CHLOÉ

𓆰♱𓆪 ⛪︎

That whole thing had stirred something loose in you, and you couldn't help it. For the most part you'd made your peace with what Hollis had done — he'd done what he had to — but your mind wouldn't let it go. Not all of it. Just one thing, the same thing, coming back on a loop at the worst moments: the shoes. Twelve pairs lined up too neatly along that basement wall, all different sizes, like they were waiting for someone who wasn't coming. You'd think about something else entirely and then there they'd be again, sitting at the back of your mind quiet and insistent.

Somehow, the gunshots you managed to file away. The grip on your leg, the blood — those you could quite reason through. But the shoes you couldn't explain, and the not explaining was what stayed with you.

At night you'd wake two or three times, jolting out of sleep, heart hammering. Once, Hollis caught you like that — he didn't make a thing of it. You were in the passenger seat, so he just reached over, touched your face gently, then left his hand resting on your upper thigh, drawing slow, shapeless patterns into your skin until you drifted back under. At least when you were in the same bed, all you had to do was press yourself against him and he'd hold you back. That certainty alone was something.

And that was the easiest part about all that, even though he'd noticed — he didn't meet you with impatience or questions you didn't know how to answer. You knew because of the small things. It was in the way he'd move with caution around you. Three days after the house, you'd flinched hard at a car backfiring on the road beside you, and when you looked over at him he was already watching you, steady and quiet, like he'd been waiting for exactly that and already knew what to do about it, which was softly caress your thighs, reassuring. He was just there. And he did not make it strange.

One night, in a town you were passing through, he insisted on going out. You were still too hollowed out and tried to refuse, but he insisted upon it in such a lovely way you gave in. You put on a simple mid-length dress, your boots, and a jacket Hollis draped over your shoulders before you'd even thought to reach for one.

You went to a bar and had dinner together — a decent meal, for the first time in what felt like forever. It was a simple small town bar, a candle on the table, a bartender who called you folks, someone playing guitar in the corner badly enough to be charming. From the outside it must have looked like a date. And somewhere between the bread basket and the main course you caught yourself thinking exactly that — this feels like a date — and underneath it, quieter: we are on the middle of nowhere, a man is probably dead on our account and I am sitting here thinking about how this feels like a date. You let the thought pass through you and didn't pull on it. You picked up your fork and kept eating and let yourself have it, just for tonight.

After you ate, you went through rounds of drinks. Hollis, oddly enough, had taken it upon himself to introduce you to alcohol. You tried beer, then whiskey — a good one, he said, though you couldn't tell the difference — then vodka, then tequila. They were all terrible. You had a sip of each and Hollis finished the rest.

"Alright, I think you're just not a drinker," he said. "Or maybe—"

He glanced at the menu and said something to the bartender. A round glass arrived, filled with something red, and you sipped it cautiously. For the first time it was actually good — didn't taste like alcohol at all. You looked up at Hollis with wide eyes and a wide smile.

"Jackpot," he smiled back. "Guess my girl has a sweet tooth."

His girl, you thought.

The drink was dangerous. You ordered another, and by the fourth round you felt lighter than air. Hollis was delighted watching you like this — loose and unguarded — and he was a little drunk himself, you thought, laughing more openly than usual.

You were humming along to the country song playing through the bar, not really thinking about anything, when you felt his eyes on you. Too steady, too intent. It made your cheeks warm and your breath go short — he could have the softest, most unhurried eyes of any man you'd ever met. Maybe of anyone. You wanted to kiss him, but not with all these people around.

"Can we go back?" you asked, your voice easy and light.

"Sure, honey." He was on his feet before you'd finished the sentence.

He settled the tab and then you were out on the street, the night air hitting you clean and cold after the warmth of the bar. You walked close enough that your arm kept brushing his, and at some point his hand found yours and stayed there. Neither of you said anything about it. The street was quiet and the motel wasn't far and the cold felt good against your warm skin, and you thought: I could get used to this. Matter of fact, you were getting used to it. And you held his hand tighter anyway.

Back in the room, Hollis stepped inside and started shrugging off his jacket, completely unaware that you'd been standing in the doorway watching him in silence for a full minute. Only when he sat on the edge of the bed did he glance back and catch you staring.

"What's wrong, pretty girl?"

"Nothing." You stepped closer. "You've been so nice tonight."

He smirked. "What you mean? I'm always nice."

It was a joke, but he wasn't wrong. "You are. I just wish I could repay you. For everything you've been doing for me."

"You're so fucking adorable," he laughed softly. "And a little dumb if you think you're not already."

He reached for your hand and pulled you to him. You settled between his open legs. He brought your hand to his lips, and you giggled.

"Want to do something for me?" You nodded immediately. "Then get on your knees."

It took you a second, but you did, lowering yourself in front of him. He was still holding your hand, so he guided it to his crotch, and you took over from there, touching him on your own. He smiled — that knowing smile that always made you flustered and warm. As you felt him growing hard, you reached for his zipper, pulled his jeans down, then his boxers. He was only half hard, but you worked him with your hands, then leaned in and let a slow thread of saliva fall to his tip. You were so focused on watching his cock harden in your grip that when his hand came to your face you flinched, looking up to find him watching you carefully.

"Can you use that pretty mouth on me?"

"I've never done that," you answered, still stroking him slowly.

"That's alright. I'll guide you."

You pressed your lips together before leaning in. You didn't know how he'd fit in your mouth, so you started by licking him — slowly, from base to tip, keeping your eyes on his face as you went.

"There," he said, when your tongue swept across his swollen head. "Now open your mouth, baby."

You did. "Wider." You opened further. "Stick your tongue out." You followed every instruction.

Holding himself by the base, he pressed his tip to your mouth — first tracing your lips with it, then resting it on your tongue. Feeling him like this was something else entirely. There was something about being taught rather than just taken — the patience of it, the way he watched your face more than anything else — that loosened something in your chest you hadn't known was wound tight.

"Can you suck on it?" You nodded and closed your lips around him — around his tip, at least.

You sucked lightly, working mostly that part of him until his hand pressed gently to the back of your head, encouraging you further. You took more of him, then drew back, then did it again. Every time he'd reach your throat, you'd draw back, so you worked the rest of his length with your hands. He didn't seem to mind, he seemed to like it cause sometimes, his voice went needy and those low, strained sounds slipped out of him — it made you wet just to hear it. You wanted to give him more, so you pushed yourself a little further, until it made you gag, and then you pulled back.

"Such a good girl," he breathed, when you found a rhythm that had him panting.

It filled you with something more than pride when he started to come undone — chest heaving, breath catching, voice failing him. He cursed as you felt him finish on your tongue, thick and warm, and you kept sucking until you'd taken the last of him. It was still in your mouth when he finally pulled away.

"Did you swallow?" he asked. You shook your head. "Can you do it for me?"

You nodded, and then you did. You knew his taste by now — that one time at the church you had tasted it — but taking so much at once made your nose wrinkle. He laughed at that and pulled you up into his arms.

"Now let me take care of you." He kissed your face, your neck, then moved lower, to your chest.

He pulled the straps of your dress down to bare you, and the moment he had you he sucked your nipple into his mouth, eagerly. You gasped at the sensation, your sensitive skin lighting up under his tongue, and all you could do was hold on to his shoulder and grip his hair. Hollis seemed to like that, because every time he did that it felt like he was starving for your body. 

He ended up working his fingers into you right there in his lap, and he was so good at it that it didn't take long before you were crying out his name, rolling your hips desperately, begging without shame. He drove his fingers into you while his thumb circled your clit, kissing you sloppily and deeply all at once — so much happening at the same time that your edge came up fast and hard.

Even then he wasn't done with you. The night stretched on with him taking you in bed, pulling you onto all fours and driving into you with urge. You buried your face in the pillow from how undone it made you feel — mind wiped blank, reduced entirely to the sensation of him pounding into you. He was already so deep you didn't think he could go further, and then he laid himself over you, his weight pressing you flat into the mattress, one arm looped around your neck, his warm breath at your ear as his hips kept moving behind you.

He pulled out just before the end and came across your back with a rough, wrecked sound, while you lay completely spent beneath him. He crumbled to your side afterward, and you felt his hand on your face — so soft, so careful. You kept your eyes closed.

"You don't have to worry about a thing," he said. A kiss pressed to your cheek, and you could feel from the warmth of his breath that he kept his face close to yours even after. “My angel.” 

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀

You woke the next morning to an empty bed. The sheets on his side were already cold. You lay there for a moment in the quiet, looking at the ceiling, and let yourself think about the night before — the bar, the walk back, his hand in yours on that empty street. You thought about the way he'd looked at you while you were humming to that song, like you were something worth looking at. You thought about him teaching you how to suck him properly — so patiently, so endearing it made lust turn into something else. You tucked it somewhere careful and got up to shower.

He was back by the time you were braiding your hair, and it caught you off guard when he showed you his new gun. This one looked heavier, and from the little your father had taught you, you could tell he'd switched models — from a revolver to a pistol. And of course he had, because guns can be traced. So it wasn't just you who'd been worried. Before you could sink too far into that thought, he held out something else — a gift, he said. A pocket knife. You needed to be able to defend yourself, he said. You took it in its sheath and tucked it into your boot, quietly hoping you'd never have to use it.

"I need shampoo," you said once you were back on the road.

"Don't the motels have it? I use theirs," he glanced over at you briefly.

"They do, but it's terrible." You ran your hands over your braids. 

"Your hair looks nice though," he said, and you laughed. The way he said it, briefly glancing at you, so adorable.

"What?"

"Thanks, Holli." You leaned over and kissed his cheek. He smiled.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀

You got out to fill the tank while Hollis went inside for his cigars — you asked him to grab some snacks too. When you finished pumping you sat up on the hood and waited, but he was taking too long, so eventually you went in after him.

It didn't quite surprise you, what you found, but it shocked you.

Hollis with his gun leveled at the cashier, the man emptying the register with shaking hands. You stood in the doorway and just — looked. Not at the gun, which you knew. At him. You stood there frozen, you never actually saw him like that, the particular stillness of his posture, his attention, the way his eyes tracked the cashier with a calm that had nothing uncertain in it. This wasn't new to you, you knew he did this, it was just different. The same Hollis holding your hand last night was this one making someone tremble and fear for their life.

Then Hollis registered you. 

"What—" Something flickered across his face, just briefly, before he recomposed  “Honey, go back to the car.” 

And you turned to do exactly that. No questions, just turned on your feet and walk back to the door. But you didn't make it to the door. Another man appeared — broad, tall, carrying a shotgun, frightening enough without it. He swung the barrel straight at you.

"On the ground, lady."

You'd never been held at gunpoint before. Seeing it up close made your body move before your mind could catch up. You lowered yourself to the floor.

"Drop the fucking gun or I'm putting a bullet to her head," the man called out.

It didn't take more than a second, you heard the scrape of metal on tile. Then the man stepped past you, and you raised your eyes to find him pointing the shotgun directly at Hollis, who was now on the ground, the man shouting over him but all you could hear was your heart slamming against your ribs, tears pricking your eyes. And when the man struck Hollis with the butt of the gun, you moved on instinct. You pulled the knife from your boot, crossed the floor, and jumped on the man's back. You drove the blade into his side once — it was all you managed, and your small knife didn't do much more than make him stagger — but it was enough. Enough for Hollis to wrench the shotgun from the man's hand and get to his feet, his pistol already in his other hand. The moment he was standing you let go, dropping to his side. He dropped the shotgun, kicked it away and had his gun trained on them now, and the thought of what he might do made your stomach clench.

"Don't shoot," you said quietly, low enough that only he could hear.

"Both of you, to the back," he said, his voice flat and commanding. "And hand over your phones."

They did as they were told. The man you'd stabbed moved slower than the other, a dark thread of blood spreading through the fabric of his shirt. They filed into the back room, and as they crossed the threshold Hollis looked at the cashier.

"Give her the keys."

The man handed them over without argument. You took them.

"Close the door."

They did, and you locked it behind them. Hollis swept the room after security cam — nothing. Then he grabbed the money bag and his cigars from the counter.

"Get your snacks," he said.

Somehow his ease made you easy too, even with your blood still going. You grabbed what you'd come for, and on your way out you stopped at a small display by the door and picked up a pair of sunglasses — white, cat-eye. He looked at you and smiled, then leaned down and kissed you. "Beautiful."

Back in the car, the adrenaline was still singing through you. Hollis was all loose smiles, some loud song shaking through the speakers. You didn't feel scared or wrung out, actually you felt electric. It kept replaying: his voice commanding both men, the gun steady in his hand — the one he still had in hands, resting against the steering wheel now, casual as anything.

“You're such a good girl,” Hollis said, that easy smile hanging from his lips. “Made me so proud.”

Maybe it was the adrenaline. Maybe it was the praise. You didn't stop to think about it. You pulled off your boots, then your shorts. Hollis glanced over, clearly surprised though still smiling, and in one motion he pulled the car to the shoulder and killed the engine.

That was all you needed. You climbed into his lap and kissed him the way you'd been wanting to — hard and desperate, pressing into him as his hands found your thighs, your ass, smacking you lightly and playfully. You could feel the gun against your waist as he held you with it in his hand. In between kisses he pulled your shirt over your head, one brief parting before you came back together in a wet, messy kiss.

"What's all this?"

He was reaching to set the gun aside on the passenger seat when you caught his wrist. He raised an eyebrow. You brought his hand closer instead. "I like seeing it."

"Yeah?" A small smile. "You complained about it enough when you first found out."

"That was before I saw you with it." You guided his wrist slowly — down your chin, your neck, down between your breasts, across your stomach — until the barrel rested against the front of your panties.

Some distant part of you registered what you were doing — you are guiding a gun to yourself and asking for it — and beneath that, quieter still: you would not have done this three weeks ago. But you just couldn’t stop thinking of the version of him you'd seen back there, and you thought about his hand in yours on the street the night before, and you understood that both of those things were him and neither cancelled the other out, and that you wanted both. You filed those thoughts away as you rolled your hips and stopped thinking entirely.

"What have you turned into?" Hollis said, and took over, pressing the muzzle against you. You rolled your hips, chasing the friction.

You sighed as he moved it against you. His other hand came to your face, thumb pressing between your lips. You sucked on it, still grinding against the cold metal, his gaze fixed on you and sharp enough to make you soak through your underwear. It was enough.

Your hands found his jeans, worked the zipper open, pulled him free — and he was already hard. You both moved at the same time; you lifted your hips, he pulled your panties to the side, and then he was sliding into you, deep enough to make your eyes roll back. Exactly what you needed.

You kept your eyes on him as you moved, whimpering with every roll of your hips, and he watched you just as closely. The barrel of the gun traveled slowly up your stomach, between your breasts, until he rested it beneath your chin.

"Faster," he said.

You went faster — bouncing on his cock in quick, urgent strokes, half because of the gun at your chin and half because your body simply demanded it.

"Crazy bitch," he said.

You bit your lower lip after hearing that, and braced both hands on his shoulders to keep the pace. But he'd stop you, Hollis grabbed both of your hands and folded them behind your back, your wrists together as he held them with one hand. The gun still on your chin, his gaze so sharp you could swear you saw him gleaming at you. He pressed the gun harder against your chin, the cold metal making you shiver, his grip on your wrists so tight you swear it'd bruise later.

“My beautiful, beautiful angel,” he said hoarse, breath catching.

He caressed your face with the gun in hand, your cheeks, your mouth, it made you whimper at that and that was exactly what tipped you over: your whole body shuddering and then shaking on top of him, the orgasm tearing through you while you bit your lip so hard you tasted blood.

He let your wrists free and his arm circled your waist instead. Then he began thrusting up into you — hard, lifting your body with each stroke. You cried out, overwhelmed, barely keeping yourself upright.

You knew he was close. And when he moved to push you off him, you held on, grinding your hips down.

“Want me inside?” He asked with an airy voice and faint smile.

You nodded, compressing your lips in the heat of it.

"Please," you breathed, eyes on his. You kept moving, kept clenching around him — and that was all it took. A low, wrecked sound broke from his throat as the first of him spilled into you, warm and sudden enough to make you gasp. You could feel as he filled you up, the heat of it spreading across your skin smooth, from inside out, that warm fuzzy feeling getting you almost numb. You stayed still above him, both of you unraveling, neither of you speaking.

You kissed him slowly, and he held you so tightly afterward that you knew it had gotten to him too.

Then — a gunshot. You turned to find him pointing out toward the open field, the window down. You laughed. You kissed him again as he laughed with you. In that moment you felt completely outside yourself — weightless, untethered, way over the edge of anything that had ever felt ordinary.

𓆰♱𓆪 ⛪︎

A good while had passed since you last watched him in deep sleep. Still naked, same as you, lying on his stomach the way he always did when you were out of his reach — when he couldn't hold you. God, he looked so peaceful. No sign of anger, happiness, jealousy, or lust. You liked to think that this was his real self, undressed from his ego and his antics. So different from what the two of you had been doing for the past few hours. What started with a simple, exhausted comment from you turned into mockery from him, which grew into a fight, and in no time you were screaming at him from the parking lot all the way to the motel room. The receptionist had even come to check if everything was alright. But just after he said those mean words to you, he was kissing you, pulling you into his arms — kissing, touching, gripping you as if you belonged to him. That was all you needed to ignore the aching pain of humiliation that he so easily planted in you.

As the first rays of sunlight squeezed through the gaps in the curtain, you glanced outside. The car keys were on the nightstand. The money was in his wallet. You could just take it and leave. You could go back to your parents' house and live whatever life they imposed on you. You could. You could. But then you felt his arms reaching for you, dragging you closer. You heard his sleepy voice humming as he squeezed you tight, and your heart filled with something you couldn't name.

"Get some sleep, honey," he murmured in a groggy voice.

You hid your face in his collar, smelling his perfume, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours. So familiar now that you could barely remember a time when your days and nights were not filled by his disturbing presence.

Back when life had gone on so slowly you barely noticed it passing. That was what happened when you were stuck in an endless spiral of apathy. Small town in the middle of nowhere, same faces every day, same places to go, no perspective of future — that was pretty much what summed up your whole life. And it had been that way for as long as you could remember.

From eight to five, that was where you spent most of your days: reading, scrolling through your phone, petting Buddy, occasionally serving a customer — usually a truck driver passing by or an old farmer coming from the fields into the city — or playing with the stray dog that always showed up at your lunch break to share your meal. You just didn't have it in you to deny a chicken wing or half your beef to those gleaming puppy eyes. You called him "Buddy" because that was what you had called him the first time he appeared.

That was what you were used to. That is, until a random Thursday, when you were just squatting, petting Buddy, and a car pulled up outside. Not that you were really familiar with car models and brands, but that didn't look like the usual type of vehicle that showed up around here. When the driver stepped out, it only made you more certain he wasn't a local — not even from the big city nearby, maybe from outside the state. You spent too long staring at the long-haired guy walking your way, so that when you stood up, he was already stepping inside the store. He didn't even look at you. You rushed inside, back to your register. He wandered around, seemed aimless, his eyes wavering over the shelves, and that made you a bit nervous. A whole year you had worked here and you had never been robbed. It wouldn't be some city boy that would be your first, you hoped.

Thankfully, he finally found what he was looking for — a six-pack. He dropped it on the counter.

"Anything else?" you asked. Only then did you get a closer look at the guy. His mid-length honey-toned waves had already caught your attention at first, but his whole face was something else. Sharp features, plump lips, hazel eyes under a fair amount of eyelashes that would leave any woman jealous. And Lord, was he tall — maybe too tall. You bit your inner cheek. Clearly he wasn't from around here. You had never seen a man so beautiful.

"A Marlboro Red," he said. He wasn't looking at you, but when he glanced down, you felt your whole face burn. Thankfully, you had to turn to grab the cigarette pack and could escape his casual gaze.

It was simply that. He paid, thanked you before you could, and just left. And you really thought he would never show up again — just an outsider passing by, maybe the most exciting thing that had happened this whole time you had been working there, a good casual break from the routine.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀

Days went by in that boredom's deep rhythm of Collinsville. By Sunday, you were stepping outside church with your mom when you saw that same car parked across the street. You immediately looked around, searching for its owner, but there was no sign of him. What were the odds that someone else had that exact same car around here?

"You okay, honey?" your mom caught your attention. "Good Lord, y/n, look at your dress."

She fixed the collar of your dress as you barely paid attention to her. Still too spaced out of your surroundings to care about your mom gossiping about the new fiancé of her friend's son.

"If you were a bit smarter, it could have been you. I'm sure Denise would be way happier with that, I tell you," she said on the drive home. She was still talking about it.

"Mom, the man's almost forty and still lives with his mom," you said, glancing out the window.

"That's 'cause he's her only son! He has a fine job at the Town Hall," she kept on. Her voice was already buzzing in your ear. "He could get you out of that convenience store."

You had to fight the urge to groan in annoyance. "I'm fine with my job. Unless you're telling me to be a homewrecker or something. Didn't we just get out of church, Miss Lainey?"

"Good Lord, y/n, what are you saying? I was just commenting on it." She seemed embarrassed enough, and you had to smile at that.

At least she left you alone with all that talk, drifting the topic to what she would be making for dinner.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀

Sunday was bad enough already — having to go to church with your mom and listen to the preacher for a whole hour, then having to greet her friends and the sons and daughters of those said friends, and wear those long thick dresses that made you look like a Southern tragic stereotype. But the fact that the next day meant the start of a whole other week was even more discouraging.

The only thing that kept you going was a single ambition you had: getting out of this town, maybe moving to Tulsa — the nearest big city. A small goal, but anything that meant leaving this town was worthy — leaving the routine, your parents, and everything that had been following you miserably here. You had been saving money without telling anyone, and when you had enough, the plan was simply to vanish.

That car you had seen parked outside the church on Sunday wasn't a coincidence. He showed up the next day, and for days afterward — always buying a pack of Marlboro Red and something else: food or beer, sometimes both. The only words you exchanged were casualities like "Anything else?", "Thank you", "That's all."

By the end of the week, you were just about to finish your shift when you heard the bell above the door ring. It was him — his fifth time there. You counted. He had come every day. As usual, he went straight for the freezer. He placed the six-pack onto the counter and two packets of frozen lasagna.

"Marlboro Red?" you said before he could.

He smirked. "That's right."

You held back your smile before turning to grab his cigarettes.

He was just turning to leave after paying when he stopped. "Um, I almost forgot." He looked at you again. "Do you know any place around where I could get my car checked?"

"Oh," you said, caught off guard. "Yeah, I mean, there's pretty much only one mechanic in town," you chuckled.

"So..." He kept looking. "Do you have his number? Or address?"

"Yeah, I mean, I don't actually have it, 'cause I don't have a car, so I don't..." You messed up your words, a bit nervous.

"That's alright. I'll look around. Thanks, though..." He was turning again.

"But my dad has it!" you rushed to say, and he stopped. "I could ask him and tell you, if you... show up here again."

Only then did you realize how stupid your solution was. Still, he curved his lips into a smile, getting you flustered but a bit puzzled, too.

"Don't you have a number yourself?" He placed both hands on the counter, that smile still hanging from his lips in such a way that heat crawled from the back of your neck to your whole face. "That way you can ask your father and send it to me. What do you think?"

"Yeah... sure. That's easier, right?" you asked, and he nodded.

He reached for his phone in his back pocket and handed it to you, unlocked. "Put your number."

You grabbed the phone from his hand — a slight brush of fingers that left you electrified. You felt like a teenager. You typed in your number and saved it as "gas station cashier." Once he saw it, he chuckled.

"Don't I get a name?"

"Uh, yeah, but I mean, you don't know my name. How would you know it was me?" You frowned, and he laughed.

"Well, you could just tell me."

Dumb. Embarrassingly making a fool of yourself. "Right..." you laughed. "I'm y/n."

Another smile from him. "That's a beautiful name, y/n. Mine is Hollis."

It was simply that. A dumb interaction about a mechanic's number and your name that had you later giggling at yourself after he left.

As soon as you got home, you asked your father for the mechanic's number — making up some excuse about it being for your boss. It was easier to lie; to avoid questions. Your parents could be very invasive. You thought he would take longer to text you, but you were just getting out of the shower when you saw your phone light up.

Unknown number: cashier girl?

You: that'd be me. Hollis?

Unknown number: that's right. what u up to?

You: nothing much. you?

Hollis: beer, lasagna and football

You: you watch football?

Hollis: don't i look like the sports kind?

You: not really

Hollis: lol. well, you don't look like the kind to stay home on a Friday

You: what does that mean?

Hollis: no boyfriend?

Was he flirting with you?

You felt your belly freeze, a shiver running down your spine. A strange feeling you hadn't felt since you were in high school and met your first — and only — boyfriend. That was before your parents found out and threatened the boy's entire generation to stay away from you. The boy never spoke to you again.

You: not really

Hollis: no way. maybe a complicated ex?

You rolled your eyes at that but couldn't help the smile that hung from your lips. It wasn't that you were naive or inexperienced, but it had been so long since you had looked at a boy that it felt foreign even to be silly through texts.

You: sorta

Hollis: knew it. will he kill me if i keep talking to you? is he a redneck with a shotgun?

You: haha funny. you're safe, don't worry

Hollis: that mean i should keep talking to you?

You: if you want to

Hollis: ouch. ur a hard one

You: how's the game?

Hollis: we're losing :(

You: cowboys?

Hollis: fuck no. the bears

You: that's why you're losing then :p pick a better team

He was actually so entertaining that you almost forgot why you were talking to him in the first place. With time, you were giggling at your phone without even realizing it.

You: aren't you forgetting something?

Hollis: am i?

You: the number

Hollis: right. the number. you got me distracted

You: 🙄 [number]

Hollis: thanks. ur a life saver

You: it's just a number

Hollis: im being nice. be nice too

You: im nice. you're just silly

Hollis: silly??? we'll see about that

You: no we won't :p now you got your number. imma get some sleep. bye hollis

Hollis: do i get a good night?

You: good night silly goose

You didn't know where that came from but as soon as you sent it you just felt terribly stupid about it. A few instants and he replied.

Hollis: good night pretty girl

Reading that made your face instantly burn. What was that? You almost threw your phone away. Thankfully you were in your room, by yourself, because you couldn't fight the dumb smile playing on your lips, nor could you fight your heart stubbornly thumping in your chest.

For quite a while you tossed in bed, trying to calm down enough to finally get some sleep. It took a while, but when sleep finally won you over, you drifted off to the image of him: his tall frame, slightly leaning across the counter, that smirk he had given you when you stumbled over your words in front of him.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀

Over the next couple of days, just the memory of that conversation left you flustered. You felt dumb and foolish, like you had embarrassed yourself. When you read through the texts again, you could only think: why were you being so weird? You were almost twenty. You shouldn't have gotten that nervous over something so trivial. You felt a mix of relief and anxiety that he hadn't texted you for the weekend.

But when Sunday arrived, you actually wished he had been texting you the whole time rather than seeing him while you were getting out of church. He was across the street — tank top, his messy long hair flying in the wind, just stepping out of his car — and you nearly hid behind your mom when he turned toward you. Maybe he wouldn't see you — you hoped — but your doubt vanished once you caught him staring right at you. His gaze was so intense, unwavering, and it burned through you enough to leave you feeling unsettled by it. No smile, no nod, nothing. He just kept looking at you. You pressed your lips together to avoid expressing anything and fixed your hair, brushing it behind your ear.

"...y/n? We're talking to you." Your mother's voice pulled you back.

"Oh, hi." You turned your back to him. It was some of your mom's friends — and their son. You smiled.

You played it cool, polite, gentle as always, but you felt like you were burning, from head to toe. Too exposed. Out of all places, you didn't want him to see you like that.

Monday arrived, and with it your whole system went on full alert. For the entirety of your shift, you felt like he might show up at any moment and make your whole face pop off your neck out of sheer embarrassment. But he didn't show up. Not on Monday, not on Tuesday, not on Wednesday. By Thursday, you weren't on edge anymore. Maybe that was it. He had checked his car and left town. He didn't seem to be around, and even though you never asked, he didn't seem like the type to stay. There was nothing good in this town worth staying for.

During the last few hours of your shift, you were fixing a shelf — or at least trying to. Your boss had asked you to do it since Monday, and only now did you feel calm enough to focus on that damn uneven shelf. He said it was just a loose screw, and you tried to tighten all of them, but it was still bending.

But that was exactly what you shouldn't have done. The moment you let your guard down was the perfect time to be surprised.

"What's going on here?" you heard a playful voice, and your heart missed a beat.

You nearly stumbled off the step stool you were on, grabbing the shelf — the first thing within reach — to stay upright. The old thing bent, and you would have fallen to the ground if rushed steps hadn't come up to you and held you by the waist. If your heart had missed a beat a second ago, it was pounding all of them now.

"Hey, careful," he said, still holding you. His fingers, even through the fabric of your shirt, felt like they were burning.

"Careful? You just—" You stepped down from the stool and escaped his grip, putting a few feet of safe distance between you. "Why did you... I almost... Fuc— I'm sorry."

You rushed to apologize, even though you shouldn't have. It was out of habit. Your parents didn't like curse words. A simple fuck or shit was enough to get on their nerves.

"It's alright," he smiled. He seemed confused by your reaction. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."

"No, it's okay." You glanced away. Your whole body felt alert and feverish. "I was just distracted."

"What were you doing up there?" He looked at the shelf, then back at you.

"Fixing the shelf. It's uneven and loose." You reached for it, though you could barely poke at that height to show that it was moving.

"Um..." He looked closer. He stepped away, grabbed the shelf, and examined some spots. You just kept watching. "It's literally loose. It's missing a ton of screws."

"What? No, I just fastened them. All of them." You stepped closer and tiptoed to see what he was looking at.

"See? It's missing." He pointed. "Here, and here... and there."

He pointed them all out to you.

"He said it only needed fastening," you said, more to yourself than to him.

"Well, it does." He looked down at you. Only then did you notice how close you were. You stepped back. "Do you have any spare screws?"

"Back there, I—" You started to step away, then stopped. What were you doing? Leave the store with a stranger and go to the back room? "I'll do it later. Are you going to buy something?"

"I will. But I can help you."

"You don't have to. I can... put it myself."

"Put it?" He chuckled at your choice of words. "Let me help. Go get the screws. I'll stay right here."

You bit your inner cheek for a split second, but you ended up giving in. He actually helped you, with much more skill than you probably would have had. You felt like a perv as you watched — maybe with too much attention — as he furrowed his brows in concentration, arms flexing while he twisted the screwdriver. You had to actually look away before you started panting.

"All done," he said, looking at you after finishing the last one.

"Thank you," you smiled, a bit restrained. Shy.

"It's nothing." He smiled, too. He kept looking, and you kept looking, for at least a full minute. "Well..."

"Um, yeah, I'll — you can pick your things."

You turned before he could say anything else and walked in rushed steps back to the register.

A few minutes later, he was standing in front of you. No beer this time, but two bottles of what you thought was whiskey. You raised your eyebrows but said nothing, just turned and grabbed his Marlboro Red. When you looked back, he was grinning. There was something devilish about that grin that made you almost want to pray for your sins.

"What are you doing after this?" he asked while paying.

"Home," you said, looking at the cash desk with much more attention just not to look at him. 

"Can I take you somewhere?"

A cold shiver ran through your whole body. You felt too numb to speak, too numb to even look at him. Maybe you panicked for too long, because you heard him say:

"Got it."

He grabbed the bottles and the cigarettes and stepped back.

Before he could turn away, you said, "Where?"

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀

"So my car broke down and I kind of got stuck here."

Both of you were leaning on the hood of his car, which he had parked right in front of an abandoned building parallel to the main street of the town. He had driven a few blocks before giving up on finding a good spot to stop, and now he was telling you what he was doing in town.

"But you're... in your car," you said, looking back at his vehicle.

He chuckled. "'Cause it just got ready, silly."

"Oh." You opened your mouth, and you caught a hint of a smile on his lips. It got you flustered.

"So you've been here your whole life?" He looked down at you.

"Born and raised. Unfortunately never left." You also looked at him.

He just nodded and stayed quiet for a while.

"People here are weird. You're actually the nicest person who's talked to me ever since I got to town."

"If I'm the nicest, I can't imagine the worst," you said, lightly laughing at your own words.

"Well, at least you gave me a smile."

He kept looking at you for too long again, and there was something about his gaze that just kept you stunned, like you couldn't help but stare right back at him.

"And you, you're not from around here, right?" You finally glanced away, your nerves creeping in.

"What gave me away?" A faint smile played on his lips.

"Your car. The way you dress. And talk. The way you look."

He laughed. "All that?"

You nodded, lured by his smile into smiling back at him. "Where are you from?"

"Guess."

"Mhmm." You looked away, thinking. "Tulsa?"

"No... a bit further." He chuckled. Playful.

"Arkansas?" You frowned, puzzled.

"Fuck no. Kind of offended now."

You rolled your eyes. "Where, then?"

"Illinois. Chicago."

"And what on earth are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing. You don't seem pretty fond of this place."

You knew he was looking at you, but you were looking everywhere around just not to meet his gaze.

"Um, I don't know," you shrugged, keeping your thoughts to yourself. "I'm working on something, but it's sort of a senseless plan still."

"What do you mean?" His attention was fully yours. Those eyes seemed to reflect the night as he stared at you.

"It's dumb." You gazed at the old fabric building in front of you, just to avoid looking at him.

"Come on, you can tell me." He bumped his shoulder into yours, and you smiled faintly. "What's better than a stranger to share senseless thoughts with?"

"I just wanna get out of here. Maybe go to Tulsa. I don't know. Save some money and just leave."

"Well, that's not dumb, but you could aim for some better place."

"Like what?"

"I don't know, but there's more to life than the state of Oklahoma. Like California. I'm heading there."

"Are you inviting me?" you asked, playful, but he kept staring at you with a straight face. Then he furrowed his brows, as if he were figuring something out.

"If you want a lift, you wouldn't be such bad company." He shrugged, casual.

Your eyes widened a bit, but something weird rested on your chest at his strange invitation. As insane as it sounded, couldn't you just leave? What else did you have to lose when you were already lacking everything?

"Do you drink?" he asked.

You thought about telling the truth — you didn't drink — but as he extended the bottle in your direction, your only thought was: screw it, and you grabbed the bottle. One thing was not saying you weren't used to drinking; another thing was pretending to be used to the taste of that brown liquor. Your whole face twisted as soon as the very first sip of that thing slid down your throat.

"Jesus!" you murmured and heard a small laugh come from him.

"Don't drink. Dress up for church on Sunday. You're making me feel bad for bringing you here."

As soon as he mentioned church, your whole face went warm. You widened your eyes a bit, and that got him smiling at you.

"You looked really pretty on Sunday, though," he said, taking the bottle from your hands.

"Shut up." You stared at your feet, your whole face burning.

"No, I mean it." A pause while he drank. "All dolled up and shit. Couldn't stop staring at you."

Only then did you glance up. Of course he was looking straight at you. Your whole body was tense, but some weird feeling was twisting your lower belly, unsettling your entire system. He tilted his head, his eyes studying you for so long. He dropped his gaze to your mouth for a brief second — enough to get you anticipating something.

"Sometimes you can just say thank you, you know?" His hand came up to your face, pulling a strand of hair from your cheek back behind your ear. It gave you goosebumps.

"Thank you," you said, almost a whisper.

"That's better." He leaned down, his hand sliding from your face to your neck, your shoulders, all the way down your arm until it finally rested on your waist. Each place his fingers touched left your skin burning underneath.

When his face was close enough, you felt the tip of his nose brush against yours, his warm breath on your lips — so near but not touching. You closed your eyes out of instinct, and the grip on your waist grew tighter.

When he kissed you, you felt like exploding. His lips were impossibly soft, and he was so gentle it felt like he was being cautious, like he could scare you off at any given minute. And you knew why. For a few seconds, you were stiff under his touch, but when you felt his thumb brushing your waist, slightly lifting your shirt in a soft caress, you gave in. Your hands found their way up to his chest, his shoulders, until you were completely entangled with him.

Soon he was in front of you, easily lifting you up so you were fully sitting on the hood of the car. His other hand came to your thighs, squeezing you in a way that made you sigh against his mouth. You could feel him smiling on your lips, his body getting even closer, fitting in between your legs. That was more than enough to get you panting, to get your panties drenched by the minute, by every brush of his tongue that made your body grow frail, needy.

His fingers dug up under your shirt until he cupped one of your breasts, and you instantly sighed — a bit startled but honestly too turned on to deny how good his touch felt, squeezing you just enough, not leaving enough space for you to make any sound that wouldn't end up stifled by his mouth above yours.

"So sensitive," he whispered against your mouth.

His mouth only left yours to trail down your neck, kissing your skin, nibbling and softly sucking at it. You found your way to hold his hair as he went on. For a while, you got lost in how good he felt to be aware of your surroundings. But once you came back to your senses, you stiffened again.

"Hollis..." you said, but it came out as a whimper.

He kept going, kissing your skin, then pressing his body over yours. You were so hot you could almost feel yourself burning.

"Hollis," you finally spoke louder, also reaching for his wrist to stop him.

"What's wrong?" He looked up.

"We're in the middle of the street," you said, your face burning with embarrassment.

"That a problem?" He asked. He didn't seem mad. Actually, humor threaded through his face, making you feel even more embarrassed.

He leaned closer again, his hands going back to your waist, pulling you near as he bent over to kiss you. You could feel a smile on his lips as he kissed you again, and you just bluntly allowed him to. You couldn't help it — you kissed him with much more eagerness, holding onto him as if it could release a bit of how horny you were. So much that you ended up whimpering against his mouth.

"You're making it hard for me," he said against your lips.

"I'm sorry..." you whispered back.

Something like guilt and fear crawled up your spine. Suddenly it didn't feel right. You didn't feel safe. You placed your hands on his chest and looked around — too exposed. Any neighbor could see. Words could spread. It could reach your parents.

"Not here," you said, almost a whisper.

"Not here?" He arched his brow.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀

He could have been a murderer. A serial killer. You didn't even know this guy, and there you were, in his car in the middle of nowhere, driving to the motel where he was staying. Were you that dumb? Probably. But it was so tempting to do something, to escape your boring routine, that maybe it wouldn't have been that bad even if he had the worst intentions. And most of all, your panties had been soaking wet ever since that kiss.

The place he was staying at was a typical roadside motel. The parking lot was barely lit, dark curtains covering each window as if they had something to hide — or maybe you were just imagining things because you were dead nervous. His room was on the second floor. It was nothing fancy, but very wide and comfortable — a type of flat: one room, a small kitchen, a wide bed, and a big TV. It smelled clean as well — thankfully. He let you step inside first and followed right after. He closed the door, locked it, and walked past you.

You watched him from a few feet away, still stuck in place ever since you had stepped into that room. He went up to the counter and poured himself a glass of that stuff you had tried earlier.

"Guess you don't want any more of this, do you?" You shook your head in response. He smiled. He walked up to the bed and only then glanced back at you. "Are you scared?"

"No..." you answered, and a smile grew on his lips.

"Come here, then." He said, and it took you a few seconds, but you walked up to him. He sipped his drink as you approached — a long sip, enough to finish almost the whole glass — then set it aside. "It's okay."

His hand came up to your face, his fingers brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear. It made you shiver again.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he said, his voice low.

He stepped closer, and you stood still. Even if you had wanted to run away, you just felt stunned under his gaze. He moved to touch your waist but stopped.

"It's okay if I touch you?" he asked, and you just nodded. "Answer me."

"It's okay. You can touch me."

"Good girl." He grinned. That same devilish grin. "If I ask you something, I need you to answer me, alright?"

You nodded, numbed by his gaze. It took a few seconds for you to actually voice it, as he had asked. "Alright."

When you felt his hand on your waist, dragging you closer, you felt like crumbling under him. You had to fully lift your chin to look into his eyes, and when he leaned down, it made every single one of your muscles tense. He took his time, watching your face for a minute, then brushed his nose against yours. He kissed your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your lips, and you almost sighed at his grip tightening around your waist.

"Shhh," he whispered, and you felt his thumb caressing your waistline, slightly lifting the fabric of your shirt.

When his lips finally covered yours, you didn't instantly surrender to him. Your body felt too aware, too unsettled. But his fingers crept under your shirt, his lips fitted onto yours, and when his tongue slipped past the seam of your lips, you finally gave in. He tasted like alcohol, but he was so soft, so gentle, cautious even. In no time, you were responding to each of his movements, following his pace naturally.

He was almost intoxicating, in a way that left you easily magnetized by his every move. Everything he did, every touch, worked so smoothly through you. He undressed you from your shirt, and even though you felt uptight getting so exposed under his gaze, it was like he just knew how to get through to you.

His lips trailed down your body until he was kissing your chest. His mouth easily found its way to lick and suck at your nipple, and you no longer had it in you to stifle your loud sighs against him.

At the same time, so smoothly, he unzipped your jeans and slid them down your legs until you were standing in nothing but your panties in front of him. His eyes scanned your body, and you moved to cover yourself until his hands caught your wrists.

"Don't do that." You felt his touch on your hips. His coarse touch sent a shiver throughout your whole body, but it also made you press one leg against the other.

He kissed you again, ever so gently, so slowly, in a way that your mouths made wet sounds against one another — so lewd it had you almost whimpering. It seemed that growing so needy got you moving without shame. Your hands found the hem of his shirt and pulled it up. He smiled through the kiss and helped you get rid of his shirt — finally. Your fingers crawled across his skin, feeling him, lightly scratching with the tips of your nails.

Without breaking the kiss, his arm wrapped around your waist, and he easily walked you to the bed. He laid you down on the mattress. His body covered yours so easily as he fit himself between your legs.

It was pretty obvious where this was going, and although you had no experience whatsoever, you didn't feel like stopping. To be honest, you wanted more. And he gave you more. He went down your body in a trail of kisses — from your lips to your neck, your chest, your stomach, your lower belly — until he had his face between your thighs. When he first touched your panties, you bit into your lip. He rubbed you lightly with his thumb in circular motions, but it was enough to make you sigh.

"You're so fucking wet," he said, a grin on his lips.

Even with your cheeks burning, you just couldn't look away. When he took your panties off and buried his head between your legs, it made you instantly gasp. The first brush of his tongue on that sensitive nub of nerves had you whimpering. His lips eventually sucking on you felt different from anything you had ever felt. Nights when you had pleased yourself with only your fingers couldn't even compare. Soon you were whimpering, grabbing the sheets, then desperately holding onto his hair, making a mess of him as much as he made of your sensitive cunt.

By the time you felt his fingers at your entrance, it made you arch your back. Two of his fingers alone were enough to stuff you full, but when he thrust them hard and fast inside you, it turned you into nothing but a mess of needy noises that escaped from your lips without restraint.

When that fuzzy feeling began to crawl up your body — tingling your lower belly and making your whole body shaky — you helplessly tried to close your legs, which only made him go harder on you. Your pussy made loud, wet noises every time his fingers slid into you.

"God!" you pleaded, laying back as he won you over, spasming and trembling beneath him.

You were worn out, panting and numb, when he came up to you again. His body still fit against yours. When he kissed you again, you tasted yourself all over his mouth, and it would have embarrassed you if it hadn't made you feel so hot.

You got a bit puzzled when he leaned back, sitting straight, but as you watched him get rid of his pants and grab his own cock, you understood. You looked — really looked. He was big, big enough for his own hand. You bit your lower lip, apprehensive, as he grabbed a condom and slid it over his length. When he looked up at you and caught you staring, it drew another one of those knowing smiles from him.

He came up to you again, his forearm resting on the mattress beside your head, his body easily fitting against yours — but this time you felt him grinding on you, his dick sliding through your folds, slightly rubbing your overly sensitive clit. As you held your breath in anticipation, you also reached for his face. He smiled at that — not that grin or smirk, but a sweet smile.

"Relax," he whispered, leaning closer to your mouth. "Breathe."

He gave you a sloppy kiss, then another, and another. It helped you actually relax as you felt his tip pressing your entrance. You were wet enough for him to easily slide inside you, but once he did, you felt like it was tearing you apart. He did it slowly, and even so, it was too much.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he groaned against your mouth.

You didn't know if he could tell, but you clenched around him and squeezed your eyes shut as he started moving inside you. It helped you get used to him, since he went so slow, but it also made you feel precisely every inch of him stretching you open. You didn't even try to hold back your crying moans. You just held him tight, wrapping your legs around him as much as your hands gripped onto his skin.

That strange pain remained, but as you felt him set a pace, it also turned into something oddly pleasing. You could feel and hear how his body reacted to yours. He would moan right against your mouth, and he touched your body with so much eagerness that it left you feeling needed.

At some point, he leaned back, sitting up as he kept fucking you. His eyes watching you with attention made you feel impossibly vulnerable, but you had no shame — not when his thumb came to your clit to rub you as he stroked your body repeatedly.

You were already sensitive enough, and in no time you were rolling your eyes again, gripping the sheets as he drove you to another orgasm. He was restless, so rough, but it left you shaking beneath him, almost begging for more if you could actually form a coherent sentence in that moment.

When he leaned over you again, he held you so tightly — a warm hug that you understood was due to his approaching edge. He moaned against your ear, his face hidden in your neck, as his hips began to move out of pace — faster. He finished, releasing his load into the condom inside you. He muttered something you couldn't understand, and for a while all he did was keep holding you. Both of you, out of breath, sweaty, holding onto each other for a minute long.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀

"It was your first time, wasn't it?" he said after a long silence you had been sharing in bed. Your head rested on his chest, his hand caressing your back in invisible patterns he traced onto your skin.

"How did you know?" you said, raising your head to look at him.

He was exhaling the smoke from his cigarette and smirked at you. "Was it good?"

It took you a second to answer. His eyes and the smile on his face got you instantly flustered. "It was. Really good."

You felt his hand on top of your head, petting you. It did something to your chest, to your lower belly — butterflies all over. "Was it good for you?" you asked, a bit concerned.

"Yeah, you were fucking amazing," he said, playful, but it drew a smile from your lips.

After some time just lazily entangled and sharing a peaceful silence, you almost fell asleep in his arms. But an alarm went off in your head. You had work tomorrow, and you had parents who would probably kill you once you got home. You just couldn't hide your unsettled state, and Hollis quickly noticed. He said he would drive you to work tomorrow, but you just couldn't. If you took twenty-four hours to show up at home, your parents would most definitely kill you.

So at 2 AM, he was driving you home, still silent. Some old country song played low, and at that point you just couldn't even look at him — the only thing you said to him was the directions to your house. You heard him humming to the song, then a heavy sigh. When he parked in front of your house, you just wanted to get out of his car, but he didn't unlock it right away.

"You'll be fine?" he asked, and only then did you look at him.

"What do you mean? I'm fine," you tried smiling at him, but he tilted his head and stared at you a bit too deeply.

"Okay, then." He glanced at your house. The front porch was lit up, which meant your parents were awake. "I'll probably be out of town in the next couple of days, so if you need something until then, you can tell me."

"Oh..." you mumbled. Yeah. He would be leaving. "Thank you, Hollis."

You were about to turn and leave when his voice stopped you again.

"That thing I said — I mean it," he said. You froze.

"What?"

"About coming with me. If you need a ride, you can come with me."

You bit your lower lip, nerves rushing to the back of your neck. "I'll think about it."

"Until Monday," he said.

You just nodded and heard the door unlock. You did not look back. You got out as fast as you could and walked to the door with two things on your mind: what awful things your parents would scream at you for getting home this late, and the fact that the best night of your life might just be leaving for good.

As you thought, they were in the living room waiting for you and actually peeking through the window at the strange car that had just dropped you off. From then on, it was a full hour of obscenities shouted at you. Your father even threatened you physically, which — surprisingly — your mother stood up for you on that one. For people who didn't like to swear, you heard the words slut, bitch, whore come out of their mouths too smoothly — almost natural.

"Who was that?" Your father pointed outside.

"A friend! I just said it a million times!" You rolled your eyes.

"It was a man! Why are you in a man's car at 2 AM? Are you some kind of whore?" your mother added, as if your father's whole show hadn't been enough.

"Oh my God! Can't I have a life?"

"You can have a decent life!" your mother said, and you could see how enraged she was.

"Yeah, 'cause you two know so much about being decent, right?" You laughed without humor.

They went on a new entire rant about how disrespectful you were and how unmindful you were of all the sacrifices they had made for you. You were honestly too tired to stand up for yourself, so you just listened to the whole thing until you could get to your bedroom and get some rest.

Of course, the last thing you thought of was him, and the first thing in the morning was also him. Actually, through the whole day you thought of him — wondering if he would show up, if he would text you. By the end of that Friday, you were really just hoping you would see a glimpse of his car passing by. None of that. Maybe he was just gone.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀

One of the few things you liked about church was listening to the choir. Usually you would ignore the preacher's sermon, tuning out his words and the Lord's words themselves, for you had already listened to those your entire life. But this time, for some reason, the preacher had been relentlessly talking about freedom, and for a split second you could have sworn he was speaking directly at you.

After quoting Matthew 25:41 — "Depart from me, ye cursed, into everlasting fire, prepared for the devil and his angels" — he went on, carrying a gentle tone through the church, steady, unhurried, like he had all the time in the world.

"There's a kind of restlessness that settles in a person... makes 'em think there's somethin' waitin' just beyond where they are."

You kept your eyes forward, fixed somewhere past the pulpit, though you couldn't have said where. Your fingers pressed tighter against each other in your lap, the faint tremble barely noticeable.

Outside, a car passed slowly down the street. And you wondered, briefly, if it was his.

"And sometimes it feels so real, so right, you start believin' it must be meant for you."

Your jaw tightened. You swallowed, shifting slightly on the wooden pew as it creaked beneath you. Meant for you. The words lingered longer than they should have.

You thought of his voice from the night before — low, certain. You can come with me.

"But not every open door is placed there by the Lord. And not every path that feels easy is meant to be followed."

Your breath caught, shallow. You blinked, forcing your gaze back to the front, though everything felt distant now, like you were watching from somewhere else.

Easy. It hadn't felt easy. But it had felt like relief.

"Some things... they only look like answers. Freedom ain't always what it looks like."

Your hands loosened for a moment, then tightened again, nails pressing into your skin this time. Freedom. The word echoed differently in your chest — warmer, louder, harder to ignore.

You imagined it again despite yourself — getting in that car, not looking back.

"You can't take back the time you wasted."

The church felt smaller somehow. The air heavier. You shifted again, crossing and uncrossing your ankles, unable to settle.

What would you actually be leaving behind?

"Well. Some things don't wait for you to come back."

Your eyes flickered toward the stained glass, light spilling through in muted colors. For a second, you thought about your mother. The kitchen table. The same streets you had walked your whole life.

Then his face again — closer this time. Realer.

Your chest tightened.

You didn't know which thought scared you more: staying... or going.

For a while, you just sat there even after everything wrapped up and people were heading outside. By the time you realized, your mom was nowhere in sight, probably outside talking to someone like she always did. Not wanting to keep her waiting, you made your way toward the doors and were about to step outside when you felt someone grab your arm. You had no time to say anything or even turn to see who it was, because the next second a hand covered your mouth and you were easily being dragged to the back of the church. Despair caught you as you saw yourself being headed to a room at the back of the altar. The door closed behind you, and only then were you released. You were just about to scream when you saw him.

"What is wrong with you?!" you shouted, but he said nothing. "What are you doing here?"

The next minute, he was pressing you against the door, hands gripping your waist, locking you to his body. And if you had been scared to death a minute ago, now you were panting under his lips. Your hands found their way to his shoulders, his nape, his hair. His were a bit more eager than yours. He cupped your breasts over the fabric of your dress, then squeezed — a faint noise escaped your lips.

"What are you doing?" you asked between kisses, your cheeks burning just as much as your body.

"I wasn't even gonna talk to you," he said against your mouth, his hand sliding down your body until it reached between your legs — under your dress. You instantly held his wrist with both hands, not to stop him but to ground yourself, as he began to rub you over your panties. You bit your lips to keep from moaning. "But you look so fucking good in this dress."

"You're a pervert." Your voice came out frail, his fingers circling over your clit taking any strength out of you.

"Yet you're the one getting wet." He smirked, and you just hid your head in the crook of his neck in a desperate attempt to stifle your moans and hide your flushed face from his watchful gaze.

He pulled your panties aside, and you finally felt him skin to skin — his long fingers parting your folds, sliding down to your entrance. When you felt him slip one digit inside, a loud sigh escaped your lips.

"Shhh," you heard. His spare arm wrapped around your waist, grounding you somehow.

You kept your head resting on his shoulder as he fucked you with his fingers, wet noises every time they buried deep inside you. When he brought his thumb to rub your nub at the same time, you quickly found yourself rolling your eyes back. Small noises eventually escaped as you couldn't hold them in the closer you got to your edge.

"Please," you begged, not sure of what. But you felt flustered just thinking about where you were.

He stopped out of nowhere, leaving you dazed and confused, but as you watched him unzip his pants and pull out his dick, you quickly understood. You bit your lips seeing his full length once more. He stroked his already hardened cock. Hollis grabbed under one of your thighs, lifting it up around his hip as he had to lower his height to fit between your legs. You lightly chuckled at the difficulty due to your height difference, but when you felt him sliding inside you, your smile vanished. You gasped and held him tight. You still weren't used to it, and as he began to move, it only made it harder. Even when he was slowly fucking you, you could feel him stretching your insides, and you had to bite his shoulder to stay quiet.

"God, you feel so good..."

God. You glanced over his shoulder, and straight ahead was a picture of Jesus. If you weren't already gut-wrenching with nerves over what you were doing — and where you were doing it — you had Jesus staring at you. But you had no time to spiral into guilt. As if you weighed nothing, he grabbed you by your other thigh as well, and soon you were off the ground, being fucked in his arms. You felt like a doll, and as he quickened his moves, gripping you so roughly, your mind went completely blank. All you did was hold onto him and fight the urge to cry out his name.

A hint of courage took over you, and you leaned back to look at his face. He was so stunning — face flushed, out of breath just like you — and you could see in his tense jaw that he, too, fought the urge to moan. You bit your lower lip, and he smiled — a faint smile under that heavy breath.

"Fucking beautiful," he whispered against your mouth before kissing you.

The kiss was sloppy. Your saliva mingled into a mess of wet noises that you couldn't tell whether came from your mouths or from your pussy being repeatedly hit by him. All you knew was that every time he buried himself deep inside you, your body felt closer to burning.

First, you felt your lower belly tingle. Then a fuzzy feeling struck down your spine, and your entire body was consumed by spasms. A full blackout took over your mind as you felt your eyes roll back and your legs shake. At the time, you didn't know if it was the painting on the wall or if you had literally seen Jesus in your head. Thankfully, you were already in his arms; otherwise, you would have had no strength to stay on your feet. Your insides clenched around him, and that made Hollis go even harder, making you almost jump in his arms, bouncing on his cock over and over again.

"Fuck," you heard before he stopped.

He carefully put you on the ground again and slid out of you. You felt instantly hollow — but not for long. He turned you over, face to the door. You felt your dress being lifted up and your hips being gripped.

"Stick that ass up for me," he whispered, and you immediately did your best to follow his command with your numbed mind.

Hollis buried himself inside you again, and somehow it felt like he went deeper — so much deeper that you felt your legs almost give out. You had nothing to grab except the hard wooden door, which you placed your hands on for support as he thrust into your body mercilessly. At least his hands still gripped you tight, keeping you steady as he fucked you. It ached, how much he squeezed, but in the midst of how good your body felt at that moment, even the pain felt astonishingly good.

Just like that night, at some point, he lost his composure. He went faster, out of pace. A raw noise escaped his lips, and when he slid out of you, it took you a while to realize he had just come. Only when he leaned over you and kissed your shoulder, hugging you by the waist, did you understand.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice airy and deep.

You hummed, nodding. Until you remembered what he had asked you that night. "I'm okay."

You struggled to fix your posture and turn to him. He was doing the same — zipping up his pants, fixing his hair. When you tried to pull your dress down, you felt on your fingertips something wet, thick, and slimy on the fabric of the white dress. You looked at it on your hand, then looked at him. You weren't sure what came over you, but you brought your fingers to your mouth and licked them clean. It tasted strange, but the look on his face as you did it made you feel dazed.

He kissed you again, ever so intensely, and just like that, you were wrapped in his arms once more.

"I want to go with you," you said before thinking. He pulled back from the kiss and stared at you.

"What? For real?"

You nodded. "For real." A smile curved your lips as you repeated his words.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀

It all happened so fast — from brooding over your options to making your decision to actually voicing it. You had to sneak out of that little room, pretending you weren't still flushed by his presence. Your mom didn't seem to notice; she just asked where you had been, and you said you were doing your prayers for a bit longer. She didn't suspect you had been inside the church after all.

The next day, you went to work as you usually did, but this time, you had clothes in your bag, your savings, and only half an hour into your shift, Hollis was parking outside. You watched him step inside with a contained smile, and he met you with his usual gaze — not cold, not sweet, just plain.

"Ready?"

"Ready." You got out from behind the counter, still smiling at him.

It was reckless at best, just leaving the store open and vanishing. He was just turning to leave when he stopped, looked around, then looked down at you.

"Since you're leaving for good," he said, "we can get some things for the trip, don't you think?"

Now he was grinning, and your smile had gone. You bit your lip, unsure, as you watched him grab a few things — a full pack of his Marlboro Reds from behind the counter, then a couple of six-packs.

An idea flickered through your mind, one you deliberated for little to nothing before sense caught up with you.

"There's a lockbox back there," you said, pointing to the storage room. "Do you think you can break into it?"

Hollis looked at you, and his smile grew wider. That was the first time you did something like that together, but you had no clue it wouldn't be the last. You emptied the lockbox of money — only a few grants — but it thrilled you with a mist of feelings, ranging from guilt to full adrenaline.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀

The initial deal was that he would only take you out of the state and drop you wherever you wanted, but that never happened. In between roadside motels and inns, something quietly grew in your chest. You remembered the first stop you had after leaving Collinsville: he had asked for a double-bed room. Each of you slept on separate beds at the end of the night; he didn't make any move on you. You wondered if he just wasn't interested or if he was just tired — both reasons left you upset.

"Hollis?" you called out to him in the middle of the night. You had tried to sleep but just couldn't. It was the farthest you had ever been from home in your whole life.

"Mhm?" His voice was heavy, tired, since he had been driving for the past several hours.

"Are you sleeping?" you asked.

"Not anymore."

"I'm sorry," you whispered, curling into yourself.

Silence stretched for a couple of minutes until you heard a creak from his bed, then the mattress dipping behind you.

"Get some sleep. We leave early tomorrow," you heard him say as his arms wrapped around you. You felt his chest against your back, so warm, like his fingers caressing your waistline.

After that, you never slept in separate beds. After that, every bed you shared ended up with both of you entangled, sighs and whimpers mixing with the sound of heavy breaths and pleadings.

It was thrilling at first — everything exciting, so many new things you learned with him, so many new things you saw with him. Things began to shift once you got to know more about Hollis. He was twenty-two years old, three years older than you. He said he used to work at his father's company back in Chicago but had dropped everything to go on this road trip. The reasons, he never actually explained to you. He said it was something he had always wanted to do; then he said he was tired of the life he lived. But his answers were always so vague. He barely spoke about his past life if it wasn't for some childhood memory or some eccentric story about his teenage years and stupid shit he used to pull with his friends. But whenever the topic was family or personal, he would wave it off. Maybe he was just this reckless, unpredictable self. You couldn't blame him — it actually took you some time to open up to him, too. He would ask you things, and you would only answer plainly. But with time, you wanted to tell him things. You wanted him to know you beyond the physical. And it made you feel so good that he actually seemed interested in your stories — about your family, your parents, half-thoughts, the few hobbies you took interest in.

He was so surprising in many ways, for the good and for the bad.

At a gas stop, you were getting out of the convenience store. You had bought some snacks and his cigarettes when you saw him pushing a guy outside. The guy was shorter than him but much stronger. You rushed closer, worried, and the guy was coming his way again when Hollis lifted his shirt to show the grip of a pistol. Not only the guy but you were surprised at that. The guy backed off, but you had your eyes wide, stunned and slightly scared.

"Get in the car," he said to you. But you took too long to move. "Get in the fucking car."

And so you did. Later that day, after he fucked you under the shower in the bathroom of the motel you were staying at for the night, both of you were in bed, his head on your lap, something on TV that you couldn't pay attention to.

"Since when do you have a gun?" you finally asked.

"Since ever," he answered simply.

"Since when do you threaten people with a gun?"

It took him a bit longer to answer now, and you heard a tired sigh. "I was just defending myself. The guy was being a jerk."

He lifted his head to look at you, and you met his gaze. You couldn't hide how uncomfortable you felt about that.

"You don't have to worry. It won't be fired. It's just for defense, since I was traveling by myself." He leaned closer, his face nearing yours. "Plus, now I have to take care of you."

His voice, his gaze, his touch on your waist — it was all so convincing that it got you dumbly smiling at him. Your worries were swept away by his mouth over yours, his demanding touch gripping you tighter, his body taking over yours.

The gun wasn't a problem anymore. As a matter of fact, later he taught you how to properly shoot, and you became familiar with his weapon, practicing with him whenever you found a place where you could shoot without drawing attention. Maybe he thought you were so comfortable with it that he must have felt comfortable as well to go further. Just after you left Oklahoma, in a very small town at the southern edge of Colorado, Hollis insisted you were running short on money. You argued that you had money in the bank and could get some at the next 24-hour ATM — for some reason, he didn't like using cards. He refused. When you stopped by a convenience store, a small place in that tiny town that probably had little more than two hundred people living there, you saw a family house behind it, kids' toys scattered around, and a very old man as the cashier — probably a family business. Once you finished filling up the tank and got back to the car, Hollis stepped out and told you to stay in the car — he actually ordered you to. A few minutes later, he was stepping out of the store in rushed steps. He got back to the car, set his bag on your lap, and sped out of the parking lot. You were confused at first until you saw the gun in his hand, resting over the steering wheel. Then you opened his bag, and it was full of money.

"What did you just do?" you asked, almost screaming.

"Got us some money," he answered, staring ahead at the road. He had a smile on his face.

"I have money!" you screamed, eyes wide, your face already flushed.

"We're in the middle of fucking nowhere. The next ATM is probably gonna be miles away. You wanna sleep in the car?" He glanced at you briefly; you could see he was getting annoyed.

"I'd rather sleep in the car than rob a family store at gunpoint! Are you out of your damn mind?"

"Are you out of your damn mind?" He looked again. Thankfully, the road was empty. "I'm taking care of us, and this is how you thank me?"

"This is taking care of us?"

"This is how I'm taking care of us. You don't like it? You're free to go."

You were in complete disbelief, staring at him in dead silence. You just had no words, so you glanced away, curling into your seat after tossing the bag into the back.

"Baby," he called after some time, his voice softer, and you felt his hand on your upper thigh.

You didn't answer. You just shifted in your seat and stared out the window until sleep won you over. Hollis drove for more hours than he usually did that night — maybe he was trying to get as far as possible from that small town. You doubted the police would do much about a robbery in such a tiny place, but just in case. When you finally arrived at an inn, he barely showered before crawling into bed and completely succumbing to sleep.

That was the first night you watched him sleep while pondering whether to leave. And it was the first time he won without saying a single word. There was no one who could make your heart feel so tight in your chest even while just sleeping — his locks of hair falling across his face, his peaceful state. You recalled how, after the fight, he had backed off, how he had moved with care around you, using soft words: Are you hungry? Are you tired? We're almost there, baby. Maybe he was just taking care of you, in his own way. Maybe by the time you reached California, things would change. For better or worse. You found your place by his side in bed and finally fell asleep to his scent and the thought of a new place.

Now here you were, spending the last day of your summer break sitting in your obgyn’s office instead of going to another one of those parties, listening to her explain how the specific birth control you were on requires a full seven to eight days to be fully effective and you were right at that mark when you decided to let Sukuna fuck you stupid without protection. You were laughing, pulling at your hair while tears poured down your face. You looked and felt like you were spiraling.

“As for the plan b.. sometimes these things just don’t work properly, I'm truly sorry.” Your doctor explained as gently as possible, but it was background noise at this point. 

You had shit luck, a dark curse that wouldn’t step off your fucking neck. I mean, you couldn’t even get fucked after a year of celibacy without getting pregnant! You could still feel the way his hands burned against your skin as he caressed your entire body and fucked you dumb. You wondered what he was doing now, if he even remembered you out of the sea of women he probably fucked over break. 

God, you felt like the world's biggest clown. Ryomen Sukuna of all people got you pregnant on his first try, a cruel joke really. Nanami had warned you about all of his frat brothers before you moved to town a few months before summer break, constantly calling to tell you how immature and reckless they were and how he wished he never joined the fraternity. You would giggle, never taking him too seriously because you knew just how much he cared about them from the sheer amount of times he’d talk about them. 

“Sukuna has another woman over, it’s been a week of nonstop moaning! I share a wall with the prick, you would think he’d have the decency to tell his dates to not be so loud.” He’d complain and in the same breath, compliment the man and his athletic skills. One time you’d been on the phone with Nanami and you heard loud groaning obviously coming from a woman before your brother yelled I’m gonna kill you Sukuna! apologizing and hanging up before you could respond.

Needless to say your curiosity in the mystery man peaked and when you saw him at the party, you could hardly control yourself. You had seen a few pictures of him on Nanami’s social media but he was a different beast in person. Tall enough to tower over everyone, bulging muscles that had you wondering what they’d feel like around your neck, and his face tattoos were a total turn on.

You noticed him watching you, red eyes glaring daggers at every man you danced with and so you put on a show in an attempt to get him to talk to you but he kept his distance the entire night. So when he finally did speak to you—even if it was to curse you out for drinking his water— no one could actually blame you for letting him drag you to his room and fuck you into the mattress. 

“Based on the time you say you were last sexually active, I’d put you around the fourteen weeks mark but I want to set you up with our ultrasound tech so we can measure the baby and get an accurate due date for you.” 

You nodded absently, your entire body chilled and your hands shaking as they began to sweat. You didn’t know anything about taking care of a child! You were about to be a junior in college and only just decided on your major before the cut off, how would you make decisions about another life? Your baby.. Sukuna’s baby. 

You should tell him, of course you should but what the fuck would you even say? You knew his reputation and you still slept with him anyways. There was no way someone like him would ever step up, play pretend at being a family, want anything to do with you or the child. There’s a strong possibility he’d transfer schools before he did that. Nothing about him screamed father material.

Your mind was running wild and only a soft hand atop of yours pulled you from the deep pit you found yourself stuck in. You looked up, teary eyes attempting to focus on your doctor as she smiled sympathetically at you. 

“There are other options.”

Three hours later you stood in front of the mirror in your dorm room, shirt pushed above your belly just enough to see that while your stomach was mostly the same size, if you stared long enough you could make out a very small bump. A very real reminder of the night you shared with Sukuna.

You lowered your shirt and looked at the photo in your hand, fighting down the wave of nausea that hit you without warning. The thing hardly looked human, more alien like than anything but you were able to make out the little head and the nubs for hands and feet. In another life you may have found it kinda cute but instead it made you sick.

You didn’t have a maternal bone in your body, there was no way you could be a mother to this thing, and yet you still hadn’t scheduled that appointment with the clinic your doctor recommended. Telling yourself that Sukuna deserved to at least know before you went through with anything, since it was his child too. 

You had to force yourself out of bed the next day. It was the first day of classes, almost eighty degrees outside and you were wearing a hoodie with sweatpants, barely throwing your hair in a messy bun and totally forgoing makeup. Your roommate Yuki had looked at you like you grew an extra head, asking if you were trying to pass out but you only shrugged and moved your bag up your shoulder. How were you supposed to tell her that all of the clothes you had were skin tight and would definitely show the new bump you were sporting seemingly overnight? 

“You look like death.” She looped her arm with yours and pulled you out the door.

As you walk through campus together, you’re hyperaware of everything. The side eyes people give you, the nausea settling in your stomach, the way your heart thumps a little harder as you get closer to the building your lecture hall is in. You wondered if anyone could tell, if you’d bump into him. It was bound to happen but you wanted to push it off for as long as you could.

You hadn’t even seen or talked to your own brother since you found out, fucking terrified at his reaction because Nanami would absolutely be able to tell. The man never missed anything  when it came to you, ever the protective brother since the day your parents brought you home from the police station. You were grateful he spent his summer abroad. 

“You’re awfully quiet today.” Yuki hummed, pulling you into the building. You were grateful she was there, having grown close to her when Shoko introduced you two after she found out you’d be transferring to their school. If not for her steady grip on your arm, you might have dropped to your knees when a head of pink hair appeared in the hall. 

Walking into the exact fucking class you were. He looked the same, maybe a little tanner from the summer heat but he was still the same person. Still looming over everyone around him, sunglasses atop his head that pushed his pink hair back, same tattoos but it looked like he added a few extra to his arms, dressed in a black shirt that showed off every muscle, and grey pants.

You froze, heart racing as he disappeared through the doors. Fuck, could your day get any worse? You had no plans on seeing him today but you also couldn’t skip the first lecture of this class. The professor was known to be a notoriously harsh grader and you couldn’t afford to miss even the most miniscule of information. God fucking dammit.  

“Hey, you okay?” Shit, you’d forgotten Yuki was with you, the sight of Sukuna making your brain fog with nothing but him and the little souvenir he left you. The one that had your stomach churning as you attempted to fight back the rising bile. 

“Yeah sorry.” You give her a false smile, choosing to ignore the way her scrunched up face said she didn’t believe you but would drop it for now. 

Walking into the room took every ounce of strength you had, your only saving grace being that the room was crowded which meant you could blend in easily and avoid your baby daddy. Your entire body was chilled from the fear of having to tell him the truth, you hadn’t even practiced what you planned to say to him. Hello! I know you probably don’t remember me but we hooked up a few months ago. I'm pregnant and it’s yours, surprise! 

You inwardly cringed and snapped back to reality. 

Intro to Programming was a relatively popular elective so you shouldn’t have been surprised to see him there. You had planned to hide away in the back, keep your head down and pray to god he didn’t turn and see you. Again, you had terrible luck because as soon as you turned to find a seat in the top row, he was already sitting in the middle, arms crossed, legs wide open and scowling at everyone and no one at the same time. And right next to him was the second person you wanted to avoid today, your brother. 

Fuck fuck fuck! Before you could make a run for it, Nanami spotted you and Yuki was pulling away and yelling “Choso!” before leaving you to fend for yourself. You were stuck, face burning while standing there like an idiot as other students pushed past you, shooting you glares for being in their way. 

Nanami was smiling and waving you over, pointing to the free seat on the other side of Sukuna that you absolutely were not going to sit in. Then he turned his head, red eyes staring through your soul and the smirk that he gave you had your head spinning, a familiar ache forming between your legs. God, you felt so pathetic. Here you were, simultaneously about to throw up and cum at the sight of the man that had completely rocked your world. 

Looking around the room, you noticed the other seats were filled and the room was quieting as the professor started making their way to the podium. Fuck my fucking life! You were left with no choice but to squeeze your way into the top row, mumbling apologies to the people you passed before flopping your ass into the seat next to Sukuna. Making a point to ignore his and your brother's gaze. 

“You okay (name)? I tried calling you twice yesterday but you’re avoiding me for some reason.” Nanami was clearly hurt, you could see his pouty face from your peripheral view, however you didn’t have the bandwidth to be a good sister right now. Barely had the energy to breathe as you were actively fighting back the vomit rising in your throat, stomach flipping as Sukuna’s cologne clouded your senses. 

You pulled your laptop and water bottle from your bag before placing it at your feet. You ignored your brother and started chugging from it, grateful that it was just barely delaying the massive puking session you knew was coming. With enough of your senses returned, you looked to your brother, ignoring the goliath of a man sitting between you two. You could feel his eyes on you and it was overwhelming, almost like he had an extra set of eyes beckoning you to look at him. 

Before you could even respond, Sukuna was speaking and your entire body went cold. You forgot how deep and masculine his voice was, how addicted you had been to it while he was calling you a good girl and fucking your brains out. Reaching depths no one else ever had..

“Who’s your friend Nanami?” You couldn't stop yourself from staring at him, metaphorical hearts all but forming in your eyes at the way he was already looking at you. Fireworks were exploding in your chest. This man was pretending he didn’t know you, as if you hadn’t spent your entire summer thinking about the way he dominated you and left you forever changed. As if his child wasn’t growing in your belly right now as a result of the reckless night you shared together almost four months ago. 

“My sister.” Nanami hesitated, a look of wariness on his face and you knew it was because he didn’t want you having anything to do with his frat brothers. If only he knew. “Sukuna this is (name), (name) this is Sukuna. I told you about him, we’re in the same fraternity together and both play for the school’s soccer team.” 

Sukuna licked his lips, fighting back a smile before unfolding his arms and sticking his huge hand towards you. “Nice to meet you.” 

Oh my god, you were going to combust. You had to shake his hand, lest Nanami became suspicious but you were too busy staring into his eyes like he painted the damn sky, your breath hitched and panties absolutely starting to soak. You blamed your heightened attraction to him on the pregnancy. Not that you were a whipped whore who got off to the thought of him breeding you more times than you cared to remember, and craved for him to do it again. 

“Class is starting.” Nanami frowns at you then Sukuna before turning to the professor that was lecturing students about her expectations of them. 

Sukuna lowered his hand but the smirk on his face never faded. He shot you a wink before turning to face the front of the class, leaving you a mess of blushes and trembling legs. 

About forty minutes into the lecture, you couldn’t hold the vomit in anymore. You didn’t even have time to grab your stuff before you were bolting upright and sprinting out the room, your hand pressed against your mouth in an attempt to keep it in until you reached the bathroom. The universe was on your side because there had been one right around the corner and you apologetically pushed past a dark haired girl, bursting into a stall before falling over the toilet and hurling up the puke that had been antagonizing you for the past hour. You couldn’t hear her cursing you out over the sound of your stomach emptying. 

You hadn’t really eaten much so you were mostly left dry heaving after a few seconds, sweat beading on your forehead and your entire body shaking. You didn’t know how long you were in there but when the dizziness finally passed, you weakly stood and flushed the toilet. 

Looking at yourself in the mirror was hard. You hadn’t done your makeup so you had dark spots under your eyes, your skin absent of any warmth and your hair a mess. Everything about this sucked and you couldn’t help but admire the strength of all the mothers out there. You felt like you were on your death bed, moving your shaky hands to fix your hair until it was decent enough for you to walk out the bathroom with some kind of confidence. 

Only you immediately paused as you saw Sukuna standing across the hall, leaned against the wall with your bag in his hand and his own thrown over his shoulder, glasses still pushed atop his head and the sight had you instantly panicking. You couldn’t just run away, he had your shit. 

Then he was looking up, holding your bag out to you and grinning like he checkmated you, and now you would be forced to acknowledge him. Your fingers digging into your palms hard enough to leave a mark but you could hardly feel it as your brain had reprogrammed itself to ignore anything that wasn’t him. 

“Avoding me?” He pushed himself off the wall and moved to stand in front you as you slowly moved out of the bathroom entrance and stepped into the hallway. “You sick or some shit?” He handed you your bag back, explaining that he put the stuff you left in there. 

Yes and it’s your fault you fucking prick. Is what you wanted to say but instead you took the bag and mumbled a “thanks” before hooking it around your shoulder. You ignored his second comment, knowing you couldn't really answer that question without sending him running the opposite way. Far away from you and any responsibility toward your group project. 

“I’m perfectly fine.” A lie. “Where’s Nanami?” 

He frowned before reaching a hand toward your face and tucking a loose strand behind your ear, watching as you took in a sharp breath. He let his hand trace your jaw before his thumb rubbed over your lip and you were overwhelmed with the urge to grab his hand and move it to where you actually needed him to touch you. What was it about this man that left you so dense? Your body had never reacted like this before, not even to your ex boyfriend who you’d been with for two years.

Sukuna was some kind of sex demon that left you slutted out and craving for more. You didn’t even care that people passing by were looking, and he obviously didn't either as he let his hand fall, grazing the crest between your breasts and then your stomach. 

You quickly stepped back at that, not wanting him to get so close to the truth without having told him yourself. HIs face was neutral, he didn't look like he suspected anything but you could never be too sure. 

“He had another class to get to, said he’d reach out later. Wanna answer my question now?” 

You didn’t but the man was persistent and you were entirely too weak for him. Sukuna was not the boyfriend type and if the rumors around campus were true, he never fucked the same person twice so you would be wasting your time indulging in his antics. 

“I’m not avoiding you.”

“Mmm, yeah? Prove it.” His eyes trailed lazily over your face and you suddenly regretted not doing your makeup today, too lost to your mind to function properly. 

“Sukuna..” You pouted at his twitching lips that you stopped yourself from leaning forward and kissing. “Don’t you have like fifty other girls lined up to fuck? I’m not interested.” 

He laughed at that but it was low and full of lust, and the vibrations it sent through your body had your pussy clinching against nothing but hopes and dreams. You were confused at the fact that he was even talking to you right now. It went against everything you’d been told about him. 

“Who said I wanted to fuck you? Maybe I just wanna be friends with you, who knows? I guess you’ll find out when you stop by the house for our party tonight.” 

He started walking away before looking over his shoulder one last time. “Wear that little attitude again too. Was cute watching it disappear last time.”

Later that night while you were sprawled against your bed, panting into the pillow as you’d just got done throwing up again, Sukuna was laughing to himself at the party. You hadn’t shown, just like he thought you wouldn’t, because you were avoiding him, just as he said you were. 

He shouldn’t have cared but he did, which is why he was able to convince a very drunk Yuki who was clinging to Choso like a koala, to tell him how to get to your dorm. She grilled him at first, clearly protective of you but a little convincing from his emo friend and she was singing. 

Sukuna typically didn’t care to fuck the same woman twice, telling himself that shit was for loser that couldn’t pull more than one girl but that urge he had for you hadn’t been tamed over his very long break and he needed to be inside of you. If only to get your nagging presence out his head. He told himself he’d never talk to you again after this, one more fuck and he’d be satisfied enough to move onto the next woman. You weren’t special, just a nuisance, an itch that needed to be scratched and that’s why he was standing outside of your room right now. 

The knock that came at your door had you groaning into your pillow before looking at your phone that read 11:53 pm and sighing in annoyance. Yuki must have forgotten her key because no one else would be at your door at this time, unless the numerous texts to Nanami that you were fine hadn’t been enough and he decided to harass you in person for answers. 

“I’m coming!” You yelled when the person knocked again, a little louder this time. You banged your head against your pillow before standing, pulling down your rising strawberry spaghetti strap shirt and turning on the lamp by your bed. It had been pitch black as you nursed a headache you developed from the sheer force of the last vomit session you had two hours ago.

Once you got to the door, you looked through the hole and immediately threw your back to it. What in the fuck was he doing here? OH MY GOD, why wouldn’t he leave you alone? Your heart was pounding in your ears as you listened to him chuckle and talk from the other side while you actively fought the urge to shrivel up and die. 

“C’mon sweetheart, I know you’re in there. You flicking it or something?” And you were definitely going to die, not murderously but from the pure embarrassment you felt that he knew you were hiding from him, and oh- how the fuck did he find your room or even manage to get in the building? 

“You scared of me?” 

You finally snap and unlock the door, pulling it open roughly as he smiles at you. “There she is.” and you hate how quickly your pulse jumps, how your body instantly reacts to his teasing and most of all, that you had never wanted him to fuck you more. 

He was dressed in black jeans, a white shirt and a black leather jacket with his hat on backwards. It was such a simple outfit but it had your pussy throbbing, his cologne hitting you in waves that had you instantly lusting. 

“What do you want, Sukuna? I already told you-”

“You’re not interested. I heard you, but I don’t believe that. Not when you were looking at me in class like you wanted to climb me right there. I fuck you too hard last time or what?” 

The question left you stunned at his straightforwardness, his eyebrow arched as he waited for you to answer. This man was dead serious and so full of himself, he was going to be the death of you. 

“You’re insane.” You huff and move over to let him in. 

“And you look beautiful.” 

You laugh at that, genuinely laugh because you know you look a hot mess right now. Your hair was left to its own devices after your shower, your eyes were dark from the lack of sleep and you were wearing old pajamas that barely fit you, shorts rising up your ass even after you yank them back down. You were sure to keep your arms folded in front of you, in case he decided to stare too hard at your stomach. You shouldn’t have let him in.

“You think flirting with me is gonna work?” 

He steps all the way inside and closes the door, only about 5 inches off from being as tall as it is. You swallowed hard, trying to forget how it felt having his body between your legs, long fingers stretching you open after a year of not getting fucked. 

“Don’t have to work that hard anymore, I already slept with you.” 

And the cocky bastard grins while your ears practically catch fire, moving closer until he was towering over you and grabbing your waist in his hands. You didn’t stop him as he pulled you closer and rubbed circles against your hips, though he was entirely too close to your stomach. No, you were too busy staring at the man as if he were the creator himself, eyes wide and glossy as you lost yourself in his red ones. 

“You bast-hmmm” 

Sukuna doesn’t let you finish, smashing his lips against yours and it’s somehow even more aggressive than it was the first time, teeth and tongue colliding as he squeezes your waist and easily lifts you. Your legs wrap around his waist as if that were home and your arms moved to his neck, hand ripping his hat off and playing with his hair. 

“I need you, give me more.” And the desperation in his voice has you moaning and throwing your head back while he licked and sucked on your pulse, hands moving to hold your ass as he walked you to the bed that smelled most like you. 

You were surprised at the gentleness he showed while laying you down, because Sukuna was anything but sweet last time. He had fucked you like a god but he was taking his time now, peppering your face with soft kisses before he was sitting up and shrugging his jacket and shoes off. 

When you went to sit up and help, he pushed you back down by the shoulder. “Tsk tsk, we have all night for that. I didn’t get to taste you last time and I’ve been thinking about how sweet you probably are all fucking summer. Don’t move until I tell you to, mkay?” 

And of course, you were nodding your head like a dumbass and watching as he removed his shirt like your life depended on it. You barely fucking blinked, eyes burning and Sukuna chuckled, “Good girl.”

Once he was left in nothing but his boxers, he grabbed onto the waistband of your shorts and pulled them and your panties off, throwing them on the floor behind him before crawling over you again. His huge body hovering over yours as he kisses you softly, licking and biting your bottom lip before kissing his way down your neck, your hand on his head encouraging him.  

Sukuna stopped at your covered breasts, kissing at each of them and promising he would give them attention later. The comment alone had your juices trickling down your thighs and he hadn’t even fucked you yet. You only realized what he was doing once he kissed your stomach and his entire body froze. Your heart was basically in your ass at this point, looking down at him as he stared up at you with a frown. 

“What?” You moved to sit up, an excuse already on the tip of your tongue before he pushed you back, blinking himself out of his stupor. 

“Fuck- sorry, I spaced out, s’nothing. Where were we?” 

You didn’t have time to grill him because he was lowering his face between your legs, eyes locked on you the entire time. You audibly gasped when he lifted each of your thighs and placed them on his shoulders. 

“Fucking starving, pretty. Can I eat you, please?” 

You nodded your head so fast you felt dizzy, choking out a “P-please!” and this man was such a beast that he didn’t give himself any buildup, immediately put his lips over your pussy and slurped hard, mouth wide open as he drank all the juices you’d been dripping for him.

“Oh-fuck, y-yess Ryo, just like that.” You cried out, completely clueless as to why everytime this man was on you, you were calling him by his first name. He didn’t seem bothered by it, humming against your sweet sweet cunt before licking a long stripe and focusing on your clit. 

He was sucking and moving his head in circles, tongue pressed flat against the nub and he was literally trying to smother himself against your pussy, holding your waist and pulling you tight against him as he consumed you whole. You’d think your juices were actually filling him up.

“ S’good” he mumbled but you had no idea what he was saying with his face buried between your thighs.

Your moans were something out of a porno as you reached down and threaded your fingers into his pink locs, pulling and riding his face. He was flicking his tongue so good, up and down, side to side, spelling his name and letting it slide into your hole, moving it in and out. He was a pro pussy eater and after only a minute of the motion, your stomach was squeezing and pussy contracting, oozing juices into his mouth and his eyes were rolling back as he groaned in encouragement.

“I’m- c-cumingggg Ryo, uhhhh, oh my g-god.” Your nipples harden as your orgasm ripples through you, feeling every wave of pleasure make your body buzz with excitement, your mouth going dry as you lifted one hand to pinch your nipples, the other still in his hair.   

He kept eating you until your legs fell from his shoulders, your hand loosening from his hair and you were breathing hard trying to recover from the mind numbing orgasm you’d just experienced. 

“Can’t wait baby, need you now.”

He shifted to push his boxers down just enough to free his cock, laying back over you and spreading your legs as he settled his long body between them. He started rubbing his hard length between your pussy lips, covering his tip in your juices before slowly pushing forward. 

You were squeezing him so tightly that all Sukuna could do was close his eyes and groan loud, pushing forward in one thrust to bottom out. You cried out as the bed knocked into the wall, and he couldn’t wait for you to adjust, needed you too badly. 

He was pounding into you so deep, fucking you silly as you cried out his name and begged him to slow down while at the same time wrapping your legs around his waist and pulling him closer. He laughed and lowered his head to capture your lips, his tongue dancing with yours and your spit tasted so good it was driving him crazy, making him somehow harder than he already was.

“Mmm, you're even wetter than before. Tighter too. You been saving yourself for me, baby? Missed this pretty lil pussy s’much.” His eyes were on yours, waiting for an answer as he fucked into you faster, mouth dropped open and sweat dripping down his forehead. 

The stare was too intense and made you squirm. Despite how hard he was pounding into you, his eyes were surprisingly soft and it made you feel bad for hiding the truth from him. You tried to close your eyes but he lightly slapped at your face, enough to sting but not actually hurt and your eyes snapped open, upset with yourself for liking it. What was your problem? You would have screamed at anyone else for even thinking to do something so vile, but with him it made your pussy clench harder around his dick. 

“Fucking look at me when I’m talking to you, slut. Answer me.” 

And you were closing your eyes again, crying out when he put his hands around your neck. Again, he was being uncharacteristically soft with you, barely squeezing and rubbing where his fingers dug into you. “I can’t!”

“Just try a little harder.” 

Your eyes opened, even though your vision was slightly blurry from the tears pooling in your eyes, his face screamed that he was high on your pussy. Eyebrows furrowed, mouth slightly open, veins in his neck and forehead showing themselves from how hard he was fucking into you and his eyes were only halfway open. 

“Come baby, tell me. Please.” The Ryomen Sukuna asking nicely? Hell must have frozen over and you must have been an idiot because you were whimpering out, “Im-, i-m.”

And he was grabbing your chin, pressing his forehead against yours as he kissed you roughly and pulled back again. “Fuck- I already know but I need to hear you say it. Fucking say it, baby. I’m so close-” His hips were stuttering as he fought back his orgasm.

“W-what?” You knew there was no way he knew but your blood still turned cold at the thought. Before he could respond you were gasping and throwing your head back as your second orgasm stole your vision, shirt rising so far up your stomach was left exposed, rubbing against his body and Sukuna was so close he couldn’t breathe.

Before you could stop yourself you screamed out, “I’m pregnant! Ngghh, oh god I’m fucking pregnant!” 

He groaned loud and fucked you as deep as he could. “Fuck yeah you are.” and Sukuna was shooting the biggest fucking load into you, so heavy that it was instantly leaking out of your creamy pussy and dripping onto the sheets below you. He didn’t care, he kept slamming into you as his vision went momentarily white, lightning bolts going off behind his eyes.

“S-Shit, that feels so fucking good.” He dropped his head to your neck, slowly thrusting into you, pumping out the last few drops of his high in small snaps of hips.

When he was thoroughly spent, he pulled out of you and fell to the bed next to you, his huge frame taking up most of the room and forcing your body to push against his. The only sound in the room was heaving breathing and the distant bass of music the person a few rooms down from yours was playing. You’re staring up at the ceiling in awkward silence, heart still hammering when you say the words. Out of all the ways you thought to tell him, that wasn’t one of them.

“I shouldn’t have said that.”

Sukuna pushes onto his elbow and glares down at you, pink hair sticking to his forehead from the sweat. You shrink from his look but never break contact, biting your lip awkwardly. 

“Yeah no, you definitely should have.” 

Was that betrayal you heard in his voice? You ran a hand down your face and looked away from him because if you didn’t you’d for sure start crying and make him more uncomfortable than he probably already was. Why wasn’t he already out of the door anyways? 

“It’s fine.” 

He was grabbing your chin roughly and forcing you to look at him, anger blazing in his red eyes. Your anxiety kicked into full gear as your bottom lip trembled. 

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” He basically growled before loosening his grip but never letting go. He was fucking pissed and obviously struggling to control himself. If the eyes didn’t give it away then his elevated breathing did and you felt so guilty, so fucking guilty at your next words. 

“It means I don’t need anything from you, don’t expect anything either.” 

He stares at you for a minute before scoffing in disgust, letting your face go so he could pull his boxers back up and sit up fully, the bed shifting under his weight. 

“How long have you known? Is it even mine?”

You gasped in rage, sitting up and pushing at his chest before standing and finding your clothes. You were fuming as you pulled your panties and shorts back up, glaring at the man as if you were willing his head to explode from looks alone. 

“Of course it’s yours, you fucking idiot! What do you think, I’m just letting a bunch of random men cum inside of me? Fuck you dude!” You were ripping that stupid shirt back down your stomach, furious that it wouldn’t stay fucking put. 

“I didn’t fucking say that!” He jumped off the bed, equally as pissed as he put his clothes back on. “I haven’t seen you in months, what the fuck am I supposed to think? How far along are you? I thought you were on birth control!” 

“Well it obviously failed, moron!” Your arms shake at your side and you wanted to hit him for doing this to you, making you so fucking stupid you forgot to tell him to put a condom on. You pushed at his chest when he moved closer to you, bending to pick up his hat before throwing it at him. 

“Get the fuck out Ryomen, I don’t want anything to do with you.” 

You gave him your back as your shoulders shook, trying and failing to hold in the tears but never making a sound, you wouldn’t give him that. Fuck that guy. 

“Shit.” You heard him whisper behind you before you felt his hand on your shoulder, attempting to turn you around but you wouldn’t budge, so he moved around you, standing in front of you and lifting your chin so he could look in your eyes. 

Tears spilled as your head was tilted back far enough to meet his gaze and you could tell he was still angry, not explosive yet but getting there.

“Please.. If it’s mine then I deserve to know, can’t fucking keep that from me. That’s fucked.”

And he was right, of course he was. You nodded your head, attempting to push down the rage that was still burning inside of you. You weren’t a little girl, you could talk to him like an adult.

“I’m fourteen weeks, I only found out yesterday. I’m, s-so ss-sorry.” You cried out, body shaking as you sobbed and put your hands over your face. Guilt coursed through your veins, you felt it deep in your bones even if you weren’t the only partly responsible. You thought the birth control would work, you didn’t know-

“Ok.” He stepped back and ran his hair through his hair. “Alright, ok. What’s the plan?” 

You lowered your hand and sniffled, shock written all over your face because what did that even mean? Why the fuck was he even still here? 

“What?” 

He glared at you as if the question was easy enough to understand. “Are you keeping it, or..” 

You froze. I mean, you hadn’t really made up your mind yet, hadn't given yourself time to think it over as you really didn’t want to acknowledge the thing growing inside of you and you only just found out. 

“I-I don’t know. I mean, you’re a fratboy and we’re in college-”

“And?” He cut you off, clearly offended at you mentioning his involvement in a fraternity. What were you supposed to think? He had a reputation and sure as fuck lived up to it. 

“And this doesn’t seem like the kind of things guys like you want.”

His expression hardened, his own hands balled at his side as he stepped closer to you. “Guys like me?” 

You regret the words but before you can take it back he keeps going, grabbing your arm and pulling you closer. “You think I’m some deadbeat loser who’d disappear the second you said you were pregnant? Because I’m in a fucking fraternity?!”

“I don’t know, I don’t fucking know you dude!” 

Sukuna lets you go and laughs against his hand, the other on his hip as he starts to pace. His face was flushed and you hated that he was attractive even when he was angry.

“Ok.. alright. Jesus Christ!" 

You stood there and let him have his meltdown, remembering exactly how you reacted when you found out and feeling empathetic. It took a few minutes before he was calm enough to start talking again and you were grateful because the silence hurt more than anything. 

“We should probably exchange numbers right? So you can let me know what you wanna do or whatever. Fuck, I don’t know, I’m sorry.”

You frown and cover yourself with your arms, basically hugging your own body and looking around the room. “I don’t think that’s-”

He looks you dead in your face and laughs at you, and you’re filled with the urge to hit him but before you can ask what could possibly be so funny, he speaks. “Do you hear yourself, woman? You’re carrying my child but acting like I’m crossing some kind of line by asking for your damn number.” 

“I guess that was kind of silly.” You frown and go to grab your phone from the nightstand, unlocking it and handing it to him. You watched anxiously as he typed in his number and sent himself a text, afraid of what would happen after tonight. Though you were slightly relieved that you weren’t carrying this alone, that the burden was now partially his. 

“I have to go but I'll be back, yeah?” He lifted his hand toward your stomach before thinking better of it and letting it fall back to his side. 

You nodded even though your eyes slightly widened, stomach dropping at the thought of him abandoning you forever but what were you supposed to do? If he decided to never show his face again then you’d have your answer and schedule that appointment-

“Don’t look like that. I gotta go back to the house, one of those drunk idiots probably set something on fire by now. Shit falls apart if I'm not there, ya know?” He grabs your hand and squeezes it lightly before letting go. 

A small laugh escapes before you can stop it, and he smirks at that, head titled when he says “There she is.” and hearts explode in your eyes. You sigh when he leans forehead and kisses your head, lingering a few seconds before pulling away.

“I’ll check on you after practice tomorrow, alright?” 

“You don’t have to-”

“I know.” His thumb brushes against your lip and he’s smiling but you can tell how nervous he is. “Gonna do it anyway. Get some rest and don’t try to avoid me again. Pretty sure we’re past that now.”

One week later..

you: i’m keeping it.. 

sukuna: i know

ch. 3

note: baby daddy sukuna loading.. as always your feedback is appreciated :')

how i imagine fratkuna

The building was quiet that night, too quiet. No neighbors in high heels, no babies crying, no radio loud enough to be heard through the walls. Inside his place, it was all dark. All the lights were out. No one was home.

He checked his watch. Nearly nine o’clock. Worry settled in his chest.

He had grown used to being greeted by his oldest boy, Henry, yelling and holding out his tiny arms to be picked up. Also by Melissa’s cooing, and his wife’s half-ironic remarks.

Turning on the lights, he peeked through the window, finding his parked car on the dark, empty street. At last, he sat down in the living room and waited. He had a guess on where everyone was. He didn’t particularly like it.

♡

Half an hour later, Duke heard giggles and a baffled curse behind the door. Henry walked in first, running to his bedroom with a toy car he didn’t recognize. His wife struggled with the baby and her bag. He helped.

Once inside, she didn’t say anything. She put the baby into her chair and started warming up dinner on the stove.

“Where were you?” Duke asked.

She sighed, tired, as if he had cut through her automatic state. “At your dad’s.” she said, as if it were obvious. “Did you eat?”

“Did.” he watched her move, unaware of what she could’ve possibly done wrong. Truth be told, she hadn’t, but it didn’t erase the irritation of coming home to an empty house while his father, who had chosen to withdraw from the world, got her attention and company.

“Hm, where?”

“…after the meeting.” he thought it was absurd she had forgotten. She hardly ever forgot anything.

“Oh, yeah.” she turned off the stove and stored the food back. “And how was it?”

“As usual.”

“Charlie speaks, you nod, and you shake hands at the end?” she joked. In his mood, it sounded more like an attack. He only nodded.

Finally, she leaned on the sink and held out her hand, a silent request for him to come closer.

Duke sized her up, staying where he was. He knew she hated when he acted like that. “Were you really at my dad’s until now?”

“Yes, of course,” she frowned, confused, “the children love him,”

“It’s half past nine,”

“We stayed for dinner,” she shrugged. “actually, we left at seven. He just lives too far from anywhere,”

He nodded, thinking, scowling, “Nine hours,”

“What?”

“Each visit lasts nine hours now? You left in the morning,”

She stilled for a second. “What is it, Duke?”

“I’m just saying,” he concluded, too casual to be real, “you've been going there a lot, you stay for hours,”

“Well, I only stayed later today. He insisted we had dinner, he’s been asking for a while and I just agreed this time,”

“Why?” that one came out sharper.

“Because-” she exhaled, frustrated, “because he’s old. He’s old and he’s lonely, Duke. He spends the whole day in that house, it’s just him. I get worried,”

“Why?” he asked, a bit too quietly. “He’s not yours,”

“Well, mine doesn’t give a fuck about me,”

Duke scoffed. Yes, of course she'd put it like that. “Alright,” he mumbled.

“Alright?” she arched a brow. She knew he wasn’t. “So, no greeting then? We last saw each other at seven in the morning,” she paused, realizing she'd have to be a little more straightforward, “you didn’t even kiss me.”

Somewhere between lazy and obligated to, he stood up and went to her. Duke stuck his hands in his pockets, not fully willing, but decided to do it anyway. She kept looking at him.

He leaned in, not soft enough to end the argument yet not harsh enough to make it seem he was angry. Protocolar. When he pulled away, she held the lapels of his suit, not tugging, not bringing closer or asking for more. A tiny reminder she didn't want to fight. That time, she leaned in, not for a kiss, slightly touching their foreheads together. Duke let it happen, and the second peck was less tense.

Still, a second after, he collected himself and walked out of the kitchen.

♡

Melissa was developing the habit of touching people's faces. Tommy seemed to be her favorite victim now. Henry kept riding his bicycle in circles in front of Tommy's door. The sunset was near and Duke should be there to pick her up soon.

Which, of course, was something he had never done before.

“You didn’t come with your car today?” Tommy asked. They were all waiting by the door.

“No,” she shook her head, “your son brought me, he’ll pick me up,”

Tommy gave a small hum, cradling the baby's head. “Does he treat you well?”

She glanced at him with a faint smile. “Why? Will you scold him if he doesn’t?”

“If you want,” he said with something that resembled amusement.

“Tsk, he treats me very well,” she was softer now, “I just wish he wasn’t so… distant,”

“Distant?” Tommy repeated.

“Yeah,” she crossed her arms, “he doesn’t visit, doesn’t ask, barely calls Charlie either, I just wish he was a bit more present in family subjects,”

Tommy didn’t answer, wondering if that was how his brothers, Polly and Ada felt about him.

“If my parents treated me the way you do,” she added, “I wouldn’t stay away like he does,”

Melissa stuck her tiny fingers in Tommy’s collar. Henry started to ride a bit too fast to be safe in the gravel. Tommy didn’t know what to say, she didn't understand the complexity of his and Duke's troubles and he didn't want her to anyway. Things were better this way.

The sound of an engine getting closer made her get the baby from his arms. “Alright then,” she muttered, “not this week, but I’ll come next,”

Henry ran ahead when his dad's car got in sight. Tommy nodded and froze when she wrapped an arm around him. Hesitantly, he reciprocated, also with only one arm.

From the car, Duke only saw how she rested her head on Tommy's shoulder. How Melissa was so comfortable with them both.

“Dad!” Henry called, “what do I do with my bike?”

“Hm,” he cleared his throat, “wait, we'll find a way to take it home.”

♡

“Oh!” she had said earlier, putting on her earrings, “I forgot to tell you, my mum called,” her discomfort was evident, “she and my dad want to throw a party for my birthday.”

“A party?”

“Yeah. I tried to talk her out of it, but-” she shook her head, “you know what they’re like.”

“Why now?” Duke asked, a little too flat, “They never cared before. Never showed up.”

She paused. The way he never measured words was always in a limbo of funny and rude, to be truth, she quite enjoyed it.

“Because you, me, the children and a cake from the local bakery isn’t a ‘proper party’ in their eyes.”

That was a bad idea. Fucking terrible. Melissa bounced lightly on her mother's leg as they all waited for the water to boil. Tommy’s kitchen was quiet, he leaned by the stove with Henry clinging to his leg, the rest of them were sitting.

Including Duke, who announced he would accompany her in the visit.

He watched how comfortable she was there. Had set the table, didn't try to fill the silence. For her, it was just an evening tea with her family. Nothing more.

As soon as the water boiled, Tommy shifted the kettle from the stove to the table. She immediately shifted the baby into Duke’s arms and stood up, pouring the water into the cups.

“Tea, love?” she asked Henry.

“I want cake!”

“There’s no cake,” Tommy replied, guiding the boy to sit beside him, already reaching for the bread and jam.

They looked like a family of their own, Tommy, her and the children. She fit into it too easily. Not as a guest. Something else. He didn’t care to name it. She surely cared for Tommy enough for that. When she caught Duke staring, she smiled in an affectionate, acknowledging gesture.

Once they were all served, she sat back down. “Is your back any better?” she asked Tommy.

“No,” Tommy tilted his head, “your time will come,”

“I hope so,” she laughed under her breath, “what about Charlie?” she continued, “I haven’t seen him in a while,”

“Neither have I,” Tommy said, “don’t you talk to his wife?”

“Sometimes,” she nodded, “but every time I call it sounds like there’s an army of babies in the background, so I suppose that explains it… still, we should arrange something. All of us, same day.”

Tommy nodded in silent agreement. Duke said nothing, just sat there with the baby in his arms. Not unwelcome, but unnecessary.

♡

“Ah, wait!” she said suddenly, turning as they headed out. Sunset was near.

Melissa had returned to Tommy’s lap and Henry, again, was clinging to his leg.

Duke stepped in, pulling the boy gently toward himself. Subtly rushing the goodbye.

She reached into her coat and pulled out a card. “My parents are insisting on throwing me a birthday party,” she said, making a face, “which I personally think will be awful, but since they're insisting on me,” she handed it to Tommy, “now I’m insisting on you,”

Tommy examined the card briefly, fingers tracing the gold details. “How old?”

“Twenty-seven,”

He nodded slightly, then concluded, “I’m not going,”

“What?!” she let out a short laugh, “you could at least pretend to have an excuse,”

The children giggled. Tommy adjusted the baby against his arm. Duke stood a few steps away, not interrupting, his face alone gave the dudgeon away.

“I’m serious, Mr. Shelby,” she added, “I don’t even want the party. It wasn’t my plan, but if I have to endure it, I’d rather make it bearable… and I’d really like you there.”

Tommy sighed, looking at the card again, considering his options.

“Me too, grandpa!” Henry cut in, loud and certain. That put the ghost of a smile on his face.

♥︎

The dress, undeniably beautiful, had started to feel uncomfortable hours ago.

The salon was decorated in gold and white. Balloons, flowers, something close to extravagant. Her parents hovered over everything. Commanding the party like a quarter.

Guests smiled, toasted, talked, people she hadn’t seen in years spoke to her like nothing had changed. The few children who had been invited had already disappeared, only reappearing in bursts, running across the room in loud groups.

Her husband had disappeared too. Figuratively and literally. First, she asked him to change his tie and the way he wore it. Then, the uncertainty of his dad's presence and then, gone.

When Tommy entered the room, all the heads turned. Dark clothes. Cap low. The conversations turned into whispers, about the presence of a MP, a Shelby, a gangster. She picked up a glass and went to him without hesitation.

“To be completely honest,” she said, offering it, “the wine in your cellar is much better,”

He took it. Nodded once. “Where are the children?”

“Whose children?” she joked, “mine are running around, don’t worry, they’ll find you. Now, your son seems to have disappeared,”

“Yeah,” he sipped on his drink, “he does that,”

“Yeah,” she exhaled, “I noticed.”

♡

Three hours later, the room got quieter. The gift table was full and the champagne bottles empty. All, or almost all of the guests had got a share of the birthday girl, a report of her life in which she omitted the most shocking parts.

Duke had only appeared again to sing happy birthday. Offering nothing more than a polite smile when she mentioned him on the toast she proposed. Then he disappeared again.

She found Tommy again near the edge of the room. “You’re free to go now, by the way,” she said, approaching him, “even though you didn’t bring a gift,”

“Are you expelling me?”

“Yeah,” she smiled, “before this turns into something unbearable. You won’t even be able to turn the car in a few minutes,”

He scoffed, half humorous, half "I had my fill of this sort of occasion".

“I’m glad you came, Mr. Shelby,” she added quietly, “It’s important for me and for the children to have-” she chose the words, what was he to them, really? “-you around,”

“...take care of him,” Tommy concluded, abandoning his glass on a table.

For a second, she watched him disappear between the other guests, and turning on her heel, she headed in the opposite direction. The garden was quieter, less crowded.

She found Duke sitting on the edge of the fountain, glass in hand, fidgeting with the bottom. His face looked younger like that, low eyes, visibly upset.

“We’re almost making it,” she announced.

“Making what?” he asked, distant, not looking at her.

“Through this day,” she sat beside him, letting out a breath as her head dropped against his shoulder, “God, I hate it. I hate when they try to interfere in my life,”

“They’re parents,” he said, staring ahead, “it’s what they do,”

“You always say that,”

“Because it’s true,”

She hummed, arms sliding around his, gloved fingers lightly squeezing. “Your dad’s leaving,”

“Yeah?”

“Hm-hmm,” she lifted her gaze, watching him. His leg started bouncing. She rested her chin against his shoulder, “maybe you should say goodbye,”

Duke hesitated. She gently took the glass from his hand in silent encouragement, didn’t say anything else, just waited.

He went. When he came back, a few minutes later, she was still there.

“Yeah?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he nodded, “he’s gone,”

“Good.” she stood up, arms wrapping around his neck, pressing a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Let’s go inside. I need to talk to my parents,”

“I don’t want to talk to your parents,”

“Oh,” she huffed, “neither do I.”

♡

With the guests gone. The servants worked in removing the decorations. While she threw the gifts into a large sack, Duke waited in the car.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” her mother’s voice cut the silence.

She didn't lift her head, just kept gathering the gifts. “What?”

“Inviting that man,” the mother sounded less controlled now, leaning towards anger.

“My father-in-law?”

“Yes,” she sighed, “unfortunately,”

“Mum, I’m not-” she paused, something caught her eye, a small red velvet box out of place among the rest. She slipped it into her purse instead of the sack, “I’m not going to fight you,”

“Neither am I,” her mother replied, softer now, “it’s your birthday. I just wanted it to be special, you spent years confined with that man and your children,”

That tone made her look up, “that man is my husband,”

“Arguably,”

She exhaled in disbelief, “He is, and I’m not confined, I’ve celebrated every year.”

“Oh, have you?” her mother tilted her head, “how?”

She didn't answer. Didn’t feel the need to.

“Why didn’t you ever invite us?” the mother insisted.

She let out a humorless laugh, “What for? So you could criticize everything?”

Tying up the sack, she left the salon.

♥︎

The house was quiet when they got back. The children had fallen asleep in the car, Duke carried one, she carried the other. Neither spoke much, worn out by performing her parents' middle class fantasy.

In the bedroom, she threw the sack into a corner and sat at the end of bed, hair already loose. She tried to reach the dress closure, neither angle did it. Sighing in frustration, she laid on her back, listening to radio Duke turned on in the living room. Soon, the smell of tea filled her senses, he usually didn't have it, but knew she did every night.

Then it clicked. She picked her purse, curious, searching for the velvet box. Not many of her jewelry came in those. Not because her and her husband couldn't afford it, it just wasn't a habit between them.

Inside, there was a pair of earrings. Not loud, not “look at me I'm middle class”, tasteful, chosen by someone who seemed to know her. Underneath, a tiny card with no signature:

For taking care of my son and my grandchildren. Happy birthday.

A tiny smile grew on her face. Sneaky fucker. It was understandable where her man got it from.

The floor creaked behind her, Duke got into the room, party attire replaced by a white undershirt, “What is this?”

“From your father,” she explained, not wishing to prolong it further. Then she closed the box and put it in the drawer, “did you make tea?”

“Did,”

Hollis was the most nervous you’d ever seen him.

He had both hands on the wheel, staring ahead as he drove to your house. He was about to go inside of your house and meet your parents for the first time.

For the occasion, he made himself look nice. He combed his hair thoroughly and wore his nice jacket instead of the usual one he liked to wear that probably had cat hair on it.

“It’s not going to be that bad. They’re just going to ask you a million questions, but I’ll get you outta there and into my room as soon as I can. Don’t worry.” You reassured him.

“What should I not say, do you think?” He asked, looking at you in the corner of his eye.

“Don’t mention the dead animals, maybe.”

°‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·

“I’m home, Mom. Dad. I brought him.” You yelled as you came through the door. Hollis nervously trailed behind you, ducking under the front door so his head wouldn’t hit the top of it.

Your parents were in the living room. Their faces lit up upon seeing Hollis.

“This is Hollis.” You said, motioning to him with a smile on your face.

Hollis put up a hand. “Hello.”

“Hey! (Y/n)’s told me all about you.” Your mom smiled, getting up from the couch. Your Dad got up from the couch as well, extending a hand to him. 

Hollis shook hands with him. “All good things, I hope.” 

Your parents spent about a half an hour talking with Hollis. As nervous as he was, he seemed to carry the conversation well. He even made your dad laugh once, which was shocking. You barely heard him laugh ever.

You were getting tired from all the talking, and you felt like Hollis was too. When you saw an opening, you ended the conversation and took Hollis to your room finally.

“Wooow.” He chuckled when he entered it. It was like the complete opposite of his. It was clean, with a bunch of plushies and pink everywhere. “This is girly.”

“Well I’m a girl, silly.” You hit him playfully. He looked so out of place in your room. His head almost touched the ceiling. 

He walked around, looking at the posters and things on your wall. “Who’s this with you?” He pointed to a polaroid strip. It was a picture of you and a friend. 

“Oh, my old friend. I should take that down already, honestly. She hasn’t talked to me ever since I left college.” You sat down on your bed. “I keep forgetting to ‘cause I’m barely here.”

“I didn’t know you liked anime.” Hollis pointed to a Sailor Moon poster on your wall, raising an eyebrow. “Why did you never tell me?”

“Just never came up, I guess.”

“You’re really as much of a nerd as me.” He chuckled, walking over to sit by you on the bed. “Is that your favorite one?”

“No, I have a whole top ten and everything honestly. But that one has a special place in my heart, for sure.” 

“Should show it to me sometime.” He smiled at you, amused hearing of your interests.

“Nah, it’s too girly for you.” You mocked him playfully. 

He laughed and leaned into you. You grabbed his jaw and kissed him. 

“You know,” he started after you pulled off. “This bed is fucking small. How am I gonna sleep on this?”

You giggled, running a hand through his hair. It was neater than usual. “Nah, you’re too big. My bed is normal sized. If it’s really that bad though, I have a sleeping bag in my closet that’s pretty big that you could use.”

“Eh, I wanna stay up here. Even if my feet are hanging off your bed.”

For the rest of the night, surprisingly, your parents left the two of you alone. You were grateful for that, because you certainly didn’t want them to see the position you were in right now.

Completely underneath him, with your arms around his back and your mouth on his. You hadn’t had a boy like this in your room for years. It was kinda funny how drastically out of place he looked compared to everything else.

He pulled off and began unbuttoning your shirt. “I feel guilty.” 

“Why?” 

“‘Cause I just spent ages talking to your parents, and now I’m in their house about to do this.” He smirked, putting his mouth on your exposed chest, sucking on your nipple.

You yelped at the sudden feeling, a little too loud. You put your hand over your mouth afterwards and giggled.

“Shhh.” He playfully shushed you and went back to fondling your breasts and licking your nipple.

He trailed down to your shorts and pulled them off, getting in between your legs. He quickly pulled your panties off and latched himself to your wetness. 

He rubbed his tongue slowly around your clit, taking his time with it. The gentleness of it only turned you on more. Your toes curled on the bed.

You whined softly when he switched between sucking hard and flicking his tongue on your cunt. It never failed to send shockwaves of pleasure through your body. 

And he looked so content doing so. His eyes were closed, and his hair fell slightly over his face. He swept it behind his ear and continued. 

When your lower half started shaking slightly, he got off and started pulling his pants down. He pulled his dick out and rubbed his tip against the outside of your pussy. 

“You seem so eager for somebody who feels so, nngh, guilty—” You laughed breathlessly, the laugh turning into a broken moan when he slid in.

He took your leg and put it over his shoulder. “Gonna be able to keep it down?” He smirked, fucking you into your bed. This position always let him reach so deep in you. 

You kept your hand over your mouth, covering all the noises that came out when he sped up. The bed creaked and it made you blush. 

“Fuck, you’re so wet right now…” He said under his breath. He bit his lip when you made eye contact with him. He licked his fingers and brought them to your pussy to rub it in time with his thrusts. He rubbed your clit fast and a wet sound echoed through the room.

You took your hand off of your face. “Nngh, stop.”

“Why stop?”

“I’m gonna cum so hard if you do that…”

“What a shame that would be.” He chuckled, rubbing your clit vigorously and thrusting in fast. “Gonna cum all over me?”

“Mmhm.” You nodded and whined. 

“I’m gonna cum inside you. That okay?” He leaned down to kiss you on the mouth and look you in the eye. “Is it safe?”

You nodded once more. Your eyes began to roll back and your mouth hung open as your orgasm rapidly approached due to his rough rubbing on your clit. “Fuck, I’m cumming—!!” 

You squirted on his dick for the very first time. You immediately covered your face in embarrassment. Before you did, you saw Hollis’ face lit up.

“Oh fuck—" He gripped your waist and chased his orgasm. He seemed very turned on by what you just did. He grunted when cum shot out of his cock inside of you. He stayed in the deepest part of you during the whole thing, only pulling out when he was completely done.

He spread your pussy almost immediately, watching his cum trickle out. His thumb caressed your wet clit. “Mm, I love this.” He gave it a quick kiss. “I’m the luckiest fucking man alive.” He said softly, a dopey, tired smile on his face.

“You’re the loudest man alive. You forget we’re at my house? They definitely heard us.” You giggled, hiding your flushed face behind your hand.

Hollis got up and grabbed a nearby towel. “You didn’t seem to care. Got me all wet.” 

°‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·

Hollis was, in fact, too big for your bed. You slept like normal, but he was stuck trying to sleep in a fetal position so his feet weren’t hanging off the bed. 

When you woke up, he was standing beside the bed, stretching while groaning. 

“Good morning.” You rubbed the sleep out of your eye, looking up at him. 

“Morning. At least you looked like you slept well.” He grabbed his shirt from the floor and put it on.

“I told you, you could’ve slept in my sleeping bag.”

“You were probably right on that one. But I wanted to be next to you.” He admitted.

As Hollis was putting his pants on and you were getting up from the bed as well, a knock at the door startled you both.

“Uh, I‘m changing!” You yelled to whoever it was.

“Breakfast is ready when you want it.” It was your mother.

“Thanks mom.” You yelled again, looking at Hollis and smiling after. “You up for my mom’s famous pancakes?” 

°‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·

After eating breakfast, Hollis took you to where he had planned to take you to today. It was a nice sunny late morning by then. 

He took you to an entrance of a forest that you didn’t recognize. It was close to his house, but in the opposite direction of where you usually hung out with him.

“It’s in here.” He grabbed your hand, leading you through the woods. The sun shone through the trees above. “This…is what I wanted to do today.”

Going through a few rough bushes, you were met with a scene of a small boat near the edge of a big lake. You didn’t even realize you could access this lake from here, or perhaps you never knew because you never walked through this forest before. “You’re taking me on a boat ride?”

“Yep.” Hollis walked over to the boat, stepping in it. “How ‘bout it?”

You walked over and joined him on the boat. You laughed at him fiddling with the oars, trying to steer it away from the edge instead of hitting it. 

The sound of the water as you floated across the lake with him was so relaxing, you felt like you could take a nap there if the boat wasn’t slightly covered in dirt. 

“Oh, look at that.” Hollis pointed to a fish, belly up on the top of the lake. “Poor thing.”

“I wonder why fish float up to the top when they die.” 

“When their bodies decompose, the bacteria in their guts create gas. That’s what makes them float.” 

“Huh. Of course you’d know that.” You snickered.

“Someone has to be the death encyclopedia around here.” He dug through his bag, and got out a water bottle to drink. He handed it to you afterwards.

“I have a random question. Well, not that random, but…”

“What is it?”

“How did you get into your hobby? The wet specimens, and all the death sort of things.”

“Ironically, it all started here.”

Your eyebrows raised. “Really?”

“Yeah. It’s a long childhood story.”

°‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·

It happened when Hollis was around eight years old. 

“Hollis, don’t go running off by yours–”

Hollis’ mother’s speech was cut off by her shock at what she had seen in front of her.

Hollis had found a dead deer. He was kneeling in front of it, playing with its body with a stick. “I think something bad happened to it, Mom.”

His mother quickly came over to where he was and yanked him away from it. “Why are you playing with it? Don’t do that. You could get diseases, or something. Come on, let’s go home.”

His mother brought him to this forest to play almost every week. She would take him on a boat ride and teach him how to fish. But every time they would come, there would be a dead animal that Hollis would take interest in. 

He’d see fish with their bellies up on top of the water, and stare at it for longer than the average person usually does.

His eyes would travel to the dead squirrel by one of the trees they passed by on the way to the lake.

He had to resist the urge to pick up a dead bird and place it back into the nest it came from so he wouldn’t make his mother mad.

When he was a little older, he took it a bit further than before. 

While his mother was setting up the boat, Hollis snuck away to where a white rabbit was, barely breathing. It wasn’t like the other animals he had seen in this forest before, it was still alive. He kneeled down and reached out a cautious hand towards it. He pet the rabbit, softly caressing the top of it. 

He couldn’t let it go. He didn’t want to. Before his mother noticed his absence, he grabbed the rabbit and snuck it into his bag. 

He couldn’t believe she didn’t notice the whole time he was there, not even when they went back to the house. He had gone into the backyard and pulled the rabbit out of his bag. It was still alive. 

He knew the rabbit didn’t have much time left. And yet, he still took care of it over the course of the next few days. He’d sneak out to the backyard, telling his mother he was just playing outside, nothing about what he was actually up to. 

On the final day, he had come to check on the rabbit and it’s eyes were closed. At first, he thought it was just sleeping. But its limbs were limp and it wasn’t breathing. He couldn’t help but cry. He had never witnessed a death like this up close, it fascinated and upset him. The rabbit was still beautiful, even in death.

He knew it wasn’t going to look like this forever though.  

He’d read all about it before. Ways of preserving things, so that they look the same even when they’re gone. He had to act fast.

On a day when his mother wasn’t home, he took the rabbit’s deceased body and encased it in solution, injecting it with fixatives to preserve the body. 

He kept it hidden from his mom, initially. He didn't know how to tell her about this weird hobby that he had taken up. It wasn’t until he did it again but with a rodent that she found out. 

“What is this, Hollis? Did you do this?” She kneeled in front of him, holding the jar in her hands. 

Hollis' head was in his knees. He was embarrassed of his hobby being discovered so suddenly, instead of showing it to her himself when he wanted to. 

“I’m not mad at you, I just wanna know what this is. Is it real?” 

Hollis lifted his head up and nodded. 

“You’ve been keeping this in my house?”

“It’s not just that one.” He sighed. 

Hollis explained what he had been doing. Everything about the process, just why he wanted to, how it was safe. Her face was blank at the end. His lower lip quivered, he feared she was about to tell him to throw them out.

“I’m just glad you found something you like.” 

That was all Hollis’ mom had to say about his unusual hobby. She didn’t say anything when more turned up and had been put on display in his room. She was just happy that Hollis had found something he was passionate about.

°‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·

“Wait, so you’re the one who made all of those wet specimens in your room?”

Hollis nodded. “Yeah, it was me for the most part. Some of the rarer ones were from other people, but a good chunk of them I made myself.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You chuckled in disbelief. 

“It was still early, I didn’t wanna freak you out too much. You know how I am now, so I figured I’d take you here and tell you about it.”

“What’s up with this lake though, why is there always dead animals? I remember seeing one on the way in, now that you mention it.”

“I don’t really know. I used to make up a story in my head about it, that it was cursed by a vengeful spirit or something. Like somebody had died in the lake from a terrible bullying incident, and now haunts the area. I had a pretty active imagination as a child.”

“That would make sense though.” You giggled. You glanced at the sky. The sun was shining right down onto the two of you. “It’s a pretty lake. Despite all of that.”

For the rest of the time, you guys shared a cigarette and talked while the boat floated across the lake. Hollis had dared you to jump in and take a quick swim, and you were about to do it until you really got a good look at how dirty the water was. 

After spending a good few hours hanging out there, you guys walked back to the car. Hollis suggested taking a nap together at his place. You could tell he just wanted to get caught up on the sleep that he missed because of your small bed, but you took him up on the offer because you were a little tired too.

You stared a little harder at the wet specimens in his room now, knowing that he had made them with his own hands. 

 ࿔*:･ﾟᨒ↟ 

You miss, among so many things, his smile, the resolute way the soft sound slipped from his lips, now seeming so distant that the memory almost burns.

You watch, through the darkness of the room, Junho struggling to catch his breath, sitting on the edge of his side of the bed, his broad back expanding as his uneven breathing frees him from a nightmare. You turn on the lamp, the golden light reflecting off the ring you left on the wooden surface.

You move behind Junho, intertwining your hands in front of his chest, your head resting on his back, your palms feeling the frantic beat of his desperate heart.

He places his hands over yours, clinging to the comfort you provide, glancing sideways at his own ring resting on the table. The silent reminder of a promise made almost two years ago.

“It was just another bad dream, don’t worry,” you say, your voice pressing against his back, his skin damp with the sweat only those nightmares bring. Though you know they are more than nightmares, the memories stretch the torment farther than expected.

Junho exhales a long, defeated sigh as he lies back on the bed. You settle beside him, high enough on the mattress for him to bury his face in your chest. He clings to you, almost melting his humanity into your skin, while you wrap him in your arms, shielding him from distant ghosts, from cursed and painful memories.

Another night, one of many. As they have been for the past two years since you married, since you began sleeping beside him, since you noticed how his smile was fading.

There are traces of your husband, the man you fell in love with, the one with curious eyes and a wide smile, but the days his face is shadowed are more frequent… and it hurts. Every night of nightmares hurts because you can’t help him reclaim himself. Inho took a small part of Junho when he left, but Junho lost much more than expected on that island.

You know what Junho went through: the murders, the infiltration, the games… Inho… the gunshot… the misery of the younger brother being attacked by the one who should have protected him; you see it often in his eyes. The memory seems to pierce him like a cold dagger.

Junho’s breathing slows; you watch him sleep against your chest, his legs curled, tangled with yours. You wish you could cover him completely, tuck him into a small box where fears can’t reach him, but the most you can do is caress his back and hair, hug him with the warmth of someone who loves him, someone who promised to stay by his side while placing a ring on his finger.

Away from work, detached from old friends, he has become a hermit immersed in cartography, often visiting the pier to explore the ocean with a bitter old man. He is less than a shadow; Junho walks as the remnants of who he used to be.

Another night, with a routine as dark as the memories Junho carries, memories burdening a fragmented, obsessive mind.

******

The sunlight slips delicately through the curtains, the warmth of golden streaks melting against your back as you lie wrapped in sheets, yawning and adjusting your pillow.

You open your eyes drowsily; not every night do you manage to sleep, especially when Junho wakes up agitated, but it’s what it is, because you prefer sleepless nights to nights without him. Love can be as comforting as it is harmful, but routine can feel as suffocating as prison. Trapped in the consequences of your own choices, as if you had chosen to do wrong, you wake every day under the weight of shadows chasing Junho.

You watch him leave the bathroom, dressed casually, hair neatly combed, walking to his side of the bed to take the ring from the table and slide it onto his ring finger. He gives you a morning kiss, his large hands around your waist, his face pressing against your neck, his nose inhaling your scent, your fragrance fueling his day, and his embrace a silent apology.

“You don’t have to get like that,” you whisper, cupping his cheeks, kissing his forehead, “it’s nothing wrong, it will pass.”

He smiles easily, because he does when he feels protected, because he’s with you, because he has control of his life… at least during the day. At night, as the moon rises and the sky darkens, Junho’s mind becomes restless.

“I lost much of myself, but at least I found you,” he says, his hand reaching your cheek, lips leaving a soft kiss on yours. The warm sensation of his wet breath on your skin, the shadow above his lip brushing yours, it feels much more like the Junho you know.

It’s not the life he wants, not what he strived for after years of hard work, sleepless nights, night patrols. And it’s not the life he wants to give you. The hope of a gentle, domestic routine fades as days pass, as his moods swing between outbursts and despair. He tries to recover, to ignore the vivid scenarios in his mind, though it’s exhausting. He manages to reach serenity at times, especially when he’s been away, focused on work, yet resentment lingers when he sees a police patrol pass by, a stark reminder of what he left behind.

But he looks at you, so serene and fragile; his melancholy seems to consume you quietly, at the cost of your own happiness. But you refuse to feel that, refuse the fact that all his wavering bitterness affects you somehow, because in the end, the hopeful light brings you back to the surface, the light reminding you of the days spent sitting by his hospital bed, at the mercy of a high-pitched monitor beep.

You smile, that comforting smile that seems to dispel the darkness between you, pushing both of you back to reality, to his work and yours. Outside the house, you watch him walk down the street while you take a different path, your steps calm through your neighborhood. The sun is hidden by clouds, yet the day is bright, a comforting reminder that the catalyst of vigor isn’t always visible.

In recent weeks, you’ve been helping your friend at her restaurant, lending a hand during her pregnancy. You take orders or clear tables, small tasks that don’t interfere with your work, offering both a bit of company. You glance at your phone; midday has fallen, and you hadn’t even noticed—the days lately seem to run away, slipping through your hands.

“He’s so cute,” your friend says, wiping a table, “my husband would never come see me like this at work.”

You smile while collecting the dishes, glancing across the street at Junho in his uniform, working on tickets. He does this maybe three times a week, making sure to park near where you are, keeping an eye on you, cautious or obsessive, either works if it keeps him distracted, away from thoughts of that island.

“You and Junho haven’t thought about…?” your friend asks, pointing to her pronounced belly, but you only shake your head, avoiding the question. You tried, but your health wasn’t suitable for pregnancy, and much less with a husband whose priorities differed. Still, after two years together, you dreamed of little feet running through the house… but not with Junho in this state.

You look back at the street, feeling as if you haven’t seen him in days, your heart ignoring that you said goodbye just hours ago. You watch him closely, your husband standing tall, serious, issuing a ticket to another man. You can’t believe you find him so attractive in uniform; your heart still races from afar, as if he weren’t yours, distant and unattainable, because despite years and a marriage, you never get used to having him with you, you fear it’s a dream you’ll wake from, finding him cold and motionless in a hospital bed.

And then, your eyes meet, his dark gaze locking with yours, so kind that you forget your troubles, returning his smile, feeling warmth like that morning. He’s there, in front of you, and your heart fills with heat at his gesture. Bad days, good days, mediocre days… and this is one of the good days, because Junho crosses the street under the pretense of lunch, just to spend time with you.

Face to face, trays full of soup or whatever, food doesn’t matter, not when you have your Junho talking about all the reckless people without helmets or expired licenses, not when he tells you about the young man he’s training. Junho’s expression is gentle, serene, as if he had no sleepless nights, as if for a moment his mind is free from any painful memory. These are the days when both of you are just a normal married couple, free from burdens and worries.

******

You allow yourself a moment of ease as Junho corners you against the bedroom wall, his hands tracing paths of desire, lips leaving wet marks on your neck. He murmurs incoherently while lifting you onto the bed, stripping you bare against the cold sheets, his lips descending to the exquisite center of your femininity. You arch your back, fingers tangling in his hair as he paints ambitious strokes across your body, decorating every curve with his saliva and passion. His arms around your thighs, fingers digging into your skin, his insistence pushing you to the edge.

It’s something he often does, in a burst of impulsiveness perhaps, taking you home midday, claiming you in the bedroom or the sofa, once on the kitchen floor, another time from behind in the dining room, but he makes you his, almost reminding you he will be there for you, just as you’ve been for him.

You feel him inside you, his ecstasy like burning cords collapsing within, while you cling to his back, as he growls, wrinkling the sheet beneath his fingers. A kiss on the shoulder and a compliment, to turn you over and continue his thrusts, as if emerging from a trance, as if he hadn’t touched your body in years. He loses himself inside you, anxiety fading with every stroke, hands resting on your hips, a loud smack with one hand, another sliding down your back, forcing your face into the pillows. The electricity is overwhelming, coursing through your legs and stomach, consuming you in the need to be touched by him, in the delicious sensation of him hitting that soft spot until the bundle of ecstasy inside you bursts again, leaving you trembling beneath him as he releases his second wave inside you.

He reclines, taking you with him, caressing your shoulder, kissing your back as a reward, while you catch your breath, trying to ignore the constant sound of his phone, the alarm he sets at least once a week… the damn alarm.

“Are you going today?” you ask between gasps. Junho keeps his lips on your shoulder, breath catching… and you shake your head, a tired laugh escaping, “fine, go.”

He kisses your cheek, rising with agility, excited like a child, searching for his clothes in the room.

You know where he’s going, rolled-up sleeves, loose jeans, messy hair, grabbing his backpack and slipping on shoes by the door, a smile on his face as he kisses you goodbye, his hand smacking your ass, making you laugh out loud.

“Go already, pervert,” you laugh, pushing him out.

“Earlier it didn’t seem to bother you,” he teases before turning and leaving.

******

Days pass; Junho sleeps well or poorly, depending on the day, depending on the weather. Unpredictable, certainly, but you can live with it, with this fragmented part of him, with this patched routine, carefully assembled in your little world with him.

One day at a time, another day leaving the house, kissing you like he’s drawing your soul out, another day parking his car in front of your friend’s restaurant just to watch you, another day giving tickets, and you bite your lip seeing him so serious, even if a girl flirted blatantly with him, because he maintains composure, handing over the ticket with the hand wearing the ring… another day…

But calm is never permanent; silence in the woods always warns of trouble. After Junho gives a ticket, his boss appears on site.

You don’t understand what he says, but Junho’s deep sigh and tense shoulders speak volumes. He sits with his former boss in the restaurant; the boss scolds him, telling him to return to the station, leave his current work, but he meets the gaze sternly, spilling a stream of reasons why his current job is better. Brazen, almost irreverent, yet convincing.

“Don’t you see what you’re doing to your wife? She married a detective but ends up living with a man who quit his job,” his boss chastises, pleading for reason. “With all that potential, is this the life you want to give her?”

Junho stares rigid, impassive, though his eyes flick toward you, counting money at the register, pretending not to hear. For a moment, you notice something in his face, a glimpse of disappointment, of abandoned humanity, latent fragility. Memories are fragile too; you don’t recall exactly how Junho approached you when he decided to quit, but you sided with him; he’d been through a lot after waking from the coma, interrogations, bosses questioning his decisions, misuse of his weapon, conducting an undercover operation without authorization… all disbelieved, labeled obsessive, ruining his self-perception, disappointing the system he’d wanted to join since childhood.

“This is the life we both want, the life we were dealt when my credibility was questioned,” Junho says flatly, slurping noodles with indifference.

“Again with that,” his boss complains dramatically, “I told you I gave everything for you to the captain, I…”

“You already told me, no need to repeat it,” Junho dismisses, a little humor in his tone. His boss seems to give up, and Junho smiles, trying to calm the waters. “I’m fine, trust me. No evidence, no case, and here I have plenty… I’m fine where I am.”

“I’m not,” the man grumbles but does not insist, not to the retired detective in front of him, who hides a quiet laugh.

It’s painful; deep down, you sense Junho’s melancholy for his job, for what he was, because it seems the effort to rebuild his life was in vain, because he seemed to collapse overnight. You fervently wish you could piece him back together, mend his bruised self, but the whirlpool of his mind and heart escapes your understanding, and your limitation is frustrating.

The day has been long; after the conversation, Junho returns to the station, changing his uniform, looking in the mirror at what he is -or thinks he is. He feels alien in his body; the man in the mirror seems a complete stranger carrying all his bitterness, the shoulder wound left by his own brother. Traces of his former self linger, disturbed and lost, but over time, he finds clarity, embracing his new identity, learning to live with it.

Obstacles remain endless; if not his boss, it’s his mother. Days pass, bringing the anniversary of his sister-in-law’s funeral, the perfect excuse for his mother to summon him home.

The day is clear; the sun hits the concrete, trees surrounding the orderly graves. You link arms with Junho, who holds a small bouquet. He receives a call; your mother-in-law laments on the other end. You hear her as you get closer to him, noticing his preemptive disappointment.

You know, as much as he does, that his brother won’t visit his late wife, confirmed when you see the dried flowers on the grave. Junho reluctantly replaces them, his rough touch leaving the flowers aside. His gaze scans old photos of his brother. You observe too, Inho and his wife, so close, so melancholic… almost like you and Junho. A shiver runs down your spine, and you inhale deeply at the thought that maybe, if life allowed, you could end up like them…

“Don’t even think about it,” murmurs Junho, voice dry, gripping your hand firmly, eyes never leaving the photos, “I’m not like him,” his voice deep, melancholy laced with certainty, a trace of disappointment grown over the years, bubbling resentment dissipated by distant memories.

“I know,” you cling to him, face nestled against his chest. You are safe, between his arms, against the steady beat of his heart, against the vow to stay by your side, no matter what.

Hours later, you serve food to your mother-in-law in the small dining space of her apartment. Silence is palpable, cold, awkward. Surrounded by framed photos you’ve seen before, you distract yourself with them, the family, your Junho smiling beside his mother, and in between, the damned Inho… Wherever he is, his family suffers, fractured in endless lament, in senseless searching.

“I can’t believe he didn’t visit her,” your mother-in-law laments, Junho looking overwhelmed. You fetch your plate, placing it at the table, he watches you, tired eyes following.

You sit beside your husband, caressing his thigh in a vain attempt to soothe his bubbling stress, but his mother’s words don’t help. The conversation becomes tense as she expresses sorrow, the constant worry about her eldest son (not even hers biologically), thinking of all he’s done for them, the kidney he gave Junho…

“He saved his life doing that,” she cries. “And I didn’t help when your sister-in-law was sick… he would have sold his kidney on the black market to pay for her treatment.”

Junho’s patience snaps; he protests loudly, voice raised.

“You’re saying it would have been better if I were dead?” His complaint unfounded, disappointment almost breaking his voice. “He accepted the bribe; Inho only suffers the consequences of his actions.”

Your mother-in-law keeps crying, out of tissues, so you rise for more, colliding with the cabinet with photos, the crash startling everyone. One portrait wobbles, and as you straighten it, a photo of young Junho is in your hands. Your mother-in-law recognizes it, her biological son who is still with her.

The meal continues silently; Junho eats tensely, muscles firm as he handles chopsticks. You glance at your mother-in-law, occasionally observing the photo.

“He was so sweet as a child,” you try to calm the situation, Junho glancing at you, nodding softly. “He has the same striking eyes.”

“Yes,” his mother responds. “Always very trusting,” a smile appears.

“Some things don’t fade,” you whisper, caressing Junho’s shoulder.

“When do you plan on having kids?”

“Mom…”

“Soon,” you interrupt. “For now, I’m helping a friend with her pregnancy; I want to dedicate myself fully to our child when the time comes…”

“Yes… you’re too thin and pale now; you should eat more,” she offers a protein tray. The rest of dinner goes smoothly, as if the argument never happened, as if Inho never disappeared leaving a deep hole of sorrow in that family, in your family.

Back home, in your small corner of peace, Junho strokes your hair while trying to sleep, and you lie pressed to him, feeling the flutter in his chest, sensing the storm brewing in his mind.

“What are you thinking?” your voice vibrates through his clothes, a tickling weight.

“Do you want kids?” His voice is hoarse, doubt and fear spilling through his words. You answer without hesitation:

“You know I do,” you pause, “but you still insist on using a condom, and last time you didn’t, you knew I wasn’t ovulating… it’s like you don’t want to.”

Junho doesn’t answer; for the first time, he has no words. Between the two of you, he’s usually best with them, yet now seems utterly lost. Misunderstanding stings your heart without knowing why; his silence burns your chest.

“The games start in a week,” he breaks the silence. “I saw Gihun again…”

“No,” you sit on the bed. “No, no, no, Junho…”

“It’s my last chance,” he grabs your shoulders, pleading with your mercy.

“You almost died last time, Junho,” you exclaim, voice cracking. “Your brother shot you.”

“This time it’s different… I won’t go alone, it’s planned in detail and…”

“I’d rather you didn’t go.” Your lip trembles; after so much, you feel he has betrayed your trust, crossed an unspoken line. You wonder why he seemed less stressed these days—because when you thought he was recovering, he was actually regressing rapidly.

Tears sting your eyes, chest tight, Junho’s arms encaging you, protecting you from his own reckless choices.

“It’s my last chance to get him back,” he whispers in your ear, but it doesn’t comfort you. On the contrary, you wish deeply…

“…your brother were dead; without Inho, you wouldn’t have to risk yourself again.” The words came out with such disdain they had bypassed your mind.

Junho tenses, slowly letting go of your body, as overwhelmed by your words as you are.

“I didn’t mean that…” you try to mend the misstep.

“I think you did,” he watches you, momentarily disappointed, as if you had broken his heart in anger.

“Sorry,” you take his hand; he pulls away. The feeling of being unreciprocated burns your chest, and you feel shattered, as years ago, rejected.

“I’ll come back safe this time; I have everything covered,” his conviction is dangerous. You know his resolve is deeply rooted, the same reason you fell for him and the same reason he distances himself now.

A silence grows, dense enough to weigh on the chest.

“Don’t die,” you suddenly whisper, tears falling. “I don’t want anything bad to happen to you again.”

Junho empathizes, understanding your outburst is nothing but fear, pain from a specific past event, and regrets having pushed you away even for a moment.

He wipes your tears with his thumbs, cups your cheeks, leaving kisses across your face and neck before wrapping you as if you were a relic, holding you tightly as he kisses your temple.

“I swear I’ll return, safe this time,” his voice lulls you, and his embrace is so warm that your anguish slowly dissipates as you sink into a deep sleep surrounded by his arms and scent…

When dawn breaks, it hurts to see him leave, grab his backpack, adjust the black gloves and holstered weapon. It’s as if he grew a few centimeters overnight, forehead high, shoulders firm, gaze cold, no trace of insecurity. Junho is comfortable in his own skin, dressed to do what he has trained for years.

You step forward to fix his collar, brush strands from his forehead. He looks at you with deep sweetness, contained longing.

“I’ll stay in touch; don’t worry,” he kisses the back of your hand, almost poetic.

⊹

There were seven of them.

Seven loud, annoying ass, inseparable boys who took up too much space at every party, every hallway, and every parking lot. They were always together, skateboards under their arms, half-finished coca-cola cans in their hands, laughter echoing too loudly through college apartments that definitely couldn’t fit all of them.

You really weren’t supposed to be part of them. Even thought they we’re weird at first.

The first time they saw you, you were standing alone at some shady off-campus house party.

You were leaning against the kitchen counter in low rise jeans and a baby tee, flipping your pink bedazzled Motorola shut and open again because you didn’t know what else to do with your hands.

It was Sunghoon who noticed first. “Why is she by herself? She looks nice.” And then all seven of them ended up standing in front of you like a mildly intimidating boyband.

You don’t remember how, but that night you were adopted into their friendgroup.

You’d been with them ever since.

Especially Riki.

—

You and Riki were never stable.

You were either disgustingly in love or dramatically broken up. There was no in-between.

You’d ‘break up’ over anything:

Because he didn’t call you back fast enough. You helped another guy with his homework. He didn’t let you borrow his clothes. You told him smoking was unattractive.

And once because spilled an entire cup of Sprite on your Juicy Couture bag, which you spent your entire salary on.

You cried like a baby. He’d rolled his eyes and said, “It’s just a bag. Get a new one.”

You didn’t speak to him for a week.

The friend group suffered… Riki got quieter. You got meaner. The air felt heavy every time you were in the same room.

Until Jungwon snapped.

“I can’t do this,” he’d said, rubbing his temples. “You two are exhausting. Apologize. Now.”

You tried to act careless but you both folded in under five minutes and ended up in your bedroom.

—

You hated being called popular, but you weren’t invisible.

People knew you.

You had that early-2000s glow. Glossy lips, hoop earrings, low-rise everything. Professors remembered your name. Girls whispered about you. Boys stared a little too long.

Riki? He had baggy jeans sagged so low you could always see which brand of underwear he was wearing, Calvin Klein most days, sometimes something knockoff that you’d tease him about constantly.

“Pull them up,” you’d hiss in the middle of the mall, grabbing the waistband of his jeans and yanking it higher. “You’re embarrassing me.”

He’d just grin, completely unbothered.

“Why? You don’t like my boxers?”

“I don’t like that everyone else can see them.”

He’d lean closer, smoke still lingering faintly on his breath. “I don’t care.”

And then he’d glance down at your hips.

Low rise jeans. A tiny strip of pink lace peeking out when you moved. Belly piercing glinting under the mall lights.

“Oh,” he’d mock, tugging lightly at the strip of your thong on your hip, making it snap back. “And that’s modest?”

You’d swat his hand away. “That’s fashion.”

“Mine is too.”

“You look homeless.”

“You look like a hooker.”

“I do not. You asshole.”

You’d both be smiling by the end of it.

—

It’s one of those perfect late mid-August afternoons.

The sun is low and orange. Everything smells like hot pavement, sunscreen, and cigarettes. The entire city feels outside, kids with scraped knees, girls in denim skirts, boys shirtless with skateboards tucked under their arms.

The skatepark is loud.

Wheels scraping. Laughter echoing. Music playing from someone’s brand new portable speaker.

The whole friend group is there and Riki insisted you’d come too.

His white tank top clinging slightly to his back from sweat. Wired headphones dangling out of the pocket from his jeans. A cigarette tucked behind his ear, which you hate.

Heeseung is beside him, attempting something reckless off a skating ramp.

They take turns.

They hype each other up.

They shove each other when one of them almost eats concrete.

You’re sitting on top of the half-pipe, legs dangling over the edge, flip-flops hanging loosely off your toes. The smallest top imaginable clings to your torso more lace than fabric, blue jeans sit dangerously on your hips, held in place by a big bedazzled belt.

Riki had absolutely hated the top.

“That’s not a shirt,” he said earlier.

“It is.”

“It looks like a bra.”

“It’s hot outside.”

“It’s hot for me too.”

“Then take your shirt off.”

He gave you a glare, you walked ahead anyway.

Now you’re bored.

Bored and slightly irritate because you’ve already watched him light up two cigarettes.

Two.

And you hate when he smokes. Hate the smell. Hate the way it makes his voice raspier. Hate how casual he is about it.

And he knows that, but he does it anyway. Which makes it worse.

He skates toward you suddenly, rolling to a stop between your knees. One hand presses to the ramp beside your thigh, the other still holding his board.

“You look grumpy,” he says, squinting up at you against the sun.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

He leans forward and kisses your forehead anyway.

Then he pushes off again before you can respond.

You sigh.

You’re melting. You’re bored. And you’re watching your boyfriend risk concussions for fun.

Amazing.

Then Heeseung has an even more amazing idea.

“Teach her something,” he says, nodding toward you.

Riki looks up immediately.

You narrow your eyes.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

He’s already skating toward you again.

“Come on,” he says, grabbing your hand. “It’s easy.”

“It’s not easy.”

“It is.”

“I’m wearing slippers.”

“Then take them off.”

You gasp like he’s insane.

He grins.

“Baby, I’ll hold you.”

Everyone’s watching now.

Jay whistles from somewhere near the fence. Sunghoon pretends to wipe a tear from his eye. Sunoo is already smiling like something crazy embarrassing is about to happen.

“If I fall and ruin my outfit,” you warn, pointing a manicured finger at him, “I’ll kill you.”

He laughs. “You won’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

You step onto the skateboard and it wobbles instantly.

You grab his hands.

“Why is it moving?”

“Because it has wheels.”

“Yeah, no shit.”

He positions himself in front of you, holding both your hands firmly.

“Okay,” he says, focused now. “Just bend your knees a little. Then pop the tail and slide your foot up.”

“Pop what?”

“The back.”

“I don’t know what that means Riki.”

He laughs softly.

“It’s fine. I’ve got you.”

You glare. “You better.”

He counts you down.

“One. Two—”

You jump.

The board flips sideways instead of up.

Your foot lands wrong.

His grip slips and suddenly you’re falling. You hit the concrete with a very embarrassing thud.

There’s a split second of silence, then there’s Laughter.

Sunoo’s laugh is the worst. High and dramatic and absolutely unnecessary.

You sit up slowly, hair in your face, pride completely shattered.

Riki is crouching immediately. “Are you okay?”

You stare at him.

“Did you catch me?”

“I tried—”

“You did not.”

He bites back a smile.

You gasp.

“Don’t you dare laugh.”

He fails. Just a little chuckle, but that’s it for you.

You stand up, brushing off your jeans dramatically.

“I’m done.”

“Baby—”

“No.”

You grab your slippers and stomp back toward the half-pipe.

Sunoo is still giggling when you sit down beside him.

“I’d like to see you try next time,” you snap.

Sunoo chuckles. “I would never fall like that.”

“You absolutely would.”

“I have natural balance.”

“You have natural dramatics.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You wanna bet?”

You both dissolve into a stupid little argument about who would survive longer on a skateboard.

It almost distracts you from Riki.

Almost.

Until you glance over and see some random guy offering Riki a joint.

And Riki… takes it?

Your stomach drops.

He laughs at something the stranger says. Throws his head back slightly. That boxy grin that made you like him in the first place.

Your jaw tightens.

Sunoo is still talking beside you.

“…and then I’d definitely land it because— helloo? Are you even listening?”

You aren’t. Your eyes are locked on Riki.

Then a girl loses control of her board and swerves straight into him.

She stumbles forward and Riki catches her.

One hand at her waist on instinct.

You feel it before you even think, that little sting in your chest.

He lets her go immediately.

“You good?” he asks casually.

She laughs. “Yeah, thanks.”

She lingers half a second too long.

That’s it. That’s your last straw. You’re already on your feet. Sunoo reaches for your wrist. “Wait—”

Too late. You walk fast, hips swaying, chin lifted, eyes low and dangerous.

Riki doesn’t even notice until you’re right in front of him.

You grab his arm and tug him away from the small group of strangers.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

He blinks. “What?”

“I said what do you think you’re doing.” you repeat, quieter but sharper.

He genuinely looks confused. “Nothing?”

You look at the joint still between his fingers.

Without breaking eye contact, you reach up, snatch it from him, drop it to the ground and grind it into the concrete with your heel.

“Are you serious right now?” he mutters.

“Oh, I’m serious.” you snap.

He runs a hand through his hair. “What is your problem?”

“My problem?” Your voice rises. “You’ve smoked, like, five cigarettes today. And now this? Oh and you’re just touching girls?”

His head jerks back. “Touching girls?”

“You literally had your hands all over her waist.”

“She ran into me.”

“And you had to grab her like that?”

“She was falling.”

You let out a sharp, humorless laugh.

“Keep it down,” he says under his breath. “Not everyone needs to know you’re mad at me again.”

That does it.

“Oh, I’m embarrassing you?!” you fire back. “You weren’t embarrassed five seconds ago.”

He steps closer, lowering his voice. “You’re making a scene.”

“You’re smoking in front of me after I told you I hate it.”

He exhales hard. “It’s my choice.”

“Oh my God.”

“It’s called free will,” he adds, clearly irritated now.

You stare at him.

“Right,” you say flatly. “So you just do whatever you want.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“You were all up on her.”

“She bumped into me.”

“You didn’t have to hold her like that.”

He scoffs. “Like what?”

“Like—” You stop yourself before you say something dramatic.

He shakes his head. “You’re overreacting.”

You feel your chest tighten.

“Am I?” you ask quietly.

“Yes.”

Silence hangs between you. Then he makes the mistake.

He gestures vaguely at you.

“And don’t act like you’re not out here in that top all day.”

Your eyes widen.

“What about my top?”

“It’s too revealing.”

You laugh once. Sharp. Disbelieving.

“So now this is my fault?”

“I’m just saying—”

“You’re just saying what?” you cut him off. “That I deserve it?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“But you thought it.”

He looks frustrated now. “You can’t tell me what I thought.”

“You can’t tell me I’m overreacting.”

“You are tho.”

Your face goes cold.

“Okay.”

You step back.

“Okay,” you repeat.

He frowns slightly. “Where are you going?”

“Home.”

He grabs your wrist once.

“Don’t leave.”

“Whatever.” You say and you turn and walk away.

You expect footsteps. You expect him to call your name. You expect him to follow you like he always does.

You walk past the fence, the group of boys, past Sunoo’s wide eyes. And still nothing.

You finally glance back and your stomach drops.

He’s back on his board like nothing happened.

Like he isn’t supposed to chase you.

And that hurts more than the cigarette, more than the girl, more than the argument. Because in your head, he’s supposed to follow you and beg you to stay. But instead he just skates.’

—

By nine o’clock it’s almost completely dark, the last bit of orange fading out of the sky. Your room is lit by the glow of your TV, candles and the small lamp on your nightstand. You’re curled up in bed in soft pajamas, a plate of brownies balanced on your stomach while Clueless plays for what might be the hundredth time.

Your flip phone has been buzzing the last half hour.

Four missed calls.

Ten texts.

You’ve read none of them, you refuse to.

Then you hear A small tick against your window.

You pause mid-chew.

Another one.

And then a third.

You sit up slowly, pushing the plate aside and sliding out of bed. The floor is cool under your feet as you walk toward the window and pull the blinds apart.

Riki is standing in the street below, hands filled with tiny rocks to throw, looking up at your room like he’s been waiting for you to appear. When he sees your face, he waves casually, like this is completely normal behavior.

You stare at him for two seconds.

Then you shut the blinds and walk straight back to your bed.

Your phone buzzes again immediately.

You don’t check it.

A few seconds pass.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

You exhale sharply and shuffle back to the window, throwing the blinds open this time and sliding the window up.

“What?” you hiss down at him.

“You need to let me in,” he says like it’s obvious.

“I don’t want to talk to you.”

“But I want to talk to you.”

“Too bad.”

He steps closer to the house, lowering his voice even though no one is outside. “Please, baby. I wanna make it up to you.”

You cross your arms against the windowsill. “Make what up? You didn’t do anything, remember?”

“Come on,” he tries again. “Are you really gonna let me stand out here looking like a fool?”

“Yes,” you say immediately.

He stares up at you, half offended, half impressed.

You hold his gaze for another second, then slide the window shut and drop the blinds again before he can argue. You get back into bed, pull the covers up, grab your brownie plate, and press play like nothing happened.

For a few minutes, it’s quiet.

Then you hear something strange. Not rocks this time, but a scraping sound. A shuffle. Something brushing against the side of the house.

You freeze.

The sound gets closer.

Your heart jumps as you sit up again just in time to see two hands grab onto your windowsill from the outside.

And then Riki’s stupid face appears.

You let out a sharp gasp and scramble out of bed as he hoists himself up, creased sneakers braced against the brick. He looks mildly proud of himself, slightly out of breath, hair falling into his eyes.

You slide the window open with a dramatic sigh.

“Seriously, Riki?”

He doesn’t answer. He just swings one leg over the sill and climbs into your room like he’s done it a hundred times before, landing lightly on your floor.

“You’re insane,” you whisper-yell, shoving the window shut behind him. “My dad is literally going to kill the both of us if he finds out you climbed through my window.”

“He won’t,” Riki says easily.

“And you smell like smoke,” you add, wrinkling your nose. “If he comes in here—”

“He won’t,” he repeats, completely unbothered.

You stand there with your arms crossed, trying to stay angry while he casually looks around your room like he’s on a tour.

He glances at you slowly, eyes dragging from your messy hair to your pajama shorts. A lazy grin spreads across his face.

“Those make your ass look good.”

Your mouth drops open. “That’s what you have to say right now?”

“I’m just being honest.”

“You’re fucking unbelievable.”

He walks past you toward your bed, picking up one of your pillows and tossing it aside before noticing the plate of brownies. Without asking, he takes one and bites into it.

“You made these yourself?” he asks through a mouthful.

“Yes.”

“They’re good.”

“They’re mine.”

He shrugs and flops down onto your bed like he belongs there, one arm behind his head, chewing lazily while Clueless continues playing in the background.

Your eye twitches.

“I’m still mad at you, Riki” you remind him.

“I know,” he says. “That’s why I’m here.”

You stay standing by the window like you’re guarding it, arms crossed tightly over your chest. Riki, meanwhile, looks entirely too comfortable sprawled across your bed, one hand behind his head, the other reaching lazily for another brownie.

He watches you for a moment, amused.

“Are you gonna stand there all night?” he asks.

“Yes.”

He snorts softly. “Come sit down. You’re making me nervous.”

“You weren’t nervous climbing up my house like a creep.”

He pats the mattress beside him anyway. “Baby.”

You hesitate, but you do it. Of course you do. You walk over and sit cross-legged on your bed, leaving a noticeable gap between you. You grab a pink heart-shaped pillow and hold it against your chest like armor, arms wrapped around it as a clear barrier.

Riki doesn’t look intimidated.

He slowly looks you up and down instead, gaze dragging over your shorts, your bare legs, your messy hair. He takes another bite of brownie, chews thoughtfully, then winks at you.

“Can I get a kiss?”

Your jaw drops.

“You’re unbelievable.”

You lean forward and snatch the plate of brownies out of his hands before he can grab another one. “Start talking,” you demand. “Or I swear I’m throwing you back out that window.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You’re not strong enough for that.”

“I’ll get my dad to do it.”

He actually laughs at that, like the idea is ridiculous.

You glare harder.

He sighs dramatically and sits up, closing the space between you. The mattress dips as he moves closer.

He reaches out, resting his hand on your thigh, thumb brushing lightly against your skin. The touch is warm and familiar, annoyingly gentle.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

You narrow your eyes. “For what?”

He pauses half a second too long.

“For… making you mad.”

That’s it.

That’s the apology.

He doesn’t even fully know what he’s apologizing for, the smoking, the girl, the comment about your top, he just knows you’re upset and that saying sorry usually fixes it.

You try to hold your glare, but your grip on the pillow loosens.

This is how it always goes. One of you gets mad. The other gives a weak apology. And somehow it’s enough.

He watches your expression soften, just slightly, and that tiny shift is all he needs.

“Come here,” he says quietly, patting his lap.

You roll your eyes like you’re still annoyed, but you put the pillow aside and shift forward, settling onto his lap anyway. His hands come to your waist automatically.

He leans in and kisses you.

It starts slow, almost careful, like he’s testing if you’ll pull away. You kiss him back, fingers curling lightly into his black hair. For a few seconds, everything feels lke the argument never happened.

Then you wrinkle your nose and pull back slightly.

“Take your jacket off.”

He blinks. “What?”

“It smells like smoke.”

He smirks immediately. “If you wanted to undress me you could just say that.”

You don’t even entertain it. You grab his shirt and kiss him again just to shut him up.

He laughs against your mouth, hands tightening at your waist, and for now, at least, the fight is over.

Until he chuckles, he pulls back just slightly, still close enough that his lips brush yours when he talks.

“You know,” he mumbles, half smiling, “Sunoo told me to apologize.”

You don’t really listen, just give him another peck on his lips. “Hm?”

He shrugs, leaning back in to kiss you again like it doesn’t matter. “He said I should just say sorry and you’d stop being mad.”

Your lips press together instead of moving with his.

“And?” you ask slowly.

“And it worked,” he says lightly. “I don’t even know what I did wrong.”

You freeze.

He tries to kiss you again, but you pull your head back this time.

“Are you kidding me right now?,” you say.

He frowns, confused at the sudden shift. “What?”

“You don’t know what you did wrong?”

He laughs a little, like this is harmless. “You were just in a mood.”

You slap his arm.

Not hard. But sharp enough.

“Ow— what was that for?”

You’re already climbing off his lap. “I actually can’t stand you.”

“What?” he repeats, genuinely lost.

“You didn’t apologize because you meant it,” you snap. “You just didn’t want me to be mad.”

“That’s the same thing y/n.”

“It’s not the same thing!”

He sits there, staring at you like you’ve switched languages mid-conversation.

You grab his arm and yank him off the bed. “Come here.”

“Why are you dragging me?”

“Because you’re leaving.”

He stumbles after you as you pull him toward the window again. “I just said sorry!”

“No, you didn’t!” you fire back, pushing the window open. “You said sorry because Sunoo told you to and because you wanted me to shut up.”

“That’s not—”

“That is exactly what it was.”

He steps closer, trying to catch your wrist, trying to pull you back in like he did before. “You’re overthinking it.”

You shove his chest lightly. “Go.”

“Can you calm down for two seconds?”

“No.”

He leans in again like kissing you will solve it, like it always does. You put your hand flat against his chest and push him back.

“Get out.”

“Baby—”

“Go!”

He exhales sharply, clearly frustrated now. “You’re making this a bigger deal than it is.”

“And you’re not making it a deal at all!” you shoot back. “Come back when you can take accountability!”

You don’t care how loud you are. You don’t care if a porch light flicks on somewhere down the street. You’re too irritated to think about neighbors.

He glares at you for a second longer before finally swinging one leg over the sill again.

“This is so stupid,” he mutters as he climbs out.

“You’re stupid!” you yell back.

“You love me though.”

“Bye Riki!”

He drops down to the ground below with a dull thud and looks back up at you. “Throw my jacket!”

You grab it off your floor and hesitate for a second.

“It smells like smoke! Wash it out!” you shout.

“Just throw it y/n, Jeez!”

You toss it out the window a little harder than necessary. It hits him in the face before falling to his arms.

“And pull your up your goddamn pants, you loser!” you yell one last time before slamming the window shut.

He stands there for a second in the dim streetlight, running a hand through his hair and muttering a curse under his breath. “Fucking hell.”

He pulls up his pants anyway, then he turns and starts walking.

Riki walks home with his jacket slung over his shoulder. His jaw is tight, hands shoved deep into his pockets as he kicks at small rocks along the sidewalk. He replays the entire thing in his head.

He apologized.

Didn’t he?

He showed up. Climbed yout house. Said sorry. What else was he supposed to do?

He mutters under his breath, calling the whole situation dumb, ridiculous. Calling you dramatic.

You just crawl back into bed and press play on your movie again, rather relieved than angry.

Cher’s voice fills the room.

You reach for a brownie.

Your fingers hit an empty plate.

You stare at it.

“Oh my god,” you mutter to yourself, rolling your eyes.

—

The next day feels like nothing happened, it’s a Saturday and you’re at the mall with your friends, like usual

The mall in the center of the city is loud. Every store window is screaming SALE in red letters. Somewhere above them, a movie trailer echoes from the cinema entrance. The air smells like hotdogs, sugar, perfume samples, and fryer oil all blending into one.

Every time you guys go there to “just walk around”, someone somehow leaves with an empty wallet.

The vibe between you and Riki, though? Ice cold.

You walk slightly ahead when he’s near. Conversations split awkwardly around you two. You guys barely acknowledge each others presence. Everyone notices. No one says it yet.

You split up near the giant directory map in the middle of the mall.

Heeseung, Sunoo and you walk towards the arcade, immediately distracted by blinking machines and the sound of digital coins clinking. Jungwon and Jay walk off with one mission only, to eat every free sample the mall has to offer.

Jake, Riki and Sunghoon head towards the skate shop onsecond floor.

“Bro, I’m telling you, softer wheels are better for street,” Jake insists.

“Yeah, if you like going slow,” Sunghoon shoots back.

Riki barely speaks. He flips a board over, studies it, doesn’t see it.

He sees you in his head instead, standing at your window, yelling at him to come back when he can take accountability.

They check every board. Compare prices. Debate colors. In the end, none of them buy anything.

When they walk out into the mall hallway again, the crown hits them full force. Sunghoon stretches his arms above his head.

“So,” Jay says casually. “You and her gonna keep pretending you don’t know each other?”

Riki clicks his tongue immediately. “She’s mad at me.”

“For?” Jake asks.

“I don’t know, man.” Riki snaps, defensive already. “I apologized.”

Sunghoon snorts. “Did you?”

“Yes,” Riki insists. “I climbed her window. I could’ve fallen and died bro. I said sorry.”

Jake squints at him. “For what?”

Riki opens his mouth.

Closes it.

“…For making her mad?”

Sunghoon actually laughs. “That’s not an apology, idiot.”

Riki runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. “She was yelling about the joint, and the cigs, and that girl at the skate park. But I didn’t even do anything with that girl. I just caught her because she bumped into me.”

Jake raises a brow. “By her waist?”

Riki hesitates. “…On instinct.”

“Mm,” Sunghoon hums. “And then?”

“And then she dragged me to the window and kicked me out ‘cause I said Sunoo told me to apologize,” Riki mutters.

Both boys stare at him.

“You told her…” Jake says slowly, “that someone else told you to apologize.”

“I was joking. “And at least I apologized? I don’t see the problem.”

Jake lets out a sigh. “I don’t know how you ever got her to like you, man.”

Riki scowls. “I literally climbed into her room. What more does she want?”

Jake grins. “Maybe don’t touch random girls in front of her.”

“She ran into me.”

“And you caught her,” Sunghoon says dryly. “You couldn’t even catch your own girl when she fell.”

Riki groans. “It’s not like that.”

Jake smirks. “Then go tell her that.”

“She’ll just get mad again.”

Sunghoon shrugs. “Get better at apologizing.”

Meanwhile the boys are discussing how to apologize to girlfriends, you’re at the arcade, trying to win a stuffed animal.

The arcade is chaos, neon lights flickering, pixelated sound effects, the constant clink-clink of coins dropping somewhere. A racing game to your left, a dance machine behind you, and right in front of you—

The claw machine.

Inside it sits the biggest stuffed cat you’ve ever seen. Grey and white, oversized head, cute smile. It’s ridiculous. You want it immediately.

You shove another coin in.

Heeseung leans casually against the machine beside you. “You’ve been trying for like ten minutes.”

“I almost had it,” you mumble, eyes locked on the claw.

Sunoo crouches dramatically beside the glass. “Manifest it. Tell it you love it.”

“I do love it,” you whisper.

The claw drops.

Grabs the cat.

Lifts it.

For one beautiful second it hangs there.

“YES!”

Then slips.

The cat falls back into the pile.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” you curse under your breath, stepping back in disbelief.

Heeseung laughs softly. “Y/n, did something happen between you and Riki?”

You don’t even look at him. “He was being a dick.”

Sunoo nods immediately. “Newsflash.”

Heeseung hums in agreement. “Fair.”

No further questions.

You shove another coin in aggressively. The claw misses completely this time and you kick the machine.

Heeseung gently nudges you aside. “Let me.”

You cross your arms, pretending you don’t care. “You’re gonna lose.”

The claw lowers.

It grips the stuffed cat around its head.

Lifts it.

Carries it over to the hole.

Drops.

The cat tumbles into the prize slot.

You and Sunoo scream like he just won an Olympic medal.

“NO WAY—” you laugh. It’s bigger than you expected, soft and and perfect.

Heeseung smiles, brushing his hands off. “All skill.”

He takes the cat from the slot and hands it to you with a small grin. “For your suffering.”

You hug it immediately. “You’re my favorite person.”

He just laughs.

ou three walk out of the arcade a few minutes later, the mall lights feeling calmer after all the flashing machines. You hold the stuffed cat in your arms like it’s something precious, its giant head resting against your shoulder.

Riki notices you.

From halfway down the hall, he spots you walking toward them, oversized plush cat in your arms, laughing at something Sunoo just said.

And unfortunately for his pride, you look cute. And pretty. And happy.

It does something uncomfortable to his chest.

The groups meet in the middle of the walkway.

Sunghoon claps his hands once. “We’re gonna go find Jungwon and Jay before they eat themselves sick.”

“Too late,” Heeseung says dryly.

They all start walking, Sunghoon and Jake up front debating something again, Sunoo walking slightly behind them.

Heeseung slows just enough to walk beside Riki for half a second.

He gives him a small nod toward you.

Go.

Riki exhales through his nose.

Fine.

He steps up, walking beside you.

You don’t look at him.

He notices that immediately.

He shoves his hands into his pockets, trying to sound casual. “Where’d you get that?”

Your eyes stay forward. “Arcade.”

“Obviously.”

“Heeseung won it for me.”

There’s something about the way you say it, so simple, that hits him wrong.

He glances at the stuffed cat.

Heeseung won it… not him.

“Oh,” Riki mutters. “Cool.”

You finally lift it slightly, showing him the cat’s stupid stitched smile. “It’s my new boyfriend.” You say it teasingly.

But Riki doesn’t smile.

Something annoyed flickers across his face before he masks it.

“Yeah?” he says, voice calm but a little tight. “He looks like he’d treat you better.”

You glance at him briefly, catching that tone.

“It doesn’t climb through windows uninvited,” you reply.

He huffs softly. “Yeah. It also doesn’t have legs.”

You shrug. “Less likely to run around with random girls then.”

He goes quiet for half a second.

Then he nudges the cat’s head lightly with his fingers. “He looks dumb.”

Your eyes narrow. “Don’t talk about him like that.”

“You really replacing me with a stuffed animal?”

You keep walking straight ahead.

“Depends. Can he apologize properly?” You say, then you step up your pace to nonchalantly walk away from Riki.

You eventually find Jungwon and Jay exactly where everyone expected them to be, around a food stand with tiny paper cups in their hands.

Jay is mid-sentence when the group walks up. “I’m telling you, if you circle back in ten minutes they forget your face.”

Jake nods seriously, holding up another sample. “This one’s teriyaki chicken. Third time.”

Heeseung sighs like a tired parent.

“Are we leaving?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Sunghoon says.

Everyone slowly makes their way toward the mall exit.

Riki walks quietly behind everyone.

You do too.

By the time the glass doors slide open, the air outside is thick and warm, with the hum of traffic and laughs from somewhere down the street.

Sunghoon and Jake walk ahead, arguing about the best type of flipphone. Jay tries to convince Jungwon to stop at a convenience store on the way. Sunoo keeps poking Heeseung about the stuffed cat like it’s some kind of trophy.

You and Riki walk a few steps behind them again.

For a minute, neither of you says anything.

Your arms are wrapped around the giant plush cat, its soft head resting against your shoulder. Riki glances at it once, then looks ahead at the group, then down at the pavement like he’s building up the courage to say something.

Finally, he exhales and speaks.

“Y/n...”

You glance at him.

“I was being an asshole yesterday.”

You blink slightly.

He keeps walking beside you, hands in his pockets, gaze locked on the ground instead of on you.

“And… I’m sorry,” he adds. “For the cigarettes. And the joint. And that girl at the skatepark.”

You don’t interrupt.

He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly.

“And I’m sorry for not knowing how to say sorry,” he admits. “I know I kinda… suck at that.”

For a moment you just look at him.

Then a small giggle slips out before you can stop it.

He looks over immediately. “What?”

“Nothing,” you say, smiling a little. “I just like hearing you apologise”.

He shakes his head with a quiet laugh.

“I maybe shouldn’t have kicked you out the window.” You say hesitantly.

He snorts. “Maybe?”

“Okay, I shouldn’t have done that.”

He slides his hand out of his pocket and slowly, almost carefully, he lets it brush against yours. When you don’t pull away, his fingers curl around your hand.

The group ahead of you turns a corner toward the quieter streets leading back to your neighborhood.

You glance at Riki. “Do you wanna come to my house?”

His eyebrows lift. “You gonna let me in trough the door this time?”

You roll your eyes. “If you behave.”

“I always behave, baby.”

You scoff softly. “Mhm… just pull your pants up before my parents see you.”

⊹

extra note: I rlly hate the ending, I had writers block…

your wrist hangs lazily in front of you, the stem of a wine glass held loosely between your index and ring fingers, swirling around the deep red liquid that remains in it. you exhale, bringing the rim of the glass to your lips, 

“see? i told you you would like it.”

you try to hide the grimace that immediately wants to pull at your lips as the bitter drink passes them, fighting its way down your tongue as you empty the glass into your mouth and down your throat. you nod, eyes closing, twisting your disgust into a tight smile. 

“uh-huh,” you hum, though you kind of hate giving him the satisfaction, almost as much as you hate red wine, even if you didn’t really mean it. you would have much preferred something bubbly, or a fruity cocktail. not the dry bottle of cabernet sauvignon your date had insisted on ordering for the two of you, convinced that he somehow knew your own tastebuds better than you. but by now you had sucked down more than half the bottle yourself, so he had certainly gotten the impression that you did, indeed, like it. 

and you did, sort of like it, not for the taste, but for the fact that alcohol was the only thing making this date half way tolerable, and even then, half way was a stretch. it had been so long since you were last on a first date and you can’t help but wonder – were they always this uncomfortable? you try to recall the series of events that even got you here in the first place, why you had even matched with this man on one of the plethora of dating apps you had downloaded in the last few weeks.

his name is matthew, and despite the way he had been droning on and on about himself for the duration of the date, with hardly a spare second for you to be allowed to get a word about yourself in, you were pretty sure that was about all you knew about him. his long, needlessly wordy tangents often leaving you to forget the point he was ever trying to make in the first place whenever he spoke. 

you set the glass back down on the table, empty now, looking just past matthew as he gestures his hands while he resumes whatever he had been speaking about, 

“ – i’m telling you, things are just different out there– like, i dunno, crazy, i’m telling you, you gotta go to berlin if you ever get the chance–”

“i’ve been actually,” the words escape your lips quickly, desperate to finally get a word in before he went off blathering about himself for another fifteen minutes while you nodded along absentmindedly.

“yeah?” his eyes widen, like he’s surprised, and honestly he probably is, because he seems a little unaware of the fact that he’s not the only person in the world. he doesn’t elaborate further than that yeah, doesn’t ask you to explain why you had gone, or when, instead he opens his mouth ready to continue on about himself again. but you cut him off once more before he gets the chance.

“yup. went last fall for a show my fri- eh-er i guess ex-friend was playing,” you cringe a little as you stumble over your words, “well, no, not my friend,” you supposed it probably wasn’t polite to bring up ex’s on a first date, but you also supposed he wasn’t technically an ex and that you were too intoxicated now, and entirely sure there would be no second date, to actually care about niceties. if he could ramble about whatever bullshit was on his mind, why couldn’t you? and certainly, jay had been on your mind tonight, “you know the rapper esdeekid? yeah him.”

“he’s your friend?”

“ex.”

“sorry, ex friend.”

“no, he’s my– whatever,” you exhale, “complicated.”

“complicated,” he repeats with a short laugh, “that just means someone couldn’t be arsed to define it,” he shrugs, and you blink at him, chest tightening, he hadn’t even said it particularly unkindly, just simple, dismissive, like he had just solved something surface level. a sly smirk lingers on his lips, like he had just said the most profound thing in the world, and you wonder how someone could so often be so confident and so wrong. 

because not being bothered to define just what you and jay had been would have actually been a more ideal situation. if you had not cared so much, if you had not wanted so badly to be something to him, you probably wouldn’t be on this stupid date now. in fact, if that had been the case, you probably would have been in jay’s bed, somewhere you had not been in weeks. 

perhaps rather naively you had thought that the best course of action to get over your utter desperation to be something more than just one of the girls jay fucked, was just to leave altogether. and so you did, for the last three weeks you hadn’t picked up any of his calls, or answered his texts when he’d ask if you were awake at ungodly hours of the morning. part of you had also secretly hoped in doing so that by some miracle he’d be at your feet, begging for you to come back, that he would have missed you. but clearly, you had been sorely mistaken, you hadn’t received as much as an acknowledgement of the fact you had been ignoring him. 

no, it had seemed if anyone was missing anyone, it was you missing jay. and terribly so. that’s why you were even on this date in the first place, right? as a distraction, to hope that maybe spending some time in the company of another man would help you get over this slump you had been in. but really, this had only done the opposite in reminding you of why you had stayed so long with jay; even with the constant pushing and pulling, the uncertainty, with all the times you had cried over him, because at the end of the day, at least he didn’t bore you. 

matthew looks over at the now empty wine bottle on the edge of the table, pointing towards it, 

“want to get another bottle?”

you can’t say yes fast enough. 

but maybe that second bottle had been a little overkill, only realizing just how much you had drank as you struggle to keep upright on your train ride back home. you weren’t sure if you should have been offended or relieved that matthew had not asked to, at the very least, take you home so you wouldn’t have to be on your own so late at night. but nevertheless, you were alone, unbelievably alone, you think to yourself as your eyes catch on a couple sitting a few train seats away from you. the man’s arm was wrapped tight around the woman’s shoulder as she leaned her head against him, and they were laughing quietly amongst each other about something that you hadn’t overheard. 

you look away eventually as you bite the inside of your cheek, your bottom lip quivering. this was pathetic of you, really. nearing teats at the mere sight of a happy couple. but you supposed you were used to that, feeling pathetic. but the gentle exchanges between the man and the woman not seated far had you thinking back on the brief period of time where things with jay had indeed been that soft. those first few months that you had been seeing each other, before you had muddied your relationship with a sloppy love confession.

you wonder, not for the first time tonight, if you had made a mistake. 

not just with the date, though, that seems obvious now in hindsight, but with everything that had led you here, your decision to cut jay off as if distance alone would have been enough to untangle yourself from a feeling that you had allowed yourself to become far too entwined with. 

three weeks without jay seems significant when you think about it, because before then you’d hardly ever gone more than a few hours without reaching out to him in some way. it felt like something you should be proud of, that you had spent three weeks ignoring the way his name lit up your phone at hours you knew were only reserved for you, and refusing to answer despite the way your chest strained each time. but it had also been three weeks of convincing yourself that if he truly cared, he would have noticed your absence in a way that forced him to act, that he would come back differently, more certain, ready to give you what you wanted. for real this time.

but he had not, and that probably should have been enough. and you know that, obviously. but your heart understands things in a way that the rational part of your brain never could. and so your hand moves almost without thinking, slipping into your bag, retrieving your phone and unlocking it. for how mindless it is, you know exactly what you’re about to do, because you had been thinking about doing it all night – no fuck that– for the last three weeks. but the urge had grown so much stronger, with every dismissive word your date had spoke, and every time he had failed to catch your attention, with every comparison your mind insisted on making.

you know you shouldn’t, but your inhibitions by now have fled entirely as you scroll through your messages, your phone screen blurring under your lazy gaze. it takes awhile for your eyes to focus enough to find the last conversation you’d had with jay, the unanswered you awake? text, time stamped at a ridiculous hour. 

your thumbs hover the keyboard, hesitating for only a moment before you begin to type:

i miss you

and despite the way you send it without a second thought, the regret creeps in the moment the text registers as delivered. you contemplate briefly just quickly blocking him, pretending you hadn’t just done that, and continuing on with your project of ignoring jay indefinitely. but you can’t instead, you watch your phone screen, eyes trained on the pale light that blurs before you, waiting with baited breath to see if he’d respond. 

as the seconds pass without a response you can feel yourself getting more irritable, mind already jumping to conclusions about what he could be up to before five minutes had even passed. you roll your eyes, he’s probably fucking some other girl right now. your jaw clenches. but despite the anger that you can feel growing within you, your thumbs are tapping over your phone screen again, texting something more desperate: 

do u miss me???

your patience is depleted when another few minutes pass by without a response. your head tips to the side, temple pressed against the cold glass of the train window as you exhale a breath shakily. your eyelashes flutter, eyes rolling back with each lull of your head, swaying with the movement of the train. 

for as much as the alcohol had helped you through the night, by now it was doing way more harm than good, letting way unchecked thoughts race around your brain. there’s a sense of hopelessness behind it all, that you had done something irreversible by ignoring jay these last few weeks, that the minutes that went by without a word from him now had been a sign that things were over. worse yet, that it could have been confirmation that you had never actually been that important to him, not in the way he was to you. you, to some degree, had known that you probably liked him way more than he liked you, but perhaps you had even overestimated how much he liked you in the first place. 

but that didn’t really make sense, did it? by now you couldn’t quite be sure of anything. your eyes blink open and you lift your head back up to peer at the phone in your lap, still nothing. way against your worst judgement you pick of your phone again, clicking through to jay’s contact. you stare at the screen for a moment, thumb lingering over it, this was something pathetic, which was really saying a lot for you. 

you hesitate for a moment, a more rational side of you practically begging for you to just shut off your phone, to just go home and go to sleep, to allow yourself to sober up without embarrassing yourself any further. but your eyes glance over his contact photo, a picture you’d taken of the two of you in your bed, before things had soured between you following your spontaneous love confession. your head is tucked under his chin, one arm wrapped around your shoulders, holding you to him. you remember having decided to make this his contact photo because he’d actually been smiling in it, something he hardly ever did, usually preferring to cover his face in some manner which you never quite understood. you frown, the days where things had been so easy, perfect, even, were just about the only parts of him your brain had been able to train in on lately, almost entirely forgetting all of the shit you’d had to put up with for him. and you hate how far out of reach that feeling seems, and the longing to experience that all over again is what pushes you, in one last desperate attempt, to call jay. 

your leg bounces up and down against the train seat as your phone rings, and suddenly, you watch as the call timer suddenly starts counting up, and you’re racing to put the phone to your ear. 

“hello?” you speak quickly, voice wavering, already having broken with the tears welling in your eyes. there’s some noise on the other end, some chatter, the faint sound of music, and then there’s a chuckle, a sound so unimaginably distinct as jay’s voice, 

“needy tonight now are we?” you’d braced yourself to be met with some sort of annoyance, for him to ask roughly about why you’d been ignoring him, or complain about you pestering him tonight. but if anything, he seems amused, and you listen as he chuckles again, and your heart stutters in your chest. 

“‘m’not needy,” you sniffle, shaking your head as if he could see you on the other side. 

he hums, clearly unconvinced, “you double text then ring me when i’m not answerin’ fast enough for you liking,” he pauses for a moment, “what do you call that?”

“dunno… i just…” you swallow down, trying to find the words, like you hadn’t already admitted as much, “missed you. i guess.”

“‘bout time, yeah?” and you can practically feel him smiling on the other line, not kind, but not cruel, just satisfied, “surprised you’d managed this long, actually.”

“you’re a dick,” you murmur, though the words come out with less bite than you had hoped, your tongue feeling thick in your mouth, slurring your words together, “so mean…”

“and you’re pissed.”

“how do you kno-”

“can hear it in your voice,” he says simply, “you get all whiny sounding when you been drinking, or whatever. you go out tonight or something?”

“went on a date.”

“oh, yeah? can tell that went well then since you’re ringin’ me.”

“was right shit,” you huff, “barely got a damn’ word in, bought this nasty fuckin’ wine, even though i told him i hate red wine, and ugh–”

“sounds like you didn’t hate the wine that much,” he laughs.

“only ‘cause it made his boring ass almost tolerable,” you try to choke out a laugh in return, but really you couldn’t find any humor in your situation, your breath stutters as you try to inhale, and you wipe your cheeks with the back of your hands, ridding the tears that had dropped from your lash line,  sucked.”

“ohh,” jay coos, “poor baby,” and it’s patronizing, it absolutely is, but the words still land softer than jay probably had anticipated, almost giving the impression that he had, actually, in some odd way felt bad for you, “sad now ‘cause you realized what you been missin’ by ignorin’ me?”

“maybe,” you say, voice low, like you’re ashamed to admit it, because you are, a little, ashamed that despite everything jay had still better than any one else in the world. 

you can hear the music and the chatter on the other side of the phone get more distant, and the sound of shuffling like jay is moving about wherever he was. 

“that’s right,” he breathes out, “on your way home now?”

“uh-huh. takin’ the train.” 

“you by yourself?”

“yup.” 

“mmm, don’t love that,” jay clicks his tongue disapprovingly, “where are you at now?”

“on the train, jay, i just said that,” you glance out the window, watching as the outside goes by in a blur. 

“i mean what stop you near?”

“bout to get off, next one’s mine.”

“right, okay, look, i don’t want you walkin’ the rest of the way home by yourself like this, i’m at rico’s now, you know he don’t live too far so, i’ll be round, yeah? like, ten minutes, tops.”

“bossy, you,” you mumble, yet still, a faint smile pulls at your lips, because this, at least, was a sign that in some way, jay really did care about you.

“mhm, yeah, total fuckin’ dictator. forgive me for makin’ sure you get home safe, will you?” 

“didn’t say i didn’t like it,” though your admission is quiet, mostly swallowed by the sound of the train rattling on the tracks as it comes into the station, “at my stop now.”

“okay,” he says, “lemme just say bye to rico, you wait there for me, don’t go wanderin’ off, yeah?”

and you listen, because you have no real reason to put up a fight, so you stay put, trying not to drift off as you sit on a bench under the warm glow of a streetlight, phone still pressed loosely to your ear.

“you there?” jay says after a few minutes of silence have passed,

“wha..? yeah, yup, told you, waitin,” you nod lazily, “can you hurry up? wanna see you…”

“it’s been what, five minutes?”

“felt longer,” you mumble, bottom lip pushing out just slightly into a small frown.

“awh, listen to ya,” his voice lowers, dipping back into that patronizing tone you’ve come to expect from him, “can’t even wait ten minutes for me, what a nightmare.”

“shut up,” you groan.

“you’re proper impatient, ye know tha’,” he continues, and you can tell he’s enjoying this.

you huff, shifting on the bench, pulling your knees up to your chest and curling in on yourself. you don’t speak for a moment, you only listen to the sound of his footsteps through the phone, the occasional muffled voices of people passing him by. 

“yeah, well, said i missed you,” you say again, and it never gets less pathetic with each time you say it. he doesn’t answer, and you frown, pulling the phone closer to your ear, like maybe you had just missed it, “jay?”

“yeah, i heard ya,” he confirms, “you said tha’  like three times already.”

“so?” your voice sharpens a little as you sit up, a defensiveness poking through.

“so,” he laughs, “i get it, loud an’ clear.”

you drop your knees, your feet landing heavily against the ground below with a thump,

“you didn’t say it back.”

and there’s another moment of silence aside from a sigh from jay before he speaks again, 

“you’re hard work,” he mutters eventually, deflecting, like usual, “ring me out of the blue, drunk off your ‘ead, startin’ this–”

“jay,” you cut him off, and sniffle quickly before you speak again, “did you?”

“you’re a smart girl,” he starts, “you can use your ‘ead and infer.”

“then say it,” you whine, because even if you could infer that he did by his decision to come get you now, it wasn’t quite the same, because an inference just wasn’t enough. you needed to hear him say it, that he missed you, that your ignoring him had at least left him with some sort of empty feeling. but he couldn’t give you that satisfaction, or maybe he just couldn’t admit it himself, because saying it out loud meant it was real.

“huh?” he says, like he didn’t quite catch it, but you’re sure he heard you, “wait, turn ‘round, i think i see you.”

“oh, uh–” you whip your head around, a little too fast, and you try to blink the sudden blur from your vision. you scan the dim train platform under the yellow glow of the streetlights. 

you hear the faint musical chime of the phone call ending, and you drop your hand from where it holds your phone at your ear as you squint your eyes. and there jay is, not far away, giving a small wave with his phone still in hand. 

you freeze for a moment as he walks closer, like you couldn’t quite believe he was there, eyes widening, jaw slacking. jay looks behind him briefly before turning back to you, 

“you seen a ghost or something?” he laughs, “what’s that look for?” yeah, something like that you suppose. 

you stumble slightly as you try to get up from the bench, legs threatening to give way from beneath you as you stand up straight.

“woah–” jay holds both of his hands up, and you can’t tell if he’s amused or concerned, but he reaches a hand out as you step around to the back side of the bench where he’d been standing, grabbing yours so he can at least try to keep you up right, “careful, crackin’ your ‘ead open on the pavement wouldn’t be a pretty way to end the night.”

still, his cautioning does little to sway you as you step toward him with a little too much force, nearly falling straight into him, your chest bumping his. he very quickly lets go of your hand as to not twist your arm from your awkward position against him now, instead moving to wrap his arms around your back. it’s probably more just to keep you upright than it is to embrace you, but it doesn’t stop you from throwing your arms around him too, squeezing his middle tight, your fingers gripping tight into the fabric of his hoodie. 

he lets out a soft breath at the impact, one hand flattening against your back to steady you, 

“alright, easy,” he mumbles close to your ear, “nearly took me out there.”

you don’t answer, you only cling to him, pressing your cheek to his shoulder, face nuzzled to his neck. you could cry, in fact you probably already are. and it’s embarrassing, distantly, you’re aware of that much. aware of how this must look to him, too much and too clingy. but you tried, didn’t you? you really tried to stay away, tried to ignore the empty feeling that bore its way deeper and deeper into your chest with each passing day you’d spent without jay. but you couldn’t hold out, not when this was what you’d been giving up. 

“date that bad?” he laughs, a bit awkwardly, like he’s not really quite sure what to say. and you nod, but that’s obviously not the whole of it. because one sour date would not usually elicit this reaction, not from you, probably not from anybody. but it certainly didn’t help your situation, only serving to remind you of what you didn’t have yet so desperately wanted, a real, honest romantic relationship. still you continue,

“just went on, talkin’ ‘bout himself, like i wasn’t even there,” you whine, “didn’t listen when i did talk neither.” 

“sounds like a real charmer,” one of jay’s hands comes to brush over the back of your head, fingers loosely threading in your hair, “that all?”

“uh uh,” you shake your head against jay’s neck before looking up with a sniffle, your eyes meet his through fluttering, wet lashes, “wasn’t even good looking enough to be actin’ like that,” you pout, “not handsome like you.”

his mouth twitches slightly at that, like he’s trying not to react too much, but you can see the beginnings of a smirk forming on his lips, 

“yeah?” his eyebrows raise, “that your expert opinion?”

“mmhm,” you mumble, stepping back slightly as you let go of jay, a hand now instead coming up to graze his face, your fingers brush lazily against his cheek as your head tips to the side, eyes dragging over his face, “way more handsome.”

jay lets out a quiet laugh as he flinches a little, pulling away from where your hand stays on his face as your fingers brush just above his eyebrow, 

“christ, gonna poke me eye out doin’ tha’,” his voice barely reaches a scold despite his words, still you frown at the way he backs away from you. your fingers curl slightly, before your hand drops to his chest,

“sorry,” your voice softening, quieting whatever reflex he had to pull away, as he moves a little closer once again. 

“yeah, s’fine,” he shakes his head, not making a big deal of it, “just watch it, yeah?”

you nod immediately, a little too obedient, your fingers tightening in his hoodie where your hand rests against his chest, 

“okay.”

“right, sound,” he says, a bit louder now, “arm up,” he shifts his grip, an arm settling around your waist as he guides you against his side. you don’t question it, just follow his lead as he lifts your arm to hook around his shoulder, your body immediately folding in on him.

“good, stay like that,” he adjusts slightly, standing up a little straighter so you’re better balanced, “we’re walkin’ now.”

“mkay,” you respond lazily, head tipping to rest against his shoulder. the walk is slower than it should be, and it’s mostly your fault, refusing to stand up straight, still a bit wobbly on your legs, with jay having to ask you to stop dragging your feet, or leaning so far against him a handful of times in the short distance you had to trek between the train station and your house. 

when you reach the door to your flat you exhale, hand lazily raising toward your bag to attempt to fish for your keys,

“ugh, don’t bother,” jay says quickly, “i got it,” somehow managing well enough to keep you steady against his side as he reaches around your front and fishing through your bag himself, pulling out your keys and unlocking your door. 

“mhm, home sweet home,” your words slur, a weak smile tugging at your lips as you stumble through the door. 

“alright, bed, you,” jay motions in the direction of your room, and you turn around to face him, 

“you stayin’?” it’s not even just a part of you that wants him to say yes, you want him to stay with every bone in your body. you pout your lips slightly, eyes widening, still a little wet from earlier as you bat your lashes, a silent beg for him to agree to spend the night.

“I dunn- hey,” his brows furrow, “don’ look at me like that,” he shakes his head.

“like what?” your mouth quirks to one side as your head tips, pretending like you didn’t know damn well what he was talking about. 

“you’re givin’ me those sad puppy dog eyes you do when you want somethin’ from me,”

“so?” you lean in a little closer to him, wrapping a finger around one of the strings of his hoodie, “maybe i do.”

“predictable,” he mutters, “always wantin’ somethin, you.”

you pull the string of his hoodie a little tighter, bringing him closer to you, your other hand pressed against his chest, 

“not somethin’, just you,” and you’re pouting again, voice hitting a whinier pitch, “stay. please, jay.”

jay rolls his eyes as his tongue presses to the inside of his cheek, “look at you,” he laughs, a slight edge to it, as his hand comes up to cradle the side of your face, thumb swiping at the space just below your eye, “three weeks of you actin’ all big an’ brave ignorin’ me an’ now you’re begging me not to leave. fuckin’ incredible.”

“not begging,” though, you certainly are, nudging your cheek against his palm, “just would reeeally like it if you stayed.”

“yeah, i’m stayin,” he sighs, as if he was really giving in, as if it was something that took any sort of real convincing, “s’pose if i don’t you’ll start bawlin’ your eyes out again.”

“don’t be mean…”

“not bein’ mean, love,” he replies, though he absolutely is, at least a little, teetering that fine line he so often did with you between patronization and genuine concern, “said i’d stay, yeah? like you wanted.”

“yeah…” you trail off, and at least there was that, that knowledge that jay would be here, at least for the night. that the stunt you’d pulled these last few weeks wasn’t enough to push him away completely, “do want that.” 

your finger slips from the string of his hoodie, the braided material uncurling as you instead now rest both hands against his chest. you exhale, eyes flicking over jay, looking over the satisfied smirk that curls at the corner of his mouth, at the way his lashes hang low above his eyes, now realizing how low they are, and the slight redness that clouds the whites of his eyes. you supposed he’d probably been smoking with rico, as they so often had done, the scent of weed still clinging to his clothes and his hair, mixing all too pleasantly with the warm, spicy scent of his cologne. 

and now, as you stare straight at jay, you realize that it’s really a miracle that you had even made it as long of a time as you did without reaching out to him, let alone decide to attempt to go on a date with another man. because really, nobody compared, nobody even came close. in your drunken state you can hardly recognize the feeling in you that had even prompted you to try to cut jay off, and though you’re sure soon enough he’ll remind you exactly why, at least for now things were blissful enough. 

which is exactly what has you leaning forward, tilting your head up, just enough so you’re lips brush clumsily against his jaw, missing his mouth entirely, and you stumble forward a little at that,

“oi–” he huffs out a laugh, “easy, what’dya think you’re doin’?”

“kiss… you…” you say, as if it’s obvious.

“yeah?” his brows lift, amused, “that so?”

you nod, a bit too eagerly, already leaning in again, your hand sliding from his chest to his neck. but he stops you, hand slipping down your cheek, pressing two fingers under your chin, keeping him ever so slightly out of your reach. 

you frown immediately, “jayy,” you drag out his name, “don’t–”

“look at you,” he cuts you off, clicking his tongue disapprovingly, “think i’m gonna let you kiss me like this?”

“why not?” your voice sharpens, a little offended, “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“means,” his fingers leave your jaw, two of them instead tapping at your temple, “you’re not thinkin’ straight,” he tips his head to the side, his bottom lip poking out slightly to mock your pout, “all drunk an’ needy…you’d let me do whatever right now, wouldn’t you?”

“anything…” you nod lazily, though, that probably isn’t the right answer, it’s certainly not the one that will get you what you want, only conforming to jay the state of mind you were in. but it was the truth, and that was all you could muster out right now.

“exactly why we aren’t doin’ anything,” he traces the side of your face with a single finger, his light touch sending shivers down your spine, “don’t wanna hear any more begging tonight, baby. you’re goin’ to bed.”

“so controlling,” you roll your eyes.

“yeah, yeah, whatever – bed,” he taps your cheek lightly with his palm to better catch your attention, and you sigh, 

“fine.” 

though, getting to bed is not really as awful of a fate as your tone would suggest, because, now that you’re stumbling closer to your room, you realize just how exhausted you are, and how a dull throb is starting to press itself into your head. you should sleep and soon. 

“sit down, yeah?” jay says, motioning toward your bed as you enter your room, and you do so easily, with really no desire to keep yourself upright anymore. you drop down on the bed, the mattress bouncing slightly at the force with which you hit its surface. jay kneels in front of you for a moment, his hand grazing over your ankle before loosening the strap on one of your heels, slipping it off before repeating the motion with the other. 

before jay gets a chance to stand up your hands find his hair, fingers threaded through the soft strands at the top of his head. jay pauses briefly at that, eyes closing for a moment, a sigh falling from his lips, his peaceful expression elicits a small smile from you, it was always a pleasant surprise when jay would drop the act, when he’d stop pretending, for at least a little, that he only merely tolerated you. 

jay’s hand ghosts over your knee before he stands up, your hands dropping from his hair and into your lap. 

“you need help changin’?” 

“i mean,” you pause for a moment, thinking it through, “could prob’ly do it, but… don’t really wanna,” the thought of getting up right now, of rummaging through your clothes when you’d already sunk deep into the mattress below seeming like a far too difficult chore. 

“yeah, alright,” jay nods, walking away from you, but not out of eye sight, just turning toward your dressers, “where do you keep your…”

“wait, uhh” you say, narrowing your eyes, “what’re you wearing under that?” you gesture loosely with a single finger toward him.

“a t-shirt?” he furrows his eyebrows, turning to face you now. 

“just gimme that then,” you shrug, trying to save him the hassle of making him pick out something for you to wear. 

he stands still for a moment, not saying anything, blinking a few times as he looks you over. he rolls his eyes and lets out a small puff of air from his nose, 

“okay…” he steps closer, fingers nearing the hem of his hoodie, moving to pull it over his head, dropping it at the foot of your bed. his t-shirt follows, and your breath catches a little at that, like you hadn’t seen him shirtless dozens of times over, “‘ere,” he passes the shirt off to you. you take it from him, setting the fabric in your lap as your eyes refuse to leave him. 

you’re sure you look a little dazed, still inebriated, eyes blown wide as your jaw hangs open just a little,

“‘s’not polite to stare at people, ye’know,” jay shakes his head. 

“even when they…” you trail off for a moment, bottom lip curling under your top front teeth, “are soooo…”

“sooo?” 

“soooo…” you giggle, “hot.” 

“shameless tonight, are we?” scoffing slightly, but it's clear he’s entertained by this, like he could never truly be bothered by your utter facenation with him.

“there somethin’ i should be ‘shamed of?” you ask innocently, though, there probably is, like you being so easy right now, like jay hadn’t broken your heart time and time again and you still fell to your knees like this for him no matter how hard you’d tried not to. 

“get dressed,” he points to the shirt in your lap, and you nod, letting him brush off the earlier conversation. you peel off the shirt you’d been wearing, still too drunk to care about jay’s eyes on you as you reach behind your back to unclasp your bra, your eyes meeting his through batted lashes as the straps slip down your shoulders, and you slide it the rest of the way off. you linger for a moment, watch as jay’s eyes widen for just a moment before he very quickly blinks the amusement off his face. you stifle a laugh at that, slipping the shirt over your head, the scent of him catching in your nostrils. 

your skirt is the next to go, shifting awkwardly against the mattress as you pull it down your thighs before eventually letting it drop from your knees to the floor, kicking the garment to the side. 

“finished your little show, have you?” jay’s tone dryer than it had been earlier, though it still doesn’t land as harsh as it could have. 

“yup,” you bite the inside of your cheeks, trying to hide the smirk that threatens your lips, “need your help now…”

“what’s it now?”

“my makeup,” you pause for a moment, “don’ wanna sleep in it. can you mmm, take it off for me?”

“yeah,” he laughs, “what’s one more thing i gotta do for you tonight, eh?”

“oh,” you coo, “you’re the best. makeup wipes on my desk.”

“mmm,” jay hums, “we’ll see how long you keep that tune,” he steps away again, walking over to your desk and plastic packaging of your makeup wipes crinkling under his fingers as he grabs it, returning back to the foot of your bed, “go on,” he nods his head up, “lay back.”you do, letting yourself flop back on the mattress, moving back just enough so he can get on the edge of it. jay settles in over you, one knee pressing into the mattress beside your hip, the other braced near your thigh, caging you in without putting his full weight on you.

he’s close enough that you can feel his breath on your skin with each warm exhale from his nose. it almost feels a little suffocating, just the presence of him, how intimate this felt without the expectation of sex, something that almost gave you the impression that you’d been at least a little more than just one of the girls he fucked. 

you wonder briefly if he would have done this for any of the other girls he got with, if he would have dropped what he was doing just to walk them home because they’d been too drunk, if he’d stay the night when they asked, or if he’d take care of them like this. you’d like to believe he didn’t, that you were special, but even now in your drunken state you weren’t so quick to accept that as truth. and you knew if you were to ask he’d brush it off, assure you that you were his best girl like he always did, like that meant anything when you so desperately wanted to be his only girl. 

you flinch as jay brushes over your cheek with one of the makeup wipes, startled, like you hadn’t been the one to ask him to do this. 

“stay still,” he mutters,, dragging over the smudged mascara on your skin, still, you can’t help but twitch again as he gets closer to your eye, forcing a sigh from jay. and you try to maintain your composure, try not to squirm under him despite the shivers that run down your spine, and the butterflies that flutter in your stomach. your fingers curl into the comforter on either side of you, boding tensing, yet still, you flinch, and shudder everytime jay touches your face, “fuckin’ hell,” he breathes out, gripping your chin between his thumb, index, and middle fingers, rough at first as he pulls you to look straight up at him, loosening only once he attempts to take off your makeup again without you flinching this time, “see?” he raises his eyebrows, “knew you could behave.”

you lose your words at that, breath sticking a little in your throat, jaw slacking enough so that his thumb pokes at your bottom lip, a quick smirk flashes on your lips before your head tips forward a little, thumb slipping past your lips, and you bite down, just a little.

“fuck,” he hisses, though you’re sure it’s a bit of an exaggeration, you really hadn’t bit down that hard, “just as i said you were bein’ good,” but his thumb doesn’t slip from your mouth, even as you relax your jaw, lips parted as you stare up at him. truthfully, you weren’t quite sure what you were doing, part of you wanting absolutely nothing more than to just pass the fuck out right now, another wishing you were sober enough to let this go further without making jay feel like he was taking advantage of you. which he wouldn’t be, really, but how could he trust that to be the case when you were a bottle of wine deep and clearly a little emotionally vulnerable right now. 

jay stares back for a moment, gaze flicking between your eyes and your lips, his jaw just barely tightening. his thumb finally slips from your mouth, but slowly, dragging against your lip as it leaves, forcing a pout from you, “god,” he mutters, quiet, and you’re pretty sure you really aren’t meant to hear it at all, still, you answer him,

“what?”

he exhales from his nose, eyes shutting for a moment like he’s trying to shake some feeling off, 

“you,” he says quick and flat, like that somehow explains everything, his thumb grazes over your cheek, “so fuckin’ pretty,” he chuckles to himself, “almost makes the shit you put me through worth it.”

“yeah?” the small compliment enough to make you entirely disregard the rest of his statement, because by now you were used to the fact that he could never just be sweet, never let himself get carried away entirely about how taken with you he really was, 

“mhm,” returning back to taking the rest of your makeup off, but this time you don’t flinch, a little more dazed, “can’t believe some other lad got to take out my pretty girl tonight,” he shakes his head, “s’pose i’m a bit glad it went so shit.”

“you’re awful,” you scoff, though maybe you’re a little glad too, because it lead you here, with jay, where you really wanted to be.

“awful?” his eyebrows raise, pulling back as he finally finishes taking off your makeup.

“uh–huh,” you nod, “don’ wanna see me happy?”

“tha’s not true,” he shakes his head, “just know you’re happier with me, yeah?”

“yeah,” you mumble, “me and how many other girls?”

“girls i’d do all this for?” he pauses for a moment, “none.”

“wow,” you say flatly, “really know how to make a girl feel special,” you roll your eyes, hating how he pretended like the “special” treatment he gave you was enough to make up for the way he strings you along, acting like he was damn near being your boyfriend one day almost saying as much sometimes, and then having the nerve to act like you were crazy for being upset when he’d sleep with someone else.

“come on, don’t start,” he sighs, finishing with taking your makeup off, climbing off the bed and walking to throw the used wipes away in the bin next to your desk,