S!

extras:

҉　- main story canon compliant piece.

Ꮺ୧ making out w/ better bobby. Ꮺ୧ better you! ҉　 Ꮺ୧ "baby." ҉　 Ꮺ୧ "open your mouth." Ꮺ୧ pillow fort. Ꮺ୧ in the beginning. ҉　 Ꮺ୧ my, what long tongue you have. Ꮺ୧ sunlight. ҉　 Ꮺ୧ slow dancing. ҉　 Ꮺ୧ rib time. Ꮺ୧ conceiving w/ bb. Ꮺ୧ bb watching you w/ bobby. ҉　 Ꮺ୧ intimacy hdcs w/ BB. Ꮺ୧ memories. ҉　 Ꮺ୧ cuteness aggression. Ꮺ୧ twins au. Ꮺ୧ mr. kitty. ҉　

⎋ M.E.G. ENTITY 0 — RESEARCH FILE INDEX:

↹ MEG-ENT-0000-ADDM-██ — Restricted Addendum: Reproductive Capability Assessment (Filed Under Protest)

You weren’t having a very good day. Not like any day could be considered ‘good’ since entering this hell hole. But this particular day was a bit atrocious due to the screaming. Someone new must have entered Level 0 and it had found them. You had done a pretty good job at avoiding that new thing ever since it spawned from wherever they came from but you still caught glimpses and well, smells from its lair.

So you shouldered the backpack and went towards the lair’s location. Don’t let anyone say you weren’t a nice person. Plus it would mean company that wasn’t an ominous sound or the hazmat suits. That is if the thing has decided not to eat the survivors yet.

“People really have to go about messing with things huh?” You muttered out loud as you saw the couch, the ramp and the remains of a rope lying in the entrance. You picked your way over the furniture and slid down quickly. Landing on the damp carpet.

It was the smell that hit you first. You always hated coming down here, it made you want to gag up the small amount of food you had managed to force down your throat that morning.

“Fuck, eww, okay focus.” You picked yourself off the floor and headed towards the horizontal door, you didn’t like heading off through the different areas of this section. Just in and out. Rescue mission, okay. Like this wasn’t going to get you killed.

Pressing yourself up to the door you listened closely: nothing. The entity must have moved away to hunt, there was still a chance that the person might still be alive.

“In and out. In and out.” You repeated under your breath, whispering but still trying to reassure yourself. You turned the door knob and pulled the door open slowly. You shined the flashlight you had managed to find on one of the expeditions and found the cold, dank room smiling back at you.

There was nothing in the main atrium (?) but the corridors that led out seemed to be pulsing. The sounds of roaring were not far off. You quickly scanned each of the corridors until you suddenly stopped short.

At the far end of one of the hallways there was still a person. A person that was clearly breathing. You inched over to the person - a man with a white shirt, jeans and blonde hair. A man who was very much alive but bleeding freely from his leg. Moving quickly, you pulled off your backpack and grabbed the shirt you had stashed in there.

“Hi, are you okay? Are you awake?” You said as loudly as you dared to the man in front of you. He groaned loudly in response and you shushed him. The shirt thankfully wrapped around his jean covered thigh and you made a makeshift tourniquet. Stopping the worst of the blood flow.

“Can you get up? Dude, I need some help here, I don’t think I can haul you out myself.” You lightly shook the guy’s shoulder and he winced before his eyes slowly blinked open. And then it hit him where he was and what had just happened, it was like you watched him calculate your features in real time.

“Are you one of them? Where is Kat? Where is that thing?”

“Look, you need to be quiet, we need to get out of here. Before that thing comes back.” You whispered back and he nodded back - clearly still in shock. You put your backpack back on and slowly helped him back up.

“I know the way out this area but we’re going to need to climb. Do you think you can do that?”

“I-uh, I can try.”

“You better or else we’re both done for.” As if the thing heard you stealing his precious catch, a loud resounding roar echoed from one of the hallways. Followed by two screams. “Don’t focus on them, we can’t fight that thing. The only possible thing we can do is get the hell out of here. Now come on.”

Somehow it felt like the walk back to the door was longer. Like the hallways were in league with that inhuman thing. Or maybe it was just the giant weight of a man hanging off the side of you.

When your flashlight finally shined off the painted wood of the door you almost let out a shriek of joy. You moved quicker than before, dragging the guy in an effort to get to the door faster but when you reached it you suddenly remembered your survival instincts. And pressed your ear to the door before slowly pulling it up and open.

The smell hit you once again, not just damp but a mixture of saliva, blood, mold and decomposition seemed to emanate from the place.

“Okay we’re almost there, in you go.” You push the guy through first and then follow him before closing the door behind you both. Taking a deep (and slightly strangling) breath you grab hold of his left arm and pull it around your shoulders again. The rope was still hanging down through the ramp and you just realized that a part of that rope was hanging off him as well.

“Still okay?” His blue eyes met yours and he gave a weak smirk.

“Never better.”

“Okay so I’ll grab the rope and you can hold onto me as we both climb up. How does that sound?”

“Is that going to work?”

“We don’t really have options right now.”

“Okay.”

You nod and then approach the steep incline, you wrap your hand around the rope and that’s when you realize your hands are trembling. This was the longest conversation you’ve had with someone other than yourself in so long. The relief mixed with the excitement and adrenaline were doing horrors to your regulatory system but you had to get out of here. No use thinking about anything other than survival, although this was the first kernel of hope there had been in this awful place in so very long.

You start to pull yourself inch by inch and once you’re up a bit into the shaft, you slide down and smile at the guy.

“I think if you grab my backpack I should be able to pull us both up but you’re going to also need to put some weight on your legs to give us a push up. We have one chance at this.”

The guy’s face blanched and he smiled nervously before nodding his head. You were going to have to rely on adrenaline and the time spent climbing in this place to get the fuck out of the thing’s lair. It was now or never.

You smiled reassuringly at the guy and then turned around and grabbed the rope again. You felt his hands go around the straps of your backpack and you almost jolted. He had warm hands and they were touching you, even in the face of death you felt something akin to happiness to feel another person’s touch. It had been so long. Everything had been so long ago.

That was when you started pulling yourself up and using your legs against the floor (?) as leverage. He at least seemed to be doing his part because it wasn’t too hard for the first half of the shaft. Then it got a bit steeper. And it got harder and the muscles in your body started screaming.

If you let go, you die. If you let go, you die. If you let go, you die. If you let go, you die. If you let go, you die. If you let go, you die.

Those words kept spinning in your head as the rope started to cut the circulation in your hands and the straps of the backpack started to make what seemed like a permanent groove into your body. Literally dragging someone and your own body up a shaft was not a piece of cake. But this meant having someone to talk to, to help, to protect and if getting that would kill you then so be it.

So you kept going, you kept going as sweat pooled in the concaves of your body and your scalp became itchy. You pulled yourself up and you pulled this random person up and up and up. Sisyphus, look at me now asshole. 

And then you saw it, that stupid patterned couch that was holding you up was just inches away. So you pulled yourself up one last time and rested on the headboard of the couch. The guy finally detaches himself from you and it was a relief like no other. Both of your feet were now dangling into the abyss.

“I’m Bobby by the way.” He whispers and you look over to the man you dragged from the brink of death itself and you smile.

“It’s nice to meet you Bobby.”

After resting for a very short period of time, you grabbed the guy, Bobby, again and stumbled back through the now-familiar hallways. You were going back to your base (?), lair (?), home. It changed on what felt like a weekly basis, depending on the appearance of entities, hazmat people and the hellhole itself.

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere safe. I should be able to patch that up there.” You whisper, nodding your head down to his bandaged thigh. The blood had started to seep onto the orange shirt and all the movement definitely wasn’t helping it. You just hope the thing hadn’t clipped an artery.

“Who are you?”

“It’s a long story, I’ll tell you once we don’t have to whisper like this.” You wink and at least you get a strained huff and smile from Bobby.

“Isn’t it safe now though?” You shake your head and then motion him to stop. Urging him to experience the atmosphere of the place. The ever-constant hum of the lights, the sickly yellow of the walls that seemed to close in around you once you stop moving, the feeling of the floor breathing under your shoes and the sound of distant movement.

“This place, this level used to be fairly safe and then the thing that took you appeared. It likes to stalk its victims. So I’m taking you to a different area. One that is a little less… claustrophobic?”

The both of you start moving again and you turn right at the next junction to find yourself in the tiled pool space. Bobby eyes flash to yours but you’re currently focusing on not slipping on the tile and not letting him slip either.

“Not here either.” You say as you keep walking. 

And you walk for a lot longer than it took you to find him and the others in the first place. Bobby was getting weaker, you could feel him leaning more and more of his weight on your body. Not that it didn’t feel nice to have another warm body on yours but it was starting to concern you how much his leg was dragging. So you decided to take the shortcut. The one that led through the hotel.

You held him closer when you first passed onto the carpeted floors, you had both been silent most of the walk but now you looked at him and pressed your finger to your lips. It was imperative that he stayed quiet in this place. You knew the route like the back of your hand but if you made a noise or tripped or even looked at a door wrong you knew that there was no chance you were getting out of there alive.

So you walked slowly, quietly, with intention. The fastest way through was in the kitchens and then the manager’s office and then you would get to home. You held onto Bobby tightly, so tightly that he had shot you strange glances as you walked through the plush hotel lobby. The patterns on the floor always reminded you of that movie where the dad went crazy and tried to kill his family during a snowstorm.

The hotel had an eerie quality, not just because of what lurked in its walls but because of the way you knew someone had been here before. This was one of the levels you had explored that felt like it had housed a great number of people before whatever happened, happened. It was not just a distorted memory of a place but a pretty picture perfect replica of a place.

And now you were invading its territory with a bleeding man. Usually you only came here for the meagre amount of food the kitchen used to hold. Now this was more than life and death, it was your sanity.

When you finally reached the swinging doors that led into the kitchen, you tapped Bobby on the shoulder and strained a smile. His eyes were lidded and he was desperately trying to hold on. He didn’t look good.

You pushed the swinging door and went through, and then you walked and walked and walked until you reached the manager’s office and then you kept walking again. Until you reached the red emergency door with the upside down number panel code next to it. You looked around the dimly lit corridor and then pulled open the door before shoving Bobby in and quickly banging the door shut behind you - ensuring that it was fully closed. Just as you heard the familiar shriek of something inhuman on the other side. It sent a wave of shivers down your body and made gooseflesh appear on your arms.

“What the hell is that?”

“You don’t want to know. They tend to like that particular area of the hotel but they can’t get through, don’t worry. We’re here.” You pointed to the harshly lit office space with windows looking out into nothing and rows upon rows of cubicles going as far as the eye could see.

“This is safe?”

“Nothing likes it here. I think it’s too boring or too mechanical or something. Really shows you how much the office spaces sucks the soul of all things that inhabit it. Come on, let’s get you fixed up.”

“You still haven’t told me anything about yourself, all I know is your name and that you saved me.” Bobby said, panting slightly as he hobbled next to you over to one of the cubicles at the far left side, right in front of the windows.

“I promised I’d tell you once we’re safe. You can stop whispering too, by the way.” You motioned to the spinny chair that was in the cubicle and helped him sit down. Bobby let out a sigh of relief and closed his eyes for a moment.

“You’re not one of the things are you?”

“An entity? No.” You focus on rifling through your backpack and pulling out a bottle of water and a shirt. You also tried in vain to find if you had anything antiseptic, the water would have to do.

“Uh Bobby you’re going to need to take off your jeans.” You said, slightly sheepishly once you turned back to the man and found him looking at you with a questioning look on his face. It was strange how after so long in this place that literally and figuratively ate people you were still a girl after all.

“You could at least take me out on a date first.” Bobby smirked slightly but then started hiking up the remainder of the rope and unbuckling his belt. You turned around, in an effort to give him some privacy even though it was probably too late for that. Plus he had mentioned someone named Kat. You couldn’t just start jumping his bones just because he was the first human you had seen in months? Years? Decades?

“Ready.” You turn back towards him and then zero in on the orange shirt that he was pressing onto a gash in his left leg. The shirt was absolutely destroyed, soaked through with blood and it seemed to have started to drip as well.

“Okay, are you hurt anywhere else?”

“No, at least I don’t think so. My head hurts pretty bad and my shoulder is bruised to hell but that’s really bugging me.” He cracks a strained smile as you nod and then kneel down in front of him and urge him to move his hand from the wound. You were so close to his goddamn boxers but right now your attention zeroed in on the freely bleeding gash. 

You could almost see the layers of muscle from how deep it was. You bit your lip in contemplation and then told him to place the shirt back on the cut.

“That is really fucking deep, I’m surprised you even managed to walk on that thing. It looks like it needs stitches and I don’t have that. I think the best thing we can do is stuff it with something to stop the bleeding and then wrap it.”

“I’m at your disposal doc.” Bobby tilted his head and gave you a soft little smile but you could see the panic in his eyes. A panic you had been intimately familiar with since you somehow landed in this mess. It was that primal panic that made your life flash before your eyes as you fell down or a car whizzed past a little too close. He didn’t know if he was going to make it out of this alive.

“Listen to me, Bobby. You’re going to be okay. I swear on my life, I will make you better. I haven’t survived this long to lose someone just because of a little scratch. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Maekar had heard once from the maesters who revel in philosophy that change is the gods’ favorite game to play, it brings them delight, both to the old and the new, when things twist in a way that they do not even expect. It was the way of all things, as it happens all around him, whether it is slow-moving in the process or incredibly fast in pacing. Either way, there are more times when Maekar would not know how to fix certain changes, nor where to begin.

He had thought about sending his son off to the Free Cities, to give him a taste of what it would be like to live without any assistance from the crown; to have him live a life away from his royal upbringing, strip him away from the glory that sticks with their House and their family name.

Aerion.

He had loved him, as he does all his sons; but Aerion might be the only one who where he had felt the most difficulty. Maekar did not know how to express it further, his words do not go through him, his actions were mostly ignored, or worst, forgotten. He tried to validate him, tried to defend him by any means, and then he tried to discipline, some in front of the council, most times when it’s just the two of them.

Within each and every moment he disciplines Aerion, his mind would already try to think of other ways to reach for him, he could not give up on his own son, not now—not ever. He must think of other more methods where he could finally meet him where he is, and when his son would do well, that would be the only time he could ever fully breathe.

“While that is a good plan, brother, I’m afraid there could be some disadvantages at present.” Baelor said to him, flipping a page on one of the books he picked up from the dusty shelves. They have arrived in King’s Landing four days ago, and they had already heard concerning reports of Aerion’s activities outside the gates.

Maekar exhaled, and Baelor thinks his own brother has been aging more rapidly now, “Every plan has its flaws, what the fuck would you have me do, then?” he retorted, with a clear sign of frustration painted on his face.

Baelor closed his book and regarded Maekar with his full, undivided attention, “It would be troublesome to have him over to the Free Cities, unattended—he had already been causing you headaches now, with you and I watching over him, yet he remained as he is.” He threaded carefully, mindful of the words and how he would describe his blood, not wanting to call Aerion as what he is: mad, violent, ruthless, and cruel—as he knew it would reflect poorly on Maekar, the weight of those words already carried such a burden that it would only trigger his brother to spiral even lower.

Maekar thinks he could join Aerion, but he could never disregard his other sons too, Daeron and Aegon. Daeron was never within his control even more so when Daeron had gotten a taste of alcohol and what it could do with the dreams he speaks of, but the worst thing he had seen on his eldest was passing out at every random place, completely drunk out of his wits. He was destructive, but never violent, the only chaos he could put was towards himself—Maekar thinks he could worry about him at a later time.

“You know I did all that I can, all that is within my capacities, Baelor.” Maekar started, sinking lower into his own chair as he looks ahead, he knew he had run out of resolutions but he couldn’t sit still and let the gods flip whatever fucking coin they have, nor leave the changes to the nature—his son would either be a good man, or Maekar would inevitably lose him to madness.

He did not sleep a wink that very same night, his thoughts about Aerion kept plaguing him that it never leaves his own head. In this point of time, his best course of action is to send him off to Lys.

So when a letter arrived from Dorne, containing a proposal of union, Maekar would immediately seek for Baelor’s advise. He had caught his brother slouched on the table, writing a letter to send with the raven, performing his duties as the Hand of the King even at the late hour.

“This could be good, for him.” He tossed the paper towards Baelor, and the brown-haired man could only stop writing, setting his quill aside as he reads through the paper from Maekar.

Baelor pondered, weighing a good number of possibilities and hundreds of consequences, after a while, he could only raised his eyebrows, “I certainly hope you do not think of passing the responsibility of bending Aerion into a kinder person to an innocent girl, Maekar.” He rolls the piece of paper before placing it before him, back on the table.

“We have had our fair shares of mishaps in our youth, brother.” He responds, taking a seat in front of Baelor, placing himself across from the Hand, “And when I met Dyanna..” he shook his head, remembering the good and love-filled days he had when his wife still resides by his side.

Baelor sighed, not completely against the idea of Aerion’s betrothal, as his heart and soul was once captured by a woman too, a Dornish woman at that, “This could either go right, or incredibly wrong, Maekar.” He stands, walking over to his brother to place a hand on his shoulder, “I trust your decisions, whichever you see is best for Aerion.”

Maekar’s heart settles on his throat, the air he has been holding in his lung felt even heavier as he dissects the repercussions of a wedding. It could do him good, it could make Aerion’s behavior be directed upwards, make him more honorable—or he could drag the woman down with him.

Aerion woke up with the glare of the sun sitting on his closed eyes, followed by a loud banging of the windows as well as the abrupt pull on the blanket, tearing it off of him. There were noises, some loud gasps and then some hurried movements—most of which he cannot see, for he had mostly kept his eyes shut, sleep still lingers on his eyes when he had tried to prop them open.

It was Maekar who greeted him first thing in the morning, behind him were the whores he had taken home from the evening prior. He smiled at his father, unfazed with his permanent look of complete disappointment, he had forgotten what Maekar looked like on a good day at this point, “Good morrow, Father. Have you gotten confused? This is not the dining hall nor Uncle Baelor's chambers.” He murmured, before stuffing his face on the soft and pristine pillows laying next to his head.

Maekar cleared his throat, “We came here to make a good impression as visitors, Aerion. Do not put any more shame into our family.” He started his routine, and Aerion chose to close his eyes once again, already entertaining the idea of getting more sleep, undisturbed with how the sun sets too high, signifying it must have been close to noon. Still, he managed to push words out, “Rest assured I am anything but putting shame, Father. You can ask the pretty girls you scared off.” He smiled against the cushion as his voice came out muffled, not even daring to cover his nude body.

“Get dressed.” Maekar pulled on his shoulder, forcing Aerion to face his father, actively snatching him away and farther from getting more sleep. The younger boy grunts in response, yawning in front of Maekar’s face, making it sound as louder as he could, in hopes that his obvious hints could get through the older man.

“For?” he blinks, clearing his vision out from the immediate blur upon waking. He thinks his body felt heavier, or that the bed was egging him to lay down once again as he struggles to keep his body straight.

“We have a guest from Dorne. I need you in your best condition.” Maekar announced, taking his seat on the edge of Aerion’s mattress. A calm and prominently worried expression crossed his face.

Aerion could not fathom how it had anything to do with him, and why he had to know of it first thing in the morning. He knows his father cared about formalities, Baelor’s kind courtesies must have rubbed off on him, “You and Uncle would be plenty enough for a welcome, Father.” He rubbed his eyes this time, getting more and more awake by each second.

“You need to be there, son.” The last word rung on Aerion’s ear, it was his cue to take his father’s word seriously, for a couple of minutes at maximum, that is. He pulls the blanket towards him, now conscious enough to cover his body.

“A young woman from Dorne will be coming, and I need you to meet her.” Maekar spoke slowly, and in the surface, it felt like he had more to say, a finishing blow, a finality.

Aerion waits long enough before mustering a response, “And? Fetch some maids to tend to her then—”

“You will be wed to her.” Aerion’s mouth hangs loosely, before his eyebrows curled, creating a deep wrinkled line across his forehead.

He blinked for a few moments, unable to fully comprehend what was mentioned, “I beg your pardon?” he knew what the words meant, the weight it carried, and its implications, still, he thought he must have dozed off once more and this was nothing but a fragment of his dreams.

Maekar stood, brushing the hem of his clothes with his flat palms, “Baelor and I will be waiting in the common room. Do not disappoint me further, boy. I’ve already had my fucking fill from you.” Then he walked away, swinging the door shut behind him when he exits, the wood loudly banging.

Aerion sits completely still. The prospect of marriage was not entirely new to him, but he didn’t think it would come along this soon. He was not bothered, nor annoyed with the arrangement—more confused. He couldn’t exactly see himself to be a husband, though he assumes nothing would be entirely different, they only had to perform their duties in front of their families. At the end of the day, he could still fill his heart to its content with activities he finds endearing.

A Dornish woman, huh?

He raises an eyebrow in contemplation. He would be lying if he denies the developing anticipation and excitement that seeps from his bones, he had wondered what it would be like to face a woman from Dorne—as he had only been surrounded by the pale women near the King’s Landing, most of them from pleasure houses, all of them captivated by his silver-hair and Targaryen name, each would be all ready for a taste of him, eager to please, or to appease the dragon within.

Playing along will be the safest gamble, he thought. He could not care much for the politics and the marriage arrangements his father works on, could not care where the woman would come from, if Maekar and Baelor sees it positively, and is certain that it could help to strengthen the House across the realm, then it must be a good bargain.

When he recovers from the ultimate shock and the morning contemplation of getting betrothed, he felt thirsty, the wave of pain now washes over his head—a clear sign of his consumption from the evening that passed, he calls to the maid and ordered to be served water, before he wills himself to the sink, submerging his face to the cold water, rendering himself fully awake.

He had taken some time to scan his clothes, then he thinks it wouldn’t really matter—what he is, and who he is will not make much of a difference. This Dornish girl and her family must have arranged the union based on his lineage, on the power that comes with their name. She should be appearing in her best graces, not the other way around, because why the fuck would he care about this?

To wed an actual prince would be one of the happiest moments in a girl’s life. They are kind, chivalrous, handsome, honorable and crafted beyond perfection. Songs would say they would be saving a princess in every distress, and there would be love at first glance, eventually sharing a sweet kiss, a promised sealed within, the promise of living the rest of their days in complete bliss—locked away in their own castle with nothing but devotion and adoration to keep them bound, for life.

When you heard that Prince Maekar has answered to your Father’s letter sent by a raven, commending the union to be generous and exceptional, before confirming the decision to wed you to his second-born son, a man named Aerion—you almost leapt out of joy.

He would be the perfect prince! Prince Baelor was King Daeron’s hand and Prince Maekar was as honorable, and you could only picture yourself living in the quarters with your husband-to-be, and he will fetch you sweet cake, and the most ravishing cups of wine and marbled meat. His high status would tell you that he truly is one of a kind. You wanted to rush to your chambers and immediately gather all of your things, stuff them into boxes and take the earliest route to King’s Landing.

You learned that Aerion was well-versed in weaponry and swordsmanship, as he was said to join the lists for tourneys, winning against well-known knights, regardless of their previous matches and victories—Aerion would still win. You could already recall and envision the tales about handsome princes dressed as the knight in shining armor—he could fight for you, protect you with all his might and he wouldn’t be able to breathe well if you’re within any sight of danger.

You would giggle, imagining a faceless man with a silver hair tucking away the strands of your hair onto the back of your ear. He would sing you songs, he would show you his sheer power in fighting, he could tell you his adventures and recollections of tourneys, and you would listen to him talk until the sun sets and darkness breaks among the skies.

He would show you around the castle, carry you in his arms when the path is too wet, bring you flowers freshly gathered from the garden. He would adore you, and he would defend you and you could kiss him; you would see him in every waking hour and you will still see him before you close your eyes to dream before bed.

The wedding will be grand. Nothing short of drab and rushed, it will be the wedding of the history. A prince of his standing would never do something ordinary or nowhere near plain, you can see yourself wearing the most beautiful dress, beaded with gold and gemstones and all of it would glimmer when it stands against the light.

You would practice your smile, in front of the mirror, practicing giggles and laughs when he talks and shares a good memory. You wanted to be good for him, and you wanted to be beyond adequate, you wanted to be everything he could ever want.

Your mother would remind you to be calm and kind, above all things, and not to make haste of the arrangement, for there will be more than enough time before the wedding itself—you should get to know him, what he likes, what he doesn’t, what makes him happy, what makes him angry, what makes him sad.

There was already a long list of questions you wanted to ask him, all created in the purpose of getting to know him more, whilst revealing some pieces of yourself to him. You wanted him to see every goodness within you, so you curated a list of events you can recall from your younger days, in hopes he’d have something similar, and the conversation would extend from there.

When you arrived at King’s Landing, you were immediately met by a dark-haired man, with a few streaks of white hair that sits just above his ear, and you spared a glance at the man next to him, a spitting image of the man with the beard, only younger and smaller in stature, yet with the same streaks of white-colored hair, swaying among the darker locks of brown.

As if on cue, the knights to your left spoke loudly, “You stand in the presence of Prince Baelor Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone, Hand of the King, Protector of the Realm and the Next in Line to the Iron Throne.” The man you had been eyeing offered a short nod. “His brother, Prince Maekar, Prince of Summerhall.” The older man with a stunning hair in all silver-white offered a grunt, his expression completely unreadable as he scans you from your head to your toe.

“Their sons: Prince Valarr Targaryen, and Prince Aerion Brightflame.” The knight continued, addressing the younger men now as they stood awkwardly, their gaze locked and pierced you.

The dark-haired one with kinder eyes threaded forward, “King’s Landing welcomes you,” he spoke, and you thought he held the gentlest voice and thoughtful words.

“Cousin.” Before you could greet Valarr back, another man had already approached, cutting the simple exchange short, “We have been waiting, princess.” Prince Aerion, you figured, with his striking gaze and generous smile. He had a deeper voice than Valarr, you noticed, and he had sounded more cheerful.

You smiled in response, offering the sweetest one that you had practiced in front of the mirror, “My prince,” you offered a curt bow, acknowledging the two of them who had welcomed your arrival in the warmest way.

His smile completely captivated you, he had an air of confidence in his strides yet he spoke kindly, and he never peeled his gaze away. You did great, it seems, the prince couldn’t move away from you, it was by then that you missed the worried glances between Baelor and Maekar.

Prince Baelor spoke, “Let’s leave the princess for now and allow her a personal time. Valarr, fetch the maids and the guards to tend to her things.” He sounded commanding, and you think he’s fitting to be the King’s hand, and one day he would rule all of the seven kingdoms.

“I shall take her to her room.” Aerion turned to face the older princes, who sits next to each other now, “The King’s Landing is a spectacle, I would not want her lost on her way.”

Maekar was quick to react, “Aerion, the guards can—”

“Let me, Father. She will be my wife soon, as you say. We must get more acquainted.” Aerion turned his back away from you as he answers to his father, and it was the only time you had to move your gaze away from his impressive eyes.

He had been wearing an attire fit for the royalty. The red coat further accentuates his paler complexion, and it blended well with the color of his hair. You had pictured him taller, yet the way he carried himself, with polite etiquette and mindful manners, you see him perfect, still.

Aerion turned to face you once more, “We must go, princess.” He uttered before leading the way, opening the door for you as he goes, revealing a hall that looked almost empty.

He had offered small talks, stories about King’s Landing, the preparations for the upcoming tourney, and how he would be joining. He mentioned having his own armor, and a personally crafted helm that fits him well, and how he holds it with pride and honor whenever he wears it in a joust.

You stared at the walls, some of the walls were sculpted deeper, most of which had holes and it allowed sunlight to crawl from outside, gently lighting the otherwise dim halls. There were metals on some of its foundation, meant to hold torches for nighttime and no other source of light would be accounted for. The castle was quiet, aside from the footsteps of both maids and guards, a penny would drop and everyone within the mile would be able to hear it.

The young prince stopped in front of the door, and he opened it, motioning for you to walk in first before him and you followed, walking over to the center of the chambers before you hear the door closing. The bed was large enough to warm at least two people, there were small tables, candle holders on the furniture next to the bed.

“The rest of your things shall be here before supper.” He spoke, and you feel him walking closer; you grew nervous and admittedly self-conscious. It was not entirely common for you to be inside a room, accompanied by a man—and this very same man will be your husband in the coming days.

You turned to face him, with the practiced smile and the sweetest voice you could ever make, “Thank you, Your Grace. I truly app—”

You were welcomed by a set of digits wrapped around your neck in a single breath, holding it tight. You struggled, eyes widening due to shock and the unexpected turn of events; he changed, everything about him simply did, or perhaps he had been playing pretend since then. The kind smile he had before you got into your room was long gone, switched by something sinister and dark, he kept an upward turn on his lips but it never really reaches his eyes. You choked, your own pair of hands surrounds him, wordlessly begging to him to let go.

“My betrothed,” he whispers, his hand remained firm and tight around your throat and he never loosened, not even when you were already fighting his hold with all of your might, “well, not quite there yet, I suppose.” You trashed before him, the air you inhale through your nose grows thinner in each passing moment, “soon enough, you and I will be wedded.”

You held onto his shoulder, digging your nails against his thick coat, wishing it could pierce through the material and sink into his skin in an instant, and he leans forward, taking a long sniff of your hair that dangled the closest on your face, “I won’t let my wife-to-be dishonoring me, not when you just set foot in here, hm?” he uttered, dangerously low while his words carried enough weight as each of them falls off from his mouth, “You had to look at Valarr first—do you want him, then? You want him more than me?” he places his cheek against yours, rubbing it gently, “Have you already decided to back away from our marriage, the moment you saw him?” he questioned, and you could only release harsh wheezes as he kept his hand locked on your neck, its grip unwavering and relentless.

When he sees the tears threatening to fall from the corner of your eyes, he finally lets go, his face now displays a plain worry and filled with so much care, like he had seen his most precious possession getting a small nip or scratch, “My beloved..” he was quick to envelope his arms around your weak form.

You ended up on the floor, collapsing, naturally, after breathing thin air and fighting off the strongest urge to fall limp and surrender to sleep; you were light-headed, and you held your head weakly. His arms were around your body but it was nowhere close the strong grip he had on your neck, and so you easily pushed him off, “What are you—”

He hushes you, calming you down as you still catch your breath, the tears already fell from your eyes as you looked at him with pure disdain, “It will be okay, my love. You will be good for me, I know you will be good for me.” Aerion places a palm on your head, caressing you as he comforts you still, but the single touch of his skin felt like it burns you.

You wanted to get away, you wanted to stray away to wherever it is that is the farthest from him. You can’t be with Aerion, this was no prince as he falsefully posed, he was a cruel.

“Leave me be!” you pushed him, garnering a small strength as you fight him off, he stumbled on the ground and lost balance on his footing, but Aerion only chuckled.

“I’m afraid I can’t, my love.” He whispered, “We will be wedded soon.” He takes his time in trying to approach you again, Aerion is at a great advantage as you still feel the color drained out of your body when he blocked your airway, “There will be no other way but to be together.” he continued, placing a chaste kiss on your forehead before standing on his feet.

“I shall see you in evening’s supper, princess.” Aerion casually mentions, his carefree mask once again sticks itself on his face, his dark expression was switched with that sweet smile you thought you liked about him, before he makes his way out of the door.

You felt caged. Alone and helpless.

It all happened too quickly, with a single turn, the honorable prince and formidable knight you’ve spent days thinking about was nowhere in sight. You felt foolish, for not catching it as immediately as you could. You recalled what happened when the Targaryens welcomed you, in search for a sign, for anything, that might have been so obvious if only you weren’t fantasizing about him. But it was clear, he was practiced, a performer of sorts, he couldn’t let himself go when he is among his father, nor when he’s in front of the Hand.

You didn’t know where else to go, who to speak with, you’ve grown feeling so isolated, despite being surrounded by their initial warmth. Everyone must have been the same. Each one of them must have been hiding a second skin, a well-crafted mask. You’re all alone and away from home, and your skin burned, where Aerion’s hand was previously on, you knew it would create a mark; he gripped on your neck like he had every intention to kill, to stop you from breathing.

There were footsteps from outside, pacing in the halls, and you rushed to the door to simply lock it, “Princess.. I have your belongings.” It was a maid, and there was a relief, but only for a brief moment, you thought Aerion would still be outside, waiting, seizing a chance where he could get ahold of you once more and you were terrified of him.

“Leave it by the door, please. I shall tend to it later.” You uttered, placing your mouth as close as you could towards the door, hoping the maids can hear you clearly, “Please let Prince Maekar and Prince Baelor know that I could not join on the evening’s supper.. I am not feeling quite well.” You faked a cough, and tried to sound sickly, “I only wish to have more rest, please send my apologies.”

“Of course, princess.” There were sounds of boxes being placed on the floor, and quickly followed by more footsteps walking away before disappearing completely.

You heaved a huge sigh of relief, you wanted to lock yourself in the room for as long as you can hold out; but you must think of your duties, of the name and honor you carry, you must think of the arrangement you accepted. You must not bring shame to your house and your family by refusing to see what’s beyond your chambers, perhaps there could be more ways where you could still enjoy your time and to gain Prince Maekar’s favor, but only if Aerion is nowhere to be found.

“What the fuck did you do?” Maekar slammed his fist against the oak table, rage already setting in and seething across his face while Aerion remains seated, cutting through the roasted duck with his knife.

He was in an exceptionally good mood, considerably, during supper; has not been misbehaving in all sorts and no concerning news ever made it to Maekar and Baelor’s ears—still the Dornish princess not being in attendance sent an undeniable irk to the older princes.

Aerion chewed slowly, meeting Maekar’s gaze with a casual shrug, “I merely showed her to her chambers, Father.” He answered, before turning back to his meal, the utensil scraping loudly against his plate while he stops himself from displaying any form of amusement.

The priceless look on your face when his hand latched on your neck lays vivid in his head, it was the pure look of horror and he had been coming up with more ways he could devise a plan in order to reform you. It was nothing personal, really, you walked into King’s Landing with such exquisite smile and good graces. You had the kind manners that his father had always wanted to impose on him, you spoke in polite words and you carry a light with you that could easily illuminate each room you get yourself into.

He felt himself annoyed at that.

Royalty breeds excellence, as they say. The castle has had enough people filling up to that spot, of people who’s highly regarded because of their leveled morals, sympathy and overall character. Aerion wanted to break you, make you obedient but only to his rules and his ways, he needs you pliant enough that he could easily command you whenever he pleases. King’s Landing did not need any more people who have been reduced to be an ordinary person just to cater the demands of the people—seemingly forgetting that they are dragons, that they are born from the fire and blood. While it is true that Baelor and Valarr are considerably good—

Ah, Valarr.

He remembers the way your eyes landed on Baelor first, of course, he is the Hand of the King and the heir to the Iron Throne. He must always be regarded first, but then you moved to Valarr. His cousin, said to be the gentlest one, cut from the same cloth where Baelor was made. He had been raised with such tenderness and care that people inevitably thinks his softness were his charms.

But did you had to look at him like that?

Your eyes were twinkling lightly, but surely you must have known that you have been delivered to the House Targaryen with the promise of a union in a form of marriage—surely, you must know what your arranged husband would look like. Did you think it was him? Did you think you are betrothed to this perfect picture of a prince charming when you faced Valarr?

He wanted to make an impression, greet you with the warmest welcome he could ever show, but reads shock from your face and then it was gone too quickly before it could ever fully manifest, changed by something he couldn’t distinguish. Was it disappointment? Were you expecting something else, something different? Did you not want him?

“The princess must have felt unwell from her travels, brother. Leave her be. Aerion was kind enough to show her the way to her room.” Aerion was pulled away from his train of thought when Baelor’s voice rung in the dining hall, looking across the table with a cup of wine on his hand, his face seemed to plead for more understanding from Maekar.

“I shall see her tonight, be more certain of her current condition and see to it that she gets the rest that she requires.” Aerion broke the silence that followed after Baelor, he brings his own cup to his mouth to cleanse his palate by swallowing a large swig of wine.

With one final look on each person among the dining table, Aerion brings himself up and traversed across the hall. His steps are careful and deliberate, while his mind burns with a newfound excitement. Aerion was already seeking with a plethora of excuses to see you once more when he parted with you earlier in the mid-afternoon, and it was both a blessing and a curse to have Maekar’s distrust served on the table.

His father was right to assume he had done something, but he’d rather spare him with the details.

Aerion knocked softly against your door, twice, before he pushed his body against the wood in hopes to prop it open. It was locked, but thankfully, he had learned a thing or two when it comes to barging into chambers unannounced, he had done it first with his brother, Aegon, and it ended swiftly with his knife aimed in between his legs and Aegon in tears and quiet sobs.

He successfully breaks in, with a calculated twist and turn of his knife on the gap he found at the door, then he seeks for you in an instant. Underneath the dimmed embers brought by a small candle that’s slowly withering, he finds your figure laying on the bed, fast asleep.

Considering the tribulations that you might have endured in order to come to King’s Landing, he wanted to grant you a little bit of his kindness by allowing you some sleep. He did approach your bed, however, to make sure for himself that you really were asleep and not cheating your way out of him by pretending to be deep in slumber.

But when he looked at your form, resting in complete tranquility, glancing at your chest to study your gentle and stable breaths, he was convinced. He instinctively reached his hand to caress your head, hoping it will lull you deeper into sleep. Aerion realizes he finds you pretty. Even prettier now that your guards are completely disarmed, no pretensions that concerns looking presentable and graceful. He likes you like this—raw, natural, you almost looked serene.

He lowered his gaze on your body, your garments must have slid lower, showing him more than necessary as the fabrics lay in disarray for when you were tossing yourself on the bed. Soft and smooth skin, and you looked so vulnerable and so careless in front of him. He bent his fingers, allowing it to touch your warm skin while his eyes could only watch for any shifts in your expressions.

The knife that he was holding onto had made its way into his belt, silently sheathing it before he moves to cup his own cock from his trousers. He had not expected this, he knew he prefers to ogle at you as you remain clueless but he did not anticipate the way his cock would twitch. Aerion pulled the blankets lower, eager to see more of what you had to offer. You jerked, and you crossed your eyebrows before pulling the blankets closer to your body.

He retreated his hand, but with that sudden movement, it only made the outline of your breast much more noticeable now. With a quick unbuckling of his belt, he easily willed his cock to spring free from his garments, locking his length within his fist.

It felt rough against his hand, or that he was holding it too firm. He brings his hand closer to his mouth and spat. He felt mad, thinking that you could wake up any minute now and it would be completely unprompted, and you’ll see him towering over your body while he fucks his own fist.

Then he felt shameless, and quite pathetic. He felt incredibly stupid with trying to pleasure himself when he could just take you, to disturb the slumber you have gotten yourself into. You will be wedded soon, and it should not be a problem to start with coupling now, rather than later, should it? Besides, he knows you would keep your mouth shut, you would let him do it and you will be obedient enough to do as he says. You will be good for him.

Aerion tried to steady his labored breathing, his wet spit smothered on his cock while the leaking tip glistened against the small amount of light source, he grunted, as quiet as he could do, but it eventually got to a point when he had nothing else to think about but to cum. He needs it, he needs to chase whatever high he was trying to get himself into now that he has started it.

His rough hand made its way on your leg, gripping firmly, uncaring of what you would feel when you see him in front, positioned just like this—and it jolted you awake, Aerion pumps his cock even faster now when he sees you were awake.

There were no other pleasantries, no other snide remarks he could come up with, and he garnered no reaction at all when your face twisted in a fright, “Aerion,” you stammered and your gaze flew immediately at his nudity.

He felt his head falling backwards on a whim, the sound of your voice was more than sufficient to push him closer towards the edge and Aerion directed his length closer to your face, “This will be easier if you would help, princess.” Even speaking felt too harsh and required a handful amount of effort from him as he breathes out.

Aerion never gave you the time to process the matters currently unfolding in front of you, since he started to unsheathe his own dagger only to point right at your pulse that lays under the skin of your neck, “Hold it, princess. You must serve your husband, after all. Make me feel good, hm?” he finds it adorable that you immediately retracted away from his knife, and even more captivating when he sees just how fast tears could form in your eyes.

Your careful hands hesitantly reached for his cock, mirroring just the way he was holding it moments ago, gripping on it softly as you start your pace. Aerion smirks, pleased with the display of obedience from you once more, “Do it fast, princess. You will be nice and make me cum, you hear me?” his tone remained calm and controlled, and you would immediately comply, not because you wanted to, but because the sharper end of his dragger was drilling deeper into your skin, and with just one movement, he would easily cut a wound open.

Aerion throws his dagger somewhere on your bed and resorted to holding onto your shoulder, holding on for dear life as he grunts unabashedly, he couldn’t care about what he looks like right now, nor what he sounds like as he could only think about your hand wrapped around him, with your movement gradually increasing in pace. He could tell you were nothing like the whores who usually kept matters involving his cock occupied, your hands are clearly shaky and the look on your face tells him that you could either be disgusted, ashamed and utterly confused.

“Fuck, hm,” he was bucking his hips lightly, leaning more towards your hand as he closes his eyes, he could feel it in his tongue—he was so, so close, until he hears you sobbing, Aerion spared you a glance and he could see tears falling from your eyes.

He did not feel any remorse, rather, he felt it was the ultimate push he could ever need as his cock starts spilling outward. Strings of white fluid shoots out from the tip and landing graciously on your chest, some of it were caught on your chin and Aerion chuckled, gods, if he could only have you painted with his cum dripping from your chin, he would do anything to preserve this memory.

The after-effect was as immediate as he imagined it would be, you moved away from him, willed yourself to sit on the other end of the bed—the farthest away from him. He sees you helpless, and he almost felt bad, almost, but he still burns from the high he just chased and there was no other feeling he could think about other than bliss.

Aerion quickly fixed himself, tucking his length within his breeches and tidying himself by wiping the beads of sweat that had been forming on his scalp, dripping towards either temples. He cleared his throat, a straight smile formed on hips before he licks the side of his mouth. You looked so terrified of him, and he never wanted that, but you’ll get used to it—he knows you’ll grow fond of him soon.

You were so far from his reach, and it was almost adorable how much you wanted to make yourself look smaller, bending your knees against your chest as you shiver with every move he makes. Aerion clears his throat, thinking of some time you can spend in solitude by leaving, or to savor the time he had you all to himself.

“You shall be at peace now,” He begins, eyeing your form more meticulously now that he had come down from his climax, his body and temperament returning to its base levels. “as I would never hurt you, my princess. You and I shall be one soon, and I cannot have my wife,” he gestured at you with his hand, “behaving as this.”

Aerion drags his leg over the bed, crawling closer to you as the sheets wrinkle more under his added weight, “Have I made myself plain?” he finally finishes his words with a simple question, and a grip on one of your knees.

There was no room for protests, not that he would even consider whatever it is you have to say, he expects you to be as you are now, quiet, submissive and dutiful. He sees you giving a quick glance at his dagger placed on the bed, exactly where he threw it, and there was a flash of horror setting in your pair of eyes. He clicks his tongue before retrieving his weapon, “Worry not, I have no need for this any further,” Aerion mutters, kneeling on top of the mattress now as he pushes the dagger into his pocket, “not tonight, to say the least.”

He stared at your face, then willing his hand towards you, gathering a small amount of cum on his thumb before he shoves it inside your mouth, “You shall know what I have to do if you breathe a word of this to another person,” Aerion heard you gagged lightly as you take his thumb further into your mouth, “I’ll have your fucking tongue for that, hm?”

The warmth of the sun greeted as you step out of the castle for a change of scenery. Horses neighed right outside the castle gates while the squires brushed on their hair and filling up their rations of food; the sweet scent of sun-baked hay and straw hung in the air, along with the earthy notes of the wet soil.

It was different, but preferable, on this moment alone, compared to the thick and suffocating air that seemed to choke you the more you stay within your chambers. You couldn’t hide in so long, cannot keep yourself locked up inside the walls and resting for what felt like eternity buried within your sheets.

Aerion did not come to visit, after what he had done two nights ago, stroking his cock right in front of your face and feeding his load when he finished. You couldn’t sleep well enough after those nights, terrified to have yet another visit from the young prince, and even more fearful of what else he could do while he resides within your room.

You had taken a hot bath when he departed, requested help from the maids to bring you water and to keep it at a highest temperature as you see fit. You wanted to erase his touch, you wanted to scrub your skin as hard as you could, especially on the parts he had touch—you felt disgusted. There was a certain point that you wanted to burn the insides of your mouth with the hot water, to get rid of his taste, but it will forever linger in your mind, and you cannot do much else with that.

A strong pair of arms grabbed your lithe body, and you have come to the realization that you have been walking mindlessly across the lot. The merchants and the ladies standing right outside their vibrant pavilions stared at you, with wonder and curiosity. You turned your head to see who was holding you, and it was Valarr—worry and concern splitting on his face.

“I dare not to conclude your capacities,” he uttered, and you felt painfully conscious of the close proximity, so you moved away and cleared your throat, “but you were about to block the horse’s path and it can seriously grant you immense pain and injuries. Are you feeling well?”

You were caught off guard, unaware that you have been diving deeply into your sentiments that you completely forgot to put any regards with your surroundings, “I am well. Thank you.” You stammered, giving him a polite smile as you answered, still mindful of putting a certain distance between the two of you.

“You were hauled up in your chambers a while, princess. Have you not taken a liking on King’s Landing?” Valarr sparks a conversation, the handiwork of his armor shines under the sun, its ridges were much more pronounced now that you see it at a closer glance, the three-headed dragon bled with a faint red carved into the metal.

A wave of panicked crossed your emotions, you worry he would mention such a thing to Prince Baelor. “King’s Landing has been lovely, my prince.” you smiled bright, because it was, though it was very different from the beauty of Dorne, it certainly has its charm, “I meant no offense with my absences, and I was merely pondering certain matters in private.”

“Ah..” he nods, squinting as he looks around, and you had a proper look of the white streaks of hair within the mid-section of his head, you had the very urge to hold it, to touch it with your fingertips, “Is it my cousin, Aerion? I had known that Uncle Maekar accepted the generous proposal of union.”

There was a pause as you come up with answer, torn between admitting your discomfort, or to start a lie that it has been the best thing—one thing is certain, you will never mentioned what Aerion did, “A bit.. simply because I could not read him.” It was a vague response, you thought, but hoping it would suffice.

He nods, locking his gaze on you, “Hm, Aerion can indeed be.. difficult.” He starts, a small smile crafted on his lips as he answered, “I suppose no one can fully comprehend the kind of thoughts that gets into his head. Both our fathers tried, then his brothers too—we all failed.” Valarr releases a dry laugh at that.

“I thought he would be kinder.” Your mouth was faster than your head, “What I meant was—”

“Fear not, I understand, and what you share now shall remain between us alone.” He motioned the path with his hand, offering a brisk walk as he encouraged you to talk some more.

Naturally, there is a hesitation. A growing distrust has flowered from within since the horror you’ve seen from Aerion, yet a small voice in your head also thinks it would not be fair to paint them all in the same hue; Maekar treats you in a civilized manner, though he is very curt when providing answers, he does not do anything else that would push you further, as well as Baelor, both of the older princes were nothing but kind.

Valarr exhales a gentle air, he speaks with utter politeness, and his eyes remained genuine ever since, not like Aerion’s unreadable pair, “I dreamed to be bonded by love through marriage, I yearned for a caring husband who would be both gentle and charming towards me. Aerion is, however,”

“Does not have much to offer?” he speaks, the pacing of your steps remained as leisurely as it could be, several patrons bowed to acknowledge Valarr when they come across him in his path, and he would always offer a short nod in return.

You were silent, refusing to look at anything else but your pair of feet threading on moist soil, you worry of the dirt that could get on your skin, and you also think of how vulnerable you felt upon speaking with the prince. It wasn’t that Aerion does not have much to offer, he acknowledges you and your mere existence, it was that his offers were completely different from what you asked for.

“I shall hope he could be more at ease, though my words would not carry much weight.” Valarr answered, stopping in front of a certain tent, “Here. Go inside, get your mind off of things for a little while.” He offered, and you were welcomed by a crowd of people enjoying themselves among the noise, several hands were carrying cups of wine.

You almost laughed at Valarr’s attempt at comfort, finding it both amusing and endearing. Although you don’t necessarily choose to drown in wine, you suppose it was a time to try it out.

Little did you know, Aerion watched as you and Valarr walked alongside each other. He was straddling his horse; his Draconic helm might have hidden the brewing rage but his eyes remains fixed on your smile as he looked through his visor.

“Get a good night sleep, princess.” Aerion had heard from outside before the door opened, the voice was undeniably Valarr’s, the smooth and gentle cadence of his voice were the most distinguishable—far from the commanding tones from both of their fathers.

He gets to his feet and paced towards the door to meet his cousin and of course, you, the only person he looks forward seeing. “Why must the night end so abruptly at that?” Aerion had opened the door, and your flustered face came into view, eyes slightly widened when Aerion swung the door open. Valarr’s cheeks were somewhat reddish too, but he appears to be much more composed than you are.

“Cousin.” The brown-haired prince uttered, somewhere between a greeting and an announcement. Aerion mouth stretch into a straight smile before nodding, taking a step backwards to allow them some room before they step in, “Why are you in her room?”

Aerion didn’t like the hint of accusation dripping from Valarr’s words, he had not been doing anything wrong as of late, not yet, that is—but him being inside your room should not be within any of his concern, you are to be Aerion’s wife, after all. “Inside my wife’s chambers, you ask?”

“There has not been any wedding yet, nor a plan for when it shall take place.” Valarr pushes himself forward, shielding you away from Aerion as he keeps you supported behind him, “Leave at once, Aerion. She should be in bed.” The swirling on Valarr’s head brought upon by multiple rounds of wine disappeared quickly, much to his delight, he could not just sit simply and let Aerion have his way.

“I am aware,” Aerion then reached for Valarr’s arm and dragged him towards the center of the room, “but the marriage shall happen anytime soon—I know it.” He proceeded to grab you by the arm, dragging you to the bed before roughly pushing you towards the mattress.

Aerion did consider that Valarr would eventually tell both Maekar and Baelor of how he treats the Dornish princess who was entrusted with House Targaryen to take on the role of a wife, but he had found a way to keep Valarr’s mouth shut, and to keep him from running his mouth. He thought his plan would work, that Valarr would eventually agree—he would like this, who would not?

It was not that he had been developing certain fantasies over the years, he had not enough room and time in the past years. Aerion mostly think of dragons even before, and even more so recently as he grows stronger—he was convinced he was a dragon. But when you arrived, that was when the thoughts have taken a complete and absolute turn. Whether it was for the good or for the worst—he was not sure yet.

Aerion then locked the door, itching to finally have the room for their privacy and without any knights or maids pacing outside on the halls.

“Of course, I only care about the princess’ safety—that is why you and I are here, Valarr.” Aerion continued, standing next to his cousin as they both stare at you. The silver-haired Targaryen proceeded to loosen his clothing, unclasping the first few locks of his attire as he heaves an exhale.

There was warmth settling into Valarr’s bones, deliberate and too great for him to ignore. He had not missed the implication on Aerion’s words, he knew it meant something else, something entirely different and something he figured he feels excited for. He swallowed, hoping the lump on his throat could disappear and take his urges away.

He should not be here, Valarr would think; he should not be engaging with this absurdity, and he should not be partaking in an activity with Aerion—among all people. But there was something helpless from your eyes, and you badly wanted to be saved, and it was more than enough reason for Valarr to stay. He could not leave you with Aerion alone, he will be here and he will make it certain that you will be well and taken care of.

To say you are feeling terrified is underplaying it, there were already a certain level of fear and hopelessness when the doors of your chambers opened and revealed Aerion waiting for you from inside. Valarr was quick to put you first, to protect you from his cousin and your husband-to-be, even though you did not ask for it, he already granted you the protection you certainly need.

Every movement was unfolding right before you, but it was all too sudden, all too fast, and you were taking it all in with hazy lenses. You could only blame the vibrant pavilion for that, and the laughing of the people, and the good evening they turned your night into, and of course, the cups of wines they graciously served, the cup you had all throughout the festivities never ran out empty, not even once.

They were speaking, as you heard; every word they exchanged and mention to one another was not meant for your ears it seemed, for all you heard were sounds, nothing coherent, until you decide they were speaking in High Valyrian. When your body made contact with the soft linens of your bed, exhaust inevitably enveloped you from within, and you do whatever it takes to keep your pair of eyes open.

Both Aerion  and Valarr are standing together now, side by side, and you can make a few movements from Aerion while Valarr remained eerily still. You made sure to look at him, wanting to make sure your certain message would make its way to him. Please, please, please, leave me be, make him go away.

“Do you even know how to do it, cousin?” Aerion’s voice echoed through the room, a faint smile glimmered on his mouth though you couldn’t see his face with the clearest view, couldn’t see the amusement that lingered across his face as he taps Valarr’s shoulder, “You ought to take these off now. You don’t want them hindering your every move.” He followed with a suggestion, walking towards the bed and allowing himself to be comfortable on the edge.

Valarr releases a shaky breath, every fiber in his body begged him to stop, to turn the other way, to will his feet to start running out the door, yet his mind seemed to stop, envisioning the look he witnessed on your face—he felt that you wanted him to be here, that you wanted his help, that you wanted him to make this easy. He followed, releasing his armors and placing It carefully on the floor until he was stripped into more comfortable fabrics.

“Go on, now. We could not let the princess wait.” Aerion watched you carefully, as you push yourself against the wooden headboard as if the material could swallow you whole and make you disappear, but no, you had no other place go get to, no other place you could be. You will only be here, with the two of them.

You closed your eyes, attempted to shake the dizziness away so you could hear what words were being passed over to one another, “Aerion,” you crawled towards your betrothed, “What the fuck is going on?” you uttered, and Aerion’s shock was almost physical upon hearing a curse word flowing out of your mouth.

“Shh,” he held your chin, “Valarr and I will take care of you, my love,” and he could not help himself but to lean in and close the distance between your faces, crashing his lips against you but only for a brief moment. He couldn’t let himself go just yet.

You flustered upon feeling Aerion’s soft lips on yours, blushing at the fact that it was the first time he ever got gentle, you wanted more, wanted to feel him against you, with all of his warmth. But Valarr came into view, standing at the edge of your bed and Aerion pushed you down against the mattress.

“My love,” Aerion spoke in a low tone, his lips were dangerously close to your ear and you couldn’t stop yourself to lean in closer to him, but he stops you almost immediately, and you jolted when he pulls your hair to keep your head from moving, placing you where he wants you to be, “Let Valarr move for you, hm? Let him touch you.” he asked, his serene voice in complete contrast with the harsh tug from your scalp.

When he asked, that was only when you could see Valarr slowly sinking into his knees right in front of your parted legs—you didn’t even know how you came to be positioned like this, laid on the bed and undeniably ready to take what is about to come towards your way.

Though hesitating initially, Valarr had seen the way you respond to Aerion’s touches. The way you exclaimed and whimpered when his hand sits on the back of your head to pull on your hair; he was bewildered and determined at the same time, how could you be so sensual and so, so alluring even with Aerion’s gruff advances? He couldn’t fully accept it, or that he refuses to contemplate further. You should be treated with softness, and so he strokes on your leg languidly.

Valarr’s calloused palm brushes against your thigh, it was electric, you felt your breath getting more ragged as their touches slowly grounds you—Aerion’s hand pulling on your hair and Valarr’s careful hands. You wanted to rub your thighs together, to relieve yourself a little by creating friction, but Valarr’s hold remained firm.

Aerion chuckled, it was almost laughable at how quickly your mood switched; you were scared not too long ago, frightened and clueless as two men preys on you, and seeing you now, with your legs spread apart and your chest moving at a faster speed to follow your breathing. He cups one of your breasts, kneading it lightly while Valar lifts the hem of your dress.

You were sure you have felt warm and sticky in between your legs, and then you felt embarrassed, having a prince leaning closer into your cunt was not something you could ever imagine, nor account for. Almost out of instinct, you pulled your legs together, abruptly stopping Valarr from getting closer.

“Let me, princess.” He spoke in a low tone, voice coming out breathy as air hits your skin right where you’re nearest from him. There was something in his eyes, the look of genuine sincerity and something else entirely, you thought it might be lust—you thought that whatever it is you are feeling from within must not be so different from what he feels.

Perhaps you and him are in the same page, you worry that he might only be doing this out of fear, from his cousin and the dagger sheathed into a small pocket on his belt—but his eyes says otherwise, he wanted to do this, it seemed, wanted to taste you raw and have your dripping filth to wash over his tongue.

Aerion shifts from beside your head, casting most of his weight to prop himself on his knees on top of the bed, “My dear cousin, always so, so kind and honorable.” Aerion snaps as he starts to pull the strings from his clothes and pull his breeches downward, his cock immediately sprang free from its constraints, rigid, pink, and clearly leaking.

Valarr could only ignore him, he knew his cousin would always run his mouth and speak of whatever matter it is that comes into his mind, he is a proud man, after all; but partly because he knew he had more pressing matters to tend to, how could he even bite back at the loose words rolling off from Aerion’s mouth when your cunt sits a breath away from his mouth patiently waiting?

“Respect, courtesy, you have always carried those with you.” Aerion starts once again, spitting on his hand before he wraps it on his cock, stroking gently. Valarr shook his head and proceeded with his ministrations, planting his palms on your thighs as he parts you wider.

You gasped when his tongue slides on your cunt, struggling to keep your eyes open as your head swirls—from the wine and of course, from these Targaryens. Once Valarr had his first taste, he was immediately insatiable next; pressing his face much deeper into your cunt while his tongue buries itself further into your folds.

“You see, this one,” Aerion pulls his hand away from his cock and into your lips, moving past your swollen pair until his fingertips could most reach the back of your throat. You choked out, the immediate urge to cough follows closely; “this little princess is far from deserving any of that.” he continued, his eyes were fixed on you and you only, darkened by his own arousal and needs, his gaze was laced with intent and focused on your pair, yet his words remained addressed to Valarr, “She is not so different from a common whore now, is she?”

There was a hint of scrutiny now as he allows himself to look at your entirety, with some of your locks tangled and overall messy, the small beads of perspiration forming from your hairline, some of it trickling on your skin and downward, and how the corner of your lips curved in satisfaction then opening for a good width while your face twist in response to Valarr.

“Do not say such things to her.” Valarr quipped, wiping his chin with the back of his hand when he comes up for a breath of air, “She’s delicate and she is to be your wife—she is unlike any wench, nor unlike any other woman.” He spoke rather quickly, ignoring Aerion’s smirk amidst his explanations.

“Hmm,” Aerion dismissed in return, turning his attention back towards you, the saliva that coats his fingers now lathers the length of his cock, giving it a few pumps. He felt warmer now, burning up both with desire and an inexplicable emotion he could not quite name yet, or he simply refuses to acknowledge it plainly, “I was not aware you see my lover as such.”

Your heart twitched at that, you have been called princess, even referred to as his wife though it won’t be happening any time soon—but to be called his lover, though the words don’t hold much meaning once you take how he treats you into consideration, still, it caused your breath to hitch.

“My point is, you do not know her at all, as it seems.” Aerion continued, displaying the kindest smile he had often used during his younger days, “She does not want that—that softness you speak of. I imagine she has become bored of it by now, to be treated with certain care, hmm, allow me to show you then, cousin.” His hand then flew too quickly and a loud slap was placed across your cheek. You whimpered, caught off guard while the sharp pain dulls slowly on your face.

You wanted to deny it, wanted to talk his ears off of just how wrong he was, but you found yourself wanting more, and Aerion must have recognized the plead that has manifested from within your eyes because he did it again, the loud snap of his palm once again getting in contact with your face was audible enough in the room. Valarr wanted to intervene, to stop his cousin from treating you rashly, but he sees your mouth moved, your lower lip caught in between your teeth and he wished he was wrong, he wished his mind was playing tricks. The girl who was mindlessly walking outside the gates with a longing gaze set towards something he’s not aware of was way too far from the girl he is seeing now.

He wished he imagined it, but you wriggled your hips and he feel your hand reaching to his head to push him back into your cunt; you wanted him to continue, you were simply laying on top of the sheets but Aerion’s words seemed to unlock something inside of you.

Aerion laughed at that, “You fucking whore,” he whispers, teasing your mouth with the tip of his cock and you were so ready to wrap your lips around it, even if you are not fully knowledgeable on how to do it exactly, “you wanted this, don’t you? Your pretty mouth so full of my cock, hmm? Did you imagine this, or prayed to gods your husband will fill you up nicely?”

You moved your head towards his cock and sucked on the tip, Aerion hissed at the contact, the sudden warmth that greets him when he enters your mouth was familiar; he didn’t think it’d be this easy to crack you, to make you surrender to your selfish desires, to forget about modesty and prudence.

The translucent fluid tasted salty in your mouth, but it was something you could handle, you held on his hips and pushed him more against you. The short sounds and profanities that comes from Aerion only urged you to continue, you wanted to be good enough for him, to make him feel as blissful as you are; yet in another note, you want him nearer his own edge, you wanted to see his face contorting due to the pressure and climax, you wanted to see him drained out of his wits and speechless, for once.

A sudden shift from Valarr knocked you out of your reverie, you felt his fingers on your cunt, spreading your folds apart just so he could reach into you on a newer and deeper sense, you collapsed on the bed, restless and painfully aware of the growing feeling of the knot slowly forming in your abdomen. Valarr was quiet, except for the times he would inhale a breath to supply his lungs before lapping once again.

You gripped the sheets as tight as you can, while your other hand wandered on top of Valarr’s head, clawing on his brown hair while you steady your own breath, there was a moment when you felt you almost crush his head when your legs threatened to close, but Aerion, thank gods, was quick to pull you back into the present.

“Did I give you permission to stop?”

His cock twitched on your hand and you were reminded of how badly you wanted to see Aerion falling apart, “Gods.. wait, please,” you wanted to pause, to not do anything else as you let Valarr’s tongue work inside of you; you squeezed your eyes shut and you attempted to slide your hand leisurely on Aerion’s cock but you feared you were wringing him too roughly.

You were anchored by the tight grip of Valarr’s hands on your thighs, the bed of his nails were pale white as he switch from using his tongue to sucking the small bud that’s most sensitive on your cunt, and you wanted to explode, you wanted to let go of the control and you wanted the knots to snap and to be finally freed from the heaviness that sits on your stomach.

A loud moan threatened to push past your lips but it was immediately tended by Aerion, he crouches forward and his body almost fell over to yours, but he supported his weight by placing his palm against the mattress, balancing himself. He then reaches for his cock and shoved it down on your mouth.

It was a moment of desperation, the second your wet mouth completely engulfed his cock was one of the rare times in which he ever forgot to breathe. Your tongue was unfamiliar, he figured, vividly feeling it swirling around its girth and your teeth scratched lightly on his skin, he ought to teach you on how to be better, he thought, but now is not the time for lessons, now is the time where he should make use of your heated mouth.

Aerion jerks his hips when he feels well enough to fit right inside your mouth, there was minimal resistance and the discomfort brought upon the by your teeth only felt odd but never painful. He started thrusting, finding his pace without losing his balance as it only hangs and depends on his hand and posture. He could hear you gagging, then he feels you tapping on his side, clearly running out of air as he buries his cock.

Valarr looks up from your cunt, landing at the exact moment Aerion pulls away for a fraction to allow some air to sneak inside your lungs, it was never enough, he only stopped for a blink before slamming himself against you. He was worried you would pass out, you were not in the best of condition before this whole ordeal even started; but he saw the hunger in your manner of taking Aerion’s cock. He saw the way you bobbed your head to it, determined enough to take him whole.

His mouth already craves the way you taste, but he wanted to try some things on his own; to make you feel good, despite being exploited for selfish and monstrous desires, he wanted you to feel some enjoyment of sorts, though he thinks you already see this as something pleasant. Valarr inserts a finger slowly and you whimpered, your body shoots up to check on Valarr, and finally, you paid him some attention.

He was quick to latch his tongue against the nub he had found earlier, his single digit could only make it halfway, in fear of causing you more pain, but it would do, for now. You wrapped around it perfectly, your narrow walls were not stretched enough and he thinks it would be the right time to prepare you, for what’s about to come later.

Aerion gets up on his knees once more, only thinking of his own release this time as he pulls your hair to create a better angle where he could ram his cock more flawlessly. He thinks you’re pretty this way, taking whatever it is that he’s giving and blatantly dismissing what you might need. You shall not need any other matter, he is here, he thinks, there’s no other thing that could ever satisfy you aside from him.

He sinks your head lower towards his cock, until your lips touches base of his length and he holds you there, the fabric of his breeches were wet with sweat, saliva, and some of your tears that had fallen since earlier that he never cared about. He worries, for a split second, that this would be too much, that you are in some kind of immense pain but you take his cock so well, you whimper and you choke on your own spit, you push him off but you immediately get back to it like a fond memory. You wanted this, you wanted him, and you wanted the feeling he flickered from you.

Somewhere between feeling a short pain from your cunt and the hurt you have inside your head from all the wobbling and maneuvering, your hips suddenly jolted upwards—a shot of something you could only describe as exhilarating flowed to all ends of your body. Time seemed to stop, including everything else around you. Your legs shivered as your whole body collapsed, and Valarr was still attached to your cunt, rendering you even more sensitive as he sucks all of your release, his mouth was the only thing you could recognize as the sound echoed around.

Valarr felt a pulsating sensation from within, though he could only feel it faint against his finger, he knew he had brought you to the climax, and he commends himself for holding on despite the aching pain he needs to take care of. He knew he must have soiled his garments, he knew there would be no point in denying that he wishes he could bury his own cock on your cunt instead of just his fingers.

Aerion quickly followed right after, shooting streaks of his release towards the velvety walls your mouth had offered. You were still recovering when he moans loudly, slowing his pace as he spurts out his own cum, some of it drips on your chin and he felt joyous on the simple sight of you, so full of him.

The two men halted for a moment, gathering a more stable pattern of breathing before Aerion moves again, drifting away from the bed as the weight on the mattress decrease; you had your eyes closed, understandably tired from all of the sensations you had felt—of Aerion toying with your mouth with his cock, and Valarr’s skillful tongue driving you towards your end.

You swing your eyelids open when you feel a sudden pull on both legs, bringing you closer to the edge of the bed and in front of you was Aerion, his cock positioned to your cunt.

“You should have your cock inside her mouth; she’s not practiced enough but she’ll do.” He speaks towards Valarr, who now sits beside you by the bed, unaware of where he should be, nor what he should do.

“I think the princess should rest now, Aerion.” Valarr protests, even with his hard cock inside his garments screamed at him to be freed, he could clearly see how sleep is slowly coming at you.

Aerion spreads your legs open once more, pleased with how wet you are from Valarr’s doing, “She sleeps when I say so. Now go, or ask her to do it—whatever the fuck gets you off.”

You snaked a hand against Valarr’s arm, caressing it gently, too ashamed to say something except to plead with your eyes. He turns his body towards you, “Are you well enough for another?” he asks, letting your hand drop to his groin to feel his arousal. If you are not sure enough to do this again, he swore he would fight Aerion and drag him towards the door to give you peace.

“Please,” you muttered, feeling an ounce of impatience and frustration mixed together as he kept waiting, “Use me.” You managed to insert a hand under the wool, eager to feel his bare cock on your hand.

"Cause I'd love nothing more than sleep paralysis nó tromluí-"

Mo Chara dropped the pen from his hand and rubbed his bleary eyes. "Ah Christ," he muttered, followed by a huff. Daring to look at his phone, he groaned at the time: 2:02 AM. Another night gone sleepless.

You and Naoise were already deep asleep, long given up on getting him to come to bed hours ago. Liam couldn't help it, he was filled to the brim with insomnia and restlessness. Everything was stressing him out, from the impending court ruling over false terror charges, the album deadline, and countless other world-ruining shit.

Writing in his journal was the only thing he could focus on. Unfortunately, the creativity had run it's course and he was back to being stumped.

Melatonin, CBD, and the overconsumption of beer did the trick only for so long. He'd stare at the non-existent patterns on the ceiling until they were imperceptible in the dark and gave him a headache.

Spinning in his chair, Liam mindlessly tossed a bootleg Needoh a fan gave him in the air. That would exhuast him, right?

"Leem?"

The squishy toy fell out of his hand when the door creaked open. You stood in the entrance, hair all messy and dressed in a Bohs shirt that belonged to either him or Móglaí, or mayhaps both at this point.

"Hey," He softly greeted. "Everythin' alright, mo ghrá?"

"I'm fine, just had to use the bathroom," You yawned. "Can't sleep again?"

"I'll get there, I promise. G'on back to bed."

Instead of listening, you walked over and wrapped your arms around him, placing a kiss on the top of his head. Mo Chara melted into your touch like a puddle and interlocked his hands with yours. He felt so at peace in your presence.

"Just let your mind shut off." You told him.

"Tryin'," He groaned, rubbing the bags under his eyes. "Got too much goin' on up here."

"Then let me help."

His stunning blue eyes gleamed in the low light coming from the desk lamp. "I'm afraid it might take a wee bit more than one time to tire me out, mo is áille." 

You lightly smacked him. "Not what I meant, get your mind out of the gutter!"

"Ow, ow!" He played dramatically wounded, breaking into fits of giggles. "Sorry."

"Good. Now for a start," You shut his journal and pushed it away. "How about you actually get ready for bed? Neesh is already asleep without you."

You took hold of his arm and pulled him up as he groaned. Liam stretched his arms above his head until his joints cracked with a satisfying pop, followed by a relieved sigh. He followed you to the kitchen where you heated a kettle of water for a steamy cup of chamomile tea.

The two of you shared a few sips until it was all gone. He began to feel tired, dragging behind you with his hand in yours as you made your way to the bedroom. It was quiet, only the late night ambiance was to be heard from outside, away from you all.

Fairy lights hung above the bedframe and walls where you pinned polaroids of your most precious moments with them; Shows, vacations, dates, holidays—All filled with smiles, memories and good feelings. The diffuser softly bubbled, plumes of mist permeated the air with the faint, soothing scent of lavender.

Naoise was deep asleep on his side, eye mask over his head and cuddling the stuffed toy Liam won for you from a claw machine. He quietly snored, possibly having the most blissful dream about sniffing ketamine and getting his dick sucked by you or Liam.

Mo Chara peeled off his clothes down to his boxers and climbed over his friend's body to his usual side of the bed, leaving the middle spot exclusively for you. A devious grin curled on his mouth as he bent his knee to kick him off the edge.

You grabbed him by the ankle before he could enact his evil little plan. "Don't you wake him!" You hissed.

There was no way you could hate him, even when he rolled his eyes. What a little brat. Móglaí barely stirred, muttering something about paving slabs and tutti fruttis in the arctic. "Cunt." Mo Chara playfully thought to himself.

You fluffed up his pillows and pulled back the sheets for him to settle into. It was so endearing, the way you tucked him in and made sure he felt comfortable—That he felt safe.

Mo Chara stifled a yawn right as his eyelids fluttered. Before he allowed exhuastion to shut him down, he held your wrist. "Wait-"

"What is it?" You gently asked.

"Come 'ere."

You climbed in beside him, your bodies pressed against each other, electric currents passed through your skin. He wrapped his arms around you and planted tender little kisses over your face, down your neck and across your collarbones. He breathed in a sigh of content and took a long, fawning gaze at you, then kissed you.

"Love you." He whispered over your lips.

"I love you, too" You whispered back.

"Love you much much more."

Even in the dark, your exhuasted face lit up with joy. You turned on your side, wrapping an arm over Naoise's torso and held him, cheek comfortably pressed against his shoulder. In his slumber, he instinctively placed his hand on yours to keep you close.

Liam stayed pressed against your back, cradling you in his arms as he relaxed and started to drift to sleep. His gentle breathing tickled your nape, reminding you of his lovely presence. At long last, he fell asleep, leaving whatever little anxieties remained in his mind to fade into obscurity.

Eventually, you joined your boys in peaceful slumber, feeling equally safe and loved throughout the night until the morning sun touched the horizon.

The children were tense, and moving around was quiet for a long time. They followed Esme like ghosts, peeling away the Shelby name to the gypsy children beneath.

They got a dog and found a band of gypsies to wander with. They never stayed in one area for too long. The longest was the next spring, when they stayed in a valley for a few weeks.

Then came the first letter.

Polly Gray had lost her children to the system before, and had made a vow to herself that no Shelby would ever be lost again.

At first she sent letters to the towns she knew the Lees would be by, hoping Esme returned to family. When she heard nothing back, she began to pad the pocket of any man that was sent traveling, told to look for a hardened dark haired Lee girl with a gaggle of children.

Months went by before she began to get whispers back of such a family, but they never settled long enough to pin them down.

Esme finally received one. She opened it, letting out a laugh when she read "Tommy doesn't know I'm writing you, I beg..."

Weeks later, a man pressed a folded piece of paper into Polly's hand. She opened it, her lips pressed thin as she read the two sentences scrawled inside.

Yes, he does. Money for updates.

Polly might not have told Tommy, but he knew she would keep the children tethered to the Shelby name. He pretended to look the other way when he noticed small bills being taken from general funds and his informants leaving with pockets of scrap paper.

Tommy didn't want to lose John's legacy, but he had no qualms about keeping them at distance from the business that took away their father. Air between him and the next generation of Shelby might be the only thing that kept the name going.

Ada took interest in Polly's letters when she caught her reading one, her hand covering a sad smile.

Polly held the letter to her chest as she smiled at Ada.

"John's youngest began walking last month," she said quietly. "Loves to nap next to the family dog in the sun."

Arthur stayed out of it. Tom didn't speak about it, so he thought Tom paid Esme to go off and raise them away from the city. He watched his own child and wondered what it would have been like for him to be raised around his cousins.

Finn went deeper into Peaky business, determined to take John's place if he couldn't make a space in the family for himself. Deeper into the business and deeper into the chemicals he needed to keep his conscious quiet from the violence he partook in.

Naoise groaned shifting onto his side so he could look at you, his eyes soft with sleep.

"He'll be watching telly," he replied, bringing your hand up and kissing your knuckles.

"Go and get him," you insisted "he should be sleeping,".

"You know wha' he's like," Naoise replied, his eyes closing again, his breath warm on the back of your hand.

"Please?".

Naoise groaned, knowing you weren't about to let it go and he wasn't going to get back to sleep until he'd done what you'd asked. He took a deep breath before sitting up, bushing his lips over your knuckles again before swinging his legs out of bed and standing. He had been sleeping naked as always and you enjoyed the bounce of his arse cheeks as he stood, his feet heavy on the floor.

The floor was cold on his bare feet but the chill in the air was welcome on his skin, he always woke up overheated and slightly clammy. He stumbled a little as he slipped out of the bedroom door and down the hallway to the living room, although the door was shut there was a slice of blue hued light around the edges of the door.

Naoise pushed the door open and saw exactly what he expected to see. The TV was playing silently, the images reflected in Liam's glassy and distant eyes.

"Hey," Naoise greeted, keeping his voice soft so he didn't startle the other man. On the coffee table were the ends of several blunts in the ash tray and a couple of empty cans of beer.

"Did I wake ya?" Liam replied, his eyes slipping from the TV screen to Naoise.

Naoise just shook his head.

"C'me to bed, ya eejit,".

"Can't sleep," Liam replied with a shake of his head.

"You didn't even try," Naoise quipped, his eyes narrowing.

He had been awake when Liam had first come to bed hours ago, it had been just after midnight and Naoise had been aware of the other man's weight on the bed, the sounds of him tossing and turning and sighing and finally, Liam giving up trying to sleep and getting back out of bed. You'd been able to sleep through it but Naoise suspected that was something to do with the edible you'd taken before bed.

"I did," Liam spat back, the look on his face incredulous.

"C'me on," Naoise repeated, "I can't go back on my own, she'll not have it,".

Liam laughed softly before turning the TV off and standing, he stretched his arms over his head, the joints at his elbows and shoulders cracking as he yawned. With his hands still above his head he pulled his t-shirt off and left it on the sofa, that could be tomorrow's problem. He walked toward his friend in the doorway, letting himself slump against Naoises body, feeling his arm slip around Naoises waist as the two of them walked back toward the bedroom.

You watched from your spot in the middle of the bed as the two of them returned to the bedroom, Liam was slipping out of his black joggers as he came to the right side of the bed and pulled back the covers.

"Sorry I woke you, love," he said softly, slipping under the sheets next to you.

"Is 'kay," you murmured, feeling the bed dip the other side as Naoise also joined you.

"You know what I'm like," Liam whispered, as he brought his body flush against yours before slipping one hand up the t-shirt you'd been wearing to sleep in.His warm palm found your breast and he squeezed softly before kissing the soft spot behind your ear that he knew drove you crazy and making you moan softly.

"Go to sleep the pair of yous," Naoise grumbled, turning on his side and pulling the duvet up to his chin.

You made a soft sound low in your throat and turned toward him, curving your body along his back and slipping your arm over his waist and resting your hand on his chest. You rubbed your cheek on his shoulder like a cat marking their territory. Liam had followed you as you turned and the three of you were curled together like spoons.

You could feel Naoises chest rising and falling as he breathed deeply, quickly falling back to sleep, the skin under your palm heating up as he almost immediately warmed up. You listened to Liam's breathing behind you, at first you could tell he was still awake but has his grip on your breast loosened and the sound of his breathing deepened you knew he was finally asleep as well.

Sundays are for cuddles. That’s Ryland’s rule.

Slow, quiet days where you barely leave bed and he can’t seem to keep his hands off you. You wake up to him rolling over, one strong arm settling around your waist, and fall asleep with him holding you close.

After a long day of doing absolutely nothing, you’ve eaten dinner and now you’re back in bed. He’s leaning against the headboard, half-watching The Walking Dead. You’ve both watched it before, so your full attention isn’t exactly mandatory.

You’re tucked between his legs, back pressed against his chest.

Neither of you bothered with shirts, or pants, so it’s just bare skin and underwear. Nobody is around to see you anyway. Plus, you love the feeling of his skin against yours.

One of his hands rests gently on your head, fingers idly threading through your hair, while the other traces slow, steady circles over your stomach.

You giggle at the scene playing out -Daryl and Rick chasing Jesus- and he smiles against your hair, pressing a soft kiss there.

“I think Jesus might be one of my favourite characters,” he murmurs. “He deserves more screentime.”

You nod in agreement, shifting your position to get more comfortable.

“He got a criminally low amount of screentime for such a good character.”

“Mmm,” Ryland’s hand drifts lower, fingers grazing your skin with clear intent. “You know, I never told you what I did yesterday while you were out with your mom.”

“You didn’t,” you breathe. “What did you do?”

“Well,” his fingertips brush over the waistband of your panties. “After you left, I read my new book.”

“The, uh, Dungeon Crawler Carl one, yeah?”

“Right,” he murmurs, still lazily tracing the fabric as he speaks. “I’m enjoying it so far. It’s completely ridiculous, but in a good way.”

“What’s it about?” You’re struggling to focus, already feeling the heat pooling in your lower belly.

“Well, it’s about this guy called Carl, obviously,” he says, finally sliding his hand beneath your panties. His fingers glide through your slick folds without hesitation. “And his cat, Princess Donut the Queen Anne Chonk… or just Princess Donut.”

“Okay,” you spread your legs instinctively. “Where does the dungeon crawler part come into it?”

“Basically, aliens come along and flatten earth,” he continues casually, voice low and steady while his middle finger finds your clit and starts rubbing in slow, lazy circles. “It kills most humans immediately, but the survivors are forced into this galaxy-wide gameshow.”

A soft, needy sound escapes past your lips as he presses a little harder.

“It takes place in an eighteen-level dungeon. Carl only survived because he was outside trying to find Princess Donut after she escaped,” Ryland adds, dipping two fingers lower to tease your dripping entrance, “and he was sent to the dungeon in nothing but boxers, a leather jacket and pink crocs.”

“O-Kay,” you say, forcing your voice to stay steady. “What else happens?”

“Well, there’s a system AI that’s kind of obsessed with Carl’s feet,” he says, gathering your slick on his fingers. “I only got about seven chapters in, but it was great.”

Your breath hitches at his touch. “Wh-what did you do after that?”

“I went to the gym for an hour,” he answers calmly, still half-watching the TV as he drags your slick back up and starts rubbing tight, firm circles over your throbbing clit. “Then got coffee with one of the guys I’m friendly with.”

“That sounds- ah- nice,” you gasp, digging your nails into his thighs. “That Colt dude again?”

“Yep,” he hums as he dips down again, pressing two fingers deep into your soaked cunt and curling them slowly. “I didn’t know until today that he’s a stuntman.”

You bite back a moan, pussy fluttering and squeezing around the intrusion. “Re-really? That’s so cool. Has he been in anything we’ve seen?”

“I don’t actually know. Didn’t get the chance to ask because he got a call and had to run.”

He starts pumping his fingers faster, plunging them deep into your pussy. “Anyway, after that I went to Dog Eared Books.”

“Again? You literally just- ngh- started reading a new one.”

“I know,” he chuckles, curling his fingers hard into that perfect spot inside you that makes your vision spark white. “I was just looking this time.”

You close your eyes, moaning breathlessly, completely lost for words as your hips buck against his hand.

“I found some new books to add to my list,” he carries on like nothing is happening, voice still steady and conversational. “Recursion and Children of Time. Apparently they’re both really good, I’m not sure how I hadn’t heard of them before.”

You nod weakly, too distracted by the way relentlessly fucking you with his thick fingers, stretching your cunt open with every thrust.

“But I am gonna get the other Dungeon Crawler Carl books, too,” he says, adjusting his hand so his thumb can grind against your clit.

The dual attack of sensations completely fries your brain and you just moan shamelessly in response, loud and desperate. He’s still talking, but his words are hardly registering. All you can think about is how soaked you are, the lewd sounds your pussy is making around his fingers and the overwhelming pressure on your sensitive clit.

He pauses, looking down at your wrecked expression for a moment before his free hand suddenly delivers a sharp slap across your face.

“Are you even listening to me?”

Your cunt clenches around his fingers at the impact and you can yet again only moan in response. The contrast of the still relentless sensation of his fingers inside you and the sting on your cheek is dizzying.

He frowns and curls his fingers viciously against your g-spot, smacking you harder this time.

“I asked you a question,” he murmurs. “Are you gonna answer me, or are you too busy focusing on what I’m doing to your pussy?”

“I- fuck,” you whine, reaching for words and failing.

“Oh, baby,” he coos mockingly. “Use your words and answer my question. I’m sitting here telling you about my day, and all you can do is moan like a brainless whore.”

“Yes!” You moan brokenly. “I’m list-listening, I- ngh- promise.”

“Good,” he murmurs, pumping his fingers slowly now. “You gonna keep listening?”

“Mhm,” you nod quickly. “Fuck, Ry. Please.”

He laughs and speeds up again, resuming the pressure on your clit too.

“Where was I? Oh, yeah. Books,” he says, trailing his hand down your chest. “I’m gonna try to read more this year, that’s my goal.”

“O-okay,” you grit out, grinding against his hand. You can feel your orgasm ebbing closer.

“Anyway, after the bookstore I went to the grocery store and got stuff for dinner,” he continues, tone conversational again. “Then I came home and did some cleaning.”

“Y-yeah, I did notice that- ah- you’d cleaned the kitchen,” you say, voice broken. “Thank- shit, thank you.”

“No problem,” he smiles, hand stopping to grope at one of your tits. “I didn’t really do much else, and then you came home.”

You open your mouth to respond and he moves away from your tit, pressing two fingers against your tongue.

“It’s okay, baby. I’m done now, focus on feeling good,” he mutters.

You nod and swirl your tongue around his fingers, moans muffled as you reach your peak.

“So good for me,” he breathes, removing his fingers from your mouth and using them to circle a hard nipple.

“Ry!” You cry out pathetically. “I’m gonna cum, fuck, please don’t stop- ah- just like that!”

“Wasnt planning on it,” he curls his fingers once more and you arch your back, clenching around him and soaking his hand with your juices.

“That’s it,” he breathes, not stopping until you’ve come down from your high. “Good girl.”

You press back against him, panting heavily.

He looks down at you, eyes twinkling with amusement as you tilt your head to stare at him hazily.

“There she is,” he kisses your forehead. “Was that good? I didn’t hit you too hard, right?”

“That was…” you start, and then trail off. “Hit me harder next time.”

He laughs, shaking his head.

For a moment, there was only sleepy confusion in Ryland’s eyes as he drew them back into yours. Then, recognition dawned upon him like the rising sun, followed immediately by the most profound sense of betrayal. He groaned. A long, dramatic sound of complete suffering that started deep in his diaphragm and tore through the air to tangle with one of your laughs. Simultaneously, one arm threw itself around your waist, Ryland working double time to move both of your bodies back as he rolled rather unceremoniously onto his back with a loud groan that just screamed, ‘Oh god, my back’.

You drifted with him, a smile on your face as you rested partially on his chest, that now being the only sense of decency from nudity as yours crushed against his. His other arm draped itself over his eyes, blocking out the light and what Ryland had to assume was your smug face.

“I was trying not to think about that.” He mumbled cutely, his voice muffled by his muscular forearm and the all too tethered notion of going back to sleep.

You hummed softly, bringing your lips to his jaw and laying a saliva-stricken kiss right on the sharper edge of his mandible. Ryland drew a deep breath in, your bodies moving from the action as you drew your heated mouth down to captivate along his jugular. 

“Hmm… Why not? It’s something to celebrate…” There was sensuality in your voice, something that was tugging at Ryland in the best way he could imagine and left it lingering between his legs as you brought a heady kiss to his Adam's apple in some attempt to get him to open up.

Ryland dropped the arm from his eyes and peeked at you, your shoulders raising your body just enough to gaze back through half-lidded eyes. Your lips were pink and soft, he wanted nothing more than to lean in and let you celebrate but there was something there itching his mind in the way that would make whatever celebration you had planned unpleasurable. 

“Because… I’d be seventy-one back on Earth.”

You sat yourself up against him a bit more ardently, one hand resting on his waist under the sheets, tracing at the waistband of his make-shift pajama bottoms as your other kept you supported, flat against the bed next to his head so you could look down at him. “Well… For being that old…” Ryland licked his lips as if he were eating your words. “You look incredible…” “Hn…” He sounded almost unamused. “Says you…”

“I’m being serious, Ry.” You drifted your fingers up the length of his torso, dancing for a second along his collarbone before brushing carefully through a strand of blonde-silver kissed hair at his temple, soft and silken under your fingertips. “Honestly, you’re aging ridiculously well. I would wager that most people in their seventies would kill to look this good.” Ryland’s mouth propped open as your touch came down to trace his plump bottom lip urgingly. His eyes narrowed suspiciously as he pressed a hot kiss to your fingertips. “Are you flirting with me to distract me from the oncoming existential crisis?” “Is it working?” You whispered, bringing your head down to plant a kiss to his mouth, your fingers pinching his chin to keep him in place. Ryland nearly melted right into it, hand sweeping up and cupping the side of your face before exploding his slender fingers out and caressing you with more intent. 

“It’s…” Another kiss, this one a bit deeper as you tilted your head into it, swinging your legs around the narrowing of his waist so you could come to rest in his lap. “An effective…” And another as Ryland shifted beneath you, bringing his body up just enough to prop against the headboard, his shoulder blades screaming from the chill of the air but it was all worthwhile feeling the grind of your hipbones against his as a response. “Strategy…”

“Hmmm…” You grinned, bringing your mouth to his jaw where his stubble prickled slightly against the smoothness of your lips. Ryland’s eyes fluttered shut at that feeling, his arm snaking around your waist, hands pressing into the small of your back to keep you near him.

“Besides,” Your tone was heated. “Who’s even counting Earth years anymore? We live on a planet in a completely different system…” Ryland moved to press his face against your sternum, mouth splayed open to trail a few wet kisses coupled with the sensation of his rough beard against your skin caused you to arch against him. “Different orbit… Different calendar… For all pra-practical purposes, you’re still o-only fifty-three.” “Fifty-three.” He repeated carefully against your skin, like he was testing the number for some type of structural weakness. “Mhm…” You bit your bottom lip and watched as he tilted his head up, resting his chin against your chest as your eyes played with each other. Your fingers tangled into his hair, the strands fluttering into your touch, unprovoked. “You’ve still got it…” That earned you the tiniest sound of embarrassment from the back of Ryland’s throat, a little huff of air that always escaped his body when you complimented him directly. He had no reason to stop it especially when the smile it garnered him from you was… Breathtaking. 

“You know…” You murmured, quieter now as if you became aware all too quickly in the heat of the moment that your conversation could very well be honed in on. “The silver fox thing really works for you.”

Ryland immediately groaned again, tossing his head into your chest. The vibrations of the sound rattled against your ribcage and caused you to laugh as he muttered, “Absolutely not.”

“What?” You giggled. “It does!”

“That’s just the polite phrasing people use when they’re trying not to say old man.” Ryland brought his hands up and grasped your shoulders as he nuzzled his face further into your chest. You got a near mouthful of his hair, a breathy laugh leaving your lips. 

“You’re being so dramatic.” You informed him. 

“I’m being accurate.” Ryland argued, poking his nose right to the middle of your sternum as you brushed out some of his hair, “Do you understand how horrifying it is to realize you’re technically in the same age bracket as a retired dentist?”

That made you laugh outright, the sound alone in the quiet of the room seemed to ease something in Ryland as the tension in his body seeped away from the mattress to linger elsewhere. His shoulders relaxed visibly, bringing themselves in to make him appear much smaller as he held you tightly. 

Ryland laughed against your skin.  “You know what the stupid part is? I can’t stop thinking about it…” The words conformed against you. “If somebody told me there was a seventy-one year old scientist living on another planet, teaching alien kids about quantum physics and orbital mechanics, I… I’d think that that guy sounds pretty cool.”

You smiled. “He’s more than cool, if we’re being honest.” “Debatable.” Ryland countered with a goofy grin. 

“No, actually.” You shifted in his lap to get more comfortable as he leaned back against the headboard once again. Ryland’s breath hitched as he handed back over dominance. “Objectively true.”

Ryland… Had always carried time strangely. Even back on Earth, before Erid and your lives together, he used to joke about getting old long before he actually was. He complained when he stood up too fast. He’d hold his back and yap. He groaned about aches and pains after sleeping awkwardly. He called his students ‘kids these days’ despite dedicating his entire life to teaching those kids.

But underneath the jokes had always been something quieter. Fear… That one day, Ryland would wake up and realize that life passed him by and he had very little to show for it. Ryland tipped his head back and looked at you again as you brought your hand to cup the side of his face. Aged… But to you, still the same. Something softened in him, something in the minute cracks of his expression shifted into that warm, almost shy look he still got sometimes when you looked at him.

The vulnerability in Ryland’s eyes made your chest ache. This was a man who never quite seemed to understand how easy it was to love him as you craned your head down and laid a sweet, open mouthed invitation against his lips. He seemed to moan into the affection, his eyes falling shut once again as he pressed the back of his knuckles against the smooth scape of your cheek. Ryland’s mouth shuddered against yours as he swiped his thumb against your bottom lip. “Y’know… I think… Part of me expected getting older to feel… Lonelier.” Your eyebrows furrowed a bit, chest tightening in a way that was both painful and tender. “But… It doesn’t. Not here. Not with you.”

The room settled into silence after that, the words hanging in the air between you as you drifted that much closer to him. Neither of you spoke as Ryland traced shapes against your lips with the tip of his thumb, his blue eyes seemingly transfixed on it like it was anchor keeping him on the planet. You perked your mouth and kissed lightly at the tip as he squinted thoughtfully at the action.

“Also,” His voice tore through the emotional atmosphere. “I probably have the bone density of like, a one-hundred and twenty year old with Erid’s gravity. So… I guess seventy-one is not too bad.” You bursted into helpless laughter, your entire body tensing in amusement as you tossed your head back. Ryland watched with a smile on his lips before feeling inclined to join you in the maddening descent, his chuckle harmonizing with yours in the best way as he dropped his hands to rest on your waist. “I-I was beginning to worry I lost you there, Dr. Grace.” You wiped a tear of laughter from the corner of your eye.

“Science comforts me.” “You’re impossible.”

And yet…” Ryland tilted his head and brought you that much closer to him, the tenacity of the moment back as you were more aggressively pressed skin to skin. “You remain deeply obsessed with me.”

“Unfortunately.” You grinned. 

“Mhm.” Ryland pecked your lips. “Tragic for you.”

Later, long after the birthday celebration turned panic turned celebration, the morning melted into something a bit more warm and ordinary. You were still tangled in the trenches of the bed, unwilling or unable to move, you were unsure but there was no doubt in your mind as you watched Ryland shift out of the bed, pulling on his sleep pants. His shoulders were broader than you remembered, your fingers twitching in desperate need to touch them despite almost having the muscles memorized. His back was still straight and strong despite the complaints as he stood up and shuffled a bit around the room to get ready for the actual day. 

You caught him though, pausing in front of the darker reflection of one of the habitat windows. Ryland just… Stood there. Staring at himself. Not critically, not searching for any sign of aging. Just, looking at himself thoughtfully. Like, maybe for the first time in a long while, the number floating around the day didn't bother him quite as much anymore.

You watched Ryland run a hand through his silver-streaked hair, a gesture so wildly familiar it made your heart flutter. When he turned his tall body and caught you looking at him, that all knowing blush crept up his neck, the same one that appeared and still did when you told him that you loved him. 

“W-what?” He murmured, slipping on his glasses with a hint of self-consciousness in his voice before running his hand through his hair again. This time, it was done out of nervousness. “D-do I have something on my face?”

You shook your head slowly, allowing the sheets to fall away as you sat up, exposing your chest to his eyes once again. He did his best not to gawk, but you could see the shine off his golden frames as he spared a glance downwards. “Just… Watching.” Your reply was soft and sweet, hand coming to pat the space beside you. So empty, so yearning. “Come back to bed for a minute.”

You could see the hesitancy in Ryland. His glance towards the xenonite clock display, a reminder that the workday would begin soon and he needed to still get ready. But, you were also treated with the visual of his shoulders relaxing and his long legs bringing him back to the bed, weight sinking onto the mattress as a soft sigh left his mouth. You were not one for hesitating as you reached out and traced the lines of his shoulder blades with your fingertips. 

“Are you feeling better?” You asked as he leaned into your touch, your lips ghosting a barely-there kiss against the nape of his neck, right above the top of his spine. His fingers found your other hand immediately, tangling with them and bringing them closer. 

“Better.” Ryland murmured, leaning back into your touch with a quiet, reserved sigh. His fingers tightened around yours instinctively, grounding himself to the warmth your body gave him as you curled in closer. The room was still dim with the early morning light, softer grays and blues now tossed into the air, stretching along the walls. 

You bit your bottom lip, trailing your fingertips down his spine. “You were staring at yourself in the xenonite.” “God, that makes it sound weird.” You giggled, pressing another soft kiss to the back of his neck. “Not weird. Just something I noticed. What were you thinking?” Ryland shuffled a bit and tilted his head in thought despite already having a response lined up. His mouth opened and then closed a few times as he contemplated how to phrase it. “I… thought getting older would bother me… more.” “On Earth, maybe…” “Yeah…” He nodded in agreement, eyes dropping towards your tangled together hands. “But here… On Erid… With you, it just… Feels nice.”

You smiled softly at that as Ryland turned on the bed so he could face you properly, a silver-highlighted piece of hair falling messily across his forehead which you carefully whisked away with the tip of your finger. He smiled a small ‘thank you’, crested by sleep and warmth, the prospect of teaching still far off in the distance.

“I love you.” “I know.” Ryland groaned, tilting his head in and sweeping his mouth along yours before hiding his face in the crook of your neck. “The Star Wars response? That’s so unfair.” “But, it’s effective.” You wiggled your eyebrows teasingly.

“Unfortunately, it is.” He muttered, kissing your neck.

Your hand slid into his hair carefully, thumb coming to crush against his temple as his eyes fluttered shut for a moment of vulnerability. “Happy birthday, Ryland.”

Please like, comment and reblog if you liked! Support writers!

"Does height matter in a guy?" Was an annoying question male Tiktok interviewers would ask girls before pulling out a scale or measuring tape if she dared to say yes. Perhaps their fragile masculinity was threatened at the thought of a woman being more than 5'7.

Most guys were intimidated by your height. For some idiotic reason, it was a turn off. Pathetic little worms like them didn't mean shit, you weren't interested in men with height insecurity. Not when your boyfriend was crazy about you.

Mo Chara always loved a tall woman, it was his biggest turn on. He stood at 5 foot 6, you stood taller. In every photo you took beside him, he had the biggest grin plastered on his face. A hand was always placed on your hip or waist, a favorite place for him to hold. His short size gave him an easy advantage to squeeze your side or ass, and you bet he took every chance to do that.

When you picked something out to wear for an event or awards ceremony, he enthusiastically encouraged you to wear heels. "Liam, these are six inch stilettos!" You laughed.

"Ye don't have to sell me on 'em twice, a stór." He grinned.

"Oh my God, do you want me to trip over you?"

"Depends love. If you fall on my dick, I'll give yis six inches."

You burst into laughter and shoved him. He boosted your confidence, even when walking in front of dozens of flashing cameras, you stood and strided proud.

Whenever an interviewer or fan asked if you felt bad about being taller than him, Mo Chara would immediately step in to school them, "Mate, what fuckin' kinda question is that? Who gives a fuck? Look at 'er, she's the most beautiful lassie in the world."

Your cheeks would heat up, a shy smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. Your heart beat rapidly when he gave you a little wink, his hand slyly moving down your back and cupping your ass. The moment you got home, you'd be all over each other.

In the bedroom, he loved your long legs wrapped around his waist or on his shoulders when he fucked you into the mattress. His favorite position was sitting on the edge of the bed, hands on your waist to pull you back on his dick while you braced your hands on the floor, spread legs pressed against the outside of his thighs.

It drove him feral when your legs tightened around his head between you as he ate your pussy out. The tip of his tongue trailed up and down your slit to taste every inch of you.

"Fuck cailín leanbh," His moans mixed with yours. "Yer perfect..."

If Mo Chara ever needed something from the top shelf, you gladly got it for him. If you dropped anything or had to tie your laces, he'd be on his knees for you. He took the chance to plant kisses on your ankle all the way up to your thigh.

As cocky as he could act, it didn't deter you from seeing him as the cutest man to ever exist. You'd sneak up behind and lift him off the ground or give him a piggy back ride.

"Y/N! Put me the fuck down!" He'd blush and kick while Naoise and JJ laughed. It was all in good fun, Liam would wrap his arms around you and kiss your neck.

You were putting away dishes on the top shelf, Mo Chara came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist with a satisfied sigh. He placed a sweet little peck on your shoulder.

"You need me to get you a glass, don't you?"

"Since yer already up there, mo ghrá..."

With a snort, you gave him a cup from the cabinet. He thanked you by kissing the back of your hand. His icy blue eyes trailed up your body to meet with yours, a smile forming on his face.

"What?" You asked.

"Naffin'..."

"Why are you looking at me like that?" You laughed.

"Can't I enjoy the nice view?"

"Is the view my tits?"

"Don't blame a fella when yer tall as a tree," His hands slid underneath your top. "A tree I'd fuck."

You playfully smacked them away. "Oh, why you little- You're two apples tall!"

"Makes no difference when I'm with you, cailín álainn," Liam reached his hand to caress your cheek. "Yer beautiful, you know that, right."

"Oh Liam... Come here." You bent down to give him a kiss-

"Wait,"

Mo Chara grabbed the step ladder and climbed up to your height. At your eye level, he cupped your face and brought you in for a kiss.

He loved your height, but loved you even more.

…

The wooden seat beneath you felt cold and unforgiving. But not nearly as cold as the hollow feeling in your chest.

You sat stiffly, arms folded across your body. Your stomach churned– a mixture between fear, anger, and grief. Each emotion fought for dominance, and yet all you could do was stare blankly at the road stretching endlessly ahead of you, your surroundings blurring past the window.

You tried to rationalize his actions and remind yourself why he made the choices he did. But this didn’t feel like protection anymore. 

It felt like a punishment. 

The hours dragged. The rhythmic clatter of hooves and the occasional creak of the carriage were the only sounds filling the silence. You hadn’t spoken a word to the driver or to the men Tommy had sent to guard you. You refused. Who cared if they thought you were some entitled brat?

But then, suddenly, something in the air shifted.

You weren’t sure what it was at first. Maybe it was just a feeling, an unease that coiled in your stomach like a vice. But then you noticed the hooves come to a gradual stop. One of the guards riding ahead straightened in his saddle, glancing toward the dense trees lining the road.

Your pulse quickened, but before you could even part your lips to ask what was wrong, you heard the gunshot.

A sickening crack followed by shouting. One of the men slumped forward on his horse before crashing onto the dirt road in a heap. The horses screamed, rearing violently. The carriage lurched, sending you slamming into the side with a sharp gasp.

Another shot. Another thud. 

The second guard fell before he could even draw his gun. Then the driver let out a strangled yell, yanking hard on the reins. 

But it was too late.

Figures emerged from the darkness of the trees, their boots pounding against the dirt, moving fast. Panic seized you. Without thinking, you scrambled toward the door, heart hammering, fumbling for the latch. You could still get out, still run, still–

But when you threw your weight against it, the door didn’t budge.

The impact from the gunfire, the carriage rocking on the uneven road– it had bent the frame inward. The wood creaked, but the metal hinges were jammed tight.

"No, no, no–” you pleaded. You pushed harder, shoulders slamming against the door.

Then, the other door was yanked open violently, nearly ripping off its hinges. You barely had time to turn before rough, gloved hands grabbed you, wrenching you forward. You thrashed against them, kicking, clawing, screaming for them to let go. 

"Shut her up!" A voice snapped. 

And just like that, the back end of a gun slammed into your gut, knocking the air from your lungs. Your vision blurred as your body doubled over. Fingers fisted in your hair, yanking your head back so hard your scalp burned.

One of the men leaned in, his breath hot against your cheek.

"I guess Shelby should’ve sent more men."

Your heart pounded violently in your chest as the other men chuckled darkly.

Your hands shook as you tried to fight, but there were too many of them, too many voices, too many shadows closing in around you. You screamed again. 

Then, a final, crushing blow to the side of your head sent the world tilting. Your knees buckled. 

And then– total darkness.

…

The office smelled of whiskey and smoke as the low glow of candlelight flickered against the walls. Tommy sat behind his desk, fingers wrapped around a glass he hadn’t yet touched.

Across from him, Arthur was talking. Something about business, numbers, men needing paying, but Tommy wasn’t listening. He had been distracted all night.

His mind kept circling back to you. It didn’t matter how many times he told himself he made the right choice– that sending you away had been for your own good, that it was the only way to keep you safe. That image of you, eyes wide, pleading, your fingers brushing against his coat before he had forced himself to turn away remained at the forefront of his mind.

"Tommy, please," you had begged. 

He had ignored the way it made his chest ache, forcing himself to shut down the part of him that wanted to keep you close.

Because this was the only way.

Right?

But if it was the right choice, then why the fuck did it feel like such a fucking mistake?

"Tom?" Arthur’s voice cut through his thoughts.

Tommy blinked, setting the untouched glass down with slow, deliberate movements. His fingers tapped against the wood, a restless habit. "What?"

Arthur frowned, watching him closely. "You haven’t heard a single thing I’ve said, have you?"

A muscle in Tommy’s jaw twitched. 

Arthur exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. "Jesus, Tommy. Forget about it. You did the right thing, yeah? She’s safer out of Birmingham. You said so yourself."

Tommy leaned back in his chair, running a hand down his face. He shook his head, reaching for the cigarette pack on his desk, desperate for something to quiet his mind. But just as he struck the match, the door burst open.

Tommy’s head snapped up.

John stood in the doorway, breathless and pale.

"Tommy–" he panted, eyes wide with urgency. "The carriage– we just got word– it was intercepted–"

For a moment, the words didn’t register. A slow, heavy silence fell over the room. Tommy just stared at him, cigarette burning between his fingers, unmoving. Then, a sharp, cold wave of panic slammed into his chest.

His chair scraped against the floor as he shot to his feet. "What?" His voice was dangerously quiet.

John swallowed hard. "One of the scouts came back. The men– the guards you sent– they’re dead. Driver too."

The room tilted. A deafening ringing filled Tommy’s ears, drowning out everything else.

No, no, no. No. 

"Where?" Tommy demanded, his voice now urgent, raw, trembling with barely contained terror.

"We don’t know yet–"

Tommy’s chest heaved, his breath coming sharp and ragged. "Find out," he snapped, grabbing his coat. His hands were shaking. "Find out right fucking now."

Arthur was already up, grabbing his gun. "We’re going after her, Tommy."

Tommy ran a hand through his hair, pacing, trying to think, trying to breathe, trying not to fucking lose it.

He had sent you away.

He had sent you away.

His heart pounded violently, his throat tight with a kind of fear he had never felt before.

Not anger. Not fury. Not vengeance.

Fear.

Because if they had taken you…

If they had hurt you…

Tommy couldn’t finish the thought.

Because the moment he did, he wouldn’t be able to fucking breathe.

…

When you woke up, the first thing you registered was the pain. 

The deep, aching throb in your skull. The metallic taste of blood coated your tongue, thick and suffocating.

Your body felt heavy, your limbs sluggish as you tried to move, only to realize that you couldn’t.

Panic slid into your chest, sharp and immediate as you became aware of the restraints, of the rough, biting feel of rope digging into your wrists, binding them behind the back of a chair. Your breath hitched, vision swimming in the overwhelming darkness that surrounded you.

You struggled against the restraints, muscles screaming in protest, but the chair barely creaked beneath your weight. The air was damp, thick with the scent of rotting wood and stale sweat. Somewhere in the distance, you heard the faint melodic drop of water.

A basement. Maybe a warehouse. Somewhere completely forgotten.

A door creaked open and your breath stilled. There were footsteps– slow and leisurely. 

A shadow loomed at the edge of the room, then a man stepped forward, boots scraping against the concrete floor. The dim light of a lantern illuminated his features, dark eyes full of amusement, a smirk twisting his thin lips.

"Well, well," he drawled, tilting his head. "Look who's awake."

Your stomach coiled in disgust as he came closer, circling you like a predator playing with its prey. You clenched your jaw, forcing yourself to stay still, to keep your expression blank.

The man stopped just beside you, tapping a finger against his chin, mockingly thoughtful. "You’re prettier up close," he mused. "Is that why Shelby keeps you so close? Well… not this time I guess."

A beat of silence. Then, his voice dropped into something colder, sharper. "Where’s he keeping his next shipment?"

You didn’t answer but his smirk only widened. "Playing the silent game, are we?"

He moved closer to you, and before you could react, a sharp, stinging slap cracked across your cheek.

Your head snapped to the side, your vision blurring with the impact.

"You’ll want to answer me," he said menacingly. "Or this is going to get a hell of a lot worse for you."

You clenched your teeth, forcing your breath to stay even. 

He let out a disappointed sigh. "Stubborn little thing, aren’t you? Brave, even?" He stepped closer, gripping the arms of your chair, leaning in until his breath was hot against your ear. "But tell me, sweetheart… how brave do you think you’ll be when we’re through with you?"

You refused to let him see your fear. But inside, terror clawed at your ribs, sinking in deep.  

The man stepped back, studying you. His smirk hadn't faltered, but you could see the frustration flicker in his dark eyes.

"Not talking, eh?" He exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders as if this were some inconvenience, some tedious task he had to complete before moving on with his night.

Then, without warning, his fist slammed into your stomach.

Your body jerked violently against the ropes, a strangled gasp ripping from your throat as the air was stolen from your lungs. White, hot agony flared in your gut, the chair beneath you rocking from the force of it. You coughed, your body instinctively trying to double over, but the ropes held you upright, forcing you to endure it.

Still, you said nothing.

The man let out a humorless chuckle. "Tough girl, huh?"

Another blow. To your face again. You bit the inside of your cheek, swallowing the cry that threatened to escape.

"Tell me," he continued casually, shaking out his fist, "where the Peaky Blinders keep their weapons."

You lifted your head slowly, breathing heavily through your nose. Then, you spat blood onto the floor at his feet.

A muscle in his jaw ticked. And then, his hand fisted in your hair, yanking your head back so sharply you let out a strangled gasp.

"I was hoping you’d be difficult," he murmured, tilting his head. "It makes this so much more fun for me."

Deep fear curled around your bones like ice. Because you knew exactly what men like him were capable of. He let go of your hair abruptly, your head snapping forward from the force of it, pain splintering through your already throbbing skull.The next blow came before you could brace yourself. It was a heavy, brutal punch to your nose. Pain exploded behind your eyes, your body lurching sideways, nearly toppling the chair. Your ears rang, the room spinning wildly.

Your nose was dripping. It took you a second to realize it was blood, warm and thick as it trailed down your lips. Still, you didn’t speak. 

He let out a long, slow breath, tilting his head as he studied you. "I can do this all night," he said lightly, as if he weren’t already beating you bloody. Then, something darker crossed his expression. 

"But maybe," he continued, voice lower, silkier, more dangerous, "I could find other ways to make you talk."

Your stomach churned at the sight of his gaze, predatorial. Every muscle in your body seized as he took a step forward, one hand reaching for his pocket. Then, metal glinted under the dim light.

A knife. Not small, not discreet, but long, sharp, wicked.

He flicked it open with an almost lazy motion, rolling it between his fingers like a coin, as if the weapon was nothing more than a casual accessory to him. "You know," he mused, tilting his head, his eyes dragging over your bound, broken form with something close to amusement, "I've always wondered how many pieces a person can be cut into before they bleed out."

He crouched beside you, the blade dancing along his fingers, before slowly pressing the cold steel under your chin.

"Tell me what I want to know," he murmured, his voice almost gentle, like a whisper of silk against your skin. 

More silence. 

He smirked. A devilish grin spread across his face. “Maybe I'll start with the fingers."

Your heart pounded violently, every nerve in your body screaming at you to run, fight, do something– 

But what were you supposed to do? The ropes bit into your wrists, your limbs too weak, too battered, your breath too shallow.

"Think I'm bluffing?" he asked, watching your reaction. "Think I won’t carve you up, nice and slow?"

The knife dragged downward, grazing lightly along the column of your throat, just enough to prickle your skin, to remind you how easily he could cut deeper.

He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your cheek.

"Because I will, sweetheart," he whispered, almost fondly. "And when I'm done, I’ll send the pieces back to Shelby. One by one."

“I don’t know where the weapons are,” The words spilled out before you could even think, desperate, shaky, but holding just enough bite to make them believable. “Tommy doesn’t tell me those things– says it’s not a woman’s business to know– that we’d break too easily if we got questioned.”

Your breath hitched, your pulse roaring in your ears as you held his gaze, willing yourself to look small, weak, unimportant.

He laughed. Low, dark, amused. He leaned in again, the overwhelming stench of sweat and smoke rolling off him in waves.

"You think I believe that?" His voice was smooth as he tilted his head, watching you with something cruel, calculating. Your breath came in short, shallow bursts, your hands twisting uselessly behind your back, fingers numb from the ropes cutting into your skin.

You didn’t answer. Because you knew better. Men like him didn’t want the truth. They wanted excuses to hurt you.

He sighed, feigning disappointment. "See, sweetheart, here’s the problem with your little lie." He reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a scrap of paper, something smudged with dirt and blood.

"One of your guards had this tucked in his coat. An order from Mr. Shelby himself," he said, unfolding it with a lazy flick of his wrist. "Says to keep you safe. Says not to let you out of their sight."

The bastard grinned as he tossed the paper onto your lap. "Now, why would Thomas Shelby go through all that trouble for someone who doesn’t know anything?"

You felt cold all over. He knew. No amount of lying was going to save you now.

"Yeah," he murmured, standing upright. "That’s what I thought."

His hand shot out suddenly, gripping your jaw, forcing your head back. You winced, but didn’t look away. A cruel smile spread across his face. "That’s good," he murmured. "I like when they look at me."

Then, cold steel pressed against your cheek. You flinched violently, your breath stuttering, but he only grinned wider, his grip tightening, holding you in place. 

"You’ll tell me what I want to know," he promised, his fingers digging into your bruised skin. "Sooner or later."

The blade slid downward, slow, deliberate, tracing the delicate line of your jaw.

Then, it pressed in. A sharp, searing pain bloomed beneath your skin, and you gasped, body jerking instinctively, but the ropes held you tight, trapped.

A thin line of warm blood trickled down your cheek. He hummed in satisfaction. His thumb dragged across your bottom lip, slow, taunting. "Maybe I’ll give you some time to think about it," he mused, releasing you with a sharp shove.

…

Tommy paced the office like a caged animal, fingers tugging through his hair, his mind racing faster than his body could keep up.

The room was too small, too fucking suffocating, and the longer it took to get information, the more his chest tightened, the more his hands shook.

"Where the fuck is she?"

No one had an answer.

Tommy turned on John. "Who told you? Who gave you the fucking word?"

John swallowed, shifting on his feet. "A scout, one of our boys in Small Heath– he saw the wreckage. The guards, the driver… all dead, Tommy."

His stomach dropped.

Bodies.

But no mention of her.

He felt sick. Cold. A new kind of fear he hadn’t felt since the war clawed its way up his throat like bile. He clenched his fists, forcing himself to focus. If they had taken you alive, that meant they wanted something from you.

He had to find you. Now. A sharp knock on the door cut through the tense silence. Isaiah stepped in, breathless, eyes wide.

"We’ve got something."

Tommy’s head snapped up so fast his vision blurred.

"Where?"

Isaiah wiped a hand down his face, shaking his head. "We don’t know for sure, but one of the lads caught wind of a group setting up shop in an old distillery just outside the city– on the outskirts near the river."

"Who?" Tommy’s voice was deadly calm, but the way his hands shook slightly at his sides betrayed him.

Isaiah hesitated. "You’re not gonna like the answer, Tom."

Tommy’s chest tightened. "Say it," he demanded.

Isaiah exhaled. "Sabini’s men."

The room went deathly quiet.

Arthur swore, kicking the leg of a chair so hard it splintered.

Sabini.

That filthy fucking bastard had been waiting for an opportunity to strike, and Tommy had handed it to him on a silver fucking platter when he sent you away. Tommy felt his pulse roar in his ears, drowning out every other sound in the room.

He turned to Arthur. "Get everyone. We move now."

His brother didn’t hesitate. As Arthur stormed out, barking orders to the rest of the men, Tommy grabbed his coat, his revolver already in his hand.

He didn’t just want to kill them.

He wanted to wipe them from existence.

Because they had taken you.

And Thomas Shelby was going to burn the fucking city down to get you back.

…

Your wrists were raw from the ropes, skin rubbed red and torn from how hard you had fought– fought for nothing, fought for no one to come, fought just to survive another minute, another second.

You were too weak to fight anymore. Your entire body was screaming in agony, every nerve burning, every muscle aching with exhaustion.

Your stomach throbbed violently, a deep, searing pain radiating from one of the larger gashes that had been carved into your skin. You could still feel the sting of the blade as it sank into your flesh, the warm trickle of blood spilling down your ribs, soaking into the shredded remains of your clothes.

What was left of them, anyway.

Your dress had been ripped apart, torn from your body in jagged, humiliating shreds, exposing bruised, violated skin.

The men had touched you, their hands roaming, gripping, forcing you still, their laughter ringing in your ears as they stripped you down like you were nothing more than something to be used.

You had fought, God, you had fought, thrashing, kicking, but their hands had been stronger, crueler, unyielding.

Now, you could feel the cool air biting at your skin, the exposed places where they had left their marks– dark bruises, bloody scratches, shame carved into your very bones. Your arms shook, the fabric clinging to what was left of you, offering little protection, little dignity.

You felt disgusting.

Ruined.

And even though they had been interrupted before they could take it any further, the damage was already done.

The way they had laughed. Cruel, mocking, like your pain was amusing, like your struggle meant nothing.

"Shelby won’t want you now."

The words had sliced deeper than the knife, burrowing into your chest, your ribs, your bones.

"Damaged goods."

"Bet he won’t even look at you when we’re done."

It was all still there, burned into your mind, bleeding into your skin like an invisible brand you would never escape.

And your ribs– God, your ribs. Every inhale was a battle, every breath felt like knives digging into your sides, sharp and relentless. You didn’t know if they were bruised or broken, but the deep, throbbing ache that rattled through your chest made you certain that something was damaged beyond repair.

Even the slightest movement sent sharp, unbearable pain lancing through you, making your vision blur, making bile rise in your throat.

Your face was swollen, beaten, the metallic taste of blood thick on your tongue.

Your body flinched violently as hands roamed over you, rough fingers gripping, bruising, tearing fabric, exposing too much. A cruel chuckle ghosted over your ear.

"Not so tough now, are you?"

The words barely registered through the haze, but the hot breath against your skin did, the weight of a body pressing against you. Suffocating.

You turned your head, gasping sharply, choking on a sob as your body tried to shrink away, but the ropes held you firm, like an animal waiting for slaughter.

Another pair of hands gripped your thigh, fingers digging hard enough to bruise.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to disappear inside yourself, trying to will yourself into a place where this wasn’t happening, wasn’t real.

Then– footsteps, shouting.

Not inside the room, but outside.

The hands stilled.

More voices now, low, urgent, laced with something that sounded close to alarm.

"Go check it out," one of the men shouted.

A few of them grumbled, hesitating, as if reluctant to leave, but then another loud thud echoed from beyond the door, followed by the distant clatter of metal hitting the floor.

The man above you cursed, pushing off of you abruptly, leaving behind a nauseating heat where his body had been pressing against yours.

"Fucking deal with her," he ordered the one who stayed behind before storming toward the door.

You heard them shuffle out, their boots heavy against the floor, the door creaking as it was pulled shut behind them. One remained. 

Then– Gunfire. A sharp, brutal crack shook the walls. The man froze. Another shot. Then another. Shouts of panic cried outside the door, the unmistakable sound of bodies hitting the ground. And then the door burst open.

The man barely had time to turn, barely had time to lift his knife, barely had time to do anything, before a bullet tore through his skull, the shot echoing like thunder.

His body crumpled to the floor.

More boots pounded into the room. Your swollen, half-lidded eyes struggled to focus, your mind fading in and out, but you knew– you knew those voices. Someone dropped to their knees beside you.

"Fuck– It’s her." The voice was urgent, but familiar. "She’s alive. Love, it’s me– it’s John. Can ya hear me?"

He moved to untie you, but you let out a small, broken noise. Weakly, you tried to turn away, as if you could somehow hide your exposed body from him– hide from what had been done to you.

"Shit– someone get her a coat, something!" John hollered. 

More hurried voices. More boots scuffing against the ground.

Then a voice rang out. "Get out of the fucking way!"

The tone was raw, shaking with rage, sharp enough to cut through the chaos like a knife. Everyone moved aside instantly.

Tommy’s blue eyes locked onto you, widening as he took in the bruises, the gash on your stomach leaking blood, the torn fabric barely covering your body.

Then, under his breath, so low it was barely a whisper, he muttered, "Jesus Christ.” 

His coat was off his shoulders in an instant. He crouched down and carefully draped it over you, covering as much of your exposed skin as he could. The weight of it should’ve been comforting, should’ve felt like protection, but you flinched. The sudden movement sent a fresh wave of pain coursing through your body, making your breath hitch sharply in your throat. Tommy’s jaw tightened. His hands hovered, like he was unsure if touching you would only make things worse.

John knelt beside him, fingers moving to quickly undo the ropes. 

Your body swayed forward as the last rope fell away, your muscles too weak to hold you upright, but Tommy’s hands shot out instantly, catching you before you could collapse completely. He felt the way you tensed. The way your body tried to shrink away, as if you weren’t sure whether his hands were safe ones or not. 

“Can you walk?” His voice was low, controlled, but his heart was fucking pounding.

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t even manage to look up at him– like you didn’t even register his question.

Your head hung limply forward, resting weakly against his shoulder. Your breath came in shallow bursts as the weight of exhaustion and pain dragged you down.

That was all the answer he needed. Without hesitation, he scooped you up into his arms. The moment he lifted you, a sharp, strangled cry tore from your throat as the wound on your stomach pinched.

“I got you,” The sound of your pain sent a violent shudder through Tommy’s body, his grip instinctively tightening. “I know, love. I know.”

Your head lolled against his chest, another small whimper escaping your lips as his arms adjusted their hold, careful but unrelenting. His breath was uneven as he stood, keeping you pressed tightly against him, shielding you as much as he could.

Your pain was his pain now.

Your suffering was his burden to bear.

And he was going to make every last one of those bastards suffer for what they had done to you.

The night air was cold, but Tommy barely felt it. His grip on you didn’t waver, his arms locking you against his chest, shielding you from the world as he carried you through the bloodstained corridors of the warehouse.

Every step he took was controlled, deliberate, but inside he was barely holding it together. You were too still, your body too limp in his arms. 

“Almost there," he murmured, his voice softer than he’d ever let it be, barely audible beneath the pounding of his own heart.

You didn’t respond. But when his arms shifted slightly, having to adjust his hold as he stepped over a body on the ground, you let out a small whimper of pain. His grip tightened instinctively.

"Shh," he soothed, his lips brushing against your temple, voice raw. "I’ve got you."

The car was waiting outside, its headlights cutting through the darkness, and the backseat door already open. Arthur was barking orders to the men, his voice clipped and deadly, but the moment Tommy stepped outside, all movement stopped. The others watched as he carried you– silent, grim, waiting.

They had seen Tommy Shelby furious before.

But this was something else entirely.

Without a word, Tommy laid you down in the backseat, before climbing in himself. He adjusted his coat so that it covered you again before guiding your head to rest more comfortably on his lap. 

The door slammed shut and the engine roared to life. The moment the car jolted forward, you let out another soft whimper, your fingers weakly reaching for him. 

"It’s alright," he murmured, as his hand brushed through your matted hair. "You’re alright."

You heard his words, but they felt far away… like a voice carried through water, muffled, distant. Your head shifted slightly against his lap as you forced your swollen eyes open. 

And then you saw it.

Blood.

Deep red, seeping through the white fabric of his shirt, thick and dark, staining the material all the way down to his waist. Your breath hitched. For a second, you didn’t understand. Your dazed mind struggled to catch up, struggled to process how he might’ve gotten hurt. 

Then it clicked. It wasn’t his blood.

It was yours.

Your fingers twitched weakly, brushing against the soaked fabric.

"Tommy–"

The word came out slurred, almost inaudible.

His hands tensed around you instantly. "I’m here, love," he said quickly, his voice sharper now, urgent. "I’m right here."

Your vision blurred. The world was tilting again. The blood, so much blood– 

"Tommy, am I dying?"

His arms tightened around you, his grip firm, protective, as if holding you together was enough to keep you here. 

"No," he said immediately, but there was something frantic beneath his voice now, something breaking. "No, you’re not dying. You’re alright."

You blinked slowly, the exhaustion dragging you down. 

Tommy turned his head sharply.

"Drive faster," he snapped, his voice thick with something close to desperation.

Arthur was already pushing the car to its limit, the tires kicking up dirt and gravel as they sped toward home. Tommy’s hand cradled your cheek, his thumb stroking gently along your skin, even as his grip shook.

"You’re alright. But you have to stay awake," he said, almost pleadingly. 

You tried. And really, you wanted to. 

But the last thing you felt before the darkness pulled you under was the way his fingers trembled against your skin.

…

You felt the car lurch to a stop, the tires skidding against the dirt, but the world around you was hazy, your body heavy, weighed down by exhaustion and pain.

You jolted further awake when Tommy shifted, pulling you onto his lap before he pushed the door open.

Then, a rush of cold air. Sharp as it bit at your skin. Tommy stepped out, his grip on you unwavering, unrelenting. There were voices, then footsteps. The sound of boots pounding against the ground. 

Polly’s familiar voice. "Oh, my girl," she gasped. “What have they done to her?”

You tried to lift your head, to focus, but your vision swam, the world tilting in and out of darkness. 

Polly was moving fast, her skirt rustling as she rushed toward you, her hands reaching for you before you even realized what was happening.

"Get her inside," she ordered, her tone sharp, controlled, but beneath it there was fear.

Tommy didn’t hesitate. You felt the urgency in his body, the tension coiling tight in his arms as he carried you up the steps, past the doorway, into the dim warmth of the house.

Everything was spinning. 

When he set you down, the wound in your stomach pinched and a warm rush of liquid poured from it. You clutched at it– felt the blood pooling between your fingers. 

"Tommy, put some pressure on that!" Polly’s voice cut through the haze, sharp and commanding.

Your breath hitched, your body already trembling from exhaustion, from blood loss, from the deep, horrible throbbing wrapping around your ribs like a vice.

Tommy moved instantly, his hands already reaching for you. You felt him brush your hands away before pressing a towel firmly against the open wound on your stomach. 

The moment the pressure hit, white-hot pain exploded through you.

You screamed.

 Your body arched off the mattress, hands flying to his wrist, gripping hard, your nails digging into his skin, trying to push him away.

"I know," Tommy rasped without budging, his jaw clenched so tightly it looked like he might break his teeth.

You tried to twist away, but his hands didn’t move, didn’t falter, didn’t let up.

Your vision swam, a high-pitched ringing buzzing in your ears, agony coiling through your body like fire, licking up your ribs, burning through your spine.

Polly was moving fast, grabbing bandages, ripping fabric, preparing whatever she needed, but all you could focus on was the pressure, the unbearable weight of Tommy’s hands pressing against your stomach.

"Fuck," Tommy cursed under his breath. "Pol, do something. Help her–"

"I need supplies, Tommy," Polly snapped. "I need you to go get them."

You saw Tommy hesitate.

"Tom," Polly’s voice was firmer now, demanding. "Go. Now."

A beat. Then, the pressure on your stomach lifted as he moved away. The moment Tommy’s hands left your body, you felt the loss like a cruel snap of cold air.

Your breath hitched, your body instinctively tensing, but Polly’s hands were already there, replacing his. 

She pressed tightly against the wound, and fresh agony ripped through you, another strangled cry spilling from your lips.

"Shh, darling," Polly murmured, her voice softer now, gentler than before, but still edged with urgency. "I know, I know. We’re going to get you all fixed up."

You let out a soft, weak noise as Tommy moved, as if your body somehow knew it was losing its only source of warmth, of safety.

"I’ll be right back," Tommy’s voice was hoarse, raw, full of something broken.

And then, the door swung shut. 

Your fingers clutched weakly at the sheets, your body writhing slightly, trying to escape the searing pain, but Polly held firm. "Easy," she murmured, one hand moving up to smooth your hair back from your face, her touch gentle despite the blood coating her fingers. "Just breathe."

You tried. But every inhale sent sharp daggers through your ribs, every second felt like your body was tearing itself apart.

"That’s it," Polly encouraged, even as her hands remained firm, even as she continued pressing into the wound. "Just keep breathing, sweetheart."

Footsteps. A door swinging open.

Then, his voice.

"Here," Tommy said, sounding breathless as he stormed back into the room. His hands were full of supplies.

Polly barely glanced up. "Put them on the table."

He did, his movements fast and urgent. But the moment he turned back to you, his face fell.

His blue eyes flickered to the blood pooling around Polly’s hands, to the torn fabric soaked with red, and then, to your face.

Your body was trembling, your breath coming shaky and weak, your skin far too pale.

Tommy’s hands curled into fists. Polly looked at him before releasing the pressure on your wound.

"It’s not clotting," she said, flat, grim. Polly exhaled sharply, grabbing the needle and thread. "We’ll have to stitch it up."

His jaw clenched, his throat working around words he couldn’t say, his hands hovering uselessly at his sides. Without a word, he took his place back beside you, his hands finding your shoulders, his grip steady, firm, unyielding.

Polly met his gaze. "Hold her down."

And with agony in his eyes, he did.

A sharp, searing sensation that tore through your body like fire, ripping you from the darkness and into the cruel reality of the moment. Your eyes flew open, your breath catching instantly as a white-hot, unbearable sting shot through your stomach.

A scream tore from your throat before you even knew what was happening.

"Keep her from moving!" Polly’s voice was urgent, firm, cutting through the haze of pain and confusion as she clutched the bottle of alcohol she was using to clean your wounds.

Then, strong hands gripped your shoulders.

"Shh, love, I know, I know."

Tommy pinned you down, his weight pressing against you just enough to keep you still, but not enough to hurt you.

You fought against it anyway, your body thrashing violently, panic and agony blurring together as Polly’s hands worked quickly, pressing something sharp against your skin. Another wave of pain crashed through you, and you sobbed, gasping, your body twisting uselessly beneath Tommy’s grip. 

"Please–" Your voice cracked, weak and frantic, as the burning sensation only grew worse. “Please, stop–”

Tommy’s grip tightened, his breath harsh against your ear as he whispered, "I know,” he repeated. “You have to let her do this."

You couldn’t do it, couldn’t bear the pain, the sting, the relentless wave of agony pressing down on every nerve in your body.

But Tommy wasn’t letting go. His hands stayed firm, keeping you still as Polly continued, her voice clipped, professional– but you could hear the pain in it too.

"It’ll be over soon," she murmured, but it barely reached you over the sound of your own ragged sobs.

Another sharp pain seared through your ribs, and your body arched violently, another broken cry ripping from your throat. Your fingers latched onto Tommy’s arm, gripping him so tightly your nails dug into his skin.

He didn’t flinch.

His voice was hoarse, desperate, like this was hurting him just as much as it was hurting you. "I got you," he murmured, his breath warm against your temple. "I’m right here, love. Just hold on. Just hold on."

But you couldn’t.

You felt yourself slipping away, the pain too much, too unbearable.

Your sobs grew softer, weaker, until the darkness swallowed you whole.

…

Sleep clung to you like a heavy shroud, pulling you under, keeping you trapped beneath the surface.

But then… voices.

Low, hushed, urgent.

You weren’t awake, not really. But the words drifted through the haze, barely reaching you, like an echo through water.

"I don’t know what happened in that room," Polly said, soft but grave, laced with something heavy, unspoken. "But our girl was hurt beyond what the eye can see."

There was silence– so suffocating that you could feel it settle over the room like a funeral shroud.

Then, Tommy’s voice, low, rough, dangerous in a way you had never heard before.

"What are you saying, Pol?"

A pause.

"You saw the bruises on her thighs, Tommy. The way her clothes were torn."

The words barely registered before a deep, unbearable shame clawed its way up your throat.

You wanted to pull the blanket tighter around you– to disappear, vanish, sink back into the darkness where none of this was real.

But your body wouldn’t listen. Your fingers twitched, barely moving against the sheets. Another silence. Longer this time. Heavier.

Then, Tommy’s voice, but it was different now. Not sharp, not angry. Shaken.

“Jesus Christ."

Another pause.

Then, a sound you never thought you’d hear from Tommy Shelby. A shaky exhale, almost like a breath that had been trapped in his chest for too long, forced out in a way that wasn’t entirely controlled.

You wanted to open your eyes.

Wanted to reach for him, for Polly, for something that made you feel whole again.

But your body was too broken, and your mind was too tired.

…

The room was quiet when you woke up.

Not the kind of peaceful quiet that brought comfort, but the kind that felt hollow, empty, like something had been ripped away. Your body felt heavy, every inch of you aching, wrapped in a deep, throbbing pain that radiated from your ribs, your face, your legs.

For a moment, you didn’t move. Didn’t even breathe too deeply.

Just listened.

The soft crackling of the fireplace. The distant murmurs of voices downstairs. The faint scent of whiskey, tobacco, and something familiar lingering in the air.

Then, movement

Your eyes shifted, and that’s when you saw him.

Tommy.

He was sitting in a chair beside the bed, his head bowed, his elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together like he had been praying but never finished the prayer.

His hair was disheveled, his coat abandoned somewhere, his sleeves rolled up. He looked worn down.  Like he had been carrying too much weight for far too long.

Your throat felt tight. When you shifted slightly, trying to ease the ache in your body, the mattress creaked softly beneath you.

Tommy’s head snapped up instantly. His blue eyes locked onto you, and for a brief second they widened, raw and unguarded, before he jolted forward, hurrying to your side.

"Hey–" His voice was rough, low with exhaustion, relief, and something deeper, something broken. “Hey, hey, hey. I’m here. I’m right here.” 

You tried to speak, but nothing came out. Your throat tightened painfully, your lips parting as if to form words, but all that came was silence. Then– tears. Hot, silent tears spilled over your cheeks, streaking down your skin before you could stop them.

Tommy’s breath hitched, his face contorting slightly, as if the sight of you like this physically hurt him.

"Hey," he repeated, his hands reaching up, cupping your face carefully, his thumbs wiping away the tears as fast as they fell. "It’s alright. You’re alright."

But you weren’t. And you both knew it.

More tears spilled, your body trembling despite the warmth of the blankets, despite the fact that Tommy’s hands were steady, firm, and safe. You let out a weak, shaky exhale, your breath stuttering.

Tommy’s jaw tensed, the pad of his thumb still brushing along your cheek.

"You’re safe now," he whispered, his forehead nearly pressing against yours. "You hear me?"

You closed your eyes and nodded weakly, but the tears kept falling. They wouldn’t stop– wouldn’t slow, no matter how hard you tried to breathe through it, to swallow it down, to push it away like it wasn’t happening.

His hands never left your face, gentle, steady, as if he thought you might shatter completely if he let go.

He watched you closely, his expression tight, unreadable, but his eyes gave him away. They were soft. Without a word, Tommy shifted, slowly, carefully, and sat on the edge of the bed. His weight made the mattress dip. And then, he reached for you. Not all at once. Not suddenly. Just gently. One of his arms slid behind your back, the other under your legs, his movements slow, deliberate, giving you time to pull away if you wanted to. But you didn’t.  So, when he finally pulled you into him, when he gathered you against his chest, you just let him. Because the desire to be held so gently by him outweighed the pain in your stomach. 

A soft, shuddering sob broke from your throat the second your face pressed into his shoulder. His arms tightened and his chest rose and fell beneath you.

"I’ve got you," he said.

You just cried harder. Cried into his shirt, into his chest, into the only thing that felt remotely safe.

And Tommy just held you.

Like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

… 

The hands were everywhere. Gripping, clawing, pressing against your skin.

Hot breath ghosted over your ear, cruel laughter filling the darkness as rough fingers bruised their way over your body.

"Not so tough now, are you?" 

You thrashed, but you were trapped, bound, helpless. No matter how hard you fought, kicked, screamed, you couldn’t get away.

"Shelby won’t want you now."

"Damaged goods."

"Bet he won’t even look at you when we’re done."

No. No, please.

You screamed.

You jerked awake violently, gasping, drenched in sweat, heart pounding in your chest like it was trying to escape. The room was dark, shadows stretching across the walls, but the nightmare was still there, lingering, suffocating.

A figure moved beside you, reaching for you–  Too close. Too fast.

"Don’t fucking touch me!" The words ripped from your throat before you even registered them, your voice sharp, frantic, trembling with terror. 

"Hey, hey, hey. It’s me. It’s just me."

You sucked in a sharp breath, your pulse roaring in your ears as the terror began to splinter, reality bleeding through the nightmare. Your eyes darted to his face.

Not them.

Tommy.

A shuddering sob broke from your lips as you reached forward. Tommy caught you immediately, his arms wrapping around you, holding you firmly but carefully.

"Shh, you’re alright," he murmured against your hair. "You’re safe. I’ve got you."

His warmth grounded you, but the nightmare still clung to you like poison, lingering in your skin, in your bones. You inhaled, your cheek resting against the curve between his shoulder and neck. His scent wrapped around you, familiar and safe. He smelled of whiskey, tobacco, gunpowder, something darker, something uniquely him.

The fabric of his shirt was soft, worn, and beneath it, you could feel the subtle heat of his skin, along with the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. It was faster than usual, uneven, like he wasn’t as composed as he wanted to be.

The silence stretched between you for a long time, a heavy, fragile thing hanging in the air.

Then, Tommy’s voice finally broke it. "What did they do to you?"

You stiffened. Every muscle in your body locked up, panic flaring hot in your chest. Your breath shook, your fingers twisting into his shirt as your mind raced, panicked, hesitated. 

If he knew, would he still want you?

"Shelby won’t want you now."

"Damaged goods."

"Bet he won’t even look at you when we’re done." 

The cruel messages from the men lingered in the forefront of your mind. You were damaged. Used. Broken. What if he’d see you differently now? What if he never touched you the same again? What if he’d– 

"Please,” he cut in. “I have to know." 

Slowly, you swallowed, your throat tight, aching, before you finally forced the words past your lips. "They–" your voice was barely a whisper. "They touched me, Tommy."

The air in the room shifted as Tommy stiffened. Then his jaw clenched, his breath sharp and ragged through his nose. Before you could process it, he was moving. Standing up and turning toward the door. For a second, your brain didn’t register it– or understand.

Then, it hit you. 

He was leaving… Heading straight for the door. Panic slammed into your chest, raw and frantic.

"Tommy–" Your voice broke, but he didn’t stop.

No, no, no– 

"I’m sorry, I– I tried," you choked out, your throat burning, your hands reaching for him but too weak to move from the bed. "I swear, I fought. I– I should’ve fought harder, I–"

Tommy froze in place.

You didn’t realize you were crying again, but the words kept spilling out, rushed and broken, desperate to keep him here, to explain how hard you fought. "I’m sorry," you gasped, barely able to breathe. "Please– please, don’t go– don’t leave me– I’m so sorry–"

Tommy turned sharply, crossing the room in two strides, and then, his hands were on your face, cradling you, forcing you to look at him.

"No." His voice was firm, steady, but his eyes… His eyes were shining, raw, and shattered. "This is not your fault."

Your breath hitched, but he didn’t let go.

"I should’ve been there," he whispered, voice thick with agony, regret, fury… at himself, at the men who did this, at everything. "You hear me? I should’ve been there. And I should never have sent you away. I was wrong. And I’m so fucking sorry."

A tear slipped down your cheek, and Tommy wiped it away with his thumb, his touch careful.

“I thought–” you stammered. “I thought you were going to leave.”

"Christ, I’m not leaving you love," he murmured, his voice so quiet, so broken it nearly undid you completely. "I just–" he swallowed thickly, his jaw tightening. "I want to go back there and kill every last one of those bastards for what they did to you."

You closed your eyes, your body shaking, exhausted, drained. But when you leaned forward, Tommy caught you instantly, pulling you into him, holding you tightly against his chest.

"Please stay," you whispered, your voice thin, fragile, desperate. "Please, Tommy– don’t go."

His hands tensed against your face, thumbs still brushing against your cheekbones, his blue eyes searching yours, reading every ounce of fear buried beneath the words.

"I’m not going anywhere, love," he murmured, his voice low, rough with emotion, as if saying the words out loud solidified them in stone.

A quiet, broken noise escaped your throat– not quite a sob, not quite relief, but something in between.

His hands slipped down, his arms gathering you close. Your forehead pressed against his chest, his warmth grounding you.

He dipped his head, his lips brushing against your temple, barely a whisper of contact, but the weight of it was enough.

"I never should’ve sent you away," he murmured, his voice softer now, but still laced with the guilt he would never forgive himself for. "And I promise you, love, I won’t make that mistake again."

Your fingers weakly clung to his shirt, your body melting against him as the last of your strength gave out. 

==

Hands on the handlebars, knees pumping up to her chest, Kim Gaeul biked against the final few rays of the setting sun that beamed down at her from the horizon. Squinting, she took a deep breath and took it all in: the grill left out in the backyard, the rows of freshly mown grass, the faint hint of petrichor that hung in the air, the occasional chirping of the birds soaring overhead. There was no need to look both ways before crossing narrow streets. There was no need to squeeze her elbows together to avoid bumping into other people. There was no need to burn her lungs to catch the last bus, to wait outside the Asian mart for hours for the half-off sale, or to vomit in a shady back alley in between coffee breaks thanks to another double shift.

This was home. Kim Gaeul was home.

There was something about coming home again, Gaeul thought, trying to put it into words as she cycled past the houses that remained unchanged over the past two years that she was gone. She had never been away before, so she had never been ‘back’ either. She was hoping it would feel grander, tug more at her heartstrings, engulf her deeper into a sense of nostalgia. But all that filled Gaeul’s mind were the faces of people she prayed she would never bump into during her temporary return, all the places she might want to visit again if she had the time and the money, and how she was going to survive seven days living under her parent’s roof again.

Speaking of the devil, her phone vibrated in her pocket.

“Eomma? Why are you calling?” Gaeul uttered as she squeezed her phone between her chin and neck. “I haven’t been gone a while—.”

“You haven’t been home for years and the first thing you do is leave?” her mother yelled, nearly shattering her phone’s poor little speaker. “Where are you headed off to?”

“Relax, eomma. I’m just … I’m just visiting a friend,” Gaeul replied. The idea was sound in her mind, but verbalizing it made her chest tighten. “Just going to say hi. That’s all.” 

Her mother sighed, and immediately after, Gaeul could already hear her chopping up vegetables in the background again. “What am I going to do with you? Just take care, alright? You looked so … tired, honey. Not the jetlag type of tired. You should get some rest while you’re on break. Maybe we can all go somewhere together as a family again?”

Gaeul wasn’t sure how to respond to that. She wasn’t really the type to have these kinds of conversations with her mother—or with anyone. But as the front lawn of her destination came into view, she parked that thought for now. “Sure, sure. I’ll … I’ll talk to you later! Love you—bye!”

Before her mother could get another sermon in, Gaeul ended the call and slipped her phone back into one of her jacket’s pockets.

Slowing down to a stop, Gaeul let her bike collapse onto the grass as she stared up at the house in front of her. She couldn’t believe it. It looked exactly the same. The same way she remembered it whenever she biked, or jogged, or ran towards it. Same ivory- and cream-colored walls. Same creaky wooden porch. Same garland that hung by the door all year round.

Jang Wonyoung’s house.

Gaeul took five steps to the side and leaned against one foot, taking a peek down the path to the backyard. She thought of it. She considered surprising her, sneaking in through the door around back. Sighing, she shook her head. “Some things you need to face the right way, Kim Gaeul.”

But what was she even going to say when she saw her again? What would come out of her lips first? An apology? A declaration—‘I’m home’? A joke to lighten the mood? 

Gaeul wasn’t too sure, but fortune favored the bold—so she walked up to Wonyoung’s front door and knocked three times. Each rap of her knuckles against the heavy wood sounded a tad too demanding for the short girl, making her second guess her decision of coming here in the first place.

In moments, the knob twisted. In mere seconds, the door creaked open.

Gaeul held her breath. “Hi, um, Won—.”

“Who the fuck are you?”

Gaeul’s body tensed at the sound of a deeper voice replying to her. As the origin of this voice stepped out into the late afternoon light, she managed to take a good look at him. 

Pronounced Adam’s apple. Unblemished pale skin. Hawaiian shirt parted by the shoulders with nothing underneath. Half-baked abs jutting out. The man in front of her leaned with his elbow against the doorframe as he stooped down to meet Gaeul’s gaze. “Are you one of her friends or something?”

“S-Sorry, I think I have the … wait, this is … the Jang’s home, right?”

The man smirked, and Gaeul just wanted to rip that shit-eating grin off his face in a heartbeat. “Depends which Jang. There’s, like, three Jang’s I know in this entire sub—.”

“Wonyoung. Jang Wonyoung. I’m here to see her.”

“Hoonie? Who’s that?”

Gaeul perked up, fingers relaxing now by her sides. She wanted to step past this ‘Hoonie’ fellow to meet that voice—that same mellow voice—but he was blocking the entire doorway.

Peeking out from underneath one of the man’s arms, a girl in a striped top stepped forward, and in an instant, Gaeul felt her entire face melt. “Oh my god … you … unnie?”

Gaeul smiled, extending her arms to the side. Wonyoung wasted no time and jumped right into her for a tight embrace.

Swaying her unnie from side to side, Wonyoung held her by the waist. “God, unnie, you’re … you’re here. You’re home?”

Gaeul pouted, running her fingers through her hair. “That wasn’t the reaction I was hoping for. Guess I need to make a second entrance.”

Wonyoung laughed in an unladylike way—the way Gaeul had always managed to evoke from her when they were alone. It was refreshing to hear it once again. It was refreshing to see her like this once again. “Right! Right, this is um, this is Sunghoon. He’s my boyfriend.”

Boyfriend.

As Wonyoung released herself from Gaeul and returned to Sunghoon’s side, Gaeul watched as her boyfriend wrapped an arm around her, digging his fingers into the side of her bare navel, and lifted his chin up in acknowledgement. It was then that Gaeul understood a core theme of returning home.

Some things never change, but some people do.

Boyfriend. The word kept playing back in her head like a broken record, even as Wonyoung showed her in and Sunghoon went to grab a beer. As the two girls sat by the edge of the countertop in her kitchen, Gaeul couldn’t make sense of it.

They’ve never talked about boys before. Or, well, maybe they have. Just not like this. They’ve never talked dating. They’ve never talked looking for a relationship. So when Gaeul glanced up from her hunched position to see Wonyoung with that same old smile on her and that same old way her hair fell perfectly down her shoulders, Gaeul couldn’t fathom the thought that she was possibly not the same old friend she once had.

Who was Gaeul to blame? Two years is enough time for many things to happen—Gaeul would know. It wouldn’t be impossible for Wonyoung to have tried new things, to have gotten into different groups, and to have met new people.

But really—out of all the people, someone like Sunghoon?

Gaeul wanted to raise the topic, but she was too distracted by her best friend. They didn’t have any paintings around the house, but Gaeul could have sworn Wonyoung was framed like one as she dangled her feet off the surface. Her dark caramel hair. The two beauty marks on her face that Gaeul thought looked like an incomplete constellation. The tiny scar on her lower lip that she got when she catapulted off her bike when she was twelve. If returning home was supposed to be nostalgic, then Jang Wonyoung was the museum of Gaeul’s life.

She couldn’t look at her without remembering everything they shared together.

The smell of nicotine was what brought her back to reality. “Since when did you smoke?”

Wonyoung took a deep breath and blew a cloud of fumes into Gaeul’s face. “Since college, unnie. Everyone does, are you kidding me?”

Gaeul could only smile endearingly. She wasn’t about to lecture the younger girl on vices—she was no stranger to them. Clearing her throat, she eyed Wonyoung’s pack of convenience store cigarettes and scooted towards the other girl. “Light me one too, will you?”

As the two girls smoked in silence, alternating between drags and huffs, Gaeul finally felt the weight of the day sinking into her all at once. This was not how she expected things to go at all today. She wasn’t expecting to see a boyfriend at the door. She wasn’t expecting her adorable hoobae to be smoking just like the other girls around campus. She was certainly not expecting them to be ruminating in Wonyoung’s kitchen like this as if they were a pair of middle-aged office workers.

Rubbing her temple in mild strokes, Gaeul bit her cigarette and sighed after a long drag. She was happy enough to see Wonyoung again. She was thankful they were both still amicable like this. But all of this was just too overwhelming for her first day back.

Gaeul watched as Wonyoung played out like a movie in front of her.

Yapping about her recent obsession with blind boxes. Sharing her sentiments about the college degree she was taking. Recounting the little stories about how she and Sunghoon had met, and some of their other memorable moments. Just like the smoke that filled and exited her lungs, Wonyoung’s words entered one ear and exited the other for Gaeul. Because all she could take in was her.

All she wanted to take in was Wonyoung.

“You’re staring again,” Wonyoung noted, folding her cigarette and tossing it into the sink. “You’re doing it again. That thing when you’re thinking about something. When did I lose you?”

Gaeul raised her hands in surrender, cigarette between the joints of her fingers. “Guilty as charged. I stopped when you mentioned Sunghoon.”

“That was at the start.”

Gaeul shrugged with a cocky smirk on her. “Oops.”

Wonyoung bit her lip and shoved her shoulder, but her hand found purchase against her arm afterwards and gripped it. “I … I missed you, unnie. I really did. I thought you’d never be back again.”

“I thought you’d be gone for good.”

Gaeul thought so too.

It started out when they were kids. It burgeoned when they were in high school. It was this feeling—this sensation that coated her like molasses. Couldn’t shake it off. Couldn’t wipe herself clean off it. Gaeul had always felt like something was wrong with her. Like something was off. She couldn’t make friends like the others did. She couldn’t indulge in the same hobbies they did. She was always in her own little world, doing whatever the hell she wanted. Because of that, she got a lot of hate. Because of that, she got a lot of flak. And because of that, she immediately felt what they wanted her to feel.

Gaeul felt like she didn’t belong.

It was suffocating. She needed more air walking up and down the staircases to her classrooms than she needed between sticks of cigarettes. Needed more caution when keeping her head down against their insults than she needed biking downhill into flowing traffic. Needed more energy to feign smiles in front of teachers than her lamp needed as it hovered precariously by her bathtub every other night.

She wanted to get away from it. All of it. Even if it meant being away from her.

Now that she thought about it, Wonyoung was the only reason she had to stay. In the same vein, Gaeul thought, Wonyoung was also the only reason why she was back here in the first place. 

“I’m back now. Just for a few days though,” Gaeul finally replied, crushing her own cigarette. “Can’t stay for any longer than that. Life’s … pretty busy in the big city. Faster than you’d even think.”

“Maybe you can tell me more, unnie. I’m on break too. You should come by again. Maybe when …”

As Wonyoung trailed, Sunghoon’s broken laughter from the living room was interspersed with sounds from the movie he was watching on TV. “Maybe when he’s not around.”

Nodding, Gaeul hopped off the counter. “Mind if I use your bathroom for a sec?”

“Oh please, don’t worry about it, unnie. Don’t use the guest one—just use mine upstairs. You still remember where it is, right?”

Chuckling, Gaeul patted Wonyoung’s thigh and winked at her. “Be back soon then. Maybe I can share a drunken story or two.”

Gaeul noted her little lip bite. She always did that unknowingly. Such a tease. But she filed that away and tugged on the hem of her jacket as she trudged up the stairs and into the second floor.

Gaeul passed by the shared bathroom, pressed a hand against the sliding door instead, and tiptoed out onto the balcony, closing the door behind her.

Slumping immediately against the wall, she pulled out her phone. There were texts from her friends. She opened the only thread that she was keen on replying to right now.

[Liz] Back home already? How’d it go?

[You] Not the best U?

[Liz] Rei and I are … talking it out … She’s never dated a girl before so … Bit heavy on her Wbu? What happened?

===

“Behold! I am the princess of the playground!”

As a young Wonyoung prepared to glide down the slide in her pink tutu, one of her hands held her pink fairy wand while the other stretched out in front of her. “Catch me, my prince!”

Gaeul, on one knee, was always ready to receive her with both hands. And as the young girl slid into her friend’s arms, she giggled and smiled wide enough to show all of her missing teeth. “My prince!”

Kissing the back of her hand, Gaeul muttered. “And my princess.”

===

Gaeul thought back to her smile that day. Gaeul thought back to the way Wonyoung had smiled towards Sunghoon while in his arms.

[You] She’s dating someone. She has a boyfriend

[Liz] SHE WHAT Wait … she might be bi then?

[You] That’s not the point lol Coming here was a waste of time

[Liz] … ….. You said you wanted to go home because you needed time to think Discover yourself or something You backed out of our LA trip because of her … At least take the time off and just … IDK … Sort your emotions out before coming back I can’t keep wiping vomit off your face each night

[You] Whatever lol Miss you too

Gaeul hunched forward and squeezed her knees against her temples.

It was an excuse she made up to avoid Liz’s insistence, but deep down, Gaeul knew it was true. She’s been dealing with a lot ever since she moved out and away from here. A psychology degree that she wouldn’t even know what to do with once she acquires it. Working extra shifts at her part-time job when she’s not in class just to make ends meet. She couldn’t read books or watch movies like she used to—she was always too tired, too guilty she was wasting her limited time. She couldn’t even lay in bed without some part of her aching. She couldn’t even wake up the next day without something in her mind questioning whether this monotonous slop was all still worth it.

Gaeul thought back to when things were simpler, to times like these when she was back home, where she could afford to smoke on kitchen countertops and not need to count the time left until her break was over. The idyllic days like these were what Gaeul missed the most about being home.

Her idyllic days with Jang Wonyoung.

She glanced at the street to the side. She remembered a time when they biked up and down streets like those together. Not going anywhere sometimes. Just biking and killing time. Wanting to be anywhere between home and school. They were so carefree. They were so naive. They were so themselves.

Shaking her head, Gaeul pocketed her phone and got up, having enough of this afternoon rumination.

As she headed downstairs in search for Wonyoung, wanting to catch up with her somehow, she spotted her sitting on Sunghoon’s lap in the living room—arms wrapped around his head, noses touching, chests smothering each other’s.

Gaeul watched the way her lips curled up higher towards her ears. She thought back to the smile Wonyoung gave her years ago on that playground floor.

It was wider now.

Stuffing her hands into her jacket pockets, Gaeul turned the other way and let the happy couple be, exiting around back where she could leave unnoticed.

===

[Nyong] Hey … about yesterday … You didn’t say goodbye. Again … I feel bad … I didn’t mean to forget about you unnie Want to come over for a swim? It’ll just be the two of us this time

Just the two of us.

Gaeul shouldn’t have, but the moment she saw those words appear on her screen, her legs were already pumping up and down against her bike.

Just the two of us, unnie.

===

“Swimming again? You’re going to be a mermaid at this point.”

Wonyoung swatted Gaeul with her kickboard and shook her head. “If I’m going to be a mermaid, then at least I’ll be a pretty one. Swimming is fun! I keep telling you to try it. Maybe then you’ll understand.”

Rolling her eyes, Gaeul picked up the towel Wonyoung had dropped and hung it securely on her shoulder. “I guess that’s it for today. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Mwah.

She did it again. She kissed Gaeul on the lips again after making sure nobody was watching. Gaeul could feel the chapstick against her own lips as she rubbed them together. “Wonyoung … I told you, you need to stop doing that. That’s not how friends say goodbye …”

But Wonyoung just giggled at her unnie. “It’s like our own little secret handshake, unnie. Just for the two of us.”

Just the two of us.

===

Gaeul pedaled harder with a wide grin on her face, emboldened by that memory as she biked against the early morning air.

The first thing Wonyoung did when Gaeul showed up at the door was to grab Gaeul’s wrists and pull her through the entryway. Gaeul was half-expecting her to be kissed by the younger girl, but Wonyoung wasn’t a ten-year-old anymore.

And Wonyoung had a boyfriend.

“Is that the jacket I gave you for your thirteenth? Are you crazy—you still wear it?”

Gaeul ruffled her jacket and smoothened out the creases, raising a brow against the younger girl. “Fits like a glove. I never grew out of it.” I never … grew out of you.

But the last sentence never left Gaeul’s lips.

“Huh, now that I think about it, you never did grow too much, did you, unnie?”

Gaeul’s heart didn’t break over the jab at her height—it broke over what she had called her yet again.

Unnie.

===

“What? Going to cry for your mama~? Hahaha!”

As the group of girls began screaming things at Wonyoung like a pack of monkeys, she shrank smaller and smaller into herself as she clutched the pigtails her mother had done for her. “S-S-Stop that … l-leave me … leave me alone please …”

But her pleas only served to fuel their bullying.

When she could no longer take it, Wonyoung shattered into a mixture of sobs and sniffs as she cried at the top of lungs. “UNNIE!”

The door behind the group of girls exploded, immediately silencing the entire stretch of the corridor. And as soon as a hooded girl came strutting out with a pair of scissors and a cutter, they all stepped away from Wonyoung and began running for their lives.

===

“Unnie?”

Geaul blinked twice. When Wonyoung sensed she was back, she slipped her hand around Gaeul’s. “I said, did you bring anything good for swimming? If you didn’t, you can borrow one of mine. I’m sure they’ll fit you.”

Gaeul blushed at the thought of borrowing her hoobae’s swimwear. “No, I … I have something decent.”

Smiling, Wonyoung gestured with her lips. “Then let’s get changed upstairs.”

Gaeul offered to change in the bathroom so Wonyoung could have her bedroom all to herself. But the younger girl insisted otherwise, claiming it wasn’t a bother to her if they changed together.

As Gaeul began stripping out of her casual wear, dumping them in a pile on the floor, she was extremely conscious of her body. One gust of wind from the open window and she was shivering. Every nerve beneath her skin was constantly active. Cupping her bare chest, she turned around to pick up her swimsuit when she saw Wonyoung with her bare back towards her.

Gaeul’s hand fell limp to her side. Suddenly, she had forgotten her own bodily insecurities.

Gaeul’s mind was instead filled with the smell of red berries, datura, and white musk. Of the shadows that danced on the floor as Wonyoung moved. At the steady breathing that lifted and lowered her perky chest.

When Gaeul locked eyes with Wonyoung, who had turned around now, the other girl held her gaze. As Wonyoung tied the straps of her bikini tightly around her, Gaeul tried her best to not look anywhere lower than her eyes, which didn’t prove to be too difficult given how mesmerizing they were.

Once Wonyoung had fully changed, she smiled and tugged on the strings a final time just to make sure. “Are you done? I don’t mind skinny dipping, unnie, but please—not in broad daylight.”

Gaeul kicked her clothes towards Wonyoung and threatened to drown her in the pool.

Swimming at six in the morning would normally be a terrible idea, but it already felt like eighty degrees outside. They didn’t need to wait until it was any warmer like they used to.

While Wonyoung did steady laps back and forth in the pool, Gaeul just dunked herself a few times into the water to cool off from the summer heat. Gaeul wasn’t much of a swimmer anyway. Hitting the pool with Wonyoung had always meant watching on the sidelines as the younger girl got to stretch her slender limbs.

Perched on the coping of the pool, Gaeul observed Wonyoung’s maneuvers. 

The first few laps were to warm up—freestyle. That was the stroke she was most comfortable with. When she tumbleturned and converted into a backstroke, Gaeul knew she had moved from getting back into the motion of things towards showing off. But it was only when she started doing butterflies did Gaeul recall how competitive Wonyoung was—even against herself.

“Trying to beat her record again,” Gaeul muttered in between the splashes of water that were thrown her way.

===

As she got splashed by what felt like a waterfall, Gaeul lowered the clipboard she was holding, which got absolutely soaked just like the rest of her. “Ya! Can you control yourself or something? I’m not even the one swimming and I’m still getting wet.”

But Wonyoung wouldn’t listen—she couldn’t. Hear ears were plugged. Her swim cap was tightly wrapped around her head. Her goggles forced her to only see what was in front of her—each end of the pool.

Gaeul grunted and chased after her, stopwatch in hand. Each time Wonyoung slapped the walls of the pool with her feet, she paused the timer and recorded it.

“Fifty-five! Forty-eight! Oh my god—thirty-nine!”

===

Gaeul chuckled to herself as she counted in her head, watching Wonyoung burst from the waters like a siren chasing her prey. “Twenty-four. Twenty-two. Nineteen.”

Now, Wonyoung was too fast for Gaeul to even trace with her eyes. Now, Wonyoung felt too far away from her. It was almost as if Gaeul couldn’t reach her anymore.

Suddenly, she felt damp hands wrap around her thighs and drag her underwater.

Bubbles filled her vision as the faint silhouette of flesh and red came into view. She pushed her shaking palms against the younger girl’s submerged face before resurfacing and gasping against the side of the pool.

Fixing her bikini top, Wonyoung leaned against the same wall as Gaeul. “I can’t be the only one swimming now. can I, unnie?”

Gaeul submerged her head seemingly to calm her breathing, but when she came back up, she spewed water out of her mouth towards Wonyoung’s face.

Gasping, the other girl retaliated with an upwards kick of water towards Gaeul. And then, the two chased each other around the pool like cats and mice.

Once their morning rush of energy petered out, both girls leaned with their elbows by the shallower end of the pool. Wonyoung bent towards Gaeul to try and shade her from the rising sun.

Close. She was close.

Lifting up a hand, Gaeul pressed her palm against Wonyoung’s cheek and drew circles against her damp skin with her thumb, brushing off the droplets of water on Wonyoung’s face. The motions inched lower and lower until her nail came across Wonyoung’s lip. The two of them stood there in silence as Wonyoung’s eyes swapped between her unnie’s hand and her unnie’s face.

“Cannonball!”

The two of them pulled away immediately as a burst of water obnoxiously blasted in their direction.

Wiping her eyes, Gaeul saw Wonyoung getting lifted up by her waist by Sunghoon, who had joined them in the pool. Wonyoung seemed just as surprised as Gaeul was to see her boyfriend here.

“H-Hoonie, you—.”

“That thing with my friends got cancelled—bummer. Means I get more time with you,” Sunghoon explained, capturing his girlfriend’s lips within the same breath. “Didn’t know you were going for a swim.”

Gaeul pursed her lips and allowed the couple to have a swim together. She pressed herself along the edges of the pool and resorted to bobbing up and down by herself awkwardly.

From her own corner at the deeper end, Gaeul watched as the two were absorbed in their own affairs. She got a clear view of Sunghoon snaking his slimy digits underneath the cloth of Wonyoung’s bottom going god-knows-where. Wonyoung didn’t even seem to react to this at all, too preoccupied with peppering his neck in kisses.

Gaeul rolled her eyes and looked away. A soft porno was the last thing she needed right now.

Once the couple was done with their not-so-public-display-of-affection, Sunghoon licked his lips and gestured indoors. “Go get me a beer, baby. I’m thirsty.”

“Go get it yourself, Jesus. I don’t want to get cold going out like this,” Wonyoung whined.

But Sunghoon lifted a brow in a way that made Wonyoung seem to understand what he meant. “I said, get me a beer. It won’t take long. Why don’t you get your friend a beer too? Makes the trip more worth your time, yeah?”

“I’m good,” Gaeul spouted, letting them both know she was still there. “Not really much of a drinker anyway.”

Wonyoung swapped between her unnie and her boyfriend before sighing and wading across the pool. In an act of rebellion, the younger girl decided to head to the farther end where the ladder was instead of climbing up the steps from the shallow end.

Before hoisting herself up, Wonyoung leaned towards Gaeul and whispered, “Sorry about him. I didn’t think he’d … you know …”

“Does he always come over? Does he not have anything better to do?” Gaeul fired, rubbing her  wrinkled fingers against one another.

“Even if I don’t tell him to. He’s … obsessed with me like that, I guess. It’s kinda … romantic.”

===

“Awww, Gaeul’s here, sweetheart. And she brought you flowers! How romantic of you.”

Gaeul blushed as she handed Wonyoung’s mother her humble bouquet of roses, clinging to the straps of her backpack tightly. “I-It’s nothing, Mrs. Jang … She told me last week no one gave her any Valentine’s gifts. I just thought … you know …”

Her mother smiled and walked over to the kitchen to fill up a vase with water. “That’s lovely. She’s upstairs by the way. Having another sleepover again?”

Gaeul blushed heavier as she tried to hide behind her short curtain of hair. “Y-Yes …”

Wonyoung’s mother chuckled. “You two sure are really close friends.”

Really close friends.

===

“She’s an amazing girlfriend.”

The moment could not have been ruined any faster. As Sunghoon made his way towards the deep end, where Gaeul was, he tapped his chest with one hand and jerked his chin. “Wonyoung? She’s perfect. Couldn’t have asked for more.”

Exhaling through clenched teeth, Gaeul glanced back up from the rippling water and put on her best smile. “We had a nickname for her back in school. Lucky Vicky. Always getting good grades. Always getting praises from our teachers. Always getting what she wanted. Seems like she’s … lucky with you too.”

Words have never tasted any sourer in Gaeul’s mouth.

“Could say that, yeah,” Sunghoon continued, stretching his torso backwards as if to flex his immature abs. “Had to show her the ropes for some things though. Used to be a terrible kisser haha. Could you believe that? Needed a bit of help with it. Among many things. Thankfully isn’t the case anymore.”

Gaeul wanted to shove his mouth into the pool cleaner. “Was she not your first?”

Sunghoon shook his head with pride. “Nah, dated here and there before her. She’s the longest I’ve ever had though—that’s for sure. Lucky I was her first. Can feel the years of being alone pouring out of her each time.”

Gaeul thought back to the times when Wonyoung would cry on her shoulder, whimpering like a child behind the backs of teachers and students who thought she was a perfect little girl. She thought back to the moments when Wonyoung would pull her by the ear and whisper all her naughty little thoughts and juicy little secrets like she was some untouchable vault only she had personal access to. She thought of the times when they would just sit next to each other in silence, not really meaning to do anything else but exist next to one another, when only the presence of the other was enough to confirm their own existence.

“Yeah,” Gaeul finally let out, blinking rapidly. “Yeah, I guess … I guess so.”

“You ever date anyone though? Seeing anyone lately?” Sunghoon asked, trying to extend the topic beyond his experience with Wonyoung. “College must have been fun in the big city, yeah?”

Gaeul thought back to the past two years she was away.

As her date moaned into her lips, she gripped the sides of Gaeul’s face and pulled her in tightly. “Harder … harder! I want to feel how much you want me, unnie …”

Blink.

Feeling her finger’s work their way inside her then-girlfriend, Gaeul felt her hand against her chin, drawing her in. “Look at me, unnie … don’t look away when it’s—ngh … when it’s just us …”

Blink.

Gaeul felt the slap against her own cheek before she spotted her ex’s tears stream down her face. “We’re done. I can’t date someone who … who always has her mind elsewhere … thinking about god knows what. Maybe … maybe you should resolve your own shit first before wasting someone else’s time, unnie.”

Blink.

Gaeul swallowed abruptly and crinkled her nose. “A bit. Didn’t date as much as you did, I imagine?”

And somehow, the two managed to make it work.

Although it wasn’t the most tasteful form of small talk, Gaeul managed to build some rapport with Sunghoon. Although he had a very distinct way of speaking and a very limited selection of topics he could engage in, Gaeul managed to pretend to be—in his own words—‘one of the bros’ as they exchanged stories while half-submerged against the morning sun.

By the time Wonyoung came back, Gaeul had almost forgotten about the beer she was asked to get. “Sorry! There weren’t any chilled ones, so I waited by the fridge before grabbing a few.”

Gaeul couldn’t help but stare at Wonyoung’s emerging figure. This was the first time she had ever seen her in a bikini.

But the moment only lasted for a few seconds. She darted her eyes away the instant she felt like Wonyoung’s eyes were on her as well. All she could remember—and see from her peripheral—was a blur of red against her perfect skin.

Gaeul turned to Sunghoon, who was helping Wonyoung back in the pool, his clutch on her remaining as deathly tight as ever.

Gaeul wanted to jam his digits into a lawn mower.

After a few swigs of the beer, exchanging the bottle between the two of them, the young couple laughed and murmured things into each other’s ears, unaware of their third companion lingering in the distance. Before Wonyoung could slide her hand down Sunghoon’s chest and reach for some place lower, Gaeul quietly made her way out of the pool to dry herself off.

She left them to their own devices, but not before Wonyoung shot her one last glance in the middle of her making out with Sunghoon.

==

Gaeul’s family was furious about her little rendezvous with Wonyoung yesterday. By furious, that meant extremely unhappy.

Her mother was the most displeased among the three of them. Her father couldn’t care any less what his daughter did with her time, and her brother could barely even offer half his brain to remember that his little sister was once again home during her break. But her mother? Her mother was not having it. At all.

“Two years and nothing’s changed,” she groaned as she plated the different side dishes she made for breakfast. “Still the same wandering spirit. Where do you keep going anyway?”

Gaeul shrugged, staring at her food with her lack of appetite. “Just a friend’s house, eomma.”

“‘Just a friend’s house, just a friend’s house’,” she mocked with that certain tone of hers that always got under Gaeul’s skin. “Jang Wonyoung’s?”

Gaeul squeezed her knees together.

Taking off his headphones, her brother elbowed her and gestured towards their father. “Don’t tell him. He’ll get a heart attack.”

“Tell me what?”

Lifting up her knife, she raised it towards her brother. “Ya! I’m going to stab your nosy little—.”

“Enough!”

Her mother slammed both of her fists onto the dining table, training her widened eyes at each of them. “We … we’re finally complete again after two years. Let’s act like a real family even for just a few days—while Gaeul’s home. Can you at least do that much … for me …?”

Gaeul eyed her brother, whose eyes filled with apathy in a heartbeat. She herself couldn’t be bothered either. They never really acted like a family before—even when she was still home. There was no sense in trying to act like a real family now.

“Let’s … let’s go to the mall.”

Her brother was the first to react, choking on his toast. “Ya, eomma! We’re not children anymore. Who the hell goes to the mall these days?”

“People with families do,” their mother raised, turning towards her husband for support. But their father simply hid behind his newspaper, leaving his wife to defend herself. “It’s a weekday. Parking won’t be a problem. We’ll spend our time at the mall today then—all of us. Together.”

Normally, Gaeul would protest. Going against her mother wasn’t difficult. It was something she learned how to do exceptionally well growing up. But when she closed her eyes and thought back to the sight of Wonyoung looking at her while she kissed her boyfriend, the sickness in her stomach refused to let her speak up.

“Sure. I don’t care.”

Her brother stared at her. “What? You’re not going to say anything against this?”

Gaeul stabbed her tteokbokki with her fork and scarfed it down in one go. “If this is what it takes to shut her up, then so be it. Let’s go to the damn mall and act like the family eomma wants us to be.”

She was expecting a scolding. She was expecting a plate filled with kimchi to be thrown at her. But when her eomma simply took a deep breath and nodded in acknowledgement, Gaeul felt a mild sense of relief.

“Thank you. I’ll ready the car.”

Gaeul wasn’t sure what exactly families did at the mall together. She’d never gone with her whole family to the mall before. In fact, Gaeul wasn’t really sure what families did together to begin with.

But she went along with her mother’s wishes.

They ate at a Chinese restaurant that was in between fast food and contemporary casual. As Gaeul nibbled on the dishes her parents ordered for them, she couldn’t find any justification for the price they were about to pay for it all. She didn’t have the heart to spit it out either considering how expensive it was. Lunch quickly became the start of a larger sunk-cost fallacy.

They tried burning off the grease and oil of their meal by going around the different shops. Gaeul wasn’t really in the mood for window shopping. That was only something she did when she knew what she wanted to look at or consider buying. Without a general goal, it just felt like she was being dragged every which way. Her mother was the enthusiastic one. It didn’t help that when she looked at her daughter, she still saw the child she used to be—picking out different summer clothes for her to try that had all gone out of season at least five or six years ago. It didn’t help that Gaeul’s brother was encouraging her.

They tried playing indoor mini-golf together. They each got their own club, golfball, and scorecard. Their mother thought it would be a nice bonding opportunity. But in between the golfballs her father launched at innocent passers-by and the number of times they had to explain to her brother that the lower numbers on the scorecard meant the better the standing, Gaeul just glided from hole to hole with the constant groaning of her family in the background. They left early when her brother tried to pick a fight with one of the kids for bumping into him mid-swing.

But the entire time, Gaeul couldn’t stop thinking about Wonyoung, the pool, and her smile. Gaeul couldn’t get rid of the afterimage of Wonyoung that was burned into the back of her mind.

===

“If you stare at it too much, you know you’re going to go blind, right?”

But Wonyoung didn’t listen. With her hands proudly by her hips, she stared right into the sun with her shades on, defiantly proving Gaeul otherwise. “See, unnie? I told you these shades worked!”

But Gaeul didn’t listen. Her eyes were fixated on the beautiful face of her friend, staring right at her. However, the moment her eyes had dried up beyond resistance and she ended up blinking, all Gaeul could see was the afterimage of the silly girl who dared to stare down the sun.

All Gaeul could see was Wonyoung.

===

Blinking off the afterimage, Gaeul rested her head against the car window as her mother pulled out of their parking slot. Her brother was already blasting punk rock into his ears, which meant she was ‘by herself’ in the backseat again.

Unlocking her phone, she scrolled through her messages. There was a bajillion of them. All of them from Wonyoung.

[Nyeong] You left? Didn’t say a word again? Look I didn’t mean to make you feel like a third wheel … I would never, unnie … It’s just … Sunghoon … I’m sorry … again … Unnie? Unnie …? … Please don’t ignore me … Are you busy? What are you doing? Unnie? !!! Sunghoon and I are going to the sports center tomorrow Do you want to come with? I understand if you don’t want to since he’s coming along, but … I thought you could bring your old racket with you Do you still have it? We could play badminton like we used to Remember when we played on the street almost everyday? Back in eighth grade haha I missed that So …?

Gaeul pressed her phone to her chest. She didn’t know what to think.

She wished it was just them. God—she wished she could just have a single moment with Wonyoung. Just Wonyoung. She wasn’t even sure how to feel about all this—about this huge mess of emotions inside of her. And now, she wasn’t even sure if she’d ever get the chance to find the right words to tell her if Wonyoung and Sunghoon were too attached at the hip.

She wished she stole one of the mini-golf clubs earlier. She wanted to whack Sunghoon in the balls with it.

But Gaeul knew better than to let this chance go. She only had a few days left before she had to fly back for college. Whether or not she was going to recognize these feelings—whether or not she was even going to tell Wonyoung about them—that was something for future her to decide.

For now, she could settle with a few more stolen moments with her.

[You] Of course I still have my racket I beat your ass with it every time lol Hope you don’t bring yours You kept blaming it every time you lost

[Nyeong] !!! You replied just to insult me?? Square up then, I’ll see you tomorrow You are SO on, unnie

“Ya, what’s got you all smiling like that?” Gaeul’s brother beckoned as he took out one of his earpieces. “Weirdo.”

Gaeul picked up the bag of takeout they got from earlier and tossed it at her brother before strangling him with her two bare hands.

==

The sports center was something Gaeul had never seen before.

Located towards the far end of the residential area, where the streets of the suburbs slowly bled into the larger roads of the city proper, the nine-story sports center was like a mall for purely physical activities.

Ball sports, contact sports, rock-climbing, aerobics, weight-lifting—they had amenities for it all, condensed to a singular complex. They even had two canteens distributed between the different floors, and a small daycare area for those with younger children.

Gaeul could not believe that they had this all built within the two years that she was away. If the sports center existed back then, she would have probably been holed up here instead of the library downtown.

They took the elevator to the fourth floor, where most of the activities that required courts were located. Just above the futsal area, the trio parked themselves by one of the empty basketball courts, claiming one of the halves.

Sunghoon, dressed head to toe in athletic gear, began jogging around the outer edge of the court to warm up. Carrying both Wonyoung’s and her stuff, Gaeul grunted as she plopped them down on one of the benches.

Wonyoung watched as her boyfriend did a few stretches with his legs. “He takes this seriously. We could never play sports without him getting too competitive.”

Gaeul chuckled as she removed the strap from her shoulder. “Have you never seen yourself when you swim? God, you two are perfect for each other.”

Before Wonyoung could even respond to that, Sunghoon was already making his way to her. “Babe, keep watch, ok? Tell me if I’m slacking or losing focus. You’re my eyes from the sidelines.”

Wonyoung crinkled her nose and pinched his cheek like a mother wishing her son the best for his big game. “Go get ‘em, Hoonie.”

Gaeul rolled her eyes. That was excessive even for Wonyoung.

She thought Sunghoon would offer to play with them: teaching them how to dribble, how to pass the ball without it slipping through their butter fingers, how to stop being afraid of the ball, or how to even shoot for crying out loud. But Sunghoon decided to put on a one-man-show that nobody asked for.

He dribbled through invisible traffic, performing layup after layup with ease while unguarded. He took the ball inside the paint, then outside it, before settling on a few three-pointers. Gaeul thought he was done after a few buckets, but each time the ball dropped from the net, he would find a new way to take a shot and sink the ball into the ring—all by himself.

It got boring after the fifth layup.

Gaeul leaned backwards towards Wonyoung, who covered her face with a yawn. “If I had known we’d be in the audience, I would have brought some popcorn. You think they sell any in the canteen upstairs?”

Wonyoung jabbed her and shook her head. “He just gets worked up when there’s an audience. But … yeah. He’ll get tired eventually.”

They shared a moment of silence as Sunghoon ran towards the half-court line to try and sink a hail-mary in. The ball ended up bouncing between the bars of the net behind it.

Gritting her teeth, Wonyoung glanced away and reached for her racket. “Badminton?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

While Sunghoon was too busy dribbling past opponents that only existed in his mind, the two girls snuck into the badminton courts across the floor. There was only a pair of middle-aged men sparring with each other, so they took the court one spot away from them to have their own space.

Just the two of them.

Biting the shuttlecock between her teeth, Wonyoung rotated her shoulder with her racket in tow. She simulated a few smashes while Gaeul warmed herself up as well. “Oh, it’s been so long. Do you think we can still rally like before?”

“That depends if you can still respond to each hit,” Gaeul teased, squatting down low. “Your serve. Don’t hold back on me.”

Even if they didn’t exchange a single word with each other, Gaeul could feel the two of them catching up. With what their mouths couldn’t express, their bodies did as they darted across each side of the field to respond to one another’s attacks.

Wonyoung would serve, and immediately, Gaeul knew where should be aiming for. She flicked the shuttlecock back at Woyoung lightly each time, provoking the younger girl to expend all her energy with needlessly powerful shots that Gaeul could easily respond to. 

Gaeul found it adorable how competitive Wonyoung would always get.

Her eyes would always be fixed on Gaeul, trying to read her movements, imitating her stances. She would grunt whenever her swings were more powerful than intended, wincing when her muscle strained after each stroke. It was hard to ignore the way Wonyoung would bite her lip whenever she was deep in focus too—almost threatening to spill blood across her lipstick with each miss.

Gaeul went easy on her. It wasn’t because she didn’t respect Wonyoung enough as an opponent—no. But because she was too preoccupied trying to burn this version of Wonyoung into her memory.

The Wonyoung that could reach further out from her person instead of whining about ‘unfair plays’. The Wonyoung that did a little dance after scoring each point, cheeks all puffed out like a proud little girl. The Wonyoung whose sweat trickled down her face, tracing the contours of her visage, before dropping down to her chest like she was a model for a sports commercial.

She felt foreign, but she also felt awfully familiar to Gaeul—this version of Wonyoung. So she wanted to file it away in her memories at least once before her trip home was over.

With a final smash that resulted in the shuttlecock barely missing the boundary line, Wonyoung pumped her fist in the air and jogged in place in excitement. “That’s the match point! Good game, unnie.”

Panting and smudging the back of her hand against her sweaty brows, Gaeul feigned her smile through her inability to keep up with Wonyoung. “Good … good game. That was intense.”

Wonyoung pouted, spinning her racket in front of her as she walked towards the net. “You just let me win again. You always let me win.”

Trembling from exhaustion, Gaeul huffed and shook her head. “No, I … I didn’t let you win this time.”

===

As Gaeul missed the shuttlecock flying her way, she looked behind her in confusion to see where it went. Meanwhile, Wonyoung was chuckling at her as she picked it up from the asphalt road.

“Unnie, eyes on the birdie! You’re going easy on me again.”

Gaeul couldn’t have been insulted any further than that. As she served it back to Wonyoung and they entered another intense rally strafing side to side along the width of the street, Gaeul’s eyes weren’t fixed on the zipping shuttlecock.

They were trained on Wonyoung.

So as she swatted her racket the wrong way and ended up missing, Wonyoung cheered and stuck her tongue out at Gaeul. “I hate it when you go easy on me. Doesn’t feel like a fair fight.”

But between her sweat and the hair that clung to her face, Gaeul could only do so much to hide her smile. “Yeah … tell me about it.”

It was never fair for Gaeul having to go up against such an adorable girl each time.

===

Wonyoung poked her stomach with the end of her racket. “I hate it when you do that. Never feels like a fair fight.”

Catching her breath, Gaeul pushed her racket away so she could poke Wonyoung with hers. “Round two? Or are you tired already?”

“What you are is too sweaty,” Wonyoung teased, pulling the towel off her shoulder to bring it towards Gaeul’s face. With gentle dabs, Wonyoung wiped the sweat and moisture from Gaeul’s cheeks. She took extra care to not poke her eyes by accident, and Gaeul felt this from the way her thumb gently snaked its way down the bridge of her nose.

It’s unfair. It was always unfair.

The way Wonyoung would always get this close and cause sparks to immediately fly in Gaeul’s head. The way Wonyoung remained calm as they shared an innocent touch. The way Gaeul was the only one attaching any meaning to the kind gestures of her hoobae, the only one wishing the moment would drag on for longer between the two of them, the only one glancing away in embarrassment while the heat blossomed across her face. 

It didn’t feel fair at all.

“What the hell are you two doing?”

Sunghoon’s voice sounded both grating and accusatory.

Clutching his basketball close to his chest, he approached the two girls from the side while still covered in a fresh sheen of sweat. The two separated in a heartbeat as he walked up to Wonyoung, who was frozen in place. “Babe, what the fuck? I thought we were going to spend the day together. Why are you out here?”

Wonyoung couldn’t respond.

Dropping the ball, Sunghoon crossed his arms and stepped even closer to Wonyoung. “I thought we were all going to play together? Didn’t I tell you to just wait for me to warm-up before I’d let you join me?”

“I-I … Hoonie, I … don’t get mad at unnie … It was my idea to come here—”

He grabbed Wonyoung’s arm and twisted it behind him, scooping the ball up with his foot, and dragging his girlfriend away from the badminton court—away from Gaeul. Gaeul’s grip on her racket tightened so much that it bent between her fingers.

But all she could do was watch as Sunghoon scolded Wonyoung.

Once he was done acting up, Sunghoon let her go and wiped his face with a towel. Over her shoulder, he gave Gaeul a look she would never forget. “How about we shoot some hoops together? Just you and me.”

“One on one.”

“Sunghoon—no, Gaeul’s not into basketball. We only ever played it during P.E.—.”

Sunghoon raised a hand to his lips and Wonyoung immediately shut up. Returning to Gaeul, he dribbled the ball by his side as he held his gaze on her. “What do you say? First to thirty points. Just you and me. Are you down or what?”

Gaeul swallowed coarsely. She knew that look that Sunghoon had on him.

That wasn’t a look of trying to get along with your girlfriend’s best friend. That wasn’t a look of trying to start a friendly match with someone they had just met. That was the look of someone who wanted to make a point in front of his girlfriend—someone who wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

She glanced briefly towards Wonyoung, and across her frightened and concerned face. Gaeul found her answer there.

“Sure. You take the first possession.”

“What?” Wonyoung gasped in disbelief, finally able to speak again. “U-Unnie, you don’t have to—.”

Sunghoon’s sneakers squeaking back onto the court was enough to interrupt Wonyoung. Gaeul wasted no time and followed suit, trailing her opponent onto the paint. She positioned herself in front of him for the check, and when he passed the ball to her with a bounce, she passed it back with another bounce.

She didn’t have to do this. She didn’t need to play into his hands. But for Gaeul, this wasn’t about proving something to anyone.

This was about sending a message to Wonyoung.

The first few rounds were tense. Gaeul could feel her chest tighten as she held her breath, which wasn’t a good idea given how much she was exerting herself physically. When Sunghoon was in possession of the ball, he pushed to make in-the-paint shots every chance he got, forcing Gaeul to guard him closely. But even then, he wasn’t pressured by this. Her lack of height made it easy for Gaeul to be scored on.

Whenever it was Gaeul’s turn to handle the ball, she struggled between many different things: dribbling around without it being stolen from her, finding the right angle to shoot as Sunghoon chased her around the court, keeping up between rapid changes of faking shots to driving towards the bucket.

Time and again, as Gaeul put in thrice the effort, Sunghoon just needed a single breath to match her performance. This lead to Gaeul being easily outscored by Wonyoung’s boyfriend.

Meanwhile, on the sidelines, Wonyoung had both of her hands gripped across her mouth the entire time.

Seeing her like that motivated Gaeul to keep pushing.

She rotated the ball around Sunghoon, pushing only when the path was clear. She made risky shots hoping for a quick score. She even went as far as to chase after the ball aggressively, trying to knock it loose from his grasp. But Sunghoon was more experienced. Sunghoon was more physically inclined. Sunghoon was more capable.

Her efforts were easily rendered moot by him.

Folding her hand forward and following through, just when Gaeul thought she had scored a three-point shot, she felt the force of a speeding truck collide against her torso.

Gaeul flew across the court and slammed onto the ground.

“UNNIE!”

Her knee flared up. When Gaeul touched it, she felt shivers down her spine as she saw a mixture of blood and peeled skin against her fingers. In the distance, Gaeul watched as Sunghoon grabbed the ball midair and dunked it into the basket.

“See that, babe? That was a pretty sick dunk—.”

Wonyoung slapped him across the face and pushed him out of the way, rushing to Gaeul’s side. “U-U-Unnie … unnie, can you move it? Can you stand up? Let’s get you to the benches.”

“I’m fine,” Gaeul insisted, leaning on her hands and knees. But the moment her injured knee came into contact with the floor as she was on her way up, her whole body shuddered from the pain. “ARGHH … god …”

Sunghoon trailed behind Wonyoung, holding the ball by his waist, whistling. “Looks pretty bad. She’ll be fine though, babe. That was just a flop anyway. She’ll recover—nothing serious.”

“Nothing serious?” Wonyoung growled, beating a fist into Sunghoon’s chest. “Nothing serious—you shoved her across the court!”

Sunghoon threw his hands up. “It’s just a game, babe. It’s part of the sport. I’m sure she knew it could happen, right? Just tough it out.”

===

“Just tough it out!”

Gaeul could hear her father words echoing throughout the living room. It was dark. The only lights that flashed against his face were coming from the TV. Even then, Gaeul could clearly see the anger etched onto his face. “I didn’t raise any weak children. So what if you’re getting bullied? Back in my day, we didn’t throw food at the weaker kids. We really put them through the ringer. You’re lucky this is all they did to you.”

Gaeuls fingers trembled as she reached for her shorn hair that still smelled of cafeteria food.

Clutching her soiled hardbound books in one hand, Gaeul wanted to hide behind them as her father continued berating her. All the while, those four words kept ringing inside her mind—not just that day, but every time she had ever felt small.

Just tough it out.

===

Gaeul didn’t even want to look at Sunghoon—or else she’d cave to her impulses and peel the skin off his stupid face.

“You’re hopeless,” Wonyoung grunted before rushing over to where their things were. Sunghoon proved Wonyoung’s accusation to be true as he continued shooting some hoops by himself. It didn’t take Wonyoung long before she returned on her knees with a medical kit. “Hold still.”

Gaeul sat up hugging her knee and allowed Wonyoung to clean and treat her wound. Sunghoon said something about needing to ‘get more protein’ and left the two girls to their own devices.

Wonyoung remained silent the entire time she was dabbing cotton against Gaeul’s wound. Gaeul could sense how frustrated the younger girl felt. Once upon a time, it was Gaeul who was cleaning Wonyoung’s cuts and wounds for her. Not like this. Not the other way around.

But, Gaeul thought, if she got to feel more of Wonyoung’s care directed towards her like this, then maybe earning a few more scars wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

“Is he always like that?” Gaeul gestured with her lips, trying to break the ice. “Feeling like he needs to constantly show off or something?”

“He used to be the team captain of their basketball team back in high school,” Wonyoung explained, biting her lip momentarily to position the dressing just right. “But he didn’t get drafted in college. It’s a bit of a … sore spot for him. He only ever gets to play casually with his old buddies here and there. He still tries to stay in shape.”

“Explains why he’s always over-compensating for things then,” Gaeul scoffed.

“Stop it. You … you don’t know him as well as I do.”

===

“How long has she been like this?”

Wonyoung’s mother shook her head, pacing back and forth along the short length of the hallway. “Several hours at least. She won’t eat. Won’t say anything to me. She’s just … locked in there.”

Gaeul wondered what happened. Maybe it’s something she didn’t want to talk about yet? Something she didn’t want to tell others yet? But even then, Gaeul hadn’t seen Wonyoung shut herself in this tightly before. This was new even for her.

“Can I try?”

The words sounded absurd to her mother. “I already did what I could, but … sure. Give it a shot.”

Gaeul dropped her backpack on the floor and pressed an ear against Wonyoung’s door. Taking a deep breath, she knocked thrice. “Wonyoung? Wonyoung-ah … it’s me. We don’t have to talk, and … you can just stay where you are but … can you … can you open up? Can you let me in?”

A moment passed. Then another.

Suddenly, the door squeaked open just an inch, and both Gaeul and Wonyoung’s mother stared at each other in disbelief. “How did you … how did she ..?”

Gaeul sighed with a gentle smile before entering her best friend’s room. “You don’t know her like I do.”

===

After Wonyoung was done patching Gaeul up, she sighed in relief on her knees, palms flat against the polished court. But there was a certain weight on Wonyoung’s shoulders. A weight that Gaeul recognized—that she was familiar with.

“What’s on your mind? Sunghoon?” Gaeul probed, gently converting to a different sitting position. “I’m sure he’ll be fine. His ego barely seemed damaged when I managed to score a few points on him.”

Wonyoung shrugged, sitting next to Gaeul now as they both stared at the empty court. “Just … I’m just tired, unnie. I never really told you this, but … gosh—I didn’t even want to bring it up since … since I didn’t want to trouble you while you’re home but … it’s been hectic for me since we last spoke. Since you were last here …”

“After graduation, I had to help out with the family business. For some reason, getting a high school diploma was enough for them to drag me into things I barely knew how to do. One moment I was watching the shop while they ran errands outside, another moment and I was doing inventory and closing deals with their clients. Doesn’t help that they kept comparing me to Jinyoung … It isn’t her fault though, but … I just wish she wasn’t as hardworking of a person … I can barely keep up with her in college … She’s all everyone talks about.”

“That was you back in high school, you know?” Gaeul teased, but Wonyoung shut her up with a roll of bandages to her face.

“I wish I was half as good now as I was back in high school. It’s harder. Everything. Getting good grades, fighting for an internship slot, dealing with relationships. I-I … I don’t know … I’m thankful I have what I have, I guess, but … sometimes … sometimes it’s just too much, you know?”

Wonyoung placed a hand on her unnie’s own hand and squeezed it tightly. “I envy you, Gaeul. You got to move away from … from all this. You got to live the life you wanted to. I-I … I was almost mad at you actually,” she added, breathing heavily after a chuckle. “That you got the chance to leave. To leave all this behind. While I … while I had to stay and deal with it all alone …”

The shakiness wasn’t what broke Wonyoung—it was what she said next. “God, s-sorry … I’m such a mess … still trying to figure this out and all, but … But I’m happy you came back. I’m … I’m happy you’re here.”

So it was Gaeul now. That was the first thing Gaeul could even think of. Suddenly, she was being called Gaeul again.

Pushing that petty thought aside, Gaeul knew what she had to say to Wonyoung. She should support her. Tell her she had Sunghoon by her side. Tell her she felt bad for leaving Wonyoung behind—how if she knew this would all happen to her hoobae, she would have given things a second thought. She wanted to tell Wonyoung that she understood how she felt. How her life wasn’t any better than hers. How she was dealing with her own pile of crap too.

Gaeul wanted to tell Wonyong that she longed for the day she might return home to see her, to be with her again. Maybe—just maybe—being with her in more ways than one. But instead, Gaeul’s lips pushed out something else.

“Viktor Frankl. Ever heard of him?”

Wonyoung furrowed her brows. “Is he a dead actor or something?”

“Well, dead—yes. Actor—no. Encountered him in one of my majors before. His life was very tragic. He said something that stuck with me … He said that ‘Between stimulus and response, there is a space. In that space is our power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and freedom’. I think about that a lot. I think … I think we always have a choice. I chose mine, and … you chose yours. Even if our situations are different, I think you’re doing well. I think you’re choosing well. So don’t doubt yourself—because I never did.”

Sighing softly, Wonyoung shook her head. “Yeah, but your choice was to leave, Gaeul. I chose to stay.”

Gaeul couldn’t say anything in response to that.

Interrupting the awkward silence she caused herself, Wonyoung shot up and stretched her arms. “We should probably get something to eat too. Do you want to check out the canteens here? I don’t know what they’re serving though.”

“Please—anything would be better than the Chinese we had yesterday,” Gaeul scoffed, accepting Wonyoung’s offer to help her up. “I’m guessing you’re paying since I’m the injured one?”

Wonyoung bit her lip and wrapped an arm around her unnie. “Fine, I’ll let it slide today. But maybe we should hit the mall together before you go. There’s a ton of new spots that opened up. Have you been?”

The thought of their little family trip made Gaeul’s eyes roll. “Don’t make me remember it again. Malling with my family went terribly yesterday.”

“So it’s a date then? Just you and me this time? I promise.”

Gaeul drained the anticipation from her face as thoroughly as she could before nodding. “Yeah. It’s a date then.”

“Just you and me.”

==

Their date at the mall went nothing like Gaeul’s family trip.

At Wonyoung’s behest, the two of them were up for another early day as the younger girl insisted they head to the mall just as it opened. She wanted to watch a movie before the cinema got packed. She had forgotten it was a weekday, and they ended up having the whole theater to themselves.

They were supposed to be watching some sort of summer romance film. It was rated positively online, Gaeul saw. But the two couldn’t help themselves from picking apart the things the characters were saying to each other.”

“I just can’t … I can’t live without you!” Gaeul exclaimed in an exaggerated fashion. “You mean everything to me!”

Wonyoung glanced away and swatted at Gaeul. “I don’t know if this is right for the both of us. I mean, you’ve hurt me once. Who says you won’t … hurt me again!”

As they burst into a sea of laughter, Gaeul leaned towards Wonyoung with her lips at the ready, trying to emulate the kissing scene. Wonyoung glanced at her for a moment, and when Gaeul took a peek, she swore Wonyoung looked like she was actually going to fall for it and kiss her for real.

But at the last second, Gaeul pulled away. “Just kidding. Don’t get your hopes up, or I’m telling your little ‘Hoonie’.”

Wonyoung gasped and started pelting her unnie with popcorn. Gaeul ended up grabbing a fistful of hers and showered Wonyoung with it as the two of them filled the empty cinema with kernels and laughs.

They were supposed to have some Italian at a fancier restaurant Wonyoung had looked into the night before. She even made a reservation for today. But when they approached the woman at the desk, their booking wasn’t reflecting on the records.

Wonyoung wasn’t too happy about that.

“It’s fine, we’ll find another place. We could take a walk by the foodcou—.”

Wonyoung slammed her purse onto the woman’s desk and leaned forwards. “No. It’s not. I paid for this reservation—we paid for this. Ma’am, do you know how long we waited for our anniversary to come around? To have a nice meal together at a quirky little restaurant like yours? Only to be stopped. At the fucking door. By your poor service? We could have booked anywhere else, but we settled with this. Seems like we made a huge mistake. Unbelievable. I am never coming back here again.”

Gaeul couldn’t believe her ears. “A-Anniversary?”

Wonyoung snapped at her this time. “Babe, we talked about this already. Today is our official anniversary—not the day we met! Get it through to your head, will you?”

Gaeul surrendered any attempt she previously had to try and quell the situation, letting Wonyoung run her mouth with her plan. After going full-blown Karen not just at the poor woman but also her manager, they somehow managed to get seated at the restaurant and even got offered some complimentary ricotta and antipasto while waiting.

Wonyoung ordered ragu with polenta while Gaeul chose a serving of carbonara. The two ate quietly as they felt the watchful gaze of the staff upon them, constantly at the ready in case they ever needed anything.

“Are you always like this on dates? If I was Sunghoon, I’d be scared shitless every time.”

Wonyoung bit the tip of her fork and shrugged. “Not really. I let him decide everything, honestly. Even if it’s … not really my style. Saves us the arguments. You should know—I let everything slide. I only get worked up about things I care about.”

Gaeul’s heart fluttered in the most inconvenient way between bites of her pasta, but she told herself not to think too much into it.

“How’s the carbonara? Too creamy? Too cheesy? If they prepared it like a catering would, I’ll—.”

But Gaeul hushed her with a forkful of pasta to her lips, asking her to taste it. She helped Wonyoung clean up by wiping the polenta and carbonara sauce off her lips afterwards.

The two stared at each other for a moment.

“A-Ah, I hope I’m not interrupting, but your … complimentary gelato is here.”

It was only then that the two pulled away and returned their hands to their own laps. Wonyoung addressed the waiter with a nod as he placed the dessert on their table.

Gaeul nudged her before scooping up some of the ice cream. “Told you—scared shitless.”

Before they left, Wonyoung dragged Gaeul around a final time to quickly go shopping for things Gaeul could bring back to her dorms. Wonyoung claimed it would be cheaper to buy them here—of good quality too. Gaeul grew a bit concerned when Wonyoung started acting like her mother, examining her thoroughly each time before chucking stuff into their cart. She couldn’t see half the things Wonyoung bought for her. The only thing Gaeul saw each time was the glint of her father’s credit card by the cashier.

When Gaeul asked if it was a good idea to have this much money spent on her—let alone coming from the pocket of Wonyoung’s dad—Wonyoung simply said, “If he knew it was for you, he’d forgive me in a heartbeat. I’m sure my mother would feel the same way.”

And for some reason, Gaeul heard wedding bells upon hearing that.

As she held Wonyoung’s hand, navigating through flocks of people, her smiling face painted with a myriad of different colored lights, she couldn’t even think about her numbered days during her stay, the troubles she would have to face once she got back, or what she was going to the do with herself in the future.

All Gaeul wished for was for this day to never end.

Today, Gaeul had fun. She had never felt this much fun in a while.

Today, Gaeul felt like this was the closest they ever were to being who they used to be back then—before things got complicated.

Today, Gaeul felt like this was the closest she and Wonyoung had ever been.

So when they arrived home, and the two of them abandoned their bikes faster than they could blink, Wonyoung ran up the stairs towards her room, and Gaeul trailed behind her with heavy footsteps as she paused at the door.

“Hm?” Wonyoung gestured, getting comfortable on her bed. “Come in. It’s not like it’s the first time.”

But for Gaeul, it felt like the first time every time. Especially now. She took a deep breath, and when she felt ready, she stepped in.

It’d been a while.

She saw the familiar arrangement of her bed: bedsheet under comforter, under blanket, under pillow, under stuffed squirrel. Pink hairdryer, pink vanity, pink bulletin board, pink tacks holding down polaroids, pink hangers peeking through the pink wardrobe, pink panties on the floor, pink bags filled with makeup, pink index cards from her classes.

But against the sunset that filtered through Wonyoung’s window, the room was painted with a gentle haze of orange and teal.

“Come here,” Wonyoung invited, patting the fluffy spot next to her. “Join me. Let’s try some of these out.”

“I um … I’m a bit sweaty. It’s embarrassing,” Gaeul mumbled, fingers forgetting how to hold paper bags, lips forgetting how to speak. “I-I’m good.”

“Well, why don’t we shower together? Just a quick one.”

===

“Are you kidding me? You’re insane—you’re actually insane.”

But Wonyoung didn’t care. They didn’t have much time. If they were going to make it to the party that night, they had to spend less time arguing and more time getting dressed—and they couldn’t get dressed without a shower.

Without thinking twice, Wonyoung yanked Gaeul into the shower with her. Both of them now buck naked, pressed up against each other within this tight space, looking each other eye to eye as the water rained down on them.

“Well? Get scrubbing. We don’t have all night,” Wonyoung demanded as she covered herself in bubbles and suds.

But in that moment, Gaeul could not scrub herself at all.

===

This time, however, Gaeul made sure to scrub herself thoroughly. It helped to keep her mind off of the imposing distraction in front of her. Thankfully the shower didn’t last very long. Wonyoung wasn’t lying when she said it would be a quick one. They just scrubbed between their sweatier bits and regions before rinsing it all off at the same time.

Once they were wrapped up with towels around their body and hair, the two girls got on the bed. If Gaeul wasn’t conscious earlier, she most certainly was now with less layers between them. But the squeeze of Wonyoung’s hand around hers pulled her back to reality, calming her down.

Wonyoung offered to do her nails. She wanted to see how the polish would look on Gaeul’s fingers. While Gaeul told her she should have asked for a sample before buying at the store, Wonyoung argued otherwise and demanded her unnie to stop moving her hands.

===

“Stop moving!”

Wonyoung giggled, flicking her fingers back and forth. “But it’s so ticklish, unnie. Stop hahaha. Ya, stop!”

Gaeul had to pin the younger girl’s knuckles to her own lap just to make her keep still. Eventually, by a stroke of luck, she managed to coat them all with a decent sheen. “There, how does it look? Do you like it?”

But Wonyoung didn’t even have to look at it. She smiled from ear to ear and kissed Gaeul on the cheek. “I love it, unnie!”

===

“I love your fingers.”

“What …?”

Wonyoung chuckled as she finished up Gaeul’s last pinky. “I said, I love your fingers. They’re so … pretty. They’re nice to hold. They suit a girl like you.”

“What does that even mean?”

“It means,” Wonyoung paused, lifting Gaeul’s hands up to eye level so her unnie could get a better look of her nails. “You’re pretty. Just take the compliment, will you?”

Gaeul was too busy hiding her shock to look at how her nails were done.

“I think they’re a bit too shiny, but you could pull it off,” Wonyoung noted, curling Gaeul’s fingers for her by the first knuckle. “Now I wish we got the darker shade. I think it would look sexy with that kind of gloss. Ooh—let’s try the lipstick now.”

She bounded off the bed and reached for the other small bag. Fishing out a bottle of liquid lipstick, Wonyoung was about to uncap it when Gaeul interjected, “What if I try it on you?”

Wonyoung stopped. “The lipstick?”

Gaeul nodded, retrieving it from the younger girl. While Wonyoung struck her with a look of confusion, Gaeul didn’t stutter. “Yeah. You have … lips that would suit testing out lipstick on, is all.”

“You know you could have just said you liked my lips.”

But how could she? It was too on the nose. “Right. Anyway—pucker up. I don’t want to accidentally paint your nose.”

Wonyoung remained deftly still. But for some reason, Gaeul’s hand trembled as she traced the outline of her luscious lips.

Normally, other girls would close their eyes while she put lipstick on them. Gaeul found it exceptionally difficult to lather Wonyoung’s lips because the other girl was looking right at her the entire time.

And all Gaeul could think about was looking at her eyes instead.

After what felt like half an hour—and a couple of frozen shoulders later—Wonyoung’s lips were painted a neat shade of pink. Gaeul wasn’t sure what color it was supposed to look like exactly, but she’d put it between lavender and cherry blossom.

Smacking her lips together as it dried, Wonyoung nodded slowly. “Does it have a scent? It’s supposed to have some fragrance apparently, but I don’t really smell it.”

Gaeul leaned closer, lips nearly touching Wonyoung’s, but neither of the two girls pulled away.  Even as she spoke, Gaeul stayed where she was, perched deathly close to Wonyoung. “Yeah … smells like bubblegum and cherries …”

Gaeul thought to the number of times they had kissed in the past. She thought back to the number of times she had imagined it was Wonyoung whenever she kissed another girl. And she thought back to Viktor Frankl.

She could have kissed Wonyoung. She should have.

But Wonyoung’s damn phone rung and ruined the moment.

Pulling away, Gaeul rubbed her nape and apologized with a soft chuckle. “Go answer it. I’ll … I’ll just be over here.”

As Gaeul gave Wonyoung some space, she couldn’t help but feel her heartbeat pounding in her eardrums. She took deep breaths to try and calm herself. There was no use getting worked up over nothing.

Over simply the prospect of something that could have been.

“It’s just Sunghoon,” Wonyoung uttered matter-of-factly, crashing back on the bed. She rolled onto her side and propped herself up on one arm. “Just reminding me about the party we’re hosting tomorrow. Last one before summer ends.”

Gaeul nodded. “Good luck then. You two have fun.”

“You should go.”

Gaeul immediately knew the response to that. “You and I both know I … I wouldn’t belong. I doubt I’d even know anyone.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Wonyoung countered, scooting closer towards Gaeul. She took her unnie’s hands into hers and swayed them. “You could drink a little. Meet some new people. Maybe … maybe even find someone you gel with. Wouldn’t hurt, right? Besides, none of the old people from high school are going to be there if that’s what you were worried about.”

===

“Well well well, if it isn’t our favorite loner again,” one of them announced while the rest of the cheerleaders with her circled her desk. “I heard about your little trip to the principal’s office. Wasn’t cigarettes this time, was it? Something about … kissing.”

Her posse gasped as if they hadn’t seen it coming, gathering a larger crowd from within the classroom.

Their captain kicked Gaeul’s desk and lowered her face towards hers, which was buried deep between the pages of her book. “I don’t care if you pretend not to listen. Makes this easier anyway. But next time, before you beat up one of my girls to get revenge for that little student council friend of yours—think twice. Or another rumor might hit the principal’s office.”

She chuckled, standing back up. “Such a fucking weirdo. Always reading. Saying nothing to anyone—anyone who isn’t Jang Wonyoung.”

Gaeul twitched, fingers gripping the edges of her book tighter now.

“Oh? Struck a chord? Tch—could only get a reaction out of you when she’s in the conversation, huh? Must be some kind of sick stalker of hers at this point. Admirer? Hah, wait a minute: I bet she’s gay—.”

Gaeul’s fist flew into her face faster than her book could slam shut. Blood covered the floor before any of the other cheerleaders could even get her off their captain.

===

Gaeul rubbed over her knuckles as if they still ached, vividly remembering the bruises that bloomed on them that day. “I’ll … I don’t know—I’ll think about it.”

“Could you come? For me? Please?”

Taking a deep breath and closing her eyes, Gaeul had hoped to open them once more to some clarity. But she should have known better—for all that filled her vision was the begging face of Jang Wonyoung.

And of course, Lucky Vicky always got what she wanted.

Smiling faintly, Gaeul surrendered with a gentle nod. “Screw it—sure … How could I ever say no to you?”

==

Gaeul was scheduled to leave in two days. She had no reason to attend Wonyoung’s party tonight.

When she pondered on what would even face her at that party, what she hoped to gain from that party, and what she might do with the aftermath of it, Gaeul couldn’t really find any answers. Her attendance felt trivial—it mattered not in the grander scheme of things. At the end of the day, she was still leaving. At the end of the day, she and Wonyoung would resume being distant friends.

At the end of the day, she would still be with Sunghoon.

Maybe it was wiser for her to leave in peace, Gaeul thought. Her last encounter with Wonyoung’s boyfriend wasn’t the most fruitful one. Honestly, if Wonyoung hadn’t stepped in and planned that date they went on yesterday, she would have left home for a second time with a bitter taste in her mouth. Remembering the moments they shared from the previous day, Gaeul let out a deep sigh.

Maybe it’s best if she left with just good memories. Maybe it’s best if she left on a high note.

Besides, Gaeul felt that she already had what she needed. She already found what she came here for. Although, she didn’t know what that even was. Gaeul just told herself it was alright now.

It would be ok.

So as she sat at the edge of the windowsill, her bed already cleared out in preparation for her brother to use her room once more, she lit a cigarette and clenched it between her teeth as she strung up messages to send to Liz.

[Liz] You’re coming home soon right? How’s it going? Please tell me you made some progress at the very least … >.<

[You] I asked you about Rei first Way to change topics smh

[Liz] I … Fine … She’s … coming along She asked me out yesterday. Weekend trip Can you believe that?

[You] Not at all Pics or it didn’t happen lol

[Liz] ?!?!?

Liz in fact did send her a picture of her and her supposed date making a cute heart pose. However, Gaeul noticed that the pink-haired girl next to her friend was blushing harder than a fresh tomato.

[Liz] And you say I’m the passive one Anyway! So what about you! Any luck? ???

[You] With what?

[Liz] Moving on Trying again IDK with you You tell me atp

[You] It’s where it needs to be I think iT is what it is

Before Gaeul could delve into further detail, a knock on her door stirred her from her rumination. “What is it?”

It was her mother. She glided into her room with her hands clasped together, scanning the four walls of her daughter’s living space in search of the ghosts she had left behind—and would be leaving behind once again. “You’re at home today. That’s … that’s not like you.”

Gaeul shrugged, not even bothering to hide her smoke. “I just needed some time alone, eomma. Never got much of a chance to enjoy my room again. God, do you know how small  my bedroom is at the apartment? I could fit three of the bedrooms in here.”

“It’s why I begged you so hard not to go, honey. But you’re just like your father,” her mother continued, standing close to her now. Gaeul could sense she wanted to place a hand on her shoulder, but she stopped herself. “You’re just like your appa. No matter how much control I have at home, appa always does his own thing. You’re headstrong like that.”

Gaeul scoffed and took another drag, letting the smoke billow from her lips. “Wish I could say the same when I’m back in university.”

“Your friend,” her mother added, sounding a little hesitant with the way her voice softened. “She called our house many times tonight. Ya—I got scared. I thought something had happened to you. But then you’re just … here.”

“She’s looking for you, you know?”

===

Ring-ring.

Gaeul lowered the volume of her phone and placed it face down against the table. She was busy with entrance exam reviews. She didn’t have time for distractions. She didn’t have time for stupid friends.

Ring-ring. Ring-ring.

Gaeul was so close to throwing her phone out the window and beating up her brother for a new one. God, what would it take for Wonyoung to stop calling her? She wasn’t going to indulge that privileged little brat until she apologized for what she had said.

Ring-ring. Ring-ring. Ring-ring.

Gaeul swiped her phone and hit the button. “Ya! What the hell is your—.”

But there was nothing but tears on the other end of the line.

“Won … -young …?”

Fighting to speak through her muffled sobs and pained tears, Wonyoung whispered, “U-Unnie … why didn’t you … why didn’t you answer …? Why didn’t you pick up …? They came for me … all of them … And I needed you …”

“I needed you …”

Rubbing the tears from her eyes, Gaeul pinched her nose and snorted before returning to the call. “S-Sorry … I’m sorry Wonyoung … I’ll … I’ll never do that again …Next time you call, I-I’ll be right there in a flash … o-o-ok?”

But the other girl wouldn’t stop crying for her unnie.

===

Biting her lip, Gaeul opened her eyes and crushed her cigarette underneath her knee, letting it drop onto their front lawn. Slipping her legs back inside, Gaeul landed squarely on her feet and turned to her mother. “Right. I’ll … I’ll be gone for a bit then.”

Finally, her mother squeezed her shoulder and managed a smile. “Take care, honey.”

The party was scheduled to start at six. It was already nine-forty-five.

As soon as Gaeul got to Wonyoung’s house, she could smell the powerful mixture of booze and different types of smoke just wafting about the air. She clicked her teeth at the thought of police cars following the heavy trail of smoke that was coming from her pool. 

Once the door opened, she was half-expecting Sunghoon again, so her fists were already clenched by her sides. But when Wonyoung answered the door looking flustered and a bit sweaty, she dropped the act in an instant. “Unnnnieeeee~ You came! Hahaha, I knew you would!”

Gaeul embraced—or more like caught—Wonyoung as she leaned fully into her person. Patting her back, she let Wonyoung rest on her shoulders until she could stand upright again. “Yeah. I guess I … I guess I did. Seems like the party’s well under way. Don’t mind me. I’ll just be drinking on the side.”

But Wonyoung shook her head, wrapping an arm around her unnie. “I’m so happpyyy … to see you! You should—hic—do more than just drink though. Party hard! You’re … you’re leaving tomorrow anyway. Didn’t … didn’t even—hic—tell me …”

Gaeul helped Wonyoung get back inside as she guided the girl through her own front door. “I technically told you earlier this week, but I guess … never mind that—.”

Before she could ask where any of the drinks were, a familiar boy in a Hawaiian shirt came dancing into view. “Yoooo! You came!”

For some reason, Sunghoon thought it was a good idea to chest bump her. Wonyoung stepped out of the way and giggled as his bare chest slammed right into Gaeul, nearly sending her flying into the door. “How’s that knee of yours, champ? Still wounded? Haha, I told Wonyoung to stop worrying about it. Seems like I was right.”

Gaeul wanted to choke him with the sleeves of his stupid Hawaiian shirt, but Wonyoung was watching. “It’s been better. Thanks for asking.”

Sunghoon nodded, rather tipsy himself, as he pulled Wonyoung into him. He wrapped an arm around his girlfriend possessively before nodding cockily towards Gaeul. “Don’t drink too much now. There aren’t enough buckets for the lightweights to puke in after all.”

Gaeul swiped a beer from a girl in glasses who was passing by and immediately downed the drink in one go. “Oh you are so fucking on, pretty boy.”

Gaeul must have only been there for a few hours, but she swore it felt like she was there since the start of the party.

She stayed long enough to see people getting wasted on enough alcohol to spontaneously combust, to witness smoke forming like a low rolling fog across their heads, to see soaked bodies covered in different fluids, grinding bodies that spared no preferences, tangling bodies that laid lifelessly throughout Wonyoung’s home.

This was a party alright. A college party like any other. But in between crushed beer cans and drags of her cigarette, Gaeul would always look for Wonyoung.

There, when she was in between her college friends, bouncing to the beat of the music. When their eyes crossed paths, she bit her lip and winked at her unnie.

There, when she was struggling to open another bottle of beer with her bare hands, and her boyfriend just nicked it open with his teeth. Sunghoon didn’t waste the chance to act all smug about it too.

There, when she was staring outside—at the pool area—making sure nobody was doing anything concerning. She almost had to rush out when someone tried to cannonball into the water from the second floor balcony.

And there, when Wonyoung was finally alone, sitting on the couch next to a couple who was less making out with each other and more trying to eat each other’s faces off, Gaeul saw her chance.

And she took it.

“This seat taken?” she teased, pushing the other girl to the side before even waiting for a response. “My back’s killing me. Been standing all night.”

Wonyoung purred and pulled Gaeul closer, using her almost like a pillow. She latched onto her unnie’s arm and smiled up at her. “Come stay with me then. I’m bored.”

So Gaeul indulged her.

They talked about many things, things that most people wouldn’t normally care to talk about at a party. They talked about shooting stars, about therapy, about dormitory life, about minimum wage disparity; a bit about first kisses, then train stations, maybe some stories about painkillers, and then internship applications.

As the minutes ticked by and the evening continued to age, through the haze and buzz of alcohol and poorly edited EDM, whenever Gaeul focused her vision once more, all her eyes could really see was her.

All she could really see, and care about, was Jang Wonyoung.

And just like that, they were kids again.

She remembered a time—likely when they were eleven—when they would talk about very different things: about One Direction, or wedding gifts for older cousins, maybe the covers of magazines, and occasionally about eating strawberry donuts by the dozens.

She kept remembering a time when it was just them. Just the two of them. But really, Gaeul just needed an excuse to gaze into those deep hazel eyes of hers. In them, she could see everything she was avoiding: herself, her life, her.

Jang Wonyoung.

“—super over it, remember? Unnie?”

But Gaeul wasn’t responding anymore. It didn’t take Wonyoung long for her to realize that her unnie wasn’t listening to her this entire time. Smiling, she nestled her head closer. “You look like you have something to say. You better not puke on me, Gaeul.”

There it was again. Gaeul.

Gaeul leaned forward. Wonyoung did too. Her breath was so pronounced on Gaeul’s lips that she could smell her lunch from earlier along with the bottles of beer she’d already had tonight. But Gaeul didn’t care one bit. She pressed on until their lips barely touched. 

No. Not like this … not …

Once again, she darted off to the side, leaving the poor girl to move forward continuously with her eyes closed.

Sighing, Gaeul settled her hands on Wonyoung’s shoulders and pushed her gently back in place, stunning the younger girl. Gaeul swore she saw disappointment in her eyes. Was that a good thing? Was that a bad thing?

What did that even mean? Gaeul didn’t know. All she knew was that she felt sick to her stomach over what she almost did.

She felt sick thinking she could steal a kiss from Wonyoung while they were both intoxicated.

As if to shatter the moment further, a pair of hands reached out for Wonyoung’s forearms. Wonyoung didn’t even fight it. She allowed herself to be lifted up with a little ‘wee’ escaping her lips as Sunghoon pulled her into his arms.

Her boyfriend embraced her tightly from behind and kissed down the length of her bare neck, making Wonyoung moan.

The immediate crowd around them came bursting back to life, cheering them on. Someone told them to get a room. Another told Sunghoon he’s a lucky man. Yet another told them to fuck off for being a ‘bunch of normies’. But Gaeul couldn’t hide her disgust as Sunghoon tried to simulate having sex with her best friend, trying to make a spectacle out of it—trying to look cool.

Meanwhile, Wonyoung was feigning laughter in his arms, unable to really pry herself loose given her intoxication. Gaeul wondered if she could even do so without having any drinks in her system. Gaeul wondered if she would even think of it—think of getting her boyfriend mad.

When their eyes locked, that all changed.

Wonyoung stooped down and grabbed an empty can of beer to crush against Sunghoon’s head. His surprise gave her the opportunity to push him away, embracing herself as she crashed back down next to Gaeul.

Sunghoon was left stunned and covered in a light trail of alcohol.

“Sorry … Where were we?” Wonyoung muttered, sniffling. “Right, about—.”

Those two same hands fired towards Wonyoung’s wrists this time, jerking her off the couch. When Wonyoung turned to look at Sunghoon to tell him off, her expression immediately warped into one of fear.

He didn’t need to say a word. His face said it all.

Come with me.

Wonyoung shook her head. Sunghoon grunted and tugged on her again—harder this time. It wasn’t until the fourth tug that Wonyoung caved in and allowed Sunghoon to pull her away. Her boyfriend swept her up into his arms in some sort of bridal carry as she took her away to the kitchen, completely out of sight now.

Gaeul stayed put. It wasn’t her business to get involved with Wonyoung’s relationship. She had no reason to meddle. If she managed two years without her, surely, she’d manage another night with Sunghoon.

That’s what she wanted to believe, at least. But when she thought back to the scared look on her face—the face she had seen about three times alone this week, more than any times she had seen on Wonyoung in the past—Gaeul knew something was off.

She followed after Sunghoon into the kitchen.

When she peeked in from a delicate angle, she spotted Wonyoung pressed up against the cupboards, seated on the counter, Sunghoon between her legs. One of his hands was gripping her chin as he pulled her forwards and into him, making Wonyoung kiss him.

Between his moans and his advances, Gaeul could hear Wonyoung’s sobs and whimpers as clear as day.

After about a minute or so, Wonyoung finally found the strength to pull away from him and slap him hard across the face. Even Gaeul winced at the thought of being hit with that amount of force.

Groaning, Sunghoon rubbed the redness on his cheek. “Ouch … geez babe. Just say no. It’s as simple as that. Don’t need to hit me that hard… fuck …”

“Just say no?” Wonyoung raised, her voice trembling but her words rung true. “Just say—you … UGH … I am so … freaking … AGHHH!”

Wonyoung burst into tears and tore herself away from Sunghoon’s clutches, running out the other end of the kitchen. Before Sunghoon could notice Gaeul, she darted away just as quickly and pretended she didn’t see a thing.

On her way out, Gaeul heard sobbing from the guest bathroom. It was muffled, but she couldn’t have mistaken it.

She made her way slowly to the door, remained outside, and pressed her ear against it.

Inside, she could hear wailing and the sound of someone hurting themselves repeatedly, making Gaeul’s grip on the knob tighten. It was locked. There was nothing she could do. Even if she reached out to Wonyoung now, what would she say? What could she say?

Maybe she should just let it run its course.

Gaeul sauntered off towards the table of booze, picked up the opened bottle of cognac, and downed it all in one go.

She forced herself to blackout.

Saying she felt like shit the morning after was an understatement.

Cognac mixed with random beers was never a good idea. But Gaeul couldn’t care any less. Although, now that the hangover headache started to hit her, she wished she drank a bit more water the night before. 

Sitting up on the floor, she glanced around her. Everyone was gone.

Forcing herself onto her feet, she smoothened out the creases of her clothes and slung her jacket over her shoulders once again. “Wonyoung?”

She went through the entire first floor and second floor in search for her. It was only then that she thought to check outside. On her way to the backyard, she spotted Sunghoon passed out in a monoblock chair next to the door, so she made sure to be extra quiet while avoiding him.

As the ten o’clock sun blinded her eyes, raising one arm above her head, Gaeul stepped onto the grass and looked around her.

There, seated with her legs dipped into the water, was Jang Wonyoung.

Gaeul joined her in silence. It took one glance at her puffy and reddened eyes to understand what was going on. Gaeul was halfway between a migraine and a heart attack, so she tempered herself as she simply sat next to Wonyoung.

She did, however, inch her hand in her direction. Offering it. Humbly.

Instead, Wonyoung willingly decided to break the silence herself. “So you’re leaving. You’re leaving us again. You’re leaving me. Again.”

Gaeul pinched her thigh hard enough to draw tears from her eyes. “Yeah … yeah, I am. College. College stuff. Can’t stay for long, really. Each day I’m here is … another day I’m not getting paid. Student loans don’t pay themselves, you know?”

“You didn’t have to.”

“What?”

“You didn’t have to move away,” Wonyoung stressed, looking Gaeul in the eyes now. “You didn’t have to leave, unnie. Was it because … was it because of what I said last time?”

Suddenly, Gaeul was taken back to that fated day. The day after she was threatened by the principal—at the behest of some parents—to be expelled.

===

“You should … you should stay away from me from now on … They won’t stop as long as I’m still next to you—.”

“Screw them.”

The words came out faint, but it was enough to snap Gaeul out of her downward spiral for even just a moment. “Honestly, screw them all, unnie. You didn’t … you didn’t do anything wrong. You were just defending me—.”

“Claiming you, Wonyoung. I was … I was claiming you,” Gaeul corrected, feeling her lips trembling through her sorrow. “That’s what they think, at least. That’s what they see. You’re … you’re a lot bigger than you think now, you know that …? You’ve … found yourself through this entire mess and I … What do I have? What do I have other than … other than being your friend?”

“Isn’t that enough for now?” Wonyoung cooed, holding tightly to Gaeul’s digits. “Why? Why do you have to be anything more than that to them—?”

“You … you wouldn’t understand.”

Gaeul wasn’t sure if she was more infuriated by Wonyoung reducing her to just her ‘sidekick’ or ‘bodyguard’ or by Wonyoung labelling her as ‘just a friend’. She wasn’t even sure why she was angry. What was wrong about what she had said?

What was wrong with being just friends with Wonyoung?

Shaking her head, Gaeul released herself from Wonyoung and pushed her away. “Forget it. I can’t … I can’t just live under your shadow. I need to figure out what I want to do, what I need … who I am … outside of this … outside of you.”

“You know who you are.”

Wonyoung knelt next to her and held her by the shoulders. “You’re the Gaeul who’s up at night finishing books more times than she’s ever gone to the mall in a year. You’re the Gaeul who sleeps in every first period class but for some reason manages to stay in school after hours just to watch me practice. You’re the Gaeul who … who takes a smoke whenever she thinks I’m not looking … who wears jackets even when it’s a million degrees outside … who … who sees what people really are at their core … without … without even trying …”

“Isn’t that enough for you …?”

Gaeul didn’t want to, but she couldn’t help herself. She took one look into Wonyoung’s eyes, hoping to see her own reflection, but what stared back at her was only Wonyoung.

Just Jang Wonyoung.

“It’s not. I’m sorry, but it’s … it’s not.”

“Then leave.”

Gaeul couldn’t believe her ears. But Wonyoung continued. “That’s what you wanted to do, right? You wanted to apply to another university? That’s why you weren’t replying to my chats about early decisions. That’s why you never told me what course you wanted to take. That’s why you … why you didn’t bother studying for the SATs.”

“That’s … I-I-I—!”

“Save it. If you’re so keen on leaving … on leaving all of it behind, then fine. Don’t let me get in your way. Don’t … don’t let me hold you back. Leave. Make it quick. Because I don’t want to see you again.”

If there was anything Gaeul had ever been sure of over the past few years, it wasn’t her identity, nor her sexuality, nor her plans for the future—it was this. In this very moment, she knew precisely what she had to do.

She pursed her lip, grabbed her jacket that was draped across Wonyoung’s body, and stood up. Without wasting a breath, Gaeul bolted out of the room and left, burying her face into her jacket to hide the tears that fell with each step. She didn’t stop to turn around or look back—Gaeul just let the muffled cries from the other side of the door disappear slowly as she ran farther and farther.

As she ran away from home.

===

Blinking rapidly, Gaeul took a moment to recollect herself. She didn’t think memories could be this vivid, but there was something about returning home that made everything hit a little harder than it should. Gaeul didn’t know where to begin unpacking that old wound Wonyoung opened up, but she started with, “No it’s … it’s not that—.”

“I hated myself, you know?”

Wonyoung shook her head as her gaze lowered to the distance between them along the side of the pool. “I hated myself everyday since you left. I thought I was selfish. I thought you misunderstood me. I-I … I thought I’d have to live as a broken memory in the back of your mind. You never messaged. Never called. Never sent any letters or cards or gifts. And I was just … I was just here … trying to search for what you couldn’t find back at home.” She paused to gesture to herself as a soft defeated chuckle escaped her lips. “And look where that got me.”

Silence.

“Did you ever think of me?” Gaeul dared to ask, hugging her knees.

Wonyoung scoffed at such a question, shaking her head all the more. “No. Why the hell would I? You … you walked out on me. Moving on should have been easy.”

“Should have been? So you …?”

Wonyoung choked on her words, but she forced them all out of her system—syllable after syllable. “Yeah … Yeah, every single day. I thought … about your face. Your stupid grins whenever you got what you wanted. Your little ear twitches when you got excited. Tried to remember it all. Had to make sure I … I wouldn’t forget you, I mean—I didn’t know when I would see you next. If I would ever see you again … I thought about your smell—fresh laundry every time. I sometimes went over to your house just to … just to reminisce … Your mother let me, and she kept me well fed. But I … I also thought about that stupid. Smoke. Air. The one you had all around you … god—you’re the reason why I started smoking, just to … Yeah, I … I still wished you would come back. For good. Not … not like this …”

As Gaeul sighed, the weight of two years being lifted off her chest upon hearing Wonyoung spill her guts out for her, she nodded in acknowledgment. “I’m … I’m here.”

“For now, yeah. Can’t say the same in a few days, unnie. In a few weeks even. Or … at all …”

This was it, Gaeul thought. This was the moment Viktor Frankl was talking about.

Gaeul was a mess, and so was Wonyoung. The impact of what she was about to say would certainly alter the way their relationship—or at least, what was left of it—would work. Gaeul didn’t want to confuse Wonyoung more than she already was. She didn’t want to hurt her with mixed signals any further since Gaeul was leaving anyway. Gaeul didn’t want to leave the wrong impression on the younger girl.

She felt strongly for Wonyoung—she could never live that down. But to Gaeul, Wonyoung’s happiness was more important. So even if she had to see her smile and laugh and cry and one day walk down the aisle with someone like Sunghoon—or another man altogether—Gaeul told herself she would try to be happy for her.

Gaeul just wanted Wonyoung to be happy, even if it wasn’t with her.

And so when the right words finally came to mind, then settled on her lips, and then was given life by her shaky voice, Gaeul whispered, “Would it … would it be selfish of me if I said that I … I thought of you the same way?”

Wonyoung’s chuckle came out just as faint. “Less selfish, more surprising. But sure, humor me.”

“I left and took up an easy degree—at least … I thought it was easy. Psychology. I … I wanted to figure myself out more. Wanted to … get my shit sorted out before coming back. And every night, when I was buried in my notes, pages-deep in academic journals, swamped with projects and papers, all … all I could think about was you.”

“You were like … you were like this itch I couldn’t scratch. The air I couldn’t breathe. Wonyoung, you were … you were the part of me that I could never … that I could never accept … Even when I tried flirting with other people, even after hooking up with stranger after stranger, even while I was still in relationships with other … other um … other girls … all I thought about … all I wanted … was you.”

Gaeul bit her lip as she finally said the words she had been thinking of all week. “Just you, Wonyoung.”

Wonyoung was taken aback. Like she experienced consecutive bouts of whiplash. Like she had been shellshocked. It was her turn to be at a loss for words as she clawed against the side of the pool in search for them. “U-Unnie … I-I-I … you … that means you … you’re …”

“Gay?” Gaeul finished her sentence, smiling with the confidence of someone who had found herself at last. “Yeah … yeah very unapologetically gay … And I … fuck, I like you. A lot. Ever since we were kids. Ever since we were … just friends.”

“Un—Gaeul … Gaeul, I …”

They inched closer and closer now, and within mere moments, it wasn’t just thousands of miles of distance that they were trying to bridge. Now, they were bridging the gap between each other’s emotions. As Wonyoung fixated on Gaeul’s watering eyes and as Gaeul caressed the inside of Wonyoung’s thigh, what words could not hope to ever measure, their lips attempted to communicate against each other.

That was, at least, until Gaeul felt something grip her hair and yank her backwards.

The daylights within Gaeul began to blink on and off. She was taken by sudden intermittent bursts of darkness.

Her head was throbbing, spinning around and around. She reached out for the impact point against her head and felt blood trickling down her temple, cheeks, and lips. She winced as she touched tender flesh against her forehead—she had a cut.

Gaeul tried to get up again but moving meant flares of pain against her back. She tried to listen to what was going on—to the argument that thundered overhead.

Something about hunches. Something about being suspicious of friends. Something about betrayal. Something about another woman. Something about disbelief. Something about how Wonyoung never felt like she was never really present in their relationship.

Wonyoung. Wonyoung … Wonyoung …?

Wonyoung.

Sunghoon gripped her shoulders with every intent to make her scream in pain. “I … have had enough with you, Wonyoung … I’ve wasted so much fucking time on you just to … just to—GOD—you just ruined everything!”

“I-I-I’m sorry … S-So sorry Hoonie, I promise—I-I-I won’t—.”

“Just keep your mouth shut, ok?” he interjected, growling past his own hangover. “You’ve done enough already. God … I should have seen this coming—I should have seen this fucking coming. The moment she came back … the moment she showed up, you … we …”

He let out a soft chuckle as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “I made a mistake. I should have just gone out with—.”

Wonyoung watched as Sunghoon disappeared from a firm jab to the face.

It all happened so fast.

SMACK.

“Unnie! I have sooo much homework in my bag. Can you carry it for me please? Can you do it for me too? Hahaha!”

SMACK.

“Unnie? Did they … pick on you again? Aiya, you don’t need to … didn’t need to get into fights because of me …”

SMACK.

“Ya! Hahaha, where are you taking me—I can’t see a thing! Oh … oh? Is this … OH MY GOD IS THIS THAT CUTE SQUIRREL PLUSHIE FROM THE FAIR?”

SMACK. SMACK. SMACK.

“Unnie, how do I look? Do you think … do you think my prom date will like it?”

SMACK. SMACK. SMACK.

“Didn’t eat yet? Glad I made you some breakfast then. My parents aren’t coming back until tonight so … want to drive our car, unnie?”

SMACK. SMACK. SMACK.

“I … I’m fine … I just … I just wished you picked up the phone, unnie … Wish you … wish you were here …”

I’m here now Wonyoung.

As Gaeul kept beating in Sunghoon’s face with her balled fist, Gaeul saw her entire life flash before her eyes. She thought of the moments they laughed together, the moments they cried to one another, the moments they spent alone, and the moments they had yet to spend together.

With each pound and punch and jab, through her own curtain of tears, all Gaeul could think of was her.

Jang Wonyoung.

“Gaeul-unnie~”

“Gaeul-unnie!”

“Ya, Gaeul ah …”

“Gaeul … stop … Gaeul, please …”

When Gaeul came to her senses at last, exiting her blind state of fury, she glanced down at her aching knuckles covered in Sunghoon’s flesh and blood, at the teeth that rolled off to the side, at the whimpering and whining mess that was Wonyoung’s ex-boyfriend. The moment she came back to reality, Gaeul allowed Wonyoung to lift her up and drag her out of their backyard—towards their front porch.

Wonyoung sobbed miserably while holding Gaeul’s listless face, clutching her like she had never done so before—like it was a long time coming. Gaeul just stood there feeling numb, feeling the headache from her hangover pinging her mind, feeling Wonyoung’s warm palms try to soothe her as she was still in utter disbelief over what had happened.

And then, Wonyoung had her Viktor Frankl moment—she went in for the kiss.

They had kissed before. Several, many times. They kissed hello. They kissed goodbye. They kissed on the forehead. On the cheek. On the shoulders. On the neck. On each other’s arms. On each other’s lips.

But for Gaeul, this was a kiss unlike any other. It wasn’t a quick one. It lasted for more than a minute or two at least. It wasn’t light. It felt heavy against her own lips. It didn’t smell of nicotine, of a half-eaten bowl of dormitory noodles, or of hardbound books.

It smelled of bubblegum and cherries.

As they continued to make out, eyes closed, feeling one another, tasting one another for the first time as something more than just friends, Gaeul realized how different this was. This kiss wasn’t a claiming one—no. It was a comforting one.

And suddenly, Gaeul understood what she came home for.

When they pulled away, which neither of them wanted to do but had to, Wonyoung immediately buried her face in the crook of Gaeul’s neck and squeezed her tightly. Gaeul could only pat the younger girl to comfort her.

“I guess … I guess I did it, didn’t I? I … I just tore everything down …”

“No … you can still fix things,” Gaeul replied, holding her close. “Just tell Sunghoon we were both drunk … and you made a mistake and—.”

“But that’s the thing—I don’t want to apologize for any of this.”

Silence fell upon them as Gaeul realized what this meant. While she replayed Wonyoung’s words in her head, she slowly began to feel the life flowing back into her veins, sobering her up.

“At the party last night?” Wonyoung raised, meeting Gaeul’s gaze again as she stood properly. “The moment I saw your face … heard your name … I knew it was now or never. I … I had to …”

Gaeul just chuckled and nuzzled into Wonyoung again. “Had to get with me? That’s pretty daring considering you were still in a relationship, Princess.”

Wonyoung melted into her unnie’s arms with a smile and punched her shoulder. “Shut up … don’t … don’t make this awkward.”

Gaeul bent to the side to kiss her on the lips again, shaking her head. “Don’t have to tell me twice.”

“You … you should go. Leave … leave Sunghoon to me,” Wonyoung warned, glancing over her shoulder to see if there were any motions stirring from her backyard. “I can handle it. And um, before you leave—before your flight? Tell me, ok? I’ll … I’ll take you to the airport. Hope your family doesn’t mind.”

But Gaeul shook her head. “No need.”

“But—.”

“No need, Princess. Whatever this is … whatever this will be … let’s figure it out. I’ll … I’ll see you tomorrow.”

They held onto each other tightly, not wanting to let the other go again, only separating and parting fully because that’s the role they had to play.

For now, at least.

And so, clutching the handlebars with a grip that pulsed with each shaky breath of hers, Kim Gaeul forced herself to pedal away from it all. Denim jacket still wrapped around her petite frame, chin-length hair caressing her face as if to soothe her, blood trickling down the open wound from her temple mixing with her tears, Gaeul struggled to look ahead.

Because she so desperately wanted to look back and return to her.

Her bicycle zigzagged along the heated asphalt road that seemed to stretch into infinity. It was almost as if it didn’t want to leave—it was almost as if she didn’t want to leave.

But she had to. Just for now.

Gaeul thought back to the past few days, thought about everything that happened up to this point, and when she remembered the reason why her knuckles were bruised and why her forearm had patches of skin peeled off, she broke further into tears.

This was the day she lost a friend.

This was the day she lost her best friend, Jang Wonyoung.

Gaeul let out a manic laugh as she considered the possibility of what might happen next. They were no longer just friends. Were they dating? Were they girlfriends? Well, whatever it was, surely they were something more now.

As she pedaled, her phone buzzed in her pocket. It was her mother. She didn’t hesitate to pick it up this time. “Eomma? Hello?”

“Where the hell are you! Are you safe? You didn’t call us at all last night and you didn’t come home!”

Gaeul smiled. She deserved that. “I’m fine, eomma. I’m on my way home.”

“You had better be, young lady, or you are going to get another earful from me!”

“Of course, I will,” she dismissed. “And, um, eomma? Can you … can you tell my brother to go sleep in his room again? I think … I think I’m going to be staying home for a while longer.”

When her mother asked why, Gaeul simply looked to the parting clouds overhead while pedaling even faster and smiled. “Nothing, just missed this feeling.”

“Just missed being home.”

=====

=====

His hands explored every inch of your sensitive body with a satisfying touch that sent shivers down your spine. There was an irresistible affection between the two of you that was endless. Your breath caught as his dominant, wild hip thrusts into yours, causing hectic, unrestrained moans with every thrust.

"Oh my God- yes, Thomas!"

As he pushed you farther into the mattress, his weight and heat surrounded you as you lay beneath him, your bodies linked. He drew closer as your legs coiled around his hips, stretching you in the most delicious way as he slid deeper with each thrust. Tommy started to breathe hard, his chest heaving as sweat collected on his forehead and trickled down to mix with the heat from your smooth skin. He met your gaze with lust and something deeper than that.

"Yes, baby.. fuck- you take me so well.. so fucking well," he praised on your ear as he rested his head on your neck, his deep thrusts not stopping.

The telephone on top of the nightstand beside your shared bed rang loudly. Your husband stopped, looking at the phone near him.

Who the fuck is calling at this hour?

Tommy picked the phone up, not leaving the bed.

"Thomas Shelby." he answered.

You expected him that he would draw away and stop, especially when the phone rang. He stopped and reached for it, and you felt upset. Tommy, though, chose to stay still and answered the phone with one hand while tightening his grip on your waist with the other and suddenly thrusting his hips forward once more.

His thrusts continued to shock you, causing your body to tense in surprise, but before you could respond, pleasure took over. His cock sank farther, each malicious movement finding that exact spot. You ended up speechless by both of his soothing phone voice and the way he caused your body to react to him.

"What ha-happened?" Tommy asked over the phone, his breathing heavily telling each question with a struggled and unsteady voice. He attempted to keep his composure, but the force of his motions made it almost impossible as his chest rose and fell quickly. As he tried to concentrate on the talk, you could feel his heart thumping against your body and his breath rapid and hot against your skin.

Tommy looked at you, a smirk painted on his face. With his free hand, his fingers toyed with your hardened nipples, brushing them and squeezing it.

"Tomm-" you covered your mouth immediately as you nearly moaned his name out loud, afraid of whoever is on the phone hearing that Tommy is fucking his wife at the moment.

"Yeah, I'll handle that tomorrow morning," his voice was deep making you feel wetter and wetter. A familiar feeling coiled down through your stomach.

"Tommy, I'm so close," you quietly moaned. Your fingers gripped the silk bedsheets tightly as you felt your high coming.

The room was filled with the constant sound of your bodies meeting, the heat between you growing with each slap of flesh on skin. Your thoughts were taken over by the intense pleasure that was shooting through your entire body as your eyelids fluttered closed, buried in a fog of ecstasy. You vaguely heard Tommy drop the phone somewhere in the distance, but it didn't really matter. The way he grabbed you closer and pounded your hips with such merciless pace that every thrust sent shivers of pleasure through your entire body was all that mattered. Heavy intakes of breath from him, merging with your groans as he pushed you both to the edge.

"Good girl, yes, yes.. Finish on my cock."

Tommy experienced the same closeness as your cock clenched all over it. With a deep moan, he raised your right leg to his shoulders. He treated you like the most precious gemstones that thieves like him could take. Tommy groaned and praised as his head rolled back.

"D'you want me to cum inside you? Breed you? Make you mine?"

"Yes, yes! Fill me up, sir! Please!"

His back was scratched by your nails, and in a few hours, scars will definitely begin to appear. You groaned, breasts bouncing and the bed creaking with every pound.

And then, after a few more thrusts, he smashed deep inside of you until he poured all of his seed into your abused and tight walls. It was warm and filled. Tommy groaned loudly and pleased, then rested his head on the side of your neck to inhale yourself. He waited until every last drop of his cum filled you before pulling out.

As soon as he pulled out, a mixture of his and your load leaked outside your throbbing pussy. Tommy got up, grabbing a box of tissue and cleaned the both of you up.

"Who was that?" you asked.

"Just the betting shop asking for me to check on something."

"You think they.. heard me?"

"I'm sure they did and I'm glad so that they know how much I fucking please my lovely wife." he chuckled before planting another kiss to your lips.

You gladly kissed him back but the kiss deepened and the both of you know what that means.