escaping reality

⸻

It always starts small with Fez a comment about him going quiet, about you feeling like you're talking to a wall when things get hard. You're not even yelling. Your voice is careful, trying to thread the needle between honest and gentle.

But he's already gone.

Arms crossed tight over his chest, jaw locked so hard you can see the muscle jump beneath the skin. His eyes won't meet yours they're fixed somewhere past your shoulder, distant and flat.

"Fez, I'm just saying—"

"Yeah. I heard you."

You're standing in the middle of his living room, and the air feels thick, suffocating. On the couch, Ashtray is scrolling through his phone with the kind of aggressive disinterest that means he's listening to every single word. His small frame is coiled tight, ready to spring if this goes sideways. He doesn't look up, but you feel his attention like a physical weight.

Rue is perched on the arm of the couch, and the second the tension spiked, she went still. The hypervigilance that comes from growing up in houses where voices rising meant everything could shatter. She's watching Fez with worried eyes, then you, then back to Fez.

You try again. "I'm not trying to fight with you. I just need you to talk to me when—"

"We'll talk later."

His voice is flat and dismissive. The kind of tone that's supposed to end things.

Your chest tightens. "Fez—"

Rue stands up abruptly, too loud, too sudden. "I'm gonna—yeah, I'm gonna grab some air." She's already moving toward the door, throwing you a look that's half apology, half warning. This isn't casual, her eyes say. Be careful.

Ashtray takes his cue, sliding off the couch. He brushes past Fez without a word, but his shoulder clips his brother's arm, a touch that says I'm here and don't fuck this up all at once.

"I'll be outside," Ashtray mutters, and there's an edge to it.

The door shuts with a soft click and then it's just the two of you.

Fez expects you to follow them. You can see it in the way his shoulders drop half an inch, the way he shifts his weight like he's already preparing for the room to empty completely. He expects the fight to dissolve into distance, the way every conflict in his life has been solved by people leaving, by him leaving, by space swallowing the sharp edges until they're dull enough to ignore.

You don't move.

"I'm not going anywhere," you say quietly.

His eyes snap to yours, and for just a second, there's something raw there. Something that looks almost like panic.

"You don't gotta—" He stops and tries again. "We can just drop it."

"I don't want to drop it." Your voice is steady, even though your hands are shaking. "Shutting down hurts worse than yelling, Fez. You know that, right?"

"I'm not trying to leave," you continue, taking a step closer. "I'm trying to stay connected. I'm trying to understand why you disappear on me every time things get real."

His jaw works. His hands flex at his sides, then curl into fists. He looks like he wants to bolt, like every instinct in his body is screaming at him to get out, to shut this down, to protect himself the only way he knows how.

But he doesn't move.

The silence stretches between you. You can hear the hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen, the distant sound of a car passing outside. Fez's breathing is shallow, controlled, like he's trying to keep something caged inside his chest.

The idea that someone might fight for the conversation might refuse to let him run shakes something loose in him. You can see it in his eyes, the way they've gone wide and uncertain, the way he's looking at you like he doesn't know what to do with this, with you.

"I don't—" His voice cracks. He clears his throat, tries again. "I don't know how to do this."

"I know," you say softly. "But I need you to try."

Before he can respond, his phone buzzes, three times.

His whole body goes rigid.

⸻

Fez pulls his phone out, and you watch his face change. The vulnerability that was there a second ago slams shut like a door. His expression goes blank, cold, the way it does when he's shifting into a different version of himself the one who handles business, who does what needs to be done.

"Fuck," he mutters under his breath.

"What's wrong?"

"I gotta go." He's already moving, grabbing his jacket off the back of the chair. "I gotta—it's not—fuck."

The door swings open before he reaches it. Ashtray is there, phone in hand, face matching Fez. He doesn't say anything, but the look he exchanges with Fez is loaded with meaning. Some kind of trouble.

"How bad?" Fez asks.

"Bad enough." Ashtray's eyes flick to you, then back to his brother. "We gotta move."

Rue appears behind Ashtray, her expression shifting from confused to concerned in the span of a heartbeat. She catches your eye, and there's something protective in the way she looks at you like she's seen this before, like she knows what it means when Fez has to leave like this.

"I'll be back," Fez says, and he's looking at you but not really seeing you. He's already gone, mentally, already in whatever situation is pulling him away. "Just—stay here. Please."

And then they're gone. Fez and Ashtray, moving with the kind of synchronized urgency that comes from years of navigating danger together. The door closes behind them, and its too quiet.

Rue shifts her weight, hands shoved deep in her hoodie pockets. "You okay?"

You don't know how to answer that. The fight is still sitting in your chest, unresolved, all those words you needed to say stuck in your throat. And now Fez is gone, doing something he won't explain, something that might get him hurt.

"I don't know," you admit.

Rue nods like that makes perfect sense. She moves back to the couch, settling into the corner with her legs tucked under her. After a moment, you join her. The silence isn't uncomfortable Rue has a way of making quiet feel safe, like she understands that sometimes there's nothing to say.

Rue sits with you in the quiet. You check your phone obsessively, but there's nothing. No texts. No calls.

"He cares," Rue says suddenly, her voice soft. "He's just…bad at the part where it shows."

You look at her. She's staring at the wall, but there's something distant in her eyes, something that tells you she's speaking from experience.

"He runs," you say quietly.

"Yeah." Rue's mouth quirks in a sad, knowing smile. "Yeah, he does."

There's a shared understanding in that moment, a recognition that passes between you. You both love someone who runs instead of talks. Someone who thinks leaving is the same as protecting. Someone who's so used to loss that they'll create it themselves just to control the timing.

"Does it get easier?" you ask.

Rue shakes her head. "No. But you get better at holding on."

⸻

The door slams open so hard it bounces off the wall.

Fez stumbles in and your heart drops into your stomach. His knuckles are split and bleeding, blood smeared across the back of his hand and staining the cuff of his jacket. His shoulders are tense, his whole body radiating that vacant, hollow look like he had to shut off something inside himself just to get through whatever happened.

Ashtray is right behind him, and he's watching you. Not Fez, you. His eyes are sharp, assessing, like he's trying to figure out if you're going to run, if you're going to flinch, if you're going to prove that you can't handle this part of their lives.

Rue goes still on the couch, her body language shifting into that careful neutrality. She doesn't say anything, but you can feel her worry, thick and palpable in the air.

You don't think. You just move.

The first aid kit is under the sink in the bathroom. You grab it and come back to find Fez still standing in the middle of the room, like he's not sure what to do now that the adrenaline is fading. His hands are hanging at his sides, blood dripping slowly onto the floor.

"Sit down," you say quietly.

He doesn't move.

"Fez. Sit."

This time he does, sinking onto the couch like his strings have been cut. You kneel in front of him, setting the first aid kit on the coffee table and opening it with hands that are steadier than you feel.

When you reach for his hand, he flinches.

Not from pain, from your touch.

You pause, your fingers hovering just above his. "I'm not gonna hurt you," you say softly.

His eyes finally meet yours, and there's something broken in them. Something that makes your chest ache.

Slowly, carefully, you take his hand in yours. His knuckles are a mess split skin, bruising already starting to bloom purple and black. You can feel Ashtray's eyes on you, watching the way you handle Fez, the way you're gentle even though he doesn't ask for it.

You start cleaning the blood away with antiseptic wipes, and Fez hisses through his teeth but doesn't pull away. Ashtray shifts his weight, and you glance up to find him still watching, but there's something different in his expression now.

"I'll be in my room," Ashtray mutters after a moment.

It's trust. He's giving you space, giving Fez space, because he's decided you're not going to hurt his brother. That you're safe.

The door to Ashtray's room clicks shut and you hear Rue slip out the front door, quiet as a ghost. Giving you privacy without making it obvious.

And then it's just the two of you again.

You work in silence, cleaning each knuckle with careful precision. Fez won't look at you, his jaw is tight, his free hand clenched into a fist on his thigh.

"I'm not scared of you," you say quietly, dabbing antibiotic ointment on the worst of the cuts.

His breath hitches.

"I just wish you didn't feel like you had to do everything alone."

His hand trembles in yours, just for a second, but you feel it.

⸻

You start wrapping his knuckles with gauze, and the fight from earlier resurfaces not in words, but in the weight of everything unsaid hanging between you.

"Why do you do that?" you ask softly, winding the bandage around his hand. "Why do you shut down every time things get hard?"

Fez is quiet for so long you think he's not going to answer. So quietly you almost miss it, "Conflict makes me feel like everything's about to blow up."

You pause, looking up at him. His eyes are fixed on your hands, on the way you're wrapping his knuckles with a gentleness he doesn't think he deserves.

"Getting hurt is easier than getting left," he continues, and his voice is raw, stripped of all the usual defenses. "If I know it's coming, if I can see it, then it don't—it don't fuck me up as bad."

Your heart breaks a little. You finish wrapping his hand and move to the other one, giving yourself a moment to find the right words.

"Shutting down is still a form of leaving," you say gently.

His eyes snap to yours, wide and wounded.

"You think you're protecting yourself," you continue, cleaning the blood from his other hand. "But you're just doing the leaving first. You're just making sure you're the one who walks away."

"That ain't—" He stops. Swallows hard. "I don't wanna hurt you."

"Then stop running." You start wrapping his other hand, your movements slow and deliberate. "I don't expect you to be perfect, Fez. I don't need you to have all the answers or always know what to say. I just need you to be honest. I need you to be here."

His breathing is uneven now, his chest rising and falling in shallow bursts. You can see him fighting something internal, some instinct that's screaming at him to shut this down, to protect himself, to run.

But he doesn't.

"I don't know if I can," he admits, and his voice cracks on the last word.

"You're doing it right now," you say softly, tying off the bandage. "You're here. You're talking to me. That's all I'm asking for."

You finish wrapping his hand and sit back on your heels, still holding his bandaged knuckles in your palms. For a long moment, neither of you moves. The apartment is silent except for the sound of your breathing, the distant hum of the city outside.

Then, slowly, Fez leans forward. His forehead comes to rest against yours, and you can feel the tremor running through him, the way he's barely holding himself together.

"I'm sorry," he whispers.

"I know."

"I don't wanna lose you."

"Then don't." You squeeze his hands gently, careful of the fresh bandages. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."

He wraps his arms are around you. You wrap your arms around his neck and hold on, feeling the way he's shaking.

You stay like that. His face buried in your neck, both of you breathing each other in like you're trying to memorize this moment.

Eventually, you pull back just enough to look at him. His eyes are red, his face vulnerable in a way you've never seen before. You reach up and cup his jaw, your thumb brushing over his cheekbone.

"We're gonna be okay," you tell him.

He nods, leaning into your touch. "Yeah. Yeah, we are."

⸻

You end up on the couch together. Fez's head is in your lap, his bandaged hands resting on his chest. You're running your fingers through his hair, and he's finally relaxed.

Down the hall, Ashtray's door is cracked open. You can't see him, but you know he's there, listening. Making sure his brother is okay. Making sure you're still here. Reassured by the quiet murmur of your voice, the sound of Fez's breathing evening out into something close to peace.

Outside, through the window, you can see Rue on the front steps. She's smoking a blunt, and when she glances back through the window, there's a small smile on her face.

Because you stayed.

And this time, so did he.

⸻

MASTERLIST

The bill counter on the table slows as the bills flipped through come to a stop, Fezco takes the stack and fixes it neatly against the surface.

Wrapping a band around the cash, he looks up as you appear from the hallway, your bag being pulled over your shoulder. You and Ashtray, the boy is mumbling something to you, looking miserable. Or as miserable as he can look with the disgusted, upturned nose he's giving you as you give him a big smooch on the cheek.

"Hey!" Ashtray swatted you away. "That ain't right, man! We got peoples comin'!" He made a face at you, Fezco chuckled a bit to himself, this was the first time Ashtray hadn't gone tomato red after a kiss from Ma. He was getting used to it, Fez realized with a laugh.

Luckily, you weren't wearing any lipstick this time, but that didn't mean he didn't try to wipe any potential mama's boy imprints you always seemed to leave on his face.

"I know, I know," you could only smile in your humor, before audibly chuckling. Running your thumb along the area, just for safe measure for him, before cupping his cheek. "I'll see you later, ok?"

His chin upturned with confirmation. "Mmm," Ashtray stayed there, eyes flickering up to yours as he went quiet for your goodbye. "I'll keep him outta trouble."

"Says the trouble," you snickered, to which his lips shifted with glee at, he's the business partner for a reason after all. "You always do, I know you got him," you pinched his chin lovingly, before straightening, bag in hand. "Just be safe, babe. Ok?"

Ashtray nods, sharply, face finally burning red. "Yeah, yeah, yeah." He then half-heartedly shoves you towards the hall, "Now, get outta here, man. We got work to do."

"Alright, alright," you put your hands up, taking a few skipping steps down the hall towards the living room. "I love you!"

Ashtray grumbles, embarrassingly. "Just get out of here!" he disappears back into the hallway, jumping a bit too boyishly back into his bedroom.

Fezco could laugh, but he held it back, he didn't need the boy more embarrassed then he pretended to be during most of your motherly habits.

You chuckled to yourself as you spun around from the hallway, eyes finally landing on your boyfriend, Fezco. Your smile never dampening, only growing bashful as you slowly glide around the couch, tracing your fingers along the fabric.

Fezco clears his throat, breaking eye contact.

Shit.

He didn't want you to leave.

I mean, well, he did. You had to leave, no question.

Mouse was nothing to play with. And Fezco made it perfectly clear he did not trust any of his dealers when it came to being around you. Least of all Mouse.

Its always been out of the question to get you involved in any of this, if he could help it.

He was literally inviting danger to his doorstep, if he could pride himself on anything it was that he'd distanced you from most of it, you couldn't put name to face, you hardly knew the shit he sold. Not that you didn't recreationally partake from time to time, but that was usually with him.

You grew up with smokers, so sharing a stick together used to be the closest thing you had ever came to a type of high.

Fezco wasn't necessarily proud he introduced you to drugs, it wasn't even related to how you met, or why you stayed. Why you stayed... Something that confused him to this day, god, you could be anywhere, be with anyone, BE anyone.

But, you were here. Lighting up the house with love, painting a picture of a family he had to think was impossible until you came into his life.

God, he was absolutely obsessed with the addiction he'd found in you. Easily a pinnacle high.

And so, there was no debate, you can't stay here tonight.

Fezco swallows, thickly.

He glances in your direction, as he tries to get his thoughts together. You're already looking at him, waltzing up casually, as he stands from his chair as you get closer, don't look at me like that, he wanted to say.

You didn't know how easy he gets lost in your presence, time just slipped away. Or maybe you did, maybe you thought the world would slow for the both of you in moments like this, when leaving his side felt like an impossibility.

Sliding your bag off from your shoulder, you let it settle next to your cardigan at the table leg. "Did he have to come today?" you knew the answer, your voice soft but frustrated.

"Yeah, ma. Ain't nothin' I can control right now," Fezco answers quietly, watching as you slide your hand across the table delicately, tracing the grain. "It'd just be us tonight. If I could."

"Business is business," You slide the ring of your keys into your palm, humming your understanding. You glance back from your keys that you slide behind you, back up to him. "Update me, ok? Don't forget." Safety check-ins after deals like this were always your number one rule, no exceptions.

He assures you, "I know, baby," stepping close to run his hands over your arms, his palms are warm and his thumbs dig in with a gentle pressure.. "I ain't forgettin', I gotchu."

"And eat something," you added. "There's leftovers from earlier. You never eat right on days like this."

Fezco chuckled. "You keepin' notes or somethin'?"

"Or somethin'." you teased back.

BZZZZ...BZZZZ...

His phone goes off , you don't turn recognizing the harsh alarm as the one he'd set to give you enough time to rush out before his exchange went down tonight.

They both release a breath, before he turns back at the replicated sound. Straightening to face you again, "Hey," he breathes at your pout.

Fezco lifts his phone, turning off the alarm. "You text me when you're home, ight?" he leans down to take your bag off the floor, his other hand now rested on you hip, held it right. Pinching the skin, tenderly, "Hear me?"

"Mm hmm." You inch into him, brows that pinch when you're about to lean in.

"Ok?" he repeated, he noticed.

"OK."

You had his face in your hands then, kissing him, hard. Breathlessly.

Pulling back to look at him, "And you'll call me when it's over." A reminder, instead of a question, you made clear of that. Pretty eyes that bore into his, easily stealing what little attention he'd given to anything else but you.

You kissed him again, he's pressing his lips to yours just as your pulling away. "Not a second after, ok?" You instructed, sternly. Though the worried crease in your brows made your intentions clear and left no room for debate.

He nodded, thoughtlessly, that was all he could manage. Mouth open and leaning down for another taste even as you blabber out another word. "I will, I will."

Not when you're pulling him down by the collar like this.

Again, your eyes dart to his lips, and unable to help yourselves, he's diving in for another when his alarm goes off again, the two of you pausing and then staring.

Alright, they've got ten minutes to get you out of here. Fuuuck...

Fezco grabs your keys off the floor, fits your cardigan between the holes of your bag and snatches your sneakers up for you to step into as you both rush towards the hallway to the door.

"Text me as soon as you're in, alright?," Fezco jogs after you, as you pepper kisses while backtracking to the gated door. "Come on, ma," he complains, half-heartedly, as you kiss him full on the cheek longer.

"I'm sorry," you apologize, before kissing him again. "Ok, I love you," he opens the door as you step into your shoes. Ashtray presses the release from the security room and the gate clicks open. It's raining, it hits the metal loudly, your car was just in front so there was no need for an umbrella.

Still, enough to get drenched as soon as you step out.

He's pushing open the doors for you, the two of you just stepping out when Rue rushes over. "The fu--Rue?"

The girl's a bit out of breath, curly hair sticking to her face from the rain.

"(Y/n) Baby cake!" she fired hand guns spouting the dumb nickname, before taking both of your hands to spin around and stumble her way into the house.

Pulling you back inside for a hug, she's completely soaked, easily clinging your shirt. "That was fast, came to see me? Or are you leaving already?" Rue gasped. "No, no, I haven't seen you in forever, come back. Distract Fez while I raid, alright? Cool."

"What, no--"

The curly haired girl excitedly runs off then, makes her way into the hallway, "Hold on! Rue!" Fezco doesn't have time to grab her when she's already strutting onto the carpet and around the corner, looking for the usual.

"How'd you guys know I was outside? Shit, I didn't even ring yet," she laughed, impressed. "Oh, that a hickey?" she snickered, pointing nowhere in particular at you, already trapezing through the house.

"Rue! What're you--" you close the doors, the security click sounding, just as Fezco''s rushing after the girl. "oh my, fuck--"

"Nah, Rue, you can't be here right now," Fezco shouts after her. "I need you out!"

Rue scoffed. "Oh, come on, I've seen porno's crazier than what you two get up to. Just act like I'm not even here."

Bursting into the living room, you follow after Rue as she throws off her sweater, looking to get comfortable. "Jesus, Rue," you pick it up off the couch as you follow behind Fezco.

Ashtray's head peeks out from the security room, brows raised in surprise as Rue trudges through the hall, he speaks aloud. "The fuck is she doin' here?" and then he sees you, yelling after you. "What the fuck are you still doin' here?!"

"I was leaving!" you sighed as you rushed past him. "And don't cuss at me!"

Ashtray rolled his eyes, sitting back into his chair, checking the outer camera feed.

"Look, I just need a couple OCs and some socks," Rue plopped down on a bed in the back rooms, pulling off her soaked socks and started opening drawers.

Fezco cornered her in his room, frustrating eating at him. Glancing at the time on his phone. "Yo, for real Rue, you gotta go! I can't help you right now, come back in a few hours, I gotchu. But right now, you need to get up outta here."

You came up next to him, holding her jacket. Throwing it back at her as she pulled on some new socks, "Hey!"

"He's not joking around, Rue," you reiterated. "People are coming. And it'd be better if neither of us were here. You need to come with me."

Rue glanced between the two of you. "This is the weirdest intervention ever," she kicked off her jacket as she pulled on her socks. "Look, Fez, I'm drenched, and I'm out of drugs so...don't be dicks."

You pinched the bridge of your nose. "Oh god," shaking out your hands, you may just have to drag her out, kicking and screaming.

Fezco cursed, tensing up. "That ain't the fucking problem Rue!" they had less than five minutes, he was sure. " I need you to get up out my house right now before theses motherfuckers come through, for real!"

"Look, look, look, all I need are some OCs and a couple of Xanies, that's all," Rue explained.

You hummed, irritated. "Sure," you stepped forward, grabbing her forearm. "At my house. Let's go."

Rue's face pinched in confusion. "The only pill I've ever seen in your bathroom is a Tylenol."

"Uh huh," cause that's is all you had at home. "Well you're a terrible influence."

"Me?!" Rue laughed, appalled. Before glancing back at Fezco, who gave her glare at her clear insinuation. "Wait, wait, my jacket!"

You pulled her back with you, knowing she caught sight of a pill bottle as they passed by the security room. Shrugging off your cardigan, you tossed it over her head, "Here."

She puts it on, but isn't satisfied. "I know you don't got Xanies..."

"And you not hearing me when I say you ain't stayin', Rue," Fezco reminds.

Rue grinds herself to a halt, thinking hard, before she yanks herself through your grip, running around to the couch, flipping onto the cushion. "Prove you got 'em at home, go!" she points.

"Rue! I'm tryin'na tell ya, I ain't got shit right now," Fezco fought the urge to snatch the girl and throw her out. "I got whatever you need , but later. Get out."

"Rue!" your fists ball up, mostly out of your own anxiety. "Please, please, just get out of the damn house. There's some fucking weed to hold you over in the car!"

But Rue, the addict she was, Rue just glared. Staring directly at Fezco, "I know you got something, Fez." He was hiding it from her, he had to be, so why should she leave?

"Jesus Christ..." you ran a hand down your face. "Just come with me. Stay with me at mine, and then in a few hours, we're back here for you to do whatever," coming up to Rue as she braces herself on the backend of the couch. "I'm dead serious, I don't want you here when they get here, ok?"

Rue's brows furrowed at the softened delivery of your last sentence, now you have her attention. Her mouth opening but only a confused, "uhhh..." follows before she's glancing at Fezco, who's staring at the time on his phone. "You said who's coming again?"

Just as Rue's beginning to pull herself off the couch. Fezco opens his mouth to say something, "Rue--" while you're already pulling her to the doorway, and then the phone rings.

Stopping both women in their tracks.

Fezco stares down at the screen, the caller ID, and then sighs.

Making eye contact with you as your shoulders drop, realizing you were out of time, his lips press together guiltily.

His eyes flicker to Rue. "I could fucking kill you right now," he says, walking to the dinner table. He takes the walkie talkie, "Yo, Ash, they're here."

"Crap," the boy responds before the radio cuts silent.

Fezco gathers the money off the table, puts down the radio, walks over to the couch and fishes out the handle to a gun. That he checks for a loaded magazine before shifting the safety.

Rue swallows hard on the couch.

You breath out, running a hand down your hair. "Rue," you start. "Come."

You're already walking down the hallway. Rue swiftly follows, side stepping an angry Fezco.

"Ma," Fezco calls.

"She's not staying out here."

"If they find her..."

"They won't!" you argued. Giving your bag to Rue, pulling your cardigan hoodie over her hair. "They won't, right?" you stop and ask Rue.

Rue swallows, before nodding fast. "I can be quiet. I mean, when it counts, I can be quiet."

Pulling her into the farthest opposing room, you release her to move a few things around in the darkest corner of the room. Which happens to be with Grandma Marie, still sleeping peacefully as she always has in the hospital bed. "Sorry, OG," you whisper, before guiding Rue over.

"Touch nothing, say nothing, keep fucking still," you instruct Rue, pulling her into the corner, as far away from Grandma Marie as possible but in the busier corner of the room where she'd be much harder to spot if anyone were to glance in.

Rue wordlessly fixed herself into place, taking your bag and holding it tight in the corner as you moved a box in front of her to obscure her at least a bit. "Do. Not. Move."

You stepped away as you heard the front door slam shut and Ashtray whispering harshly behind you, "You gotta get over there!" before rushing out the room.

"(Y/n)..." Rue spoke finally as you began to pull the door closed, palms sweating, face flushed with anxiety.

You turned back to her.

"I..." she tried.

"Just don't move. It's ok," you assured her.

Rue watched as the hallway lighting vanished from the room, chest heavy as she recalled the terrified expression on your face as you pulled the door shut.

---

"So, this your bitch, huh?"

Your eyes flickered upwards from beside Fezco, tenses up at the question. You must've zoned out.

"Huh?" you didn't mean to say anything, but it made the man laugh.

Mouse.

As you make eye contact, his smile curls slow, a flash of gold in his teeth and the lighting makes his faded facial tattoos look more intense.

"Nah man, this ma girl, ma wife," Fezco gritted out, but he tried to keep his animosity to a minimum. "Ain't no bitch here."

Mouse snickered, before shrugging as if he could respect that. He drops to one knee to get eye level with you, staring like he's got nowhere else to be. With his palm extended for you to take, "Mmm,' he starts off, getting a good look at your face. "Well, hello there, wifey."

"Um, hi," your mouth dry.

He chuckled, clearly he found you interesting. "Got caught in the rain, huh?"

"I--" you didn't have to look down to feel your wet shirt sticking to you. Enough for the lace of your bra to show through. Fuck me, Rue. "I did."

"Course you did, mamas," Your eyes flicker anywhere but the eyes that haven't stopped trailing you since he'd walked in, extending your hand to shake. He takes it, instead pulling your knuckles up for a kiss, he keeps eye contact every second. "My name is Mouse," he introduced. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

You couldn't seem to find the words, he wasn't waiting for any, he turned his attention to a tight-lipped Fezco, beside you.

"Hmm," Mouse says, before he's pulling you off the couch with a jerk to the hand.

You follow with a surprised sound, pulled right out of Fezco's range just as he reaches out. "Wait--"

"Hey!" Fezco's already standing, hands shaking. "That ain't cool, man! What you think you doin', Mouse?"

"Relax, man," Mouse spins you around, enjoying the view, and sits you down on the opposing couch, facing Fezco. "I ain't know what ya'll got planned sittin' close like that, just precaution. This," he pinches your chin briefly. "Makes the room more...spread out."

Mouse smirks toward Fezco, who's eyes constantly flicker from you to him. "Sit down already. Let's get down to business," he demands. To which Fezco, not wanting the man to be here any longer than he needed, sits carefully. "Alright. Custer toss me that bag!"

The dealer walks around the couch, away from you, and you finally take a breath. Fisting the cushions beneath, you push yourself back onto the couch, eyes flickering up to Fezco, who leans forward at your attention, hands fidgeting and holding tight. You alright?

Your palm spread out wide over your bare thighs, you couldn't believe you wore a fucking skirt today. I'm fine.

But to Fezco, it looks like you were about to be sick.

Mouse took some plastic out the bag Custer provides him. "Alright, check it," he holds out a few things. "I got 100 OP-OC 80s, 500 Xanny bars, 500 20s of Addy," he listed off as the pill bottle clacked and the pills rattled with every push onto the table. "I'm low on Vikes, so if you wanna cop out some Vikes. You better cop 'em today, cause I got 50 left--" he just kept listing and you glanced off to the side, behind you was Custer. From across the room, Ashtray stood at a doorway, you were glad he was far out of interest to the two men.

Ashtray sees the gun in Custer's pocket, eyes pointedly looking to Fezco, communicating that instantly. He watches his brother's jaw flex at the info, before pressing his hand against the crack of the cushion where his pistol laid.

The boy then looks over to you, the woman's that had become his mom in the years they've known you, he hated that you were still here, god, he could kill Rue.

"Custer, what's the math on that?" Mouse finishes up.

"Uh, 25, 15, 1,100, 35, 77 and 25," he counts off. "7,750."

Fezco takes out the paper bag he's prepared. "Here."

He tosses the bag of money up and at Mouse, who tosses it right to Custer after feeling out the stacks.

Mouse steps around from the table. "Sure you don't want no Fentanyl?"

"Nah man, I'm cool off that shit," Fezco rejects. "Too many ODs and I don't want the heat."

Mouse didn't like that much, but he didn't show it. Not as he came around the couch, staring down at you, already peering up at him, "What about you, wifey, huh? Ever tried Fentanyl?" he comes to sit beside you.

"No," you said, your voice much too small.

"She's good, bruh." Fezco didn't like his shift in attention.

But, Mouse pays Fezco no mind, doesn't even look at him as he leans in closer to you. You look away, he's much too close. "Got hub talkin' for you, huh?" his arm comes around the couch bend and fists his fingers into your hair.

That's a question, he needs an answer. You remind yourself, you try to just look at your boyfriend, though seeing his rage and clearly being just as uncomfortable as you were, if not more, didn't help.

"He just, knows more about this stuff..." you say. Mouse's fingers trail your shoulders, near your neck. "...than I do."

"Not more than me, though," Mouse interjects, before shifting over. "Don't look at him. Look at me. You think he knows more than me?"

You're sure it's not wise to say yes, not as he presses you to make eye contact, he stares you down, hard. You shake your head, reluctantly, throat closing.

"That's right. Ain't nobody knows more than me about the game, wifey," Mouse gloats, rubbing your shoulder. "So, you don't got nothing to worry about, do you?"

You didn't answer, and his hand comes up, taking a lock of your hair between his fingers.

He pulls your hair over your shoulder, behind your ear. "You ever try it?" Fentanyl.

Mouse's calloused thumb drags over your check, his hand briefly cupping around your lips to see your pout. You're sure he's just trying to piss off Fezco, who's digging into the arm chair, trying to keep calm.

"Mm mm," you try to shake your head.

"Yo, for real, bruh," Fezco speaks up, voice lifting in his turmoil. "I don't want her fuckin' with that shit. At all, man. She ain't with that."

Mouse leans close, looking to pique your interest. "You know that feeling when you come so hard you can't feel or hear shit?" he questions. "You like that feeling? I know you like that feeling..."

"Sure," You glanced at him. "Doesn't everybody..."

Oh, shit. Was that the wrong this to say?

Mouse immediately grins, bursting out a short laugh, looking over at Fezco, then Custer.

"Mmm, That's a good answer. I like that," he glances over toward Fezco, smirking in his humour. "I like your girl, man. This a good bitch," He then leans down, snatching up the bookbag, "So, you're gonna love this," Mouse fishes through a few of the plastic wraps.

Mouse flipped open a knife then, startling you, unraveling a bag to take out a white packet. He pokes the metal into the bag, ripping it open, a bit of the liquid catches on the knife at the very tip.

He raises the knife in front of you, the sight of it makes your skin grow cold.

"I'm fine, really." Your press your lips closed. "I've never..."

"What?" Mouse chuckled at your flushed face, the color that had left it. "Never what? Come on, take a lick. What, you don't trust me?"

"Come on, bruh," Fezco seethes to the side. "She said she's good."

"Shut the fuck up, bitch," Mouse cursed him, glaring his way. "Ain't nobody talkin' to you!" He then turns to you, whispering close to you ear, knife so close it could cut you instead. "Tell hubby over there, nobody talkin' to him right now."

Your eyes lock on Fezco's right across from you, you hadn't even realized you were shaking. He looks so guilty, eyes much too expressive to be hidden from Mouse's sight, you wonder if he just doesn't like Fezco or if he just likes playing with his dealers.

Or if he just really likes torturing you.

"Come on," Mouse continues. "Tell him to 'Shut the fuck up'."

You don't, eyes flickering down to the knife he'd raised toward your chin, that had begun to graze your bottom lip.

"Don't be scared, mamas," Mouse suddenly snatches the back of your neck, making you jump. "It ain't gonna bit you."

"Bruh, stop touchin' her like that!" Fezco tries not to get too loud, there's a shakiness to his voice that maybe Mouse doesn't notice, but you do. "She don't mess with that shit."

"Yeah," he can tell. The man palms your thigh, maybe to test Fezco further. "Yeah, she don't. So, why not get the experience? Try it." He raises the knife further, this time between your closed lips. "Open, come on, good girl, open up. Try it."

You wanted to cry from the pounding in your nerves, heart beating fast enough to give anyone a heart attack.

Taking a final look at Fezco, who's put a hand up to his head, he runs it down his face, shaking his head, but he knows you don't really have that chocie.

Fuck, you should've just left.

Your lips close around the drop.

Mouse grins, proudly. "There."

The knife sliding from between your lips, you release a shaky breath, that feels more like the beginning of a sob. God, do you feel pathetic.

You inhale, trying to remember to breathe, as you lock your hands between your legs.

And now, he waits. Staring closely. Fezco can't look as you shrink away from Mouse's knife that he still holds at his lap.

You look so scared, and he can't help the sick feeling in his stomach, his throat tightening as he watched the drug you'd never even thought of take effect. He tried to find the words that you needed, he leaned forward as your eyes began to dilate, "I ain't goin' nowhere," he assures you, steadily. "Right here, whole time. You're just gonna ride it out, a'ight?"

You feel yourself nod, but for a second the ground seems to close and you keep yourself steady. Just ride it out...

They don't have to wait long when your hands ball up into your thighs, you lean forward a bit. Releasing a breath, Mouse chuckles. "Yeah, that shit works quick."

You're not sure if you like it...

But, nevertheless, the high catches you pretty instantly.

Blinking once, twice, before its harder to open your eyes. You lift your hand to your face as you feel heavy all of a sudden, your arm never lifts, instead you're following it down to the couch cushion.

Fezco watches as your head lolls, eyes fluttering, breath turned shallow, your body folding into the couch. Hair obscuring your face, your arm sinks to the carpet off the couch, you let out a gasp of a sound before completely slumping into your high.

This is your fault, Fezco says to himself. Your fault.

God, he's never felt more like shit.

But, with you, there’s become a floating calm, heavy and numbing, the world slipping a step farther away with every second.

There's a hand tracing circles on your skin, sending intense signals through your brain, but you just blink slowly, eyes locked on Fezco. Who hasn't looked away since.

One.

Twooo.

Five.

Eight...

Is that right?

Mouse's fingers run down your thigh, his nails biting into you gentle, possessive, pinching your skin as he leans over, his fingers snapping the lining of your panties back to your hip with a laugh. "You like the way that feels?" he asks, looking at Fezco.

"I dunno..." you drawl.

Mouse pulls your legs over his, shifting closer to you. "What's that mean?" he questions. "Don't you want some patches, girl?"

You hardly had an idea of what he was on about. "I don't..th'k I should.."

Mouse wasn't satisfied. "I think you should take a few patches," he surveyed the curve of your ass on the sofa, your skirt having pulled up. "Don't you agree with me?"

"Ok..." you breathed out.

He gave Fezco a humored look, flipping out three patches. "It's gonna cost you $300," he fits them under the band of your underwear. "Come on, pay up, wifey."

"I'm..." you say. He wants money? "I have half..."

Fezco closed his eyes briefly at Mouse's baiting. He kept his eye on the rise and fall of your chest, panic wasn't even close to the feeling he had stirring in his gut.

Mouse's hand climbs up, crawling up her skirt that hadn't done its job tonight. "How you gon' pay the other half, hm?"

"Mouse, man--" Fezco gritted out, violently. Forced to watch as he tapped the blunt of his knife against your ankle at his tone.

"I don't do a lot of...pills," you mewl, letting out a startled noise before sinking into the couch again. "I shouldn't have..." your words get lost in the mist.

"Yeah, well I got a strict no return policy, so get that outta ya head, wifey," Mouse cackled, slapping a palm onto your heated skin. You make no reaction.

And so, he's had more than enough. "Yo, I'm payin' for it man," Fezco held up the cash.

"Thought you were too good for Fentanyl," Mouse scoffed. "What is it? Everybody's changing their motherfuckin' minds on me?"

Custer laughed. "Yeah." He then glanced over at the boy in the doorway, Ashtray wasn't lookin' at him anymore, his eyes on you, slumped on the couch.

"If she can't afford it, she gon' have to find another way to pay me," Mouse said, nose upturned at the young man that clearly thought he was better than him. "Straight up."

Fezco should've shot Mouse in the face with what he was insinuating on doing to you, on the shit he's pulled tonight. But he knew best than to do that with you right in his grip and a knife still in his opposite hand.

"Just let me pay for it, man. She my wife," Fezco takes his hand from the couch, standing. "I got the money right here."

Handing over $300 to Mouse, eyes locked on you as you're quick to knock out now.

"Dang, that's that real marriage shit, huh," Mouse counted, while you moaned at the mention. "But, price just went up. It's $600 now."

Fezco gritted his teeth, but forked over the extra $300. He didn't trust himself to say anything else as he walks to the opposite side of the couch, closest to your head.

"Pleasure doin' business with you," Mouse smirked finally. Taking a last look at you, hands sliding off your thigh, he stands to fix his jacket. "Later, little wifey."

You exhale, heavily. No words leave you for him.

Not until Fezco comes into view. "Fez..." you mewl.

He goes down to his knee in front of you, your eyes had already begun slipping closed, recognizing him briefly as you moaned. "Oh, ma, hey. I'm right here," Fezco whispered, moving your hair out of your face as you breathe slowly against the cushion. "You're ok, I gotchu."

He lifts your hand from the floor holding it tight and letting it settle on the couch by your face.

"I like my bitches lightweight too," Mouse says to Fezco, while lighting a cig between his fingers, before him and Custer make their way out of the house.

Fezco is quick to action as the door slams to a close, fishing the packets off your underwear as Ashtray comes over. A hammer in hand, and an anger he hadn't acted on yet, Fezco's too lost in the moment to see how it's still violently building in his eyes.

"Get the Narcan, just in case, and get rid of these." He hands his brother the packets and points down the hallway.

Ashtray follows his instructions, putting the hammer down on the way.

Fezco turns and returns to your side, a blanket in hand. He pulls it over you, up to your shoulders, you're already feeling feverish though.

He doesn't shift you too much, there's nothing to heave out, or a needle to pull from your skin, there's nothing he can do besides keeping you as comfortable as possible.

All he can do is wait...and watch.

He swallows down the tight pit in his stomach that builds up in his throat, reddening eyes that burn as he settles your head on his lap as you've begun to slip into your slumber.

"I'm sorry..." you drawl, sleepily. "I took it. I didn't..."

The fuck were you apologizing for, he wanted to cry. He stroked your hair, pulling it back and away from you face, holding his palm to the top of your head. "No, ma, it's on me, it's on me," Fezco leaned down to place his lips on your cheek. "It's ok, you're ok. Just rest, ok?"

You're already out.

And with that, Fezco leans back, pinching the bridge of his nose before rubbing his eyes and smearing any evidence of his heartache.

Soon, Ashtray comes to sit on the opposing couch, when he feels a bit composed, Fezco finally looks to his brother.

But, they say nothing, both just sit here, where they both wait together.

A few moments later, Rue comes out of the opposing room.

He had nearly forgotten.

The girl hesitantly enters the hallway, looking into the opposing room before she catches site of Ashtray already staring her down from the living room. She pauses mid stride for a moment at that. "So, your dudes cleared out then, huh?" she awkwardly stepped into the living room.

Fezco hasn't turned to her yet. So, when she's looking around she spots the bags of pills, the drugs unopened, fresh prescriptions, the real, good stuff. "Holy shit..." she breathes out. "What the hell! That's a crazy haul, your guy is the best, oh my shit--"

"Rue!" Fezco lets out an absolutely seething hiss toward her, he doesn't yell or scream, he sneers. Trying his hardest to keep his volume at a minimum, the effort makes him shiver.

Rue's not sure she's ever seen Fezco actually angry. Pissed, yeah. Irritated, definitely, she just tends to have that effect. But, Fezco just wasn't a person she had known to have a real temper, in the way he was glowering at her, she was wrong.

Her voice likes to run away from her despite knowing she should shut up. "What? I was just saying--" she then noticed someone missing. "Did (Y/n) leave already?"

She came closer. Then, seeing you on Fezco's lap, completely out. Beads of sweat already beginning to collect on your forehead.

"Is...everything alright?"

"Ash."

Ashtray lifted himself off the couch, eyes on Rue. He pulls a small bag from his pocket, 4 or 5 pills, the usual. And it's selfish, but she was hoping for more, she doesn't dare say that though.

"Shit, thanks, but..." she dragged. "Um, is she ok?"

"Get out, Rue."

The girl wanted to argue, she also wanted to get the fuck out of here and drown her guilt in the little tablets that put those feelings right to sleep. "I mean, can't I just wait till she--"

"RUE!"

Fezco fumes, enough for a vein to pop. Then he flinches, looking down to make sure he hadn't disturbed you before sighing harshly.

Her hands go up. "Fine, fine! Fuck!" Rue turns quick, making her way down the hall and out the front door. "Fine."

Ashtray locks up behind her, wordlessly. The slam is enough of a tell to his own irritation with her.

Rue clears her throat, walking off the porch and down the walkway, slowly. Her eyes instantly finding your car, she stares at it for sometime, before opening the bag Ashtray had shoved into her hand a moment ago.

She takes a pill, sticking it on her tongue to swallow.

As she snatches up her bike, she waits for the guilt to pass like it always would with every high.

---

An hour or two later, as Ash is beginning to fall asleep on the couch. Fezco decides to move you to the bed, his arms slipping up your knees and around your shoulders, carrying you to the bedroom.

He keeps you turned on your side, his hand braced on your shoulder blade to anchor you there as he blinks back exhaustion. Ashtray crawls onto the end of the bed, deciding to fall asleep there, Fezco tossing a pillow his way.

Ashtray is fast to fall asleep, it was late after all.

Fezco tiptoes around sleep, but he can't.

He has to feel every breath, every shift, every sound, what ifs are infinite right now and he wasn't taking any chances.

He holds you to his chest as you snore quietly, his focus stays locked on the pulse beneath his thumb, on the slow rhythm of your lungs. Every few minutes, placing his lips on your bare shoulder, he whispers small, steady nonsense in case you were listening to him. "You're ok. Stay here. Stay with me."

"You're ok," he mutters against your skin as he blinks slow, the clock glows at 3:40 a.m. when he begins to close his eyes from exhaustion. "I'm here..."

It's 4:12 a.m. when he wakes up to your body tensing up next to him.

"Hey," he rubs your shoulder as you stir to life.

A small, strained sound catches in your throat, a hand clutching at your stomach. Disoriented, you try to lift yourself off the bed, limbs uncooperative, you just slump back to the bed. Fezco quickly leaves the bed, coming around to help you up.

You seemed surprised to see him, hands balled into his sweater as he lifts you. "Fez..."

"I gotchu, ma," he lifts you off the bed. Guiding you forward, he's already sure you'd prefer your first stop being the bathroom. You stumble your way with his help, your weight sagging into him, the ground just won't stop moving!

You drop to your knees in front of the toilet, hands trembling against the porcelain. The first heave hits you hard and sudden, your whole frame shaking with it, enough to make tears sprout. Fez kneels behind you immediately, one hand holding your hair back, the other spread between your shoulder blades, rubbing slow circles along your skin.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, barely louder than breath. “I’m so fuckin’ sorry. You’re okay. Just let it out.”

You cough up what you can, choke, tears spilling without you meaning to. The sick feeling wracks through you in waves, leaving you gasping between them. Fez stays exactly where he is, his hand warm against your back, holding you tight with every shudder.

As the worst of it passes, Fezco stands for a towel, wiping off your face after wetting it. "M' sorry, I woke you," you apologized as you pressed your head into his chest.

He keeps one arm around your shoulders as you sag into him, exhausted, shaking, breathing uneven but real and steady against his chest.

"Don't apologize for anything," he holds you tight on the bathroom floor. "Please."

You sink into him inch by inch, the last of your tension finally giving up. His chin rests against your hair. When your body jerks again with a small wave of nausea, he tightens his hold as you try to settle your stomach. "I'm ok," you hiccup.

He strokes your cheek, leaning down to embrace you and shield you as he should have tonight.

Soon, you both make your way back to bed, both sitting upright, you've leaned into his chest, trying your best to rest.

Lying there like this now, tangled and still, both wrung out in different ways. Ashtray at your feet, exhausted himself. The day sits heavy between them, what almost happened, what did happen...

Maybe he really was the bad influence...

And as if you could hear his thoughts, you turn in his arms. "Stay w'me tomorrow.." you huff out. "Don't leave me..." and you say so in a way he could never betray.

He was the bad influence that could never go away.

And he wasn't proud of that...

He kissed your temple, tenderly. "Never."

For now, you're safe and warm and breathing, and he’s here, as if he would ever go anywhere else.

Your breathing evens out as you let yourself rest. His finally does too, but he takes in every moment.

⸻

The couch at Fez's place has a permanent indent where you always sit. Right side, corner cushion, close enough to the armrest that you can tuck your feet under you. You've been coming here for months now long enough that Ashtray doesn't look up when you walk in anymore, long enough that Fez keeps your favorite chips in the cabinet even though he doesn't eat them himself.

Tonight the living room is dim, just the blue glow of the tv playing some documentary Fez isn't really watching. He's on the other end of the couch, one arm stretched along the back, and there's maybe two feet of space between you. Might as well be miles.

"You good?" he asks, and his voice has that softness he only uses with you and Ash. Rough around the edges but careful, like he's afraid of saying the wrong thing.

"Yeah." You pull your sleeves over your hands. "Long day."

He nods, doesn't push. That's Fez, he gives you space even when you don't want it. His beard is getting longer, you notice. There's a small scar near his temple you've never asked about, you know too much and not enough about him all at once.

The documentary goes on about ocean life, neither of you are watching. You can feel the weight of his attention even though he's looking at the screen, the way the air feels different when someone's aware of you. Your heart does this stupid thing where it speeds up just because he moved.

"Come here," he says quietly.

You look at him. His eyes are already on you, have been probably, and there's something in his expression that makes your stomach flip. Not quite vulnerable but close, like he's offering something he's not sure you'll take.

You uncurl your legs, start to shift closer. The couch cushion dips as you move, and suddenly you're near enough to smell his cologne that you've come to associate with safety. His arm is still stretched along the couch back, and you're hyperaware of how easy it would be to lean into him, to close that last bit of distance.

Fez's hand moves, just slightly, fingers almost brushing your shoulder. The touch is so light you might be imagining it, but your whole body responds like he's set something on fire. His eyes drop to your mouth for just a second, and you forget how to breathe.

"Fez—"

"Yo, we're out of—" Ashtray's voice cuts through the moment. He stops in the doorway, takes in the scene with those eyes of his. "My bad."

The spell breaks. Fez pulls back, runs a hand over his beard, and you're suddenly very interested in the documentary, something about coral reefs. Your face feels hot.

"What you need, Ash?" Fez's voice is steady, but you catch the slight tension in his shoulders.

"Nothing. Handle it tomorrow." Ashtray disappears back down the hall, and you hear his door close with a pointed click.

The space between you feels wider now. Fez clears his throat, shifts away just slightly, and that small movement hurts more than it should.

"Getting late," you say, even though it's barely ten. "Should probably head out."

"Yeah. Yeah, a'ight." He stands when you do, walks you to the door like always. His hand hovers near your lower back but doesn't quite touch. "Text me when you get home?"

"Always do."

You smile at him, and he smiles back, and there's so much unsaid in the space between you that you could drown in it.

In your car, you grip the steering wheel and stare at his front door. The porch light is on he always leaves it on until you drive away. Through the window, you can see his silhouette moving back toward the couch.

He doesn't actually want me, you think, and the thought sits heavy in your chest. If he did, he would've said something, done something. He had the chance.

You drive home with that thought on repeat, trying to convince yourself it doesn't matter. Trying to ignore the ghost of his touch still burning on your shoulder.

⸻

You don't go back for a couple of days.

It's not dramatic, you don't block his number or anything. You just...create space. When he texts asking if you're coming by, you say you're busy. When he asks if you're okay, you say you're fine. The lies taste bitter, but they're easier than the truth.

Leaving first hurts less, you tell yourself. Pull back before he does.

But on the fourth day, Ashtray texts you: fez is being weird. come over.

You shouldn't, you know you shouldn't. But you've never been good at staying away from things that hurt you, so you go.

Fez opens the door, and the relief on his face is so naked it makes your chest ache. "Yo, where you been?"

"Around." You slip past him into the house, keeping distance between you. "Ash said you needed something?"

"I—nah, I just..." He closes the door, runs a hand over his head. "You been avoiding me?"

"No."

"Don't lie to me, ma." His voice is gentle but firm. "You ain't been by in days. Won't hardly text me back. What's going on?"

You can't look at him. "Nothing. I've just been busy."

"Bullshit."

The word hangs in the air, Fez doesn't usually push, which means you've worried him. Guilt twists in your stomach.

"I'm fine, Fez. Really." You force a smile. "Where's Ash?"

He studies you for a long moment, and you can see him deciding whether to let it go. Finally, he sighs. "Store run. Should be back soon." He gestures toward the kitchen. "You hungry? Was about to make something."

You should say no, should make an excuse and leave. Instead, you follow him into the kitchen, because apparently you're a glutton for punishment.

The kitchen is small, Fez moves around the space with easy familiarity, pulling out ingredients for sandwiches. You lean against the counter, trying to stay out of the way, but he keeps having to reach around you for things.

"Sorry," you murmur when he stretches past you for the bread. His arm brushes yours, and electricity shoots up your spine.

"You good." His voice is low, close to your ear. He doesn't move away immediately.

You should step aside and give him room. Instead, you stay frozen as he reaches across you for the mayo, his chest nearly pressed against your shoulder. You can feel the warmth of him, smell that cologne that makes you dizzy.

"Fez." It comes out barely a whisper.

He pauses, hand still on the refrigerator door. Slowly, he turns his head to look at you. You're close enough to count his eyelashes, to see the exact shade of blue in his eyes. His gaze drops to your mouth again, and this time it lingers.

"Yeah?" His voice is rough.

Your heart is hammering so hard you're sure he can hear it. The air between you feels dangerous. His hand comes up, fingers almost touching your jaw, and you lean into it without thinking.

The front door slams. "Yo, they were out of the good chips!" Ashtray's voice carries from the living room.

Fez steps back like he's been burned. You turn away, gripping the counter edge, trying to remember how to breathe normally.

"In here, Ash," Fez calls, and his voice sounds strained.

Ashtray appears in the doorway, takes one look at both of you, and his expression goes flat. "For real?"

"What?" Fez is aggressively making sandwiches now, not looking at either of you.

"Nothing." But Ashtray's eyes narrow as he looks between you. "Absolutely nothing, apparently."

You can't do this. Can't stand here in this too small kitchen with Fez's almost touch still burning on your skin and Ashtray's knowing eyes seeing too much. Can't keep wanting something you can't have.

"I should go." You're already moving toward the door.

"Wait—" Fez starts, but you're not stopping.

"Thanks for...I'll text you later."

You're out the door before he can respond, and you don't look back. In your car, you grip the steering wheel with shaking hands.

Leaving first hurts less, you repeat to yourself. Leaving first hurts less.

It's a lie, but you're getting good at those.

⸻

Fez is staring at his phone when Ashtray walks into the living room. Has been for the past twenty minutes, reading and rereading your last text: sorry for leaving weird. talk soon.

"You gonna actually text her back, or just keep looking at it like a sad puppy?" Ashtray drops onto the couch next to him.

"I texted her back."

"Yeah, three hours ago. 'It's cool.' Real romantic, bro."

Fez shoots him a look. "The hell you know about romantic?"

"More than you, apparently." Ashtray grabs the remote, but doesn't turn on the tv. Instead, he sits there, radiating judgment. "You gonna tell me what's going on, or we gonna keep pretending?"

"Ain't nothing going on."

"Right. That why she keeps running out of here? That why you been moping around for days?" Ashtray's voice is flat, matter of fact. "Y'all are being stupid."

"Watch your mouth."

"I'm serious, Fez." And he is, Ashtray's expression has gone hard, the way it does when he's about to say something he thinks needs saying. "She comes over, y'all do this whole thing where you look at each other like you're dying, then she leaves and you get all depressed. It's exhausting."

Fez sets his phone down, rubs his eyes. "It ain't that simple."

"Why not?"

"Because!" The word comes out sharper than he intends. He takes a breath, softens his voice. "Because I can't...Ash, you know what our life is like. What we do. I can't drag her into that."

"She already in it. She's here all the time."

"That's different."

"How?"

Fez doesn't have a good answer for that. He stares at the blank tv screen, jaw tight. "I could get her hurt. People we deal with, the shit we're involved in...If something happened to her because of me—"

"So you're just gonna keep pushing her away? That's your plan?" Ashtray's voice is hard. "You think that don't hurt her?"

"Better than the alternative."

"Is it?" Ashtray leans forward, elbows on his knees. "Fez, look at me."

Reluctantly, Fez does. Ashtray's eyes are too knowing. Sometimes Fez forgets he's just a kid, and then moments like this happen and he remembers that Ash has seen too much, grown up too fast in this life they're living.

"You're already hurting her by doing nothing," Ashtray says quietly. "I see it every time she's here. The way she looks at you, then catches herself. The way she leaves before she wants to. She's protecting herself from you, bro. Because you won't be straight with her."

The words hit like a punch to the gut. Fez wants to argue, but he can't. Because Ash is right. He's seen it too the way you pull back, the careful distance you've started keeping. He did that, his fear did that.

"What if I can't keep her safe?" His voice comes out rough.

"What if you can?" Ashtray counters. "You keep everyone safe. Me, the people who come through here, even the ones who don't deserve it. You think you can't do that for her?"

"That's different. Y'all are—"

"Family?" Ashtray raises an eyebrow. "Yeah. And what's she?"

Fez doesn't answer, can't. Because the truth is you've been family for a while now, and he's been too scared to admit it. Too scared to reach for what he wants because wanting things has always been dangerous in his life.

"I don't know how to do this," he admits finally. "Don't know how to be...that. For someone."

"You're already doing it, dumbass. You just won't admit it." Ashtray stands, heads toward his room. At the doorway, he pauses. "She's not gonna wait forever, Fez. Eventually, she's gonna stop coming back. And then you're really gonna be miserable."

He disappears down the hall, leaving Fez alone with his phone and his thoughts and the weight of everything unsaid.

Fez picks up his phone, looks at your text again. His thumbs hover over the keyboard. He types and deletes three different messages before giving up, setting the phone down.

But Ashtray's words echo in his head, You're already hurting her by doing nothing.

He's spent so long trying to protect you that he never considered he might be the thing you need protection from. Not because he'd hurt you intentionally, but because his fear is doing the job just fine.

Outside the sun is setting, the house feels too quiet. Fez thinks about the space on the couch where you always sit, the indent that's shaped like you. Thinks about your laugh, the way you tuck your hair behind your ear when you're nervous, how you're the only person besides Ash who makes him feel like maybe he's not just the sum of his mistakes.

He picks up his phone again.

This time, he doesn't let himself overthink it. He just types: can we talk?

Your response comes faster than he expected: when?

Tomorrow? Come by whenever.

Three dots appear, disappear, appear again. Finally: okay.

Fez stares at the word, heart pounding. He has no idea what he's going to say to you. No idea how to explain the mess in his head, the fear and want tangled up so tight he can't separate them.

But Ashtray's right, he has to try.

Because losing you slowly, watching you pull away inch by inch, is worse than any risk. And maybe you deserve to make your own choice about whether he's worth the danger.

⸻

You almost don't go in.

You sit in your car outside Fez's place for ten minutes, hands gripping the steering wheel, trying to talk yourself into driving away. Whatever he wants to talk about, you're not sure you can handle it. If he's going to tell you to stop coming around, to give him space, you think it might actually break something in you.

But you're here and you've never been good at protecting yourself from him.

The door opens before you can knock. Fez stands there, and he looks tired and worried. His eyes search your face like he's trying to figure out what you're thinking.

"Hey," he says softly.

"Hey."

Neither of you move, then he steps back, gestures you inside. The house is quiet Ashtray must be out, or hiding in his room. Probably the latter, knowing him.

You follow Fez to the living room, but neither of you sit. The air feels heavy, with everything unspoken. He shoves his hands in his pockets, and you cross your arms, and the space between you might as well be an ocean.

"So," you say, when the silence gets too loud. "You wanted to talk?"

"Yeah. I—" He stops, runs a hand over his beard. "Shit, I don't know how to do this."

"Do what?"

"This. Talking about..." He gestures vaguely between you. "This."

Your heart is pounding. "Fez, if you're trying to tell me to stop coming around, just say it. I can handle it."

"What? No." He looks genuinely shocked. "That ain't—why would you think that?"

"Because you keep pulling away!" The words burst out before you can stop them. "Every time we get close, you back off. Every time something almost happens, you shut down. I'm not stupid, Fez. I can take a hint."

"That ain't what I'm doing."

"Then what are you doing?" You're angry now, months of frustration bubbling over. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks a lot like you don't want me here."

"That's not true." His voice is firm, almost desperate. "That ain't true at all."

"Then what is it? Because I can't keep doing this. Can't keep coming here and wanting—" You cut yourself off, but it's too late.

"Wanting what?" He takes a step closer, and there's something intense in his eyes. "Say it."

"It doesn't matter."

"It matters to me. Say it."

"You!" The word rips out of you. "I keep wanting you, and you keep acting like I'm something you can't touch, and I don't understand why. If you don't feel the same way, fine. But stop—stop looking at me like that if you don't mean it."

The silence that follows is deafening. Fez stares at you, and you can see something crumbling in his expression, some wall he's been holding up finally giving way.

"You think I don't want you?" His voice is rough, raw. "You think that's what this is?"

"I don't know what to think anymore."

"I think about you all the damn time." The confession comes out like it's been pulled from somewhere deep. "Every day. Every night. You're in my head constantly, and it's driving me crazy because I can't—I don't know how to—"

He stops, jaw clenched, and you realize with a shock that his hands are shaking.

"Fez—"

"I'm scared, a'ight?" The words sound like they cost him something. "I'm scared of dragging you into my mess. The shit I'm involved in, the life I live—it ain't safe. And you're..." He looks at you, and his eyes are so full of emotion it makes your chest ache. "You're good. You're the best thing that's come into my life in years, and I can't stand the thought of something happening to you because of me."

"So you were just going to push me away?" Your voice is softer now. "That was your solution?"

"I was trying to protect you."

"From what? From you?" You take a step closer. "Fez, I know what your life is like. I've known from the beginning. I'm not some naive kid who doesn't understand what she's walking into."

"You don't get it—"

"No, you don't get it." Another step. You're close enough now to see the flecks of darker blue in his eyes. "You don't get to make that choice for me. If I want to be here, if I want to be part of your life, that's my decision. Not yours."

"What if I can't keep you safe?" His voice breaks slightly. "What if something happens and I can't—"

"What if it doesn't?" You reach out, slowly, and place your hand on his chest. His heart is racing under your palm. "What if we're careful, and smart, and it's okay?"

He covers your hand with his, and his touch is gentle. "I don't know how to be what you need."

"You already are." The truth of it sits in your chest, solid and sure. "You've been what I need since the day we met. You're just too scared to see it."

"I'm terrified," he admits, and this is Fez at his most vulnerable no walls, no protection, just raw honesty. "Of fucking this up. Of losing you. Of not being enough."

"Fez." You step closer, until there's barely any space between you. "Look at me."

He does. His eyes are desperate, pleading, full of want and fear in equal measure.

"I'm here," you say quietly. "I'm standing right here, telling you I want this. Want you. The only way you lose me is if you keep pushing me away."

For a long minute, he just stares at you. Then, slowly, his hand comes up to cup your face. His thumb brushes your cheekbone, and the touch is so tender it makes your eyes sting.

"I want you," he says, voice rough. "God, I want you so much it scares me."

"Then stop being scared." You lean into his touch. "Stop running. Just...be here. With me."

"I don't know if I can do this right."

"We'll figure it out." You cover his hand with yours. "Together."

Something in his expression shifts. The fear is still there, but underneath it is something else hope, possibility. He leans his forehead against yours, and you both just breathe for a moment, sharing space.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs. "For pushing you away. For making you think I didn't want you. I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too. For pulling back instead of talking to you."

"We're both pretty stupid, huh?"

You laugh, and it comes out watery. "Yeah. We really are."

His thumb traces your jaw, and you shiver. "Can I—" He stops, swallows hard. "Can I kiss you?"

Your heart stutters. "Yeah. Yes."

But he doesn't move right away. Just holds you there, forehead to forehead, like he's savoring this moment before everything changes. His breath is warm on your lips, and the anticipation is almost unbearable.

"Fez," you whisper.

"Yeah. Yeah, okay." But still he hesitates, and you realize he's shaking. This man who's seen and done things you can only imagine, who's always so steady and sure, is trembling at the thought of kissing you.

So you close the distance yourself.

⸻

The kiss is gentle, like you're both afraid of breaking each other.

Fez's lips are softer than you imagined, and he kisses you like you're made of glass careful, reverent, like he can't quite believe this is real. His hand cradles your face, and the other finds your waist, pulling you closer but not too close. Still giving you space to pull away if you want.

You don't want to.

You sink into him, hands fisting in his shirt, and he makes this sound low and rough and desperate that sends heat flooding through you. The kiss deepens, but slowly. He's still holding back, still being careful, and you can feel the restraint in every touch.

When you finally break apart, you're both breathing hard. Fez rests his forehead against yours again, eyes closed, and his hands are shaking where they hold you.

"Fuck," he breathes. "I've wanted to do that for so long."

"Yeah?"

"Since the first time you sat on that couch and laughed at one of Ash's terrible jokes. Since you stayed up with me when I was stressed about a deal. Since—" He opens his eyes, and they're so full of emotion it steals your breath. "Since always, feels like."

You kiss him again, softer this time, a promise. "I'm not going anywhere."

"You sure about this? About me?"

"I've never been more sure of anything."

He studies your face like he's looking for doubt, for hesitation. Whatever he sees must satisfy him, because he pulls you closer, tucking you against his chest. You can hear his heartbeat, still racing, and you wrap your arms around him.

"Stay," he murmurs into your hair. "Tonight. Just stay."

"Okay."

You stand there in the middle of his living room, holding each other, and it feels like something has shifted. Like the world has rearranged itself into a new configuration, one where this is possible. Where you and Fez can be this.

Eventually, you migrate to the couch. He sits in his usual spot, and you curl into his side, head on his chest. His arm wraps around you, and it feels right in a way nothing else ever has.

"Ash is gonna be insufferable about this," Fez says after a while.

You laugh. "He's been trying to get us together for months."

"Yeah, kid's too smart for his own good." There's fondness in his voice. "He told me I was being stupid. That I was hurting you by doing nothing."

"He wasn't wrong."

"Nah, he wasn't." Fez's hand runs up and down your arm, the touch absent and soothing. "I'm gonna try, a'ight? To be better at this. At talking instead of shutting down."

"That's all I ask."

The tv is still off, the neighborhood is quiet. You can hear Fez's breathing, feel the rise and fall of his chest, and everything feels suspended in this perfect moment.

"What are you thinking?" you ask softly.

"That I don't deserve this. You." His voice is quiet. "But I'm gonna try to anyway."

You shift to look up at him. "Fez, you deserve good things. You deserve to be happy."

"You make me happy." He says it simply, like it's a fact. "Happier than I've been in a long time."

"Good." You settle back against him. "Because you make me happy too."

His arms tighten around you, and you feel him press a kiss to the top of your head. It's such a sweet thing that your eyes sting.

"I think about you all the time," he says again, like he needs you to understand. "When you're not here, I'm thinking about when you'll come back. When you are here, I'm trying not to stare at you like a creep. You're in my head constantly."

"I think about you too." You trace patterns on his chest. "More than I probably should."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I think about your voice. The way you laugh. How you're so gentle with Ash even when you're pretending to be tough. How you make me feel safe."

He's quiet for a moment. "You are safe. With me. I'll make sure of it."

"I know."

And you do. Despite everything the danger, the uncertainty, the complicated reality of his life you've never felt safer than you do right now, wrapped in his arms.

The night stretches on. You talk about everything and nothing childhood memories, favorite foods, the documentary about ocean life you never actually watched. Fez tells you about his grandmother, and his voice goes soft with grief and love. You tell him about your family, your dreams, the things you've never said out loud to anyone.

At some point, you shift positions. You're lying down now, Fez on his back and you tucked against his side, head on his shoulder. His hand plays with your hair, gentle and rhythmic, and you're so comfortable you could fall asleep right here.

"Hey," he says softly.

"Mm?"

"Thank you. For not giving up on me."

You tilt your head to look at him. In the dim light, his face is soft, unguarded. "Thank you for letting me in."

He kisses you again, and this time there's less hesitation. His hand cups your face, thumb stroking your cheek, and the kiss is deeper, hungrier. You can feel the want in it, the months of restraint finally breaking down.

When you pull back, you're both breathing hard again. Fez's eyes are dark and there's a flush on his cheeks.

"We should probably slow down," he says, but his hand is still on your face, still touching you like he can't help himself.

"Probably," you agree, but you don't move away.

"I want to do this right. With you." His voice is rough. "Want to take my time. Make sure you know—" He stops, swallows hard. "Make sure you know how much you mean to me."

Your heart feels too big for your chest. "Fez—"

"I'm serious. You're not just—this ain't just physical for me. You get that, right?"

"I get it." You kiss him softly. "It's not just physical for me either."

"Good. Okay." He takes a shaky breath. "Okay."

You settle back against him, and his arms wrap around you again.

"Stay with me tonight," he says again. "Just sleep. I just want—I want you here."

"I'm not going anywhere," you promise.

And as you drift off, warm and safe in his arms, you think that maybe Ashtray was right. Maybe you were both being stupid but you're not anymore.

Now you're just here, together and that's enough.

⸻

You wake up to early morning light filtering through the curtains and Fez's arm heavy across your waist. For a moment, you just lie there, taking in the unfamiliar feeling of waking up next to him. His face is relaxed in sleep, the worry lines smoothed away, and he looks the most peaceful.

You shift slightly and his arm tightens around you, pulling you closer even in sleep. The gesture makes your heart squeeze.

"You watching me sleep?" His voice is rough with sleep, eyes still closed, but there's a smile playing at his lips.

"Maybe."

He opens his eyes, and they're soft, warm. "Morning."

"Morning."

For a moment, you just look at each other. Then he leans in, kisses you slow and sweet. His hand comes up to cup your face, thumb stroking your cheek.

"Been wanting to wake up like this," he murmurs against your lips.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Another kiss, deeper this time. "With you here. In my arms."

You shift closer, and suddenly you're very aware of the warmth of his body, the solid weight of him against you. His hand slides from your face to your neck, fingers tangling in your hair, and the kiss turns heated.

"Fez," you breathe, and his name sounds like a prayer.

"Tell me if you want me to stop." His voice is rough, strained. "Any time. Just tell me."

"I don't want you to stop."

He groans, low and desperate, and kisses you harder. His hand slides down your side, over your hip, and even through your clothes the touch burns. You arch into him, and he makes that sound again the one that sends heat pooling in your stomach.

"You're so—" He breaks off, kisses your jaw, your neck. "So beautiful. Drive me crazy."

Your hands find the hem of his shirt, slide underneath to touch warm skin. He shudders at the contact and you feel powerful knowing you affect him like this.

"Can I—" His hand hovers at the edge of your shirt. "Is this okay?"

"Yes. God, yes."

He takes his time, though. Pushes your shirt up slowly, watching your face for any sign of hesitation. When you don't stop him, he leans down, presses kisses to your stomach, your ribs. Each touch is soft, slow, like he's memorizing you.

"So soft," he murmurs. "So perfect."

You pull him back up to kiss him, and it's hungry now, desperate. Months of wanting finally breaking free. His weight settles over you, and you wrap your legs around him, pulling him closer.

"Wait, wait." He pulls back, breathing hard. "We should—I want to make sure—"

"I'm sure." You cup his face, make him look at you. "I want this. Want you."

"Yeah, but—" He takes a shaky breath. "I want to do this right. Want to take care of you."

The words make your chest ache. Even now, even in the middle of this, he's thinking about you. Making sure you're okay.

"You are taking care of me," you say softly. "This is taking care of me."

He searches your face, and whatever he sees must satisfy him because he nods. "Okay. But you tell me if anything's too much, yeah? If you want to slow down or stop or—"

You kiss him to shut him up, and he melts into it. His hands start moving again, sliding under your shirt, and this time when he pulls it off you let him. He stares at you for a long time and there's so much want in his eyes it makes you shiver.

"Beautiful," he says again. "So fucking beautiful."

He kisses you everywhere he can reach your shoulders, your collarbone, the curve of your boob. Each touch is careful, restrained, like he's holding himself back. You can feel the tension in his body, the way he's fighting for control.

"Fez," you murmur. "You don't have to hold back."

"Yeah, I do." His voice is strained. "Want to make this good for you. Want to—" He breaks off with a groan as you arch against him. "Fuck, you're making this hard."

"Good."

He laughs, breathless, and kisses you again. His hands map your body like he's learning it, committing every curve to memory. When he touches you, really touches you, you gasp into his mouth.

"This okay?" he asks, even though your reaction makes it obvious.

"Yes. Don't stop."

"Not planning to."

He takes his time, drawing it out, watching your face to see what you like. Every time you make a sound, he does it again, learning you. It's overwhelming, the attention, the care he's putting into this.

"You're so responsive," he murmurs. "So perfect. Love watching you like this."

You pull at his shirt, and he helps you remove it. Finally, you can touch him properly run your hands over his chest, his shoulders, feel the strength in him. He shudders under your touch, and you realize he's just as affected as you are.

"Your turn," you say, and push him onto his back.

He goes willingly, looking up at you with dark eyes. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

You kiss him, then start working your way down. He watches you with an intensity that makes you feel powerful, desired. When you touch him, he groans, head falling back.

"Fuck, baby. That's—yeah, just like that."

The endearment makes your heart skip. You've never heard him call anyone baby before.

"You like that?" you ask, doing it again.

"Love it. Love—" He cuts off with another groan. "You're gonna kill me."

"Good way to go though, right?"

He laughs, breathless and wrecked. "Best way."

You continue exploring him, learning what makes him gasp, what makes his hands fist in the sheets. He's vocal, telling you what he likes, praising you, and the words make you bolder.

"Come here," he says finally, pulling you back up. "Need to kiss you."

The kiss is deep, consuming. His hands are everywhere, and you're lost in the sensation of skin on skin, heat and want and something deeper. Something that feels like love, even if neither of you have said it yet.

"I want—" You break off, suddenly shy.

"What? Tell me what you want."

"You. All of you."

His eyes darken. "You sure?"

"I'm sure."

He kisses you again, soft and sweet. "Okay. But we go slow, yeah? And you tell me if anything hurts or if you want to stop."

"I will."

He takes his time preparing you, making sure you're ready, checking in constantly. The care he takes, the attention he pays to your comfort, makes you fall for him even more.

When he finally pushes inside, you both gasp. He stills, forehead pressed to yours, breathing hard.

"Okay?" His voice is strained.

"Yeah. More than okay."

He starts moving, slow and careful, watching your face. Each thrust is deliberate, controlled, and you can see the effort it takes him to hold back.

"You feel so good," he groans. "So perfect. Like you were made for me."

You wrap your legs around him, pulling him deeper, and he curses. "Baby, you can't—I'm trying to go slow here."

"Don't want slow." You roll your hips, and he groans. "Want you."

"You got me. You got all of me."

The rhythm builds, and he's still careful but less restrained now. His hands grip your hips, and he kisses you like he's drowning and you're air. You're lost in it, in him, in the feeling of finally being this close.

"So beautiful," he murmurs. "So perfect. My girl. Mine."

The possessiveness in his voice sends a thrill through you. "Yours."

"Yeah. Mine." He kisses you hard. "And I'm yours. All yours."

When you come apart, he's right there with you, holding you through it, murmuring praise and endearments. After, he holds you close, pressing kisses to your face, your hair, anywhere he can reach.

"You okay?" he asks softly.

"More than okay." You curl into him. "That was—"

"Yeah." He sounds awed. "It really was."

You lie there together, tangled up in each other, and everything feels right. Like this is exactly where you're supposed to be.

"Hey," he says after a while.

"Mm?"

"I love you."

The words are quiet, almost hesitant, like he's not sure how you'll react. You pull back to look at him, and his eyes are vulnerable, open.

"I love you too," you say, and watch relief flood his face.

He kisses you, soft and sweet. "Good. That's—that's good."

You laugh at his awkwardness, and he smiles against your lips. "Shut up."

"Make me."

So he does, kissing you until you're both breathless again. And when you finally settle back into his arms, you think that this warmth, this safety, this love is worth every moment of fear and uncertainty it took to get here.

⸻

You wake up to voices in the hallway. Fez's arm is still around you, and you're wearing his shirt, and the morning light is brighter now. You must have fallen back asleep.

"—just saying, you could've texted me," Ashtray's voice carries through the door.

"I did text you," Fez responds, voice still rough with sleep.

"Yeah, at like 2 am. Real helpful."

You feel Fez sigh, his chest rising and falling under your cheek. "Ash, come on."

The door opens. You have just enough time to register that you should probably be embarrassed before Ashtray walks in, takes one look at you and Fez tangled together in bed, and stops.

For a minute, nobody says anything. You're frozen, Fez is tense, and Ashtray just stands there, expression unreadable.

"Finally."

The word is so flat, so deadpan, that you can't help it you laugh. Fez groans, covering his face with his free hand.

"Ash, man, can you not—"

"What? I'm happy for you." Ashtray's expression doesn't change. "Only took you like six months. Was starting to think I'd have to lock you in a room together."

"We're having a moment here," Fez says, but there's no real heat in it.

"Yeah, I can see that." Ashtray looks at you. "You good?"

The question is serious despite his tone. He's checking in, making sure you're okay, and the protectiveness of it makes your chest warm.

"I'm good, Ash. Really good."

He nods, satisfied. "Cool. Fez, we need to talk about the shipment later."

"Later, Ash. Jesus."

"Just saying." He heads for the door, then pauses. "Oh, and you're making breakfast. Both of you. I'm not doing it just because you finally got your shit together."

He leaves, closing the door behind him, and you and Fez just lie there in stunned silence.

"Did that really just happen?" you ask.

"Unfortunately." But Fez is smiling, and when you look up at him, his eyes are soft. "Kid's got timing, I'll give him that."

"He's been waiting for this."

"Yeah, he has." Fez pulls you closer, kisses your forehead. "We all have."

You stay in bed a little longer, just holding each other, before finally getting up. Fez gives you a pair of his sweatpants to wear with his shirt, and they're way too big, but he looks at you like you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

In the kitchen, Ashtray is already at the table, scrolling through his phone. He looks up when you enter, and something in his expression softens.

"Pancakes?" you offer.

"Hell yeah."

You and Fez move around the kitchen together, and it's easy, natural. He stands behind you at the stove, arms around your waist, chin on your shoulder. You lean back into him, and it feels like the most normal thing in the world.

Ashtray watches you both with something that might be approval. "You know you're gonna have to be careful, right?" he says suddenly. "People find out about her, they might try to use that."

The words are serious, a reminder of the reality you're walking into. Fez tenses behind you.

"I know," he says quietly. "We'll be careful."

"Good." Ashtray goes back to his phone. "Because I like her. Would suck if something happened."

"Nothing's gonna happen," Fez says firmly. "I'll make sure of it."

You turn in his arms, cup his face. "We'll make sure of it. Together."

He kisses you, soft and quick, mindful of Ashtray's presence. "Together."

Breakfast is comfortable, easy. Ashtray tells a story about something that happened at school, and Fez listens with that particular attention he gives the people he loves. You sit there, eating pancakes in Fez's clothes and think about how this is your life now. This kitchen, these people, this love.

"What are you smiling about?" Fez asks, nudging your shoulder.

"Nothing. Just happy."

"Yeah?" His own smile is soft, private. "Me too."

Ashtray makes a gagging sound. "Y'all are gonna be disgusting, aren't you?"

"Probably," you admit.

"Great. Just what I needed." But he's smiling, just a little. "Worth it though, I guess. Fez has been less of a grumpy asshole lately."

"Watch it," Fez warns, but there's no heat in it.

The morning stretches on. Eventually, Ashtray disappears to his room, giving you and Fez space. You end up back on the couch, in your usual spots, except now you're tucked against his side, his arm around you.

"This okay?" he asks. "Having you here like this? Not too fast?"

"It's perfect." You tilt your head to look at him. "This is exactly where I want to be."

"Good." He kisses your temple. "Because I'm not letting you go now. You're stuck with me."

"I can live with that."

Outside, the neighborhood is waking up. Inside, everything is warm and safe and right. Fez's hand runs up and down your arm and you can hear Ashtray's music playing faintly from his room

"Hey," Fez says softly.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you. For being patient with me. For not giving up."

You shift to kiss him, slow and sweet. "Thank you for letting me in."

"Always," he promises. "From now on, it's always."

And as you settle back against him, his heartbeat steady under your ear, you believe him. This is just the beginning there will be challenges, dangers, moments of fear. But you'll face them together. Because that's what love is. Not the absence of fear, but the choice to stay anyway. To build something soft and safe in the middle of chaos and to find home in another person.

And you've found yours.

In a house that smells like pancakes and safety, with a boy who loves fiercely and carefully in equal measure, and a kid who's too wise for his years but still knows how to hope.

This is your family now and you're not going anywhere.

⸻

MASTERLIST

.

Steve got the stripe of four pictures from your hand and carefully looked at them, like he was truly analyzing it. “Oops, I believe you’re wrong.” You raised your eyebrow, waiting for a better explanation. “This one here, it was only a kiss on your cheek. I don’t think it counts.”

.

The second picture woke you from the trance. “Steve, you just can’t kiss me the whole time.”

“Try me.” He said, the kiss landed on your cheek right when the third picture was shot, you laugh at his playful response right on camera too.

.

You standed by his side looking at the pictures but you had to admit they were good, very good memories of a damn good moment.

“You know, since I’m being accused of a crime I didn't commit I think it’s only fair we go in again so I can do it, right?”

For now, however, you must contend with your strange new circumstances. Part of that means you have to seem far more competent than you actually feel, especially when it comes to the prospect of murdering the other twenty three tributes surrounding you. 

You stare at them out of the corners of your eyes. You’re all stuck in the training room now, as the Gamemakers want to see if any of you are worth the effort of helping. They’ll broadcast the footage of all two dozen of you lifting weights and throwing knives to the rest of the Capitol. Your mentors will do their best to make you seem like something you’re not, someone capable of winning this. From there, their lies and exaggerations will only be revealed after you’ve profited from the food and supplies they’ve been able to send your way.

The best thing to do right now is to give your mentors to work with, some obvious sign of your inherent skills and how well they’ll translate to the fun task of murdering the kids from the other districts. Unfortunately, this is easier said than done. It’s hard to stand out when the Careers are showing off all the brutal methods of conflict that they’ve learned since they were young.

Sometimes, all you can do is try, and so try you shall. There’s a rope net overhead, stretching over the walls and ceiling in billowy waves of knots. Agility seems to pay off in the Games, so you try your hand at the course. The first few steps are easy enough, and you pull yourself up through the interlocking rings of rope without too much difficulty.

Once you’re up on the ceiling, though, things get a little more complicated. You can feel your hands and feet start to get tangled, and rather than end up in a helpless mess where everyone can see, you cut your losses and decide to jump down. You hit the ground in a barely contained roll, which is not really what you wanted to do, but at least you didn’t make a complete fool of yourself while people were watching.

As it turns out, one person is watching more closely than you realized. When you stand up and dust yourself off, you’re greeted with the sight of the broadest grin you’ve ever seen.

“That was fantastic,” the boy in front of you says, “can you teach me, or do falls like that only happen by accident?”

If such a sentiment came from anyone else, you think you’d be annoyed. When it comes to Finnick Odair, though, few people are ever able to resist the full force of his charm, and you’re certainly not one of them.

He’s leaning against the wall of the training room, a spear idling in his hand as he looks over at you. Finnick’s eyes flash brightly with suppressed mirth, and he gives you a small grin, just to prove that he’s kidding.

You decide to laugh along with him. “I’m actually a master of such things, in case you weren’t aware. I put the ‘grace’ in ‘absolute disgrace.’ I don’t know if you could tell.”

“Oh,” Finnick declares, “I am in absolute awe of your talents. I have never admired anyone more than I do right now.”

You arch a brow. “Because I nearly broke both of my legs falling out of the ropes course?”

Finnick deftly flicks the spear towards you so he can poke you gently in the shoulder with the tip. “Because you saved yourself from a worse fall and nobody noticed a thing. You’re good at pretending you don’t have any weaknesses, which is smart. Plus, you’re funny. I like a good laugh.”

“I can tell,” you comment, and Finnick’s smile only broadens.

“Wonderful. If we’ve already got such an excellent understanding of each other’s characters, I see no reason we shouldn’t be allies.”

You let out a sound of disbelief. “You can’t be serious.”

Finnick shrugs. “Why not? It’s not like there are any better reasons to pick anyone else.”

You give him a look. “There are plenty of better reasons. One of them might be the fact that nobody else here is plummeting to their deaths from the ropes.”

“That’s because nobody else here is brave enough to try the ropes in the first place,” Finnick argues, “and that’s boring.”

“Are you ever serious?” You ask.

Finnick grins, although for the first time, you can see the edge in it, where the act of being untouchable meets the reality of knowing he is just as destined to die as the rest of you. “Not if I can help it. Giddy optimism makes it easier to pretend that I’m not about to get slaughtered out there in the arena. If you’re willing to help me keep up my spirits, I’d rather have you by my side than any bloodthirsty pessimist.”

“That’s your reason?” You question doubtfully, “you think I’m brave and funny? That’s it, now we’re allies?”

“That’s it,” Finnick confirms, “Also, I can tell that you’re dreadfully fond of me already, and it does wonderful things for my ego.”

You pretend to glare at him. “Go throw your spear at something. Preferably my skull, so I don’t have to think about what you just said anymore.”

Finnick waves a blissful goodbye and leaves as asked. “See you in the arena!”

You’re left standing by the ropes, wondering why your sides ache from holding in a laugh, and fearing that he might be playing you just as he’s played the interviewers and other tributes. Everyone falls for Finnick’s easy smile, even you.

When the day of the Hunger Games dawns upon you, you start to wonder if Finnick was serious after all. Despite his claims that he has never needed anything but a smile and a source of hope, you doubt someone like Finnick Odair would ever actually pick you as an ally. It’s common knowledge that Finnick has long since won over the sponsors, everyone’s freaking out over it. Your mentors were delighted to hear that you might have befriended Finnick, but they’re as hesitant to truly believe in it as you are.

After all, why would anyone believe it? Finnick is the easiest con you’ve ever seen. He lies brilliantly. Each falsehood is told through incisors flashing so brightly that you’d gladly let him tear your throat out even as he tells you how pretty it is. Nobody can believe Finnick, no one but the citizens of the Capitol. They have nothing to lose from it except their dignity, and that’s already long gone.

You find yourself standing on a platform in the arena soon enough, blinking in the harsh light of morning. The countdown timer echoes around you, ghostly whispers of just how much time you’ll have left until you’re no longer living but merely putting off your death for another day, another hour.

Against your better judgment, you search the amassed tributes for some sign of a golden haired boy from District Four. You think you find him during the last few seconds, but then the countdown ends and you’re running for your life away from the Cornucopia and Finnick is running towards it. The last sight you see of him is a glance you steal over your shoulder, and in it, he’s grinning like mad.

Then he’s gone, blocked out by the waving lines of trees as you hurl yourself away into the undergrowth. Your best strategy right now is to survive for as long as possible; you can confront the other tributes later, if necessary. Let the others kill each other off, you’ll keep on going for as long as you can. Every breath is stolen, every moment you spend running one that carries you further into the lion’s den. You’re living on borrowed time right now, and you can only hope that it will last long enough to make your district proud.

Thus the first day ends, in a chorus of cannons shot and names announced. Around ten kids are already dead. You listen for Finnick’s name among them but hear no sign of him. Some part of you wonders if he’s doing the same for you, if he feels relieved that you’ve managed to stick it out or just curious if he can continue his ploy even longer should he run into you again.

You would like nothing more than to spend the rest of your days in the arena without seeing a single tribute ever again, but unfortunately, this is not to be. The Gamemakers are sick of the inaction and send a plague of predatory beasts racing through the forests, driving the hiders and conflict avoiders out of their nests and into the melee once more.

It is here, beasts hot on your heels and murderers not far behind, that you run into Finnick again. Once you get close enough to the Cornucopia, the animals start to fade off into the forest again, likely in search of a better, slower meal. Judging by the agonized shriek not far behind you, they’ve succeeded. The thunderous clap of a cannon overhead confirms your suspicions.

You don’t have much time to spare on sympathies for others, however; you’ll have to worry about yourself for now. The beasts drove you directly into a battlefield. Looking around, you can see groups of tributes sprinting about, chasing and being chased. In fact, there’s a pair right in front of you now, one of the combatants crowned in golden hair matted with blood that may or may not be his own.

With a start, you realize that it’s Finnick. He’s had the bad luck to encounter one of the more deadly Careers, and the two are fighting for control of a sword. Neither of them have noticed you at the moment, which gives you the advantage. You do have a weapon, a medium sized knife you plucked from the body of a newly dead tribute you passed on the way to find fresh water. 

You pull the blade out of your belt now, and stand, staring at the fight. If there was a time for action, it would be now. Waiting any longer might rob you of the chance to act. Do you want to save Finnick enough that you might risk your own neck by drawing attention to yourself?

The answer is clear, coming to you in a moment. Yes, you do. You’ve wanted him alive since the second he looked at you with that shining grin back in the training room, and you want him alive now.

The knife leaves your hand before you’re even aware of what you’re doing. It thuds into the back of the Career with a dull sound that sets your teeth on edge. The brutish boy’s movements slow. He tries to fight a moment longer, can’t, and goes still at last.

Finnick pushes the corpse off of him and stands up, searching his surroundings for some sign of his savior. To save him the trouble, you walk into the clearing and out of the protective shade of the undergrowth.

Instantly, Finnick’s face rushes over with glee. “Look who it is! I must say, I have never enjoyed watching someone kill somebody so much.”

You manage a choked sort of laugh. “You’re always admiring me, aren’t you?”

Finnick laughs with you. “You make it easy to do, I can hardly be blamed for that.”

The reality of this is catching up to you now, your first kill. Some part of you always envisioned that you’d be able to win without spilling a single drop of blood, that even though scores of tributes have promised themselves such things and never been able to accomplish the task, you’d be better and you’d find a way. It appears that one last innocent has found their dream corrupted yet again. This is how the Games work, you know, they ruin even the most fervent believers. That was you, once. It is you no longer.

Finnick holds out an arm towards you, realizing what you must be thinking. “Hey, hey. You did well. We’re partners, remember? Partners watch each other’s backs.”

The fighting has died away around you, and you accept Finnick’s embrace without a second’s hesitation. He pulls you close, so tight you’d think he needed the contact just as much as you do.

“We’re partners,” you whisper back, and you can feel his smile against your cheek.

You know it then, how this will go down. The Games are damned hard, they always have been. You have Finnick, though, and in a place like this, that’s everything. What’s more, Finnick has you, and that means both of you are unstoppable so long as you just keep living. Safety is rare, such protection as you have now is rarer still. You intend to enjoy it to the utmost.

requested by @lost-ender, i hope you enjoy!

“Can’t we just stay here all day?” He knew it wasn’t an option but he figured it was worthy of a try.

“I-”

“Get up!” you heard Sarah’s voice from the other side of the slightly cracked door, “and if you’re doing anything nasty, close the door at least!”

Joel grinned but Sarah giggled as she ran downstairs and to the kitchen. You rolled onto your back and sighed happily at the ceiling. You really, really loved the Millers. 

“You heard the lady,” you rolled out of bed and pulled on his t-shirt from the night before. Joel opened an appreciative eye as he watched you head into the ensuite bathroom. But before you disappeared from sight, you stuck your head around the corner and beamed at him. God, he loved your pretty smile, “happy birthday, my love.”

Joel sat up against the headboard, arms crossed over his broad, golden chest. He was tired, but there was a warm smile quirking up the corners of his mouth nonetheless, “thank you. I love you.”

“I love you too,” you tossed a clean towel at him, “now get up, or we’re both going to get yelled at.”

“And we definitely don’t want that.”

“We absolutely do not.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“This looks amazing,” Sarah was a wonderful kid. Like, truly so. You never thought you’d feel that way about any kid, but she’d proved you wrong. She preened under your praise as you pressed a kiss to the side of her head, “you did this all by yourself?”

“As if,” Tommy Miller poked his head out from the fridge and cheekily waved his hand at you. You playfully rolled your eyes but returned the wave. When you said you loved the Millers, you really meant all the Millers, “I squeezed - by hand - the oranges that made that delicious juice. And cooked the bacon.”

“I don’t like the grease,” Sarah shrugged with a teasing glower at her uncle. You grinned when you saw the balloons they’d blown up floating around the kitchen, along with a wonkily hung happy birthday banner, “but I made the pancakes.”

“Well, both of you did a wonderful job,” you praised as the three of you heard Joel coming down the stairs. You exchanged a quick look with Tommy and Sarah and the two of them nodded in silent understanding.

“Happy Birthday!”

The two of you shouted in unison, catching the poor man off guard as he almost jumped at the sound of all three of you at once. He clutched at his heart as he watched into the kitchen, pulled into a hug by his daughter and brother. Once they let him go, he came over and pulled you into his arms, hugging in a bone crushing grip, before kissing you sweetly. 

“Save that for later,” Sarah groaned before taking his hand and leading him to the table, “we have to have breakfast and then you’ve got to take me to school, old man.”

“I should make you walk,” he joked and the girl pretended to be upset. The two of them were too funny for their own good, “I’m thirty-six years old you little shit, who are you calling an old man?”

“Definitely not my wonderful, amazing father that’s not old at all,” she tried again, “and the one who gives me rides to school.”

“Yeah,” he waved her off, but the affection and love was written all over his face, “you’re lucky I love you!”

“I love you more, dad!”

-─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"You seem very happy today," Betty gave you a knowing smile as you walked into the office's break room to grab a cup of coffee; well another. It's been a long day at the law office already.

"Well," you took a sip and smiled softly, "it's Joel's birthday today. He likes to pretend to be all grumpy, but we know he loves it. His brother and daughter made him breakfast this morning and you should have seen his face light up."

"He's a nice guy," she agreed. Most of the women - people - in the office loved him, "any plans tonight, then?"

"Stop," your face warmed as you laughed softly, "not tonight. He's working late, so I'm hanging with Sarah. If he's home at a decent hour, we're having a movie night. But…I do have a little something planned for the long weekend."

"Oh, do tell," Betty was funny in a way, but you liked her. She was older than you, and she'd been married for eons. She liked to joke around that marriage was such a drag but it was obvious just how much she loved her husband. You hoped that would be you and Joel one day.

"I've got a little weekend getaway planned," you wiggled your eyebrows suggestively, "Tommy is going to watch Sarah, so it'll be just the two of us."

"Very nice," she clinked her mug against yours, "well, cheers to Joel, and you."

"Cheers!"

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"Do you think he'll like it?" Sarah gave her cake a dismal little look as you looked over. It was a little wonky looking with mismatched candles, but still beautiful. All her.

“He’s going to be over the moon babe,” you promised her, watching as the smile on her face grew and grew. She set the plate on the dining room table, next to the present she got for him (with your assistance but that didn’t matter), “I’m sure he’ll be home soon.”

“I hope,” she agreed, “he’s been working late a lot and it’s birthday. He should be here.”

“And here he is,” the back door creaked open, both of you too wrapped up in what you were doing to hear his truck. He beamed at the two of you, causing Sarah to squeal and run over to him, throwing herself in his arms, “hey, kid.”

“I missed you,” she looked at him, her big brown eyes mirroring his own, “you said you’d be home like an hour ago!”

“I know baby, I know,” he touched her cheek affectionately, “there was somethin’ weird going on in the city and it took forever to get home. What’d I miss, huh?”

“Nothing,” she grabbed his hand and pulled him over to the table before throwing her arms out in a ta-da gesture, “except this amazing cake!”

“And present,” you added with a cheeky wink.

“And present,” she agreed happily, “now hurry up so we can have some cake and watch the movie? It’s getting late and unfortunately, you force me to go to school everyday, so.”

“So,” he put his hands on his hips as he stuck tongue out at her, “go in and get ready for bed. Then we can have some cake and watch the movie.”

“Yes!” she pumped her fist excitedly, but before she could run upstairs, she stopped herself, “wait - open this first.”

“What is it?” his grin only grew as she handed him the box, “where’d you get the money for this?”

“Drugs,” she snorted in amusement, “I sell hardcore drugs.”

“I should have known,” he shook while delicately opening the small box, “you’ve always been nothing but trouble. What is - wow.”

He took the watch in his hand and looked it over carefully, watching it steadily tick again. It hadn’t worked properly in years; he’d always loved it, but now, seeing it fixed by his brilliant daughter, he decided it was his favorite thing in the world. 

“Do you like it?” her voice was small; timid. She suddenly sounded every bit her age, so young and full of life, “I know you’d never get it fixed yourself and now you don’t have to.”

“I love it,” he put the watch on and pulled in for a tight hug, “I love you, baby. Thank you so much.”

“Happy birthday dad,” she kissed his cheek before running upstairs to change. 

“Troublemakers,” Joel teased as he took the few steps over to you, “both of you.”

“Good trouble,” you insisted, easily falling into his touch as he wrapped his arms around you. You felt him kiss the crown of your head as melted into him causing him to hum contentedly, “happy birthday, my love. Cheers to today and a lifetime more.”

“Thank you,” he pulled back and kissed you softly, both of silently asking for more and refusing to break apart until you heard Sarah clear her throat.

“You’re going away and you’ve got all weekend to do that,” she grabbed the DVD off the table and headed into the living room, “my virgin eyes don’t need to see this!” 

“You heard her, Miller,” you nudged him in the direction of the couch, “control yourself!”

“This isn’t finished,” he whispered under his breath, “far from it.”

“I’m counting on that.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Sarah was sleeping, sprawled half on your lap and half on Joel’s. The two of you were halfheartedly watching the movie, lost in each other’s small touches and looks. This - this simple act of being home with the two people you loved most in his world - was everything to you. There was no place you’d rather have been. 

You were in the midst of exchanging a look with Joel when you heard a loud boom outside. The two of you startled as Sarah woke up and looked around in confusion. The sound of yelling and screaming soon reached your ears as Sarah hugged onto you, “what’s going on?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted as Joel went to the front door to look outside. The neighborhood was normally quiet and sleepy; nothing like this. You swallowed the lump in your throat as a few car alarms went off, “Joel?”

“There’s a fire down the street,” there was a deep frown on his face, “stay here. I’m going to go and take a look.”

“I don’t know if that’s-”

“Just real quick,” he insisted, “it’s old man Smith’s house. I just want to make sure he’s all right.”

“Okay,” you nodded, biting the inside of your cheek. You didn’t like the idea of him going out there, “be careful…please.”

“I’ll be back in just a few,” he promised with a nod before slipping on his boots and heading down the street.

“Come on,” you tenderly nudged up the girl so you take her upstairs and hopefully too bed. You wanted her to be able to get some rest, “let’s get you to bed, missy.”

“Do you think dad will be okay?”

“Of course he will,” but it was a promise that didn’t settle quite right in your stomach. There was a nagging feeling that was slowly starting to consume you and you hated it, “dad’s gonna get through anything. And I’m sure it’s nothing major - maybe something just caught fire.”

“Okay,” but you could tell she wasn’t quite convinced either, “I love you.”

“I love you too, babe,” you didn’t like how final her words seemed to be appear, “more than anything.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You ended up pacing around the living room for almost an hour as you waited for Joel to get back. Just a few minutes, you sighed lightly, of course it wasn't just a few minutes. Your nerves grew with each passing moment. 

It grew quiet for a while, which you weren't sure was a good or bad sign. Your question was soon answered by screaming and barking from next door. Sarah barreled down the stairs, panic on her face.

"The dog," she said, "next door. He's barking and I-I think he's scared. I want to go and check on him."

"Sarah," you shook your head, blood rushing in your ears and heart pounding in your chest, "we should just wait inside."

"But-"

"Your dad's not back."

"Well, then we have to find him too!" and she was out the door before you could stop her. You followed after her, not even bothering with shoes.

"Sarah!" you found her running down next door, trying to comfort the whimpering dog. Something just felt off. The front door was open but the lights were off; the fire at the end of the street was showering the neighborhood in an orange haze, "don't go in there!"

"But…"

"Don't," you insisted, "come here. Please. I know you want to save the dog, but it's not safe."

She looked close to tears but gave you a small nod. When you turned to look at the neighborhood, you finally saw all the chaos that had broken out. There was fire around, people screaming and running and shouting. It felt apocalyptic.

"Come on," you took her hand and tried to lead her back to the house. You weren't sure if it was the best choice but it was all you could think of at the moment. Joel would come back and save you soon, "I think we'll be better off-"

"Watch out!"

But Sarah's warning shout came just a moment too late. You couldn't blame her; everything around you was falling apart. 

Your knees buckled and hit the ground as you tried to keep your scream of pain down as much as possible. Whoever - or whatever it was - made a horrible sound, somewhere between a growl and shout as it tackled you to the ground. When you got a look at whatever was holding you down, you realized it was Al Walker from down the block. Or at least, it had been. But this version was not; it was something much more sinister. 

You tried to keep him back as he tried to lunge and bite you, but you were only so strong. All you could do when you felt the burning in your neck was to wince; you were too busy trying to mentally calm Sarah down. She was in full panic mode and trying to figure out what to do if anything. Your upper body felt sticky and warm; a coppery metallic smell overwhelmed you. 

Before you could try to shove him off you again, you heard a loud gunshot coming from some direction before his lifeless body fell on top of you.

“Fuck!” you crawled out from under him, chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath, and gather your bearings. You found Joel standing in front of Sarah, gently shielding her from whatever was around - from you. All around you people were running around and trying to leave or meeting the same fortune as you. 

You swallowed thickly, tears already welling up and running down your face. Joel’s gaze was on your torso and you followed it, inhaling sharply. You were soaked in your own blood and the wound on your neck was burning profusely. Although you didn’t full know what was happening or what sort of chaos had been set loose in the world, you knew this wasn’t good. 

“Baby-”

“Joel,” your voice was shaken as you looked at the two of them. You already knew that this would be the last time you’d ever see them. There was just a feeling in your gut that told you so, “go. Go.”

“Not without you.”

“Please,” you’d beg, you weren’t ashamed. All you wanted was for the two of them to get somewhere safe. You could see Tommy pulling up with Joel’s truck; even he seemed extremely rattled, “go with Sarah and Tommy and get to safety. Please, listen to me for once.”

Joel let out a loud groan of frustration before coming over and wrapping you up in a tight hug. You hugged him just as fiercely, despite your initial insistence that he leave, “baby.”

“I know,” you pulled back and took his face in your hands, neither of you caring about the blood that was now covering you both. You kissed him, one last time, sweet and saccharine as it always was, “I love you. But please, get going now. Keep them safe. Keep yourself safe.”

“But-”

“Promise me, Joel Miller,” you insisted firmly and he gave you a teary-eyed nod, “I’ll catch up to you.”

It was a lie. You both knew that.

“I swear it.”

“Good,” you whispered, “now go, and don’t look back.”

“I love you.”

“I know,” you smiled softly and gave him one last kiss, “I know.”

You gently pushed him back as he reached for Sarah and pulled her towards the truck. It felt like time slowed down as you watched them get in and drive away, headed to what you hoped was safety. 

Your heart was beyond heavy.

You’d just lost your entire world. 

… 

“Is there a problem here, Magistrate?” 

Until Din decided to step into the discussion there were a lot of sharp words and hidden threats exchanged. The pirates were clearly after some trouble with the High Magistrate, but he also knew that Greef Karga was great enough at looking after himself and Nevarro. The truth was that he didn’t want to overstep or get into something if there wasn’t a clear need to.

But the conversation had gone long enough for his personal taste.

“Is there a problem here?” Greef repeated the question, this time looking to the pirates. “What do you think?”

“Not if you serve me a drink.” Vane continued to insist on the drink request — that was also not so much of a request.

“Not in my school.” The Magistrate was firm.

“You hear that, boys?” He started his dramatic number with his colleagues, making a very dramatic pause. “His school.” And finished it with a laugh at his current adversary. “You paid us for murder and mayhem inside these doors. Sounds like you went soft.”

“You think so?” He showed the gun, ready in its holder, a direct response to Vane’s threat. “Try me.”

The staring contest continued, the tension was up and everyone in the audience was waiting to see who would shoot first in that duel.

No surprise to see it was Greef Karga, the blaster falling from Vane’s hands.

“Tell Captain Gorian Shard that Nevarro is no longer friendly to pirates. Now get out of here.”

The other pirates were ready to counterstrike, turning to shoot the High Magistrate. But the mandalorian was of great help, shooting two of them while the other was taken care of by Greef. The people around the scene were tense, some even screamed with surprise, Navarro really had changed. 

In the end of the confrontation Vane was standing there alone, hurt and with no back up.

“Get out of here, Vane. Now.” Greef repeated himself.

“Sure you wanna let him go?” Din was a bit worried, looking at the pirate that was already running from the scene to save his skin.

“Yes.” He nodded. “He'll let it be known that Nevarro is respectable now and not to be trifled with.”

Soon the droids were cleaning the scene up and leaving the street exactly as it was before the small struggle, just as if pirates had never touched the place.

“Yes, sir, right away.” The droid started to complete the task, running around to communicate the responsible droid squad.

“I gotta level with you, Mando. I need a marshal.” Greef confessed.

“What about Marshal Dune?”

“After she brought in Moff Gideon, she was recruited by Special Forces.”

“And what came of Gideon?” Din was curious about it.

“Ugh. He was sent off to a New Republic War Tribunal.” Yeah, that wasn’t truly the best of news but it’d do the job. “So... What do you say? Are you ready to put on the stripes and collect a healthy…”

The mandalorian’s eyes got lost somewhere along the street, a gate that was clearly very well made was open and he could have a peek inside a workshop. A new one that wasn’t there the last time. Between scattered pieces from ships and droids, tools that were high quality even with some dirt covering them from regular use, he found a familiar face.

You.

Very concentrated on the machinery placed in your working table you barely listened to the shooting outside. Din couldn’t really count the huge amount of times he called you out for that same thing.

You need to pay attention to your surroundings even when you are working inside the Crest.

That seemed like a lifetime ago. And you looked just the same from that distance.

That hurt even more,

“You'd make a very fine lawman.” Grief repeated himself.

Din picked up the conversation from where it had stopped. “Why not request one from the New Republic?”

It was going to be a hell of a discussion.

… 

Life in Nevarro was quite simple after Din left.

Right, you couldn’t deny the huge hole left in your heart that had the exact shape of one mandalorian and his small green foundling. You could only sit on the sleepless nights and remember your times on the Razor Crest with them.

But did someone ever die from a broken heart? Well, maybe someone had, but not you.

You made everything work in your own way, just like you were used to doing before you crossed paths with Din Djarin. You were a damn good mechanic, that’s how you met him in the first place, so it wasn't a problem to get your own workshop to attend the region.

You had your bad days too, the competition between the mechanics in the region wasn’t that healthy and you might have used Din’s reputation to your own benefit. 

All with the best of purposes.

But with the whole remodeling of Nevarro it got easier and less threatening. Being in the good graces of Greef Karga was great too, really helped with business and the prestige around the planet. You specialized your abilities in droids as well as ships, expanding your business and even getting two reasonable assistants to help you with the demand.

It was a good way to live.

Not as good as traveling around the galaxy with Din Djarin and Grogu. But reasonably good.

You could say that at least you had a story to tell, telling people you visited some planets, got into adventures, was trained in self defense by a Mandalorian and almost defeated him in a hand-in-hand because you already knew how to fight… 

If you thought enough you could almost hear his laugh through the modulator from that day, the way his hands held yours and you shivered even with his and your gloves in the way.

Those were all good stories. 

Bitter memories now.

So when a huge wall of beskar entered your shop you were more than surprised. 

Of course, you did expect that he would eventually come back to Nevarro, given how much the place was growing as an independent trade center in the Outer Rim.

But you didn’t expect him to be right at your door.

“Din Djarin.” You said looking at his shiny helmet.

Your eyes went searching for the small green frame that was always glued to his father and you smiled to see the little guy. You missed him so much.

“Grogu, it’s very nice to see you.” You winked and he cooed at your gesture. “And what brings you here to my humble shop?”

Din continued to be silent for some time, his helmet showing he was looking around, maybe for any threats because he didn’t trust you right? Just the same man you remembered him to be.

“We need to reconstruct IG-11.” He announced and you were suddenly in a laughter crisis. “What?”

After breathing for about five times you recovered yourself. “Find another droid.” You advised. “IG-11 was destroyed.” He continued to stare at you from behind the cold helmet, until you felt the need to explain yourself. “Look, I’m not a big fan of the disposable way most people view droids these days, but he can’t be recovered. Besides, I can make you a pretty reliable droid and…”

“It’s that droid or nothing.” He was short at his answer.

“Do you even have the pieces?” You asked him.

Easily, he placed IG-11 — or what was left of him — in the top of your table. It was much more than you thought there was in the first place, but it was still far from good news.

“He has hooked up to power and we even woke him up, but we believe he defaulted to his old programming.” DIn started to explain as you examined what was left of your old friend. “He tried to attack Grogu and I had to shoot him.”

“Several times, if I may point.” You looked surprised to see the several recent blaster marks.

There wasn’t much to analyze or diagnose, the droid seemed like a lost cause. The memory circuit was broken and it would take forever to find or make a new one, as well as no promises you would recover IG-11 as he was in the moment of his death.

“We took him to the Anzellans but… I wanted your opinion.”

That was new. Din Djarin assuming he wanted you to say something about the situation? The world wasn’t the same anymore.

“I don’t believe I can fix him Din. Rebuilding a body is a piece of cake, but the memory circuit is jammed, lost actually.” YOu explained, still looking at the drawing for something more exhilarating than that. “I can’t make a new one right now and those are impossible to find these days. And if you find it, they are extremely expensive… So no IG-11 for now.” You concluded, getting away from the working desk.

“What if I find you this circuit?” He considered. “Can you fix it?”

“I’m sure I can. But, even for you, it would be a complicated mission.” You were still trying to put some sense in the head of your the mandalorian. “I’m sure a new one would be…”

“No. It’s IG-11 or nothing.” There was the stubborn man.

“What do you even need him for?” You asked, turning from the starfighter’s parts you were organizing on a shelf.

“We are going to explore Mandalore.” 

It sounded even crazier than the plan of fixing IG-11.

“We? What? How’s that?”

“Me and Grogu.” He detailed. “I need to find the living waters under the mines of Mandalore. Because of… Mandalorian reasons.”

“Oh, I see.” You understood he didn’t want to tell what that s=was about, so all you did was hide the little it hurt you. “If you bring me that piece I can fix it, but just know that you don’t deserve it.”

“I’ll be leaving in the morning to find it.” 

That was the last thing he said before exiting your shop and leaving you behind with your work. You were going to need some alcohol after that interaction, you thought as you just hoped for the day to end sooner.

…

One thing that came with all the change in Nevarro was the nightlife. Of course the bars were still filled, but the patrons had changed from pirates to different types of trades and merchants. So when you chose a random bar on your way home it was less crowded than it’d been a couple months ago, a bit calmer too.

You didn’t need calm.

In a matter of seconds your usual drink was in your hand and you account missing a few credits.

You just wanted to forget that Din was in town, that you had seen him, talked to him and offered your help with IG-11. That was such a terrible idea even for you. You heard him call your name and it was like a sign to down the cup in one gulp.

Kriffing hell, you were even imagining his voice? Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to drink after the encounter…

But it happened again and you turned to look, already cursing yourself for the insanity of it.

And there he was.

“What are you doing here?” Was the first thing you could think to ask.

“Gathering information.”

“Okay. There are other seats in the bar though…” You pointed to the area in the back filled with empty chairs.

Din didn't answer. Instead you ordered another drink and he rushed you to pay for that, leaving some credits on the counter.

“I don’t want you to pay for my stuff.” You warned him without looking at his face. “Don’t want to owe you a single credit, Djarin.”

“Well, I believe I owe you, am I wrong?”

It was time for you to stay in silence. He did owe you, not in a monetary way though, it was more about the time you wasted though you had something.

And that’s how, after several months of distance and no interactions, you found yourself drinking— and by drinking you meant you sipping on a suspicious alcohol and staring back at that huge wall of beskar — in the company of Din Djarin. It could’ve been the very same bar in Nevarro if it wasn’t for Greef Karga’s remodeling of the place.

“I saw you got the kid back.” You tried to start some conversation between the two of you.

“After I completed the mission he found his way back to me.” He explained in such a shallow way you don’t even try to extract more of it.

You wouldn’t try to make a grown ass man talk to you. At least those two were together again, it was easy to remember how the mandalorian was without the little green friend.

That could’ve been a little push towards that fucking night he just disappeared.

You remembered how vague he was with explaining his new mission, and tried one more time to talk to the man, more out of curiosity than the pleasantness of the conversation. “What is the truth about that whole Mandalore thing?”

“I need to bathe in the living waters under the mines of Mandalore. Because I removed my helmet and I am no longer a mandalorian.”

“So, sort of a redemption?”

He nodded and your eyes found the wall behind him.

Silence again.

If you closed your eyes you could pretend it seemed so much like those late nights inside the Crest. You’d sit side by side and just stay there enjoying the presence of each other — or at least that was what you thought you were doing.

Now you were just trying to not lash out on him, trying to be the bigger person and ignore the past for a second. You could come back to hating him after he left again, even if you never managed to hate him properly how you should.

If you maintained the good behavior you could at least have some more time with Grogu, who you missed even more than the mandalorian.

“Thank you for your help.” He said.

“It’s going to cost you.” You reminded him. “I don’t work for free. Only with a small exception for family.”

That word loomed above you two, weighing more than a whole spaceship. Your old spaceship.

And just as if he was reading your mind he talked a few more words. “There’s no space in the starfighter.” 

Your heart skipped a beat. “What happened to the Razor Crest?”

“It’s a long story.” Din told you, adjusting himself in the bar’s stool. “But it doesn’t exist anymore.”

It was just one more thing into that pile of wreckage that was your relation with Din Djarin — if you could even call it that. You knew already you were a fool to expect that it could all be some sort of misunderstanding, a terrible joke the universe was playing on you, but it was real life.

The mandalorian was just a huge jerk.

“There’s no space in the starfighter.” He repeated himself, more serious this time as if that was possible.

“Oh, I see.” It was your turn to be blank and right to the point. “Believe me, I do. So, if this isn’t some catching up with friends what is it?”

“I—” It wasn’t the first time you saw the mandalorian falther to answer something, but was one of the few of those.

“Why are you here, Din?” You spat it before he could continue. “Why did you really come here tonight? Shouldn’t you be preparing to find that goddamn piece?”

“That’s just what I’m doing.”

“You know Din, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.” The alcohol was giving you a bit more courage and that was all you needed to do what you wanted and dreaded for those last months. “Why did you kiss me that day?”

The mandalorian was mute to your question, not a word or a move slipped out of his armor and you decided you were best by yourself trying to heal from something you had imagined.

“Well, I guess this explains a lot.”

You got up from the stool you were sitting and downed the rest of your drink in one large sip. Turning to go out the cantina, you stopped in your tracks once more, just to ask Din one more thing.

“Just one thing.” You were a bit more loud with those words. Nothing that would turn looks towards you but just enough to prove a point. “What the fuck was I to you this whole time we travelled around?”

“You were my mechanic.” It was like default words, like he was a droid programmed to say. “The Razor Crest was a huge job for someone to do it alone.”

What were you expecting anyways?

“I’m going to reassign the job to the Anzellans. They are better with lost causes anyway. And reliable to hire.” You warned him, with a tip in the end because you just couldn’t help yourself. “Goodbye, Din Djarin. I… Don’t show up anymore, ok? It’s just too hard to see Grogu if I can’t spend time with him.” You whispered the last part, walking towards the door and, later, to your room in the back of the shop.

The streets were not too crowded, it was working days anyway so not many people were drowning themselves in drinks or the nightclubs around town. You walked slowly, trying to postpone the moment where you’d lay your head on the pillow and have deep reflections slipping inside your head with no invitation.

At least you knew he wouldn’t stay too long in town.

There were two stormtroopers in the small room and what looked like a lieutenant. It was hard to see the markings on his uniform with your blurry vision. The troopers had already battered your face and body, your under eyes starting to swell and bruise. Your lip was busted and you could taste the coppery fluid coating them.

A Galactic Empire general was on the run, seeking refuge with the rebels. Mando had picked up the fob and brought the two of you to some dingy casino on Nar Shaddaa. You were sitting next to one door, Mando at the other.

“Eyes?” He asked through the commlink.

“Yeah.” You confirmed, swirling your drink around with your straw. You were dressed in your best clothes and nicest makeup, Mando had told you it’d help distract the runaway general. You were bait, essentially.

You spotted him, stocky build, stringy blond hair, droopy eyes completed with purple bags. You were ready to get it over with, tired and the constant clinking and whirring of slot machines was about to push you over the edge.

You definitely weren’t as sharp as usual. Mando had been running you around the galaxy for the past few days, which meant no sleep, little food, no showers. You could’ve collapsed face first onto the illuminated table if you wanted. But he had promised. As soon as the bounty was secured, you could return to the Crest and he would buy you colo claw fish, roasted porg, anything you could possibly want. So, you pushed through and did as he asked.

You guessed the Empire caught onto yours and Mando’s little sting operation and decided to interrupt. Blaster shots rang through the dimly lit casino and biotic grenades exploded the walls. Only one thought flashed through your mind: Mando.

You glanced around through smog and blaster smoke, searching for beskar. You saw him. There were four stormtroopers on him, he was struggling. You opened your mouth to scream for him, but the blunt end of a blaster was slammed into your temple, and you were crumpling to the floor. You had woken up in a fog hours later, curled up on a metal cot in a holding cell.

You barely had time to lift your head to your pulsing head before the trio was storming in and suspending you in the air.

“You don’t know?”

You shook your head, hair falling over your face.

The lieutenant glanced at one of the troopers and nodded his head toward you. They exchanged short, firm nods, and the trooper stepped closer to you. He pulled a black rod from his belt, and flipped a switch. You flinched as the end of it jolted to life with blue electricity.

It buzzed louder and louder as he got closer. You thrashed in your shackles, caving in your stomach as far away from him as you could. He pushed the prod onto your bare thigh and you yelped, nerve endings crackling and searing with white hot pain. You swung in the air until the other stormtrooper forcibly stabilized you.

“Where is the traitor?” The lieutenant’s tone was far more insistent now, he was growing impatient. There were so many things you wanted to say, tell him he was the one who scared him off in the first place, but you could barely even open your eyes.

The lieutenant nodded to the trooper again. This time, he shoved the prod onto your hip bone that was barely covered by your underclothes. Your throat strained with the high pitch screech you let out. The thin skin covering your bone was far more sensitive to the pain.

It went on like that for what had to have been hours, days even. The same questions, the same results.

Finally, the lieutenant signaled the trooper to release your binds, letting your wrists free. They had no reason to worry about you escaping, you were barely alive.

Your body smacked against the ground and you grunted. You lifted your hand to brush over your rib cage and winced. You definitely had a cracked rib or two.

You caught a glimpse of the rest of your body, hardly believing what you looked like. Each prod had left a red, blistering center with purple veins blossoming outward. You counted six, maybe seven of them.

You lie on the ground, staring at the grate on the floor that swallowed up your blood with a gross gurgle. Your eyes couldn’t keep up anymore, and the warmth of unconsciousness overtook your body, finally letting you relax.

You dreamt of fond things; finally getting the huge, warm meal Mando had promised, the safe whooshing of hyperspace passing you by on the crest, but most of all, Mando. You were running through a meadow on some sunny planet somewhere. He stood firmly planted in the tall grass that was swaying in the wind. He got closer, and closer, and closer. You could practically feel the warmth of his chest on yours until you were startled awake by the cell doors sliding open.

A stormtrooper was on you quickly, gripping your biceps and trying to pull you up.

“Get the fuck away from me! I already told you I don’t know where he is.” You spat, using the last of your energy to meekly flail and scream and kick against his white, plasticy shins.

“Mesh’la, it’s me. You are hurt.” You didn’t miss the way his hands trembled around you.

His voice sounded a little different through the helmet, but it was still his. The burst of adrenaline seeped from your body, and you slumped back against the floor, knowing you were safe again.

“You look fucking terrible in that.” You flashed him a weak, red-stained smile before your head thumped back against the concrete, and he fell to his knees.

He shook you, whispering your name, willing you to wake up. Your eyes rolled open for a second and you coughed his name back.

He flung you over his shoulder, and thankfully you couldn’t feel the way the plastic armor dug into your ribs and hips.

He carried you through the massive Empire ship. The hallways were all dark, and they all looked the exact same, but Mando managed to expertly navigate through them somehow.

You didn’t wake again until you were back on the Crest. You couldn’t really move. You stared straight up, met with the steel ceiling; you were on the floor. You turned your head, taking in a sharp breath as you did. Half of the med kit was strewn across the floor. You chuckled, it made sense. You were usually the one patching him up.

The bend of your elbow stung where he must’ve administered the bacta through an IV. The rest of your wounds were slathered with a layer of salve and covered with sloppy, rushed dressings.

You tried to sit up, but when your abdomen crunched you cried out. Mando had appeared by your side in an instant. He loomed over you, clad again in the beskar you were used to.

“You’re awake.” He stated, kneeling by your head.

“Thank you, for the,” you gestured towards your body, “patch up.”

“I used you as bait and you almost died. When I reached your cell, you were almost dead. If I had come one minute later, you would be dead.”

He said it like he was replaying the events in his head, confirming that he’d done what he’d done.

He’d like to believe he just didn’t want to be alone again after having you around for so long, that you were just another body aboard his ship. Really, though, the Mandalorian was growing to care for you, and it scared him.

“Mando it-it's not your fault.” You struggled to talk, still finding great difficulty in taking in a full breath. “I should’ve been more careful-”

“No.”

You recoiled at his tone.

“What did they do to you.” He demanded.

“Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

“Can you be serious?” He begged.

That was the one time you felt like you needed to be strong for him, if you broke down, he would have lost it and you could feel it. You ignored your injuries as best you could, just talking to him, reminding him that you’re alive.

You shifted your weight to one elbow with a grimace, using your other hand to pull his bare hand close to your chest. Mando relaxed, feeling your warm skin and beating heart. You started to speak.

“After they left, the troopers and the lieutenant, I-I must’ve passed out. But, I saw you in my head, and I knew you were coming. I wasn’t scared for a second.” You smiled with fat tears welling in your eyes as you stared where you thought his eyes would be.

You pushed yourself to your knees, stopping midway to catch your breath. Mando had tried to help you up, but you pushed him off.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, leaning awkwardly over his body. Slowly, he lifted his hands to wrap them around your back. You melted into him and he held you tighter. The stabbing pain in your ribs and stomach meant nothing because he was holding you so close. He cradled the back of your head and pressed your cheek into his shoulder.

“I thought I lost you.”

It was a choked whisper crackling through his vocoder.

“I can’t do it without you anymore. I need you here.” He admitted.

You thought for a moment, that you heard him choke down a sniffle. And out of the corner of your eye, you watched a salty tear roll down his neck and bleed onto his cowl.

“I’m not leaving, Mando.”

Oh that’s right! You had walked outside of the Crest for the first time in exactly 5 weeks, 4 hours, 19 minutes, and 6 seconds.

And Din had the nerve to tell you off about it!

The story was Gideon had managed to get his hands on you when you were a few years old. From there you had been his lab rat up until the age of 20, that’s when Mando rescued you, and brought you along on his ship with his tiny green son.

You were forever grateful that he let you stay with him, but at the same time you were slowly losing your sanity, piece by piece. Exactly 36 days of being trapped in a dull silver cold ship, with a baby…how did Din not see it?! The frustrations!

Whenever you brought it up he would always turn you down by saying

“There are millions of bounty hunters and imperials looking for you, I can’t protect you as well as I protect the kid, keeping you out of sight is just a safety precaution.”

Fair enough…

BUT 36 DAYS

You weren’t even allowed to open any windows for kriffing sake!

~~~~~~~~ “You were reckless.” Scowled Din, fists clenched tightly by his side.

“No! I was tired of being trapped in this ship! 36 days, Din! 36 days since I last felt the sun!” You exclaimed.

“You’re being dramatic.”

“I am NOT! You might as well send me back to Gideon! I was more free even with him!” You yell, voice turning hoarse.

Din seemed to be taken back by your statement, because he is silent for a moment. “You wanna go back to Gideon? Be my guest, I’ll drop you off right now if you want me to, it’ll be easier on me, without you here.” He says in the most intimidating voice you’ve ever heard.

Tears formed at the corners of your eyes and he’s about to say something, perhaps and apology for his harsh words, but he doesn’t get a chance to, because your shoving past him, and making your way out of the cockpit.

Din doesn’t follow, he crossed the line and now he just needed to give you some space.

He had regretted the words the moment they came out, but he couldn’t stop them from toppling off of his tongue, pure anger and venom overriding any of his common sense.

~~~~~~~~

You cried for what seemed like hours in Din’s your cot. 

It wasn’t just from the fear of Din’s words being true, but from the fight itself. Everything just got so overwhelming, especially with Din being so tall and just- intimidating! 

An ugly, heavy sob wracked your body as you tried to curl up impossibly tighter on yourself. 

Eventually you felt the familiar pull of your eyelids, and the haze of your tired mind. It didn’t take long for you to fall asleep, with old tears falling onto the dense pillow. 

~~~~~~~~

“You have made the right choice Din Djarin.” Gideon’s voice booms through what you could only assume was a imperial cell. 

Gideon had his familiar victory smile etched into his face, whilst Din stood beside him watching you struggle against your cuffs. 

“Din? What’s going on?” You croak out. 

Gideon let’s out a sinister laugh

“You wanted to come back, right?” Din says, followed by a dry chuckle. 

Tears stream down your face, as you strain against your chains. “Din! Please don’t do this, I’m sorry!” You scream in broken sobs. 

Din says nothing as he turns away from you, and begins his decent to the Razor Crest in the distance. 

“Din!” You scream as loud as you can, hoping the desperation in your voice would magically change his mind. 

Gideon smirked once more. 

“Din!” You yell again, but to no avail. 

Distantly you knew you were having a nightmare, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to wake up. 

So you settle for screaming for Din, because right now, it’s the only thing you can do. 

~~~~~~~~

Suddenly you felt hands tug at your waist, and your dream shifted, eventually disappearing into thin air, as you were welcomed back to your reality, in the Razor Crest, alone, crying in Din’s bunk, covered in your own sweat. 

Usually Din would comfort you right about now. But he wouldn’t do that now, not after fighting. Maker you would be lucky if he ever spoke to you again! 

An unexpected sob rips through your body, leaving you quivering against the wall. You could distinctly hear something hushing you gently, but you had to remind yourself that you were alone...and probably just paranoid from the nightmare. 

That is until you hear it again. 

“Din?” You sob out, hands travelling up his breastplate to confirm it’s really him. 

“Shh, I’m here, meshurok.” 

Just hearing him speak makes you cry even harder, which seemed impossible for you. 

As the tears began to flow more freely your sobs became harder, until you were gasping for air. Din held you through it all, rocking you gently, bodies swaying together. “I-I’m so-sorry” You cough up, gripping his cowl tightly between your sweaty palms, trying to ground yourself. “I’m so-so sor-sorry.” You whimper. Din hushes you quickly, running his hands through your hair. “It’s ok ner’karta, relax.” 

~~

You don’t remember much of that night, you can’t remember how many hours Din held you securely against his chest, strong arms keeping you safe, and close to him, but it opened up a new path for the two of you. One where you wouldn’t lose your tempers and actually try to understand each other. 

~~~~~~

You followed Din over to the hatch, ready to wave him off for yet another hunt. 

You had come to terms with staying on the ship

Din couldn’t lose you. 

Which is why.. you couldn’t understand why Din handed you an oversized cloak and said;

“No, Mesh’la, we’re going to go out”