S!

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.”

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"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.

That kiss settled something in her chest. He could always do that, silence the noise just by being close.

She reached up, fingers brushing the edge of his jaw, rough with the day’s stubble. He leaned in again, their lips meeting properly this time, soft, exploratory, his hand now cradling the side of her neck as he kissed her slow and deep.

When they pulled back, his thumb gently stroked her cheekbone. “Come here.”

He guided her to the bed, not pushing, just leading, and sat down first, pulling her gently between his legs, arms resting on her hips. The fire crackled in the hearth, throwing a golden glow across the room. She stood between his knees, eyes locked with his, breathing shallow.

His hands slid up her back as he kissed her again, deeper this time, his fingers careful as they found the tiny buttons running down her spine.

“Can I?” he asked, his voice warm against her mouth.

She nodded.

He started undoing them, one by one, pausing to press kisses to her bare shoulder as the fabric slipped. His touch never left her skin, reassuring and patient. When the dress finally slid from her arms and onto the floor, he paused again, looking at her, not just her body, but her face.

“You’re beautiful,” he said quietly, like it was just a fact. Not flattery. Just truth.

Y/N’s breath caught as he stood, guiding her gently back onto the bed, following her down, the mattress dipping under their weight. He lay beside her, half over her, one hand braced next to her head while the other smoothed along her hip.

He leaned in, kissing her again, slow and meaningful. “If anything feels wrong… if you want to stop, say so. You don’t owe me anything.”

“I know,” she whispered, voice small but steady. “I want this… I want you.”

He nodded, then kissed her again, slower this time, deeper, the heat building carefully between them.

Thomas’s eyes lowered for a moment, taking her in as she lay back against the pillows, lit only by the soft glow of the fire. Her white lace lingerie still clung to her body, delicate and elegant, almost too beautiful to touch. Almost.

His gaze met hers again, and he leaned in, kissing her forehead first, then down the bridge of her nose, before whispering against her lips.

“You look…” he breathed, his voice thick, “fucking stunning.”

She let out a small, nervous laugh, more from the tension in her chest than anything else. He noticed immediately, brushing his knuckles down her arm.

“Can I take this off?” he asked quietly, fingers grazing the thin strap of her white bra. “Only if you want me to.”

Y/N hesitated, not out of fear, but because the moment felt so real now. But then she looked at him, saw the softness in his eyes, the way he held back, waiting for her.

She nodded slowly. “Yeah… you can.”

Still, he didn’t move just yet.

“You sure?” he asked again, his thumb tracing just below the lace edge. “You say the word, we stop. No pressure.”

“I’m sure,” she whispered, her hand settling gently on his shoulder.

He gave a small nod, then pressed a slow kiss to her collarbone as his fingers reached behind her, careful and steady. The clasp loosened under his hands, and he slowly slid the lace straps down her shoulders, the bra falling away between them.

He didn’t say anything right away, didn’t gawk, didn’t rush.

Just kissed her again, gently, his palm flattening softly against her bare side as he pulled her in closer, wrapping her in warmth.

“You’re safe with me,” he murmured against her skin. “Always.”

Thomas’ lips lingered on hers, a slow, grounding kiss that tasted of whiskey and patience, before he pulled back just enough to look at her. The firelight flickered across his face, softening the sharp edges of his jaw, his eyes holding hers with a quiet intensity. Y/N’s breath hitched, her bare skin tingling under the warmth of his gaze, the cool air of the Birmingham night brushing against her newly exposed chest. She felt vulnerable, but his presence, steady, unhurried, kept her anchored.

His hand, still resting on her side, moved slowly, his calloused palm sliding upward with a gentleness that made her heart stutter. His fingers traced the curve beneath her breast, tentative at first, giving her time to adjust to the sensation.

“Alright?” he murmured, voice low and rough, his thumb brushing just shy of her nipple, waiting for her cue.

She nodded, a soft “Yeah” escaping her lips, her voice barely above a whisper. The butterflies in her stomach fluttered wildly, his touch sparking something warm and unfamiliar deep inside her.

Thomas leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the hollow of her throat, then lower, his lips grazing the delicate skin above her heart. His hand cupped her breast, fingers gentle but sure, his thumb brushing over her nipple in a slow, deliberate circle. Y/N let out a small, involuntary moan, the sound catching in her throat as a shiver ran through her. His touch was careful, reverent, but it sent sparks dancing across her skin.

He paused, glancing up to check her face, his eyes searching for any sign of discomfort. Finding none, he lowered his head, his lips brushing the soft swell of her breast. His kisses were featherlight at first, warm and teasing, tracing the curve of her skin.

Then, slowly, he took her nipple into his mouth, his tongue flicking gently before he sucked, soft but deliberate. Y/N’s breath hitched, another quiet moan slipping out as her fingers tightened on his shoulder, nails digging into the fabric of his shirt.

“Tommy,” she whispered, the sound of his name trembling on her lips, half plea, half wonder. The butterflies in her stomach turned into something hotter, more urgent, as his mouth worked her sensitive skin, alternating between gentle sucks and slow, lingering kisses. His other hand found her other breast, kneading softly, his fingers rolling her nipple with a tenderness that made her arch into him, her body responding before her mind could catch up.

He hummed against her skin, the vibration sending a fresh wave of warmth through her, his lips curling into a faint smile as he felt her tremble. “Good?” he asked, voice muffled against her, his breath hot on her skin.

“Mhm,” she managed, her voice breaking into another soft moan as he sucked again, a little firmer this time, his tongue swirling in a way that made her toes curl. Her hands slid up to his hair, fingers threading through the dark strands, holding him closer as the sensations built, layering one atop another like kindling catching fire.

Thomas pulled back just enough to kiss the valley between her breasts, his lips trailing slow and deliberate, each touch igniting her further. His hand continued its gentle fondling, thumb and fingers working in tandem to draw more of those quiet, breathy sounds from her. He was patient, every movement measured, every kiss a promise that he’d take care of her, that she could trust him with this.

Her skin felt alive under his touch, her heart pounding as the butterflies gave way to a deeper, aching want. She tugged lightly at his hair, urging him closer, her body speaking what her words couldn’t.

Thomas’ lips hovered at the crest of Y/N’s hip bone, his breath warm against her skin as he pressed another slow, deliberate kiss there, his hands steady on her thighs. The firelight cast a soft glow over them, the room quiet except for the faint crackle of the hearth and her uneven breaths. Her pussy throbbed, sensitive to every touch, every whisper of air, as his kisses trailed lower, pausing just above the delicate lace of her panties. Her white lingerie, sheer and delicate, clung to her, and she felt exposed, vulnerable, but his presence was a tether, keeping her grounded.

“You’re doin’ so well, love,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, the Birmingham edge softened by a warmth that made her heart stutter. His fingers grazed the waistband of her panties, teasing the thin fabric, brushing ever so lightly over her clit through the lace. The sensation pulled a soft, trembling moan from her lips, her hips twitching instinctively toward him.

“That’s it,” he said, his tone soothing, like he was coaxing her through a quiet storm. “Just let yourself feel it, yeah?”

Her cheeks flushed, her breath hitching as she nodded, too shy to speak at first. Thomas’ eyes flicked up to hers, blue and steady, watching her with a patience that made her feel cherished.

“You alright?” he asked, his thumb stroking the edge of the lace, just grazing her sensitive core, sending another spark through her. “Talk to me, sweetheart.”

“I’m… I’m okay,” she whispered, her voice shaky but honest. “Just nervous.”

He nodded, his lips curving into a small, reassuring smile. “Nothin’ to be nervous about,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to the soft skin just below her navel.

“It’s just you and me here. No one else, no rush. You’re safe, Y/N, I promise.” His words were a balm, easing the tight knot of nerves in her chest.

His fingers hooked gently under the waistband of her panties, pausing as he looked up at her again. “Can I take these off, love?” he asked, his voice steady, giving her all the space to decide. “Only if you’re ready.”

She swallowed, her pussy pulsing with a mix of anticipation and nerves, but his calm, grounding presence made her feel brave. She nodded, then caught the slight raise of his brow, the silent prompt for more.

“Use your words, sweetheart,” he urged gently, his thumb brushing her hip, his touch so careful it made her ache. “Wanna hear you say it.”

“Please, Tommy,” she said, a little stronger, her fingers twisting in the sheets. “Take them off.”

He gave a low hum of approval, his eyes never leaving hers as he slowly slid the lace down her thighs, the fabric whispering against her skin. The cool air hit her bare pussy, making her shiver, her sensitivity amplifying every sensation.

Thomas set the panties aside, his hands returning to her hips, one palm flattening against her skin, warm and steady. “Look at you,” he murmured, his voice thick with something like awe. “So fuckin’ beautiful, Y/N. You’re perfect.”

Her blush deepened, and she let out a small, nervous laugh, but his words wrapped around her like a blanket. His hand moved lower, fingers brushing the soft skin just above her mound, teasing, not diving in. He started with her outer folds, his fingertips tracing their edges with a gentleness that made her breath catch. “I’m gonna go slow, alright?” he said, his voice low and reassuring. “You tell me if it’s too much, or if you want more. I’m right here with you.”

She nodded, a soft “Okay” slipping from her lips as his fingers continued their careful exploration, stroking the slick, sensitive skin of her folds. Her pussy throbbed, so responsive that even the lightest touch sent a thrill through her, drawing another quiet moan. “Tommy,” she whimpered, her voice trembling, her hips shifting slightly under his hand.

“That’s my girl,” he said softly, his thumb brushing just below her clit, not touching it directly but close enough to make her pulse race. “Fuck, you’re so wet for me already.” His tone wasn’t crude, but reverent, like her arousal was a gift he didn’t take lightly. “Feels good, yeah?”

“Mhm,” she managed, her moans soft and high-pitched, each one spilling out as his fingers traced her folds, parting them gently to explore her further. He teased her entrance with one fingertip, not pushing in, just circling, feeling the slick heat there. The sensation was overwhelming, her pussy so sensitive that every brush of his fingers felt like a spark, her body arching slightly into his touch.

“Spread your legs a bit more for me, love,” he said, his voice calm but firm, guiding her with care. “Just like that, good girl.” His free hand squeezed her thigh gently, encouraging her as she parted her legs wider, her breath coming faster now.

“You’re doin’ perfect,” he murmured, his fingers returning to her folds, stroking slowly, deliberately, teasing her entrance again. “Just breathe, let me take care of you.”

Her moans grew louder, more desperate, as he continued, his touch so gentle yet precise, each stroke sending waves of pleasure through her. Her pussy throbbed harder, her arousal making her slicker, and Thomas noticed, his eyes darkening with want but still tempered by care. “Christ, you’re so responsive,” he said, his voice low, almost a growl. “Love how you’re reactin’ to me. You tell me what you need, alright? I’m listenin’.”

She couldn’t speak, not really, her mind hazy with the intensity of it all, but her body answered for her, hips lifting slightly, chasing his touch. Her hands gripped the sheets tighter, her moans soft but constant, each one a testament to how her body sang under his careful hands.

Thomas’ fingers lingered on Y/N’s folds, his touch featherlight as he parted her gently, his thumb brushing just shy of her clit, drawing another soft moan from her lips. Her pussy throbbed, slick and sensitive, every nerve alive under his careful attention. He shifted lower on the bed, his body settling between her thighs, his breath warm against her skin as he pressed a slow, reassuring kiss to the inside of her thigh. “You’re doin’ so good, love,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, laced with that Birmingham grit but softened by tenderness. “Gonna make you feel even better now, yeah? Just keep breathin’ for me.”

Y/N’s heart raced, her fingers tightening in the sheets as she felt his breath ghost over her core, the anticipation making her pussy pulse harder. “Tommy,” she whispered, her voice shaky, a mix of nerves and want. “Is it… gonna be okay?”

His eyes flicked up to meet hers, blue and steady, grounding her in the flickering firelight. “More than okay, sweetheart,” he said softly, his hand finding hers, lacing their fingers together, his grip warm and firm. “I’ve got you. You trust me, don’t you?”

She nodded, squeezing his hand. “I do.”

“Good girl,” he murmured, pressing another kiss to her thigh, closer now, his lips brushing the sensitive skin near her folds. “Just let go for me. Wanna hear you, alright? Every sound you make, I want it.” His other hand slid up her body, cupping her breast, his thumb brushing over her nipple, sending a fresh shiver through her. The dual sensations, his hand on her breast, his breath so close to her pussy, made her moan softly, her hips shifting instinctively.

Then his mouth was on her, his lips closing gently around her clit, and Y/N gasped, a sharp, trembling sound that filled the quiet room. The pleasure was immediate, overwhelming, her pussy so sensitive that the soft suck of his mouth felt like a spark igniting a fire. “Oh,” she whimpered, her free hand flying to his hair, fingers tangling in the dark strands as her body arched off the bed.

“That’s it,” Thomas groaned against her, the vibration of his voice sending another jolt through her clit. His tongue flicked out, licking her slowly, deliberately, tracing circles around the swollen bud before sucking again, gentle but firm. “Fuck, you taste so good, love. Keep makin’ those sounds for me.” His hand squeezed her breast, fingers kneading softly, rolling her nipple between them, the sensation layering over the wet heat of his mouth on her pussy.

Y/N’s moans grew louder, higher-pitched, each one spilling out as his tongue worked her clit, alternating between slow, languid licks and soft sucks that made her thighs tremble. The pleasure was intense, almost too much, her pussy throbbing so hard it felt like her entire body was pulsing with it. “Tommy,” she gasped, her voice breaking, “it’s… it’s so much.”

“I know, sweetheart,” he murmured, pulling back just enough to speak, his lips brushing her clit as he did, making her whimper. “Feels good, don’t it? Just let it build, yeah? I’m right here, gonna take care of you.” He squeezed her hand tighter, his thumb stroking her knuckles, grounding her as his mouth returned to her, his tongue licking a slow, deliberate stripe over her clit before sucking again, a little harder now.

Her moans turned into soft cries, her hips bucking against his mouth, chasing the pleasure that was spiraling tighter and tighter inside her. His hand on her breast kept moving, squeezing, teasing her nipple, while his tongue flicked faster, then slower, finding a rhythm that made her body shake. “Fuck, you’re so wet,” he growled, his voice thick with want. “Love how you’re fallin’ apart for me. Let me hear you, Y/N. Don’t hold back.”

She couldn’t, even if she wanted to. The pleasure was too intense, her pussy so sensitive that every lick, every suck, sent her closer to an edge she’d never crossed before. Her moans were constant now, breathy and desperate, her fingers gripping his hair, his hand, anything to anchor herself. “Tommy, I… I feel—” she stammered, her voice breaking as his tongue circled her clit, then sucked hard, pulling a sharp cry from her throat.

“You’re close, love,” he said, his voice muffled against her, his lips never leaving her clit. “Can feel it. Just let go for me, yeah? I’ve got you. Gonna make you come so good.” He doubled down, his tongue flicking faster, then sucking her clit in a steady rhythm, his hand squeezing her breast, thumb rolling her nipple in time with his mouth. The sensations crashed together, her pussy throbbing, her body trembling as the pleasure built into something almost unbearable.

“Tommy!” she cried, her voice raw, her thighs clamping around his head as the orgasm hit her, a wave of white-hot pleasure that stole her breath. Her pussy pulsed, her clit throbbing under his tongue as he kept licking, softer now, riding her through it. Her body shook, her moans turning into soft, broken whimpers, her fingers digging into his hand, his hair, as the sensation overwhelmed her. It was her first orgasm, and it felt like her entire world had shattered and reformed in the space of a heartbeat.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Thomas murmured, his voice low and soothing, his tongue giving her clit one last gentle lick before he kissed it softly, making her twitch. “Fuck, you did so well. So beautiful when you come.” He kept his hand in hers, squeezing gently, his other hand leaving her breast to stroke her thigh, calming her as her body trembled with aftershocks. “Just breathe, yeah? I’m right here, not goin’ anywhere.”

Her chest heaved, her breaths ragged as she tried to process the intensity of it, her pussy still pulsing, sensitive to even the air. “I… I didn’t know it’d feel like that,” she whispered, her voice shaky, her eyes glassy as she looked down at him.

Thomas smiled, a rare, soft thing, as he pressed a kiss to her inner thigh, then moved up to hover over her, his hand still holding hers. “First one’s always a shock,” he said gently, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “But you were perfect, love. Fuckin’ perfect.” He kissed her forehead, then her lips, slow and tender, letting her taste herself on him. “You alright? Need a minute?”

She nodded, her breath slowing, her body still humming with the afterglow. “Just… stay with me,” she murmured, squeezing his hand.

“Always,” he said, his voice low and sure, as he settled beside her, his hand stroking her side, keeping her close as she came down from the high. “You’re my girl, Y/N. Gonna take care of you every step of the way.”

Thomas’ lips lingered on Y/N’s, a slow, grounding kiss that left her breathless, her body still tingling from the orgasm he’d coaxed from her. The firelight cast flickering shadows across the room, the air heavy with the scent of rose petals and their shared warmth. Her pussy still pulsed, sensitive and slick, as he shifted above her, his weight propped on one elbow, his eyes searching hers with a tenderness that made her heart ache. “You’re still with me, love?” he asked, his voice low, rough with desire but softened by care. “Feelin’ alright?”

Y/N nodded, her breath unsteady, her fingers still laced with his. “Yeah,” she whispered, her voice soft but sure. “I’m okay, Tommy. Just… want you.”

His lips curved into a faint, approving smile, and he pressed a kiss to her forehead, lingering there as if to anchor her. “Good girl,” he murmured, his free hand brushing down her side, soothing her. “Gonna take this slow, yeah? You tell me if you need me to stop, any time.”

She nodded again, her trust in him unshaken, even as nerves fluttered in her chest. Thomas shifted, sitting back slightly, his hand moving to the waistband of his trousers. He unbuttoned them with deliberate care, his movements unhurried, giving her time to process. As he slid them down, along with his boxers, his cock sprang free, thick and heavy, the veins prominent along its length. Y/N’s eyes widened, a mix of awe and apprehension washing over her. It was bigger than she’d imagined, intimidating in its size, the head flushed and glistening slightly in the dim light.

“Tommy…” she breathed, her voice trailing off, her gaze fixed on him. “It’s… it’s so big.”

He chuckled softly, a low, reassuring sound, as he settled back over her, his hand returning to hers, squeezing gently. “It’s alright, love,” he said, his tone calm, steady. “You can touch it, if you want. Go on, get a feel for it.”

Her cheeks flushed, but curiosity won out. She reached out tentatively, her fingers brushing the warm, velvety skin of his shaft. It twitched under her touch, and she gasped softly, her fingers tracing the thick vein that ran along its length. “It’s… hard,” she murmured, almost to herself, her touch growing bolder as she wrapped her hand around him, feeling the weight of him in her palm.

Thomas let out a low groan, his eyes darkening, but he kept himself still, letting her explore. “Feels good when you touch me like that,” he said, his voice rougher now, but still gentle. “You don’t have to be shy, Y/N. It’s just us.”

She bit her lip, her hand lingering a moment longer before she drew back, her heart pounding. “Will it… fit?” she asked, her voice small, the question slipping out before she could stop it.

Thomas’ expression softened, and he leaned down, kissing her lips gently, then her cheek. “We’ll make it work, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Gonna go so slow, make it good for you. Trust me, yeah?”

She nodded, her trust in him unwavering despite the nerves. He guided her back down onto the bed, her head settling against the pillows, the rose petals shifting beneath her. His hand slid to her thigh, gentle but firm, as he positioned himself between her legs. “Spread your legs for me, love,” he said softly, his voice a quiet command wrapped in care. “Just a bit wider, that’s it.”

Y/N parted her thighs, her breath hitching as she felt the cool air against her slick pussy, still sensitive from his earlier attentions. She looked up at him, her eyes wide. “Will it hurt?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly, the vulnerability in her question laid bare.

Thomas sighed, his expression heavy with empathy, his thumb brushing her cheek as he leaned down to kiss her forehead again. “It might, love, just at the start,” he said honestly, his voice low and steady. “Wish I could take that pain away, I do. But I’ll be gentle, yeah? We’ll go as slow as you need, and if it’s too much, you tell me, and we stop. I’m right here with you, every step.”

She swallowed, nodding, her hand squeezing his tightly. “I trust you,” she whispered, her voice steadying as she met his gaze.

He kissed her again, slow and deep, his lips grounding her as he shifted closer, the head of his cock brushing against her folds. She gasped softly, the contact sending a jolt through her sensitive pussy, her hips twitching instinctively. “Easy, love,” he murmured against her lips, his hand stroking her side, calming her. “Gonna take it slow, alright? Just keep lookin’ at me.”

He guided himself to her entrance, the tip of his cock pressing gently against her, slick with her arousal. He paused, his eyes locked on hers, watching for any sign of discomfort. “You ready?” he asked, his voice soft but firm, his thumb stroking her knuckles.

“Yeah,” she whispered, her voice barely audible but certain. “I’m ready, Tommy.”

He nodded, his lips brushing her forehead again as he began to push forward, slow and careful. The stretch was immediate, a sharp sting that made her gasp, her free hand gripping his shoulder. He froze, his cock barely inside her, his eyes searching her face. “You alright?” he asked, his voice thick with concern. “Breathe for me, sweetheart. Just breathe.”

She nodded, her breath shaky as she tried to relax, the sting mingling with the warmth of his presence. “I’m okay,” she said, her voice trembling but determined. “Keep going.”

“Good girl,” he murmured, his hand squeezing hers as he pushed in a little further, his cock stretching her slowly, inch by inch. The pain was there, sharp and unfamiliar, but his gentleness, his constant reassurances, kept her grounded. Her pussy was so sensitive, every movement sending a mix of discomfort and pleasure through her, her body adjusting to the new sensation.

“Almost there, love,” he said softly, his voice steady as he watched her, his forehead resting against hers. “You’re doin’ so fuckin’ well. Just a bit more, yeah?” He pushed in further, his cock filling her now, the stretch intense but easing slightly as her body began to accommodate him. Her moans were soft, a mix of pain and something deeper, something that stirred low in her belly.

“Tommy,” she whimpered, her nails digging into his shoulder, her other hand clinging to his. “It’s… it’s a lot.”

“I know, sweetheart, I know,” he said, his voice soothing, his lips brushing her temple. “You’re takin’ me so well. Just focus on me, alright? I’ve got you.” He stilled, letting her adjust, his cock buried inside her now, the fullness overwhelming but tempered by his care. He kissed her again, slow and tender, his thumb stroking her cheek. “Tell me when you’re ready for me to move.”

She took a few shaky breaths, her body trembling but relaxing as the initial sting began to fade, replaced by a strange, pulsing warmth. “Okay,” she whispered finally, her voice steadier. “You can move.”

He nodded, kissing her forehead once more before he began to move, his hips rocking slowly, pulling back just a fraction before pushing in again, gentle and controlled. Her pussy clenched around him, the sensation intense, her moans soft and breathy as the pleasure started to overtake the pain. “That’s it, love,” he murmured, his voice low and encouraging. “You feel so fuckin’ good. Just keep breathin’, yeah? I’m right here with you.”

He kept his movements slow, deliberate, his cock sliding in and out with careful precision, watching her face for every reaction, ensuring she was with him. Her moans grew louder, the discomfort fading into a deep, aching pleasure, her pussy throbbing around him, sensitive to every thrust. “You’re mine now,” he said softly, his lips brushing hers, his hand never leaving hers. “My beautiful girl. Doin’ so perfect for me.”

Her body arched into him, her trust in him blooming as the pleasure built, her heart pounding in time with his. The world narrowed to just them, the firelight, and the slow, intimate rhythm of their bodies.

Her breaths came faster now, each one a soft gasp that filled the quiet room, mingling with the crackle of the fire. Thomas’s eyes never left hers, his gaze steady and warm, anchoring her as the pleasure coiled tighter within her. Y/N’s fingers tightened around his, her other hand gripping his shoulder, nails digging in just enough to ground herself in the intensity. The slow, deliberate rhythm of his thrusts deepened, each movement drawing her closer to a precipice she’d never known before.

“Tommy,” she whispered, her voice trembling with a mix of need and vulnerability, her wide eyes searching his for reassurance.

“I’ve got you, love,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing, like a promise. He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead, then her lips, tasting the salt of her breath. “Just let go for me. I’m right here.”

Her body responded to his words, the trust she felt in him unraveling the last of her hesitation. The ache within her blossomed into something overwhelming, a wave of heat and sensation that made her toes curl and her back arch higher. Thomas felt her tightening around him, her pussy fluttering as she teetered on the edge. He kept his pace steady, not rushing her, letting her body guide them both. His thumb brushed over her knuckles, his other hand sliding down to grip her hip, steadying her as she trembled.

“That’s it, darlin’,” he whispered, his lips grazing her ear. “You’re so beautiful like this. Let it happen.”

With a soft cry, Y/N shattered beneath him, the pleasure crashing over her like a tide. Her body shook, her thighs quivering as she came, her pussy clenching tightly around him, pulling him deeper. The sensation was too much, too perfect, and Thomas groaned low in his throat, his control fraying as he followed her over the edge. His thrusts slowed, becoming uneven as he spilled inside her, his warmth filling her in a way that felt both new and eternal. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, breathing her in, his lips pressing soft kisses to her flushed skin as they both rode the waves of their release.

For a moment, they stayed like that, bodies entwined, hearts racing in unison. The firelight cast golden shadows across their skin, the room quiet except for their ragged breaths. Thomas lifted his head, his blue eyes soft and searching as he looked down at her. Y/N’s cheeks were flushed, her lips parted, her expression a mix of awe and vulnerability. She looked so fragile in that moment, yet so strong, having given herself to him completely.

“Are you alright, love?” he asked gently, his voice thick with concern. He brushed a strand of hair from her face, his touch featherlight.

She nodded, a shy smile breaking through her daze. “I’m… more than alright,” she whispered, her voice soft but sure. “That was… I didn’t know it could feel like that.”

Thomas’s lips curved into a rare, genuine smile, one reserved only for her. “You were perfect,” he said, kissing her softly, lingering as if to seal the moment. He eased himself out of her carefully, mindful of her sensitivity, and she winced slightly, her body still adjusting to the newness of it all. He noticed immediately, his brow furrowing.

“Hold on, darlin’,” he said, his voice steady and reassuring. He shifted to lie beside her, pulling the soft blanket from the foot of the bed over their bodies to keep her warm. He drew her into his arms, her head resting against his chest, his heartbeat a steady rhythm under her cheek. “Just breathe with me, alright?”

Y/N nestled closer, her body relaxing into his warmth. His hand stroked her back in slow, comforting circles, his touch grounding her as the intensity of the moment settled. “Did I hurt you?” he asked quietly, his voice laced with worry. “I tried to be gentle.”

“You didn’t hurt me,” she assured him, tilting her head to meet his gaze. “It was… a little strange at first, but you made it feel right. You made me feel safe.”

His expression softened, a flicker of relief in his eyes. “Good,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple. “I’d never forgive myself if I hurt you, Y/N. Not tonight, not ever.”

They lay there for a while, wrapped in each other’s warmth, the fire casting a soft glow over the room. Thomas was attentive, his hands never straying far, always touching her in some small way, smoothing her hair, tracing her arm, or simply holding her close. He reached for a glass of water on the bedside table, helping her sit up slightly to take a sip.

“Drink, love,” he said, his tone gentle but firm. “You need it.”

She obeyed, her hands still a little shaky as she took the glass from him. He watched her carefully, making sure she was comfortable, before taking the glass back and setting it aside. He pulled her back into his arms, tucking the blanket around her shoulders.

“Tell me what you need,” he said, his voice soft but earnest. “Anything at all.”

Y/N smiled, her heart swelling at his care. “Just this,” she whispered, resting her head against him again. “Just you.”

He chuckled softly, the sound warm and low. “You’ve got me, Mrs. Shelby,” he said, his voice tinged with pride. “Always.”

As she drifted toward sleep, Y/N felt his lips press against her forehead one last time. “My beautiful girl,” he whispered.

Origins ★

she was taken into custody by her aunt not long after she was born.

her parents were neglectful, her mother is an addict who cared more about Georgia's biological father and was never fit to be a parent.

her mother is Detective Ellis' sister. Ellis had to make the tough choice of arresting her sister several times to teach her a lesson, but she never learns. They haven't spoken in years.

it's the reason why Georgia constantly goes back to unhealthy habits and relationships.

originally a pick-me/not like other girls girl to impress guys. Grew out of it for a reason.

lesbian.

Detective Ellis was highly controlling of her growing up out of concern she'd end up like her mother. Georgia can't stand it and will do anything and everything behind her back or piss her off by rebeling, even if it means fucking around with Republican rapper fenian boys she doesn't even like.

as a child, and probably still as a grown woman, if her aunt pisses her off, Georgia will stick out her tongue when her back is turned. Maybe even throw in a middle finger.

boy, was she in huge trouble the one time Ellis turned around.

has a very severe case of comphet and bipolar :(

you bet she steals the contraband her aunt confisticates and sells that shit for cash or does it herself.

Interests ❀

one hundred percent grew up as a 1D girlie and Arianator. Probably even a Belieber, but she'd never admit it and can't stand his lame ass now.

Charli XCX fan. Also a Chappell enjoyer even before she was famous, but not at all because she relates to her songs and totally doesn't have a crush on her.

she's a hater of everything mainstream until she tries it.

"matcha is gross, Labubus are ugly and Crumbl cookies are overpriced, diabetic shite-" one sip and a bite later, she's spending upwards of $100 plus each month for her daily fix or blind boxes (vanillamacedonut.gif).

becomes an astrology and tarot girlie, don't fall for her lies about not believing in it.

"Like she's got one friend who's like all abt it and idk warned her way back when she first started seeing mo chara, and when things start getting rough she's like ok girl whip out those magic cards I clearly need them." -Elvy.

her hobbies include giving up on crocheting and gardening after one try, playing Dress To Impress then getting banned for rating everyone one star, and spending hours stalking Mo Chara or that cute girl she just met and followed.

bad at cooking but good at baking.

she's a Victoria's Secret body mist enjoyer, especially Pure Seduction. You'll know she's around when you catch an overwhelming scent of freesia and plum.

terminally online. Always on gossip sites, Snapchat, Instagram, Pinterest, Tumblr, We Heart It, will also get into anonymous fights with other users for days on end until it leads her to almost getting doxxed.

Instagram account is perfectly curated like every stereotypical late 2010's "It" white girl.

had TikTok back when it was Musical.ly.

loves chick flicks. Mean Girls, Clueless, Heathers, if it's 90's or 2000's, she's most likely seen it and can quote it word for word.

Jennifer's Body is a favorite, she's got a crush on Megan Fox but no homo, she swears.

"I like brown!" goes from a glam girlie to beige girlie at the end of the movie.

Love ♡

did I mention lesbian.

her first gay awakening is with a friend as a teen. She was trying to catch some Catholic boy's interest and ended up catching feelings for her friend instead.

unfortunately, said friend is straight and ends up with same Catholic boy.

it took her a long time to accept her sexuality, she very much was afraid and in denial and hooked up with guys just to lie to herself. It always made her feel empty afterward.

even after breaking up with Mo Chara, (also gay), they're still friends. In a weird way, they get each other and that cancels out their hatred for one another.

she has a new best friend every week and they end up fighting and splitting every time. Totally not her fault, because she can never do anything wrong.

source: Georgia.

dom-top all the way, your pussy isn't safe from her bdsm sectarian Protestant-Catholic bedroom roleplay.

will always strap and give you the best snuggles, kisses and aftercare. She'll take any excuse to touch you.

she's also the jealous type. She better not catch a man hitting on you or she will make out with you and start a bar fight if he thinks he can join in. The make up sex is great though, you'd piss her off on purpose if it means you'll get fucked.

Georgia's honestly kind of romantic. Princess treatment in het relationships is the bare minimum in her wlw relationship. She'll never cheap out on a gift or dinner, probably because she's using someone else's money, like Mo Chara's.

even if she's got her own problems and can be abrasive, she does listen and she'd do anything to make you feel better when you're feeling sad. It can be simple as distracting you with a movie, activity or facing head on whoever or whatever the source is making you feel bad.

Better than your bum of a bf in every way.

Grace can only let his head fall back against the headboard of the pilot’s seat; he groans impatiently, with a weathered mumble, “Oh my God…” From beside him, you can see his blonde hair sticking up in all directions. At first, you think it’s best to give him a moment of silence, maybe tilt your head to look up at the plethora of status lights above the three of you.

Then, finally, you decide to pipe up with a very kind, “You’re doing your best, Ry.” It should be a relatively pleasant exchange. Grace is on the verge of thanking you, turning in his seat with his lips curled into a soft smile. But, Rocky can’t help but angle himself toward you in his casing, arms flailing up in what looks like the mimicry of a shrug.

“Grace doing best, question?”

This steals Grace’s attention away instantly. His smile drops and, eyebrows furrowed, Grace grumbles, “Is that supposed to be rhetorical? What am I saying—of course it is.” Grace huffs, snatching his glasses off his face and folding them over the collar of his jumpsuit. “Now, he wants to be funny.” How they love to bicker. With Grace’s back to you, you can only imagine the pout on his face. He fiddles with his sleeves, trying to tighten them down lower on his wrists.

You rub your eyes tiredly. You’ve been sitting in zero grav for hours now, and you’d kill to feel the ground like normal—maybe have a cup of coffee in a mug and not a plastic-sealed pouch. It’s also clear that Grace isn’t getting any better, and Rocky isn’t getting any more patient. “I think it’d be pretty productive to take a break. Don’t you?”

Grace claps his hands together softly, “Break.” He’s just about to unbuckle himself out of the seat when Rocky taps a claw on the glass.

“Longer break means longer Earth, Erid sun dim. Grace need practice, or all die,” Rocky insists. You can see him stamp repetitiously on the xenonite glass a few times. Obviously, he’s being a little bit dramatic—but it still clearly gets under Grace’s skin, because he’s practically squirming in his seat.

“Okay, okay,” you decide, “Why don’t we switch for a bit? I can go over my part with you, and Grace can go strap down downstairs.” It might do you good to go over the post-handoff of controls, even if you’ve already got it all down. If it buys Grace a little bit of rest time, you’re willing to do it. 

But Rocky repeats, “Grace need practice,” this time with more intention. It’s absurd how well the computer modulates his voice so intuitively.

“He’s trying to say that I suck,” Grace affirms. He doesn’t seem to deny the accusation; if you aren’t mistaken, Grace is pretty embarrassed about this whole ordeal of not being able to fly well. You watch as he flattens the decals on his jumpsuit, patches and all, down with his palms.

“Rocky, play nice,” you scorn. Even underneath the glow of the screens, you can see Grace’s cheeks are tinted a light red. You hate to see him so stressed out about this stuff, but admittedly, it looks good on him. It’s probably a bad habit to even think that way about Grace—considering that it’s just the three of you on this ship and you have to sleep a few feet away from him every night. You should decidedly pour more effort into making him less anxious about the mission. So, you tell Grace, “You’ll get the hang of it.”

You reach a hand out to touch Grace, thinking that a soft squeeze of his bicep might send across your genuine feeling on the matter. You do believe in him. As soon as your fingers curl around his arm, brushing the rough fabric of his jumpsuit, Grace’s hand seems to pass over the armrest and, with a slip, collides straight into the joystick. The Mary jerks left in a longer stride across the black space; you’re realizing, as the force throttles your body yet again, that you’re very lucky to have this much open space. Meanwhile, Rocky is grabbing on to his own makeshift seatbelt, claws tight on the strap. “Brake. Brake. Brake. Brake. Brake.”

—

The same thing happens the next go-around two days later, when Grace is trying to train for sample extraction. You’re in your seat, and Rocky’s in his. Between the first practice run and now, the three of you worked handily to rig the collector into a dropping mechanism on the lower portion of the ship. It’s all been programmed up to drop at the click of a button. Rocky has Grace testing the mechanism in a one-to-one simulation.

Now, all three of you are playing pretend, as if you’ve already breached Adrian’s atmosphere and settled into a steady trajectory across the top. Grace is doing a decent job up to this point, having trained his muscle memory and studied the thick paper manual you’d found detailing all the console’s buttons and switches. He mutters under his breath, “Okay, okay. I got it.” It appears to be more self-reassurance than anything else. You’ve been on the ship long enough to know that Grace is a master at talking to himself.

Rocky is counting down from T-minus 10 seconds with a monotonous tone, keeping his attention closed on the texture monitor in front of him. “Ten, nine, eight, seven…” You have your eyes trained on Grace, who’s clearly trying to guide himself through a deep breath in and out. Grace flips up the metal casing on the drop button, sucks in a deep breath—“six, five, four, three…”—and slams it with his thumb. The collector discharges. On the monitors, both Grace’s and Rocky’s, you can see it free-float out of the containment chamber, right out of the open panels. At least, you know the release mechanism works well. But, Rocky is quick to note, “Grace release collector too early.”

Three seconds too early, you shake your head. Grace is already very aware of the mistake, searching for a half-excuse himself: “I was being punctual.”

“Need exact time. Count for reason,” Rocky grips and ungrips his left claw. Then, Rocky rotates to face you, stamping one claw on his seat. “Stare at Grace make Grace bad. Close eyes.” 

Your eyes widen, index finger poking into your own chest. “Me? Close my eyes?” You can’t imagine how that would make things run any more efficiently.

“Woah now,” Grace coughs out, hand running over the back of his head. As he brushes his palm down against his short blonde hair, he seems to tilt his chair away, clearly locked in on the monitor in front of him. He shoves his fingers against a few switches—completely meaningless motions. “What’re you trying to say, pal?”

“Need word,” Rocky deliberates slowly, “For when watching heightens nervous system.” Grace’s hand hovers over the monitor.

You click your fingers: “Performance anxiety.”

Grace twists his seat to face the both of you, palms open and waving in disagreement. “I don’t have performance anxiety.” But, his body says otherwise. He’s practically sweating through his tight white polo—glasses on the verge of fogging up. It’s difficult not to be giddy when he gets like this, all flustered and discombobulated. Grace is having a hard time keeping it together. He must recognize your overt fawning, because he puts up an index finger, lips parted, “Don’t.”

“…Sorry.” You scramble for the vocal software on Rocky’s computer, typing it out hastily: <performance anxiety>. You press your middle finger into the enter-key and Rocky chirps a few times. Too happily, he exclaims, “Is performance anxiety!” Rocky alternates his attention between the two of you, and Grace’s nose is scrunching softly. He’s distressed. Up to this point, you’d thought that Grace was just having a hard time acclimating to the controls. This definitely has to be it.

Grace says, rather grumpily, “For your information, I actually perform great under pressure usually. This is just an… extraneous circumstance.”

Rocky seems to shake his head, but makes a more urgent tap on the glass towards you. “Retrieve collector, question?” The collector’s still floating out there, and somebody needs to lock it back into the release mechanism. Rocky sees you best fit, apparently—no magic words there. Since Grace has been doing the heavy lifting with the captaining, you’re not very motivated to complain.

“When I get back, we can try to run it back,” you offer. You unbuckle your seatbelt swiftly, zero gravity making your legs sway upwards.

Rocky hums, “No, no. Collector requires extra yard and half chain according to visual on monitor. Extra links in lab. Make while Rocky Grace reset.”

“Uh… okay,” you snort. The addition of the chain makes you feel a little bit like you’re being sent on an errand. Then again, Rocky’s the expert fabricator, so you decide not to push it. As you start to make your exit out of the cockpit, Grace pulls his glasses off his face to buff the lens on his shirt. Softly, he tells you, “Just radio in if something happens with the rig or the collector. I can put a suit on to come help you.” He throws his glasses back on, and you give him a curt nod. Rocky waves you goodbye with his right claw as you pull yourself towards the corridor.

Once you make it out of the cockpit, in the joint between the airlock and the rest of the Mary, you can hear Grace and Rocky bickering again. Their muffled voices barrel out into the whole ship. First, Rocky, pointedly: “Need re-test.”

Then, Grace, who’s sure to have his arms crossed in a tight lock over his chest: “Re-test what?”

Rocky replies, “If three in cockpit, Grace rate of distraction high. Need to re-test with two.” And Grace can only groan in response.

—

A half hour later, with the collector safely retrieved, your two crewmates set the Hail Mary into centrifuge. You get to work as soon as your feet touch the ground. The chain situation is meticulous and boring and you find it best fit, after linking together that extra yard and a half, to stay bundled up in the patchwork quilt in the lab—coffee in hand. It feels like as soon as you’re able to enjoy being upright, though, the commotion moves to you.

With the rapid sound of thunking on metal, Rocky rolls past you and makes it straight for the crew quarters. You whip around to tell him, “I finished those extra links you asked for, Rock.” It passes through one metaphorical ear out the other.

“Rocky develop breeder tank design,” he relays to you with a general disregard, “Try help Grace. Is impossible.”

“It wouldn’t kill you to be a little more patient,” you shout down the corridor. He doesn’t respond. You can already hear Rocky clinking his daily ball into the larger compartment. With the patchwork quilt clung around your shoulders, you place your mug down on an empty counter and peek in on Grace.

At the other end of the corridor, he’s still getting out of the cockpit—straightening out his polo and stretching his arms. When he finds that you’re standing behind him, he gets slightly more animated. “Hey…” Grace seems to trace his gaze down the individual patches on the quilt hanging off your back. Then, he looks up at you, dark blue eyes peering over his lenses.

You give him a wide grin. “Did Rocky give you a good lecturing while I was out?”

“No,” Grace pauses, pushing the bridge of his glasses up. “Yes.” With a defeated shrug, he stuffs his hands into the pockets of his sweats. “He’s right, you know. I am… pretty bad at captaining the ship.” 

“You’re fine at captaining the ship—”

“—I’ve been getting distracted this whole time because you sit too close to me,” he blurts. You draw back a bit, tugging the quilt tighter over your shoulders.

“The cockpit isn’t that cramped, is it?” you laugh. It’s a little bit embarrassing how close together you three have to sit in there. The thought of Grace’s discomfort at the mere proximity makes you sheepish.

“No, I’m saying that when you’re near me, I get, you know…” Grace stammers, “Jittery. I get jittery.” He crosses his arms over his chest, Converse pointed towards your work boots.

“I hope it’s not that I’m putting too much pressure on you. I swear that’s the last thing I want.”

“That isn’t it.” Grace wrings his hands together and then drops them to his sides. “When I get in the cockpit, it feels, well, suffocatingly small, and Rocky’s talking, and you’re just watching, and you’re waiting for me to fly the thing. And I want to fly it well in front of you. For you,” Grace blinks. You’re not even sure he knows what he’s saying. “I’m trying to tell you that I am very attracted to you, and it’s cramping my motor skills.”

You can feel your eyes widen. You’re trying your best to settle with the fact: “You can’t fly ‘cause of me?” You can’t be hearing it right.

Grace struggles to give you a steady “…Yes.” He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, opting next to run his hand over the control panel above you both. He can barely look at you, eyes flashing up to faux-examine the thing.

 “I make you nervous. It’s performance anxiety for an audience of one,” you reiterate. “Are you sure?” It’s a little silly for you to ask, considering that he’s just laid it all out for you. It’s just… impossible. Grace drops his hand back down.

He looks like he’s about to melt into the floor. And still, he rasps, “I think I have about thirty failed test runs and one very upset alien to corroborate my claim.” He’s being serious. One close inspection of Grace and he seems to be blushing from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. The small grin on his face matches your own, but it’s riddled with a hint of unease. He’s dying for you to give him a straight answer.

You have to give him a little bit of slack. “Would it make you fly better if I told you I’m very attracted to you, too?”

Grace tilts his head, brows furrowed. “I think it might make it worse, actually—” The quilt drops off your shoulders and crumples soft on the ground as you launch up to kiss Grace. “Oh.” His surprise doesn’t get far, because you’re running your hands over Grace’s chest, throwing them up into his hair. Grace lets out a contented hum against your lips, his palms only lightly grazing over your jaw. It’s with an accidental bit of force that you guide Grace over and push him up against the side-wall of the corridors, your work boots tucked in between his Converse. You’re maybe too excited to kiss him, hands anchoring on his hips, then toying with the hem of his polo. He’s blushing—you can feel the heat coming off of him—and you’re not much better.

It’s all very heated until Rocky’s voice rings out from the crew quarters: “Crew take Rocky advice. Reject null.” Privacy at a minimum, you remember. You pull away, taking a look over Grace’s face. He’s heaving by this point, with you nearly kissing him to death. His hands finally lay strong on your hips, back still flush to the corridor wall.

You take a few steps back into the middle of the corridor, dragging Grace along with you. With a bit more air, he lets out a shuddered breath. You murmur, “I can think of a few good motivators for you to fly better.” There isn’t any bit of goodwill behind it, just utter anticipation; you’re too eager to get to be with Grace like this.

“Rocky is going to be very disappointed when he finds out you're going to be deeply, deeply unhelpful.”

Rocky was very quiet when you slept, quieter than he was when he was watching Ryland. He thought it might be because you’re a woman; maybe the Eridian equivalent of the female sex was more fragile when they slept, but it never failed to make his heart squeeze a bit when he would walk in on you sleeping and see Rocky ever so still in the corner. 

Ryland was in the control room learning what more of the buttons did when he heard the skittering of Rocky’s xenonite ball across the floor. Maybe you were awake earlier than normal. 

“Rocky need help,” the little voice of the computer chimed. “(Name) not good. Temperature elevated, unusual muscle movements. Still sleep.”

Ryland’s brow furrowed as he climbed out of the seat. Rocky looked jittery, something that wasn’t common unless he was excited or nervous… but something told him this wasn’t excitement. “What do you mean, bud? Is she hurting?” Ryland followed Rocky’s rolling through the lab, stopping at the entrance to the sleep chamber. 

“Seem in pain, 🎶 present. Rocky not notice this during most sleep, not normal for humans.” 

“I don’t understand that one, Rock. What’s present?”

“Word for liquid on human skin. Come out of human skin when hot.”

Ryland nodded, typing in “sweat” on the computer as he passed by. That probably wasn’t good, you could have a fever. 

Rocky’s ball continued its journey into the “bedroom,” stopping by your sleeping body on the mattress. You were sprawled out across the bed, hair a mess around your head as your chest moved up and down in weird, shallow breaths. 

Gosh darn it, Ryland thought, stepping closer and crouching down next to your head. He put the back of his hand up to your forehead, a little hot. He needed to wake you up.

Hands found your shoulders, gently shaking you to make sure you weren’t scared awake. Rocky sat patiently in his ball a couple feet away, intently staring. 

Your eyes fluttered open, a small groan leaving your lips. “Hm,” you said, eyes still halfway shut. “What is it.”

Ryland’s hand went back up to your forehead, quickly stopping on your cheeks as well, and he spoke. “You’ve got a fever, we gotta figure out what’s wrong.” You stayed still as he held you steady, having zero reaction. “Do you feel okay?”

You stared at him, deadpanning, “No, I feel like shit.”

Funny, Armando didn’t catch this before Rocky did. Surely if it was an infection or illness he would have done something. You didn’t seem very worried, though. Maybe you were still asleep.

“Okay, well let’s go through the list so we can figure this out-“

You put your hand on top of his where he was holding your shoulder. “Ryland, it’s okay. I’m pretty sure I just started my period.” 

Ryland stared at you. “Oh.” A couple of seconds passed of the two of you just staring at each other. “Wait, that can give you a fever?”

You nodded, raising your eyebrows in a yea I know, it’s bullshit, and Rocky skittered next to you. “What is wrong, question. Rocky worried.”

You opened your mouth to speak but winced before you could say anything. “Ryland, get me a bag please,” you said, eyes wide with urgency. 

“Rocky no understand. (Name) is okay, question. Why elevated temperature, question.”

“I’ll explain it in a minute, Rock, just lemme do this real quick!” Ryland yelled from the corner of the room, quickly coming back with a clear bag that you snatched from his hand and immediately vomited into. A warm hand found your back, rubbing circles as you breathed. A few seconds passed, head still aimed for the bag. You were waiting to see if there was more. 

“You okay?” Ryland asked, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, and you nodded. 

“Yeah, it happens sometimes. It’s fine, I just haven’t gotten one this bad in space before,” you said, wiping your face and closing the bag to contain the remnants of your last meal. 

“Rocky no understand. Grace explain.”

Ryland took the bag from you and let you lay back down, giving your back another rub. “Sure, bud. Female humans uh,” how do I word this, “they grow our children inside of them instead of laying eggs like you do.” He looked up at Rocky just sitting there. It felt like he was getting a stare, a very intense stare. 

Ryland was uncomfortable. 

“Because they don’t lay eggs, the eggs stay inside of them, but if they don’t get fertilized then they have to leave the body - hey do you want meds?” Ryland was looking down at you still curled up next to where he was sitting on the bed. You nodded and he squeezed your arm. “Painkillers!” he yelled at the sky, Armando quickly showing up with a little plastic cup that had two pills.  

He grabbed it and some water, turning back to Rocky as he handed them to you. “When the eggs leave the body, they take some tissue and blood from the reproductive organs with them and the body has to force it out. It can be painful.”

Rocky shifted in his orb, “Egg leave (Name), question? Hurt.” 

“Yea,” Ryland responded, “It hurts, but she’ll be okay.” He turned to you, eyes playful. “You’ll be okay, right? This is just a bad one?”

You nodded, setting the bag of water down. “Yea, I don’t know why it’s like this. Sorry I almost vomited on you.”

He laughed, “It’s okay, I already vomited on myself when I first woke up.” He got up, throwing the vomit bag in your makeshift trash bin for the room and shutting the lock to the room. You heard footsteps walking back towards you. “Hey Rock, you can get some work done if you want. I’ll stay with her.” You felt the bed dip behind you.

“Rocky stay here, watch Grace sleep. Human mates sleep together, Rocky stay to protect.”

You could feel the hesitation in Ryland’s body behind you, the way he tensed at the statement, but you closed your eyes. You wanted to know what he’d say, how he’d categorize what you had. It was unique, and you didn’t have a name for it, or at least the two of you hadn’t talked about it yet.

His voice was soft. “Yea- yea, okay Rock, you stay. I’ll take a nap.” A hand found your hair, pulling it back from your face, and he lowered his voice for you. “You okay over there? Need anything?”

You shook your head, feeling the warmth of him against your back. “I’m okay.” You turned around to face him, still curled up to stop some of the pain. “Thanks for takin’ care of me.”

His eyes met yours as you took off his glasses to set them on the floor. “Of course. Just- wake me up if you need to vomit again. I’ll get you a bag.” 

You laughed, letting your head lay back down. “Will do, partner.” 

Mate. Rocky was probably more perceptive than the two of you may have thought. He didn’t know about human customs, but he’s been married(ish) for- who knows how long. Of course he could tell. The two of you could talk about it later, maybe when some random memory eventually pops up in your brains.

You let your eyes flutter shut again, feeling more at ease with the warmth of Ryland’s body resting across from you. His hand was smoothing over your hair, and that lulled you closer to sleep as the soft pitter patter of Rocky’s building materials echoed from behind you. 

Maybe being stuck in space wasn’t so bad. 

=================================