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lostfracturess · 2 months

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symptoms and causes | ch. 11

ღ pairing professor gojo x med student reader

ღ summary he's arrogant, self-centered, and he's your professor. renowned for his brilliance in neurosurgery and infamous for his allure. too bad you have to work with him on this research team. now you're stuck with dr. satoru gojo, delving into the complexities of both the brain and the heart—and of how far you'd go for a love that could destroy not only him but you as well.

ღ wc 13.5 k (enjoy your meal lol)

ღ warnings [18+] this story contains substance abuse/addiction, overdosing, (rough) smut, mature themes, self-destructive and abusive behavior, manipulation, (heavy) angst, mentions of death / illness / blood, graphic medical procedures. reader discretion is advised.

ღ author's note hey loves!! thank you so much for your patience, i know it's been a while. buckle up, because we're taking another trip inside satoru's mind, so yeahhh. it's gonna be wild, oh and we're continuing right were we left off in the last chapter. this chapter is again in satoru's pov!! i've also updated the trigger warnings, so please take a look before reading (might be spoiling tho). and lastly, credit to the fanart in the cover, if you know the artist, pls let me know!! can't wait to hear what you all think & thanks for sticking with me!! ♡

series masterlist + playlist + ao3 + wattpad

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They say before you can love someone else, you have to love yourself first.

And there lies the damn problem.

I don't know how.

Never have.

Why am I thinking this now?

I knew this was right.

Right for her.

But then why does my heart feel like it's being ripped out by the fucking roots?

Suguru will take care of her. He always does. That's the only thing that keeps me from screaming, keeps me from chasing after her.

I trust him, damn it, but it shouldn't be him.

It should be me holding her. Me, who knows how she likes to be held when the panic claws its way up. Me, holding her until the world feels less sharp, less cruel.

Me, who knows that she doesn't want to talk about it. Me, who knows to give her space. She needs space. My strong girl needs space first.

I hope he gives her space.

But he wouldn't know any of this. He couldn't comfort her in the ways I instinctively knew how.

Me, who knows how to soothe the invisible wounds, the ones even she denies exist. Me, who knows the soft words she needs to hear after it passes.

It shouldn't be him.

Sorry.

It shouldn't have been him.

Past tense.

It all might be past tense now.

And the thought is more than I could bear.

Shattered.

Was that the word?

Was there even a word for what I felt in that moment?

How could I ever convey this suffocating agony that's tearing me apart with mere words?

Words are meaningless in the end.

Meaningless when they couldn't be spoken to her, couldn't reach her, couldn't make her understand, couldn't heal the wound I'd carved into her heart.

So, yeah, maybe shattered is the right word.

The wrong word.

The sterile air was acid in my lungs. Each ragged breath felt like sandpaper against my throat. I held my breath, a desperate plea for the world to stop spinning, for the clock to rewind, for a chance to undo everything.

But time doesn't care.

It marched on, relentless, while I stayed trapped in this hell, drowning in the mess I made.

My lungs burned. My vision blurred. I waited until she disappeared. The world seemed to tilt sideways, losing all color and shape, leaving only the sharp, agonizing realization that I'd made her walk away.

I didn't want to breathe anymore.

Not in a world where every breath ached without her.

"Dr. Gojo?" A voice, distant, muffled.

Irrelevant.

My gaze flickered to Sukuna. He watched, a predator savoring the kill.

His twisted smile fueled rage within me. But there would be no fighting this. No grand defense. Not when her life was the bargaining chip.

So, I lied.

Each word a nail in the coffin of the connection I craved more than life itself.

Each word a drop of poison forced down my throat. A self-inflicted wound, a desperate mutilation of the only thing that had ever felt real.

Her eyes, those beautiful eyes I loved so fiercely, wide with confusion and horror. The strangled gasp, the way her body went limp in Geto's arms — a haunting image that would forever be etched on my heart.

Muscles screamed, a silent protest against my own pathetic stillness. But I remained frozen.

This was my punishment.

I had to watch her leave, had to sear the pain into my very being, an endless penance for the choices I'd made.

The door clicked shut behind them.

That simple sound, final, absolute.

My lungs filled with air, a betrayal. Oxygen I didn't deserve, didn't want.

My own body, this treacherous thing kept going, kept me alive against my will, kept me tethered to this cruel reality.

The room swam back into focus, the judges' accusing faces nothing but a blurry backdrop. The sounds of their inquest washed over me like meaningless noise.

"Dr. Gojo? Can we continue?"

I nodded.

They pressed on. More questions about the research, her involvement, their accusations of favoritism.

How stupid.

Of course, I favored her.

How could I not?

She is everything.

Oh, sorry. Forgot. Past tense.

She was everything.

Did I regret it?

Did I wish I could go back and treat her with the same damn indifference I afforded everyone else?

Yeah, maybe.

A familiar craving stirred my senses, the desperate need for the numbing escape that would mean failing her even more. My fingers clawed at my forearm, trying to replace the hollowness with physical pain. It wasn't enough.

My responses were rote, mechanical.

Yeah, I favored her.

Yeah, I let her into the OR because of it.

Yeah, and she outshone every damn surgeon twice her age.

No, she didn't know I'd set it up.

No, she never asked for special treatment. She just worked until her eyes were bloodshot, pushing harder than anyone else.

And hell no, she didn't do a single thing wrong.

Except maybe — maybe loving me.

After what felt like an eternity, the judges seemed satisfied, or perhaps just exhausted by my robotic replies.

They painted me the arrogant professor with a weakness for a young student, who abused his power, who played favorites.

Whatever they wanted to believe, fine.

Didn't even have the energy to care anymore.

Let them drag my name through the mud, tarnish the reputation I'd worked so hard to build.

Because the title, the position, the facade of success meant nothing when all I wanted was to rewind time, to undo the damage I'd done to the one person who truly mattered.

I didn't feel anymore.

I was done.

─── ·✧· ───

I burst out of the courtroom.

I needed escape, not just from this sterile prison of a room, but from my own traitorous flesh.

That itch.

It was a wildfire beneath my skin, a thousand insects gnawing their way to the surface. My fingers twitched, claws desperate to tear, to bleed out the poison of this relentless craving.

My legs moved without conscious thought, pushing me towards my office. Somewhere. Anywhere I would be able to breathe again. The guilt was a serrated blade twisting in my gut, each movement slicing me open anew.

Her terror-stricken eyes seared into my very soul.

The walls of my office closed in, the familiar space suddenly too small, too suffocating.

My fist slammed into the desk. Papers scattered to the floor, a meaningless sea of white against the dark wood.

They didn't matter. None of it mattered.

A half-finished coffee mug followed. Porcelain shattered. Dark liquid splashed against the wall.

My blood roared in my ears.

Across the room, my framed diploma. I ripped it off the wall. Glass smashed. Sharp edges bit into my palm, drawing blood. But it wasn't enough. I hurled the frame against the wall.

Blood, hot and slick, coated my hands, the pain nothing.

In the shattered frame, I caught a glimpse of myself — wild eyes in a sweat-slicked face, a man on the verge of collapse.

It was a stranger.

I was across the room before I even registered the decision.

The drawer.

My fingers ripped it open.

There, like a coiled viper, the amber vial gleamed, a venomous promise of oblivion.

Don't —

Don't come at me now.

Did you really think I wouldn't keep a backup?

My hand reached, then hesitated.

The world lurched to a sharp halt as a knock pierced the chaos. My breath hitched, the vial a burning brand in my bloodied hand.

The door creaked open.

And there he was. Sukuna.

He leaned against the doorframe, that sickening smirk plastered on his face. It was like a lit fuse to a powder keg. The rage that had been gnawing at my insides, tearing me apart, finally found its target.

Before a single rational thought could form, I was on him. Fist to jaw, heard the crack, felt it in my knuckles. He stumbled back, the smirk finally wiping off his face.

I pinned him against the door. Forearm across his throat, crushing his windpipe. His eyes widened, but even then, there was that damn flicker of amusement.

"Well, well," he choked out, "this is a nice welcome back."

"Funny to you?"

He coughed, a harsh laugh scraping out of him. "C'mon, Satoru, relax. I did you a favor," he sputtered. "Your precious little student, she's better off now. You know I'm right."

Every muscle in my body tensed.

He was right.

In his twisted way, he was.

And that's what made it all so much worse.

My grip on his throat tightened. But there was nothing, no satisfactio, no release in the violence.

Sukuna saw it, the hesitation. His mouth twisted into a smirk again. "See, you get it. Sweet thing doesn't belong in this mess, does she? It's not for her, Satoru. It's for us."

His words scraped like nails on a chalkboard.

Yes, she was safer now, untouched by the rot that festered within me. Some desperate, logical part of me clung to that. But how could I hold on to that when my heart was screaming for her closeness?

"Or maybe," Sukuna drawled, pushing the knife deeper, "maybe you wanted to see where this goes. Stain her a bit, make her just a little bit more like you."

My breath hitched. For a split second, the floor vanished beneath me.

"Hit a nerve, did I?"

"Shut the hell up!" I couldn't face it, couldn't face the ugly truth as it would tear me apart. "You twist everything. Play with lives just for your own sick amusement."

This was his game.

Sukuna thrived on chaos, on exploiting pain.

He knew my guilt, my fear for her, and wielded it like a scalpel, laying bare the raw nerve of my fragile sanity.

"Perhaps. But ain't I right? You needed to end it, but you lack the guts for it. Waited a bit longer, it'd be a total disaster."

I hesitated, then my grip on him slackened. I stepped back.

"You know I'm right," Sukuna continued. "You know how this would have ended. Suspension. Scandal. She'll be doomed forever for getting involved with her professor for favors. You wouldn't destroy her like that, would you? You're not that cruel."

"I'm not so sure." I ran a hand through my hair. It had taken everything in me to push her away.

But I can't deny that an ugly part of me wanted to keep her close. Drag her down with me.

See her drown.

"Damn, you hit hard," he said, rubbing his jaw. "Go beat up some students again, not me."

"Stop giving me reasons to punch you." Exhausted, I slumped into my desk chair, burying my face in my hands. My head pounded, the infuriating itch worsening with each damn moment. "Was this your plan all along?"

"What?" he scoffed.

I lifted a single eyebrow at him.

"You think that low of me? Honestly, Toru, a bit of credit, please. It was your pathetic indecision that made this entertaining. You basically gift-wrapped this mess and handed it to me."

"Besides," he continued, "let's be honest, you were holding her back. Now maybe she'll have a chance to become someone who might surpass you one day. You wouldn't deny her that, would you? No thanks needed."

He was right, and I hated that more than anything.

Sukuna sank into the chair across from me, a picture of smug satisfaction despite the visible bruise. "Damn, that punch still stings."

I opened my desk drawer and wordlessly tossed him the bottle of opioids. His eyes widened in surprise, before he gave the bottle a knowing shake. "Still on the hydromorphone?"

I didn't answer. The sound alone threatened to shatter what fragile control I had left. The itch was unbearable, each nerve ending screaming for relief.

Sukuna observed me, a predator watching its prey struggle. "Withdrawal never suited you," he said, popping a pill. "You always get so—" he paused, savoring the word, "—tense."

"Yeah, real supportive of you."

"Actually, I'm being incredibly supportive. I'm leaving for a little research trip overseas—four months. Ethics committee can't meet without me, so—" He leaned back in his chair, his grin widening. "Gives you time to get your shit together. Isn't that nice of me?"

"Shut the hell up."

"C'mon, I put in a good word for you too. No suspension for now. You can keep teaching, just no surgeries. Yaga really hates my guts, doesn't he? But hey, at least you're not totally screwed."

"You expect a thank you?"

"Relax, Toru, the show's over," he said. "Trust me, they don't want a scandal, let alone lose their star surgeon. When I get back, a slap on the wrist, maybe a semester's suspension, then you're back to the boring old grind."

A bitter laugh escaped me. "Last I checked, you were the one pushing for a scandal."

He rolled his eyes. "Someone had to do it. Knew you'd drag this out forever, playing the tragic hero. Needed a villain to get things moving." He gave a mocking bow. "At your service, my friend."

"Also," he continued, leaning forward in his chair, "the focus is off you now. The committee's sniffing around those implant engineers. Funny, isn't it?"

Sukuna paused, savoring the moment. "Honestly, never thought there was anything wrong with your surgeries. You wouldn't make that kind of mistake. Tech malfunction more likely."

Of course.

The bastard never doubted the damn research. It had all been a game to him — my career, my sanity, her — just pieces on his chessboard.

It should've made me furious, lash out, pound his face in again — but all I felt was a bone-deep exhaustion, a weariness that seeped into my very soul. I was too tired, too hollowed-out to do anything but swallow the bitter truth.

"That supposed to make me feel better?"

"A little," he said, tossing the opioid bottle back. "This, though? That'll do the trick even better."

I caught it, my fingers clenching around the plastic.

He rose, stretching with a theatrical sigh. "Well, time to go. Remember, you owe me big time. You should take one," he gestured towards the pills, "you look like shit."

My grip on the bottle tightened. I looked up at him. "When all of this is done, I never want to see your damn face again."

He laughed. "We both know that's a lie. You and me? We need each other."

"The only thing you need is some damn therapy."

"Ah, Toru," he dismissed me with a smirk, "you'll come crawling back soon enough. We both know how this works."

With that, he was gone. I was left alone in the echoing silence, the pill bottle a burning weight in my hand. The world seemed to sway around me, my eyelids growing heavy.

The will to fight simply wasn't there anymore.

─── ·✧· ───

Cruel.

Cruel how one little pill can undo everything.

Cruel how one little pill can silence everything.

Cruel how one damn pill can soften the world, make it — bearable, almost.

Unfair.

It's truly unfair.

The screaming under my skin, that relentless itch — it's still there, but it had dulled to a faint hum, pushed back by the familiar numbness.

Finally.

Oh, finally some fucking silence.

I let out a shaky breath. It wasn't peace, not really. I knew that all too well. Borrowed time, each second ticking closer to the inevitable crash, the return of that relentless screaming in my head.

But for now, it'll have to be enough.

I collapsed on the couch, smoke curling lazily before my eyes.

I knew I shouldn't mix opioids with cannabis. That's something they teach you within the first year of university. What I used to teach students within the first year of university.

What a hypocrite I am really.

Another drag — harsh, burning down my throat.

The urge to close my eyes, to sink into oblivion, was almost overwhelming. But sleep wouldn't bring respite. Only nightmares. I knew that only too well.

So, I lay there, staring up at the ceiling.

It really came down to me failing again, huh?

What was it now?

Attempt number five?

Six?

I started losing count.

Maybe this was my fate.

A broken record, stuck on the same damn track.

Deep down, under the chemical haze, guilt gnawed at me. It was a dull ache now, no longer the searing pain of earlier, but a constant, insidious reminder.

She were out there, her life forever marked by my choices, while I was — here. Hiding in a haze of pills and smoke.

God, I hoped Suguru was looking after her. Making sure she ate, making sure she was safe — that she didn't hate me too much.

I brought the joint to my lips again, the smoke curling up towards the ceiling. It left an acrid taste in my mouth.

I watched my hand for a second.

Bloodied earlier, the wounds had scabbed over, the blood dried. It was perfectly still now, the trembling smoothed out by the chemicals in my blood.

I clenched it into a fist, then unclenched, watching the movement like it belonged to someone else.

Traitor.

This body was a traitor — betrayed myself, betrayed her, betrayed everything I held dear.

Weak.

Broken.

A pathetic mess.

Was that it?

Living as a slave to these chemicals to patch up my crumbling sanity one day at a time?

Chained to pills, each dawn a ticking clock until the next dose, until I could silence the screaming for a few damn hours?

My eyes locked onto the half-empty vial on the table.

Took too many, didn't I?

I knew that, even through the haze. But a cold certainty twisted in my gut. There'd be more. Always more. Until there was nothing left.

Before I could think, I threw another down my throat. Bad idea, probably, after a few clean days.

Suddenly, the haze warped, twisting into nausea. Bile rose in my throat.

I lurched to my feet, the world tilting precariously with each step. Surfaces rippled, the bathroom light stabbing into my skull.

I barely made it. My stomach heaved. Each retch wracked my body, leaving me gasping, weak.

Too many.

Way too many.

How the hell did I forget? Forget my body's limits? Somehow, I felt like some reckless student again, stumbling through experiments, blind to the consequences.

Stupid. So damn stupid.

Darkness swam at the edges of my vision. Another wave of nausea, and I was back, hunched over the toilet.

I hauled myself up, hands shaking, clinging to the sink. In the mirror, a stranger stared back. Eyes bloodshot, a sheen of sweat coating his skin.

This wasn't me anymore.

I splashed cold water on my face, trying to wash away the acid burn. Didn't help. Drops of water ran down my face, felt like they were melting the damn skin off.

My knees buckled. I slid down the wall, my head heavy against the tile wall.

The bathroom light, needles in my brain moments ago, seemed impossibly distant now. Each breath was a ragged gasp, each pulse a dull throb in my temples.

I waited for it to pass, the nausea, the haze. But as minutes crawled by, a new, searing pain gnawed at me.

My fingers trembled against my abdomen, pressing into the tender spot. Liver, of course.

Wrecked it, just like the rest of me. I'd known the risks, had ignored the warnings, and now my body was demanding payment.

How pathetic.

Darkness gnawed at the edges of my vision, pushing back against the stubborn spots of light. My head felt heavy, detached from my body. Arms and legs useless.

Each breath a battle I wasn't sure I'd win.

Time warped. Stretching, then snapping, leaving me floating in nausea and pain. Then I heard something — muffled, distant. Footsteps, getting closer.

My eyes struggled to make sense of the shifting shadows.

Then, a voice. Soft, achingly familiar. I couldn't make out the words, but the warmth of it—

I knew that voice — would always recognize it.

Cold water hit my skin. Hands, gentle, but firm, on my face. I strained to focus, to see her, to soak in the sight I needed, yet feared more than anything.

Oh, how desperately I needed to see her. Needed her to be real.

But my eyes betrayed me.

She must be so beautiful. She always was.

Then, a touch on my outstretched leg, a flash of metal — was that a scalpel?

Agony ripped through me, shattering the haze. I jerked back, my scream ragged against the tiles. My head slammed back with sickening force.

Before I knew it, a needle pierced my skin.

The room spun as whatever she'd injected battled the comfortable blur of the pills. Nausea churned in my stomach, the numbness receding with terrifying speed.

Groaning, I shifted on the floor.

My vision sharpened, my senses returning with brutal clarity.

The first thing I noticed was the metallic glint of the discarded syringe beside my leg.

Then the cut, a ragged gash through the fabric of my dress pants where she'd stabbed the needle in — the unnecessarily deep and brutal cut — but in the chaos, I let it slide. Didn't even register the pain as I watched the blood drain from the cut.

I reached for the syringe and read the label.

Adrenaline.

Smart girl.

But as I turned it over, a frown creased my brow. Two fucking milliliters? Was she trying to give me a damn heart attack?

I lifted my head, the question burning on my tongue. But the words died unspoken as my gaze locked on hers.

She stood there, just a few feet away, her breath ragged, her eyes — those pretty eyes.

Terror.

There was raw, unadulterated terror etched in her eyes. But I was right. She looked as beautiful as ever. Even with those terror-stricken eyes she was breathtaking.

She stumbled back, slumping against the wall opposite of me with a choked gasp, pulling her knees up. I didn't move, couldn't move, my gaze locked with hers.

The terror faded slowly, replaced by a weariness that was far worse.

For a fleeting moment, I saw a flicker of that familiar defiance, the spark I both loved and feared. But even that felt strangely muted now, as if even the energy to fight had been drained out of her.

She simply watched me. In silence, in that devastating silence.

How I hated her silence.

Because her silence was far worse than anything she could have screamed, any insult she could have hurled my way. Her stillness, her silence, was the most terrifying weapon she'd ever wielded against me.

And for the first time in a very long time, I was truly afraid.

Time stretched, then I choked out, "You're angry."

Her answer was blunt, devoid of emotion. "Oh really? What makes you think that?"

I glanced down. Blood still seeped from the gash in my leg. With a trembling hand, I fumbled for a towel and pressed it against the wound. "Your cut is kinda deep. Was that on purpose?"

She didn't say anything.

It probably was on purpose.

My gaze fell on the syringe. "Where'd you get that?"

"What happened to your hand?"

"I asked first."

"Don't try to play games now, Satoru. You're walking on thin fucking ice," she snapped.

"Shattered some glass," I said after a pause ", and punched Sukuna."

"Stole it from the hospital."

"What?"

"You think I'd date an addict and not have adrenaline on hand?"

My lips twitched into a weary smile. Oh my beautiful, brilliant girl, always prepared.

"But you know, two milliliters is a bit much." I moved my leg slightly to check if she had cut any tendons, which would complicate the healing a bit. "Or are you trying to kill me?"

Her gaze pierced me, colder than any scalpel. "Looks like you're doing a fine job of that yourself."

My smile faded.

Silence.

Oh, that cruel silence again.

She didn't say anything. Maybe I should be thankful for that, because if she said anything now, I'd probably crumble completely — if I haven't already.

Ironic, wasn't it?

How much power this woman had over me.

Yet it was me who destroyed her.

She dropped her head, ran a shaking hand through her hair, then looked at me again. "How much did you take?"

Huh?

Why would she ask that?

Didn't she see that it's over?

That I'm too far gone?

It was unbearable.

It was unbearable, how she could still look at me and see someone worth saving. It was unbearable, knowing she believed in me even when I didn't.

Almost pissed me off, how stubbornly she clung to that stupid hope. Because seeing that hope in her eyes — it made me hate myself even more.

I wouldn't change, couldn't. Not for her, not for anyone.

"Doesn't matter. It's over."

"Satoru, please," she choked out, pain raw in her voice, the pain I caused, "cut the crap and tell me. Now."

"It doesn't matter," I repeated, my voice cold. I couldn't bear the flicker of hope, couldn't bear to fail her yet again.

Then, the first tear rolled down her cheek and my heart shattered, the fragments piercing me from within.

I'd never wanted to be the reason those beautiful eyes filled with pain, the reason her sweet lips trembled. Every fiber of my being wanted to pull her close, erase the hurt I'd caused.

I would have given anything, sacrificed anything, if only I could make it stop.

But I couldn't.

Because I was the problem. I was the poison.

She buried her face in her hands. "I'm tired, Satoru."

"I know."

"I'm so fucking tired," she whispered through tears.

"I know, love."

My eyes burned as I watched her fragile body shudder. Each sob of her driving a stake deeper into my already bleeding heart. I bit my lip until I tasted blood.

I hated myself, hated myself, hated myself, hated myself, hated myself because — because I was the reason for all of this.

She'd never wanted this, never wanted to fall in love with me to begin with, but I dragged her into it anyway.

Because I was selfish.

Knew how it would end.

And now, I could only watch — only watch in this unbearable silence as the woman I loved wept over the man I hated.

"It's for the best, believe me—"

"No," she cut me off. "You're sacrificing me for this—this reputation of mine you think matters. It doesn't. I don't want any of it without you. I don't want a future where you're not in it."

She looked up then, eyes red and filled with unshed tears. "Because I love you, Satoru."

What?

The words turned my blood to ice.

After everything — the lies, the ways I'd hurt her, the desperate attempts to push her away — there it was, the confession I'd craved and feared in equal measure.

My heart was being ripped apart and stitched back together again in that very moment — vulnerable and yet so unbearably full.

She loved me, she said it.

She loves me.

And I love her.

God, how I loved her. More than I thought possible.

I've never once loved in my entire life.

Not until her.

Not until she changed me completely.

What is that, anyway? Love?

How can I possible describe the type of feeling I feel when I'm with her? How can I ever convey the words when they are not even clear to me?

How cruel it is. How utterly cruel the type of feeling is, that she makes me feel.

Because how could I ever live without it.

Not when she showed me how to breathe.

How to live.

How could I ever go back to what I was before her — was there even something before her?

Not when she showed me how to breathe.

With her.

For her.

Because she is the air that fills my lungs.

The pulse that keeps me alive.

And nothing can ever change that. So how could I ever go back to what I was before?

Oh, how she tortures me, tortures me with feelings I rather not feel, tortures me with her love that I deserve so little.

Nothing.

I deserve nothing and yet she gives me everything.

Why can't I give it back? What chains me, binds this rotten heart? Why does it fail me so cruelly to love her the way she deserves?

Because she does.

She deserves everything.

She is everything.

Yet there is only my own failure in loving her. I'm failing her again and again. I hurt her again and again. I hate myself, hate myself for the pain I cause her.

Still—

How can I let her go, when she's the only good thing in my life?

It is selfish, selfish to say the least, to want to keep her close when all I do is fail her.

Her tears were molten iron searing my insides. But I clench my jaw, refusing to let them break me. If she saw weakness, she might hesitate. Might stay and continue to be broken by me.

Every fiber of my being wanted nothing more than to reach out, to comfort her, to tell her it would all be okay.

More lies for a heart that deserved nothing but the truth. So I swallowed down the love threatening to spill from my lips.

I would give her anything, my life, the last shreds of my sanity — except the one thing she asked for, the only thing she ever ask for.

Because loving her, truly loving her, meant letting her go. Even if it destroys me.

"I spare you," I rasped.

"No." She slowly shook her head. "You're killing me. Can't you see?" There was a cold edge in her voice now. "You're killing me."

"I can't change. Love isn't enough. I can't stop."

"You're the only one who thinks that." Her reply held a flicker of her old, beautiful defiance, a defiance I loved so dearly. "I'd follow you anywhere, Satoru. Even if you can't get clean, then so be it. I don't care. I won't leave you."

The sincerity in her voice was a blow, a beautiful, terrible blow. Complete, unwavering acceptance of who I was, in all my brokenness.

And in that moment, I finally realized.

It wasn't about saving her. It was about saving myself from the terrifying vulnerability her love demanded. From the weakness that threatened to drown me if I let her in.

Perhaps I'm just a coward after all.

My heart was too damn small, too messed up. Of course I had to push her out, deny her the love she offered so freely — because it terrified me.

Her love terrified me.

"I can't do this to you," I choked out, the words scraping my throat raw. "You deserve—" I swallowed, the words catching in my throat. "You deserve better."

"Better?" She leaned forward slightly. "You are my better."

Oh, love, that's not true.

You are my better. I'm your worst.

I wanted to say that, should've said that.

But I remained silent, unable to say anything.

"Say something, Satoru."

I couldn't, simply couldn't. Because mere words were too hollow, too insignificant against the depth of her pain.

"Say something, damn it!"

"It will get easier someday," I chocked out. Each word felt like a stone I was forcing down my own throat. Each word empty — we both knew it.

"Is that what you hope for?"

"I have to."

She closed her mouth. Her silence more devastating than any scream. She didn't explode, as I half-expected. Instead, she straightened, her movements slow, weary.

I watched her, unable to move, unable to look away, as a horrifying realization bloomed across her face. It wasn't anger, wasn't sadness — it was a terrible understanding.

She knew. She always knew.

Perhaps that's what I hated about her the most.

"That's it?" she asked.

"That's it."

She watched me. Not in anger, but with chilling detachment. Her eyes, usually so filled with warmth, were now as distant as those of a stranger.

Still, I burned the image into my soul, knowing it might be the last time.

Then, without another word, she turned. And walked away.

When she finally disappeared from sight, a wave of crushing despair washed over me. It wasn't just the loneliness. It was the terrifying certainty that there was no going back from this.

I had destroyed the best thing in my life — a sacrifice she didn't even ask for.

But then again, my sacrifice is really only an illusion after all, masking a desperate, terrified selfishness.

Because I'm selfish.

I do love her. Gods, how I love her.

But my fear was stronger.

And I was too damn weak to fight it.

─── ·✧· ───

Four weeks.

Was it four weeks?

I can't remember.

Time — it didn't tick or flow anymore.

It was a shapeless thing. Punctuated only by the empty thump of my heart in this wrecked chest.

Those first days — or weeks, who knows? — they melted together in a haze. After she left, I was — raw. One giant exposed nerve.

Each damn breath without the pills felt like scraping sandpaper across it, a reminder of what I'd lost — no, what I'd destroyed.

So I was barely sober.

My body didn't even protest. At first, it was almost — nice? The rush, the way it wiped out not just the pain but any thought at all.

But the crash was always brutal. Mornings, if you could even call it that, I'd wake up shaking, sick to my stomach, and terrified of — what was I even terrified of? Somehow of everything and nothing at all. But I knew the fix for that.

It was a sick, relentless cycle.

The phone rang, vibrated with messages. Suguru mostly. His messages growing more urgent with each unanswered text. Liver issues. Treatment. Something about irreversible damage.

It was all white noise compared to the screaming in my head.

Her name, though, cut through the haze.

There were nights — or was it days? — when a desperate, clawing need to hear her voice, to see her face, would rise up in me. I'd reach for the phone, fingers hovering above her name. Then the fear would crush that impulse.

I knew that reaching out to her would be the final act of cruelty.

So I stumbled on, each day collapsing into the next.

Until the next semester started and I remembered I had an actual job.

─── ·✧· ───

I stood in the corridor outside the auditorium.

My fingers fumbled with the familiar pill bottle. Just enough to numb the edge, get me through the lecture. With a bitter swallow, I tilted the pill into my palm, chasing it down dry.

Four weeks. Four weeks of barely holding it together, four weeks since I almost OD'd, four weeks since she left, and the weight of it all threatened to crush me at any moment.

Yet, muscle memory took over.

I limped slightly as I walked into the auditorium. My leg still hurt after she basically cut my muscle in half.

She definitely did that on purpose. She was too smart not to not know what she was doing.

The usual chatter died down when I walked in. Old routine. Time for the performance. Pretend I'm the professor, pretend like this whole thing isn't ripping me apart, piece by piece. It should have been comforting.

Once, perhaps, it was.

Wordlessly, I grabbed a marker, scrawled my name on the board. Like they didn't already know who I was, right?

Everyone on campus knows, especially after this summer's mess.

With a sigh, I turned towards the class.

And there she was.

My breath hitched, the marker clattering to the floor. My lips parted, but no words came.

Of course.

Of fucking course.

Second-year lecture.

How the hell could I forget that?

She was here, after everything, right in front of me. The pain of the past weeks, that suffocating emptiness — it all melted away, replaced by a pounding headache in that one instant.

My eyes clung to her, unable to look away, drinking in the sight of her. That stubborn tilt of her head, the pain in those beautiful eyes — God, how I'd missed her.

Yet with every beat of my yearning heart came a fresh wave of guilt. I longed to reach out, to apologize, to tell her how much I'd missed her.

But I knew it was wrong.

Then, it hit me. Every eye in the room was on her, following my gaze like a spotlight burning into her. Damn it.

Still, she didn't flinch.

Endured it like she has always endured everything.

Clearing my throat, I managed to speak as I adverted my gaze. "So, uh, let's start the lecture."

My voice echoed in the now tense auditorium, words tumbling out in a forced attempt at normalcy. The lecture blurred. My own words were just noise in my head. I pushed through the lecture. Don't even remember what I lectured about.

It was routine, should have been easy, but — not with her there. Never with her.

Every damn minute, my eyes flicked towards her, drawn like a magnet. I couldn't help it. Because all I could see was her. But she avoided my gaze.

Should've expected that.

Shouldn't make me angry, right?

Still did.

Finally, thank god, the bell rang.

I let out a breath I didn't even know I was holding.

I remained behind my desk and gathered my notes. Students surged towards the exit, a faceless blur of motion. My traitorous gaze remained locked on her as the auditorium slowly emptied.

She and her friends passed by me. Before I could even think, the words tumbled out, "Wait, not—not you, first-year."

Silence.

Her friend's chatter halted abruptly. I hadn't meant to say it, hadn't thought before the desperate need to speak to her had short-circuited my brain.

Now, it was done.

Her eyes, those beautiful eyes, met mine. For a moment, time seemed to stand still.

Her friends exchanged glances. I could feel Zenin glaring daggers at me, didn't even need to look. She'd always been fiercely protective.

"I'll catch up later," she said then to her friends, a strained smile plastered on her face.

They left, leaving us alone in the vast, suddenly suffocating auditorium.

Silence again.

My heart hammered against my ribs, so loud I feared she could hear it.

Finally, she spoke. "You know I'm not a first-year anymore."

I rounded the desk, the wood rough against my fingertips. "Yeah, right. Sorry." Leaning against it, I crossed my arms.

"Didn't you get suspended?"

"They postponed it."

She watched me for a moment, those beautiful eyes drilling into me. Her eyes held a coldness I've never seen before. For a sickening moment, I thought I might throw up.

"How are you?"

"Don't," she snapped. "Don't ask me that. Don't you dare pretend to care after—"

She stopped herself, the silence louder than any accusation. After everything you did. After you pushed me away. After you nearly killed yourself.

She didn't need to voice it.

My hands clenched into fists against the edge of my desk, nails digging into my palms in a futile attempt to ground myself. Needed to maintain this thin illusion of control.

I do care. Dammit, I care more than you'll ever know.

I wanted to scream it, to tear open my chest and show her the bleeding wound she'd left behind. But the words stuck in my throat.

Pointless now, anyway.

Knuckles turned white, nails digging deeper.

She stepped closer. Her hand darted into her bag, then shot out, palm open. Keys glinted in the harsh light — the keys to my apartment.

I watched them for a second. Should've expected that. Shouldn't hurt me. Still did.

"You don't have to return them. I want you to keep them."

"Why? I won't need them anymore, will I? Or are you planning on overdosing again?"

Each word was acid on an open wound.

I deserved this, the anger, the contempt, it was all on me. But why the hell did it make me so fucking angry?

"Have you ever thought about how I felt when I found you?" she snapped, her voice rising. "How terrified I was when you wouldn't respond? When you couldn't even recognize me? When I thought you'd die on me?" She took a shaky breath. "Fuck Satoru, I held your face in my hands while you were barely breathing!"

I tried to speak, but she cut me off. "Don't. You. Dare."

"Four weeks," she went on, her voice sharp, laced with a fury that cut to the bone. "Four weeks of silence. Ever think I might be drowning, haunted by what I saw? Or were you too busy numbing yourself with pills? Hell, I didn't even know if you'd overdosed for good this time!"

Her words hit me cold, but they weren't the storm tearing me apart. It was the image of her, terrified, holding my barely-alive body, that ripped my insides out.

Those eyes — her eyes filled with a terror that was all because of me. The guilt choked me. Seeing my near-death through her haunted eyes is twisted a knife in my gut.

It was the look of someone who'd had a piece of her soul ripped out.

It was the look of someone who loved me.

"But then again, you never cared about me, did you?" she added, the raw hurt bleeding beneath the anger.

My stomach twisted. "Don't you dare say that," I rasped, the words ripping from my throat. "I care so much it damn near killed me. You were the only thing keeping me alive, the only reason I fought at all! Don't you dare say I don't—" I choked, the pain unbearable.

The room seemed to tilt, my anger threatening to consume me.

I took a step towards her, closing the distance in one move. We were so close, I could smell her damn shampoo. "Every damn thing I did, every stupid decision—it was all because I care about you too much."

Her eyes widened. But only for a second. Then, that cold defiance was back, and it cut deep.

"You're really pathetic, you know that?" she spat. "You talk about caring, but in the end you threw everything away. Because you are too terrified to let yourself love me. Because apparently your own damn peace is worth more than me."

Her words were knives, finding their mark with cruel efficiency.

"Shut up," I whispered. "You know nothing."

"Oh really?" She glared at me, "then let me paint the picture for you—the minute things got difficult, the second you had to face actual consequences for your actions, you used it as an excuse to back away. Shut yourself down."

She moved closer still. "Convenient, wasn't it? Pushing me away, destroying us—it absolved you from having to confront anything real."

Her accusations hit uncomfortably close to home.

And I didn't want to hear it from her lips.

Not from hers.

"Shut up," I growled.

"Don't you dare tell me to shut up," she snapped back, her voice rising. "You don't get to play the victim here. You did this. You ruined everything."

Fury ignited, not at her, but at myself.

Blindly, I reached out, my fingers gripping her jaw so tight it bordered on violence. I forced her to look at me, my eyes burning into hers. "Shut up, or I swear to god, I'll make you."

Her chin lifted, eyes narrowing. "I dare you."

The words set me on fire. Every rational thought, every vestige of self-preservation was devoured by a sudden, desperate need. My gaze fell to her lips, slightly parted, a vulnerable target I craved to claim.

Without even thinking, my hand went to her waist, fingers digging in as I pulled her impossibly close. My other hand tangled in her hair, forcing her head back. Our eyes locked, some kind of messed-up challenge.

I could feel her rapid breaths on my skin, smell that damn perfume of hers that I'd always loved, but now was driving me to the edge of control. Her heart pounding against mine.

Everything in me screamed to close the distance, claim those lips that had haunted me, haunted me for weeks.

I wanted to claim her, to silence her, to lose myself in her, but my last shred of sanity held me back.

Because pushing her further into my nightmare was the ultimate act of cruelty.

"Uncomfortable, isn't it? Getting confronted with the ugly truth?" she whispered against my lips.

My grip on her tightened. She really didn't know when to stop, or maybe she simply wanted to watch me burn. Perhaps both.

"Don't push me."

"Why? Scared of what you'll find if you let yourself be honest for once?" Her head tilted. Her gaze was fire, and I was already ash. "You run, Satoru. From everything, but most of all, from yourself."

"And that," she leaned closer, almost brushing my lips, "is what makes you the most pathetic person I know."

Oh, she could be so viciously cruel when she wanted to. So disgustingly cruel. It was one of the things I'd fallen hopelessly in love with. Even now, as it tore me apart, I still loved it.

But I also wanted nothing more than to fuck that attitude out of her right then and there.

"You're right. You're always right. Maybe that's what's terrifies me about you so much."

"You're not terrified of me," she whispered. "You're terrified of yourself."

The air between us crackled. Every rational thought in my brain begged me to stop. Still, I couldn't resist. I inched closer, helpless against the force that binds and burns us both.

My hands tightened their hold as I took a sharp inhale. Her eyes fluttered shut, lashes trembling.

Our lips hovered, almost touching, two aching souls suspended in that impossible space. So much unspoken words, so much hurt, and the destructive pull between us that had always tethered us together.

Then, the auditorium door creaked open.

Her head snapped towards the sound. But I couldn't look away, wouldn't miss a second of her. Because this, right here, was all I had left.

Had to be Suguru anyway — anyone else would be screaming their heads off by now.

After a pause, she turned back at me. "You know, I'm still waiting."

"For what, love?"

"For it to get easier."

I looked at her, the woman I loved, and guilt clawed at my insides. That hurt, that anger on her face — I deserved it all. Because it was the consequence of the pain I'd caused.

"You said it would get easier," she added.

It was a lie. Nothing about this was easy. Nothing ever would be again. Suddenly, the room felt too small, the air thick and unbreathable.

"I don't know if it ever will."

Perhaps I was only meant to love her in silence.

In distance.

Because at least then I couldn't hurt her anymore.

Suguru cleared his throat. He stepped into the room, breaking the moment.

Reluctantly, I let go of her. She stepped back, eyes holding mine for a second, something flickering there that I didn't dare try to read. Then, without another word, she turned and walked away.

I watched her go.

Suguru approached me, stopping close by. He didn't say anything.

I leaned against the desk, running a hand through my hair. The adrenaline from that almost-kiss crashed, leaving behind a hollow ache.

The sound of the door slamming behind her echoed in the empty auditorium, way too loud.

Suguru's hand landed on my shoulder.

"You really have a thing for bad timing," I muttered.

"Bad timing," he echoed, "or good timing to stop you from doing something stupid?"

I didn't answer. The memory of her, so close, choked every thought out of my mind.

"You know it was the right thing to do. With everything going on, letting her go was the right decision."

"I know," I said, pushing off the desk and rounding it to gather my things. I couldn't meet his gaze. "I'm trying to remember that."

Suguru then started placing pill bottles on the desk with a serious expression. The first clink of plastic on wood cut through the silence.

"Prednisone for the liver inflammation." Another bottle. "Lactulose for the hepatic encephalopathy." Then another. "Vitamin B and K for the nutritional deficiencies."

"But you know the first step would be to—" he paused for a second then placed another two bottles in from of me. "Methadone, to manage the withdrawal and craving. And Naltrexone, to block the euphoric effects of your opioids."

Hesitantly, another bottle appeared. "Clonidine, in case you feel like you're dying."

"Suguru—" I began, but he cut me off.

"Satoru, you have to get clean. The pills won't do a damn thing if you keep wrecking your liver."

"Yeah, it's a little late for that, don't you think? It's the only thing keeping me sane right now."

He sighed. "You're the absolute worst patient ever."

"Aw, come on, I thought you liked a bit of challenge. You're the best doctor, you'll figure something out." I rummaged through my bag, pulling out a folder.

"Even the best doctor on earth can't help if you don't—"

I shoved the folder across the desk, cutting him off. "What's this?"

"It's a patient. An anyeurism. I'm still not allowed to do surgery, not until this thing with the ethics committee is over."

Suguru opened the folder, flipping through the pages. "You want me to do it? Is there something special about this patient?"

"I want you to take her with you," I said quietly. "She likes aneurysm clippings."

Suguru looked up, that familiar crease between his brows. "She'll figure it out. Sooner or later. Latest when you're in the hospital waiting for a liver transplant, not lecturing anymore."

Silence stretched. My eyes fell on the pill bottles lined up on the desk.

I sighed, then gathered them and crammed them into my bag. "Let's go. I need fresh fair," I said as I brushed past him, putting the withdrawal meds back into his hands.

Without another word, I left the auditorium.

─── ·✧· ───

My eyes snapped open.

I sat upright, a strangled gasp tearing from my throat. My heart hammered against my ribs, each beat threatening to burst right out of my chest.

For a disorienting second, the world was a blur. Sweat drenched my skin. My lungs screamed for air.

Damn nightmares.

Another night of that shit.

I clutched at my chest, trying to quell the frantic pounding. Cold sweat made my shirt cling to my skin. The room spun. My pulse thundered in my ears.

I fumbled for the lamp, the sudden brightness stinging my eyes. But it didn't chase away the image seared into my brain. Her face, cruel, beautiful, cruelly beautiful, twisted in absolute terror. My stomach twisted.

My fault.

Always my fault.

I couldn't breathe right.

Sleep was a lost cause now. First decent rest in a week, and my brain decided to torment me again. Exhaustion was its own kind of hell, but it was nothing compared to this. That, more than anything, was the real torture.

I slumped forward, scrubbing a hand over my face.

I'd hurt her.

I'd hurt her, the one person who meant something.

Every day, it felt more like I'd made the biggest mistake of my life. Letting her go, pushing her away, I—

I hated myself.

Hated the way I ruined everything.

Hated the way I ruined every chance at something good.

It was like a damn curse.

Nothing good ever lasted for me. I should've known that by now.

Damn it, I knew it was wrong. But how the hell could it be wrong when it'd felt so damn right? When she was the only thing, the only person, that cut through the crap, made this whole mess seem like it might have some sort of meaning?

How could that possibly be wrong?

Guilt ate at my insides. Had I been a damn coward? Too scared to fight for something that made me feel, really feel?

Perhaps.

Easier to push her away, sabotage the whole damn thing, than risk actually letting her in. Letting anyone in. Losing control. But it didn't matter now, did it?

It was over.

I needed out. Out of my head, out of this apartment, out of my own damn skin.

The silence was unbearable.

I pushed off the bed, muscles screaming in protest. I slipped into running clothes, the routine automatic. As I laced up my shoes, a sharp sting shot through my leg from the still-healing cut on my leg.

That bitch.

The more I thought about it, the more sure I was she'd done it on purpose.

Good thing I was addicted to painkillers, huh?

I drowned a pill — no two, for good measure — before stepping outside into the pre-dawn chill.

Cold autumn air bit at my skin. Each step echoed on the empty street. The pills kicked in, dulling the sharp pain in my leg. Good. Long as the cut didn't split open, I didn't damn care.

I pushed myself, needing the burn in my muscles, the ache in my lungs, to drown out the constant echo of her voice, her name, in my head.

The world blurred. Streetlights, shadows, it all melded together. The only reality was the ache in my body, the cold air forcing its way into my lungs. My mind, for once, was mercifully blank.

No nightmares, no guilt, no memories of her haunted eyes — just the simple focus on putting one foot in front of the other.

I didn't set a goal, didn't choose a destination.

Just moving, pushing, escaping.

Sweat dripped, but I barely registered. With each mile, the crushing weight eased. Not gone, hell, not even close to forgotten, but — manageable.

I ran until the city was a smear of lights, until my legs burned and my lungs screamed.

Finally, gasping for breath, legs threatening to give out, I stumbled to a halt. The neon lights of a Seven Eleven cut through the pre-dawn darkness. My throat was sandpaper. I pushed through the door.

Inside, the harsh lights stung my eyes. I grabbed a water, my body on autopilot as I shuffled toward the register. The bored-looking teenager behind the counter gave me a sidelong look as I fumbled for my wallet.

"Rough night?"

"Something like that." I glanced down at my leg, the still-healing cut a visible red line. Wincing, I shifted my weight, favoring the uninjured side.

I pulled out my card to pay, but then a flash of color caught my eye. Beside the cashier's register, stacked in a gaudy pyramid, was a display of energy drinks. I starred at them for a second, the name oddly familiar.

I knew why the name was so familiar.

I reached for a can and placed it on the counter. "And this."

Outside, I downed the water in a matter of seconds. Then, I cracked open the energy drink. The first sip hit my tongue. Surprisingly, it didn't taste half-bad without a shot of stale coffee to ruin it.

But the taste wasn't the problem, wasn't it?

Memories flooded back. Her, hunched over a massive anatomy textbook in the dim library, those beautiful eyes ringed with exhaustion. Beside her, half-empty, a mug of coffee — spiked with the sickeningly sweet energy drink I currently held.

Just the thought of that awful mixture made my stomach turn.

Still, a smile tugged at my lips.

Dammit, I didn't want to think about her. But to be fair, thinking, not thinking — it was all the same. The dull, constant ache of her absence throbbed beneath it all.

I chugged the rest of the energy drink, crushing the can in my hand.

Ah, fuck it.

Before my sanity could interfere, my legs were in motion.

I knew this was wrong. Knew every step took me closer to more pain. Knew all along this was stupid, reckless — inevitable.

I couldn't stop.

The pull towards her was too damn strong. I needed to see her, to confirm her existence, to know she was real, to fix — what? What the hell could I fix? What the hell did I even think I was doing?

Finally, gasping for breath, I stumbled to a halt outside her apartment building.

A glance at my watch confirmed the hour — well past 3 am. Insane. I hadn't expected her to be awake. Just needed the pathetic reassurance of her presence. But as I looked up, my breath hitched.

In a second-floor window, a flicker of warm light spilled into the darkness. And there, etched against that warmth — her silhouette. Unmistakable.

A heavy exhale escaped my lips.

She was there.

Here.

On this same cursed world with me.

My heart pounded against my ribs. I knew, I had no right to be here. But god, I needed this, needed to see her.

She sat on the windowsill, book in hand. My future wife. Even in the dead of night, she was studying. How I loved her.

My gaze traced the familiar curve of her shoulders, the way the soft lamplight painted her skin with warmth, highlighting the strands of hair escaping her messy bun.

In that stolen moment, I could almost convince myself that things were different, that my actions hadn't irrevocably shattered something precious.

But then, she moved. Rising from her seat, she stretched, drawing the fabric of her shirt upwards. Before my mind could catch up, she was at the window, pushing it open. I froze.

She was staring down — right at me.

Shit.

I held my breath. For what felt like an eternity, we simply stared at each other. A muscle in her jaw twitched. Then her gaze dropped, breaking eye contact.

"You're bleeding."

I glanced down. The edge of my shorts was soaked through, a fresh stain of crimson spreading. Damn it. The cut had reopened.

"Yeah," I said, looking back up at her, "I'm a mess."

I braced myself for whatever was coming. The anger, the disgust, the righteous fury — it would all be justified. I deserved it. But she simply watched me. Her gaze was steady, devoid of emotion.

"You know where the entrance is," she said finally, then leaned back into the soft glow of her room and closed the window shut.

Before my brain could catch up with how wrong this was, I walked toward the apartment building.

─── ·✧· ───

I sat on the edge of her bed, she on a chair in front of me, her hands already on my leg as she pushed the fabric of my shorts up. "How could you not notice that?"

I opened my mouth, but she cut me off, "Wait, forget it."

Yeah. Now she remembered.

With practiced efficiency, she began cleaning the wound. Her touch was surprisingly gentle, considering how pissed she must be.

The silence was heavy, broken only by the rustle of bandages and my occasional sharp intake of breath when the antiseptic hit a raw spot.

My eyes wandered. Her space, even small and half-finished, felt warm, lived in. Smelled like her. Books spilling everywhere, papers scattered on a desk, a yoga mat forgotten in the corner — the organized chaos was so perfectly her.

Then my gaze landed on the half-unpacked boxes stacked against the wall. She really still didn't fully move in. Occupied with my mess, huh?

Guilt flooded me. I didn't deserve this, didn't deserve her gentle hands on me, not after everything.

Yet, a selfish part of me wanted nothing more than to stay exactly like this, wanted nothing more than to keep her hands on me.

With a sigh, I sank back against her pillows. Exhaustion seeped into my bones. Pain returned as the effects of the pills wore off.

Her fingers brushed the reopened cut. I winced, throwing an arm over my eyes. The relentless pounding in my head threatened to split me open, spilling all the ugly thoughts onto her pristine sheets.

"You've had nightmares again, haven't you?"

Huh?

I lifted my head a fraction, struggling to meet her eyes. She glanced up briefly, her eyes guarded, then focused back on my leg.

"Yeah, something like that." My head thumped back onto the pillow. "Hard to sleep when your head won't shut up."

"What dose?"

"You really don't want to know."

"I asked because I do," she countered. The sharp tug as she tightened the bandage around my leg was enough to make me speak.

"Ten milligrams," I admitted, wincing. "The usual."

She scoffed, then another, even sharper, tug had me gritting my teeth. "Ngh—fuck," I moaned.

I really needed a pill now.

She stood, gathering the first-aid supplies. "Heals slowly, doesn't it?"

I knew it.

I popped myself up on one elbow, raising an eyebrow at her.

"Don't give me that look. You know damn well you deserved it."

I let out a dry laugh. "You really are a bitch sometimes." I dropped back onto the bed, my hand reaching for my throbbing head.

I needed two pills now.

"You've got some damn nerve. You show up here in the middle of the night, injured, high—"

"I'm not high—"

"Save it," she spat. "You know what your fucking problem is? You can't stand being alone. Alone with your thoughts, with yourself. So you run. You run to pills, to whatever distraction you can find, anything to fill the void."

Yeah, how the hell am I supposed to want to be alone after feeling what it's like to be with you, stupid.

"You're too damn scared to face your fears," she continued, her voice laced with a bitter edge, "and when someone threatens your artificial peace, someone who might actually force you to look in the damn mirror, you panic. You sabotage it, push them away before it all gets too real, too close."

She stepped closer. "Because it's easier, isn't it? Safer to stick with the misery you know than risk having to face that void."

Every word stung, but I couldn't deny it, couldn't lie anymore.

"You're right. And I'm sorry—"

"Don't." She rose a hand at me. "Don't pretend you care, Satoru. You've made it clear how little I matter."

How little you matter?

Oh, love, you couldn't be more wrong.

A harsh laugh escaped me.

"You find this funny?"

"No, love," I said, pushing myself up. My leg throbbed in protest, but I ignored it. Everything narrowed down to her. I moved closer, a strange recklessness fueling me. "Quite the opposite."

Something flickered in her eyes — surprise? wariness? — but the anger remained.

"Keep going," I insisted, moving closer. "Let it out. Yell at me, tell me how pathetic I am. Make me feel something, anything other than this damn emptiness."

She hesitated. Her eyes searched mine, and for a breathless moment, I hoped that her fury, her anger, would burn away the numbness, making me feel something, anything.

Because even her anger was better than her indifference.

I couldn't stand being indifferent to her.

Might as well make her hate me.

"You want me to yell at you?" Her voice rose, the first hint of the storm I craved. "Fine! You wanna be a pathetic mess? Go ahead! Piss away your career, your life, whatever the hell you care about, I don't give a damn anymore!"

Each word hit me, but there was a desperate relief in it. Finally, she wasn't looking at me with that chilling indifference, that cold pity that twisted a knife in my gut.

Her rage, it was fire — scorching and brutal, but alive. And I loved it.

Because it was prove she still cared, even if it was just to hate me with every fiber of her being. It was better than the void, that terrible chasm that had opened up between us after I'd pushed her away.

I closed the distance, enjoying the anger in her eyes. She flinched, but didn't back down.

"More." I grabbed her waist, lifting her with ease, and hauled her towards the bed.

"You're weak!" she spat, pushing against my chest, her voice rising with each word.

Yeah, so damn weak for you, love.

"You're selfish! So consumed by your own self-pity you can't see how you hurt everyone around you!"

Her words should have hurt. They probably would have, under different circumstances. But right now, I couldn't care less.

"Keep going," I rasped, my pulse pounding in my ears. I forced her onto the bed and hovered over her, my body trapping her between the mattress and my own. "C'mon, love, let it all out."

"You don't deserve me," she continued. "You don't deserve anyone who gives a damn, because you only know how to destroy things."

Each word was a knife. Yet, with each insult, the suffocating hollowness inside me eased a fraction. I wanted her anger, the full force of it, wanted the burn only she could inflict on me.

"More."

Her breath hitched, eyes narrowing. "You keep breaking my heart over and over, then come crawling back when it suits you, like it doesn't matter!"

"You're right." I leaned in, my thumb brushing over her bottom lip. The thin fabric of her shirt did little to hide her shivers. "C'mon, love, give it to me. I know you can do better."

In one swift move, I ripped my shirt over my head, tossing it to the floor. I leaned down again, my breath ghosting over her lips. "Hate me." My hands went for the flimsy waistband of her shorts. "Tell me how much you despise me."

Her breaths came fast, quick gasps against my skin. I could see it all over her face — the rage, the fear, and maybe — yeah, maybe that darker edge, the same desperation burning in me.

"I fucking hate you, Satoru. Hate that you made me care, made me fall for you, then crushed it."

"Don't stop," I said, my voice a hoarse rasp. "Say it again." Before she could react, her shorts were down, exposing her to the night air. My own pants followed hasty, desperate. "Say you hate me."

"I fucking hate that you treat me like I'm just another damn plaything to fill whatever void your messed-up mom or whatever left you with!"

Okay, now it gets personal.

"I fucking hate that you act like you can control me," she hissed, but her body betrayed her, shivered running down her skin as my hands gazed her collarbone. "Hate that you make my choices for me, decide what's good for me, like you got to have control over something when you obviously can't control yourself!"

Damn, Freud himself is on to something tonight, huh? She really doesn't know when to stop.

"You're a fucking hypocrite, you know that?" I leaned closer, my mouth close to her ear. "You hate who I am, but you crave this, don't you? Giving up control, being at my mercy. Admit it."

Her eyes widened, then narrowed. She lifted a hand, as if to slap me, but I was faster. I caught her wrists and pinned them above her head, pressing them hard into the mattress.

"You know it's true," I pressed, relishing the way she struggled against my hold. "It's hard always being the composed one, isn't it? The responsible one. It's draining. Maybe that's why you're drawn to me. You love the thrill as much as I do, don't you?"

She stared at me, silent, her lips a tight line.

"Prove me wrong, sweetheart. Call me a liar, and I'll show you just how wrong you are," I leaned in closer, my voice a harsh whisper against her lips. "We're the same, you and me. We feed off each other. Even if you hate to admit it, I fill that emptiness inside you same as you do for me."

"You arrogant piece of shit!" she spat, twisting and bucking against my grip. "You think you know everything, control everything!"

"Don't I?" My grip tightened, feeling her pulse throb against my fingers. "Seems I've got you pinned pretty damn well, wouldn't you say?"

"You know it's true. You love this. Makes you feel something your books, your fancy grades never could."

"Screw you, Satoru," she hissed, venom in her voice. "We're nothing alike."

"You really are a fool, for wanting to fix something so broken it'll cut you to shreds the moment you get close and then you cry afterwards—"

Her spit hit my face. I closed my eyes for a second, then a smile twisted across my lips.

My future wife just spit in my face — what a good anecdote on our wedding day.

"That's my girl," I rasped, shoving her legs wider. "Tell me how much you hate me. Scream it."

"I fucking hate you Satoru, I hate you—"

Her words died on her tongue as I thrust forward, filling her completely. I closed my eyes, letting my head hang heavy for a second.

My god, the things this woman's body could do to me. I could feel her body trembling beneath me, her heart racing as she arched her back.

How treacherous a body can be, huh?

"Hate you, Satoru," she managed to say before she closed her eyes, biting down her lip as I thrust deeper still. Her thighs spread further apart, inviting me closer, urging me onward.

She's so damn beautiful.

I grinned, my hands still holding her wrists in place over her head. "I know you do, love. But you know what?" My lips were only a breath away from hers. "I hate you, too. I hate how you make me feel, how you expose every broken piece of me, how I crave you like I crave another fix."

Hell, I might just be addicted to this woman.

I pulled out fully, before thrusting back into her. Her head fell back, pressing into the mattress as a strangled moan escaping her lips.

She felt incredible.

Pulling back slowly, I watched her body react to the absence, her eyes flickering open to meet mine. Those pupils dilated with need, mirroring my own hunger for her.

In that moment, nothing else mattered. Not our fight. Not our problems. Not our insults that had left our lips moments before. Just us — two halves coming together in a perfect whole.

I pushed back into her, deeper, harder.

With each thrust, I felt myself sinking deeper into her, losing myself in her. Fuck, if there was anything better than this — well, I hadn't found it yet.

This woman owned me — plain and simple.

It was madness, this pull towards her.

Insane, perhaps.

But it was also undeniably real. So real that even though dawn threatened to break soon, stealing away whatever remnants of darkness remained, I couldn't help but chase after that high only she could provide.

Even knowing full well that when morning arrived, reality would crash down upon us, forcing us back onto opposite sides of the divide.

"Look what you've done to me, love. You're making a fool of me." I whispered against her lips without touching them.

Weren't together anymore after all.

Kissing would be too much.

Her chest rose and fell rapidly beneath me. Her nails dug into my skin where my hands gripped her wrists. With each deep thrust, I watched her face contort with pleasure and pain, her features illuminated by fleeting streaks of moonlight seeping through the curtains.

I loved that look on her face.

I wondered if I could make that look even more pathetic.

I pulled out, dragging the tip of my length across her clit before pushing back in. She squirmed underneath me, arching her back. But I denied her, keeping my unhurried pace. I wanted to draw out this sweet torture for as long as possible.

Hours passed — or perhaps mere minutes. I couldn't tell anymore. All that mattered was this woman writhing beneath me.

Groaning in frustration, she attempted to break free from my grip. "Dammit, Satoru. If you won't finish what you started, then get off me!"

I smirked. "Why so eager, love. Can't handle the wait?" I leaned in to kiss down the side of her neck. She shivered beneath me, her breath hitching as my teeth grazed her skin.

With my free hand I reached down, running my fingers down her quivering stomach, relishing in the shivers that coursed through her body.

She glared up at me, her eyes narrowing dangerously. "Stop calling me 'love'. I don't belong to you, not anymore—"

She gasped into my mouth when I found her clit. Slowly, deliberately, I began to circle it with my thumb, feeling her surrender to me. I plunged deeper, thrusting into her mercilessly.

Let her hate me all she wants. She can't deny the chemistry between us — a spark that refuses to fade, no matter how hard either of us tries.

She must have hated this — hated how she surrendered to me, even with all that anger. Made me wondered if I could rail her up even more.

"You think you're so much better than me?" I rasped. "So strong, so selfless, always putting others first? It's a lie, and you know it. You're just bored."

"You fucker!" Before I knew what was happening, she broke free of my grasp and had flipped us over so that she was now straddling my hips.

Without warning, she reached forward, gripping my throat with surprising strength as she leaned down, her hair falling like a curtain around our faces. I couldn't help but smile.

"Don't project your bullshit on me," she seethed, her face inches from mine.

Her words sent a chill down my spine, stirring up a fresh wave of desire within me. Damn, this woman was infuriating — and captivating in the worst way possible.

We glared at each other like enemies preparing for battle.

"Aren't you a little tired? Pulling up that act all the time?" I choked out, feeling her fingers dig in further. "Deep down, you're just as bored as me, you're just too righteous to admit it."

"Shut up," she hissed, pressing harder, choking the words out of me.

This was madness. Destructive madness. But for this one desperate moment, I didn't care. It was exhilarating, addictive. Because love, our twisted, broken love, wasn't supposed to be pretty.

It was messy, chaotic, and borderline abusive. But sometimes all you need is a firm grip around the throat to remind you that you're alive.

"Harder, love," I gasped, a laugh bubbling up in my constricted throat. "Come on, make me feel your rage."

Slowly, deliberately, she began grinding her hips against mine, setting a maddening pace that left me reeling. Fuck, I think I love it even more when she hates me.

"Ahh, shit," I gasped, clutching at her thighs as she rode me mercilessly. "That's it."

Eyes squeezed shut, my head rolled back. Chills prickled my skin, possibly due to the cool breeze drifting in from the window. Or perhaps it was merely her.

She rode me with increased speed, and I could barely contain the overwhelming sensations coursing through my body. Every fiber of my being screamed for release.

My knuckles on her thighs turned white from the force. "Oh, shit, you're going to kill me," I moaned between choked sounds that escaped my lips.

My lips twisted into a smile again. "Admit it. You love the chaos as much as I do. The thrill, the way it makes you feel alive."

"You're wrong," she said, increasing her pace making my cock twitch inside her. "We're nothing alike."

"Keep telling yourself that," I replied, struggling to catch my breath, as she made me lose my mind. "But I know the truth—we're two sides of the same coin."

"You really believe that, don't you?"

"Why else would you be here, like this, with me?" I countered. "Face it, we're addicted to each other—the highs, the lows, the constant push and pull. It's exhilarating, isn't it?"

"You're the only addict here."

"Liar," I rasped.

Her muscles clenched around me, drawing me deeper inside her. She was close. Each contraction of her pushing me further towards a peak that I knew would soon shatter me.

But I wasn't ready yet. Not quite.

I shifted our positions, sitting upright before spinning us around so she was now beneath me on the mattress. I positioned myself behind her, forcing her down onto the mattress.

I slowly slid my hand along her spine as I pushed her further down, feeling her tremble beneath my touch, the softness of her skin beneath my fingertips.

It was intoxicating to watch her submit to me.

"Fuck, you'll be the death of me."

Leaning down, I pressed my lips against the small of her back, feeling her shiver once more. My hand continued its descent, stopping just short of where she needed me.

"Satoru," my name fell from her lips.

Oh, how I loved it when she breathed my name like that. I couldn't resist her — could never resist her. I was at her mercy. Even now.

She arched her back, silently pleading for me to continue. I slid my hand between her legs. "God, you're so fucking wet," I murmured, slipped a finger inside her, then another. She was so tight, so warm.

I couldn't wait to be inside her again.

She gasped, pushing back against me. "Don't stop."

Curving my fingers, I searched for that spot that I knew would drive her mad. When I found it, she cried out, her hips bucking against my hand. Her hands scrabbled at the sheets, grasping for purchase as I started to move inside her.

"Yes, fuck," she moaned, spreading her legs wider. "Right there."

Oh, love. I know you like that.

I smiled, relishing the fact that I knew her body better than herself. I knew every inch of her, every freckle, every scar, every sensitive spot that made her squirm.

"More," she begged.

I happily obliged, adding a third finger and thrusting deeper. She was soaking wet, her juices coating my fingers as I fucked her with my hand. Her moans grew louder, more urgent. She was close, so close.

I increased the pace of my fingers, pumping them in and out of her as I used my thumb to apply pressure to her clit.

However, as her moans reached a fever pitch, I withdrew my fingers, denying her release.

She gasped, glanced over her shoulder at me, her mouth open, but said nothing — probably out of breath.

I brought my fingers to my mouth, savoring the taste of her. It was so uniquely her. I couldn't get enough.

Leaning in, I pressed my body against hers from behind, my hard length probed at her entrance.

I leaned down over her, my hand snaking into her hair. I grabbed it tightly, forcing her head up to meet mine. "I love you, first-year," I murmured against her ear.

She trembled, but her defiance remained strong. "I hate you."

I sighed — always so fierce, makes me wonder what it takes to fuck that stubborn attitude out of her.

"It's alright, I love you enough for both of us."

With that, I pushed her head down into the mattress. Her cry muffled by the sheets beneath her as I thrust into her once more, bottoming out inside her with a groan.

I began to move in and out of her. Faster now, harder until the headboard slammed against the wall. Her muscles clenched around me, drawing me deeper inside her. She clawed at the sheets beneath her, her moans muffled by the fabric.

As her cries grew louder, I quickly pushed her face further into the mattress. "Quiet, first year," I murmured as I angled myself to rub against her G-spot, making it harder for her to keep quiet. "Wouldn't want to disturb anyone in the middle of the night, would we?"

Neither of us spoke a word — not that she could but — perhaps because there was nothing left to say. Instead, we communicated solely through our actions, saying everything that needed to be said without opening our mouths.

I increased both the pace and pressure. Nearly causing her to fall forward hadn't I held her in place with one hand on her waist and one sill in her hair. Her breath hitched, her entire body tensed as she approached her breaking point.

Oh, how I loved feeling her tighten around me.

Bringing her closer to the edge was a thrill like no other. Watching her lose control, hearing her cries and moans, feeling her body tremble beneath me — it was intoxicating.

I could feel myself getting closer to the edge, my balls tightening as I approached my own release.

Her cries grew louder, more urgent, until finally, she shattered around me, her orgasm triggering my own.

With a final thrust, I emptied myself inside her, filling her completely. Her contractions milked every last drop from me, her body still quivering around me.

I stayed inside her, savoring the feeling. It might be the last time.

I was panting, my chest rising and falling rapidly as I tried to catch my breath. My cock was still twitching inside her. Reluctantly, I pulled out with a low moan.

I stayed behind her for a moment longer, admiring the curve of her waist, the sheen of sweat on her skin in the sliver of moonlight.

Don't know when or if I'll ever see that again.

Time seemed to stand still, suspended indefinitely as we tried to find our breath again.

Then she turned her head. "You're a fucking idiot," she finally said.

"Tell me something I don't know."

She shifted to face me, her expression serious. "Promise me something."

"Anything you want, love."

"Promise me, you won't kill yourself with your pills."

I swallowed hard. That's not what'll get me, I thought, as I felt a sharp pain lancing through my right side.

I moved closer, cupping her face with my hands that trembled slightly. For an insane moment, I wanted to kiss her, but I knew I couldn't — couldn't ever again. "I promise," I rasped.

The words heavy with a lie we both knew.

<- prev chapter | next chapter ->

author's note: wooooaaa, another insane!gojo chapter lol. this chapter really killed me, was crying, screaming, throwing up while writing.

i'm equally scared and excited to hear what you think about todays chapter, ngl. originally i didn't plan a smut scene in this chapter, but you know, somewhere down that line gojo just happened and here we are.

also like, i think now both their's darkest secrets are now out — in the worst way possible. also because i keep getting messages regarding how much chapters are left of the story, idk i write form chapter to chapter. we're down somewhere the 60—70 % line with the story i guess, but we'll see. still more to uncover of gojo's past and all that.

also sorry for the people asking of for more fluff and happy moments, ehhh, there will be some in the future?? also i'm still sticking to the plan of a happy ending, so don't worry!! gojo fucked up big time and the next chapters will center about him trying to fight his fears and get shit together — let's see if he can do that. curious myself.

so thank you so so much for sicking by with the story. sending kisses to all of you lovely people seeing me messages, leaving likes, comments and reblog stuff. it really makes my heart happy everything i see a notification. love you all sm!! ♡

okay my last note, just so you know, i'm going on vocation soon, so the next chapter will be a bit delayed again, sorraaaayyy!! wishing you a great day or night and an awesome weekend ahead! ♡

🏷️ @sad-darksoul @aerithsthingss @mylovelessnightmare @bbyxxm @musababy @neuviloved @ykehqqy @hexrts-anatomy @fvsm4x @tw0fvced @heijihattorisgf @sadmonke @thatsopanu @sirencholia @sugurusdiscordmoderator @erwinslut @shervinss @certainlysyko @mechalily @purplehallow11 @kendall0111 @bloopsstuff @therealestpussyeater @louoi7 @whereflowerswenttodie @billiondollarworth @deluluforcarlos55 @starrynight-777 @vina21 @michelleeveline @boba-is-a-soup @cre8inghavoc @love-jelly @daimiyu @d0nk3y-k0ng @mo0nforme @smolbeanzzz @oneiricals @ynishalee @gojolvrr34 @nanasukii28 @ariiiii0938 @kelppsstuff @tojisdollx @drakenswifeyy @bakarinnie @vina21 @phoenix-eclipses @nanamis-baker @neptnszn (pls comment on the series masterlist to get tagged in the future!)

#symptoms and causes #gojo saturo #jujutsu kaisen #saturo gojo x reader #jjk x reader #gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #gojo x you #gojo x female reader #satoru gojo smut #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo angst #gojo angst #jjk smut #gojo satoru #jjk x you #jjk fanfic

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sanguineterrain · 2 months

Note

Hello madame terrain, I have been thinking about boxer!jason for some time now and I'm wondering if you have any thoughts about him? if not that's totally okay too ☺️ love all your writing!!!

lol hi, madame terrain is adorable 💕 also boxer jason is big brained!!! let's do it ;)

boxer!jason todd x gn!reader. reader is an apprentice to a ringside doctor (leslie thompkins). tw creepy OMC intimidates reader, jason protects/defends r, fluff, my attempt at boxing stuff.

****

Leslie said she'd be back in an hour.

You're currently at the thirty minute mark, hoping for a natural disaster, an angel, anything, because...

"Doc gives me stuff for my pain all the time," Keith says for the third time. "It's real simple."

Keith Dixon is one of the gym's regular fighters. You haven't seen enough matches to judge his fighting, but you can confidently say that his people skills are in the toilet.

He'd barged into the office ten minutes ago and had refused to leave even when you said Leslie was out.

You need to make a break for it.

"You have to wait for Dr. Thompkins," you say, lifting your chin. You won't give in and risk losing this job. No way in hell. "I can't administer medications. I'm not licensed."

Keith rolls his eyes. He's a hothead, new to Gotham. Likes to fight. Likes to fight mean.

"Look, you're new. I'm just giving you a heads-up on how things work around here," he says, backing you up further. You're nearly against the wall.

Where the hell is Leslie?

"I'm sorry, Mr. Dixon, but I can't prescribe painkillers without her supervision."

"Uh-huh. Know what I think? I think you're just not cut out for the ring," Keith says, cornering you against the cabinet. "Cute thing like you shouldn't be hiding in an office. The Doc ought to know better..."

"Is there a problem?"

The new voice makes you flinch, just a little. Keith pulls back, posture easy but guarded. The second guy holds himself similarly. He's also well-built, clad in a gray tee and black sweatpants. His hands are wrapped.

"J-man," Keith says, daggers in his teeth. "Man, I thought you were benched for the week. You meet our new assistant? They're still getting used to how things run around here."

The mystery man looks at you. His eyes are a lovely teal.

"Is he botherin' you?" he asks.

"I—" You swallow. "I was just explaining to Keith that I can't administer medicine without Dr. Thompkins."

Keith huffs. "Jason, tell 'em how this works."

Jason faces Keith. They nearly match each other in height and bulk. You hope to God they don't decide to brawl here and now.

"I think you're the one who needs a reminder, Dixon," Jason says coolly. "Seems pretty straightforward to me. You need to wait for the Doc. So was there something else you needed?"

Keith's mouth presses into a line. You can tell he's got about a hundred ugly thoughts on his tongue right now.

"Nope," he grits out.

"Mm. Then step off."

Keith obeys. You slip out of the corner.

"I'll come back," he says.

"When the Doc's here," Jason adds. It doesn't sound like a suggestion. "If y'need a reminder of her schedule, I don't mind giving you one."

Keith looks at you. You hold his gaze, heart pounding.

"Of course," he says, all false charm, and pushes past Jason. "See ya in the ring, J.T."

You can't relax even after Keith leaves. Jason remains in the doorway. You close your eyes at the thought of dealing with another fighter. It's not bad with Leslie here, but this is your first time alone. It's already a disaster.

Obviously, none of the fighters respect you like they respect Leslie, even after three weeks of you working here. You don't even know all of the fighters.

"Hey." Jason doesn't move from his spot as he asks. "Y'okay?"

"Yes," you say, keeping your back straight. "I'm fine. Do you need medical attention?"

"I just came to get some more wraps. But I can get 'em at home."

His voice is softer now that Keith's gone.

"No need," you say. "That's what I'm here for."

You get a roll of tape from the drawer. It takes you three tries to pull the edge out. You drop it twice.

You feel Jason's eyes on you. You keep pulling the tape, but it won't comply.

"I got it," he says. "I can wrap myself. Toss it here."

You pause, tape half unfurled. "Dr. Thompkins told me to do all wraps myself."

"Leslie's cool. I won't tell her, anyway."

You shake your head. "Why don't you want me to wrap your hands?"

Jason glances to the side. He leans against the doorframe, purposely casual.

"'Cause Keith's a big guy. And I'm a big guy. And your hands are still shaking."

You tighten your grip on the tape.

Jason gestures to the office. "This is your space. I won't come in if you don't want me to. That's not how this works."

"It's... it's the job," you say, startled. "I don't—I've heard that Keith's rough with everybody."

"Yeah, well, he's an asshole. You shouldn't have to be rough back. Good fighters turn it off outside of the ring. I don't want to make you feel small. Alright?"

Tension bleeds out of your spine. You no longer feel like prey.

"It's easier if I wrap them for you," you say, and turn your back on him to fetch the antiseptic.

The tiles behind you creak as Jason hesitates for a moment. Then he walks in and sits in a chair, so you're higher than him.

He looks up at you. He really does have beautiful eyes. His eyelashes are dark and delicate. There's a faded bruise on his cheek.

He's boyishly handsome, with a mouth that looks like it smiles a lot.

"Do you also fight here?"

He nods. "Since I was eighteen. Been here a while."

You take one of his hands in both of yours. Jason's already thrown out the old tape. His knuckles are cut up. They're covered in scars. His fingernails are short and neat.

His hands are big, far bigger than yours. Veins feed into each other from the backs of his hands up his forearms.

You take out the antiseptic spray.

"Might be cold," you warn.

"'S okay."

You spray his skin. Jason doesn't even flinch.

"Your hands are really soft," he says.

"Oh, thank you. I use Isley's Salve. Works great."

Why did you share that?

Jason's mouth quirks. "Yeah? Might have to try that. My hands have seen better days."

"I have some in my bag." You let go of the half-done wrap and dig through your backpack. You pull out the small tube of salve and squeeze some onto his hands.

Jason is quiet and still as you rub in the lotion. He's pliant as you finish the wraps, letting you turn his hands over. You pull the wraps tight.

"All done," you say, face suddenly warm like you've been caught doing something you weren't supposed to.

He flexes his hands a few times. "Thanks. You're good. I can see why Leslie chose you as her apprentice."

You shrug. "Anybody can wrap hands."

"Dunno. I've seen some pretty shit wraps in my time."

"Oh. Well, um, I'm here most of the time, so feel free to come by and get your wraps changed."

He hums. "Sure. Don't worry 'bout Keith. I'll take care of it."

Your eyes widen. "I don't want more trouble..."

"You won't get trouble, I promise. We don't tolerate that here. 'Sides, he's overstayed his welcome."

You nod. "Okay. Thank you, Jason."

"No need for thank you's. Y'alright getting home?"

"Yes, I'm okay. Leslie's dropping me."

Jason nods, then picks himself up. He pauses like he wants to say something else, but he strides out of the room like he's in a rush instead.

"Well, um. G'night," he says over his shoulder. "Take care."

It's about fifteen more minutes until Leslie returns.

"Everything alright?" she asks in a tone that tells you she already knows the answer. "I ran into Jason on my way in. He said Keith Dixon gave you some trouble. I'm sorry I took so long. Are you alright?"

"You ran into—I thought Jason went home for the night."

Leslie looks like you've just told her the sky is red. "He wanted to make sure you were okay. So he waited till I came back. Are you okay? Did Keith hurt you?"

You shake your head. "No, I'm alright. Just shaken up. He's a bully. Wanted painkillers."

Leslie frowns. "He won't bother you again. I'll make sure you're not alone."

"It's okay. I mean, Jason was there."

She nods. "Mm. He's a good boy. I know his father."

"Yeah, he, uh, was nice. I wrapped his hands."

Leslie raises an eyebrow. Your shoulders rise.

"What?" you ask. "You said to practice my wraps."

She shrugs. "Nothing, nothing. I did tell you that. I'm glad you got some practice in."

You follow her to her car. Soon, Leslie pulls out of the lot.

"Leslie, do you mind if we stop at CVS?"

"Sure. What for?"

You feel for the little tube in your pocket.

"Need more Isley's Salve... I'm, uh, running low."

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #red hood x reader #red hood x you #red hood fanfiction #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd imagine #dc fanfic #batman fanfiction #batman imagine #boxer jason todd #inbox #blurb

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confused-pyramid · 3 months

Text

You're the Only One Who Knows to Slow it Down | s5

pairing: aaron hotchner x childhood bsf!reader

summary: Hotch and his childhood best friend working together at the BAU: a slow burn across the seasons.

word count: 16.2k

warnings: canon!typical violence, mentions of abuse, major character death, gun violence, drinking, specific episodes mentioned in this part are 5x01, 5x02, 5x06, 5x09, 5x10, and 5x21

a/n: This season was really hard to write at points (I think we all know which eps I'm talking about lol) but I'm looking forward to brighter days ahead:') Also we get some more tangible tension so yay! Title is from Look After You by The Fray

series masterlist

"We're not working a case," Derek states matter-of-factly when you arrive at the crime scene. You were woken up early the next morning after getting back from Canada, and on less than four hours of sleep, your brain is struggling to function.

"Why call us to a crime scene?" you ask, walking up to the front door of the house with the rest of the team.

He shrugs. "I was hoping you knew."

You look around, trying to find Aaron, but he's nowhere in sight. He had promised to put in the team request for a few days of leave, but you presume the call came in before he got a chance to do so.

The local police let you survey the scene, explaining that a Dr. Barton got a threatening letter that someone would be murdered everyday that he didn't give up his own son. Once you're done inspecting the body, you turn to JJ, lowering your voice. "Where's Hotch?"

"He's not answering his cell," she says, her lips thinning. "I assume it's on vibrate."

You nod. "I'll try him again."

You step away from the group and click his number in your speed dial, listening to the rings until it reaches his voicemail. It's unlike him to keep his phone on silent, but you know the previous night was tough on everyone. "Hey, it's me." You tell him the address you're heading to for the case, before turning towards the car and lowering your voice. "I know you're probably just asleep, but I don't know...I have that weird feeling again that you know I get...so please just call me back." You take a deep breath, hoping you're being overdramatic, and that you'll see him pull up in a few minutes. "See you soon."

When you get to Dr. Barton's house, he still hasn't called you back. You sit with the doctor, Prentiss, and Reid in his living room, going through his recent patient files, while Morgan, JJ, and Rossi head to the school to find his son.

"Something set this guy off," Emily explains as you start poring over the records. "Odds are it's in your files."

You manage to get through about a dozen before Dr. Barton stands up with a sigh. "My son is leaving school in five hours. There's no way we can get through all of these patients in time."

You check your phone again, mostly to see the time, but you also note that there aren't any new calls or messages. "He's right. We need more eyes on this. I can get Hotch and be back in a half hour."

"Keep us updated," Emily says, nodding at you. Concern flashes across her eyes for a millisecond, and you're sure it reflects the look in yours.

The drive to his apartment doesn't take long, and you stalk down the hall, all the way to the end, until you find his door. There's no answer the first time you knock, so you reach for the spare key he gave you, but before you can use it, you realize the door is already unlocked.

Your heart drops into your stomach and you pull your gun out, using it to push open the door carefully. "Aaron? Aaron, it's me."

When the door is ajar, the sight before you almost makes you drop your gun. There's a large bullet hole in the far wall, along with a patch of drying blood and bits of broken glass on the floor. His phone is on the ground as well, and his gun and holster are lying on his dining table.

You crouch down on your heels, trying to calm your breathing, as you take in your surroundings. You need to think logically about this, or you'll be no help at all.

A few things come to you as your mind clears.

His car is still outside.

No blood splatter around the bullet hole.

No drag marks.

You dig your hand around your back pocket and pull out your phone, dialing Garcia as fast as you can. "Overtime shift, Penelope speaking."

Her chipper voice usually calms you down, but right now you need to cut to the chase. "Garcia, it's me. Something's happened to Hotch. You need to get an APB out on him."

Her breath stutters. "What do you mean, something?"

"There's blood on the floor," you whisper, willing your voice not to crack as your throat thickens with tears. "There's also a bullet hole in the wall, probably a .44."

"I'll send the whole team," she says before you cut her off.

"No, don't call the team. They need to finish the case we were assigned. Just tell Emily, since she's expecting me back, but send every other agent in the vicinity."

"On it."

The line clicks off and you release your breath, before standing up again. While you wait for the crime scene techs, you poke around his things in the main area, trying to see if anything has been taken or moved. The only thing you notice before they arrive is that a page has been ripped from his address book.

"Agent L/N?" a voice calls from the doorway.

You lift your hand. "Yeah, in here."

They come inside and get to work immediately, so you step out, just in time for Garcia to call you back. "Y/N, I checked local hospitals for his name, and I didn't find anything at first, but then one of them told me something really strange."

"Garcia," you whisper through gritted teeth. You love her, but she needs to hurry up before you explode. "What was it?"

"Someone dropped off a John Doe at St. Sebastian hospital, and that someone's name was FBI Agent Derek Morgan."

Your vision turns black for a moment. He's back. Foyet's back.

You're rushing to your car before she has a chance to hang up.

***

He's still under anesthesia when you arrive at the hospital. He was stabbed nine times. That's what the nurse told you when you flashed your credentials and asked for any information she could give you.

Now, you're standing in his doorway, trying to build up the nerve to approach his sleeping form. Even with all of the bandages covering his arms and abdomen, he somehow looks peaceful. It's been so long since you've seen his brow unfurrowed, his forehead smooth, without the tension that invades his daily life.

After a few minutes, you take a step inside, then another, and suddenly you're right beside him, reaching out to clutch his hand over the bedsheet.

His skin is cold, and you wrap both hands around his to warm it up, if even by just a little. He's usually a furnace, generating his own heat even when it's freezing out, but whenever he gets hurt, his hands turn to ice.

After a minute, your phone buzzes in your pocket and you let him go to answer it. It's just Emily telling you that she's at the hospital with the rest of the team, and you walk out into the hall to talk to them.

Rossi is the first to reach you. He squeezes you into a hug before getting back to business. "You sure it was Foyet?"

"He had Morgan's credentials," you nod, rubbing a hand over the back of your neck. Derek glances at you then, and you press your lips together with a nod.

"Did they catch him on the security cam?"

"You could see him dropping Hotch off," you explain, trying to keep your voice steady, "but the camera's only on the entrance, so I have no idea what direction he went once he left the hospital."

Emily shakes her head. "It doesn't make sense for him to have brought Hotch to the E.R."

The nurse from earlier approaches you then, pulling your attention. "Agents, he's waking up."

You shuffle inside and take his hand again as everyone walks in.

His voice is soft when he opens his eyes. "Where am I?"

"In the hospital," Emily whispers, taking care to be mindful of her volume.

He shuts his eyes for a beat. "How did I get here?"

"Foyet drove you." Rossi doesn't frown often, but the lines of his face are clearer than ever. "Can you remember what happened?"

Hotch shakes his head, closing his eyes. "What did he take? The Reaper always takes something from his victims."

"There was an address page missing from your day planner," you whisper, finally finding your voice. "In the B's."

His eyes snap open and he tries to lift his head from the pillow, but he can only wince. "Where are my clothes?"

Emily hands him a plastic bag filled with his belongings, and he ruffles through them, until he finds his wallet. When he opens it, a photograph is stuffed inside, covered in blood spatter. Haley and Jack.

Your breath catches, and he seems to realize what it means at the same moment you do. "Haley's maiden name is Brooks. I always listed her in the B's in my personal information in case it fell into the wrong hands."

You squeeze his hand involuntarily, and he exhales sharply. "He knows where they live."

***

When the rest of the team rushes off to his old house, you stay with him at the hospital. You get a call soon from JJ that Haley and Jack are just fine, and you are finally able to breathe easy for the first time all day.

"They're okay," you tell him when you hang up the phone. "That was JJ. She said Haley was home and Jack's at a playdate, but Morgan is going to pick him up right now."

He nods slowly, his body relaxing into the bed. "Good. That's good."

"It is," you say, eyeing his movements. It's still enormously difficult to look at him like this, but you won't be able to move forward if you don't know the truth. "Aaron, what happened? What did he do?"

"I don't remember all of it," he says slowly, clearly taking his time with each word. There's no rush, and he knows it. Even if it takes him hours to get it all out, you'll still be here. "I remember him being there when I got home, after I dropped you off. He fired off a shot into the wall, and then I tried to tackle him, but..."

He trails off, and you squeeze his hand tighter, as though trying to tether him to the present moment. After a few shallow breaths, he continues. "I tried to tackle him, and I got him on the ground, but then he overpowered me." You can almost see it in your mind. The picture he's painting as he weaves over the details with startling clarity. "The first one hurt the most."

The first stab. Your eyes close for a beat, like you're trying to hide from his words. The first of nine.

"I don't remember much after that." You can tell he's leaving things out, but you also don't know if you'll be able to handle it if he does tell you everything.

"That's okay," you whisper as his eyes droop down. "You should rest."

He nods slowly as the exhaustion takes over and his grip loosens around your hand as he falls asleep.

You wait by his side for about a half hour, until you spot a familiar face (with a new haircut) dawdling in the hallway.

You stand up in a fervor. "Oh, thank god."

You rush over to Haley and pull her into a hug, which she returns just as forcefully. "JJ called us when she found you, but it's still really good to see your face."

"It's good to see you too," she says with an exhale before letting you go. You look down and see Jack standing next to her, his mouth downturned as his fingers twiddle at his sides. "Do you mind staying with him while I go talk to Aaron?"

You turn around and see that he's blinking his eyes open again. "Not at all." You take Jack's hand with a smile and lead him down the hall.

"I'm sorry if the big men scared you," you tell him once you find a few seats in the waiting area. "I know it was all very sudden."

To your surprise, his face breaks out into a big grin. "Uncle Derek let me turn on the siren!"

"Wow!" you smile, feeling warm laughter echo around your chest. "That sounds super fun."

He nods ecstatically, before leaning his head over to look back up the hall. "Can I see Daddy now?"

Your smile falls as fast as it appeared and you take his hand again, pressing his fingers between yours. "Soon, baby, soon."

***

He wakes up to the sound of faint talking. He can vaguely see you hugging someone, and he blinks a few times to clear his vision as you disappear down the hall.

"How do you feel?" Haley asks as she walks into his hospital room. She doesn't come further than the foot of the bed, but he's just glad to see her here, in one piece.

He clears his throat quietly. "I'm gonna be okay." She doesn't look convinced, but he doesn't want to focus on him right now. "Did they explain to you what's happening?"

She nods slowly, looking at him for another moment. "They said the Marshal's service is taking us straight from here and putting us into protective custody."

She looks upset, and it takes him back to the lowest moments of their relationship. "Haley, I'm sorry."

She looks down and the familiar urge to comfort her returns, even while lying in a hospital bed. "Do you know where they're gonna take us?"

"No, I don't." He tries to catch her eye but she won't look at him. "And that's the point. I can't know where you're going. If you have any contact with anyone, then he could track you."

She finally looks at him then, and her sadness is tinged with exasperation. "Jack has school. He has friends. I have a job now."

He doesn't know what else to say but: "I know. I'm sorry." He hopes he's conveying what he means, but it doesn't feel like enough. "We will catch him, and you'll come back, and I promise that I will spend the rest of my life making this up to you."

She nods minutely, and he takes the small comfort. "Are you sure that we're in danger?"

"Yes." There's little else he's been more sure of.

"And what about you?" she asks, her voice small. "Are you gonna be safe?"

He doesn't want to worry her, but he also doesn't want to lie. "He wants to see me suffer. Knowing that my son is out there and that I can't see him is better than killing me."

Her brow pinches and she pushes her short hair back from her forehead. "Jack wants to come in."

He tries to argue at first, not because he doesn't want to see him, but because it will only make it harder to let him go again, but eventually she convinces him to accede.

She leaves to go get him, and he leans back on the pillows, trying not to let himself sink inside.

Haley finds you in the waiting area, with Jack sitting on your lap, in the middle of a game of I Spy.

"Is he ready for him?" you whisper when you see her approach. She nods and you lift Jack off your lap and set him on his feet. "Off you go, buddy. Time to see Daddy."

"Yay!" he cheers before racing down the hall, you and Haley right behind him. She steers him into the correct room, and he jumps onto the bed before either of you can stop him.

There's a quiet chorus of 'be careful's before he grunts, "Don't worry. It's okay. The doctors made sure that I'm completely fine." He turns to the small boy with a smile you haven't seen in days. "Did Mommy tell you that you two are gonna take a trip?"

Jack nods once, moving his chin up and down dramatically. "Yeah."

"So I'm not gonna see you for a while."

Jack frowns. "Why?" The word sounds so small out of his mouth, and your heart cracks in your chest.

"Well, think about it like when Daddy goes away for work. Only this time you and Mommy get to go someplace."

Jack ponders this for a few seconds, before crawling up again and wrapping his arms around his dad's neck. "Are you okay?"

"I'm very proud of you." It's a father's answer. The kind of response that doesn't tell the truth, but hides the pain with love. "Every single day. I'll see you soon, okay?"

"Okay."

Haley says another goodbye and grabs Jack's hand before leading him out of the room. She gives you another hug, squeezing extra tight for the last second. "It's not his fault."

"Of course it isn't," you whisper, letting her pull back.

"No," she whispers, closing her eyes. "I mean, don't let him blame himself for this."

He's one of the most stoic people you know, but he can also be so transparent sometimes. "I won't. I'll be here."

"He needs you," she says with a sad smile. "He's always needed you, but he especially needs you now."

She doesn't let you respond before she's tugging Jack down the hall. You watch as she exits the side door of the wing, and only turn back when you can't see her anymore. She's one of your longest friends, and you won't be able to see her or her son for god knows how long.

When you step back into the room, you stand at the foot of his bed, trying to gauge what he needs from you, but then you see his expression. Tears prick the corners of his eyes and his mouth twists as you rush forward and grab his hand, squeezing it between yours with the grip of someone holding onto a life preserver.

"They'll be okay," you whisper, trying to keep your own tears back. "We'll get through this."

He nods, his eyes still shining. You move to sit in the chair beside him, but he tugs you back, pulling you closer. You understand the desperate look in his eyes, the need for connection and comfort from someone you care about that you've seen in yourself on so many occasions.

Slipping your shoes off, you tuck the sheet into his side and carefully climb onto the little hospital bed, taking care to avoid any of the wires and tubes. Once you're sure you're not pulling on anything, you curl up beside him and wrap yourself around his arm. His skin is warmer than it was earlier, and you take solace in the fact that he's going to be okay. Maybe not now, but he will be.

Your breaths synchronize with his and you listen to the beeping of the heart monitor as your own heart rate calms down. There's a feeling tugging at your spine, filling you up and threatening to spill over, but you shove it down, knowing it will be too much right now. You don't have the words to describe the emotions circulating through your brain, so you stick with what you know. "I love you." It's quiet, barely a whisper, but you know he can hear you. "Thank you for staying alive."

"You're welcome," he whispers back, his voice barely audible over the monitor. "I love you too."

***

You leave the hospital the next morning with a plan. He's still asleep when you wake up, so you get up carefully and thank the nurses one more time before heading out.

You make two stops on the way to his apartment, and this time, you use your spare key to unlock the front door. The crime scene crew cleaned the blood off the floor, and you told Rossi to get them to spackle the hole in the wall, for at least a temporary fix, but there's still an air about the place. It was just starting to feel like his home, and now it's soiled, once again.

You shut the door behind you and drop your bags to the ground, surveying the place one last time for any damage or mess you missed earlier. When everything seems fine, you get to work.

An hour later, you slump back against the wall and toss the packet of instructions to the ground. In front of you is a freshly installed security system, with a door proximity sensor and keypad for when he leaves the house in a hurry.

You can already hear the arguments coming, but you don't care anymore. You won't be able to sleep knowing he's in here, all alone, without anything to keep Foyet from coming back and finishing the job.

For someone who has as little of a technical background as you do, you're impressed with how quickly you were able to get the system running, and you test it a couple of times, turning it on and off and checking the doors, before you finally pull his door closed and lock it behind you.

***

The doctors don't release him until the end of the week, but once he's able to walk again, he calls you to get him from the hospital. By the time he signs his discharge papers and makes the phone call, you're already almost there, and as much as he hates putting you out on a weekend, he can't help the satisfaction that rumbles through him.

The drive to his apartment is mostly silent, with him just trying to stay still as you take the turns carefully, and drive five under the speed limit. When you arrive, you hold the bag of salves and ointments for him as you take his arm, helping him down the hall and to his front door.

He moves to grab his key, but you stop him with a forceful "Wait!"

"I can unlock my own door," he grumbles, but you just shake your head, taking the key from him and turning it slowly in the lock. The moment it swings open, a loud beeping fills the air, and you rush forward to type something into the keypad by his door. Wait...keypad? "When did tha-"

"Before you argue," you jump in, clearly anticipating his disgruntlement, "it's for me, okay."

He raises an eyebrow and you glare at him, but there's no effort behind it. "I mean, it's obviously for you, but still...it's for my peace of mind too."

You're rambling makes him crack a smile for the first time in days, and he nods slowly. "Okay."

Your mouth snaps shut and you look at him with a meek smile. "Okay."

You help him get settled on the couch, and he waits there as you scrounge up some food from the kitchen. He's not sure he has anything perishable, but you manage to put together a comforting bowl of pasta with jarred tomato sauce that makes him feel a little more at home.

As the evening turns to night, he catches himself glancing at his watch more often than not, and eventually you catch on too.

"Is it time?" you ask, your voice gentle.

After a breath, he nods, and you reach across the coffee table to grab his bag of supplies from the doctor. You lay the salve and extra gauze on the table, and wait for him to make the next move, a decision he accepts gratefully.

He's been injured before. He knows how painful it is to sanitize a wound, and especially one as deep and grotesque as his. He just needs a few moments to accept the fact that he's...scared.

"I can do it," he says once he's ready, before reaching for the salve. The simple motion makes him wince and you jump in right away, grabbing it for him and undoing the top.

"Let me," you whisper, your words somewhere between a statement and a question. "Please."

He can already feel his stitches pulling, just from the simple act of swiveling his body to face you, so he gives in with a quick nod.

He doesn't look at you as he undoes the buttons of his shirt. He's not embarrassed - you've never pitied him, even at his lowest moments - but he needs the semblance of privacy as he exposes his injuries to the open air.

The air feels cold as he pulls his undershirt over his head, and you get to work immediately, peeling back the old layer of gauze as slowly as you can. The sections directly over his wounds stick slightly, and he grits his teeth against the pain as you gently tug them free, making sure to avoid pulling his stitches.

"Do you want a break?" you ask once the gauze has been fully removed. He shakes his head, needing this to be over as soon as possible, but when he meets your eyes, he sees them welling up with tears.

He glances down at his bare torso, his eyes darting over the jagged scars ranging from his stomach to his collarbone. Your breath stutters as you take it in with him, and he looks at you. "He made sure we'd match."

He sees you rapidly blinking away the tears that rush forward, and he wants to comfort you somehow, but he doesn't know what to do. You help him lean back on the armrest, so you can apply the salve around each of his injuries, and as your fingers press into his skin, he can't help but be reminded of his childhood. The pressure of your hands as you wrapped him with bandages, the warmth of your breath when you leaned in to inspect your work.

It's usually a sad memory when he thinks back to his childhood, but with you, it was always good. He watches as you slowly tape the new layer of gauze around his abdomen, and even as tears slide down your cheeks, the way you look at him doesn't change.

"All done," you whisper after pressing on the final pieces of tape. "How do you feel?"

Anxious. Terrified. Lonely. Guilty. "Good. Thank you."

***

"Hey, it's Emily."

"What's up, Em?" you say, your phone pressed between your ear and shoulder as you hop around, trying to get your shoes on before work.

"How was your weekend?"

You pause. "Fine?" The question isn't out of the ordinary, you're just not sure why she called to ask you that when she's going to be seeing you in person in about twenty minutes. "How was yours?"

"Oh, you know." She sounds distracted, and you feel a smile pull at your lips as you realize she's avoiding something.

"Em...is there a reason you called? You know, given that we're both on our way to the same place."

She clears her throat, and you hear the indecision in her voice, even over the phone. "I know this is kind of a weird question, but would you mind if I picked up Hotch for work this morning. I left late last night, so JJ was able to brief me early, and I figured he could use a headstart."

You stop your movements, straightening up and lifting your hand to your cell. It's not at all what you were expecting her to say, but that's not all you're confused about. "Yeah, of course. You don't have to ask me first, though. We're all teammates."

She makes an little noise that you don't recognize. "Yeah...but you two are different."

You don't know what to say to that, so you just wait for her to keep going. Emily was never very good at uncomfortable silences, so after a few moments, she's back. "Anyway...I'll grab Hotch and see you in 30?"

You try to hide your grin, even though no one can see you. "Sounds like it."

"Bye."

The phone clicks off, and you tuck it back into your pocket, still smiling. You're already in a better mood than normal, because after 34 days of medical leave, Aaron comes back to work today.

You finish clasping your shoe and head out the door, more relaxed this time. With Emily picking up Aaron, you're not in a rush anymore. You take the drive at a leisurely pace, and when you arrive at the office, you run into Spencer by the front of the building.

"Wait up!" you call out, jogging over to him before he gets in the elevator. "Let me get that." You slide the strap of his book bag off his shoulder and sling it onto yours. He nods in thanks and tucks his crutch under his arm as he presses the button for your floor.

"I thought I'd be used to the crutches by now, but I keep tripping over everything." You scrunch your brow with amusement as he frowns down at his leg. "The doctors say it's healing well, though."

The elevator doors open and you step in front of him to get the door across the hall. "Does it hurt?"

He shrugs. "It really only hurts when I think about it, which is pretty much all the time."

The statement isn't exactly comical, but his deadpan tone makes you snort as you hold the door, and he smiles as he passes by you. You follow him to Garcia's lair, and she perks up upon seeing the both of you.

"My babies," she grins, pulling out a chair for Spencer. "Sit, sit."

You let out a laugh as you place his bag on the floor next to him. "I'm older than you."

"Who's counting?" she throws back, typing something furiously into her computer. She turns around a moment later, just in time to swat Spencer's hand away from the tin of cookies sitting on her table. "No, no, no."

"What?" he complains, gaping at her.

She swats him again, before pulling the tin away from him. "Get away, you. These are for Hotch."

"Butterscotch?" you ask, glancing down at the box. His preference for butterscotch cookies was something you used to tease him about when you were kids. Butterscotch Hotch.

Penelope nods and lifts the edge of the lid, implicitly offering you a cookie. When you take one, Spencer throws his hands up into the air. "Why does she get one? I get shot in the leg and I still don't get any cookies."

You laugh and break off half of your cookie, which he takes from you the moment it's in your palm. He stuffs the entire thing into his mouth, not bothering to swallow it before he pipes up again. "You know he's gonna hate the attention."

"It's cookies," Garcia pouts, "not cake."

Spencer shrugs. "He's probably gonna pretend like nothing happened, anyway."

"Well, it doesn't mean we have to."

You don't know how to weigh in to this discussion, mostly because you know more about how he's feeling than they do, but also because the idea of speculating on his recovery without him here feels like a betrayal.

"What do you think?"

You look up and realize that Spencer was directing this question to you. Swallowing down the last bit of your cookie, you cough once to clear your throat. "I think he's been through a lot, but sometimes coming back to work is the best way to take your mind off of things. Foyet was in his home. I don't think staring at the same walls that used to have bullet holes in them is exactly healthy either."

Spencer and Penelope both stare at you for a moment, before nodding and looking down. They remind you of two children who have just been reprimanded, and you smile to soften the sentiment. "I love you guys for caring about this, but we just have to trust that he's okay."

"Yeah," Penelope nods, reaching forward to squeeze your hand. "Are you okay? This can't have been easy for you, either."

"I'm fine," you say too quickly. "Nothing happened to me." It's not a lie, exactly. You weren't the one who was stabbed. Nine times. "I've just been keeping him company after work, and helping with some of his post-hospital care checklist."

"He's lucky to have you," Penelope says softly, to which Spencer nods.

"He was great too after I got shot," you add, feeling oddly defensive of your friendship. "He stayed with me for a long time when my dad was gone."

She smiles at you sadly, before holding the tin out for you. "Want another cookie?"

You let out a weak laugh as Spencer chuffs behind you, and you shake your head. "No thanks."

"Do you think he'll like them?" Her voice sounds earnest, and you nod, knowing what it's like to want so desperately to understand someone who's as closed off as he seems at times.

"Spence, Y/N, there you guys are."

You turn around to see JJ, her face lined with tension. "Are you ready for us?"

She nods. "Grab your go bag."

***

He's been erratic all day. When he snapped at Garcia earlier for missing the antipsychotics link, you wanted to throttle him, especially when you remembered the cookies she had waiting for him in her office.

The thought that maybe Spencer was right keeps flashing through your mind as you watch him get frustrated with everyone, including himself. When you all arrive at the Darrin Call's father's house, where he and a young boy he kidnapped are waiting, Aaron instructs Emily to speak with the lieutenant on scene to figure out what you're dealing with.

"The kid's in there," you hear him say, "We've got this. Tactical teams are covering the exits. Call needs a distraction. He's focused on the old man."

Emily glances back at the house as she ties her hair back. "For now. But we're gonna have to figure out the safest way to get that kid out."

"I've got a team in the back and one on the way. We're going to infiltrate."

"You do that and someone else dies."

The man just shrugs. "Either Call or a child murderer...flip a coin."

"It doesn't have to end like that." You can see how hard she's trying to make the lieutenant understand, but sometimes the locals just don't listen. "We get a confession out of Jarvis and he goes away, and Call gets his answers. No one else has to die."

There's movement behind you and you turn around at the last second as Aaron stalks past you and towards the house.

"Hotch," you call out, but he doesn't look back. "Aaron. Aaron!"

He's almost at the front door, and your feet start moving without you realizing it. You make it within a few feet of the front gate before two pairs of arms seize you from behind, halting your momentum.

"Let him go," Dave whispers as he and Derek release you. "We have to trust him."

"He's not thinking straight," you grit out, unable to tear your eyes away from the closed door as you step forward again. He wasn't wearing his vest, and you can't remember if you saw his gun in his holster. You close your eyes, wracking your brain. Think, goddamnit.

Derek grabs you again as you try to make a break for it, anticipating your movements before you even know what you're doing. "Rossi's right. We have to trust him. We can't help him if we rush inside now."

"We can't help him out here either!" Your voice sounds frenzied in your ears, but he doesn't loosen his grip, even as you try to shove him off of you.

"You know we're right." He looks at you sternly, and your resolve diminishes as reason starts to set in. "Going inside will only make it worse."

Emily comes up from behind you and takes your arm, leading you back to the street in front of the house. You back up, but you don't turn around, ready to rush in the moment anything changes.

"What's he doing?" she asks Derek, her voice quiet, like she doesn't want you to hear.

"Stalling," he says simply. "He's got nothing to lose."

Your breath catches and you lift your hand to your chest, clutching the top of your vest like it's a lifeline. You want to scream at them, scream that he has everything to lose. He has a son, and an ex-wife who loves him, and he has you.

"You got the shot?"

"Negative."

He suddenly appears in the front of the door, but you can tell he's angling his body to block the visual of the shot. What is he doing?

The door opens for a split second, and the little boy runs down the porch and into the arms of one of the SWAT members. It shuts as fast as it opened up, and you only manage to see his face for a moment before he disappears into the house again.

For a minute, there's only silence, until the air is pierced with the sound of three gunshots, one after the other. Your body visibly flinches and you throw yourself forward and over the gate, pulling out your gun at the last moment as you breach the front door.

When you storm into the living room, Aaron is putting cuffs on Darrin. The father is dead in his recliner at the center of the room.

"What happened?" Dave asks from behind you.

He purses his lips. "I couldn't stop him." It's then that he finally looks up at you, but all you can do is glare. You don't know if you've ever been angrier in your life, and definitely not at him.

His brow dips with a mix of confusion and remorse, but you just stuff your gun back in its holster, spin around, and stalk out of the house. The fresh air outside feels like a welcome respite from the emotions swirling around inside of you, and you turn your face to the sky as your brain fires off millions of questions at once.

When did he get so reckless?

Is this all because of Foyet? The need to feel like he's getting something done, with his family on lockdown?

He comes out of the house then, and you're practically shaking from the relief that he is okay, but the anger isn't fading. You can feel it flooding your veins with each breath you take.

He hands Call off and approaches you slowly, stopping in front of you with a look you don't recognize.

"This is the job," he says simply, his voice almost cold. "You know what you signed up for."

"I know what I signed up for?" Your face twists with disbelief and you look at him with contempt. "Fuck you, Hotch." His face drops slightly and it only feeds your fight. You know him better than anyone else in this world, and that also means you know exactly how far you can push him until he cracks.

"This is what we do." His voice is tight, and you see your anger reflected in his eyes. "You knew that when you joined the team."

Emily and Dave exit the house, and you can feel their eyes flickering over to you, but you can't bring yourself to care right now.

"No," you grit out, shaking your head. "You don't get to be angry with me. You don't get to say that to me."

He looks at you for a beat before his face falls and you see all the fight leave him. He sighs, his brow pinching. "You're right."

You can practically see the war going on inside his head. The battle between fear and action, where there are no winners.

You nod as you look down at the ground, and he reaches forward to take your hand. He squeezes it tightly, before lifting it to his chest. "Y/N." I love you, I'm sorry.

You nod. "I know." I'm sorry too.

***

You've been looking at the text JJ sent you for the better part of an hour. Something's going on. Strauss was in Hotch's office and it looked bad.

You're reminded of his suspension and the two long weeks you worked here without him, and you internally resolve that it won't be happening again if you have any say at all.

The next morning, you're one of the last people to arrive, and you walk into a conversation that Spencer is having with Emily at his desk.

"You're not gonna believe this," he says, turning to you and lifting his hands dramatically. "Some moron just posted a blog called 'What would Carl Sagan do?' and it's completely illogical."

"L/N, what did I miss?"

You spin around to see Derek strutting into the bullpen, his phone held up in his hand.

"What do you mean?" you ask with a frown.

He looks at you expectantly, and you start to feel like you're on the outside of something you should know. "All the emails from Hotch..."

You yank your phone from your pocket and refresh your email. "I don't have any new ones."

"Me neither," Reid chimes in from next to you.

Derek doesn't wait another moment before he's barreling past you and up the stairs to Aaron's office.

"What was that about?" Spencer asks, a confused look on his face.

"I don't know," you say honestly, "but I think we're gonna find out soon."

"You wanted to see me?"

He nods and you step into his office, shutting the door behind you. Ever since his private conversation with Derek this morning, you've been obnoxiously curious about what's been going on with the team, but you also know when not to overstep your boundaries.

"Take a seat." He beckons to the couch on the far wall, and he sits down across from you when you plop down. "We have to talk about something."

"If you say Strauss suspended you again-" He cuts you off with a lift of his hand. You look at him sheepishly and nod. "You were saying..."

"This is going to sound odd, but just hear me out." You're starting to get worried, but he doesn't look anxious, so that's a start. You nod, and he continues. "The bureau thinks that my ability to lead this team has been compromised. They've been questioning me since Foyet's attack, and they're not entirely wrong."

You want to refute this, but you've also been questioning some of his actions as of late. Nevertheless, that doesn't mean that you won't have his back if it comes down to it. "They can't fire you. The whole team will fight back if they even try."

He looks at you with something that resembles concern. Concern? "They won't fire me...because I'm stepping down."

"What?" you burst out, unable to help your volume. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm resigning as unit chief at the end of the week, but I'm not leaving this team."

You think you have an idea of where this is going, but his eyes are still tracking your movements, like they do when he's worried about how you'll react. You don't know how it could get much worse than this, but then you realize he hasn't told you who will be replacing him.

"I told Morgan to take my place until we catch Foyet."

There it is. You don't expect it to sting as much as it does. "Oh."

Your voice sounds small to your own ears, and you clear your throat to keep the emotion out. This isn't a personal decision, it's professional. If Strauss was telling you this now, it probably wouldn't faze you. So why does it hurt coming from him?

"Strauss wasn't happy with your decision to not take the New York position," he explains, his eyes finding yours. "You know I think you deserve more leadership roles. It was her that suggested Morgan for it, and I couldn't argue when she was already so unsure about letting me promote internally."

"I get it," you nod. Your tone a bit sharper than expected, even though you understand where the decision came from. Derek deserves this position too. "I do, I promise."

He raises his eyebrows with a check in, and after a moment, you finally nod. It's okay. We're good.

"I'll see you in the morning?"

You dip your chin. "Good night."

***

"I can't believe Hotch is stepping down."

Penelope, Emily, Spencer, and JJ are all unabashedly watching Derek as he briefs Strauss on the case he chose for today. You've been trying not to look, but every few minutes, something snags your attention.

"Morgan said it's business as usual," Emily adds, her brow furrowed as she watches them converse.

Penelope doesn't seem eased. "So we're just supposed to move forward without any discussion?"

Spencer shrugs. "After Foyet, I think we'd have to be ready for anything."

Derek finishes speaking with Strauss then, and you stand up as he asks Emily to call Rossi for the briefing. He looks official with his ironed button-down, and you can't help but wonder if he's trying to emulate Aaron.

You flash him a cheeky smile as he walks towards the conference room, but he just brushes past you.

Derek steps into his new role effectively, and you even notice him provide extra feedback to everyone throughout the case. Hotch has a bit of a difficult time stepping down at first, but you know it comes from habit, not distrust.

When you're back at the office later that night, you look up to see that he is still in his office, furiously jotting something down, even though his responsibilities have been greatly diminished. You don't know why you expected the demotion to make him want to cut back a bit.

Derek is the only person still in the bullpen when you take a seat again. You finished up the last of your paperwork, so you start to pack up your stuff, but then your interaction from earlier crosses your mind again.

Latching your bag closed, you stand up and perch on the edge of Derek's desk. "Hey, boss, how's the responsibility feel?"

"Fine," he mutters, his tone snippier than you've ever heard it.

"A lot more paperwork than you were expecting, huh?"

He doesn't look at you, so you reach forward to tap the back of his hand. "Derek, come on, what's going on with you?"

You brace for him to snap at you again, but then he just sighs, setting his pen down. "You're not angry with me, right?"

"What?" You don't know where this is coming from, seeing as how he's been the one who's been avoiding you all day. "Why would I be mad at you?"

"Why?" he repeats, his face twisted with disbelief. "I basically stole this position out from under you."

You shake your head forcefully, putting your hand over his on the desk. "Not even close, hon. Anything on my end was bureau politics, but that's just one side of it. You deserve this just as much as I would have. You've even been at the BAU longer than I have."

He's silent for a moment, before he turns his hand under yours and clasps it gently. You give his hand a squeeze before bringing your other one up to his cheek. "You're doing a great job. You were an amazing leader out there today. Hotch picked you well."

Derek leans into your hand for a beat, before letting out another sigh. "Thanks."

"Seriously, Derek," you say with a smile. "This might have been one of his best professional decisions yet."

That makes him laugh, before shaking his head. "Nah, his best decision was bringing you to this team."

Your chest fills with warmth and you lean forward to pull him into a hug. His arms are strong as they wrap around you, and you settle into the hug, turning away from the office light upstairs and trying to ignore the fact that Aaron hasn't looked up from his desk since you started talking.

***

"Agent Hotchner, before you go, there's one final thing I'd like to share with you."

Karl Arnold, the Fox, has been taunting each of you throughout the whole day, and right when you finally thought you were done, he drew you right back in. You follow Hotch and Prentiss back into the interrogation room.

"So you think you found my admirer."

"No," Aaron says simply. "We found the killer."

Arnold grins. "With my help, of course."

"Your admirer is exactly like everyone who contacts you..." Emily sneers, "lost."

Arnold turns to her, and the look in his eyes makes your skin crawl. "My love, your guy is far from lost."

Hotch shakes his head, turning to the door. "We're done."

"So is he." All three of you spin back around, much to his amusement. "'Look at what I have done.' It's quite brilliant, you know?"

"We will find whoever sent you that."

"No, Agent Hotchner, I rather think he's already found you."

Aaron immediately starts flipping through the file on the table, shoving pictures and papers aside as he searches for something. Something about Arnold's tone sends your mind reeling and you grab the journal in front of you and start flipping through it as well.

"What's going on?" Emily asks, coming up behind you.

Arnold just laughs. "He's torturing him."

"Who?"

He ignores her. "It's great to see you squirm, Agent Hotchner."

You reach one of the bookmarked pages, and the symbol that greets you almost makes you drop the journal. "Aaron..."

His eyes snap to your hands as his skin turns white. "Foyet."

The three of you rush out of the interrogation room, accompanied by the disturbing sound of Arnold's laughter echoing behind you.

Just before the door shuts behind you, you hear his final words. "He knew you'd come."

***

The whole team spends days with only one goal in mind: find and capture Foyet. JJ works with you and Garcia to track prescription medications that he would be on given his self-inflicted injuries, and Spencer, Emily, and Aaron put together a geographic profile using the letters from the Fox and the proximity of nearby pharmacies. Derek's role as acting unit chief keeps him busy all on its own, but he manages to keep the team on track as he turns any new cases that come in to other teams.

When JJ returns from a local pharmacy with the discovery that many prescription meds have over-the-counter alternatives, the focus shifts. Garcia narrows down the list, and brings back a list of names that is way too long to feasibly question.

"153 names," you huff, leaning over her shoulder as she scrolls down the list.

Emily frowns. "Well, he's not gonna use his own name."

"What kind of aliases should we be looking for?"

You all consider this, before Derek chimes in. "He could have easily stolen someone's identity."

Hotch shuts that idea down immediately. "No, he's a narcissist in love with his own mythology. He'd use a name connected with the case."

"A victim, maybe," you guess, "or a cop?"

Garcia doesn't find anything on the initial search, but thankfully Spencer suggests another approach. "Guys, Foyet likes things to have meaning to him. The eye of providence, the addresses in blood he wrote on the bus that led us back to him. Maybe he's doing the same thing with the alias."

Emily frowns. "Like an anagram or something?"

Spencer walks over to the white board and writes out George Foyet, before fiddling around with the spellings of possible anagrams. You walk up behind him and follow his movements along the board. "You see something, Spence?"

He shakes his head. "Not yet."

"Spencer," you interrupt as the realization comes to you, "he named himself The Reaper."

He pauses for a beat, before switching over to scrawling out possible anagrams for The Reaper instead. After a moment, he's done. "Peter Rhea."

Penelope is already searching. "There's a Peter Rhea in Arlington."

Rossi nods, a satisfied look on his face. "We found him."

***

Garcia sends out the address of an apartment in his name, and you drive over with Hotch, who doesn't say a word the whole way over. You keep glancing at him, trying to be discreet, but the tension in his posture doesn't fade, even after the breakthrough.

The apartment ends up being empty, but when you all go inside, there's a laptop sitting on the center table. Emily dials Garcia the moment you realize that the files on it are being remotely deleted, and when she hacks in, she comes across a series of surveillance photos that make you gasp out loud. "Oh my god, isn't that-"

"That's the US Marshall protecting my family." His face looks frozen with stress as he dials Marshall Kassmeyer's number. When the call goes to voicemail, Aaron stalks out of the apartment and to the SUVs parked out front. He doesn't wait for you to get in, before he's already driving off.

"Where is he going?" Emily calls out as she exits the building behind you.

"Kassmeyer's house," you say, almost certain that you're correct. With the knowledge that his family is most likely in immediate danger, there is nothing anyone could do to stop him from trying to save them. "I'm gonna follow him."

"Here," Rossi says, tossing his car keys to you. You accept them gratefully and speed off down the road.

Kassmeyer is bleeding out when you get to his house. Aaron is already inside, trying to get him to explain what happened, and when he describes how Foyet taunted him and stabbed him, you resist the urge to take Aaron's hand.

"Sam," he says suddenly, leaning over him. "I need to understand. Does he know where Jack and Haley are?"

Your heart rate skyrockets as Kassmeyer mumbles another apology. If Foyet knows where they are, you don't know if any of you will be able to get there in time.

The paramedics rush in then, and they carry Sam out to the awaiting ambulance as he refuses sedation. Aaron runs out after them and throws himself into the back of the ambulance before you can catch up.

Without any new leads, there's nowhere for you to go, so you wait out front in your SUV as you wrack your brain for where Foyet would have told Haley and Jack to go. You don't know how long it takes until another agent calls you from the hospital with the news that Marshall Kassmeyer died in surgery.

The news hits you like a ton of bricks. One more body you can attribute to The Reaper. "Is Agent Hotchner there?"

The voice is tinny over the line. "He took one of the SUVs and left a few minutes ago."

"Where?" You can hear how frantic your voice sounds, but you don't care. "Where did he go?"

"I'm not sure," the agent says. "He sped away before anyone could ask."

You hang up the phone and turn the car on, before pulling onto the street and calling the team line. Garcia picks up on the first ring.

"Sam died in surgery," you explain as you turn at the end of the street. "Hotch is already gone, but I'm gonna go to the hospital now in case someone has more info."

"Okay, honey," she says, patching in the rest of the team. When they answer, she repeats your statement, before she gets cut off. "Guys, Hotch is calling Foyet."

"Patch us in," Derek instructs over the line, before going silent. You mute yourself as well, before turning back to the road.

"Agent Hotchner."

Foyet's voice makes you nauseous, and you can practically hear the grin behind his words.

"If you touch her..." Aaron doesn't even finish the threat, but you can feel the rage within it.

"Be gentle, like I was with you?"

Your eyes prick with tears as you remember the scars that are now a permanent fixture on his body. The matching scars. The idea of Haley ending up the same way, or Jack-

"What the hell took you so long?" Foyet complains, his tone playful. "I was beginning to think this phone was dead or something."

Aaron doesn't answer him, and the anger is almost palpable over the line.

"Why so quiet? You usually lash out when you're frustrated."

"I'm not frustrated," he finally responds. "You're more predictable than you think."

"Am I?"

He starts to recount the tale of Foyet's life, weaving in details that you didn't know from his childhood and the pain he was causing before he was even old enough to drive. You suppose this was what all of those late nights at the office were for. You hope they were worth it.

"That's the thing, George," he continues, his voice suddenly softer. It's like he's pleading with him. "This isn't a fairy tale. You don't have to write this story. Haven't you gotten what you wanted?"

There's silence for a few moments, and you can hear your heartbeat in your skull. Eventually Foyet comes back. "You know what I've been thinking? Haley looks pretty good with dark hair."

Your heart falls into your stomach. He has her. He already has her.

"She's lost some weight. Must be all the stress you caused her."

Just when you think that might be the worst of it, he continues. "Where's the little man? Oh. There he is. Does he like Captain America because of you?"

He has them both. You can barely see the road through the anger and fear that is coursing through your veins. Another phone rings and Foyet answers it, leaving his line with Hotch on as well. "Mrs. Hotchner. I'm here. Open the gate and I'll drive in."

You can't hear her reply, before Foyet returns to the call you're listening to. "Aaron? I really gotta go."

The call disconnects, and you can't breathe. Open the gate. The gate. What gate?

Think, think, goddamnit think.

The answer hits you like a truck. "His house. They're at his old house."

Emily whispers something that sounds like "shit" and you swerve across the lanes to make a u-turn. "I'm heading there now."

Assuming Aaron was already heading back after leaving the hospital, he would reach the house before any of you. You can only hope he'll be there in time.

Your knuckles have turned white from how hard you're gripping the steering wheel, and when Garcia patches you all in for another call from Foyet, the tears are already flowing down your cheeks.

"Aaron?"

It's Haley's voice. You gasp out loud from the relief that she's still alive.

"You're okay?" She sounds so scared, but at least she's alive. That's all you can focus on right now.

Aaron answers with a defeated sigh. "I'm fine."

"But...he said that..." The realization hits her, and she lets out a small sob. "Oh, Aaron."

"He can hear us, right?"

"Yes."

His voice is softer then, wet with tears. "I am so sorry. Haley, show him no weakness, no fear."

"I know." Of course she does. She was married to a profiler for years. She knows what all of this means, but she doesn't deserve any of it. "Sam told me all about him. Is he, uh..."

"No," he says gently. "Sam is fine."

Foyet's voice is like the hiss of a snake as it joins the call. "Aaron, Aaron, Aaron. Is that why your marriage broke up, because you're a liar?" His voice is too close to the phone. You want to scream for him to get away from her, but you're not supposed to be listening, and your car isn't moving fast enough.

"He's trying to scare you, Haley." His voice is trembling, and you can hear the tightness behind each of his words.

When Foyet mentions the deal, your stomach roils with nausea. You can picture the exact look on Aaron's face as he blames himself for this entire situation, even though it's happening to him, not because of him.

"Don't react."

Haley's voice is shaking too as she whispers, "What is he talking about?"

"Tell Jack I need him working the case."

"What?" She sounds confused, and that's when you remember the signal he told you about. The words that only Jack knows that are meant to keep him safe from situations exactly like this.

"Tell Jack I need him working the case," he repeats, his voice steadier. But all of it goes away the moment Haley hands her son the phone.

"Hi, Daddy."

"Hi, buddy." His voice cracks and you feel your heart crack with it. The tears are rushing down your cheeks now, and you wipe them out of your eyes with the back of your hand as you get closer to the house. But not close enough.

Aaron tells him to work the case again, and he gives Haley a hug before rushing out of the room.

"He's so cute. He's like a little junior G-Man." Foyet chuckles, before yelling out. "I'll be right up, Jackie boy!"

Aaron ignores him, and you feel his focus return. "Is he gone?"

"Yes." Haley's voice is strong, and you release a single sigh of relief as you press the gas pedal down as hard as you can.

Aaron's voice returns and you can hear the anguish as he speaks. "You're so strong, Haley. You're stronger than I ever was."

"You'll hurry, right?" The fear in her voice breaks your heart, and you want to assure her that you're all doing everything you can, but you're still a few streets away.

"I know you didn't sign on for this."

Neither did you.

She echoes your thoughts. "Neither did you."

His voice breaks into a sob. "I'm sorry for everything."

"Promise me that you will tell him how we met and how you used to make me laugh."

"Haley..."

"He needs to know that you weren't always so serious, Aaron." Her words sound so final, and you can't imagine what Foyet is pointing at her right now, but you can only hope that Aaron gets there before it's too late. "I want him to believe in love, because it is the most important thing. But you need to show him." She sounds almost resolute, and your body floods with hope for a split second. "Promise me."

His breathing is ragged as he whispers, "I promise."

Three gunshots ring out and the wheel jerks in your hand as a painful sob wrenches from your throat. No, no, no.

You race out of your car the moment you pull to a stop in front of the house. There's only one other SUV outside, and you don't give yourself a moment to think as you rush inside, lifting your gun at the last second.

The front foyer is empty, but then a jagged thumping fills the air and you dart around the corner to find Aaron beating Foyet to a pulp. You can tell from where you're standing that he's already dead, but that doesn't seem to matter to him.

"Aaron!" you yell, hoping to break his reverie. His hands are covered in blood as he pounds the man's face in, and he doesn't look up until you grab him from behind and yank his arms back. "Aaron, he's dead. He's dead."

He stops moving, and for one single second, everything is still. Then his body pitches forward and he breaks down as he sobs, his hands coming up like he's begging for the pain to go away.

You clutch him as tightly as you can, like if you hold him close enough, he won't fall apart. You can hear the voices of your teammates as they enter the house, but then his head lifts and he pulls himself up, dashing down the hall. You follow after him, rushing past Morgan and Rossi, and you realize where he's going in real time as he runs into his office and kneels down beside his desk.

Please, please, not him. Just not him. He opens the cabinet and you all share a gasp of relief as Jack's little face peeks out, his skin unmarred.

"I worked the case, Daddy. Just like you said."

Aaron reaches in and picks him up, before squeezing him tightly, his little face glancing around the room in confusion.

"You did a great job, buddy." He releases him after a few moments, before handing him off to JJ to go outside and away from the carnage littering the house. You press a kiss to his forehead before she lifts him up and walks out of the room.

Emily looks at you then, concern flashing in her eyes, but you just nod, and she follows JJ, pulling the door closed behind her.

You turn back around just in time to catch Aaron as he collapses to the floor. The weight sends you both to your knees, and he crushes you to him as you hold him as tightly as you can. His sobs mix in with your own, and you try not to let your body shake from the force of your crying, because you need to be strong for him.

He buries his face into your neck, his tears mixing with the blood on his face as it soaks your shirt and vest.

"I'm so sorry," you whisper into his hair. It doesn't feel like enough, but there's nothing else to say. "I'm so sorry."

Derek and Emily come back with the paramedics eventually to take him outside to check for injuries, and you're about to follow after them when something catches your eye. A pair of feet invade your periphery as you glance through a doorway down the hall. Oh god.

Your knees buckle and Derek catches you before you stumble forward into her room. You fall to your knees beside her, and you vaguely hear Emily whisper something behind you before there's just silence.

Her eyes are already closed, and if you really wanted to, you could try to pretend that she was just sleeping, but there's too much blood. You reach out to push her short hair back from her forehead, so that you can see her face one last time. One last time.

A sob rips out of you and you take her hand, pressing it to your lips. The scene is suddenly too much, and you close your eyes before letting out a shaky breath. You don't know what your life is going to look like without her presence. What Aaron's life with look like, or Jack's.

You squeeze her hand again before laying it on her stomach, and Emily comes forward then to help you up. Derek holds the door open as she leads you outside, and helps you tear your vest off the moment you hit the fresh afternoon air.

You bend over, hands on your knees, gulping back fresh air and trying not to throw up. Emily pats your back as you take in deep breaths, rubbing comforting circles that help to calm down your heart rate.

When you look up, you spot Aaron sitting on the edge of an ambulance. The medics are cleaning his cuts, and one of them is holding an ice pack to his head, when you walk over to survey the damage.

He doesn't look up when you approach, instead staring at his bloody hands with a look you can't discern. You can't imagine what he must be thinking right now, but if you know him at all, you know that sometimes you don't need to talk.

You reach down and take his hands, holding them in yours with a tight grip that forces him to look at you. Neither of you says anything, but it's okay, because there is nothing left to say. There will be soon, but not right now.

***

"We'll be back in a couple of hours," Jess tells you as she slings her purse over her shoulder.

You nod at her as you pick Jack off the ground and swing him up into your arms. "Take your time. We'll be hanging out here."

Aaron beckons for Jess to walk out in front of him before he dips his chin at you. "Thank you again."

"Of course," you smile, shaking your head. They're going to make the last arrangements for the funeral, and the absolute least you can do is watch Jack while they're away.

"Can we watch cartoons?" Jack asks the moment the front door shuts behind them.

"Soon, baby," you laugh lightly, before placing him on the ground and leading him to the kitchen. "We gotta make lunch first."

You throw together two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and bring them to the breakfast table, where Jack is obediently scribbling away at his coloring book. "Here you go, Jack-o-lantern."

He takes a massive bite before you can sit down, but over the next ten minutes, he only manages to finish about half of the sandwich. "I'm done."

"You sure?" you ask, scrunching your face into a playful frown. "I think you got at least a couple more bites in you."

He shakes his head forcefully, before dropping the sandwich onto his plate. You know he doesn't usually eat much, but he hasn't eaten since breakfast hours ago. "Come on, hon, at least another big bite."

"No!" he yells, pushing the plate away from him. Before you can stop him, he jumps off of his chair and races out of the kitchen, towards his bedroom.

You hear the door slam shut behind him, and you heave out a sigh before clearing away both of your plates and wiping down the counter. You don't fault him for anything, you just can't believe he has to go through something like this.

He's so young. Younger than you were when you lost your mom. There's some comfort in the fact that he likely won't remember this pain when he's older, but then comes the nausea. The sickening reminder that one day he'll forget about her. Haley, his mother, your best friend's wife, your friend.

You slowly make your way to his room, knocking on the door twice before calling out his name. When he doesn't answer, you twist the knob and gently open the door. "Jack?"

He doesn't say anything as you cross the room and sit on the floor in front of him. He's fiddling around with a set of colorful wooden blocks, and he only looks at you once you pick one up yourself. The edges have been worn smooth from being tossed around, and you run your fingers against them as you wait for him to speak.

"Did Mommy want to leave?"

You can practically hear your heart crack in two as the block falls from your hand. Tears spring to your eyes, but you blink them back, not wanting to scare him.

"No, baby, no," you say quickly, reaching forward to rub your thumb over his cheek. "She loved you more than anything in this world."

He still doesn't look convinced, so you rest your palms on his cheeks, trying to get him to look at you. "If it was her choice, she would have never left you."

After a moment, his lips jut out into a pout, but he nods once. "Is Daddy gonna leave too?"

The tears rush forward again. You want to tell him that Aaron would never leave him, that he may be gone most nights until after Jack is asleep, and sometimes even before he's up for breakfast, but he would never leave. But you also know that Haley didn't want to either, but sometimes the job takes more than you're willing to give. "He's not going to leave you. Not if he can help it."

That seems to calm him down for the time being, so you take his hand and lead him back to the living room. Once he's situated on the couch, you switch on his cartoons for him, turning the volume down low.

He settles into the cushion next to you, his arm resting on your thigh as he focuses on the screen in front of him, while your eyes wander down to the small tv stand. They land on a framed photo of Haley and Jess together, smiling at the camera as the sun shines down on their faces, and you lift your hand to your mouth to stifle the tears that rush forward.

When your eyes pan over to the photo of you and her, with Aaron and Jess right behind you, the tears stream down your cheeks, and you wipe them away quickly, trying to be quiet so as not to call away Jack's attention. But the cartoons are too quiet, and when a small sob escapes, Jack looks up, his brow furrowing with a look reminiscent of his father. "Are you okay?"

"I'm okay, baby," you nod, forcing a smile onto your face as you look down at him and press a kiss to his temple. "I just loved your mom very much."

***

The ground is still wet from the rain. It squelches beneath your feet as Jess clutches onto your arm, letting you lead her across the cemetery for the service.

You walk behind the pallbearers as they bring Haley to the top of the open grass and set her down carefully with a reverence that brings tears to your eyes again. You don't know if your eyes have been dry at any moment today, but the tears haven't spilled over yet. It's only a matter of time.

Aaron is ahead of everyone, looking down at the small sheet of paper in his hands, with Jack by his side. The young boy looks so small in his suit, and his eyes dart around the procession with a mix of confusion and sadness that pierces your chest.

When Aaron is ready to begin, Jessica lets go and walks up to stand on his other side, tears streaming silently down her cheeks. Your arm feels cold where she used to be, but it doesn't last long as another hand takes its place. You turn your head to see Spencer, one hand on his cane, and the other on your arm, as he holds you tightly to his side, his eyes brimming with tears as well. You don't expect that there's a dry eye in the crowd.

Aaron starts his speech with a quote, but the steadiness in his voice starts to waver the moment he says her name. "Haley was my best friend since we were in high school."

You remember how fiercely he loved her, even back then. The tenacity with which he pursued her when he realized that she was someone he wanted to spend his life with.

His voice continues as his eyes dip down. "We certainly had our struggles, but if there's one thing we agreed on unconditionally, it was our love and commitment to our son Jack." Your tears surface again, but you suck them back with a deep breath. "Haley's love for Jack was joyous and fierce. That fierceness is why she isn't here today."

Aaron looks up then, and his eyes land on the casket in front of him. "A mother's love is an unrivaled force of nature. And we can all learn much from the way Haley lived her life."

His hand flexes at his side, and you wish desperately that you were up there with him, holding his hand like he held yours when your mother died.

"I will make sure that Jack grows up knowing who his mother was and how she loved and protected him and how much I loved her."

His voice breaks and he reaches into his pocket for the scrap of paper he was looking at earlier. "I met Haley at the tryouts of our high school's production of 'The Pirates of Penzance'. I found our copy of the play and was looking through it the other night, and I came upon a passage that seemed appropriate for this moment."

The quote comes back to you as he recites it, and your mind flashes back to those adolescent afternoons when you would watch him make a fool of himself trying to impress Haley at play practice. You can't help yourself as the tears finally fall, and you feel Spencer squeeze your hand tightly, acting as the lifeline you so earnestly need.

When he finishes his speech, everyone comes forward to place white roses on her casket before it is lowered into the ground. You wait as the crowd slowly dissipates, as everyone heads to the repast, and you hold Jess's hand while Aaron picks Jack up, holding him tightly.

"Blow Mommy a kiss," he whispers, before leaning over to let Jack place a rose on the casket.

His brow furrows as he straightens again, and you watch as the familiar stoicism returns to his posture. He isn't pushing all of his emotions down, exactly. He's just tucking them away, so as to be there for his son, who needs a solid figure in his life, now more than ever.

And that's what he'll be.

***

The repast is bustling with people from all eras of Haley's life, and you sit with the team at a large table, staring at your plate of food. When Dave pulls Aaron outside to talk, you watch them leave, noting the stiffness in his shoulders as he's forced to leave Jack with Jess again. She has been nothing but grateful to see her nephew more often than usual, but nonetheless, he wears his guilt like a jagged scar across his face.

Penelope clutches your hand under the table and you give her a weak nod, unable to do more with all of the energy drained from you.

"It was a beautiful service," Emily says, her eyes big and soft as they look at you.

You nod again, before turning back to your full plate. You can't bear the thought of stomaching any food right now.

Then just when you think the day can't get any worse, Derek and JJ's phones chirp with a message at the same time. No. No.

"They can't be calling us in," Emily sighs, her lips thinning, "not tonight."

JJ shakes her head. "I'm on it." She returns from her phone call a minute later with a forlorn look. "There's no other team available."

Derek gets up with a sigh. "I'll get Rossi."

When he returns with Dave, leaving Aaron alone on the deck, you squeeze Penelope's hand before walking outside. The air is cold, and you wrap your shawl tighter around your shoulders as you approach him.

"It's okay," he says before you can open your mouth. "I'll see you when you get back."

Mind reader, you think for a split second.

He has already given you the blessing you assumed you needed when you came out here, but it still doesn't feel right. "I don't want to go."

"It's your job," he shrugs. Like it's that simple. "It's okay."

"Are you sure?" You won't be able to do your job with him here, but even less so if you're feeling guilty the whole time. "I can take time off."

"No," he says quietly, shaking his head. He looks out into the night air, and you take his hand, squeezing it between both of yours. "It'll be good for me to have some time with Jack."

You can understand that. You pull him into a hug, before dipping your chin into a nod and leaving him out there again.

***

His return to work hasn't been easy. When Strauss gave him the option to retire with full pension and benefits, it should have been an easy decision, but something was tugging at his gut, telling him that would be the wrong choice.

Now he's sitting in his office, and all of his recent life choices are swirling around him like a hurricane ready to close in. He misses Jack like he's missing a limb, and he feels terrible for how often he's been relying on Jess to take care of him, even though she readily offered her help.

His emotions are a tumbling mess, and he doesn't notice that his fingers have been tapping the edge of his desk until you enter his office.

"Coffee?" He looks up with a nod, accepting the steaming cup you hand him, before you flop down on the couch across from him. "What are you thinking about?"

He swallows back a scalding gulp that likely scorched his throat on the way down. He wants to push his emotions down and say something quippy that won't distract you for more than a few moments, but tonight he needs reassurance more than he's willing to admit. "Did I come back too early?"

He expects an immediate and bombastic denial, but you just sit there, stirring your black coffee as you tuck your legs under you. "I can't decide that for you."

It's a diplomatic answer, but he needs guidance, and he doesn't have anyone else to go to. Not that he would go to anyone else even if he did. "Do you think I'm jeopardizing the team by being here?"

This time, the answer is immediate. "Of course not. You've been doing your job effectively, and no one can say otherwise."

He pauses for a moment, ruminating over your words. He knows he's not asking the right questions. He's just delaying until he has to accept what he's feeling.

With a shaky breath, he sets his coffee down and looks at you. "Am I jeopardizing my family by being here?"

Your brows pinch. "Jack will be okay. He's young, and he'll miss you, but you're his hero, Aaron. He loves you because you keep him safe."

"But I'm never home." His voice sounds ragged to his own ears, and he's certain you can hear the pain clawing out of his throat. "How am I doing my job as a father if I'm never there?"

"Aaron," you whisper, drawing his eyes back to yours. "You're keeping him safe by catching the bad guys. He knows that. And that's what he needs." You fix him with a look that makes his back straighten. "Okay?"

After a moment, he nods. "Okay."

***

"Hi, Hales."

You sink down onto the bench in front of her headstone, before pulling the baggie of peach rings you brought from your pocket. They were the only candy you liked from your high school's vending machine, and the two of you would share them between classes during your senior year.

"I should've come sooner, but work's been really busy."

You've only visited her once since the funeral six months ago, and you wish you could've come by more, but sometimes being here is just too much. It's too stark of a reminder that she's never coming back.

You pop another peach ring in your mouth, before breaking into a grin. "Jack's growing up so fast. He's so resilient, it's amazing." He has already adjusted to living in his father's apartment full time, and he seems to like hanging out with you or Jess whenever he's stuck at work late. "I wish you could be here to see it all."

You wish for a lot of things these days. The loss seems to keep piling up, and you don't know what to do or how to feel most of the time, but time keeps passing. And with it, so does the grief.

"Aaron's starting to get better too." You don't know what you believe, but a part of you suspects she knows all of this already. "The transition back was hard on all of us, but he doesn't look as defeated all the time anymore." Your lip twitches. "He even smiles at my jokes sometimes."

You swear you hear her laughter over the rustling of the wind, but it's probably just in your head. "Anyway, I just wanted to come see you. Let you know how much we miss you."

You stand up, grabbing the bouquet from next to you, and walk over to the headstone. Without thinking, you reach into your bag of candy and drop a peach ring into the dirt. It feels juvenile, even as you're doing it, but you can't help yourself. She would find it funny. You know she would.

You tuck the rest into your pocket and walk across the grass to another row of stones. It's not a quick stroll, but it gives you enough time to take a few deep breaths before you face him again.

Jeff Adler. The letters jump out at you like flashing lights, and you blink a few times as the magnitude of your loss washes over you. So many lives, so much love and warmth gone from your life.

Bending down, you place the bouquet of carnations in front of his headstone, before kissing your fingertips and pressing them to his name.

***

"You've got to be kidding."

He just shrugs, but there's a small smile tugging at his lips. You make sure to keep your voice down as you toss your cards into the center pile and lean back against the bottom of his couch.

After putting Jack to bed, neither of you could think of anything quiet to do until Aaron pulled out a deck of cards from below the tv stand.

"I hate that you're so good at this," you grumble, watching as he deftly splits the deck and starts shuffling again. This being Go Fish.

"You're good, too," he concedes, flashing you an amused look that you don't share.

"Yeah, but you're better."

"As with most things."

You throw a card at him, but he dodges it easily. When he's finished shuffling, he deals out a card, before pausing. "We can play something else if you don't think you can beat me."

"Just deal the cards."

He lets out a low laugh and deals out another card, just as both of your cellphones chirp at the same time. You share a look before dropping the cards on the table. He stands first and gives you a hand up, which you accept.

"I'll call Jess," you whisper as he strides over to his bedroom to get his go-bag. You dial her quickly, and get the confirmation that she's coming over, before grabbing your own bag and heading out to his car.

***

"Sorry to ruin your night."

Everyone is in casual clothing when you walk into the briefing room with Aaron on your heels. JJ shoots you an apologetic look which quickly turns to surprise when Rossi walks in wearing a full tux.

"What, are you working on, wife number 4?" Derek laughs as he sets his bag down.

Dave just grumbles. "I see you people way too much."

"I hear that," you grin before taking your usual seat between Aaron and Spencer.

"Let's get started." JJ hands out the case files and clicks the screen on. "All right. Anchorage field office is asking us to investigate a series of murders in Franklin, Alaska. There's 3 people dead in less than a week."

You scan the file as fast as you can, but Spencer beats you to it. "For a town with a population of 1,476, that's fairly significant."

JJ nods. "It's their first murder investigation on record."

"Who are the victims?" Dave asks, his eyes darting back and forth between the file and the screen.

JJ looks down at her notes. "Uh, Jon Baker, a hunter. Dedaimia Swanson, a schoolteacher. Brenda Bright, the first mate on a fishing boat. There's a new victim every 2 days."

Everyone seems to be thinking the same thing, but Emily gives it a voice. "Any connections?"

"Unfortunately, in a town this small, everyone's connected."

When JJ finishes up the briefing, Aaron stands up and grabs his bag. "We'll fly out tonight. Everybody can sleep on the plane. Garcia, I need you with us."

She shoots him a confused look. "Sir?"

"I've tasked a satellite uplink and it's your job to keep us connected."

"Yes, sir."

"This town's already on the brink," he continues with a sigh, "and if this pattern continues, we've only got another day until the next murder. Let's finish this fast."

***

After barely getting any sleep on the plane ride over, and a long day in the cold, the team holes up in the lobby of a local inn, warming up around the fire.

"I'm gonna pull an all-nighter," Garcia announces when you stifle a yawn behind your fist. "I'll finish going through the town records. Should have background checks by sunrise."

"Good," Aaron nods, sitting up on the couch. "The rest of us should get some sleep, start fresh in the morning."

At his suggestion, the innkeeper steps out from behind her desk. "I've got four of the upstairs rooms available."

"Uh, 4?" Spencer squeaks, his eyes darting around the room.

"Come on," the sheriff sighs as he stands up, "that's the best we can do. Your team is double the size of my department." He glances at Aaron and they share a nod. "I'll see you in the morning."

"Good night."

The sheriff walks out of the inn and you lean back on the couch, turning your head to the side to look at Aaron. The question in your eyes is implicit. What's the plan?

"It looks like we'll have to double up," Emily answers for you, her lips stretching into a grin.

Derek speaks up immediately. "I'm not sleeping with Reid."

Penelope reaches over and grabs Derek's arm. "Dibs."

Emily and JJ stand together and head upstairs, and you glance at Aaron with a nod. "Let's find one of the double rooms before Emily snags it."

"Guess it's you and me, kid," Dave says to Spencer as you grab a key from the front desk and pick up your bag. The inn is so small that all of your rooms end up being in the same hallway. You leave the door open behind you as you step inside and toss your bag onto the nearest bed.

Aaron enters after you and locks the door, before wordlessly moving your bag to the other bed, away from the door. It takes you less than a second to realize why. His protective nature was always strong, but over the past year, it has kicked into overdrive, especially around you and Jack.

"Do you want first shower?" you ask as you unzip your bag and pull out a tee shirt and some sleep shorts.

"You take it," he says, shaking his head. The chilliness of the outside air hasn't left your bones, so you don't wait for him to change his mind before grabbing your toiletries and rushing into the bathroom.

While you're in the shower, Aaron takes his time fluffing out the comforter and pillows on his bed. The room itself isn't very spacious, but he doesn't mind sharing with you. The close quarters remind him of his youth when he would sneak into your room late at night to get away from his family. Just the sight of the lights through your bedroom window used to bring him peace. When he glances over at your side of the room, a tranquility washes over him, and he realizes that the feeling hasn't really gone away.

"Your turn," you say a little later when you emerge from the bathroom. Your skin is still slightly damp, and your cheeks are pink from the heat of the shower, and he has to tear his eyes away as he nods and steps around you.

The tiny mirror in the bathroom is still steamy when he shuts the door behind him and pulls off his shirt, and he lifts his hand to wipe it off, before pausing. His scars aren't something he likes to think about often, but after saving Jack, they took on a different image in his mind. He felt less like a victim.

He rubs his hand against the mirror to wipe off some of the condensation, and his reflection looks tense as it stares back at him. Back in the room, your presence felt warm and comfortable, but in here, with the steam fogging up the glass, and the scent of your perfume lingering in the air, something else roils in his gut.

It's a not-so-unfamiliar feeling that used to be commonplace when he was younger. It hadn't reared its head in years, but lately, it's been so much harder to push it down. When he sees how much his son loves you, how much he looks forward to finding you in his apartment when he gets back from a late meeting. It's been...hard.

He turns on the shower and steps in, letting the hot water wash away the notions tickling the edge of his brain. When he walks back into the room, you are tucked into your bed, the covers up to your chin.

"You look like a burrito," he notes with a small laugh.

You shrug, though it's barely visible from under the comforter. "I find this is the best way to keep out the Arctic chill that seems to have invaded our lodgings."

"Fair enough."

He slides into his own bed and clicks the switch on the wall to turn the lights off. He tries to sleep for a few minutes, but even though he's exhausted, it won't come.

It's dark enough that he can't see his fingers in front of his face, but the uneven sounds of your breathing let him know that you're still awake.

"You should really sleep," he whispers into the darkness.

"You first," you say after a moment, before your voice lowers. "How are you doing? How are you holding up, I mean."

"How are you doing?" he asks, knowing he's being unfair.

You don't let it slide this time. "You're deflecting."

"I know."

There's a pause before he finally concedes. "I think I'm okay. The normalcy is coming back, and Jack is doing a lot better, which helps immensely."

"Me too," you say after a beat.

He wants to let the subject go and try to sleep, but the words are pulling at his throat. "I miss her all the time."

"Me too," you repeat. You huff out a husky laugh, but there's no humor behind it. "God, me too."

There's a tinge of bitterness in your voice that he recognizes in himself, but it's not something he knows if he can explain. He remembers how a small part of you blamed Jeff after his death, but that's nothing like what he's feeling. He blames himself for everything but the act itself, knowing that if he had just gotten there quicker, or taken the deal, or taken the transfer-

His breath catches and he hears you rustle under your covers. He imagines you turning to face him, and as his eyes slowly adjust he sees that he was right.

"Do you remember that time in high school," he says suddenly, not entirely sure where he's going with this, "when I got detention."

"I'm gonna need you to be more specific."

He laughs, in spite of himself, and turns over to face you as well. You're so far away, but he can just barely make out your face from across the room. "When you broke me out."

Your laughter is sudden and it echoes around the small room as the memory hits you. "I do remember that. I told them your grandfather was in the hospital so that they would let you out. God, Mrs. Parker was so upset when she went to get you."

"I think my favorite part of the story was that both of my grandfathers died before I could walk."

You chuckle, your voice softer now. "I know."

His chest warms at the memory of the two of you running out to your car and driving to get a scoop of chocolate at your favorite ice cream shop. Even afterwards, you had driven around town for hours, without a complaint, and he hadn't mentioned the time once. It was so soon after his dad's death, and he hated going home for so many reasons. Sean hated him, and his mother was sad all of the time, and it was like you just knew.

"You were good at reading me," he whispers, almost to himself.

"Were good?" you ask with mock offense.

He snorts. "Fine, are good at reading me."

"That's more like it."

***

You drop your empty glass back on the table, feeling the burn of the liquor as you swallow it down. It's your second drink of the night, and while you usually don't indulge in more than one, you welcome the chance to let loose.

Everyone else seems to be in the same mindset, because JJ, Emily, and Penelope are in various states of drunkenness around the booth, and the men are either nursing a drink or driving.

"Let's dance," JJ shrieks, lifting her head off of Will's shoulder and pushing herself up from the booth.

"Hell yeah," Emily grins, pulling you and Penelope up with her.

JJ tries to corral the guys to join, but they all stay firmly seated. Dave and Will look content as they sip their whiskey, and Spencer doesn't budge, citing his leg hurting (a lie). After a bit of targeted shoving, Derek chuckles and gets up for one dance, following Penelope and JJ onto the dance floor.

"Aaaaaron," you slur, tugging his arm. He doesn't move even an inch, but the corner of his lip twitches when you don't give up.

"You used to dance in college," you point out with a frown.

Emily hoots as she saunters over to the floor. "This I need to see."

Aaron just shakes his head with a smile, and you eventually oblige, joining the ladies (and Derek) for a few dances. The dark atmosphere of the club has you feeling looser than you have in a long time, and after the next song, you join Dave over at the bar to get another drink.

You down half of it before you leave the counter, and by this point, JJ has coaxed Will out of his seat, while Spencer rushes off to find the bathroom. The tiredness hits you as soon as you finish the drink, and when you spot Aaron by himself at the booth, you glide back to keep him company.

He doesn't notice you at first as you walk over to him, and you can't help but register that he looks good in his undone button-down. You take another step forward and a thin glint of metal around his neck becomes visible. A jolt of heat shoots down your body and you set your glass down on a nearby table without looking as you approach him.

When you reach the edge of the bench, someone walking by bumps into you and you stumble forward. Aaron grabs onto you as you fall forward, and you end up crushed in his arms, your face just inches from his. Your thoughts cut out and you don't make a sound, your breaths coming out in quick spurts.

Neither one of you moves as you look at each other, so so close, so much closer than you've ever been, than you've ever gotten to be. The faintest impression of a thought - the thought - crosses the deepest edges of your mind as you lean in infinitesimally. He doesn't notice, and you barely register it either, but you can't help but notice how easy it would be to just close the gap and kiss him.

Kiss him?

Your brain short-circuits and you just barely manage to keep your eyes from widening. You have no idea where that came from, but then again, if you are honest with yourself, it has always been there, buried deep down beneath years of friendship and history.

The question invades your brain again, and this time, you're unable to stop it. What would it be like to kiss him?

You can't keep your breath from catching, and he pulls back immediately, tugging you to the side and depositing you on the booth beside him.

Your mouth falls open as you try to meet his eye. "Aaron-"

His head turns and he stands up, his eyes dark under the soft lighting. "I'm sorry."

Before you can get another word out, he's gone.

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vaguely-concerned · 3 months

Text

Ever since watching The Wire for the first time, my brain has doggedly kept working away at the Especially the lies of it all, and specifically at how much the structure beneath the different stories Garak tells contributes to the overall meaning of what he’s trying to say. While the contradicting narratives of course expertly obscure the factual circumstances of his getting exiled, using them also allows him to tell aspects and facets of the emotional truth I don’t think he ever could have, if he’d simply told the actual story of what happened. (It’s very Varric-core of him honestly.)

The first story — the ‘oh, you think you know me?’ story — says I have done things that would sicken you if you knew any detail of it. It’s clearly meant to scare Bashir away so he’ll leave him to die shamefully in peace already lol. But it’s also one of his (probably much-needed lbr) little lessons to Julian that are so frequent in the beginning, given while Garak still has some hold on himself — “Don’t be so quick to forgive me if you don’t even know what I’ve done; what would you do if this really were the sum total of what I am?” (And Julian seems to surprise him by going ‘Well, exactly the same thing, because no matter who you are I am a doctor. But I sort of take your point.’)

The second story — the letting the orphans go story — says I have failed to smother my soul in its cradle when it was required of me, and I regret that more than anything I’ve done. To my ears this is the one most shot through with active self-loathing too, which is interesting. He’s officially lost the control he’s been clinging to and it’s about to get ugly. His TL;DR is ‘Sentiment is the greatest weakness of all’, even all the way back here. (Which is the one lesson Julian steadfastly refuses to learn, which I think in turn does some serious rearrangement of Garak’s soul over the course of the show haha. Get uno reversed into the process of loving and being loved without shame asshole.) This is also where he builds up to admitting to having any sort of need for companionship or closeness at all and — so much worse — that Julian’s role in his life actually has fulfilled some of that need, and he’s DRIPPING with defensive venom over it b/c well I get it Garak vulnerability is scary it can take a person like that.

(I also feel there’s something honest and forbidden in ‘Suddenly the whole exercise seemed utterly meaningless’. I suspect ‘actually… why the fuck are we even doing this???’ is not a welcome sentiment in an Obsidian Order water cooler environment, no matter what you’re saying it about lmao. The very first seeds of him deconstructing the things he’s been taught about Cardassia and his work might be hinted at here, though they of course take a looong time to come to any real fruition.)

The third story — the ‘Elim was my best friend’ story — says hey, remember that thing you said once, about how sometimes, you have to be loyal to yourself before you can be loyal to anything else? Well. guess what. I couldn’t even be that lmao. It also furthers that thread of being divided from yourself, split, that having ‘Elim’ as a separate person around in all versions of the story brings in. He’s in control of himself again, but he essentially hands his life and soul over to Julian to decide what should be done with them.

I’ve done horrible things and it finally caught up with me, I’m getting what I deserve → I let sentiment master me and the fact that I’m too weak to do what’s needed of me shames me more than the evil I’ve done → I fucked up. I betrayed myself and everything I held to, all for nothing, and I have no one to blame for it but myself. But it’s very nice that you’re here anyway, Doctor. (Wow. I didn’t realize quite how isolated and lonely that last one was before right now. The way Tain has shaped him really has just… locked him completely into himself, huh.) We can also see a movement through from a completely professional context in the first story, to an intensely interpersonal and internal context in the last one — even his fake stories spiral in towards intimacy, which I think is what he longs for here even if he can’t quite like. Touch that without the stories as a buffer yet, it’s clearly like touching a hot stove for him to interact with it too directly.

And you know what I find incredibly interesting the whole way through? Even on his deathbed, where he’s dying from the thing Tain had put in his head, he’s protecting Tain. He puts all the blame for where he is on himself (‘My future was limitless, until I threw it away’), even if he has to employ a strange twisty logic where he’s split himself into two to do it. Don’t get me wrong, Garak has done horrific things all on his own haha, but it’s notable that he almost isolates Tain from that. ‘Tain was the Obsidian Order. Not even the Central Command dared challenge him. And I was his right hand.’ Tain in Garak’s stories is this infallible implacable weirdly distant figure, even now. Indeed, as will make a lot of sense with the revelations further down the line, more than anything it seems the gaze of an abused child desperate for recognition looking up at an idealized (if not in any way nurturing) parent.‘He was retired at that point; he couldn't protect me’, Garak says, as if what he’d need protection from in the first place isn’t Tain himself lmao, as if Tain had no active part in any of this. He never lets blame touch Tain at all. At this stage he would rather consider himself a broken flawed tool than accept that the hands that have wrought and wielded him have ever had any fault in them. AND in the middle of it all, with plausible deniability, on death’s door and knocking meekly to be let in before he must finish the mortifying ordeal of being known and test the even more daunting possibility of being loved, Garak at the same time manages to drop the breadcrumb trail of clues to make it possible for Julian to find Tain if he so chooses and gets in the ‘sons of Tain’ thing too for future dramatic irony purposes. Truly he is the Michelangelo of lying. Every falsehood a multifaceted masterpiece. Elim ‘achieving a state of intertextuality in real life is possible if you work hard and believe in yourself’ Garak. I love him so much.

I think all of this is why “I forgive you. For whatever it is you did,” works so well, because it too works on a structural level. It’s such a deceptively multilayered response — it has the syntax of a joke, in a way, and it is kind of funny even under the circumstances, but delivered with such earnest warmth and fondness. It’s both recognition and acceptance (forgiveness!). It’s saying ‘I finally understand enough of what you’re trying to tell me beneath and through all that, in whatever way you’re capable of, I see you’ and ‘my answer hasn’t changed (bitch)’. The forgiveness Julian offers here is complete — on principle, and out of personal feeling and empathy (only one of which Garak deigns to respond to during the second story, where he calls it ‘smug Federation sympathy’, placing it more completely on the principle side than it probably is. ‘Dude you’re my friend please don’t just lie down and die in a completely avoidable way on me, who else is going to not only tolerate but actually gleefully enjoy me being annoying as fuck over lunch’ seems to be the subtext that’s a lot harder to acknowledge and invite in for both of them. And yet Tain seems perfectly clear on the fact that Julian is Garak’s friend, which, y’know. Must be fun living with the knowledge that Tain has eyes everywhere looming over you every day haha guess you’d just have to tune that out.)

Most of all — ’Don’t give up on me now, Doctor’... and he didn’t! He didn’t. Augh. Ow.

#garashir #elim garak #julian bashir #star trek ds9 #ds9 #star trek #ds9 meta #S2EP22 The Wire #alternate title: baby's first brush with unconditional love through unreliable narration lol #I'm not sure I got to say everything I want to in this/found the exact right words in places or hit all the nuances #but god help me I so desperately need this out of my brain to free up some disc space so go forth little meta haha be free #I'm sure I'll come back to you in time #meta #enabran tain #(derogatory)

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yurinaa-world · 2 months

Note

hello!! platonic dr ratio with a teen!student reader who excels at one particular subject but is bad or average on the others? also lacks social skills

(kinda inspired by me lol 💀)

Characters: Dr. Ratio platonic! x Gender-neutral Reader

Synopsis: with student reader who excels at one subject but is bad at the others + lacks social skills

Warnings: Fluff and spelling mistakes, got lil personal

𝒱𝑒𝓇𝒾𝓉𝒶𝓈 𝑅𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜

He’s so strict about your grades, looking at you with disappointment as if a parent would when their child an F. What? does the information just go through and out one ear? (it does for me 😀) Can your brain handle one sentence at a time since it doesn’t look like it to him with these embarrassing grades?

He immediately got you into summer school so you could at least try to get good at other subjects, one subject won’t get you a future. Even worse with fact you can’t even talk without staring endlessly at your paper contemplating just to ask him the most simple question.

The man knows no mercy, making you write out several essays over the whole summer but just like every teacher that wants to suck the souls from students he’ll make you plan every tad bit of detail, even refuse you from starting to write if one detail isn’t explained and well thought out enough for him.

Then oh don’t forget to make the rough draft of the essay (it’s more like writing the real essay itself with the way he’s being strict with every typo & grammar mistake, but oh don’t think you're going to get this using simple and basic words like “in conclusion.” or “well, I believe.” Throw those out the window along with every other basic sentence that people use to put up the word count or just get the whole thing over with. He isn't accepting it. No exceptions.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Blank.

You’ve been staring at the next part of your sentence but unsure how to use the word “Magnanimity”. How were you even supposed to use this in a sentence?! (he made you pick several high-level words to use in an essay), you look up to silently curse your teacher, Mr. Ratio out in your head before immediately looking back down when your eyes connect.

You begin to contemplate, that maybe jumping out the window ain’t bad, it might be your only way to get out of here. you sigh, just giving up on your constant stalling, getting up from your chair (with your paper in hand) and walking over to your teacher, dreading every step you take.

Before stopping at his desk, “Mr. Ratio, could you tell me what the definition is for magnanimity again?” He just sighs, closing up the book he always reads. (You don’t know why he always reads the same thing, it’s so boring.)

“Magnanimity means the loftiness of spirit enabling one to bear trouble calmly, to disdain meanness and pettiness, and to display a noble generosity.”

you stare at him blankly, he wasn’t kidding, he seriously expected you to know what he was saying?! “I’m sorry but what does that even mean?” you whisper your voice cracking with frustration, you just feel a blood vessel getting bigger.

He sighs once again “Showing kindness towards an enemy or you had been defeated in battle. using it in a sentence would be like he showed magnanimity towards his enemy, understand?”

“Oh, okay. Thank you Mr. Ratio” You nod taking in his words. “Let me see your essay.” He tells you out of the blue, holding his hand out to see your paper, which makes your mouth dry. “you have something written, correct? Let me see it.”

You give him your paper and watch in nervousness before he begins to read out loud “A great man once spoke mighty wor-“ “Mr ratio please read it in your head!” you cut him off with panic, yet what a fool you are since when was he merciful? “a great man once spoke mighty words…”

Listening to him read your essay made you cringe and close your ears. He’s the worst!

if you liked this, consider tipping me on ko-fi! it'd mean a lot!

#✧*:･ﾟ✧:･ Yurinna's Writing :･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧#honkai star rail #honkai star rail x you #honkai star rail x reader #star rail #star rail x reader #hsr x you #hsr x reader #hsr dr ratio #dr ratio #dr ratio x reader #honkai dr ratio #veritas ratio #veritas x reader

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dstryvampres · 15 days

Text

Lab Assistant

MINORS/AGELESS BLOG DNI !

Pairing: Jonathan Crane x Reader

Warnings: smut LOL, dub con, pnv, unprotected sex, use of fear toxin on some dude, he smacks your ass like once

Word Count: 3.1k

A/N: this is my first time writing just pure smut, sorry if the set up is super long.

For the past week your heater had been broken, and despite multiple calls to your landlord which always ended up with the promise that he would come over to fix it eventually, you were still freezing. Though you could escape the biting cold throughout the day by taking up a second home at your university, you always had to eventually come back to your shitty studio apartment and suffer through the night. You’re excess time spent on campus was well spent, studying in the library, napping under stairwells or in-between shelves in the library, stirring around coffee you didn’t even like but knew you have to drink to stay in the cafe, or staring longingly at your psychology professor Dr. Crane. The lack of any privacy throughout your day had started to get annoying after the first three days, not helped by the fact that because you saw Dr Crane more than you usually do, leading to you feeling more high strung. Gotham was not treating you kindly.

“Excuse me,” a voice called out quite loudly above you, forcing you out of your final exam induced coma. You gritted your teeth, knowing that you were likely overstaying your visit to the campus library, especially since you had just finished your last exam of the season, who knows how many hours ago.

Looking up you were met with the face of your favourite professor, Dr Crane. Another horrible coincidence, it was embarrassing for someone so put together and professional to find you so vulnerable, especially someone who you had in mind when your hand was shoved down your pants most nights.

“The library is closing soon, I would recommend getting your stuff and heading out,” Dr Crane says, his voice oddly empathetic. A jarring contrast to the usual mix of hostility and boredom his voice held during lectures. He sighs and takes off his glasses, pinching his eyebrows together, seeming conflicted over what he wants to say next, so instead you fill the space with your own voice.

“Of course, I’m so sorry sir. I seemed to lose track of time, and was too exhausted to walk home. Again, I am so sorry. I should have set a timer or just maybe not sleep in the library, that was so-“

“You have been spending a weird amount of time on campus for the past week,” Dr Crane interjects, giving you a once over. “Is everything okay at home?”

The question was so genuine it made your brain short circuit. Why would he even care about you?

“Not really,” you laughed, the two words coming out of your mouth before you had time to think. A habit only recently picked up due to sleepless nights.

A smile crept over your professor's face, one that didn’t seem to reach the rest of his face. You couldn’t tell if it was from the shock of your honesty or something more sinister. He sat down in front of you, scratching his nose, letting a silence stretch out. Just long enough for pricks of discomfort to stir.

“Well, I’m running a program here at the university over the winter break. Just need an assistant to help me over at Arkham for an experiment I’m conducting. The job would include housing closer to Arkham, since it’s a little out of the city, and it pays about a dollar over the minimum wage. If you’re interested,” he slides a business card over the table, smile now dropped, “just email me in the next 48 hours.”

Taking the card eagerly between your fingers, mumbling a small ‘thank you’ under your breath before pocketing it. When you look up he’s already halfway gone. Packing up your things as fast as you can, you leave the library and hop on the train back to your shitty apartment. An email is sent to Dr Crane that night, and the following day you are confirmed as his assistant for this experiment the next day.

𝜗𝜚

The space provided for your three week stay was slightly better than your studio apartment, mostly because it had heating, but also because you shared a wall with Dr Crane. Besides the housing, the internship also came with an average pay, some work experience, and enough credits to compensate for one class. Your first week there had mostly been mundane tasks, taking notes outside of interrogation rooms while Dr Crane interviewed patients, making coffee for the two of you, making patient profiles, and making sure no one took any of Dr Crane’s “special medicine” for the experiment. Despite the easy work and the decent benefits, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something more sinister that Dr Crane wasn’t telling you about the experiment. With a thesis based around the concept of fears, you had yet to notice any great dive into the topic beside a few one-off questions.

“Before we start this week,” Dr Crane starts, sitting down in the chair opposite to you, “I want to just warn you that this is when the experiment starts to become a little more intense.”

He holds a coffee mug in his hand, as he talks the liquid sloshes around the cup. It's all information you already know, you signed an NDA, he trusts you, do what he says, and that he needs you to stay out of the room no matter what. Last week you learned just how Dr Crane enjoys his coffee, no milk and one sugar, you can’t understand how he can drink it. One sugar can’t mask the bitter taste. He drinks it quickly though, remembering the taste makes you gag.

“Before we begin today, can you prepare the variable today in syringes? I will be introducing it into the experimental group today.”

He sets down the now empty mug, a loud thump echoes through the room, startling you. Dr Crane smiles at your reaction, it’s the same one he always gives you, the one that doesn’t reach the rest of his face. You ignore the stone that has formed inside your stomach, picking up your clipboard and pen.

“I’ll meet you in room 283B,” your professor puts a hand on the small of your back, leading you both out of his office. A shock is sent through your body at the contact, once out of the room you turn to look at him, but his hand is gone and he’s headed in the opposite direction as you.

Something else that you have noticed throughout this week is just how close Dr Crane is now. He’s more touchy than you would pinpoint him as. Which isn’t saying much, but the small lingering touches he lays on you, a hand on your shoulder, maybe on the small of your back, doesn’t seem to be too professional. One… two… three millilitres of solution per syringe. The questions he asks also seem to be a little weird, especially due to the matter of the study. A common thread being his prying into your fears, and a look of hunger when he asks the questions. Soft thud of the storage container hitting the ‘chemical waste’ bin. Though you can’t really complain, this past week has given you enough content for your late nights to satisfy you for your whole university career, Masters program included. Laying out each of the syringes in a row on the tray, and counting them out. Three syringes on the top tray, six needles on the lower tray. Rolling the tray out of the room and over to the elevator to head up to the second floor.

You softly knock on the door, waiting for Dr Crane to open up the door to the observer section. The door opens in a matter of seconds, only a crack for a couple more seconds, before it is completely opened.

“Thank you,” Dr Crane says, looking down at the tray of syringes. He takes one in his gloved hand, holds it up to the light and nods, a stamp of approval given to your handiwork. “Remember: that if anything goes wrong, do not enter the room, just call security, and take as detailed notes as possible on the patient’s behaviour and the levels on the monitor.”

You nod, taking a look at the monitor set up beside the one-way glass, all vitals seem to be steady at the moment. The door to the room holding the patient opens up and shuts quickly, Dr Crane slipping in and greeting the patient, thanking him for his time. The patient seems to be a middle aged man, scars run across his arms, roughed up from whatever he did before his time in Arkham, he’s bald and seems to be displeased with his situation. Still, when Dr Crane comes to insert the syringe into his arm he stays still and takes it. The opaque liquid disappears as Dr Crane pushes down on the syringe, removing it once all the liquid has entered into the man’s system. A ‘thank you’ is expressed by Dr Crane before he exits the room, syringe in hand. Once the door is locked, Crane disposes of the syringe in the toxic waste bin in the observer’s room.

“The solution will take about five minutes to kick in,” he says, looking at you and it’s now that you realise just how excited he seems to be.

The heart rate on the monitor starts to speed up, taking your attention away from Crane, and noting it down.

“Are you sure you estimated the time correctly?” You ask hesitantly, not wanting to offend your professor.

“I did. No worries. Injections can do this to people.”

The next five minutes pass by slowly, Dr Crane behind your chair, his breath tickling your ear. It’s almost impossible to focus like this, you just want to do something about the growing wet spot in your pants. Screaming immediately breaks through the tension you were feeling, you look at the patient. His eyes are wide, his pupils expanded, and his heart rate reaches around 140 bpm. Alarm sets into your own heart, you didn’t expect this big of a reaction from the patient. Dr Crane nudges your shoulder, reminding you to start writing your observations.

11:06: patient’s heart rate reaches 140 bpm

11:07: patient starts uncontrollably screaming at seemingly nothing

Your continued scribbling of notes doesn’t seem to discourage Dr Crane from talking.

“I didn’t know it would be this effective. I’ve been waiting years for this to be approved and this is better than I could’ve ever expected.”

Nausea settled from the mix of pleading for mercy and screaming from the patient, and Dr Crane’s glee from his reactions. Unsure how you could continue on with doing this almost every single day for the two weeks. Writing soon became sloppy due to your own lightheadedness and nausea, every moment you begged someone to make this stop. It was too much. It stretched on for over fifteen minutes before the patient finally came back from whatever drug induced hallucination he was forced into, yet he was still crying. Wanting to distance yourself so far from this experiment, you place the clipboard down.

“Wonderful isn’t it?” Dr Crane asked you, placing a hand on your shoulder. Whatever response you thought you could muster was stuck in your throat, so instead you nodded. “I call it my ‘fear toxin.’”

Once his hand left your shoulder, you immediately stood up, head spinning so much that you stumbled right into Dr Crane.

“Are you okay? Did the ‘fear toxin’ effects startle you?” He asks, putting his hands on your shoulder to stabilise you, his voice bridges between mocking and actually concerned.

“I just need to go to the bathroom,” You squeeze out, stumbling into the hallway and waving goodbye.

Stumbling around, unable to find the bathroom, you slide down the wall of an empty hallway. Sitting on the floor and curling up into the fetal position. Nausea slipping out of you slowly, eyes closed, just wanting to forget about the whole experience. What substance could even make a man react so horribly? Why would anyone make that in the first place? What purpose could a substance like that even serve? How will this even help-

“There you are,” a voice comes from above you, Dr Crane. You open one eye up, becoming flustered at your unprofessionalism, and enraged at the sight of your cruel professor.

He kneels to your height, offering you his soulless smile. “I’m sorry if that startled you, but I thought you would be better than them. I thought you could fully see my vision, look past the gruesome bits and understand what I’m trying to do here.”

His words both enrage you even further and make you feel even more embarrassed. He created a horrible substance, tested out on a man that, from what you know, didn’t deserve it, and essentially tortured him. On the other hand, this is a man who you have dreamed about and only want to please. For the past three years, you have sat in his class and dreamed about only him. For him to think that only you could understand his plans and dreams, is a flattery you could only dream of.

“Maybe I just didn’t prepare you well enough for this. Can I make it up to you?” Dr Crane asks, offering his hand to you. It takes a couple seconds, but you take it and he leads you upwards.

His hand is oddly cold, his grip on your own hand is firm, but not harsh. His skin is smooth. It’s embarrassing that he has to lead you out of this room, has to coax you to continue.

“Let’s go to my office, hm?” Quirking an eyebrow, but not waiting for a response he led you down the hallway.

Everything seemed to blur together for you, the trip to the elevator, down the elevator, and into his office. He clicks the door shut, locking it, then turns to you. Stepping forward until he’s cornered you onto his desk.

“You think I don’t hear you at night. Calling my name. The walls in that place are very thin,” Dr Crane whispers into your ear, his hand slithering up your thigh.

A gasp escapes your lips, both at the hand now dangerously close to the warmth growing in your pants, and also because you didn’t think he would be able to hear your late night pleasure sessions. Soon he’s cupping your sex and you moan into his ear softly, earning a hum from him. Finger wander up from your sex to cup your chin, he brings you into a kiss. It’s bruising and hungry, he’s biting at your lower lip and you swear you can taste your own blood. His fingers make quick work unbuttoning your pants, sliding them down your legs until they drop to pool around your ankle.

“You're so wet already, how interesting,” He teases, tracing a finger over your clothed slit. Moaning in response you chase after his lips, but he pulls away.

Your underwear is pushed over to the side, and his middle and ring finger breach your entrance. A loud ‘oh’ comes from your mouth, crane presses his lips to yours again to silence you. His fingers move slowly in and out of you, he catches each moan you let out with his mouth. His lips are soft, but the kiss is rough, his fingers speed up. They stretch you out so nicely it stings a little bit. It’s been so long since someone else has pleasured you, at all.

His fingers pulled out of your sex slowly, deliberately. A painstaking motion that left you close to pleasureless as he pulled out of your kiss. Quickly flipping you around and pressing you into his desk, the shock between his warm body behind you and the cold desk pressed against your front sent you spiralling. There was shuffling behind you, before you felt him lineup his cock with your cunt.

“Beg for it.”

Your mouth opens and you spew out a string of ‘please’s and ‘need it’ that seem to satisfy him enough for him to push inside of you. He’s girthier than you expected, but not as long as you expected, which is fine for you. The stretch makes you ache and he won’t be bruising your cervix. Without giving you a moment to adjust he starts to move in and out of you.

“You have to be quiet, okay?” He says, before picking up his speed.

He sets up a consistent speed, hitting a spot inside of you that makes you grip the edge of the desk so intensely that your knuckles are turning white. The desk creaks as he moves in and out of your cunt, his breathing speeds up, one hand twists into your hair pulling your head back and you can’t tell if it’s to ground himself or as a reminder for you not to be too loud. Another hand comes to smack your ass, it's a swift hit, but it makes your knees buckle.

“You're so much better than I thought you would be,” Dr Crane strains out between grunts.

He presses his front to your back, the hand in your hair softening its grip but not leaving. His breath tickles the back of your ear, the grunting coming from him makes you bite your lip to suppress your moans so hard there will be an indent left there tomorrow.

“Dr Crane, can I cum? Please, I’ve been so good, please let me cum,” you babble, the side of your face pressed into his desk making your words slur a little bit.

“Cum for me,” he says, moving the hand not tangled in your hair to your clit. Pressing small circles into your clit, he starts to speed up.

Soon the pressure in your stomach releases and it goes black for a couple seconds. You feel Dr Crane’s hand press into your mouth to silence you as your legs buckle. Once you’re conscious again, he has already pulled out of you and you can hear him zip up his pants. You stand on your shaking legs and follow suit, trying to press your hair down into a more professional shape.

“I would recommend you get cleaned up,” Dr Crane says, giving you a smile, “Was that enough motivation to continue aiding me in my experiment?” “Uh- Yes,” you answer, not fully aware of what you were even saying, too embarrassed and lightheaded to even compute anything he was saying besides ‘getting cleaned up.’

“Perfect. After you get cleaned up, please meet me in room 256B. We can meet again here tomorrow during our lunch break if you continue to need the motivation provided,” He pats you on the shoulder, and leaves you in the room alone.

#jonathan crane #jonathan crane smut #dc scarecrow #jonathan crane fanfic #Jonathan crane x you #Jonathan crane x reader #scarecrow #the scarecrow #scarecrow x reader #scarecrow smut #cillian murphy #cillian fic #cillian x fem!reader #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy smut

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chlorinecake · 7 months

Text

PART 3: GHOST FACE YANDERE imagine

ＢｌｏｏｄＯｎＩｃｅ | 얼음에 피 - a park sunghoon ff

⚡︎ cw: mentions of suicide and anxiety, bullying, violence involving guns and knives, character deaths, swearing, heavy petting/kissing, domestic abuse themes

⚡︎ genre: horror, psychological thriller, slow burn, angst

⚡︎ summary: new relationships blossom as you try to lead a normal life proceeding your abuser’s death, but what happens once a series of chilling phone calls disrupts your peace again?

⚡︎ wc: 15k (have fun with this hour long read lol) ~ previously...

❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆ now and then

Since the fateful day of his death, Sunghoon Park was infamously known for the heinous acts he so gallantly committed out of love for his late little sister.

For the most part, the identity’s involved in Sunghoon’s amateur high school killings to his eventually more-experienced university slaughters were publicly announced.

Those victims being Cha Jun-Hwan, Nakamura Kazuha, Maddison Dupont, as well as her twin brother Maxwell, and a few unnamed others.

News outlets gave you, Sunghoon’s deadly obsession in this horror story, the nickname V, as you played the role of his only victor, escaping the torture fest you endured for three months while his other victims could barely last an hour against his signature weapon:

A Buck 120 Hunting Knife.

Memories of the events that Sunghoon sent you through roamed within the darkness behind your drowsy eyes, and it didn’t help that he practically haunted every other aspect of your waking life.

You smelt him after scrubbing yourself near clean of your own skin.

You could hear his daunting voice in stolen moments of silence.

You saw his face behind every masked murderer in your nightmares.

His oh-so-handsomely crafted face.

You could only imagine how many more people would exalt his name as a Dahmer or Bundy after seeing it.

That kind of thing always bothered you...seeing people on social media praise murderous monsters as if they were worthy of admiration.

In the beginning, you always thought that “V” was short for victim, and it honestly enabled you to feel like one.

That is, up until Dr. Lee, who you always just called Heeseung, stepped in to help you recover.

Or… more accurately, forget.

"How long are you gonna let Sunghoon control your life?" He'd ask you in half-whisper, to which you'd only shrug in response.

It wasn't like you didn't want to get over everything that happened.

Hell, if it were possible, you’d want a complete brain-wipe of Sunghoon, but Heeseung tried everything that was clinically moral to help you.

Your treatment started with cognitive behavioral strategies that helped you associate your fears with the strength it took for you to both withstand and overcome them in reality.

Next, you went through imagery rehearsal therapy to get over the nightmares.

Multiple times a week, Heeseung would ask you to describe your nightmares in detail, drawing pictures or writing out the most vivid scenes as needed. Then, you would write out a changed version of the dream, mentally rehearsing the new imagery until your nightmares were replaced by it.

In all of your illustrated revisions, Sunghoon’s face was completely blurred out in black crayon, because in an ideal world, you wouldn't want to remember that face ever again.

And so, you didn't.

It was a rare medical phenomenon that your treatment resulted in you fully forgetting the face of your humanoid fear, but you still weren't quite ready to live normally.

Despite three months of therapy having passed, Heeseung still wanted to work with you in recovery for at least another half-year.

And this is the exact path that led to you and Heeseung developing into something a little more than friends. Something like occasional dinner dates with equally occasional kissing afterward.

On the lips, of course. That's where he liked kissing you the most.

Currently you were marked at three weeks on a prescribed medication for PTSD and anxiety patients, and you can't remember when you felt better.

There were a few side effects to the medicine, like declined appetite and wonky periods, but you’d rather take that over a potentially worse lifestyle without the meds.

You were finally getting your life back, and with Sunghoon officially out of the picture and new friends by your side, you had nothing to worry about.

Right?

➠ monday

2:11pm

The ways of a Café Royale worker came naturally to you, which is why your boss (aka the café owner) put you in charge of training the new employee, Lee Hyun-Seo, but you just called her Leeseo.

You had been training the young girl for over two weeks, yet she still struggled with the entry level basics, like handling restaurant grade coffee makers or properly handling a broom.

Despite how much of a slow learner she was, you and the staff decided to keep little Leeseo around.

One of the reasons being that her parents were struggling financially, and the girl just wanted to lend a hand with some of their bills.

The other reason was that Leeseo had a way of charming people, staff and costumers included—like a vessel of sunshine, she almost always had a smile on her face, and you commended her for that given everything she was going through at home.

“I can help!” Leeseo beamed, leaping to take the second tray of food and drinks you carried.

“Thanks, kiddo,” you chirped, finally using two hands to hold the tray.

“Ugh, what must I do for you to stop calling me that?” She whined, placing the steaming hot mugs on a costumer's table.

“Focus,” you said, pointing out how she nearly spilled a cup of black tea on someone’s lap.

You beelined back to the front counter, grabbing the plate of assorted sandwiches that just came out. “That’s for table 16,” Yunjin said, “and this is for the hottie at 23,” she continued, handing you a folded napkin.

“What, did he ask for math help?” You teased, observing her phone number jotted down in blue ink on the piece of paper.

“Just give it to him, alright?” She pleaded with frustration, turning back around to prepare the upcoming orders.

You hit up table 16 first before making your way toward table 23, where Nate was sitting. He was the same guy with dyed silver hair you met a few weeks ago, and since then, he had become a regular costumer at Café Royale.

The most you knew about him was that he enjoyed writing creatively, and was working on a piece to enter for a contest. He was also very passionate about his afternoon dose of caffeine, which you find rather odd at best…

You’d give it to Nate that he was a particularly attractive guy, but not worth doing anything unprofessional like… I don’t know, passing a customer your phone number at work?

“Good afternoon, Nate,” you smiled, handing him the napkin to which he immediately noticed its inky etchings.

“Damn, now I’m offended that you think I’m single,” he joked, eyes following the series of numbers on the paper.

“Trust me, I’m not your secret admirer,” you replied, pulling out your note pad to write, “What can I get for you today?”

“Oh, I had something at home. I just like writing here sometimes,” he smiled, closing his computer.

“Well, it must be something juicy if you won’t even let me see it.”

“Ugh, it’s in draft form right now! Give me a few days and I’ll be happy to show yo—“

“Focus, ____,” Leeseo interrupted as she walked by, showing off the $50 tip she just nabbed from table 16.

You sighed, both at Leeseo’s petty remark, your loss on 50 bucks, and Nate’s ability to enthrall your attention.

“Good luck editing,” you smiled, closing your notepad before getting back to work.

Nate had become a usual costumer ever since the first day you met about three months after you started working here.

You two grew particularly close, especially once he started staying back at the cafe during your night shifts to walk you to your car.

Whenever the sun set a few hours before your shift ended, he noticed how nervous you looked... staring outside the French café windows as if the starry night whispered threats.

If it weren’t for Heeseung, you wouldn’t even have a personal car to get you from point A to point B. He gave it to you as a gift once you started working.

He was able to pick you up for the first week of your job, but after that, he couldn’t make the commitment anymore given his own chaotic work schedule.

So, in typical Heeseung fashion, he bought you a whole freaking car, and he wouldn’t let you refuse his offer under any circumstances.

“Just take the damn keys, ____,” he’d chuckle, watching as you shyly did just that, walking over to the vehicle and taking your first spin.

Back to Nate though, he had a funny way of telling you “bye” on nights like those.

"Watch your back," he'd say, waving with arguably the most attractive smirk you've ever seen as you’d pull out of the driveway and head home safely.

Of course, you'd never admit that first part to Heeseung.

You read the order note that Yunjin just wrote from the last costumer: Two iced vanilla lattes with four mini dessert pops. As a waiter, you already expected that you’d do a lot more floor work than just placing food and drinks on a table here and there, so you took it upon yourself to help Yunjin out by fixing this order.

“Thank you BIG TIME,” Yunjin exclaimed, wiping off the counter near the register.

“Of course, you’ve stirred enough drinks for the both of us.”

“Pfft, I was talking about passing Nate my number, Strawberry Shortcake. Do you think he’ll actually call back?”

“Hmm, probably not… I think he said something about having a girlfriend already?”

“Liar! You berries and cream filled liar,” Yunjin teased, tossing a handful of blueberries at you.

“That doesn’t sound very PG,” you giggled back to her, eating one of the blueberries that landed on your workspace.

"Hey," Leeseo said shyly, tapping you on the shoulder, “I’m gonna step out for a bit, if that’s okay.”

“Mhm, you can’t fool me, iPad kid. Now focus, remember?”

“I am focusing, ____… Its just some girls came in from my school and I really don’t want them to mess with me at my job.”

You handed Leeseo a pair of tongs to grab the cake pops you needed, “I didn’t see any girls, Leeseo.”

The metal tongs clinked against the glass cake pop case, “I told you about them last week, ____… plus, girls like them are pretty hard to miss,” she whispered, pointing her head in their direction.

Pretty hard to miss? Yes, but basic modern day teenagers nonetheless? Double yes.

You tried not to make your peeking look so obvious, so you finished up the lattes and brought them to Leeseo’s classmates to get a closer look.

From their conversation, you could tell the two girls were talking crap about someone, thanks to stream of swear words that flew from their lip-sticked mouths. You placed their order down on the table, but they ignored you, daring to raise their voices even louder so you couldn’t get a “You’re welcome” in.

Yikes, you thought to yourself, thinking about the way your high school self, Maddison, and Kaz used to bash Wonyoung while she was in the same room.

“Aiko’s the short one with the eyeliner, and Maeve's the taller one with pink hair. Don’t let their looks fool you though… Aiko’s the real monster.” You remembered Leeseo telling you when you drove her home after training one time.

That was the same day Leeseo mixed up more than four orders and accidentally sweared in front of a little kid. He asked her for a breakfast croissant to which she replied, “Sorry, but you’re shit out of luck bud, we just ran out.”

Harmless mistake, I know, but the kid’s mother wasn’t too forgiving about it.

“Those girls from my school have been blowing up my phone with hate messages since I left school today… I swear they have nothing better to do with themselves…”

“And does that explain why you said “shit” to a little kid,” you asked.

“N-no, but, they’ve got my head in a bad place… My focus is probably ruined for the rest of the day now,” she sighed, washing the chocolate from her hands before sitting on the kitchen floor.

Leeseo found herself in the same place today, sitting on the kitchen floor as you brought Aiko and Maeve their cake pops before joining Leeseo on the ground.

“I knew a girl just like you when I was in high school,” you began, voice almost falling to a whisper, “Much like those girls out there, me and my friends treated people terribly, especially this one person.”

“So then what happened?” Leeseo asked, looking at you, even though your gaze fell to your lap, stuck in a daydream.

Memories that part of you wished you could forget resurfaced in your mind. You swallowed the lump in your throat, tightening your grip around nothing before answering.

“She killed herself.”

Leeseo’s eyes widened a little at your words, her chest raising differently as her breathing style changed.

You could tell she was shocked, as would anyone who heard such a thing.

She remained quiet as if waiting for you to say something else, and so you did.

“Hey, if you’d feel better hiding in the kitchen until they leave, you can.”

She looked up and smiled. “Thanks, ____!” She beamed, reaching in her pocket for her smartphone.

“Nuh uh, you’re still on shift, buddy, now help Yunjin out with the dishes!” You chuckled, heading to the front to deliver more orders.

Yunjin was the only other person you had told about Wonyoung and everything else.

It wasn’t intentional, but after having one to many egg nog shots at a Café Royale employee's function, you confessed as she drove you home.

You had grown comfortable with Yunjin knowing that dark part of your past, and even now with Leeseo, given that you’d always viewed her like a little sister.

Beep, beep.

It was a reminder on your phone that you'd set yesterday, saying that you had to meet with Heeseung at his place around 5pm.

Maybe the girls won't notice if I slip out for the day, you mischievously thought to yourself, hanging your work apron over the wall coat hook before sneaking out of the café undetected.

7:03pm

Traffic had you running late to Heeseung's place, but he wasn't to upset about it, given that he got held back at work an extra hour to sort files in his office. Needless to say, your dinner "date" ended up starting a little later than desired.

Even so, Heeseung made an effort to keep the night special, but it seemed as though your mind was in a different place at the time.

“You’ve barely touched your pasta,” Heeseung nudged, thinking of any way to start a conversation amidst the awkward silence.

“Oh, sorry! Yunjin brought me a coffee so my appetite’s a bit mild.”

“That’s okay, I’m really just trying to get you to say something,” he smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his lovesick eyes. He just stared down at his plate, twirling the saucy red noodles around his fork.

“Uhm… well, how was work?” You tried, cringing at yourself.

Heeeseung put his fork down, wiping the corner of his mouth with a napkin, “____, why’re you acting like a stranger all of a sudden? You’re always comfortable talking to me. Is it because I was late today?”

Your gaze fell to his lap where he sat with parted legs. Shit, stop peeking, you internally scolded yourself.

You're not sure what made you feel this way tonight, but your mind was on everything else but the pasta in front of you.

Was it the way he decided to cuff his sleeves today? No, he always wore his shirts like that. Maybe it was the way he occasionally tugged at the tie around his neck, or the little breaths he'd let out each time you crossed and uncrossed your legs, or the smirk he'd flash whenever you failed to hold eye contact with him for longer than five seconds.

“So I see you’d rather daydream about my dick than have a simple conversation with me,” He said, voice sounding offended yet prideful at the same time.

You shook your head at his words, biting your lip to keep in the embarrassed laugh that dared to slip past your mouth, “Sure, but you don’t have to say it like that.”

“Why not? I can tell you liked it,” He pressed, talking a sip of the white grape champagne in his wine glass, coating his peachy lips.

In all honesty, you've been sexually attracted to Heeseung since you first met him during one of the darkest stages of your life, and you couldn't help but feel bad about it.

Of course you appreciated him for other reasons, but at the end of the day, he’s your crush and mental health care provider all at once. You dreaded the idea of adding “fuck buddy” to that mix, and frankly, you weren’t sure you'd be able to handle it, despite already testing that boundary a few months ago at his freaking job of all places.

“There are just times when I feel like what you said might be true,” you answered, finally feeling comfortable enough to look him in the face.

“Times where you'd rather daydream about my dick than talk to me?”

“Heeseung!!”

“Fine, fine, I’ll stop,” He chuckled, his contagious bright smile making you laugh a little yourself, "So what is it?... That happens in your daydreams, I mean," he went on.

"In detail or the safe for work version?" You giggled again, honestly trying not to engage in his flirting for the sake of your own existence.

"I never noticed how pretty your laugh is when you're nervous and trying to hide it," he smiled, tilting his head at you.

"Oh and where'd you find that one, in a Rizzler's 101 Guide?" You teased, nudging his knee with yours.

"No, I really mean it," he smiled again, getting up from his seat and meeting you on the couch.

Gently cupping your face in his hands, he pulled you in for a kiss, which quickly led to a full blown make out session. You don't think you've ever felt hornier while kissing someone as you let out sounds you didn't even know you could make.

Heeseung's hand got lost under your shirt while yours were gripping at his neck, pulling him impossibly close to you. Your legs were hooked around his waist as he softly grinded against you, both of you feeling light headed just from the simple touches and sensations.

You wondered what it’d be like to go all the way, so you took off your top, and he followed after you, kissing down your neck as you clenched around nothing.

The warmth of his breath against your cold skin sent shivers down your spine, your fingers combing through his hair as if trying to calm his growing desire for you.

The little nips he left on your neck reminded you of the way Sunghoon used to wake you up from naps, but you tried to stay in the moment.

Heeseung held your waist with one hand while he slipped past your panties with the other, looking at your face for some kind of cue before touching you any further.

You let out a whine, feeling his fingertip barely graze your sweet spot before he started to rub it in circles.

“I love the little sounds you make for me,” he whispered, inserting two fingers with ease given how wet you were.

The words of Sunghoon echoed in the back of your mind, which was almost worse than actually seeing his face. As much as you wanted this moment with Heeseung, your mind was letting your past get in the way of it.

You felt your heart beat increase with each thrust of Heeseung’s fingers, his pouty lips latched to your skin as if he were a leech.

It all felt so good, but every time Sunghoon crossed your mind, you felt like screaming.

You tried keeping your eyes open so your mind couldn’t deceive you with images, but a certain thought resurfaced when you felt Heeseung pulling down your pants.

I’ll show you just how deranged I am.

“Stop! Stop it! G-get away from me!” You thrashed beneath Heeseung, causing him to jerk away immediately. He stared back at your shaking body in shock, trying to figure out what just happened and why.

“_-____, are...are you okay?” He asked sincerely, looking into your now teary eyes.

Your chest kept heaving as a mix of scary emotions started to build up at your core. “I’m sorry, Heeseung,” you sniffled, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I just... I can’t do this.”

“W-what do you mean? Can’t do what?” He asked again, putting his shirt back on and passing you yours.

“The touching stuff... I just-" you sighed, preparing yourself for his response, “I couldn't stop thinking about him.”

Heeseung knew exactly who you meant, despite you not being able to say his name.

“I understand what you’ve been through, ____, but I hate that it has to affect us even now. I thought you said you got over all that...”

You scoffed at his words, “Aren’t you the doctor here? That’s how trauma works, I’m afraid.”

You reached for your own top, snaking your head through the hole and fixing yourself on the couch.

He stared back at the pasta that now set awkwardly on the coffee table before you. As if your words went through one ear and out the other, he went on to ask, “Is there someone else?”

“What? No, Heeseung, I would never do that to you.”

“I get that, but would it really be all that bad? It’s not like we’re officially in a relationship.”

“Heeseung—”

“I know we’ve been through a lot together, and if you’re not ready for this kind of thing, I’ll move on, love.”

“Just because I’m not ready to be intimate with you?”

It was strange how just a few moments ago you were giggling only to now be turning cheeks at each other. The room fell silent for a few moments before Heeseung got up from his seat and handed you your purse, “You can go now.”

You blinked in disbelief, “You're kidding, right?”

“No. I want you out of here for the night. You need some space.”

“Are you sure this is about what I need?” You asked as he walked you to the door.

“Thanks for coming over. Have a good night, ____.” He whispered, not meeting your face before he closed the door behind you.

You felt confused as you stood outside his apartment, feet practically glued to his "Welcome In" doormat.

The irony, you thought to yourself.

You didn't wanna think about if there was something you could've said or done to change the way things went tonight.

Another oddity was that even though Heeseung was persistent on you continuing with therapy because he knew you weren't ready, he somehow expected you to at least trust him in that moment.

Maybe it was time for you to accept the fact that you'd never be normal... not after Sunghoon.

8:22pm

You went straight home after your argument with Heeseung, that is, if you could even call it that.

By now, you were very aware that guilt was one of your strongest emotions, so you felt the need to call Heeseung and leave things on a more positive note.

Or perhaps it was the only way you could try killing off the awkwardness burning in your veins.

Kicking your shoes off, you didn't bother to wash up before plopping your body on the couch, crossing your feet and typing in your phone password.

You went to your "Favorite" contacts list and pressed Heeseung's name, staring at the call option for a few moments before finally clicking it.

Boop... the dial tone rang.

Boop... the sound lingered a few more times before going to the voicemail option.

Ouch.

You instead opted to leave a voice message, rambling some simple (and apologetic) nonsense and pressing send.

He must've read it because three, hopeful dots appeared as you awaited his response... that never came.

Ring, ring, ring, your phone blared, an unknown caller daring to interrupt your silly love affair.

"Ugh," you sighed, hanging up before the number called again.

Ring, ring, ring.

We can all take a guess what your mind immediately thought of at the familiarly ominous ringtone.

Not wanting to feed into your own cowardice, you answered the call, hoping that it would somehow grant you a fleeting feeling of control.

"Long time no see, ____," the raspy voice slithered from the other end of the phone, laced with a craving for mischief.

You were a bit startled by the caller using your name.

"Sorry, but you're a little late with the Halloween pranks. Try again next year-"

"I was thinking, we should play a game."

Oh dear, not this shit again, you thought to yourself.

"Uh, I think you've got the movies mixed up, buddy. That line's from Saw," you replied, fighting back the giggle that danced in your throat.

The old you would've been trembling from a call such as this, but given the circumstances, you were glad for anything that would distract from your cringey thoughts of Heeseung.

"Hmm, I see you're still the scary movie type?" The voice snickered.

"Not at the moment. Right now, I'm more interested in this game of yours. Though, if it involves stripping, you can count me out early."

"Heheheh, don't worry. There's no stripping this time. I've learned from experience that you're not down for that kind of thing. On-top-of-the-clothes fun was always your favorite."

Your jaw clenched at his statement, making you curious to know who was behind the call this time, but you continued to play along.

"Okay, I'm listening."

"Perfect. It's called guess who's gonna get skewered like a fucking pig?"

"Whoo, we're jumping straight into the extremes, huh?"

"Absolutely! Extreme is my favorite," the voice went on, but you were now (re)distracted by thoughts of Heeseung, dumbly staring at the three dots on your phone screen that had yet to dissolve into a message.

"Hey, you still there?"

"Oop- Sorry... you must be boring me, I guess," you teased.

"You guess what?"

"Oh, I forgot we were playing a game," you chirped, sitting up straight now as if the caller was right in front of you, "Hmm, do I get any hints?"

"No, you're smart enough to guess without any."

"Fine," you exhaled, assuming that the answer was yourself. Preparing to perform, you cleared your throat in case you had to fake-cry, "My guess is some guy who probably watched the Scream movies one too many times."

"Well well well. Has my life been threatened by the very person who failed to take it?"

"W-what did you just say?"

"Aww, you almost sound excited about that. Do you miss me, princess?"

"Uhh, I don't know what you're talking about," your voice cracked at the dreadful nickname, a fear you haven't felt in months rumbling in your chest.

"Do you miss the way I made you feel?"

"I hope this isn't your idea of a funny prank, because the humor died after you asked about scary movies."

"You have a strange obsession with death, don't you ____? Answer me this: when was the last time you visited my grave? Or my sister's grave?"

"You're sick," you spat, raising your voice a little louder than intended.

"Mhm. That just means we have a lot more in common than you thought. Anyways, should I knock or just carve my way in-"

Boop, boop.

You cut the call, immediately blocking the number and running to your bedroom, locking the door behind you.

As if it were a shield, you hopped in your bed, tucking the covers over your head and squeezing your eyes shut.

Albeit, you were now well distracted from any thoughts of Heeseung, but unfortunately, something far more daunting than a pasta party gone wrong took its place.

➠ tuesday

9:15am

You had work at the café early the next morning, and didn't get much sleep after that unexpected call. To no surprise, Heeseung never texted you back, but again, that's not really something you were worried about at the time.

Nate was already at the café when you got there, earlier than his usual time, but you took it upon yourself to serve him before Yunjin could step in to play the role of her own cupid.

"Morning, Nate! Don't tell me you already had something before you came here," you teased.

"Hey, and no, not this time heheheh."

That laugh... were you being paranoid?

"I'll have a black coffee... and maybe something sweet if you wanna surprise me," he smiled before noticing that you looked a little off, "Hey, is everything alright? You don't look too good."

You shifted in your stance, trying to stay in character of the happy waitress he knew you to be, "Oh- yeah, I just didn't get much rest last night. Who knew caffeine was so anti-sleep?"

Ding.

The café door bell rang as a trio of elderly ladies walked in... the same ones Yunjin accused of Karenism after you abandoned ship yesterday.

You didn't want her to have to serve them so you turned in Nate's order so you could take their's.

Leeseo wasn't in work today because she had school, so some guy (who's name you could barely remember) took her place, and boy was he a lifesaver in the kitchen.

He had the older ladies and Nate's order made within minutes, handing you the trays in each hand as Yunjin busied herself doing who knows what.

"Here’s your black coffee and a tiramisu square,” you chirped, placing the mug and plate beside his laptop, “I know you’ve tried this one before, but I really think it suits you.”

“Aww, thanks, ____,” he pouted playfully, “How can I ever repay you for such kind deeds?”

Your gaze immediately fell to Nate’s delicate fingers that rested idly near his keyboard.

“Your story. I wanna see it,” you said plainly, tucking the serving tray under your arm and peeking over his shoulder.

“You’re joking,” he said, slightly closing his computer.

“Aww, c’mon! I’ve been dying to read it! If you make me wait any longer I might literally combust!”

“Fine, okay, I’ll show you,” he sighed, playfully rolling his eyes, “but only because I wouldn’t want anyone to clean up your gory remains.”

He moved his coffee out of the way to prevent any accidents, slowly lifting his computer back up for you to see, “Promise you won’t judge me? Like I said, it’s in draft form—”

“I promise, Nate, now stop stalling,” you giggled, squinting your eyes at the tiny words that filled the screen.

You caught sight of the words ghost face, suicide, and revenge almost immediately, your body language clearly exhibiting how you felt on the inside.

“Is it really that bad,” the platinum haired boy asked with furrowed brows, taking in your now disgusted demeanor.

“I… this is unbelievable…”

“Just give it a chance, ____! Trust me, the plot gets better in the next chapter, when the main character finally realizes that the guy behind the mask was the party host all along—”

"What are you, some kind of sick freak?” You interrupted him, careful not to show your anger as you closed his computer shut.

“I… I’m sorry, what?”

“How much do you know?" You went on, slightly raising your voice.

“____, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he almost laughed, trying to shake off how nervous you were making him feel.

“You’re the pervert who called me last night, aren’t you?”

“____, please calm down, you’re scaring me,” he pleaded, standing up from his seat and placing his hands on your shoulders.

Everything in you wanted to push him away, but once the glares from the surrounding costumers and Yunjin entered your field of vision, you simply backed away, swallowing the anger that bubbled within you.

You reached to take off your apron to which Yunjin immediately scolded you, “Nuh uh, you’re not getting away that easily… Get over here, now.”

Letting out a sigh, you looked at Nate with both confusion and shame, walking behind the café counter to where Yunjin was standing.

“What was that all about?” She asked, shaking your shoulder, “Huh? You’re making me look bad in front of my crush, y’know?”

“I got a call last night. A ghost face call,” you whispered, fighting back the tears meddling with your eyes, “It could’ve been a prank, but it seemed so real.”

She took your hand, guiding you into the kitchen where prying eyes and nosey ears couldn’t interfere.

“And you think it was Nate?”

“He’s writing an entire story about it, Jinnie! I can’t be crazy for drawing that conclusion!”

“And you’re not crazy… probably just a little hangry… and sleep deprived,” she smiled, handing you a cookie you didn’t even realize she was holding til now, “Eat it.”

“B-but the chocolate’s all melted.”

“Eat it, ____,” she giggled, shoving the cookie past your lips and into your mouth.

“Ahh, what the heck!”

“Hey, don’t talk with your mouth full,” she grinned, dusting the cookie crumbs on her apron, “now hurry up and finish that… we’ve got a lot more costumers to serve before our shifts ends."

12:16pm

Later that day, you somehow found the balls to apologize to Nate for blowing up on him. You didn’t expect him to be so forgiving, especially considering that you literally accused him of harassing you.

During the brief apology, you explained to him everything you went through in the past, apologizing again for trauma dumping on him. But, like always, he was very understanding, even laughing it off by saying he’s grown used to people having dramatic responses to his art.

“So, you’re V?” He asked, walking beside you as you made your way back to work from your lunch break.

“I’m what?”

“You know, V. Sunghoon’s survivor.”

You usually didn’t like your name being used synonymously with Sunghoon’s, but this time, you didn’t mind as much. Maybe that had something to do with Nate’s undeniable charm.

“Yeah, I-I guess I am,” you half-smiled, walking a bit slower as you weren’t quite ready to leave his side, “Why were you so fascinated by that story, anyway?”

He hummed in thought, looking at the sky before answering, “I’ve got a pretty messed up past, myself, y’know? I hate that certain things turned out the way the did, but it helped to shape me into who I am today.”

“And who’s that, if you don’t mind me asking. Who are you?”

He smiled, licking his teeth at how catty your voice sounded, “I’m an attractive guy with an ugly little kid who’s both obsessed and afraid of death hiding behind it all.”

“Explain that for me.”

“Only if you’re ready,” he said, a silence meddling between you two before you nodded, cueing for him to continue.

“When I was younger, some guys broke into my parents house while my mom and I were solving a puzzle in the kitchen. She hid me in the cabinet, but didn’t have enough time to hide herself before the burglars shot her straight in the chest. That’s just the short version, but part of me hasn’t been the same since then,” he paused, taking in a breath before continuing.

“I know she’d want me to lead a normal life after everything that happened, but I’m still attached to the darkness I saw. It’s a part of me now.”

You were trying not to show it on your face, but you weren’t expecting a guy like Nate to have gone through so much. He handled his pain a lot better than you ever could, and you both envied and admired him for it.

“Sorry, I know that was a lot to take in,” he sighed, sticking his hands in his pocket.

“Nate, I literally just told you that a serial killer held me captive for months while I carried his baby. You’re good,” you chuckled, nudging him on the shoulder.

You two bonded on other things like your experiences with therapy, sharing with him the medication you’d been taking to help with your anxiety.

“I don’t know, ____. I took that same stuff when I was a kid and it fucked me up bad… I’m sure you’ve been having adverse symptoms from it, right?” he frowned, walking up to the café entry with your hand in his.

Ding.

The bell jingled behind you, gracing both your senses with sweet aromas.

“Yeah, actually… I have.”

“So. You can choose to follow doctors orders or take my advice instead. The choice is yours,” he shrugged, letting go of your hand at the sight of Yunjin coming from around the counter.

She wasn’t oblivious to you two holding hands, but it didn’t bother her much anyways.

“Welcome back, strangers. I see you’re both on good terms now? No more witch hunts?”

“No more witch hunts,” Nate confirmed with a smirk, showcasing the faint dimple on one of his cheeks.

➠ wednesday

6:49am

Screech.

The sound of iceskates gliding across a frosty arena filled your ears.

The audience of chilly bodies was silent, eyes gawking in awe at the sight of the skilled dancer practically controlling gravity itself.

It was astounding how skilled this faceless skater was.

You were very much aware that you were currently in a dream, thanks to the mere fact that you’d never actually attend a figure skating show in real life.

Not that you had something against the sport…you just simply couldn’t handle the thoughts that came with it anymore.

Knock, knock, knock.

And in typical dream fashion, you teleported to an entirely different space within seconds, in this case, your apartment kitchen.

Pacing to the front door, you slung it open to reveal a quaint cardboard package lying on the ground.

You picked up the box, walking over to the kitchen counter before placing it down and grabbing a knife to cut through the packaging tape.

Flipping over the cardboard flabs, you were met with the sight of a tiny red sequined dress and a devil horned headband tucked neatly beside it.

Kazuha, you instantly thought to yourself.

“Remember this?” A gentle voice chirped, pulling you from your thoughts.

You whipped your head to see none other than a figment of the late Wonyoung. Even after all your treatment, you could never forget how beautiful she was… even your dream managed to capture the ethereal essence of her beauty.

She held a blue pregnancy test kit in her hand, dressed in the same school uniform she’d always wear, her pink lace socks resting at her dainty ankles.

“Wonyoung?” You asked in shock.

“The one and only. My brother did a good job of making sure you never forgot about me,” she said with a pout, making your own mood fall.

“I could never forget you, Wonnie. No matter how desperately I might’ve tried to.”

She smiled at your words, taking a few steps closer to you, “I haven’t been called that in a while… anyways, the pack said it only came with one test, but it gave me two instead. Trust me when I say you might need this later.”

You nodded in response, putting the test in your kitchen cabinet and closing the box with Kazuha’s costume in it.

“Hey, not so fast!! I wanted to try that on, y’know?

“Kaz!” You nearly yelped, running into her arms and giving her a hug.

“Okay okay, I missed you too, ____, but chill out with the PDA. I have a strict no-homo rule,” she chuckled, kissing you on the cheek anyways.

“Sooo you and Wonyoung get along now?”

“Surprisingly, yes. When you’re dead, I guess grudges just matter less to you. It’s easier to forgive than to hang on to that kind of pain,” she sighed, propping herself on the counter.

“Speaking of the dead,” you began curiously, “how is he? Sunghoon, I mean….”

The light presence in the room suddenly faltered at your mentioning of his name, Kazuha and Wonyoung exchanging troubled looks to each other before meeting your frame with forlorn eyes.

“W-what is it? Did something happen?” You pressed, sensing the dark cloud that slowly engulfed the three of you in the now dull kitchen space.

Wonyoung fidgeted with the beaded bracelet on her wrist before answering you with a shaky breath.

“Sunghoon isn’t here with us.”

Beep, beep, beep.

Awaking from your dream as if struck by lightening, you reached out a hand at the sound of your vibrating phone rumbling against your nightstand, revealing Heeseung’s contact flashing on your screen.

It was now 7 o’clock on the dot.

“Heeseung?” You asked in a groggy voice, rubbing your eyes from how brightly the sun shone from your bedroom window.

“Hi, I’m standing outside your door right now. Are you home? I knocked over ten minutes ago—”

Boop, boop.

You abruptly cut the call, putting on a pair of shorts (since you slept only in your panties), as you ran to answer the door.

Heeseung was standing there in a very nice outfit, but your current emotions weren’t interested in the slightest.

You practically leaped on him, shaking his shoulders with crazy eyes as you spit out words you yourself could hardly keep up with.

“Sunghoon!! H-he’s- He’s still alive, Heeseung! He never died! That… ugh, that means he's still out there! He's wants me dead, Heeseung! That explains everything!!"

“____, slow down. I can hardly understand a word you’re saying,” he chuckled, cupping your face in his hands, “breathe for me, okay?”

“I- I am breathing, Heeseung,” you sighed, anxiety pumping stronger in your veins than oxygen.

“I know,” he smiled, kissing you on the nose, “can I come in so you can tell me everything?”

You let him inside, taking a seat on your living room couch as he helped himself to fixing both of you a cup of coffee as if you were his guest.

“It was a dream, but… it all felt so real.”

“And I get that, but you know you’re not supposed to entertain those sorts of thoughts,” he half frowned, placing the warm mugs on the coffee table before you, “Now be honest with me, did you want to stay in the dream? Did part of you maybe want to think about Sunghoon?”

“Heeseung-“

“You know I have to ask these questions, ____. What kind of answers were you looking for?”

He peered into your eyes as if searching you for the words you were too afraid to say.

That’s when your phone blared with a text from Yunjin.

“Oh, crap!” you pouted, swiping the message on your phone, “I’ve gotta get ready for work in a few minutes…”

Heeseung tried to maintain his cool demeanor, “Well, can we at least finish our coffee first before you abandon me?”

“Of course, Hee,” you smiled, taking a sip of the milky beverage, “what were you doing here so early, anyway?”

He almost appeared to be caught off guard by your question, but you brushed off the suspicion, blaming it on the dream you’d just had.

“Oh- don’t worry about that now. Let’s just enjoy this moment before you go off to serve the fellow coffee-holics in our city.”

Yes, you and Heeseung often behaved as if you were in a seriously committed relationship, but at the end of the day, there was no label between you two.

A few more minutes passed, and your mugs were empty.

“Thanks for stopping by, Heeseung, but I’ve gotta get ready,” you smiled, walking him to your front door.

“You’re welcome, ____. And by the way, I saw your message. I really appreciate you being mature about everything, and I hope that you forgive me for the way I acted,” he said as you slowly closed the door in front of him, beelining to your bathroom to brush away your coffee breath.

2:47pm

Café Royale was closing early for the day as inspections were scheduled during your afternoon shift, so your entire team had the rest of the day off.

You decided to stay back to do some last-minute tidying before you’d leave.

All there was left to do was throw out the table flower water and leave a note for the inspectors.

That’s when you heard a thud against the back wall of the kitchen, high-pitched pleas falling from a familiar voice.

Leeseo.

You dropped the the flower vase, not caring that it shattered on the ground as you made a run toward the door, following the ruckus outside.

On the side of the bakery, you found the two girls from the restaurant pinning Leeseo against the wall while a girl you didn’t quite recognize recorded the ordeal.

Leeseo’s eyes were squeezed shut as the girl brought the camera closer to her face, “Don’t act all shy now, slut. We know how much you like being on camera,” Maeve cackled.

The part of you that would usually freeze in moments like this had died with Wonyoung.

You marched towards the girl recording, snatching the phone from her hand before launching it into the nearby parking lot.

“What the fuck,” she exclaimed before cowardly backing away. You yanked Aiko away from Leeseo, grabbing her face in your hand.

The two other girls were already making a run for it as your grip on Aiko's face tightened, causing her to wince at the feeling.

“Aren’t you like a grown woman or something? Get your hands off me!!” She squealed, possibly forgetting how to use her arms as she fought dumbly trying to escape your hold.

“I hope you didn’t think that shit was funny,” you said, observing her dull blue eyes.

There was nothing behind them, complete emptiness.

Much like Maddison, you thought to yourself.

“You leave Leeseo alone from now on, alright? She’s a hard working girl and doesn’t need punks like you making her life more difficult.”

Aiko's gaze darted between you and Leeseo who stood awkwardly in front of the wall, “An innocent, hard-working girl, huh? Wow... you really are two-faced.”

“I don’t think you answered her question,” Leeseo pitched.

Aiko only laughed in response, blinking a few times before answering, “Like I said, get your fucking hands off me, or there’s gonna be a serious problem,” she taunted, titled her head before you let go, watching as she walked away.

“See you at school, Flash,” she smiled, disappearing behind a corner.

“What’d she just call you?”

“Nothing!” Leeseo responded, a bit louder than planned.

“Don’t lie to me, kiddo. What does that name mean?”

“It means I’m a slut, okay? Just like they said,” she sighed, picking up her apron that the girls had thrown on the ground earlier, “a stupid slut that sends stupid photos to stupid boys who tell stupid girls.”

You couldn’t think of anything else to say to her in the moment, as you’re sure she had heard enough of your advice.

All you did was pull her in for a hug, running a hand through her hair as she fought with the lump growing in her throat.

“You are not a stupid slut, Leeseo. You’re a teenage girl just trying to survive in this world,” you encouraged, breaking from the embrace.

That’s when you noticed Nate from afar, walking closer as you and Leeseo tried to recollect yourself.

“What was that all about?” He asked, giving Leeseo a side hug as she hid her face from him shyly.

“Depends, how much did you see?”

“Well, I saw you get all handsy with that high schooler who was harassing our girl over here,” he huffed, “you okay, Sissy?”

“Yeah, Nate, I’m fine,” she nearly whispered, crossing her arms.

“Look, Nate, I’m not usually that aggressive. I just couldn’t hold back when I saw-"

“____, stop your rambling,” he smiled, bringing a finger to your lip for a moment, “You were fucking amazing. Most girls wouldn’t have reacted the way you did, and I’m sure Leeseo is grateful that you stood up for her.”

You felt you stomach flutter at his words, or maybe it was whatever compelled him to touch your lips.

“Yeah, Nate’s right. You’re like… kind of a badass now.”

“Oh, only kind of,” you chuckled, nudging her waist.

“Yeah, because you let her go.”

Nate nodded in agreement with Leeseo, shrugging his shoulders in a teasing way, “She does have a point there, ____.”

“Well, it’s important to end your battles just as wisely as you pick them,” you said, the three of you walking towards the parking lot.

“Well said, Yoda,” Nate teased, making eye contact with you before speaking, “so, you doing anything after this?”

“Yeah, I’ve gotta clean up some glass I dropped in the shop, but I’ll text you later if I can meet up.”

“Okay,” he smiled, giving you and Leeseo both one last hug before heading back to wherever he came from, “Stay out of trouble, you guys!”

“We’ll try,” Leeseo called out, walking towards the cafe.

“Hey, you’re off for the day. Enjoy your time-off.”

“I will… after I return the favor,” she winked, heading towards the utility unit and grabbing a broom.

10:15pm

Despite having gotten off from work early, you still felt a little worn out from a certain series of events that occurred earlier. So, you decided to calm yourself down with a nice evening bath before bed.

After blow drying your hair, you proceeded with some simple skincare steps before finally ended with moisturizer.

That’s when you got a call from Yunjin. She was never one to call you this late, so you answered the call, hoping that everything was okay on her end.

“Hey, what’s up?” You asked, holding the phone to your ear as you closed your container of face cream.

“Oh my God, someone’s trying to kill me!”

“You’re joking.”

“No, I’m dead serious. Poor choice of words, but I’ve been running for five minutes and I’m about to give up,” she said, voice starting to crack, “…I thought it was funny at first, but now I’m really scared.”

“Oh my God, do you still see them?” You asked again, clutching to your phone.

“No, but I can hear their feet… I’m so fucking scared, ____.”

“I know, Jinnie. Where are you?”

“In the neighborhood-“

“Okay, I’m calling the police-“

“No, ____, don’t hang up!”

“Yunjin, I HAVE to.”

“Please don’t! I already tried but they sent me to the holding line… I just need to hear your voice right now, okay?”

“This is ridiculous! Your life is on the line here, I have to do something!” You cried, heart racing with your feet as you rushed to put on your coat, grabbing your car keys, “I’m gonna call them right now.”

“F-fuck, fuck, fuck,” she stammered, starting to sob, “you really shouldn’t hang up right now, ____.”

“Everything is going to be okay, Yunjin, just keep talking to me, I’m on my way to you!” You panted, running to your car without even making sure your apartment door was locked. “Do you still hear them?”

“Yes, and they’re getting faster! I don’t know what to do,” she said, choking on her own breath.

“Yunjin, sweetie, I need you to calm down. Your nerves are only going to make things worse.”

“What the fuck, ____, I’m gonna die!!”

“Fuck, Yunjin, don’t say that! Look around, is there anywhere you can hide? Any possible weapons?”

“No, I can’t see shit out here!!”

“Wait- I think I see you,” you said, zipping down the street.

“Is that your car? AHHH!”

“Yunjin!?!! What happened?!?!”

“I tripped- ugh, fuck…,” she sobbed, getting up with adrenaline until she caught a glimpse of the cherry colored blood dripping down her leg, making her feel lightheaded.

“Yunjin, are you okay?”

“Eugh- yeah,“ she groaned, “I just can’t feel my fucking legs… hurry!!”

“Shit, I lost you…,” you cursed under your breath until it hit you, “WAVE YOUR PHONE AROUND ON FLASH!”

“I- o-okay, okay!” She stuttered, fumbling with the phone in her hand as she put on the flash and did as you said.

You saw the faint white light radiating from her smartphone about three houses ahead of you.

Slamming your foot on the gas, you nearly flew down the street, a screeching sound echoing from your tires.

Your brakes came to a clean stop as you drifted around the corner, rolling down your car windows.

“Hurry, get in, get in!”

Yunjin only nodded as she ran toward the car, shoulder jerking as the car door resisted in opening.

“What the fuck, ____, unlock the damn door!!”

“Fuck, I did!!” You cried, frantically pressing the unlock button.

Quick thinking kicked in as Yunjin opted for the window, crawling in desperately as the hooded and masked figure sprinted towards your vehicle from behind her.

You reached out your hand to pull Yunjin’s body into the car the rest of the way before zooming off, the crazy killer having gotten just close enough to graze her calf with his blade.

“Hughh,” She exhaled, struggling to get a hold of her breath, “how does he know you?”

Darting through the neighborhood, you tried your best to escape the psycho, even though he didn’t have a chance to catch up with you on foot.

“W- what? What do you mean?”

“The guy in the mask, he said that he was gonna kill me because of YOU, ____! Holy shit, and he was tall as fuck with that freaky ass voice you were telling me about… And there was another girl out tonight! Oh my God, I bet he went after her too!”

“Another girl??” your voice raised slightly, "w-what'd she look like?"

"She's... I've seen her before... that kid... the one from Leeseo's school who comes around the café sometimes."

"Maeve?"

"No, not her... the prettier one."

You didn't wanna think about how Aiko was likely running for her life outside right now, but it was too late to turn around, so you distracted yourself by something else, “…how’s your leg doing?”

“Fine,” she whined, wiping the tears of black mascara that painted her cheeks.

“I don’t feel safe anymore,” she continued, shaking her head as her lower lip quivered, “none of us should…”

“I know, Yunjin.”

“You keep saying that, but I get the feeling there are a lot of things you’re late on clearing up about this, ____. Help me know, too.”

Your chest raised as you took a deep breath, letting out a sigh before answering, “that guy tonight…. I can’t say that I’m sure, but I think it’s Heeseung.”

“Your boyfriend,” she asked confused.

“He’s not my boyfriend, Jinnie.”

“Yeah, and I also doubt he’s a fucking psychopath. Isn’t he a doctor? He helps people for a living, you know?”

“Fuck, Yunjin, he’s the only other person who knows the full story. It just makes sense.”

Silence filled the car for a moment.

“Okay, now THIS is ridiculous. For the love of God, could you think of any other person that would possibly wanna torture us like this,” Yunjin nagged, looking at you as your eyes were still trained on the road.

“It… it could be… I’m just guessing, but… Sunghoon?”

“Huh,” Yunjin scoffed in disbelief, “So your dead boyfriend?”

“Whatever you wanna call it,” you replied sharply, feeling frustrated from life itself.

“Great, so what do we do about him now? How do we beat the final boss?”

Your grip around the steering wheel tightened as both fear and shame rose in your gut. You dreaded the moment you shared your past with Yunjin, and you dreaded the guilt that came with her almost losing her life because of it.

You took a deep breath and focused your eyes on the road, trying to fight back the tears that dared to spill from your terrorized eyes.

“We tell Nate,” you said, making a U-turn as you trailed down the road.

"Right, the computer obsessed nerd who drinks way too much coffee...” she cheered facetiously before continuing, “oh, and do you have an aspirin with you by any chance?"

"No. Here, drink this for now," you said, handing her the water bottle from your car door that you don't even remember purchasing.

She shook her head, taking a long sip from the bottle before resting it between her legs, "All I know is that this costume party better be fucking worth it."

➠ thursday

2:26am

3:43pm

You took Nate up on his previous offer to hang out and decided to invite him to have drinks with you and Yunjin at the local outdoor tea shop. That's where you two decided to tell him everything that happened the other night.

“I just... I don’t know what to do anymore, Nate," you frowned, stirring the tapioca pearls at the bottom of your cup.

“Every problem has a solution, ____. Your goal is to have your normal life back, right?”

“Yes, you know that, Nate. All I've wanted for the past few months is a slice of normalcy.”

He looked at Yunjin, whose facial expression mirrored the frown you wore, trying to come up with something, if anything at all, to grant you this craved slice of the ordinary.

“Fine. I have an idea in mind, but you might think it's a little crazy.”

"Crazier than looking over your shoulder every five seconds in fear of some punk with a knife kink," Yunjin asked in a goofy tone.

"Not quite," he began, taking a sip of his tea before continuing, "I've been meaning to throw this Halloween party at my house for a while. I'll text you all the updates if you're interested, but people will be wearing costumes."

"You're solution is a fashionably belated adult dress-up party?" Yunjin asked, yet stated in disapproval.

"Exactly. It'll be fun and best of all, normal. Obviously there's no pressure for you two to come, it was just an... a dumb idea, I guess-"

"No!" You excitedly interjected in Nate's defense, "That's actually a really great idea, Nate! We're young adults for crying out loud. Silly parties are literally a defining point of our culture."

You're not sure what got into you, but Kazuha would be proud of your willingness to mingle if she was here. Despite your past experiences with costume parties and undeniable intorvertism, you weren't gonna let some masked goon get in the way of your chance at feeling normal again, even if it was only for a few hours.

Yunjin cocked an eyebrow at you in confusion and concern, "I don't know, ____. Being in an environment like that can disturb your recovery. Plus, I'm not sure if that's the safest idea either, considering how that midnight prankster literally cut me."

"We'll be together the entire time," Nate bud in, "I'm a pretty strong guy, y'know? And from what I've seen, ____ here can be pretty badass when it comes to defense."

You tried not to laugh at the memory of Aiko and Leeseo's parking lot showdown yesterday. It flattered you that Nate viewed your protectiveness as a sign of courage, even though you might've gotten a little carried away.

"Uhmmmm, she's blushing... Why is she blushing?! ____, did something happen that I don't know about? Nate, for the love of God, would you please stop smirking!!" Yunjin huffed, dying to know about this obvious inside joke Nate just told.

"I'm not smirking," he lied, chuckling at Yunjin's words as he struggled to look her in the face out of embarrassment.

"We're not hiding anyyyything. Right Nate?" You giggled, flashing him a corny wink.

Yunjin rolled her eyes at you two, taking an annoyed sip from her boba as you guys fought the growing urge to buss out laughing.

That's when you all spotted Leeseo walking home from school with her hair covering her face. You made an effort to call her over, but she obviously ignored you until Nate said something.

"Sissy," He almost whispered with a now forced smile, sensing that something was off by her foggy aura.

She stopped right in her tracks, bashfully lifting her head to reveal her tear-stained cheeks.

The three of you got up from your table, rushing over to comfort her.

"Hey, why the long face, kiddo?" Yunjin asked, taking Leeseo's backpack so the poor girl could finally relax her anxious shoulders.

"S-something happened to Aiko last night," she let out through broken sniffles, "Maeve was telling the whole school about it today."

Oh my God, you thought to yourself.

A worried expression wavered over Nate's features, "W-well... what'd she say?"

"She was talking on the phone with Aiko last night to make sure she got home safely. That's when Aiko said this weird guy kept texting her... Maeve listened to the whole thing..."

"Leeseo, I'm kind of missing the point here," Yunjin pressed, not being able to read through her words clearly.

"Aiko told Maeve that some guy in a costume started chasing her... Another girl was running away with her, but Aiko couldn't tell who she was..."

"Leeseo..."

"Maeve said she heard Aiko stop running, followed by painful screaming and coughing... we don't know for sure but... people are saying that its a ghost face copycat-"

Nate stopped her mid-sentence, wrapping his arms around her as she weeped into his chest.

"I know it's silly that I'm crying because she was such a bitch to me," her voice cracked, tears leaving darkened grey spots on Nate's turtleneck.

"You're not silly for having a heart, Leeseo," you said softly, holding your own hands from how cold your surroundings suddenly became.

"They found her body, ____," she sobbed, hardly being able to contain her breathing, "that freak killed her."

Nothing else was said as there was nothing left to say. You all stood around Nate and Lesseo in a circle, meddling on the increasingly horrifying status of your realities.

Turns out that the new masked goon on the street wasn't some lame copy cat, but unfortunately, someone much more sinister.

➠ friday

11:54am

During your lunch break, you decided to tell Heeseung about Nate's costume party tonight. Not because you wanted him to join you or anything... mostly because you thought it'd be the right thing to let him know. Though, if you knew he would've reacted in the way he did, you simply would've avoided telling him altogether.

"Why would you go to a party like that, ____?" He scolded, shaking his head at you, "People in masks, carrying fake knives and what not. You're not ready, ____! A kid was literally just stabbed to death in our neighborhood!"

"I am ready, Heeseung! Hell, I don't even remember what Sunghoon looks like at this poin. He's officially a part of my past now, and I thank you for everything you've done to help me heal since that, but please, don't ruin this for me."

"Ruin your mood before a bogus late Halloween party?" He scoffed, leaning against the wall in the cafeteria.

You decided to break the news to him after surprising him at work with some lunch you made for him that morning. You understood exactly where he was coming from: Heeseung only wanted the best for you ever since day one, but you still wish he wouldn't have been so harsh about something as simple as a costume party.

"Please don't get mad at me for asking, but have you stopped taking your meds?"

Your heart dropped at his words. Was there an obvious difference in your behavior that would make him know that?

Now it was your turn to feel guilty, "I'm sorry for not telling you, Heeseung. I haven't taken any over the last few days, but I promise you, I've never been happier!"

"____, you think I don't know about that little stunt at your job? Your emotions are out of control!"

"I only stopped taking the meds because Nate suggested I give them a break. If me not feeding into fear is what losing control of me emotions looks like, then so be it," you fought back.

"God, listen to yourself, ____. Valuing the advice of this Nate guy over me, a professional healthcare provider? Where's your trust in me?" He frowned, voice falling to a whisper.

Beep, beep, beep, the cafeteria microwave chimed through the tension of the room. Heeseung had put the lunch you made him in there a few minutes ago, and you're sure it was pretty over-warmed by now.

"I'm trusting in myself from now on," you replied, adjusting your purse over your shoulder and turning to walk away from him, "Enjoy your food, Heeseung."

9:03pm

Once again, it was a Friday night and the mood was right, as you liked to say.

The decorations, the vibes and snack table—it was all reminiscent of Sunghoon's party last summer, but minus the fear that came with it.

Better.

You couldn't help but think about Kazuha in the atmosphere.

Parties were always her scene, and now that you think about it, Yunjin had a spirit very similar to Kaz, and Nate… well, he was a lot like the person Sunghoon had fooled you into thinking he was.

Kind, gentle, healing.

You and Yunjin were dressed to impress in your flirty cat costumes, Nate opting for a more relaxed apparel in a graphic sweatshirt, silver chains, and ripped jeans.

"It's my emo persona," he clarified for the both of you who were still confused as to why he didn't dress up at his own party.

"Cool, so does this emo version of you go by a different name orrr-"

"You died your hair black," you interrupted, staring in shock.

Nate's smile froze before twisting into something more mischievous, "Yeah, I did. Too bad our friend Yunjin here didn't notice... have you been drinking?" He teased, poking her on the forehead.

"Hands off, Lil Huddy, and no, I'm still waiting for the host to show me where the bar is."

"As you wish," he smiled, taking you and Yunjin's hand in his, slipping past the crowd and beelining toward his indoor bar.

One Of The Girls pulsed from the radio speakers, thrumming through the party air as surrounding bodies either swayed or made conversation to the rhythms. The mysterious aura of the song lingered in your limbs as you struggled to wrap your head around what bothered you about Nate's costume tonight.

You didn't wanna say it was the hair, because this new, dark look made him undeniably more attractive. Still, there was something different about his eyes. Something that made you feel uneasy.

So you brushed it off.

"What's your poison," Nate asked with a cheesy grin, placing three chilled shot glasses and a drink mixer on the counter.

“Hmm,” You began, tapping at your chin, “how about something creamy with a dairy base? In honor of our feline outfits.”

“Got it,” he huffed, rolling up his sleeves and examining the array of shelved alcohols behind him. He went for a bottle of banana liquor and crème de cacao. Pouring the amber liquids into the mixers along with some whole milk and ice, he gave it a theatrical shake before pouring it into your shot glasses. “Voila, my ladies! Tell me what you think,” Nate hummed, looking into your eyes as he licked the bead of milk from the rim of the cup.

Yunjin took a sip first and then you, surprisingly pleasant flavors of warm chocolate greeting your taste buds. “Woah, this is actually really good! The banana doesn’t taste synthetic, either!” Yunjin chirped, going back for another sip.

“That’s because I only buy the finest quality products for my guests,” Nate said, eyes turning back to you as he leaned over the counter, wiping the sweet foam from your lips with his thumb.

“Jeez, I’m still right here, y’know?” Yunjin cringed, making you and Nate both feel a little shy.

“What’s this drink called anyway? I wanna make it at home sometime,” Yunjin continued.

“It’s called a Banshee. You can look up the recipe online.”

“Oooh, sounds dangerous.”

“It’s not. Most Banshee’s only warn of pending deaths, while others relish in the pain of people who’ve harmed them in some way.”

“Interesting, but what does that have to do with bananas and chocolate,” you asked.

“The short answer is nothing at all,” Nate said, walking around the counter to sit in between you and Yunjin, “it’s just a silly name, I guess.”

After you three finished up your drinks, you headed back to the dance floor where you made absolute fools of yourselves. Yunjin, who got the dropsies early on, called in an Uber to drive her back home.

“Yunjin, I’m not letting you go home alone while drunk,” you retorted, walking her to the car, “Besides, I’m sure your driver won’t mind looking at two pussies for the night.”

“Yeah,” she giggled, leaning her head into your shoulder, “but maybe some other time when I'm a little more in touch,” she smiled, drawing your attention to the tinted windows of the vehicle. You could barely make out what the driver looked like.

“Anyways, you and Nate deserve this night together. I’ll be fine, I promised,” she said with slurred words as you watched her enter the vehicle.

“Okay, Jinnie. I’ll see you tomorrow then,” you waved as the car pulled off.

“Tomorrow!” She cheered back before rolling up the window.

10:16pm

The party continued as normal, you and Nate sticking by each others side for the entire time. As expected, a few ghostface cosplayers welcomed themselves to the party space, but you weren’t gonna let them worry you.

Buzz. Buzz.

Your phone vibrated in your purple handbag. Pulling out your phone, the bright screen revealed an incoming call from an unknown number.

What a wonderful surprise, you thought to yourself.

You went to press the hangup button, but Nate stopped your hand, meeting your eyes with his encouraging ones.

“Go on… answer it,” he almost whispered, securing your waist with his protective hand.

You’re not sure what compelled you to listen to him, but you felt strong enough to answer the call just as casually as it came.

“Who is this,” you asked dumbly, your gut having told you exactly who it was before answering.

“Does my voice ring any bells?”

Gut wrong. It was Heeseung. You had forgotten all about how you blocked him a few hours after your argument to make sure he didn't get in the way of your party plans. That explains why he called from a burner number.

“What do you want, Hee,” you said with a sigh, now walking away from Nate’s hold.

“Oh, so first, you risk your health by going against my advice, and now I’m not allowed to check on you, either?”

“I’m fine, Hee,” you answered, only for another ring tone to fill your ear.

You glanced at the phone screen: another unknown number was intersecting the call.

“Gimme a second,” you paused, accepting the incoming call and putting Heeseung’s line on hold.

“You're enjoying this, aren't you?”

Nevermind. Gut actually right, just slightly delayed. It was the ghostface creep calling to ruin your fun.

“Enjoying what, exactly?" You pressed, already feeling yourself get a little nervous.

"Enjoying this taste of normalcy, of course. You're not trying to forget about me, are you princess?" The gravelly voice slithered, sending chills down your spine.

It was obvious that this psycho wanted you to think they were some kind of Sunghoon Park reincarnate, coming back to haunt you all over again. The part that you didn't understand, however, was how they knew so much and why they were willing to kill for the sake of a prank.

"Look, I don't have time for your games right now, stay out of my life," You bit back, trying to hide just how scared you truly were.

"Oh, ____, we both know that I can't do that. But I'll promise you this much: No more games tonight. Deal?"

You took a moment to breath before answering, "D-deal."

"Perfect. Now if you're a smart girl who learns from her mistakes, you won't hang up until I say so," the voice hissed.

The sound of what you assumed was a vinyl record scratching against a pin met your anxious ear, an upbeat piano tune rumbling from the track.

"Unusual. They say strange fascination, in...fatuation! A lunatic."

"What is this," you couldn't help but ask, even though you knew there wouldn't be an answer.

"Cause my insides are red, and yours are too! And the red on my face is matching you," the chilling recording sang, "And goodness you're bleeding. What a wonderful feeling. You're down and you're pleading. My head is just reeling-"

You subconsciously walked back closer to Nate as the chorus erupted, bumping into him as you were lost in whatever trance this freak was successfully putting on you.

The urge to hang up grew stronger with each second, but you knew better than to test your luck so soon.

"ꪻꫝꫀ ᥅ꫀᦔ ꪑꫀꪖꪀᦓ ꠸ ꪶꪮꪜꫀ ꪗꪮꪊ " The final lyric whined before the phone call ended abruptly.

Heeseung's line appeared to have cut a few minutes ago, too.

No... he hung up on you.

You called Heeseung back who immediately answered, “Where are you?” You started, not even trying to hide your sense of urgency.

"Why, your new boyfriend abandoned you already?"

"Cut the crap, Heeseung, where are you??” Your voice cracked this time.

"God, I’m at home, ____, why--"

Nate snatched your phone, cutting the call as he turned you to face him, "What the hell was that all about?"

“That ghost face creep wanted me to stay on the phone while he serenading me...”

"You're kidding."

"I wish. Too bad I got scared into listening."

"It's okay. I'm sure you did the right thing. Now where are we headed."

"Wherever Heeseung is. I'm skeptical that he may be behind all of this, but if he's not, that phone call I got was just a distraction. He could be in trouble." You said, taking Nate's hand in yours as you led him outside of the party and to his car.

"Okay. Is there any way you can track his location?"

"Yeah, as long as he has his phone with him," you said, getting in the car and putting on your seatbelt.

Nate passed you your phone so you could pull up Heeseung's whereabouts. From the looks of it, he was driving somewhere, and definitely not home like he said he was.

"What's he doing in the middle of nowhere?" Nate asked, narrowing his eyes at the phone screen.

"I have know idea, but we have to follow him," you said, holding up your phone for Nate to follow the directions.

10:20pm

Yunjin sat quietly in the backseat, observing the night skyline behind the foggy car windows in between her recurrent dozing.

A certain bump in the road caused the car to shake, disrupting Yunjin's slumber once again. That's when she overheard the Uber driver on the phone with someone.

"Hey... not sure if I'm hallucinating or not, but were you just on the phone with my friend?” She asked, having heard a familiar voice on the other end of the call.

The driver didn't pay Yunjin any mind as he continued speaking on the phone, the female voice repeating the name "Heeseung" a few times before hanging up.

"Oh my gosh!" She gasped in shock, taking in the view of the drivers face from the rearview mirror, "You’re Heeseung? Wow, you’re like... wayyyyy hotter than I thought you’d be. Respectfully, of course, since you and ____ have history. She is literally so lucky to have you around.”

“She sure is," he said with a forced smiled, but it didn't quite reach his dark, doe eyes.

His grip on the steering wheel tightened as he turned down yet another rocky trail.

“Hey, I think you made a wrong turn, my street is that way…” Yunjin mumbled, not wanted to come off as bossy.

“Oh- Yeah, I'm taking a short cut to avoid traffic, don't worry about it.”

She simply nodded in response, dozing off for another 10 minutes before waking back up again. Yunjin was never really a lightweight when it came to drinking. If anything, it sometimes seemed as though she was immune to its effects.

"What the hell was in that Banshee," she thought to herself, rubbing the heaviness from her glittery eyes before looking back out the window again, taking in the view of trees and wildlife that made up her surroundings.

“Hey, we’ve been on this road for a while now, are you sure you're on the right path?”

Heeseung pursed his lips at her question, taking a breath and holding it in his chest for a moment, “I can't take you home tonight," he said, eyes still trained on the road ahead of him as he locked the doors.

"Haha, very funny, but suddenly, I gotta piss. So unless you wanna smell my golden release in your car for the next month, I suggest you take another detour, Dr. Lee," She threatened, unbuckling her seatbelt to ease the pressure around her stomach.

"I'm afraid I don't have much time to tell you this, but someone from ____'s past is out to hurt the both of you. You need to understand that Nate is not who he says he is," Heeseung frowned, letting go of the breath he'd been holding.

“Yeah, no kidding, but that still doesn't explain where the fuck you're taking me,” Yunjin retorted, fidgeting with the car door handle as a way to annoy him.

“Would you please stop doing that? I'm already on edge right now, and you would be too if you actually listened to what I'm saying," Heeseung sighed, raising his voice slightly.

"I am listening."

"Great, so hear this. I'm taking you somewhere safe from whatever's to come tonight.. otherwise, you could be in even more trouble.”

Yunjin let his words sink in before answering, "Okay, I hope that I'm making the right decision by trusting you, but what about ____?"

"I'll take care of her after this, just focus on yourself right now," he replied, pulling the vehicle into the driveway of a mysterious log cabin cradled within the depths of the forest.

"Get out," Heeseung said, exiting the vehicle with haste as Yunjin followed after him, walking up to the front door where a key was hidden beneath the doormat.

"Just follow me, he'll find you too easily up here," he went on, grabbing her hand and leading her to the downstairs basement.

With how fast Heeseung was moving, Yunjin barely had enough time to make out her surroundings, her peripheral vision being filled with colors instead of identifiable objects... Or maybe that was the affect of Nate's Banshee still lingering in her system.

The last thing she'd remember was Heeseung bringing her into the basement before closing the door, approaching her with a wooden chair in his grasp as everything around her went black.

10:52pm

According to your phone's GPS, you were still a few minutes shy from arriving at Heeseung's location. Though, the undeniable familiarity of your surroundings brought up a feeling of anxiety in the pit of your stomach.

The way the moonlight peeked through the trees, casting an ominous glow on the hood of Nate's car was all too reminiscent of a few scenes from your nightmares.

Scenes where Sunghoon would drive you to and from the clinic as if it were a daycare center for punished girls, watching from the hospital cafeteria window as bright mornings slowly faded into a starry nights.

Much like tonight, that is.

The bright car headlights of the vehicle glazed the surface of a rectangular sign hanging above the front door of the shady cabin. hidden within the first as Nate pulled into the driveway. A sign that read the words "Park Lodge."

Another sight that caught your attention was the same Uber car that Yunjin got into and the front door that was left open.

Oh God, help me please, you thought to yourself, or maybe prayed, fidgeting with your fingers as Nate stopped the car, ceasing the calming sound of the air conditioner.

"Are you sure you wanna go in, or would you rather stay out here," Nate asked softly, looking in your direction as you simply stared in your lap.

Still dressed in your slutty cat costume, you couldn't help but feel silly, almost as though you'd gotten dressed up to make a fool out of yourself tonight.

So many thoughts and questions were running through your head: Was Yunjin okay? Why the hell would Heeseung come here? Does he have something to do with this recent outbreak of ghost face hysteria? Who could you trust?

Slam.

You closed the car door, leaving your hand bag behind, walking up to the cabin with Nate beside you.

Despite everything you'd been through, this was easily one of the most frightening experiences of them all, but you couldnt let fear get the best of you.

Not yet.

Not now.

"What is this place," he asked, taking in the interior design of this forbidden cabin you knew all too well.

"My former torture chamber," you sighed, opening door after door in search of anything at all, "The place where Sunghoon would..." your voice trailed off, "the place where it all happened."

Nate only hummed at your words, eyes scanning your movements as you continued to search the space like a maniac, but to no avail.

That's when you saw a trail of dirt leading to the basement.

Two trails, that is. One from a man and the other from a female.

"In here!" You called out to Nate who ran towards you, twisting the door handle that refused to grant you access.

"Step back," he said, and you did, watching as he gave the door a few kicks before it slung open, the handle clashing with the wall behind it.

"Watch your step," he warned, taking in the extravagant view of steps that lead to whatever was hiding within the darkness of the basement aside from the many demons Sunghoon left behind.

Step by step, you watched as your feet met each level, Nate's shoes clicking behind yours. Once your boots finally met solid ground, you weren't too surprised to see Heeseung pacing around the room casually.

You didn't even realize Nate was holding your hand until he let go of it, leaving your side for reasons you didn't immediately understand.

“What’re you doing here!?” You nearly shouted, a disgusted look wavering over your face at Heeseung's relaxed demeanor.

But to your surprise, he didn't answer, only watching as Nate made his way to the closet, looking to Heeseung before asking, "Is she in here?"

Heeseung nodded, and with that, Nate took it upon himself to open the closet door, revealing none other than Yunjin's unconscious body sitting, no, tied to a chair with rope, a rectangle of duck tape covering her mouth.

You’re not sure why you just stood there and watched, but you did. Something about seeing yet another person end up in a bad situation simply because they were your friend made you freeze.

Nate’s previously nervous expression was taken over by a much more malicious one, his hand going to grab a handful of Yunjin's hair before giving her head a shake, “Is anybody home,” he snickered, but she remained asleep, only groaning at his actions.

“Don’t touch her like that!” You finally yelped, causing Yunjin to regain her consciousness from the loudness of your voice.

Nate removed the tape from her mouth.

“_-____?” She stuttered over your name through half lidded eyes, looking back at you.

Slice.

Blood trickled down Nate’s arm as he dug the rim of his knife further into the flesh of Yunjin’s throat, her eyes rolling into the back of her head as her arms tensed up from the pain.

“Shit, looks like I missed the rope,” Nate pouted facetiously, letting her head hang forward as he licked the bead of blood that trailed down his knife, “I've always had bad aim.” “Why the hell did you do that!!” Heeseung yelled, running up to Nate and pushing him away from Yunjin, “We agreed that we weren’t gonna kill her, that’s why I told you to spike her drink in the first place!”

“But gosh, you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to do that,” Nate defended, to which Heeseung scoffed annoyedly.

“Yunjin didn’t hurt your sister! And she wasn’t like that other girl you killed that night. Our other targets deserved to die. Not her,” Heeseung said with a heavy voice, almost as if wanting to cry, but you knew he wouldn’t.

Closing the closet door, a look of disappointment wavered over his features, “You're loosing grip of your purpose, Sunghoon.”

You felt as though your world stopped spinning at the realization of everything that was going on.

So you weren't just going crazy this entire time?

“N-…. N-no, it can’t be,” you stuttered, feeling as though your legs would give out. “Don’t touch me!” You barked as Heeseung tried to catch you from falling, which you did anyway, right to your knees.

“This whole time… S-Sunghoon, I...I thought... y-you're supposed to be dead,” your voice cracked, another tear joining the cloudy stream that already stained your face.

“With that logic, I guess I'm supposed to be a lot of things... Sane, kind, honest. By now though, you should know that I've always danced to the beat of my own drum," Sunghoon smirked, playing with the bloody knife in his hand, "What did you think of that song, by the way? Pretty good, right?"

“You fucking monster! Y-you… you killed two innocent people!”

"Oh, big woop! It's not like they were going to turn out to be anything anyways," Nate scoffed, twirling the weapon once again, "I'm sure you probably have a lot of questions you'd like to ask, so I recommend you start talking before my patience runs out."

"Heeseung... I... I don't understand your role in all of this..."

"There are no excuses for my actions, ____, but I owed it to Sunghoon. We both found each other during some dark times in our lives. He promised to help me get some pretty bad people off my back if in exchange, I helped him kill off that Jun-Hwan guy... I just got in too deep to turn back.”

"But why? Why go on for so long? Why not just kill me off and relish in your fleeting sense of justice?" You cried, not being able to control the tears spilling from your eyes.

Your entire life for the past 6 months had been nothing more than a big fat lie.

“God, didn't I already explain this part to you everyday when I had you down here all those days? I did it for my sister, ____,” Sunghoon hissed.

"So you tortured me everyday for months while I carried your child for some lame attempt at redemption?"

"Exactly. See? I knew you were smart."

“No... maybe in the beginning your intentions were noble, but now you’re just acting on your own sick impulses! You like hurting people!”

"Okay, I thought I told you to ask questions, not lecture me."

“Your entire plan was to make my life a living hell! All that shit you said about loving me was a part of this grand psychological game you’re playing!”

“Bingo! You’re on fire, princess,” he winked, unfazed by your emotional outburst, "Now, in a few seconds, I'm going to slit your eyelids in half so you can watch as I stab you multiple times in the face. Any last words?"

You couldn't even be mad at yourself for falling for his tricks... People always said that psychopaths had a way of making some of the most convincing actors.

"Fuck you," you spat, lips trembling like an earthquake before him.

"Cute. If you so happen to wake up in heaven, tell Wonyoung I said-"

Bang.

A silver bullet lodged through the center of Sunghoon's chest, the loud sound making your ears pop.

Bang.

Another bullet joined the first one in his chest, the silver blade finally falling from his cold grasp and clashing with the wooden floor.

Bang.

This shot went off with a ring, gushing through his forehead as his now lifeless body met you on the floor, splashes of red decorated your skin. It was interesting how his beautiful face stayed in contact after the collision.

Your jaw went slack at the sight, a mixture of terror and surprise running through every cell in your body.

You turned to see the source of the gunfire, finding none other than Leeseo standing with the smokey weapon still pointed at Sunghoon's head, her index finger slowly easing into the trigger again.

"That's enough!!" You yelled, haulting what would've made her fourth shot at him.

Putting the gun on safety, she tucked it into her brown leather jacket, grabbing you by the hands as she lifted you up from the ground, greeting you with her embrace.

"What the hell are you doing here, kiddo," you sniffled in her shoulder, feeling as though your body was on the verge of breaking.

"I suspected Nate had something to do with Aiko's death, so I started following him and noticed that he kept coming back here for some reason," she whispered, breaking from the hug.

"Leeseo-"

"I'm so glad that I brought my dad's pistol with me tonight. I heard that there was a party going on and I had a feeling what kind of monster I was dealing with early on. It sucks to say that my instincts were right-"

"Leeseo-"

"I saw him kill Yunjin from upstairs. I froze at the sight in the same way you did-"

"Leeseo, listen."

"What?" She said, taking your hands in hers.

“Nate wasn't real… his real name is Sunghoon Park.”

She screwed her eyebrows at your words, "Wait- Like the original guy from the ghost face incidents this summer?"

"Yes," you replied plainly.

"But... the news said he died... h-he... no, V hit him with a car outside of the hospital! He was in a coma-"

"Look, there's a lot more to the story that I have yet to tell you because I'm still trying to understand some of it myself... I'm just glad you were brave enough to stand up for us like that."

All she did was smile. Even in the face of danger, she always had a way of bringing sunshine to the room. "Are you sure I shouldn't shoot him one more time though?"

"He's dead, Sissy. For good this time, okay?" You reassured her as the sound of police sirens rumbled from above the basement.

Could this girl get any smarter?

"Hey... Where'd Dr. Lee go," she asked, taking one more good look around the basement.

"Don't worry about Heeseung. He wasn't on our side, either," you sighed as a team of police officers came rushing down the stairs, infiltrating the space.

➠ a little over one week later, monday

You still think about what would’ve happened if you wouldn't have dragged Yunjin into going to Sunghoon's party with you that night. If you didn’t trust "Nate" over your own gut feelings, falling for his charm in the same way you did when you first met him. If you never continued therapy or even a relationship with Heeseung. If you never betrayed Wonyoung for your friends to the point that she was bullied to death.

Would you, Kaz, and Madds still be friends, attending the same university together as you took on the exciting new adventure of adulthood? Would Sunghoon and Jun-Hwan be professional athletes in the Olympics, Wonyoung cheering them both on from the sidelines?

So many questions, but you're afraid there are only limited answers to them at this given moment in time.

Right now, you were rewarded the chance to lead your life the way you wanted, fear-free. “Hey, ____! Are you still down to hang out after work? I wanna show you the poster I was working on for Café Royale's holiday menu!” Leeseo chirped as she untied the bow to her apron, tucking it away in her sack. “Yeah, I’ll be out in a sec!” You called out to her, heading to lock up the kitchen before you left.

The owner of Café Royale had flew in town a few days ago, as she was also in search for normalcy some place outside of town. She felt the need to come down and check on things, bidding her condolences. "You might wanna keep a good eye on these," she said, placing the store front keys in your hand as she made her way outside, you following closely behind after hanging your apron over the wall hook. "I really can't thank you enough for this, ma'am," you expressed, watching as she got into her fancy purple car.

"Start by not letting me down. I understand that this is a big responsibility I'm leaving you with, but I know you can handle it. You're a trooper, ____," she smiled, closing her car door before pulling off, joining the rest of the busy vehicles rolling up and down the road. Leeseo was already at your side by now, hooking your arm in hers as she lead you in the direction of her "In Progress Creative Project."

"What'd the boss lady wanna tell you," she started, legs following the exact same step speed at which you walked.

You took a moment to soak up the evening sun, relishing in this feeling of normalcy you oh-so craved for far too long.

Here goes that word again, you thought to yourself, meeting Leeseo's eyes with your own enlightened ones.

"Let's just say I'll be sticking around this town for a lot longer than planned."

Fin.

❅ Thank you all so much for reading Part 3 of this absolute train wreck of a story! Special thanks to @ashgonedash the original requestor of this story, @squoxle my trusted creative assistant, and @yourmomscuntis2tighy for additional support and creative inspo! Couldn't have done this one without y'all!

❅ Make sure to check out my enhypen bookshelf here for my fun reads and yonder content !!

✎ ᴀ/ɴ: in no way, shape, or form does this fanfic intend to romanticize unhealthy relationships or abusive behaviors. i simply write for entertainment and creative purposes. thus, reader discretion is always advised.

taglist: @ashgonedash @nikilvr @ttokyoobv @yourmomscuntis2tighy @fightqueen @addictedtohobi @sltfohoon @lisaaannna @beomgyusonlywife @casualcloddeputyherring @calichuchies-blog @devqrasgirl @rhiannass @lovelycassy @pinapplefntacupss @en-thralled @nikimeows @kaykay11sworld @j-wyoung @flowerbe0m @clarisabutterfliescupcake @wonnyan @sunghoonmyprince @heeseung-min - EVERYONE ELSE I couldn't tag for some reason?? Sowwy hehe

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