he loves matcha, but he really loves the expensive kind. While you can’t afford to buy the high quality powder, you make do with what you can afford at the grocery, and you make it for him as often as you can.

He drinks it every time, bitter dregs and all.

More importantly, you’ve learned what it means to have a friend involved in the Corps. Not that he’s merely involved with the notorious gang — at least, not any more than the two of you are just “friends.”

Town gossip aside, Sanemi’s affiliation with the Corps is made obvious by his own actions. Like the way the two of you only ever hang out at the bookstore or your apartment; how he never invites you to visit his place, over in the Silo.

Or how he insists on scoping out your apartment every time he comes over, his eyes alert and sharp as his hand lingers at his hip, ready to pull out the gun you know he keeps tucked into his waistband at all times.

It’s evident in the way Sanemi never sticks to a consistent schedule. He varies the days and times of his visits at random, never allowing himself to settle into a routine, even if that means going an entire week or longer without seeing you.

But perhaps the most significant detail you’ve learned about Sanemi over the year of your friendship is this:

He wants out. Dreams of it, even.

This revelation does not come from the scarred Hashira himself. It is the product of months of observation, of studying how his face darkens when his phone pings! while you’re watching some sitcom on television, or when he sees a familiar face pass by your shop window, and suddenly he has to leave because he must be Shinazugawa again, and you won’t see him for the rest of the day.

It is evident in the way he talks of his younger brother, who, by all accounts is a star student and athlete, with a promising future in collegiate archery.

Sanemi is saving every penny he can to send his brother — Genya — to school, far, far away from the Silo. The conviction with which he speaks of Genya’s future, full of college and internships and promise, breaks your heart, because you know Sanemi hadn’t anyone to want those things for him.

Sanemi does not speak of any future of his. You suspect it’s because he doesn’t believe he will have one.

That has to be why he answered your question with his vague desire to wake up every morning. It was an easy answer. One that relied on you making certain connections between his life and his words and deduce that he truly had nothing more to live for other than life itself.

A cop-out, is what it is.

But his reading habits betray his darkest secret — betray the truth — and that’s exactly how you know his flippant answer is utter bullshit.

The book Sanemi carries around the most is a series of classic fairy tales, bought off your sale table a few months back. He’s read the whole thing cover to cover, but he keeps a bookmark on one specific page, and periodically, you catch him flipping back to it.

He made the mistake of leaving the book on your coffee table one night when he excused himself to use your bathroom. Realistically, you knew it was no big deal to flip through it, but somehow, the thought still felt like an invasion of his privacy.

But your curiosity got the better of you so you snatched it up, and thumb quickly to the bookmarked page, desperate to know which story has so captivated him.

You opened to the first page of of a tale — an old French story, about the daughter of a merchant who is sent to life with a beast in a distant castle, as penance for his theft of the beast’s rose.

You smiled to yourself; you were familiar with the story. You know how it goes — the beast everyone believes to be the villain is saved by the woman, and revealed to be a handsome prince. And the two live happily ever after.

Your smile faded as you recalled how the woman saved her Beast. True love’s kiss, or something along those lines.

True love.

And as Sanemi returned from the bathroom and plopped down next to you on your couch to watch a rerun of some old sitcom before he has to leave for the night, you mulled over Sanemi’s apparent fascination with the tale of the beast and the beauty.

And that’s how you drew the series of conclusions which enabled you to see right through his thin facade.

He wants out.

He wants a happily ever after. He doesn’t think he’ll get it.

And, above all, he dreams of love.

—

If any doubt lingered as to the magnitude of his ties to the Corps, it disintegrates one night, about eight months after he’d first burst into your bookstore.

It is well after midnight, but you are still awake, too engrossed in a new fantasy novel to pay particular attention to the lateness of the hour when your phone buzzes on your bedside table.

Sanemi’s name lingers above the notification, which reads simply, Outside.

You untangle yourself from your blankets and pad over to your front door, hastily tugging on a pair of sleep boxers over your underwear.

You open the door and the flutter of excitement you’d felt upon seeing his text is chased away by shock at the sight before you.

There is a bruise forming along Sanemi’s cheek that you almost would have mistaken for dirt if not for the swelling. His hair is rumpled, his clothes in disarray. Though it winks away the second he sets his gaze on you, you swear you were able a cold fury in his eyes; foreign, and violent.

The fury that belongs to a Hashira, not to the friend you know.

Wordlessly, you step back and allow him to limp past you.

“You got liniment?” He rasps, plopping heavily down in your kitchen chair. “And water?”

“You mean icy-hot?” You’re already filling a glass from the tap that you set on the table next to him before you retreat to your bathroom to rummage the cabinets.

You return a few moments later, tub of minty topical gel clutched in hand. You nearly drop it when you realize that Sanemi has stripped himself of his shirt already and is now bare from the waist-up, his forehead resting against his arms where they’re propped up on the back of your chair.

You’ve known for a long while that Sanemi is well-built (obscenely so).

Once, in the early days of your friendship, you’d snapped at him to button his shirt properly if he insisted on hanging around your store, dramatizing over how obscene it was for him to prance around with his chest half-exposed.

Sanemi had only grinned at you before he unbuttoned two more, revealing a generous glimpse of infuriatingly toned abs. Your open-mouthed, scandalized stare was met only with a wink.

He kept his shirt like that for the remainder of the day. You’d hardly been able to look at him without flushing a deep scarlet that only seemed to inflate his already generous ego even further.

But, you’re only human. And as the months passed by, and your friendship with the scarred mobster grew, you found yourself sneaking the odd peek every now and then. A glimpse of pectoral here; a hint of his rigid v-line when he stretched his arms over his head there.

And now, here he is, sitting in your small kitchen area awaiting the relief of the icy hot clutched in the tub that grew more slippery between your rapidly sweaty palms, every mouth watering inch of his upper body on display.

Beautiful. Your mouth goes dry at the sight of him. Sanemi is unbelievably beautiful.

“Need ya to rub it into my shoulder, if you don’t mind,” his voice is muffled against his arm. “I hate asking, but I dislocated the damn thing and had to reset it — fuckin’ hurts, now.”

You know better than to suggest he go get an x-ray. No hospitals, he’d once explained. Not unless you’re bleeding out.

You also know better than to ask how he dislocated it, and so you only pad silently over to him, grateful he’s turned away from you so he cannot see the tremble in your hands or the blush creeping across your cheeks.

Eager to give yourself something to do besides ogling, you focus on unscrewing the lid on the jar of liniment, your nose wrinkling under the burn of its stringent odor. You scoop a generous amount of the salve into your palms and warm it between your hands.

“Motherfucker,” Sanemi hisses as your hands spread gently across his shoulder, your fingers gingerly massaging the topical into his swollen joint. “Shit stings.”

“You’re lucky it’s not broken,” you chide, carefully prodding along the joint in search of anything that may be amiss — an odd lump or gap, signaling something hasn’t been reset properly. “At least, I don’t think it is.”

“Your medical expertise is astounding,” Sanemi drolls, but he winces again as your fingers press against a particularly tender spot. You step away from him with a huff and fish your phone out of your pocket, hands still slathered with ointment.

“I’m not a doctor,” you shoot back. “And since you refuse to go see one, the best I can do it give you the advice of the internet.”

You ignore his grumblings as you search for treatments for dislocated joints. You tap on the first link that appears and scroll, eyes narrowed as you read.

“You’re in luck. It seems like you won’t die,” you say dryly. “But you’re going to have a nasty bruise.” You purse your lips, eyes scanning the article on your phone. “And this says you’re supposed to rest — not overexert the joint.” You reach to tug playfully on a lock of his hair. “I don’t suppose you’re actually going to do that, though.”

He twists and flashes you a mischievous smirk over his shoulder. “You know me too well, Princess.”

You roll your eyes and snort, tossing your phone onto your table in favor of reaching for a discarded kitchen towel to wipe off the excess icy hot from your hands.

You’re about to tell him to put his shirt back on and stop flaunting the muscles he just can’t seem to help but show everyone he has when your eyes snag on a mark that rests squarely between his shoulder blades.

You wouldn’t have noticed it but for the shiny redness surrounding it, a clear contrast to the rest of his skin. But the longer your stare at it, the more clear its abnormality. The mark is puffy and raised, but there’s a distinct pattern to it that makes the hair on the back of your neck curl.

A brand, you realize with horror. Someone has branded him like cattle.

Your finger reaches to trace over the ridges seared into his skin before you can think the better of it. Sanemi twitches under your touch, a small shudder skirting down his spine as he tilts his head back toward you.

“Ugly, ain’t it?” His tone is unreadable. “Like a collar, ‘cept it’s permanent.”

Though he tends to err on the side of caution when it comes to discussing the Corps, you at least know what is role is within it. He told you: debt collector. Mostly monetary debts.

But the brand has nothing to do with money. No, the symbol burned into his skin — the one that stands for Kill — is a neon sign of a reminder that Sanemi’s duties can and do entail another kind of collection.

A chill snakes down your spine. You’d had your suspicions, of course, you’re not stupid. But seeing it confirmed by a brand of all things is a lightning rod through your chest.

Sanemi must sense your stare against his back, and you hear his rueful smile though you can’t see his face. “Guess it’s fitting, since I’m their dog.”

There it is; confirmation of what he is, as though it were possible to forget. You don’t know why you’d held out in letting its weight settle over you. Nor do you know why your brain had refused, for a moment, to reconcile the Sanemi who brought cheap beer and greasy fast food to your apartment for a night of trash television and book reviews with the one before you now, branded with inexorable reminder of what his duties are when he steps outside and debts go unpaid; when scores go uneven.

Your eyes slide to his gun, resting atop your table. It may has well have been smoking.

“It’s barbaric,” you murmur. You never offer much of an opinion on the tidbits of information about his life he shares with you, unwilling to make him feel as though you aren’t someone he can confide in.

But the sight of the brand scorched between his shoulder blades stokes something ugly and angry within you. You’re grateful his back is to you so you can furtively rub your hand over your prickling eyes before he can see you do something stupid, like cry.

He tilts his head back until it rests against your abdomen. “Thank you,” he murmurs, his eyes drifting shut.

You freeze for a moment, your anger temporarily suspended against your uncertainty of whether you should step back or remain. You’ve touched Sanemi a thousand different ways — you’ve grabbed his arm, smacked him upside his thick head, and elbowed him more times than you can count.

But this; this is something far different from your teasing nudges of the past. This small gesture feels infinitely more tender. Gentle.

Intimate.

Sanemi has never not been the picture of cocky brashness, especially around you. His priggish smirk was a constant, only ever dampened by the occasional alert on his phone — the one that meant he had to stop being yours for the night, and go be theirs.

But this Sanemi? This peaceful, eased, vulnerable version of your best friend is wholly uncharted territory. And perhaps it’s because he looks so unguarded this way, his face relaxed and his eyes closed, that you feel so flustered.

You brush his hair away from his forehead. At the first graze of your fingers along his scalp, Sanemi leans further into you with something akin to a moan.

Hot; everything feels so damn hot, the air in your apartment suddenly too thick. Too oppressive.

Yet, you don’t stop; your fingers keep raking through his hair, surprisingly silky.

You think he may have fallen asleep in your chair, but after another moment of your hands carding through his hair, Sanemi stands. You step away instantly, and you avert your eyes while he pulls his shirt back over his head, cursing softly as he works it over his injured shoulder.

Sanemi turns to you and clears his throat roughly. “Thanks again. Don’t know what I would’ve done without ya.”

You wave him off with an exaggerated eye roll, eager to conceal the redness in your cheeks. “Oh please, I’m just your neighborhood book supplier and occasional first aid nurse.”

A sudden sobriety passes over his features, clouding over that all too familiar smirk with something heavier.

“No,” he murmurs and his hand absently lifts to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “No, you’re more than that.” His palm lingers against your cheek and his voice quiets to a hoarse whisper. “Much more.”

For a moment, you wonder if he’ll lean in; if he’ll show you whether his lips are as warm as his touch.

His eyes drop briefly to your mouth and your stomach somersaults at the thought he might be considering it, too. But the clouds part and Sanemi withdraws from you with an affection flick against the tip of your nose.

And then he turns and leaves.

You sink back against your door after you close it behind him and slide to your floor. You remain there for a long while after, your mind little more than a gnarled tangle of brambles you can’t begin to pick through. But even despite the complicated mess of thoughts and emotions knotted together in your head, one thing stands clear: you’d wanted to kiss him.

And for a moment, you swear he’d wanted to, as well.

An old rumor, one you hadn’t considered since your very first interaction with him, resurfaces in your mind. The one that had less to do with him in the Corps, and more so involved his activities outside of it.

The rumor that he cycles through the bodies he uses to warm his bed more frequently than you change the sheets on yours.

Your cheeks heat, and you shake your head to clear away the sudden, intrusive images of Sanemi tangled in the throes of passion with some faceless stranger that fill your imagination. You don’t care what those blasted rumors claim; you know him. And what’s more, you know that what you feel for him is stronger than anything you’ve ever felt toward anyone.

You’re in love with Sanemi.

It is his face you see at night before you fall asleep; it’s his touch you imagine in those secret moments in your bed or in the shower, when you’re desperate and aching.

It’s he who makes you feel most at ease; the one person you feel truly sees you, thinks you’re actually worth something.

You’ve never really known love before. But it’s because you’re such a novice that you know your feelings are true; powerful. You know what he is — what he thinks he is. And you know that you will never want anyone else; you can’t.

You won’t.

—

Three rules. That’s all he had to do, was follow three simple fucking rules.

Don’t speak. No patterns. And don’t get overly attached.

It had been easy, so easy, to follow them. If there was one thing Sanemi believed he could pride himself on, it had been his steadfast adherence to the Corps’ rules. Number three, in particular.

Until you. Until the day he’d chosen your bookstore to hide in.

Because that was when Sanemi decided that those rules were really more like guidelines; malleable. He’d let himself cast them aside out of a desperation for human connection. And he’d justified his carelessness by convincing himself that as long as he maintained some semblance compliance with the unspoken code of the Corps.

Sanemi had built his own set of rules around the foundation of his friendship with you, a wall of stone around the glass castle meant to ensure you would not be cut by its shards should it ever shatter.

He would not be your liability, nor would you be his.

But now, he’s too deep; Sanemi knows he’s gotten in way too fucking deep with you.

Until this moment, he imagined he’d managed to toe the line of this internal code that applied only to his relationship with you, save a handful of instances when he’d let himself blur it.

As it turns out, he’d been dead fucking wrong. Because he’s pretty sure you just asked him to cross the last major boundary he’d set for himself when it came to you.

So, Sanemi only gapes at you. “What?”

You huff, impatient. “I want you to fuck me.”

You say it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world — as though you haven’t just ripped the floor out from beneath him and sent him falling directly on his ass.

If he didn’t know you were dead serious, he would’ve laughed in your face. And that’s how he knows he’s fucked.

You’re a virgin; he knows that, because you’d drunkenly confessed it to him two weeks prior, tipsy on the cheap beer he’d brought over for your weekly movie night together.

Admittedly, he’d been surprised. You were beautiful — not that beauty was a requirement for a good fuck, but you didn’t seem the type to go for random hookups, unlike him. Still, he would’ve thought you’d had some prior relationship where the opportunity would have arisen.

As it turned out, you’d never been in a relationship, either.

Between long gulps of your drink, you’d asked him to fix it and he’d turned you down — his tolerance for watery beer far surpassed your own, and Sanemi Shinazugawa wasn’t the type to sleep with someone who couldn’t fully consent.

So he’d let you down — but not before he kissed you. It was only once; soft, the way you deserved to be kissed. His lips met yours and suddenly, the gaping hole in his chest felt smaller; fuller. Kissing you felt like coming home, even though Sanemi was sure he’d never fully known what home truly felt like.

And then he parted from you with an affectionate flick on your nose to cover the way his heart clenched at the visible disappointment in your eyes.

He’d boldly kissed you twice more after that night — one a quick, cheeky peck when you went in to hug him, an act done more to fluster you than to sate any desire of his, no matter how he craved more of you.

The other happened only three nights prior, and it was anything but soft and sweet.

One of Sanemi’s fellow Hashira, Kanae, hadn’t been seen in several days, and no one had been able to get in touch with her. When she’d missed a scheduled patrol of one of the neighborhoods in the Silo, he and another member, Iguro, had been sent to check on her.

They’d found her in the kitchen of the small home she’d shared with her two sisters with a hole in her head and her brains splattered across the floor.

Curled under the protective stretch of her limp arms, had been her two sisters, both bearing matching bullet wounds to their skulls.

Kizuki, most likely. They were the only ones brave enough to target someone as high ranked as Kanae.

Their blood had still been fresh, and the stench of decay and rot hadn’t yet set in, which only told them that the girls had been held for several days, forced to endure unknown horrors at the hands of their murderers.

He hadn’t been particularly close with the woman, but as his rank equal, she’d had his respect. But now she and her adolescent sisters were nothing more than smears of brain matter and skull fragments to be scraped off the linoleum of their kitchen floor and quietly buried. Forgotten.

The hours passed by in a blur once Kocho’s death was called into the higher-ups, and Sanemi didn’t remember cleaning up the scene anymore than he remembered the solitary trek back. His mind and his body disconnected, and he only snapped back to reality when he realized he was standing in front of your apartment, unsure of how or when he’d begun walking in its direction.

He knew he should turn around and go home; there was nothing you could do for him right then, he shouldn’t bother you —

His fist was pounding on your door before he could think better of it.

Despite the late hour, you’d greeted him with a broad smile and a shy hi. Your hair had been damp, and he could smell the floral sweetness of your shampoo still mixed with the steam from your shower as it spilled into the hall.

Safe; you were safe.

Your door had still been hanging wide open as Sanemi surged forward, trapping your face in his hands to crash his lips down against yours, his kiss heavy and hot.

You’d broken away long enough to ask, “S-Sanemi — what —?”

“Shut up,” he’d snarled, slanting his mouth back over yours, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip. He’d half expected you to shove him away, perhaps to even aim a knee right at his crotch, yet you’d only buried your fingers in his hair and tugged him closer.

He backed you up against the wall opposite of your entryway, though he’d moved his hand to cup the back of your head to keep it from banging against the exposed brick.

You moaned into the kiss and Sanemi lost whatever shred of sense he’d managed to cling onto. His tongue swept along your bottom lip, and the hand cupping the back of your head loosely pulled at your hair, tugging your head to the side and signaling you to open up — to let him in.

And you did. And the first brush of his tongue against yours as he licked into your mouth ignited an inferno within him that he did not know how to tame.

His hands pushed under your sweatshirt, seeking out the comforting warmth of your skin. Higher and higher they rose, until they came to rest against your ribs, and Sanemi realized you were bare — completely bare — beneath your hoodie.

That you’d allowed him to toe so dangerously close to a line neither of you could cross had clouded every bit of his judgment. The thought that he’d only have to move his hands mere centimeters to touch you in a way no other had before had sent him reeling, and his hips were beyond his control when they pinned yours against the wall and ground into you.

But your single gasp into his mouth broke the spell, and with more regret than Sanemi knew he should feel, he broke away, leaving you both breathless and panting.

Without a word, he’d turned around and stalked right back out of your apartment, closing your door firmly behind him.

He’d sent a text only a few minutes later — a single, ominous reminder to you to lock your door, deadbolt and all.

He hadn’t the stomach to explain his cryptic warning; not as the sight of Kocho remained burned into his retinas.

So, yes, he’s blurred a few lines when it comes to you. But those had only been kisses; heavy touching aside, he’d never allowed himself to go further than that.

No matter how much he wanted to.

And it’s because he knows he can’t cross this last line — can’t open you up to risk more than he already has, that he meets your expectant stare with a rueful smile.

“You’re better off asking someone else, Princess. You don’t want to get tangled up with someone like me.”

Never mind that you’re already tangled up with him — but he’s managed to uphold this last boundary, and Sanemi has convinced himself that as long as it remains in place, he can’t ruin you the way Kocho and her young sisters were ruined.

“I don’t want to ask someone else,” you fold your arms across your chest and cock your hip out, defiant. Normally, Sanemi finds your stubbornness endearing, if not adorable, but not now; not when you should know better.

A low growl of your name is his warning. “You don’t know what you’re asking —“

“It’s you I want. I don’t care what the rumors say, I don’t care what anyone thinks — including you.”

The sincerity in your eyes nearly scalds him. “And I am not asking as a friend. You and I both know this is more than that.”

He wants to throttle you. Not literally of course, he could never — but he wants to shake the sense you’re so clearly lacking back into you until you see; until you understand.

Of course he wants you. He has wanted you for months — so much so, he hardly can focus on anything else. And he’s pent up. He hasn’t had the stomach to fuck anyone else. Not since he began falling asleep and waking up to thoughts of you and your touch, of how you might look under or above him, wanton and desperate. Or how you might feel in his arms; on his tongue.

Really, it’s been quite a blow to his rather wild reputation throughout the Silo. But God knows he has tried to fill the you-shaped void in his heart, but nothing — no one — has come close.

More than anything, he wants you to be his, and for him to be yours. He longs to be the Sanemi who takes you out on dates, who kisses you freely without the compulsive need to check over his shoulder, to make sure there aren’t any enemies watching and plotting to strike him right where he’s weak. He wants to be the Sanemi you come home to after a long day at the bookstore. The one with whom you plan a future, utterly and completely yours.

But he can never be just Sanemi. He is nothing more than the property of the very organization he’s sworn allegiance to; the group whose brand he bears on his skin.

He is not good. He is a curse that will infect you, a poison to your life.

He will rot you from the inside, out.

His friendship with you is selfish. He knows that — he’s always known that, and yet he did not stop. It is selfish because he deluded himself into believing he could actually be someone else when he was with you. Someone worth befriending; perhaps someone worth a little more.

You were right to call him a thief, that day. All he does is take your time and affection when he knows damn well he won’t give you anything in return, no matter how he wishes he could.

Sanemi won’t label that thing he holds deep inside his heart which is formed in the shape of your name; not when it could so easily doom you both. But he knows his feelings for you are dangerous, and he cannot allow you to sniff them out.

Because if he does, then this only ends one or two ways: either he lets you in only for you to abandon him once you realize the truth of what he is, or you’re used as a weapon against him.

In either event, he loses you. So it is better to cut this off now, to force you away before either of you become more invested than you already are.

He will not hurt you, but neither will he allow himself to be hurt by you.

You take a step toward him, and the soft whisper of his name sounds like a holy prayer on your lips and that’s how he knows this is wrong.

Your obstinate refusal to recognize him for what he is is a needle digging into his skin, one that whittles away at every wall he has managed to build around his heart, that damnable, soft, dangerous thing that he will not allow you to find; he cannot.

You’re confusing your roles. He is the vulture and you are his prey, not the other way around. he is not here to give. He is here only to take, and you will let him and then he will leave.

And he will not be the carcass you pick clean only to discard once you’ve had your fill.

(A lie, but it’s one Sanemi almost believes. Almost.)

But Sanemi knows you; he knows you better than he knows anything else. You are a constant he has become far too dependent upon, and you are precious — far too precious to him to continue to indulging.

He knows you are too good, too loyal in your feelings to forget about him, even if he disappeared from your life entirely.

A clean break. it is the only thing that will force you to forget him and move on, find another, someone good and whole and not a broken, misshapen thing like him.

He will show you who he really is. He will show you that he could never be just Sanemi, and he sure as hell can’t ever be yours.

Better; you deserve better, so he will become worse.

He advances on you, his step heavy and imposing, and you have enough sense to scurry back from him. But he is too quick and soon he has you caged against the wall of your studio, literally backed into a corner.

“You want me?” He is scathing and he loathes himself for it, but he can’t stop. Not when he’s desperate to save you from the blight of himself.

You shouldn’t; you can’t.

But you nod, damn you. Wide-eyed, you nod and he resents the certainty reflected in your gaze.

His mouth twists into a cruel sneer. “You want to say you’ve had a taste of the lowlife, huh?“

Your eyebrows knit together. “Sanemi, that’s not —“

But he can’t stop his venom. “Bragging rights, that’s all you’re after, right? You want to be like one of the characters in your stories — the good girl who makes an honest man outta the good-for-nothing villain.”

“Stop it,” you bite, and your eyes harden. “You’re acting like an asshole.”

You’re angry. Good. Sanemi knows how to deal in anger.

“Hate to break it to ya, sweetheart, but I’m not acting like an asshole. I am one.”

Your hackles raise, and you step away from the wall and toward him, bold in your fury. “I know you want to believe you are, but you’re not —“

Sanemi’s hand shoots out to grab a fistful of your hair. “Is that so?” You yelp as he wrenches your head back, your neck straining. “Then maybe I oughta bend you over and fuck you like I would any other cheap whore. Then you can tell me what you think I am.”

Your eyes water as the grip in your hair tightens.

Good, he thinks savagely. Let you see the monster he truly was, let you know he was his bastard father’s son, and that he’d be no different, no different at all. He’s a brute, and you don’t want that, you don’t want him —

“You can do whatever it is you want,” you manage, you throat tight. And Sanemi’s eyes blow wide at the soft, watery smile that forms on your lips despite the tears that escape the corners of your eyes. “Do to me what you like; I don’t mind, as long as it’s you.”

All at once, his ire with you and your bewildering devotion to him melts away, leaving nothing behind but a deep well of guilt, bitter and acerbic.

It isn’t that you think he might take you forcefully and harshly; after all, he’s only shown you he’s entirely capable of doing so.

It’s that you would let him. Without a shred of doubt, he knows you would offer yourself to him to use however he wants, and that you’d do it with a smile not unlike the one you’re wearing right now, soft and earnest.

Fuck, you just did.

And it’s that realization that has Sanemi’s hand loosening from your hair, his eyes softening. An errant tear escapes down your cheek and he moves to brush it away, but you close your eyes the moment you spy his knuckle nearing your face.

You do not flinch, but you are steeling yourself in anticipation of expected cruelty, and the front he’s put forth crumbles to dust.

He is a monster, but not for the reasons he’s used to justify this ugly display of his. He’s a monster because he has made you believe that this treatment is acceptable — an unavoidable cost of intimacy, no matter how fleeting.

Worse, he’s done the one thing he’d sworn never to do to any woman, let alone someone as good and as dear as you.

He’d only wanted to disgust you; enrage you, so that you would kick him out of both your apartment and your life, right out on his sorry ass like he deserved.

But this is worse. He has frightened you.

He recoils from you like a kicked dog. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

He stands awkwardly as you stare at him, wide-eyed and uncertain, and each second that ticks silently by only amplifies the oily well of guilt in his stomach.

He clears his throat. “I’ll go,” he says roughly, too ashamed to meet your eyes. “‘M sorry, I didn’t —“

Your hand grabs his bicep, anchoring him in place. “I want you to stay.”

“You don’t owe me anything —“

“It’s not about owing you,” you interject, lifting your hands to take his face between your palms. “I want you. I want this.”

You prove your point by taking his hand and guiding it to your waist. You hold it there, mouth set in a determined line as you inch closer to him.

“You deserve someone else,” Sanemi can’t stop the admission from rolling off his tongue. “Better.”

But you’re already shaking your head, as though you somehow know different. “There is no one better; I only want you.”

Idiot, he thinks as you rise up on your tiptoes, your arms winding around his shoulders as the distance between your bodies grows narrower. You’re an idiot.

You can’t possibly believe he’s as good as it gets. He’s used you as a distraction this whole time, a chance to forget the things he’s done and what he’ll be required to do in the future. Surely, you must know that.

He will hurt you; it’s in his nature. It’s unavoidable. He can’t be what you deserve.

But then your lips brush gently against his and the last of his resolve crumbles.

Sanemi melts into your kiss. He brings one hand to cradle the side of your face as the one braced against your waist shorts, until he wraps his arms around you and tugs you closer to him.

This kiss is gentle in every way the last was not. Sanemi’s lips are soft moving against yours, his hands almost hesitant in how they hold you. For a moment, he imagines himself not as the selfish, hard brute he knows he is, but instead as the gentle, giving lover he wants so desperately to be. One who is worthy of someone as kind and vibrant as you, and not the trash you’d be better off leaving out on the street.

The tentativeness with which he kisses you tempers some as his tongue flicks out against your bottom lip. You answer his silent request with enthusiasm, your fingers burying themselves in his hair as you haul yourself closer. The moment Sanemi’s tongue sweeps into your waiting mouth, you buckle against him with the sweetest sigh he’s ever heard. One of pure relief, as though you’d been burning and he was your balm.

Ironic, considering he’s only adding gasoline to this fire between you.

But there’s nothing he can do now except allow the flames to consume you both.

Soon, the shy curiosity with which he explores your mouth gives way to a mutual hunger, evident by how he feels as though he’s boiling alive while you gasp and sigh into him, your fingers tugging pleadingly at his hair.

You want more, and he needs you, too.

His nose nuzzles against yours as he bends down, his hands running along the bare expanse of your legs. The ground beneath your feet disappears as Sanemi gathers you up easily into his arms.

One of your arms is looped around his neck while your other hand cups his face, turning it toward yours as he carries you to your bed. Your thumb smooths absently over the scar that cuts across his cheek and then your lips seek out his once more. His kiss is as gentle as the hand squeezing your waist, his fingers slotting into the gap between your sweatshirt and the top of your sleep shorts, stroking your skin.

He lays you out upon your mattress, grateful you’d at least purchased a full bed rather than some shitty twin. Your hands untangle themselves from his hair and instead seek out the waistband of your sleep shorts, but Sanemi covers them with his, halting you.

“Don’t,” he murmurs between quick, messy kisses. “Let me — please.”

Before you can respond, Sanemi sits back and grabs a fistful of his own shirt, yanking it over his head.

Your pupils blow wide at the sight of him and he feels himself hesitate. Sanemi has always felt an easy self confidence when it came to stripping in front of his partners for the night. He’d always been quite proud of his physique, relying on his considerable muscles to mask his deep loathing of his scars.

But in front of you, all sense of self-assuredness goes flying out the window, and suddenly he feels too exposed. His eyes drop to scour the planes of his chest — have his scars always been this prominent? This thick?

“Holy shit,” your soft sigh snaps his attention away from the howling inside his head. For one, petrifying moment, he thinks that you are as disgusted with his body as he is, but then he sees the pink flush staining your cheeks.

Your eyes roam hungrily over him and your tongue darts out to wet your lips. You meet his gaze and your pupils are blown wide with desire — rich, hot need for him.

Your voice is little more than a sultry whisper. “Come here.”

He moves eagerly to cover your body with his, his hair rumpled and his eyes bright as his lips press hurriedly against yours. Your hands smooth over his pectorals and tease down his abdomen until he’s panting, but the moment your nails rake along the skin on either side of his navel, Sanemi moans.

More. He needs more.

He hauls you up from the bed, straddling you across his lap, his hands notched behind your knees as they press into the mattress. You reconnect your lips in a heated kiss, one hand playing with the ends of his snowy hair, the other dropping down his back, settling over the brand seared between his shoulder blades. Covering it.

Yes, he thinks as he nips your bottom lip, urging your mouth to open so he can slide his tongue in to dance with yours. Yes, this is fitting. Because in his ideal world, his life with you would come before any other — including his with the Corps.

Sanemi’s lips begin trailing hotly down your jaw, pausing when he reaches your neck. He finds a particularly sensitive spot with a nip of his teeth that he soothes with his tongue, and he hums in approval at the faint, breathy whimpers that squeak past your lips as you tilt your head, offering more of yourself to him.

The ache burgeoning in his groin in response to your display is enough to drive him insane; he has never wanted anything in his life as badly as he wants this — you.

As his mouth continues its heated path, his hands find the hem of your hoodie. With a gentleness that surprises even him, Sanemi begins charting your skin with his fingers. With every new plane of your body he explores, he pushes your sweatshirt up, up, up, until he guides it over your head.

He tosses it to the side, not caring for where it lands. His attention is focused solely on you as you fall back against your bed, now bare from the waist up.

“Beautiful,” he marvels, eyes running over the slope of your shoulder and tracing the curve of your breasts. “So fuckin’ beautiful.”

He savors every hitched breath, every chill that ripples over your skin as he explores your body with his mouth and hands. Over the years, Sanemi has become well acquainted with the magic of the female body. He’s always liked how soft women were compared to him. He isn’t a picky man; he’ll celebrate them all, regardless of their shape or size.

But you? Celebration isn’t enough; you deserve nothing less than outright worship.

“You feel so damn good,” he mutters against your breast before closing his lips over your nipple and sucking hard. You bow off the bed with a keening moan that gutters out into something more ragged as his hand covers the other, pinching and rolling your stiffened bud between his fingers.

He could spend all night like this, lavishing your soft mounds with his mouth. But Sanemi knows that won’t be enough to satisfy the hunger gnawing at both of you, so with a tinge of regret, he forces himself to move on, descending your body in alternating kisses and nips.

He reaches the waistband of your shorts and his eyes flash to yours as he tugs on it with his teeth. The hot exhale of his breath below your navel sends goosebumps across your skin. Sanemi’s fingers inch below the hem of your shorts until he loops his hands around the waistband, and he yanks them down your legs in a single, fluid motion.

His eyes rake down your body, taking in every beautiful inch. A blush forms on his cheeks as he realizes all that separates you from him is your simple pair of black underwear.

He sits back, eager to join your near-nudity. His hands are quick, if not a little clumsy, as he finds his belt buckle. The instant the metal clicks and the leather around his hips loosens, Sanemi shoves off his pants, eagerly kicking them off your bed until he is left in nothing but his briefs.

Your eyes fall to where the evidence of his desire protrudes stiffly from between his legs. Sanemi watches your throat pulse as you try to stifle your small gulp, your thighs tensing beneath him in an effort to press together.

He can sense your nerves; can see by the way your eyes dart anxiously between his and the rigid tent in his briefs.

With a gentle smile, Sanemi leans in and soothes your unease with his lips. “We’ll take it as slow as you want. I’m not in any rush.”

“N-now?” You murmur between kisses, and he nearly seizes at the hesitant, questioning brush of your fingers against the underside of his shaft.

“Not yet,” he groans against your mouth. “I gotta make sure you’re ready first.”

“I am ready -“

“Not like that,” he cuts off your protest by ghosting his fingers up the covered seam of you. Sanemi circles his finger around where he thinks your clit is, and he smirks when your head tips back against your pillow, your mouth widening in a silent o.

“Found you,” he croons, repeating the movement again until your legs begin to twitch beneath him.

He makes quick work of your underwear, tossing them over the side of your bed without much thought. The sight of you bare beneath him nearly stops his heart dead in his chest. His eyes drop to the neat thatch of curls resting at the apex of your thighs, and his mouth waters.

You blush under the intensity of his appreciative stare, and your legs twitch, as though you mean to close them.

A hand sliding between your thighs restrains you from doing so. “Uh-uh,” he tuts. “Can’t hide from me now, sweetheart’.”

He smooths his hand down the length of your leg until it hovers just outside where he’s most eager to explore. The heat radiating from sends his pulse skyrocketing.

One, tentative finger circles your entrance, testing. Sanemi leans in to capture your lips with his as he pushes in, swallowing your soft gasp with his tongue that he slides into your parted mouth.

A moan vibrates in his chest in time with a faint whimper that sounds in the back of your throat as Sanemi begins exploring you. You’re tight; almost impossibly so, clenching and pulsing around the single finger he gradually sinks inside you, pushing deeper with every gentle pump of his hand.

The thought of your tight, wet heat constricting around the aching length of him just as you were around his finger makes him dizzy with want.

He won’t go down on you, he decides. Not tonight. Not when he’s throbbing this badly after just a couple of fingers; not when your breasts are so plush and soft pressed against his chest where you’re already arcing up into him, sending his mind wild with thoughts of how you’ll move under him; how you’ll moan.

His lips are hot against your neck, trailing down past your collarbone. Left behind are a series of purplish-maroon whorls blooming beneath his mouth, your skin quickly becoming a tapestry for him to display how badly he wants this. You.

You cling to him, one hand buried in his hair, pulling and tugging at him as the other clutches wildly at his shoulder, your fingers digging hard into his muscles. Your teeth are buried into your bottom lip in an effort to stifle your whimpers, but a needy whine slips out as Sanemi sucks one, soft breast into his mouth, his tongue flicking out across your pert nipple.

Another finger slides into your entrance as his thumb works your clit, and before long, you’re vibrating beneath him, unrestrained in how you moan and cry out for him so beautifully.

“Sanemi! I think — oh, I think I’m -“ but then he crooks his fingers, brushing against a rough spot deep within you that makes you writhe. You thrash back hard against the bed, your hips grinding against his hand with abandon.

He smothers a curse into your skin. You’re close and he knows it; can feel it in the way your walls flutter and pulse around him. And as desperate as he is to study how you fall apart, it’s too soon.

“Not yet,” he pants against your breast, circling your nipple with his tongue before imparting a final nip at the soft flesh and drawing back.

Remorseful, he pulls his fingers away from you, leaving you panting and flushed under him. But the hot, searing flames of desire burning beneath his skin intensify still, as he takes your hand and guides it between your legs.

“There. Feel how wet you are?” His voice is husky with want. You peer up at him through heavily lidded eyes as you nod, a whimper vibrating in your throat as Sanemi grinds your hand against your sensitive flesh.

“For you,” your voice is syrupy and warm, and damn if Sanemi doesn’t feel like he could get drunk on it. “It’s all for you.”

His tone sharpens into something possessive; hungry. “That’s right,” and he pushes your hand firmly against your clit and rotates it, eliciting a deep moan from you. “Because you’re mine.“

It’s not fair. But he wants to pretend like it’s true, if only for a while.

Once your fingers are sufficiently shiny with your own wetness, he brings your hand to his mouth, his tongue peeking out from between his lips. Slowly and languidly, he drags it up the side of your digits, and his eyes burn into yours as he slides your fingers into his mouth and sucks them clean.

It takes everything in him not to moan at the sweet taste of you that floods his tongue.

He’d made the right decision in not going down on you. If he had, he’d never be able to pull away; not until his face had become so adorned with your essence that he could not comprehend anything that wasn’t you. Not until you were trembling under him and begging for a break.

The first time you cum will be on him; with him. So as much as it pains him, he resists your temptation.

But not before you know; not before you understand exactly how wild you drive him. How much you threaten his sanity.

“Jesus Christ,” he rasps as he pulls your hand away from his mouth. “Here.”

His hand his gentle but firm as he grips your chin, squeezing your jaw until your mouth parts. The question in your gaze dissolves, your eyes instead rolling back into your head, as Sanemi slides the two fingers he’d just had between your thighs, still covered in your wetness, past your lips.

“Go on,” he orders, his other hand brushing your hair from your face. “Taste how fuckin’ perfect you are.”

The moan that slips free from your lips is one he wishes he could bottle up as your tongue caresses his fingers, your cheeks hollowing so fucking perfectly around him as you dutifully clean yourself from him.

Fuck, you’re trying to kill him.

But some of the burning he feels ebbs as the sobering weight of what’s to come settles over him; the magnitude of what he is about to do. Because no matter what happens after, nothing between you will be the same. Whatever else you are after tonight — whether that’s something or nothing — you will never be just friends again.

Sanemi supposes the punishment fits his crime; this is what he gets for getting in too deep with you, even if it means losing you entirely.

He chases away those thoughts by running his hands down your sides before he pulls back, leaving you in favor of shucking his briefs down his thighs.

Finally bare, he’s quick to drape his body over yours once more, his hands smoothing up and down your sides, unable to quench his need to feel your skin against his. But a foreign uncertainty stills him, and his eyes flash to yours, hesitant.

“Are you sure?”

You answer only by reaching to grip the back of his neck, tugging him down to meet your lips, your kiss feverish and urgent.

He doesn’t have a condom but he’s in too deep now to stop. In a way, what is about to happen is new to him as well. He’s never fucked anyone raw before. No matter who he’d had in his bed, no matter how much they begged him or assured him they were on birth control, he’d always been sure to have protection on hand.

Children are a gift, but he’d be damned if anyone tried to come after him and demand he raise one in his fucked up world. Either Sanemi got out or he never became a parent; there was no middle ground.

But once again, he is blurring boundaries where you were concerned, and Sanemi doesn’t think he knows how to stop himself from having the full taste in the indulgence that was you.

“It might hurt a moment,” he admits against your mouth, his voice raspy. “But I promise I’ll be gentle — as gentle as I can.”

You stretch to kiss him again, your lips soft and warm and everything he loves. “I trust you.”

You shouldn’t, he wants to say. You shouldn’t, and you should run far away from this — from me.

But Sanemi knows you won’t just as much as he knows he doesn’t have it in him to try and chase you away, and so he only kisses you back, slow and indulgent.

He breaks away from you with a soft groan and sits up on his knees. His back straight, Sanemi’s hands curl around your hips and he tugs you forward until your backside is flush against his thighs.

The heat radiating from you pulls him in like a magnet as he lines the tip of his cock up with your entrance. A vein above his brow ticks, the only outward sign of the battle raging within him as his self restraint wars with his tantalizing urge to impale you on the thick, throbbing length of him, desperate for the sweet relief only your body can give.

Every inch of him trembles as Sanemi presses his hips forward. “Fuck,” he exhales shakily, pushing his tip past your entrance. “Fuck.”

His head falls back and the muscles in his throat strain. Some small, needy sound leaves him and the fingers on your hip tighten nearly to the point of pain.

The noise registers in the back of your mind, and vaguely, you recognize it as a whimper. You wonder whether he makes that sound for the others; somehow you doubt it, given that he does it again, only now in the shape of your name.

The rumors always said he never asked for names; he was a one-and-done kind of man. A great fuck, but not someone to go to if you were looking for comfort; softness.

Once again, Sanemi is nothing but a collection of contradictions, especially where you’re concerned.

Sanemi hisses as he slowly eases into you. Despite your wetness, you’re impossibly tight, and your body is a live wire hell bent on pushing out his intrusion.

With a deep groan, he falls forward, one arm shooting out to land near your head to catch himself before he can crash into you. His weight carefully braced above you, Sanemi shifts, widening the stance of his knees. Your legs slide up his waist, locking at your ankles at the base of his spine.

His cock is barely a quarter of the way inside your heat when he pulls out. A whine of protest mounts in your throat, but it quickly flickers out when he presses his leaking tip to your clit and grinds. A soft moan slips out of you when he repeats the movement again, and your thighs widen, your hips tilting up to allow him easier access.

Sanemi circles the head of his cock once more against your sensitive nub, coating himself in more of your sticky wetness, before he slides back into your entrance. This time, your body parts more easily around him, sucking him in rather than trying to squeeze him out.

“There you go, that’s it,” his breath is hot against your ear, his lips trailing silkily across your jaw. “That’s my girl.”

Halfway in, Sanemi brushes against that thin barrier that separates him from the rest of you, and he stills.

He pulls his head back from your neck, and moves his hand out from between your legs to cup your cheek.

“Ready?” His thumb strokes over your cheekbone, tender and soft.

There is a tightness building in your abdomen, a foreign pressure that isn’t entirely unwelcome, but neither is it wholly comfortable. You brace a hand at your side, balling your sheets into your fist as you steady yourself, flushed and panting beneath the scar speckled man holding rigidly still above you.

Your eyes flick up once, and you see the tightness in his jaw; the tremble in his limbs as he fights against the urge to relief the friction mounting where you are joined.

You swallow around the lump of anticipation lodged in your throat. Your breath is shaky, but at last, you manage a single “Please.”

With a groan, he grips himself around his base and slowly, he presses forward. There is a sharp prick that shoots deep in your lower abdomen as Sanemi surges past that thin inner wall.

You cannot stop your cry of discomfort from ringing out anymore than you can stop the surprised tears which escape the corners of your eyes as the sharp pain between your legs intensifies.

But then Sanemi’s lips are there, kissing away your tears, and the hand he’d used to guide himself into your body skims along the outside of your thigh, hiking your leg higher up his waist before it drops to rub gentle circles into your hip.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs between soothing caresses of his lips against your cheeks and across your eyelids. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

He coos his string of apologies as his cock continues to push into you. On and on he sinks, his length endless, and you begin to think your body will split in two before you find the end of his.

Just before you reach your limit, Sanemi stills, fully embedded in your heat. He pants through gritted teeth, his jaw locked against the way you’re constricting around him so tightly it’s nearly painful.

It’s unreal; not only does Sanemi realize how much fucking better sex feels without the restriction of a condom, but he’s also bashed over the head with the realization that you were made for him. For nothing, no one has ever felt as incredible as you.

Nothing in his life has ever felt so right.

Sanemi has always been someone who fucks fast and hard. He’d had no objective other than to escape for a few, blissful moments in the body of another as he pretended not to feel the hollowness in his chest, or the throb of his own self-loathing.

With you, however, he wants nothing more than to relish every movement of your body against his, to savor your every gasp and sigh; to learn what makes you lose control.

You are no temporary distraction; he wants to know you.

He drops his forehead against yours and waits, allowing you to adjust to the intrusion of him.

He trails his lips across your collar bone and down to the twin swells of your breasts, sucking softly at your plush skin as you fidget and squirm beneath him. One broad hand skirts down the outside of your thigh until he finds your knee, and gently he guides your leg around his hips. The other he leaves relaxed against the bed, your foot resting somewhere against his calf.

When your eyes flutter open and find his, he knows you’re ready. So he moves his arm out from between your bodies and winds it instead around your waist, deepening the arch in your back until his chest is flush with yours.

His lips press to your forehead, a silent warning that he is about to move.

And then Sanemi begins molding your body to the shape of his.

He starts slow. He doesn’t withdraw far from you, instead focusing on rolling his hips against yours. Each churn of his groin pushes his cock deeper into your warmth, and soon, your timid whimpers melt into soft moans as your initial discomfort gives way to pleasure.

Encouraged by the way your body starts to relax in his embrace, Sanemi tests drawing his cock out a few inches before plunging back into you.

Before long, the room fills with the lewd sounds of skin slapping against skin, and Sanemi’s moans join yours as he rapidly becomes lost in the euphoria of your wet, tight heat.

One of your arms jumps to lock around his ribs, your nails sinking into his skin as you anchor yourself to him.

His hand snakes across the sheets in search of yours. When he finds it, fisted against your sheets, he pries your fingers loose, winding them with his and he wraps your arm around his shoulders.

“Tighter,” he gasps. “Hold me tighter. Please.”

Your fingers dig into the muscles of his back and Sanemi groans his approval.

And then he’s rolling to his side, pulling you along with him until you’re stretched out across the length of your mattress, chest to chest.

His hand grips under your thigh, tugging it over his hip as he rocks harder into you. “Talk to me, angel,” the hand under your thigh moves to splay across your rear, pushing and pulling your hips in time with his as he grinds. “Tell me how you feel — tell me what you want.”

You cry out, mournful, as Sanemi draws out his cock nearly to its tip before he plunges back into you.

The fullness you feel is overwhelming. You can’t stand that empty feeling, even for a moment. So you hitch your leg higher around his hip, and dig the heel of your foot into the firmness of his ass, limiting his movements.

“Closer!” You gasp. “I — I need you closer.”

He needs that too, he decides; craves it. He doesn’t want to feel any space between your bodies. He wants — he needs — to be so enraptured with you that there is no point in trying to separate. That way, he might get to keep you for just a little longer.

Sanemi’s hand massages your backside, his cock throbbing with every push into you. “Deeper,” he confirms between throaty groans. “You want me deeper?”

You bury your face into his shoulder. Your teeth sink into his skin and with a moan, you nod.

He can do that; is more than happy to, as a matter of fact.

So, with a faint snarl, Sanemi grips the fat of your ass and spreads you wide, and he begins thrusting, hard.

The new angle allows the tip of his cock to bump up against a sweet spot deep inside you. Sanemi’s eyes narrow at the way your head drops back, a loud cry tearing from your throat.

Determined to hit that point within you again and again, he shifts his hips under you while hiking your leg higher up his hip, his fingers digging into the curve of your ass.

It’s a success; soon, your wails echo throughout your studio, punctuated by every punishing slap of his skin against yours.

Really, he can’t give less of a damn at how thin your apartment walls are. The sounds pouring from your mouth are the prettiest fucking thing he’s ever heard.

Something hot and electric mounts quickly in your stomach with each of his frenetic movements. You’ve come before with your own hand, but this — this is something different. Something far more intense, something that threatens to rip you apart from your very sanity until you know nothing but him.

You try and tell him you’re losing control but all that comes out is a pitiful whimper.

But he knows; he knows exactly what you need.

“I’m here, baby, I’m here. I’ve got you.” And with that, Sanemi rolls you back underneath him, settling into the cradle of your thighs and pushing his cock faster and deeper into you. His arms gently unwind yours from his shoulders, and he brings them up over your head, one large hand pinning them down.

“I’ll take care of you, sweet girl,” he promises, and he weaves the fingers of the hand keeping you pressed against the mattress with your own. “Just keep your legs around me.”

Your thighs squeeze his waist in silent answer, your mind far too suspended in the throes of your pleasure to do anything else.

With his lips trailing along your neck leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses in its wake, his free hand slides between your sweat-slicked bodies. He wedges it between where his groin is pressed to yours, and he searches along your sensitive, swollen folds, seeking the spot between your thighs that made you tremble and whine for him earlier.

You jolt under him as his fingers find you again, that foreign, electric sensation sparking deep in your abdomen. “Sanemi —“

“It’s okay,” he murmurs sweetly, pressing down on your clit until you arch further into him with a gasp. “It’s gonna feel so good, baby, I promise. Just focus on me.”

Each rotation of his hand against your sensitive bead matched the deep, pointed roll of his groin, with Sanemi capping the end of every powerful thrust with alternating pulses of his thumb. The pressure he uses mounts with every churn of his hips, and the moan vibrating in your chest as another surge of sticky wetness gushes from your thighs is the sweetest sound he thinks he’s ever heard.

A broken chant of please please please stutters its way out of you, spurning him to go faster; hit deeper.

And Sanemi only knows how to oblige you.

“You’re doing so fucking good, sweetheart. Just keep letting me take care of you —- that’s it.” He curses as you clench down around him, crying out in approval at his praise. “Yeah, yeah. You’re my fuckin’ girl, aren’t you?”

A single wail of his name is your only response, but it’s enough of a confirmation to damn you both.

“You are,” he affirms, his voice taking on the timber of a growl. “Mine. You’re fuckin’ mine.”

His thrusts grow sloppier with every second, though each is punctuated by a silent, recurring chant of mine, mine, mine. Though your eyes are closed, Sanemi can spy a faint sliver of white peeking out from between your eyelids.

You’re close; he can feel it. And he knows, as the walls of your cunt flutter and tighten around him, that your climax will be his undoing.

The hands he has pinned against the mattress over your head flex as you twist and writhe beneath him. your head tosses from from side to side, and the vibrato of your cries rises octave by octave. Every muscle in your body is tense; you are a live wire thrumming with a need to come apart that he knows you do not fully understand.

Sanemi grunts as he fucks you harder into your bed, no longer concerned with keeping his weight off you. He will show you; he will show you how to shatter, and then he too, will break.

But he needs to see you, first.

“Look at me,” his voice beckons you back from the precipice of ruin. “Look at me, Y/N.”

Your eyes open to meet his and suddenly you’re right back at that edge, only this time, you’re falling freely over it, plummeting down a drop that has no end.

“S-Sanemi —!” It’s all you can manage before the knot steadily building in your stomach unravels. Your back arcs sharply away from your bed, and Sanemi ducks his head to smother his own cry against your breast as he takes its tip into his hot mouth.

Your hips jerk and twitch against his, your cunt seizing around him with force that threatens to squeeze the life out of him. Above you, your arms strain and pull against his grip as you writhe and sing for him.

“That’s it baby, that’s it,” Sanemi’s praise is muffled against your sternum, though it is strangled as he nears his own end. “Fuck!“

He’ll have to buy you the morning-after pill tomorrow, he realizes as you continue to come apart so beautifully on his cock, a soft chant of his name the only thing on your lips. He will not force you to bear the consequences of his own selfishness; he will not saddle you with his burden.

But he’s also not strong enough to pull out; not when your body feels like it was made for him, not when your sweet cunt is gripping him this hard, is this wet — all because of him.

He is selfish and he is weak; it’s a toxic combination, and yet he knows cannot stop.

Sanemi’s hips snap a final time against yours, pushing them up and away from the mattress, pressing deeper than he thought possible. His eyes roll back as his own orgasm rocks through him, powerful and blinding, and the growl that built in his throat melts into a strained groan.

He holds you in place, his cock pulsing in time with your cunt while the two of you ride out the waves of your climax together, his cum steadily filling you with his warmth. Your hands skirt down the length of his arms, blindly searching for his hips. When you find him, you pull and tug, a faint whine sounding from the back of your throat. Sanemi answers your plea with a broken moan of his own and he rocks against you, your hips circling with his until he finally lets you collapse against your mattress, limp-limbed and exhausted.

He follows you down, smothering you with his weight as he clings to you like a lifeline, his face buried in the crook of your neck.

“Fuck, you did so good, sweetheart. So fuckin’ good.” He moans into your ear before he pulls back, his eyes searching your face as he pants.

One hand cradles your jaw and his thumb strokes repeatedly over the flushed curve of your cheek. “You okay?”

You don’t answer right away, your eyes shut tight, and Sanemi feels panic bubble hot in his stomach. The hand cupping your face tightens with his worried call of your name, his fear rearing its ugly head, ready to rip him apart, to turn him into the horrid monster he’s always known he was —

“I love you,” and then you’re peering up at him, eyes round and shining with emotion he does not deserve to feel. “I love you, Sanemi.��

It would’ve hurt less if you’d shot him.

Whatever wall remained around his heart cracks and crumbles under the weight of your confession. Sanemi does not answer, cannot find the words to adequately capture the depth of his feelings.

Instead, he snatches you up into his arms, crushing your body against his.

He kisses your lips and then your cheek. One hand cups the back of your head, his fingers burying into your hair as he presses your face into his chest. His arms tremble as he holds you close, every hard ridge of him cradled against your soft curves. He feels your smile against his collarbone, and the way your fingers dance up and down his spine that makes him melt.

It hits him, then. You aren’t waiting for an answer — you said it only so he would know, and you’d not expected anything in return.

All you’d done was give while he took and took. Your body. Your love.

He doesn’t deserve any of it.

Whatever or whomever came after this would never compare to you. Truthfully, Sanemi doesn’t think it would be worth trying anything different. Everything now began and ended with you — including him.

He twists his head to kiss you again and again, your lips meeting his with a sleepy enthusiasm.

He pants as he breaks away. “‘M gonna pull out — might be uncomfortable for a second.”

You wince at the sudden stab of cold left behind by Sanemi’s retreating warmth. He shifts back onto his knees and slides his hands down your thighs, parting them.

A low whistle blows past his lips. “Damn, I made a mess outta you.”

For a moment, Sanemi can’t tear his eyes away from the sight between your legs; the sight of him trickling out you, staining the sheets below. But some of that hot, possessive pride that wells in his chest tempers at the small smear of blood staining your inner thigh.

His fingers massage your legs in silent apology. “Let me clean you up.”

Your hands shoot to grasp at his shoulders, a pleading whimper on your lips. “Don’t leave — not yet.” You bite your lip, your eyes wide and anxious. “Please, can you just hold me for a bit?”

Sanemi’s eyes soften and his heart throbs painfully in his chest. He can’t imagine leaving you; not now, not ever. No matter how stupid and selfish that makes him.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t know the source of your anxiety — or that you didn’t have reason for it. Sanemi isn’t known for lingering.

But this is different — you’re different. You’re not some temporary distraction. You’re everything. His everything.

“Shhh,” he maneuvers you easily atop him, settling you in against the length of his torso, his hands smoothing up and down the column of your spine. “I’m staying right here, sweet girl. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

He seals his promise with a gentle kiss against your forehead before laying his cheek against your temple, cradling you to his chest.

Finally, you relax against him, convinced. He lays with you for a long time after, one hand on the back of your head, his fingers rubbing against your scalp until you fall asleep on against him, safe and sound and warm.

Minutes pass, or maybe hours. But Sanemi’s head does not quiet, not even under the soothing sounds of your deep, slow breaths as you dream.

He must have lost his mind. There is no other explanation for the way he’s disregarded every rule, every boundary he’s ever made sense of, all in the name of you. In a single evening, you managed to obliterate every last defense, every barricade he’d safely cowered behind, and now that the castle has fallen, he isn’t quite sure what he’s supposed to do with the rubble.

What he does know is that there’s no putting things back to how they were.

His eyes search your sleeping face because if you were able to make him question nearly everything that made sense in his life, then surely you must also have the answers he needs to re-strike balance in his tilted world. Maybe they lie among the lashes that tickle your cheek, or in the occasional twitch of your mouth between your deep inhales.

But Sanemi is only left feeling more confused the longer he watches you. Because, despite the way he feels vulnerable and exposed at how easily he has been stripped of his guard, he can’t quite bring himself to believe it was entirely your doing.

His eyes widen. There’s his answer.

Perhaps you are not trying to sink your nails into his flesh to peel it back, to demand he be stripped to the bone for you to inspect, to scrutinize and use as you please.

Perhaps that is what you’ve done to yourself, and you’re waiting to see if you will join you; to know if he can volunteer his vulnerability, rather than wait for someone to come and force it from him.

He cannot make any promises. He has spent so much of his life cowering behind the armor he crafted out of his scars and his sneers and barks that were always more ferocious than his bite, that he does not know how to take it off. He does not know how to navigate the world without its weight, both his safety net and his chain. And there is an understanding in your eyes that signals you know that, too.

But he can try.

He mouths I love you against your hairline — he does not voice it, not yet, though it’s what he feels. But your love is a compass that just might point him down the road the leads to a life he so desperately wants; to you.

And he’ll get there, maybe.

In time.

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